“I write therefore I am”: Scribes, Literacy, and Identity in Early

Armin Selbitschka NYU Shanghai [email protected]

Accepted for publication in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 78.2 (2018).

In a recently published article on literacy and identity, Elizabeth Birr Moje and Alan Luke distinguish five “metaphors for identity in history and contemporary research.” More importantly, though, the authors reviewed a tremendous amount of sociological and social-psychological literature in order to demonstrate how scholarship has increasingly related different conceptions of identity and the self to literacy. Accordingly, “texts and the literate practices that accompany them not only reflect but may also produce the self. Moreover, some have also argued that texts can be used as tools for enacting identities in social settings.”1 In view of the fact that a significant number of Chinese individuals living during the fifth through first centuries BCE were buried with manuscripts, such arguments seem pertinent for early Chinese society as well. What does it say about the self-concept of a person when his or her ability to write and / or read assumed a prominent role in funerary rites? This is the main question this article is going to pursue.

Research on literacy in the field of Early China studies has gained some momentum with the release of a volume edited by Li Feng and David Prager Branner,2 yet the issue of identity has so far not been raised in this context. This article will therefore first discuss evidence of literacy and the skill of writing that are found in Chinese literary and archaeological sources of the late pre- imperial and early imperial period. It will then proceed to an in-depth analysis of the training and

Acknowledments: I would like to thank Michael Loewe, Charles Sanft, Paul Goldin, Mick Hunter, Hans van Ess, Maria Khayutina, Joachim Gentz, Matthias Richter, Barend ter Haar, Wolfgang Behr, Martin Kern, Michael Puett, Lillian Lan-ying Tseng, Duane Corpis, and John Kieschnick for valuable suggestions on earlier drafts of this article. I am also grateful to Melissa J. Brown and the anonymous Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies reviewers for their corrections and recommendations for improvement. They were greatly appreciated. 1 Elizabeth Birr Moje and Allan Luke with Bronwyn Davies and Brian Street, “Literacy and Identity: Examining the Metaphors in History and Contemporary Research,” Reading Research Quarterly 44.4 (2009): 415-37, esp. 416. I have also benefited from two online bibliographies; see Barend ter Haar, “Literacy, Writing and Education in Chinese Culture,” http://faculty.orinst.ox.ac.uk/terhaar/literacy.htm, and Wolfgang Behr, “Writing, Literacy, and Orality in Ancient China,” http://faculty.orinst.ox.ac.uk/terhaar/bib-projet.PDF (both last accessed on December 26, 2015). 2 Li Feng and David Prager Branner eds., Writing & Literacy in Early China: Studies from the Columbia Early China Seminar (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2011). 2

work of late pre-imperial and early imperial scribes that draws on information provided by manuscripts excavated from tombs and settlements sites as well as transmitted sources. In a third step I identify some Chinese tomb occupants as literate beings by relating writing paraphernalia yielded by their tombs to various kinds of manuscripts that were also buried with them.3 Finally, sociological and anthropological explanations of identity will help to demonstrate that among such archaeologically verified writers, scribes, as a distinct group, assumed a special position. I am not only going to argue that the actual ability to write is palpable through certain kinds of texts that were associated with writing paraphernalia, but that the ability to write was a crucial aspect of the self-representation of shǐ 史, “scribes.”4

LITERACY AND WRITING IN ANCIENT CHINA

In acquainting readers with his preferred definition of literacy, William V. Harris cites a UNESCO report on world literacy dating from 1977, according to which a person counts as illiterate when she / he “’cannot with understanding both read and write a short simple statement on [her /] his everyday life.’”5 Li and Branner oppose a straightforward equation of mere writing and reading skills, arguing more generally that literacy is “a phenomenon possessing multiple social extensions and serving multiple contexts within which it is meaningful and by which it can be measured.”6 On a more theoretical level, Walter Ong famously understood writing as the technologization of oral communication in the sense that the written word only conveys the content of spoken exchanges.7 Jan Assmann’s “cultural memory” concept transferred this perception into a broader

3 See, for instance, Marc Kalinowski, “Bibliothèques et archives funéraires de la Chine ancienne,” Comptes-rendus des séances de l'Académiedes Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 147.2 (2003): 889-927; Enno Giele, “Early Chinese Manuscripts, Including Addenda and Corrigenda to ‘New Sources of Early Chinese History: An Introduction to the Reading of Inscriptions and Manuscripts’,” Early China 23-24 (1998-1999): 247-337, esp. 306-28; and Enno Giele, “Database of Early Chinese Manuscripts,” http://www.dartmouth.edu/~earlychina/research-resources/databases/early- chinese-manuscripts.html (last accessed on December 26, 2015); Paul R. Goldin “Ancient Chinese Manuscripts: Bibliography of Materials in Western Languages,” http://www.sas.upenn.edu/ealc/paul-r-goldin (see headline “Resources;” last accessed on December 26, 2015). 4 A similar point was made for a scribe of the Twelfth Dynasty (1938-1756 BCE) in ancient Egypt; see R. B. Parkinson, Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry: Among Other Histories (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), pp. 127-37. 5 William V. Harris, Ancient Literacy (Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press, 1989), 3. 6 Li and Branner, Writing & Literacy, p. 5. 7 Walter J. Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. 30th Anniversary Edition with Additional Chapters by John Hartley (London, New York: Routledge, 2012), pp. 77-79. John Hartley, however, cautioned that orality does not take precedence over literacy, but that both modes of communication coexist; see his “After Ongism,” in Ong, Orality and Literacy, pp. 205-21, here 216. 3

historical context. Writing, he argued, is essential for any given culture to develop a collective memory (i.e. a collective identity) over time as texts are necessary to store and conserve relevant information. 8 Following Assmann’s line of reasoning, the emergence of a literate élite that maintained itself by writing and texts – in other words, the establishment of a central bureaucracy in ancient China – was both a reflection of and a driving force behind this hunger for collective memory.9

In short, ancient literacy and the importance of writing are quite complicated subjects. With regard to a single individual, literacy may very well be conceived as the ability to write and read short notes as William Harris remarked. Viewed from a broader perspective it is, however, easy to see that “simple statements” on personal daily experiences would not have sufficed to sustain complex late pre-imperial and early imperial Chinese societies. It is only prudent, then, not to fixate on a universally acceptable definition, but to acknowledge the fact that different degrees of literacy must be discerned. Harris, again, led the way by demarcating “scribal literacy” from “craftsman’s literacy.” The former denotes a group of specially trained writers who fulfilled essential duties in state administration, whereas the latter describes the extent of writing skills of artisans who were

8 Jan Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (München: Verlag C.H. Beck, 2007), p. 19. See also Poo Mu-chou, In Search of Personal Welfare: A View of Ancient Chinese Religion (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998), pp. 179-80; Michael Nylan, “Calligraphy, the Sacred Text and Test of Culture,” in Character & Context in Chinese Calligraphy, eds. Cary Y. Liu, Dora C.Y. Ching, and Judith G. Smith (Princeton: Princeton University Art Museum, 1999), pp. 16-77, here 42; Elzbieta Halas, “The Past in the Present: Lessons on Semiotics of History from George H. Mead and Boris A. Uspensky,” Symbolic Interaction 36.1 (2013): 60-77, here 68. 9 Jack Goody and Ian Watt, “The Consequences of Literacy,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 5.3 (1963): 304-45, here 314; also see Christopher Leigh Connery, The Empire of the Text: Writing and Authority in Early Imperial China (Lanham, Boulder, New York, and Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1998), esp. pp. 1, 11, 42, 44-45 (critically reviewed by Martin Kern in China Review International 7.2 (2000): 420-25); Mark Edward Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), esp. pp. 13-51 (extensively reviewed by Martin Kern, “Writing and Authority,” China Review International 7.2 (2000): 336-76; Michael Nylan, “Textual Authority in Pre-Han and Han,” Early China 25 (2000): 205-58); Poo, Personal Welfare, pp. 179-80; Nylan, “Calligraphy,” p. 19; Michael Nylan, “Toward an Archaeology of Writing: Text, Ritual, and the Culture of Public Display in the Classical Period (475 B.C.E.-220 C.E.),” in Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2007), pp. 3-49, here 7-8; Wang Aihe, Cosmology and Political Culture in Early China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 105. For a brief outline of the role of early imperial scribes (shǐ), see Robin D.S. Yates, “Introduction: The Empire of Scribes,” in Birth of an Empire: The State of Qin Revisited, eds. Yuri Pines, Lothar von Falkenhausen, Gideon Shelach and Robin D.S. Yates (Berkeley, London: University of California Press, 2014), p. 145. For a critical assessment of Goody and Watt’s arguments, see John Halverson, “Goody and the Implosion of the Literacy Thesis,” Man, N.S., 27.2 (1992): 301-17. For origins of bureaucratization in the period, see Li Feng “Literacy and the Social Contexts of Writing in the Western Zhou,” in Writing & Literacy in Early China: Studies from the Columbia Early China Seminar, eds. Li Feng and David Prager Branner (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2011), pp. 271-301, esp. 301. 4

required to furnish objects with inscriptions.10 The ability to write several characters and short, formulaic sentences would probably also fit the category of “rudimentary / bare literacy” proposed by Michael Nylan. In her scheme of three types of literacy, she posited an intermediate position between “numeracy” and “high cultural literacy,” i.e. the skill to correlate contents of various literary texts.11

Throughout this essay, I will adopt a basic understanding, one that takes the definition proposed by Harris and UNESCO as a guideline, since the act of writing and the ability to “put pen to paper” for a range of purposes was much more important to a certain group of people in early China than the expression of intellectual thought through writing.

Writers in Early China

Who, then, was writing during the late fifth through first centuries BCE? And, more to the point, who exploited mortuary rituals to showcase their writing skills? Any attempt to answer such questions cannot ignore the fact that all of our knowledge on the subject derives from two very distinct kinds of sources, each significantly limited in its own way: transmitted texts and archaeological data. In general, any text from the corpus of received literature necessarily presents a distorted picture as it was shaped by the intentions of one author or, more often than not, by several editors. The beliefs and ideas in a given text often represent one position in a broader, more diverse cultural dialogue that took place among contemporary authors. Selective textual readings by modern students of the field risks reducing those dialogues to the thoughts of the loudest voices remaining in written sources. On the other hand, archaeological evidence, and especially funerary data, is selective in the sense that only finds and features that the deceased and bereaved deemed

10 Harris, Ancient Literacy, pp. 7-8; also see Poo, Personal Welfare, pp. 181-2; Anthony J. Barbieri-Low, “Craftsman’s Literacy: Uses of Writing by Male and Female Artisans in Qin and Han China,” in Writing & Literacy in Early China: Studies from the Columbia Early China Seminar, eds. Li Feng and David Prager Branner (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2011), pp. 370-99, esp. 373; Anthony J. Barbieri-Low, Artisans in Early Imperial China (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2007), pp. 63-66. 11 Michael Nylan, Yang Xiong and the Pleasures of Reading and Classical Learning in China (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 2011), p. 50, n. 73. For detailed discussions of various kinds of literacies, see Rosalind Thomas, “The Origins of Western Literacy: Literacy in Ancient Greece and Rome,” in The Cambridge Handbook of Literacy, eds. David R. Olson and Nancy Torrance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 346-61, esp. 356-58. On the relation of literacy and numeracy, see Stephen Chrisomalis, “The Origins and Co-Evolution of Literacy and Numeracy,” in The Cambridge Handbook of Literacy, eds. David R. Olson and Nancy Torrance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 59-74. 5

indispensable were incorporated into burial rites. Ceremonial actions lacking physical manifestations in or around tombs are a priori intangible to archaeologists. As prescriptive rather than descriptive texts, the so-called Three Rites Canons (Liji 禮記, Yili 儀禮, and Zhouli 周禮) are anything but reliable sources in this regard. In addition, due to happenstance of preservation or human interference, we are often unable to learn the extent of finds and features that originally constituted a tomb (e.g. mounds, shrines etc.). More particularly, although the authors and editors of philosophical, historiographical, and other kinds of texts were, of course, capable of writing, we cannot expect them to reflect upon general matters of literacy just because we, as scholars, are prone to do so by professional disposition. Likewise, we cannot expect tombs to contain indicators of literacy unless they were vital to the burial ritual. Thus, one will inevitably have to deal with piecemeal information regardless of whether one chooses to work with written or archaeological evidence, or both.

In received literature and secondary scholarship alike, literate men are often subsumed under the generic term shì 士 (“gentlemen”) without much regard for differing fields of expertise. Usually the word shì is used as a collective phrase for an emerging class of literate people who came to dominate the political and intellectual scene by the end of the pre-imperial era.12 Scattered passages of transmitted literature also informed assertions that physicians, diviners, and even runners and butchers were literate, albeit to varying degrees.13 More substantial information on groups of writers beside the shì is considerably harder to grasp as it is mostly encrypted in archaeological evidence. Nevertheless, a basic knowledge of writing has long been inferred for some kinds of ancient Chinese artisans, but was only recently substantiated by a systematic analysis of a still rather small sample of inscriptions found on large-scale pottery tomb figurines, vessels, and stone tomb slabs.14 Moreover, clues have been gathered that indicate basic writing skills for soldiers and sometimes women.15

12 See, for instance, Connery, The Empire of the Text, pp. 79-109; Yuri Pines, Envisioning Eternal Empire: Chinese Political Thought of the Warring States Era (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2009), pp. 115-84; 210-14; Yu Yingshi 余英時, Shi yu zhongguo wenhua 士與中國文化 (Shanghai: Renmin chubanshe, 1987). 13 Poo, Personal Welfare, p. 180. 14 Poo, Personal Welfare, p. 181; Barbieri-Low, “Craftsman’s Literacy,” pp. 370-99. 15 Robin D.S. Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women: Literacy among the Lower Orders in Early China,” in Writing & Literacy in Early China: Studies from the Columbia Early China Seminar, eds. Li Feng and David Prager Branner (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2011), pp. 339-69, esp. 360-67; also see Ji Annuo 紀安諾 (Enno Giele), “Handai biansai beiyong shuxie cailiao jiqi shehuishi yiyi” 漢代邊塞備用書寫材料及其社會史意義, Jianbo 6

The lack of clearly defined information on literacy either in received sources or archaeological data has inescapably spawned controversies over early Chinese literacy rates. Mark Edward Lewis and Robin Yates, for instance, endorsed the view that the ability to write was relatively common, even among lower members of society. Michael Nylan rejects their arguments because, on the one hand, Lewis and Yates were not “paying due attention to the existence of oral commands and scriveners” and, on the other hand, they were not “distinguishing sufficiently between bare literacy and numeracy (such as might be found among low-ranking army conscripts) and high cultural literacy (such as would have been required by high-ranking officials at the Han court);” nor were Lewis and Yates “separating ’reading and writing’ from ‘composition’.”16 Nylan’s standards for evaluating literacy may be too high, however, considering that the extent and contents of oral traditions as well as reading habits are largely lost to us; we will never be able to collect a significant body of data against which the occasional evidence of actual writing skills could be measured. In addition, although her distinction between numeracy, rudimentary literacy, and high cultural literacy is very well taken, it will not always be easy or possible to neatly separate numeracy from bare literacy when one is bound to interpret highly selective sources. Unnoted by many, Poo Mu- chou subtly reconciled these positions. To his mind, at least bare literacy was widespread in late Warring States (475-221 BCE) through Han China (206 BCE-220 CE), since members across numerous social strata, i.e. the above mentioned shì, artisan, diviners, butchers etc., were able to write (and read). Conversely, the absolute number of fully literate people was quite low, particularly among the lower echelons of society.17

THE MANY MEANINGS OF THE CONCEPT “SCRIBE” (shǐ 史)

Late Pre-imperial and Early Imperial Scribes and their Training

However scarce information on certain categories of literate people or the general literacy rate may be, one group of literate individuals stands out: the so-called “scribes” (shǐ). The fact that received

簡帛 2 (2007): 475-94; and Michael Loewe, Records of Han Administration, Vol. I: Historical Assessment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), pp. 28-47. 16 Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” p. 340; Lewis, Writing and Authority; Nylan, Yang Xiong, p. 49, n. 69. On the significance of orality in scribal work in other early cultures, see, for instance, Raymond F. Person, Jr., “The Ancient Israelite Scribe as Performer,” Journal of Biblical Literature 117.4 (1998): 601-609; A.N. Doane, “The Ethnography of Scribal Writing and Anglo-Saxon Poetry: Scribe as Performer,” Oral Tradition 9.2 (1994): 420-39. 17 Poo, Personal Welfare, pp. 181-82. 7

and archaeological sources for once provide almost lavish information renders such writers ideal subjects for closer scrutiny. Unsurprisingly, shǐ (or their modern Chinese equivalents shiguan 史 官, “historiographers”) have long been a favorite subject of academic discourse, above all in mainland China and Taiwan. Yet, a coherent synthesis of the sum of connotations of the word based on transmitted and archaeological evidence is still missing.18 In the following discussion I attempt just such a summary of what we know about the word shǐ from all of the available evidence.

Ordinarily, the character shǐ is rendered “scribe, historian,” or “clerk, archivist” and “secretary.” Without further chronological specification, such translations can be somewhat misleading as they imply that writing was the most essential aspect of the position. Quite the opposite was true as many studies of (c. 1600-1045 BCE) oracle bone inscriptions, Western and Eastern Zhou (1045-221 BCE) bronze inscriptions, and received texts mostly dating from the pre-imperial period have demonstrated. The graph shǐ first appeared in Late Shang-period (c. 1200-1045 BCE) oracle bone inscriptions where it might be understood as some kind of envoy. Moreover, it was part of the compound dashi 大史 (“great scribe”) describing a person who fulfilled ritual tasks, but also the name of a specific ritual.19 Similar observations have been made for Western Zhou (1045- 771 BCE) bronze inscriptions. A number of these depict the shǐ as “the most powerful ritualist and minister in the king’s service.” In this capacity, the post holder directed and personally led military operations, acted as an envoy, and was responsible for the execution of the most significant state rituals. More importantly, the Western Zhou shǐ “was a ritualist, an official whose ‘service’ was

18 For instance, several volumes of Zhongguo shi xue shi lun wenxuanji 中國史學史論文選集, edited by Du Weiyun 杜維運 and Huang Jinxing 黃進興 and others appeared in the late 1970s and early 1980s (Taibei: Huashi chubanshe). More recent publications on early shǐ and shiguan include Niu Runzhen 牛潤珍, Han zhi Tang shiguan zhidu de yanbian 漢至唐初史官制度的演變 (Shijiazhuang: jiaoyu chubanshe, 1999), and Zhaochang 許兆昌, Zhou dai shiguan wenhua: qianzhou xinqi hexin wenhua xingtai yanjiu 周代史官文化: 前軸心期核心文化形態研究 (Changchun: Jilin daxue chubanshe, 2001). Neither these book-length studies, nor individual papers specifically devoted to the subject deal with the archaeological evidence of Qin and Han period shǐ that has come to light in several tombs since the late 1970s; except for occasional references to oracle bone and bronze inscriptions, they rely exclusively on transmitted literature such as the Zuozhuan 左傳 and Shiji 史記. For respective papers, see Chen Jiren 陳集忍 and Shao Bin 邵斌, “Gudai shiguan yu Qin dang’an shiliao gailüe” 古代史官與先秦檔案史料概略, Guizhou minzu xueyuan xuebao 貴州民族學院學報 1990.3: 56-62, and Lin Xiaoping 林曉平, “Chunqiu Zhanguo shiqi shiguan zhize yu shi xue zhuantong” 春秋戰國時期史官職責與史學傳統, Shixue lilun yanjiu 史學理論研究 2003.1: 59-69; for additional references, see Joachim Gentz, Das : Auslegung und Kanonisierung der Frühlings- und Herbstannalen (Chunqiu) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2001), p. 9, n. 33. 19 Kai Vogelsang, “The Scribes’ Genealogy,” OE 44 (2003-2004): 3-10, here 4-5; Kai Vogelsang, Geschichte als Problem: Entstehung, Formen und Funktionen von Geschichtsschreibung im Alten China (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2007), pp. 21-30. Also see, for instance, Ding Bo 丁波, “Shang dai de wu yu shi guan” 商代的巫與史官, Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan Yanjiu Shengyuan Xuebao 中國社會科學院研究生院學報 2003.4: 116-20, esp. 118- 19, and Niu Runzhen, Han zhi Tang chu shiguan, pp. 4-6. 8

essentially of a religious nature.”20 Kai Vogelsang has pointed out that in Zhanguo texts such as the Guoyu 國語 (Discourses of the States) and Zuozhuan 左傳 (Tradition of Zuo) the term is not mentioned once. In the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu 春秋), the very text the Zuozhuan comments on, the shǐ’s range of tasks widened. Apart from the familiar military and ritual functions, shǐ now advised rulers, consulted oracles, and attained the role of astronomers. They were even pictured as writers in charge of legal documents (orders, mandates, or wills). Simultaneously, the appellations of shǐ diversified. The sources, for instance, discern zhushi 祝史 (“scribe of invocations”), shishi 筮史 (“scribe of milfoil divination”), zuoshi 左史 (“assisting scribe”) and jishi 祭史 (“scribe of sacrifices”).21 An even more elaborate scheme of various shǐ posts and concomitant duties was developed in the prescriptive and idealizing Zhouli (Rituals of Zhou).22 Given the complexity of secular tasks coupled with religious duties during the eighth through third centuries BCE, statements claiming that initially “religious scribes” turned into “bureaucratic scribes” are indeed oversimplifying the matter.23

The exact duties of scribes active in the last years of the Qin period (256-206 BCE) and the early imperial phase may not be entirely clear to the last detail,24 but some insights can be gained from received literature, manuscript finds at settlement sites as well as tombs and manuscripts contained therein. To be clear, during the Qin and Han dynasties, no formal office identified by the solitary character shǐ existed. The simple “scribe” known from primary sources and secondary scholarship is merely a catch-all expression referring to literate men who were believed to have served as low-ranking officials. Actual posts were always denoted by composite terms in the manner mentioned above: zhushi, shishi, etc. The Rituals of Zhou (Zhouli), for example, relates

20 Constance C. Cook, “Scribes, Cooks, and Artisans: Breaking Zhou Tradition,” Early China 20 (1995): 241-77; here 250; 253. On various functions of shǐ in Western Zhou bronze inscriptions, see Vogelsang, “The Scribes’ Genealogy,” p. 5; Vogelsang, Geschichte als Problem, pp. 30-47. 21 Vogelsang, “The Scribes’ Genealogy,” pp. 6-7; also see Vogelsang, Geschichte als Problem, pp. 47-87; Lin Xiaoping, “Chunqiu Zhanguo shiqi shiguan zhize,” pp. 61-62; Chen Hanpin 陳漢平, Xi Zhou ceming zhidu yanjiu 西 周册命制度研究 (Shanghai: Xinhua Shudian, 1986), pp. 119-30. 22 See, for instance, Xu Zhaochang, Zhou dai shiguan wenhua, pp. 38-78; Martin Kern, “Offices of Writing and Reading in the Rituals of Zhou,” in Statecraft and Classical Learning: The Rituals of Zhou in East Asian History, eds. Benjamin A. Elman and Martin Kern (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2009), pp. 65-93, esp. 69-81. In an earlier paper, Martin Kern, moreover, analyzed the role of Western Zhou scribes in relation to bronze inscriptions; see his “The Performance of Writing in Western Zhou China,” in The Poetics of Grammar and the Metaphysics of Sound and Sign, eds. S. La Porta and D. Shulman (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2007), pp. 109-75. 23 Achim Mittag, “The Qin Bamboo Annals of Shuihudi: A Random Note from the Perspective of Chinese ,” MS 51 (2003): 543-70, here 558. 24 Enno Giele, “Signatures of ‘Scribes’ in Early Imperial China,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 59.1 (2005): 353-87, here 382. 9

forty-two offices to various kinds of shǐ and, by extension, to writing (and reading).25 However, the Zhouli is likely a fourth through third century BCE product that projects a perfect administrative system back to the Western Zhou (ca. 1046-771 BCE).26 These idealized descriptions of scribes and their respective duties put them in charge of fiscal, military, or administrative affairs and see them engaged in astrological inquiries.27 If we are to believe ’s 司馬遷 (c. 145-86 BCE) Shiji 史記 (Records of the Historian), a reputedly ordinary shǐ by the name of Kuan Shu 寬舒 was not only well versed in the occult arts, but even lent advice to Han Wudi (r. 141-87 BCE).28

Recording governmental business or official communication was but one aspect of a scribe’s job description. Examining the office of taishi ling 太史令 and the careers of its two most prominent occupants, Sima Tan 司馬談 (d. 110 BCE) and Sima Qian, helps to further elucidate the point. Miscellaneous English translations of the title taishi or taishi ling circulate in secondary studies, “Grand Scribe, Grand Historian,” or “Grand Astrologer” being the most popular suggestions. In contrast to the first and second proposal, the very last rendering already hints at tasks one would not necessarily associate with a scribe at first glance. Dorothee Schaab-Hanke pursued the actual contents of Sima Tan and Sima Qian’s day-to-day work and concluded that a considerably younger account recorded in the Hou Hanshu 後漢書 () was right on target. Accordingly, the taishi ling was

responsible for the [fixing of the beginnings of the] seasons and for the calendar of the stars. Toward the end of the year, he submits the new annual calendar to the throne. For state ceremonials, such as sacrifices, burials or marriages, he is responsible for submitting to the throne the auspicious days and those to be avoided. In case there are portents, such as calamities or unusual events, he is responsible to record them.

25 Kern, “Offices of Writing and Reading,” p. 69; for different shǐ mentioned in excavated manuscripts, see Giele, “Signatures of ‘Scribes’,” p. 367; for scribes in Eastern Han administration, see Enno Giele, Imperial Decision-Making and Communication in Early China: A Study of ’s Duduan (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2006), pp. 56- 66. 26 William G. Boltz, “Chou li,” in Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley: The Society for the Study of Early China, The Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 1993), pp. 24-32, here 24-25, and Michael Nylan, The Five “Confucian” Classics (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 2001), p. 175. For arguments that suggest a specifically (221-206 BCE) date, see David Schaberg, “The Zhouli as Constitutional Text,” in Statecraft and Classical Learning: The Rituals of Zhou in East Asian History, eds. Benjamin A. Elman and Martin Kern (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2009), pp. 33-63, esp. 39; on this particular date and its relation to the contents of the Zhouli, also see Kern, “Offices of Writing and Reading,” p. 68. 27 Kern, “Offices of Writing and Reading,” pp. 77-80. 28 Sima Qian 司馬遷, Shiji 史記 (: Zhonghua shuju, 1959) 12, p. 455; Shiji 28, p. 1386. 10

The Grand Scribe’s authority lay in adjusting the calendar and divination. Also tasked with documenting portents, his writing abilities were of secondary importance. Schaab-Hanke compared the Western Han taishi ling to shamans and sorcerers, as he “seems to have applied his knowledge about phenomena in the heavens to practical needs on earth, such as warding off the enemy who inhabited a certain area on earth by pointing with the spear of Taiyi toward the corresponding position in the sky, a practice similar to voodoo.”29 It is well known by now that when Sima Tan and Sima Qian compiled the Shiji, they only “moonlighted” as historians; their primary duties lay with fixing the calendar and divination.

A connection between scribes and divination emerges in other places as well. The prescriptive Liji mentions shǐ and diviners (bu 卜) side by side in two instances. In ancient times, we are told, “diviners fixed the turtle shells and scribes put [the outcome] down in ink” (bu ren ding gui, shi ding 卜人定龜，史定墨). Both parties apparently were involved in the divination process.30 Another passage counts scribes and diviners, along with invocators (zhu 祝), charioteers (yu 御), archers (she 射), and physicians (yi 醫) among the “hundred artisans” (bai gong 百工).31 Turning from received to excavated texts, the picture does not change all that much. Fourteen bamboo slips yielded by Tomb No. 247 at Zhangjiashan 張家山 in Hubei 湖北 province (dated somewhere between 221 and 141 BCE) gave us the “Statutes [on the Education of] Scribes” (Shi lü 史律). The ink inscription on slip no. 474 is enlightening in several respects:

史，卜子年十七歲學。史，卜，祝學童學三歲，學佴將詣大史，大卜，大祝，郡史學童詣其守，皆會 八月朔日試之。(slip 474)

At the age of seventeen, the sons of scribes, diviners [and invocators?] study [the same skills as their fathers]. Student scribes, diviners, and invocators study for three years. Afterwards, their study tutors will take them to pay a formal visit to the Grand Scribe, the Grand Diviner, or the Grand Invocator; commandery scribal students pay a formal visit to their [respective] governor. All of the students are to assemble on the first day of the eighth month to be tested.32

29 Dorothee Schaab-Hanke, “The Power of an Alleged Tradition: A Prophecy Flattering Han Emperor Wu and its Relation to the Sima Clan,” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 74 (2002): 243-90, here 259; 263. 30 Another Liji passage describes shǐ simply as “keepers of [bamboo / wooden] slip records” (zhi jian ji 執簡記); see Kong Yingda 孔潁達, Liji zhengyi 禮記正義 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2008) 39, p. 1187; 19, p. 562. 31 Kong Yingda, Liji zhengyi 19, p. 553; also see Geoffrey Lloyd and Nathan Sivin, The Way and the Word: Science and Medicine in Early China and Greece (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002), p. 21. 32 Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 張家山二四七號漢墓竹簡小組, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian (ersiqihao mu) 張家山漢墓竹簡 (二四七號墓) (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 2001), pp. 46 and 203; Jingzhou 11

Again, scribes, diviners, in addition to invocators are treated in one fell swoop. All three professions were inheritable. In each instance, job training began at the age of seventeen; it lasted three years and culminated in an official exam. Although subsequent sections of the Shi lü incorporate limited information on different curricula for scribes, diviners, and invocators, the parallel progression of their education and ensuing career stages is striking.33 Of course the duties of scribes were not entirely congruent with the task of invocators and diviners; nevertheless the fact that these three vocations, and especially scribes and diviners, frequently were related to each other in prescriptive texts, historiography, and an excavated legal document suggests that they shared some tasks. As will be discussed in more detail below, the majority of shǐ surely had a working knowledge of divination practices. This argument is further strengthened by finds recovered from four additional tombs (d. late third century BCE through early first century CE), whose single male occupants – similar to the man buried in Zhangjiashan No. 247 – were accompanied by official administrative and / or legal texts as well as divinatory manuscripts. Various kinds of writing paraphernalia were also part of the respective assemblages of grave goods at these sites (table 1).34

With a mathematical text complementing the array of manuscripts in Zhangjiashan No. 247, asserting a certain level of arithmetic proficiency in a scribe, as several scholars have done,35 appears reasonable. For administrative affairs to run smoothly, proper records needed to be kept. Moreover, a taishi ling probably would have had a hard time fixing the calendar without some

Diqu Bowuguan 湖北省荊州博物館, “Jiangling Zhangjiashan san zuo Han mu chutu dapi zhujian” 江陵張家山三座 漢墓出土大批竹簡, Wenwu 文物 1985.1: 1-8. For slightly different translations, see Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” p. 349, and Anthony J. Barbieri-Low and Robin D.S. Yates, Law, State, and Society in Early Imperial China: A Study with Critical Edition and Translation of the Legal Texts from Zhangjiashan Tomb No. 247 (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2015), p. 1093. 33 See Yates “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” pp. 350-57. 34 The fact that writing paraphernalia frequently coincided with manuscripts has also been mentioned by Ethan Richard Harkness, “Cosmology and the Quotidian: Day Books in Early China,” PhD Dissertation, University of Chicago, 2011, p. 40. 35 See, for instance, by Lloyd and Sivin, The Way and the Word, p. 26; Yates “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” p. 352; and Wu Fuzhu 吳福助, Shuihudi Qin jian lun kao 睡虎地秦簡論考 (Taibei: Wenjin chubanshe, 1994), p. 150. The mathematical text is called Writings on Calculations and Numbers (Suan shu shu 算數書); see Christopher Cullen, The Suan shu shu 算數書 ‘Writings on Reckoning:’ A Translation of a Chinese Mathematical Collection of the Second Century BC, with Explanatory Commentary (Cambridge: Needham Research Institute Working Papers 1, 2004), and Joseph W. Dauben, “算數書 Suan Shu Shu: A Book on Numbers and Computations, English Translation with Commentary,” Archive for History of Exact Sciences 62.2 (2008): 91-178; Peng Hao 彭浩, Zhangjiashan Han jian ‘Suan shu shu’ zhushi 張家山漢簡《算數書》註釋 (Beijing: Kexue chubanshe, 2001); Karine Chemla and Ma Biao, “Interpreting a Newly Discovered Mathematical Document Written at the Beginning of in China (before 157 B.C.E.) and Excavated from Tomb M77 at Shuihudi,” Sciamvs: Sources and Commentaries in Exact Sciences 12 (2011): 159-91. 12

mathematical skills. Supplementary archaeological data that has been overlooked by previous studies lends support to this assumption. One of the four tombs just mentioned, Shuihudi 睡虎地 No. 77, brought to light Western Han statutes and divinatory Day Books (Rishu 日書) in combination with a manuscript entitled The Art of Calculation (Suan shu 算術) as well as a brush and an ink stone.36 One could even go so far as to attest some degree of medical expertise for early Chinese shǐ. After all, Zhangjiashan Tomb No. 247 contained documents headlined Writings on the Channels (Mai shu 脈書) and Pulling Book (Yin shu 引書). Both works are concerned with so- called “nurturing life” (yangsheng 養生) techniques.37 A second yangsheng text surfaced from Tomb No. 136 / 336 (dated ca. 173-167 BCE), also located at Zhangjiashan cemetery.38 Only a few miles southwest, Tomb No. 30 at Zhoujiatai 周家台 cemetery (dated 209 BCE) contained the Methods [for Curing] Ailments (Bing fang 病方), which conveys various remedies and prophylactic measures (including occasional incantations) to cure and prevent a number of illnesses and afflictions. In addition, the thirty-to-forty-year-old occupant was accompanied by some

36 Hubei sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo 湖北省文物考古研究所 and Yunmeng xian Bowuguan 雲夢縣博物館, “Hubei Yunmeng Shuihudi M77 fajue jianbao” 湖北雲夢睡虎地 M77 發掘簡報, Jiang Han kaogu 江漢考古 2008.4: 31-37, esp. 35; Peng Hao 彭浩, “Du Yunmeng Shuihudi M77 Han jian ‘Zang lü’” 讀雲夢睡虎地 M77 漢簡《葬律》, Jiang Han kaogu 2009.4: 130-34. 37 Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, pp. 113-28; 169-86. Also see He Youzu 何有祖, “Zhangjiashan Han jian ‘Mai shu,’ ‘Suan shu shu’ zhaji” 張家山墓簡《脈書》,《算數書》 札記, Jiang Han kaogu 2007.1: 91-93; Vivienne Lo, “The Influence of Nurturing Life Culture on the Development of Western Han Acumoxa Therapy,” in Innovation in Chinese Medicine, ed. Elisabeth Hsu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 19-50; Vivienne Lo, “Spirit of Stone: Technical Considerations in the Treatment of the Jade Body,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 65.1 (2002): 99-128; Zhangjiashan Han Jian Zhenglizu 張家山漢簡整理, “Zhangjiashan Han jian ‘Yin shu’ shi wen” 張家山漢簡《引書》釋文, Wenwu 1990.10: 82-86; Peng Hao 彭浩, “Zhangjiashan Han jian ‘Yin shu’ chutan” 張家山漢簡《引書》初探, Wenwu 1990.10: 87- 91; Donald Harper, “The Bellows Analogy in Laozi V and Warring States Macrobiotic Hygiene,” Early China 20 (1995): 381-91; Ute Engelhardt, “Daoyin tu and Yinshu: Neue Erkenntnisse über die Übungen zur Lebenspflege in der Frühen Han-Zeit,” MS 49 (2001): 213-26, esp. 215-17. 38 Jingzhou Diqu Bowuguan 湖北省荊州博物館, “Jiangling Zhangjiashan liang zuo Han mu chutu dapi zhujian” 江 陵張家山兩座漢墓出土大批竹簡, Wenwu 1992.9: 1-11, esp. 4; Cao Lüning 曹旅宁, “Zhangjiashan 336 hao Han mu ‘Gong ling’ de jige wenti” 張家山 336 號漢墓《功令》的幾個問題, Shixue jikan 史學集刊 2012.1: 64-67 and 85. 13

administrative documents as well as divinatory Day Books and charts.39 The latter, in turn, were often concerned with medical issues.40

In sum, the notion of the scribe in the sense of an official post or a formal vocation that was exclusively concerned with writing does not fit the evidence presented above very well. It is preferable to understand the late pre-imperial and early imperial shǐ as a person in official employ who was trained in writing, but who also was required to be familiar with divinatory, occult practices, basic arithmetic procedures, and some medicine. A more thorough analysis of their specific duties follows in the subsequent subsection.

Now that the most basic features of scribal work during the third through first centuries BCE have been worked out, let us probe a little deeper into the process of scribal education. The Shi lü passage cited previously has already disclosed that sons inherited the right to train as shǐ from their fathers. Similar to other duties discussed earlier, this custom dated back at least to the early ninth century BCE.41 The phrasing of the Shi lü text leaves room for speculation though. Were only sons of scribes following in the footsteps of their fathers, or were newcomers allowed into scribal training as well? An excavated legal manuscript entitled Miscellaneous [Statutes on the Affairs of the] Ministry of Finance (Neishi za 內史雜) provides a convincing explanation. This text, however, did not surface from Zhangjiashan No. 247, but rather from Shuihudi Tomb No. 11 (dated 217 BCE). The document could not make a more definitive statement:

非史子(殹)也，毋敢學學室。 犯令者有罪。(slip 191)

[Individuals] that are not the sons of scribes must not venture to study [this trade] in schools [specializing in scribal education]. Those who violate this ordinance are committing a crime.42

39 Hubei sheng Jingzhou shi Zhouliang Yuqiao Yizhi Bowuguan 湖北省荊州市周梁玉橋遺址博物館, “Guanju Qin Han Mu qingli jianbao” 關沮秦漢墓清理簡報, Wenwu 1999.6: 26-47, esp. 26-32. For the Bing fang manuscript, see Hubei sheng Jingzhou shi Zhouliang Yuqiao Yizhi Bowuguan 湖北省荊州市周梁玉橋遺址博物館, Guanju Qin Han mu jiandu 關沮秦漢墓簡牘 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2001), pp. 48-50 and 126-31; table 1. 40 See, for instance, Yang Hua 楊華, “Chutu rishu yu Chu di de jibing zhanbu” 出土日書與楚地的疾病占卜, Wuhan daxue xuebao (Renwen kexueban) 武漢大學學報 (人文科學版) 56.5 (2003): 564-70; Donald Harper, “Physicians and Diviners.” 41 Adam Daniel Smith, “Writing at Anyang: The Role of the Divination Record in the Emergence of Chinese Literacy,” PhD Dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles, 2008, pp. 25-26; Lothar von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of (1000-250 BC): The Archaeological Evidence (Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California Los Angeles, 2006), pp. 56-73; Kern, “The Performance of Writing,” pp. 167-71. 42 Xiaogan Diqu Dierqi Yigong Yinong Wenwu Kaogu Xunlianban 孝感地區第二期亦工亦農文物考古工作人員訓 練班, “Hubei Yunmeng Shuihudi shiyihao Qin mu fajue jianbao” 湖北雲夢睡虎地十一號秦墓發掘簡報, Wenwu 14

At this point, becoming a shǐ was indeed the privilege of sons of scribes. The very existence of such legislation indicates that external candidates did try to enter the field as well. Be that as it may, we know from the Zhangjiashan statute that legitimate students were seventeen years old when they exercised their right to enroll in school. With regards to the question of eligibility, another Miscellaneous [Statutes on the Affairs of the] Ministry of Finance entry gains importance:

下吏能書者，毋敢從史之事。(slip 192)

Low officials who are able to write must not venture to carry out the duties of scribes.43

Low-ranking officials who may have had some writing skills, but were not certified as scribes – let alone appointed as such – were not allowed to perform the latter’s tasks. How important formal training was for aspiring scribes is visible in another Shi lü section:

【試】史學童以十五篇，能風（諷）書五千字以上，乃得為史。有（又）以八𦡊（體）試之，郡移其 八𦡊（體）課大史，大史誦課，取㝡（最）一人以為其縣令史，殿者勿以為史。 … (slips 475-476)

Test scribal students on the basis of the Fifteen Chapters. In case they are able to recite and write more than 5,000 characters, they are ready to be appointed as scribes. The scribal students are also to be tested on the eight forms [of written graphs]. Commanderies send the results of their exams on the eight forms [of written graphs] to [the office of the] Grand Scribe. The Grand Scribe reads the results out loud and selects the best candidates to be appointed Directing Scribe (lingshi 令史) of their respective counties. Those who fell short [of expectations] must not be appointed as scribes.44

1976.6: 1-10; Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin Mu Bianxiezu 雲夢睡虎地秦墓編寫組, Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin mu 雲夢睡虎 地秦墓 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1981), esp. pp. 7-8, and 12-25. For the Neishi za passage quoted above, see Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 睡虎地秦墓竹簡整理小組, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian 睡虎地秦墓竹簡 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1990), p. 63; Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 睡虎地秦墓竹簡整理小組, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian 睡虎地秦墓竹簡 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1978), pp. 106-7; A.F.P. Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in Law: An Annotated Translation of the Ch’in Legal and Administrative Rules of the 3rd Century B.C. Discovered in Yün-meng Prefecture, Hu-pei Province, in 1975 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1985), pp. 87-88 (A101); Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” pp. 346-48. 43 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 63; Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 107; Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in Law, p. 88 (A102). Although without providing references, the spread of private literacy has obviously been taken for granted by Xiao Shengzhong, “Zhongguo jingdian shidai de shuxie zaiti: Hubei chutu Zhanguo Qin Han jiandu de zhongyao jiezhi” 中國經典時代 的書寫載體: 湖北出土戰國秦漢簡牘的重要价值, in Shu xie lishi 書寫歷史, ed. Hubei sheng Bowuguan 湖北省博 物館 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 2007), pp. 12-19, here 14. 44 Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, pp. 46 and 203. Barbieri- Low and Yates, Law, State, and Society, p. 1093, and Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” pp. 350-53 offer slightly alternate and extensively annotated translations. For somewhat different stipulations, see Ban 班固, Hanshu 漢書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962) 30, p. 1721. 15

Only those trainee scribes who lived up to the government standards of writing and reciting 5,000 graphs eventually made it into office.45 The rest were yet again excluded from the scribal trade. It has been debated whether the curriculum really required students to learn 5,000 different characters, but a careful analysis of the available information has led Robin Yates to conclude that they were more likely acquainted with 2,500 to 3,500 characters.46 Nevertheless the fact remains: scribes were accomplished writers (not authors) by the end of their training. Despite having gone through all that trouble, some graduates were determined to take a different career path after leaving school, a choice that the imperial administration apparently was keen to prevent:

不入史、卜、祝者，罰金四兩，學佴二兩。(slip 480)

Those [graduate] scribes, diviners, and invocators who do not assume a post are fined four liang of gold (ca. 61.4 grams); their tutors [are fined] two liang (ca. 30.7 grams).47

There are at least three ways to interpret this Shi lü excerpt. The first and more obvious reading would be that the legislative body simply did not want to see resources squandered. A hefty fine of more than sixty grams of gold, which would roughly correlate with 2,304 cash (qian 錢),48 was intended to encourage prospective graduates to think twice about quitting the field. Placing a burden of over thirty grams of gold on failed tutors ought to be understood as a deterrence. It was not enough to foster the practical abilities of their students; teachers were expected to instill the correct attitude in them as well. Enjoying the privilege of working as a scribe was not simply a matter of mastering script and reading. It was also a state of mind. A second and less conspicuous reason might have been diminishing resources in more general terms. The empire could ill afford to lose competent personnel. For instance, amidst the more than 36,000 Qin administrative

45 On reading and reciting in scribal training, see Wolfgang Behr and Bernhard Führer, “Einführende Notizen zum Lesen in China mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der Frühzeit,” in Aspekte des Lesens in China in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart: Referate der Jahrestagung 2001 der Deutschen Vereinigung für Chinastudien (DVCS), ed. Bernhard Führer (Bochum: Projekt Verlag, 2005), pp. 1-42, here 16, 18; Wu Fuzhu, Shuihudi Qin jian lun kao, p. 151. 46 Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” pp. 351-53; also see Kern, “Offices of Writing and Reading,” pp. 72-75. 47 Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, pp. 46 and 203. Barbieri- Low and Yates, Law, State, and Society, p. 1093, and Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” pp. 350-53 offer a slightly alternate and extensively annotated translation. 48 Although based on materials that predate the Zhangjiashan finds by approximately one hundred years, Yu Zhenbo’s 于振波 analysis of Qin period fines gives at least a vague idea of the relative monetary value of fines expressed in the weight of gold. Among the third century BCE legal manuscripts housed at the Yuelu academy Yu found statements that correlated one liang 兩 (weight unit) with twenty-four zhu 銖 (weight unit) and one zhu with twenty-four qian (coins / cash). See his “Qin lü zhong de jiadun bijia ji xiangguan wenti” 秦律中的甲盾比價及相關問題 , Shixue jikan 史學集刊 2010.5: 36-38, here 37; consequently: 24 liang x 24 zhu x 24 qian = 2,304 qian. Working off their debt at a rate of six cash per day would have taken the graduates 384 days. 16

documents salvaged from a well at Liye 里耶 in western Hunan province (dated 222-209 BCE; about half of them showed no signs of inscriptions) one laments that “stationary officials are too few to take care of [government] affairs” (居吏少不足給事).49 And third, scribal school graduates who did not want to become embedded in imperial bureaucracy might have used their writing skills in illegal activities. The legal texts unearthed at Shuihudi and Zhangjiashan contained several stipulations that deal with the forging of official correspondence.50 In addition to being competent writers, scribal school graduates were familiar with administrative procedures. They had perfect knowledge of the contents, design, and ways of transmission of administrative documents. For instance, it would have been fairly easy for them to falsify any kind of communication between local offices or even an imperial edict. Thus, statutes concerned with forgeries as well as the Shi lü passage quoted above were not only geared towards scribes in office, but were also meant to discourage trained, yet unemployed scribes from unlawfully interfering with government affairs. The preceding arguments have demonstrated that all of the statutes were geared towards one single goal: the training of efficient, highly qualified, dedicated, and loyal scribes. After all, accurate management of the empire was the sole purpose of bureaucracy.

In order to achieve a satisfying level of performance the entire administrative machine needed to work well together. It was essential to the success of the empire that the common form(s) of script were decipherable in the capital as well as the periphery. Modern scholarship, however, still disagrees on the subject of orthography. Was the issue of varying forms of graphs truly resolved with the First Emperor’s (Qin Shihuandi 秦始皇帝) alleged unification of the script? Did all scribes of the newly established empire draw from a standardized set of graphs as it has been accepted for many years? In reality, writers often used different characters to denote the same word as pronunciation apparently took precedence over written form.51 The fact that paleographers are able

49 Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo 湖南省文物考古研究所, Liye Qin jian (yi) 里耶秦簡 (壹) (Beijng: Wenwu chubanshe, 2012), p. 22, pl. 46 (slip 8-197, recto); Chen 陳偉, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi (di yi juan) 里耶秦简牍校 释 (第一卷) (Wuhan: Wuhan daxue chubanshe, 2012), p. 109; Robin D.S. Yates, “The Qin Slips and Boards from Well No. 1, Liye, Hunan: A Brief Introduction to the Qin Qianling County Archives,” Early China 35 (2013): 291- 329. 50 Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, pp. 134-35 (slips 9, 10, 12, 13); Barbieri-Low and Yates, Law, State, and Society, p. 392-95; Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 106-107 (slips 55-59); Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 175-76; Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in Law, pp. 135-36 (D44-47). 51 Imre Galambos, Orthography of Early Chinese Writing: Evidence from Newly Excavated Manuscripts (Budapest: Department of East Asian Studies, Eötvös Loránd University, 2006; reviewed by Matthias L. Richter, “The Fickle Brush: Chinese Orthography in the Age of Manuscripts,” Early China 31 (2007): 171-92); Imre Galambos, “The Myth of the Qin Unification of writing in Han Sources,” Acta Orientalia Scientiarum Hungaricae 57.2 (2004): 181-203; also 17

to distinguish distinctive groups of writers in excavated manuscripts by their handwriting refers back to the formal education process. It is not surprising that collectively trained scribes mainly adhered to the same rules. Olivier Venture steered attention toward larger clusters of comparable styles thus arguing for a relative high degree of uniformity at least in the area associated with the so-called Chu 楚 culture. Such “cultural / political community [writing] habits,” as he called them,52 are easier to comprehend once the context from which administrative literature arose is pulled into focus. As will be illustrated in more detail below, scribes started out at local posts that united a fairly small group of people trained at local schools, who would have had no major difficulties in making themselves mutually understood. Of course, such posts and schools were far removed from day-to-day events at the imperial court, and changes took hold considerably more slowly. Subsequent relocation from local posts to trans-regional offices, at which shǐ of diverse educational backgrounds gathered, required the adjustment of one’s ductus to existing habits. It is almost to be expected that not all transferees were able to completely pull this off. Novel standards may have been universally established throughout the empire, but orthographical variations in excavated manuscripts are bound to coincide with some degree of uniformity as long as subsequent generations of scribes were not exclusively trained according to the new rules.

The ultimate goal of scribal training was to secure a job in public administration, which, in turn, led to the production of written documents. There is no doubt that the majority of texts penned – or more accurately, brushed – by shǐ wound up in government archives. The Zhouli, for instance, records several offices that were charged with the administration of official archives;53 in chapter 38 of the 韓非子 we read: “All laws are compiled into charts and registers; [these] are established in official archives so that they may be publicized among the hundred surnames [i.e. the general public]” (法者，編著之圖籍，設之於官府，而布之於百姓者也。);54 and from the

see Martin Kern, “Methodological Reflections on the Analysis of Textual Variants and Modes of Manuscript Production in Early China,” Journal of East Asian Archaeology 4.1-4 (2002): 143-81, here 164; Wu Baitao 吳白匋, “Cong chutu Qin jian boshu kan Qin Han zaoqi lishu” 從出土秦簡帛書看秦漢早期隸書, Wenwu 1978.2: 48-54. For documents that were penned by different people at different stages, see Michael Loewe, Records of Han Administration, Vol. I, pl. 10, and Michael Loewe’s “Wood and Bamboo Administrative Documents of the Han Period,” in New Sources of Early Chinese History: An Introduction to Reading Inscriptions and Manuscripts, ed. Edward L. Shaughnessy (Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and The Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 1997), pp. 161-92, esp. 169-70. 52 Olivier Venture, “Looking for Chu People’s Writing Habits,” Astiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 63.4 (2009): 943-57, here 949. 53 Kern, “Offices of Writing and Reading,” p. 70. 54 Wang Xianshen 王先慎, Han Feizi jijie 韓非子集解 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1998), p. 380. 18

first century BCE through first century CE documents collected at Juyan 居延 (Etsingol) in northwestern China we learn that officials traveled “to visit document archives” (就書府).55 On the other hand, we know that manuscripts occasionally found their way into tombs. Various explanations have been proposed for why texts served as grave goods. While a number of scholars argue that they “were interred for reasons that likely had to do with the postmortem passages of the tomb occupants,”56 others attributed the writings with apotropaic or talismanic functions,57 or ritual significance because they were deposited at special positions inside the tombs.58 By arguing that the netherworld basically duplicated the mortal world, a fourth point of view saw them as serving the same exact purposes in the afterlife as they did in the world of the living.59 Unfortunately, the religious implications of so-called “tomb texts” cannot be explored in detail here. For the purposes of this article it is more important to acknowledge the fact that substantial differences existed among such writings. Scholarship is preoccupied with “tradition texts” or “texts with a history,” i.e. writings found in graves that have (often deviating) counterparts in transmitted literature such as the three Laozi 老子 versions recovered from Guodian 郭店 Tomb No. 1. In contrast, “occasion texts” (e.g. divinatory records, legal and administrative documents, or inventory lists of burial objects), are studied considerably less.60

55 Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan Kaogu Yanjiusuo 中國社會科學院考古研究所, Juyan Han jian, jiayi bian, xia ce 居延漢簡, 甲乙編, 下冊 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980), p. 95 [slip 135.35]. 56 Mark Csikszentmihalyi, Material Virtue: Ethics and the Body in Early China (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2004), p. 1; Lai Guolong, “Death and the Otherworldly Journey in Early China as Seen Through Tomb Texts, Travel Paraphernalia, and Road Rituals,” Asia Major, Third Series 18.1 (2005): 1-44; Constance C. Cook, Death in Ancient China: The Tale of One Man’s Journey (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2006). 57 Barbieri-Low, “Craftsman’s Literacy,” p. 394; Yates, “State Control,” p. 341; Donald Harper, “Warring States, Qin and Han Manuscripts Related to Natural Philosophy and the Occult,” in New Sources of Early Chinese History: An Introduction to Reading Inscriptions and Manuscripts, ed. Edward L. Shaughnessy (Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and The Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 1997), pp. 223-52, esp. 227. 58 Nylan, “Toward an Archaeology of Writing,” p. 7. 59 Yuri Pines, “History as a Guide to the Netherworld: Rethinking the Chunqiu shiyu,” Journal of Chinese Religions 31 (2003): 101-26, esp. 119; Matthias Richter, “Faithful Transmission or Creative Change: Tracing Modes of Manuscript Production from the Material Evidence,”Astiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 63.4 (2009): 889-908, here 889; Maxim Korolkov, “’Greeting Tablets’ in Early China: Some Traits of the Communicative Etiquette of Officialdom in Light of Newly Excavated Inscriptions,” T’oung Pao 98.4-5 (2012): 295-348, here 340-41. 60 Martin Kern has introduced the categories of “texts with a history” and “occasion texts” in his “Methodological Reflections,” pp. 144-48. Matthias Richter favored the expression “tradition texts” because “’having a history’ always depends upon a certain point in time from which the object is viewed;” see his “Textual Identity and the Role of Literacy in the Transmission of Early Chinese Literature,” in Writing & Literacy in Early China: Studies from the Columbia Early China Seminar, eds. Li Feng and David Prager Branner (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2011), pp. 206-36. Also see Sarah Allan and Crispin Williams eds., The Guodian Laozi: Proceedings of the International Conference, Dartmouth College, May 1998 (Berkeley: The Society for the Study of Early China and The Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 2000). 19

Here, the distinction between both kinds of texts is crucial as it is inextricably linked to the problem of authorship vs. actual writer. Authors of pieces of writing are accountable for the intellectual content of the latter; they are not necessarily the ones who bring their own thoughts to paper.61 That is exactly what writers do; they physically put something down in writing. The cognitive process spawning the content of a document is irrelevant in this regard.62 As the Laozi, or Mengzi 孟子, Xunzi 荀子, and other works demonstrate, ancient Chinese “tradition texts” are commonly synonymous with their (attributed) authors. “Occasion texts” more often than not remain anonymous. At first glance, scribal signatures witnessed on some excavated administrative records are the exception. Even then, the person who provided the factual content of the document (author) and the individual who actually wrote it might very well escape our grasp. Enno Giele’s excellent study of signatures on archaeological manuscripts has illustrated that these were not necessarily autographs. Instead, they may have been copied along with the rest of the manuscripts. Whenever this was the case, the names of the respective authors and writers elude us.63 Another find from Shuihudi Tomb No. 11 explains that replicating written documents was indeed an essential aspect of imperial rule. It mandates that the counties (xian 縣) notify the “capital offices” (duguan 都官) as to what statutes they are using by sending copies of them.64

More generally, Martin Kern has cautioned readers to pay closer attention to the distinction between textual production and textual reproduction whenever dealing with excavated manuscripts. The first term “refers to an earlier textual model, written or oral,” whereas the second expression indicates “an original creation of the written form” of the text at hand. In theory, three possible modes guided the reproduction of a piece of writing: a) direct copying from a parallel text; b) dictation; and c) reproduction from memory. 65 This carries direct implications for the archaeological material at hand. It has been suggested that Xi 喜, the occupant of Shuihudi Tomb

61 On the concept of author, see, for instance, Connery, The Empire of the Text, pp. 44-45; Raji C. Steineck and Christian Schwermann, “Introduction,” in That Wonderful Composite Called Author: Authorship in East Asian Literatures from the Beginnings to the Seventeenth Century, eds. Christian Schwermann and Raji C. Steineck (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2014), pp. 1-29. 62 Walter Ong has argued that written discourse is always detached from the author because text is only the medium to transport thoughts. Consequently, direct exchange between author and reader is impossible; see his Orality and Literacy, pp. 77-78. 63 Giele, “Signatures of ‘Scribes’,” p. 364. 64 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 61; Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 104; Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in Law, p. 86 (A97). On the exact meaning of the term duguan, see Michael Loewe, “The Organs of Han Imperial Government: zhongdu guan, duguan, xianguan and xiandao guan,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 71.3 (2008): 509-28, esp. 514-18. 65 Kern, “Methodological Reflections,” p. 167. 20

No. 11, whose professional life as a scribe will be introduced more thoroughly shortly, actually transcribed a speech that he had personally witnessed. If this was truly the case, an oral text had been duplicated in writing, an act that would align with Kern’s points b) and c). Xi, moreover, must have been a fairly accomplished writer. The resulting manuscript now goes by the title Yushu 語 書 (Writing on Someone Else’s Words) and was retrieved from his coffin.66

All of the above emphasizes the significance of the ability to write and the act of writing itself in the work of scribes. Conveying meaning evidently trumped the creation of intellectual property. As a consequence, the author may safely be neglected in what follows; we shall concentrate on the writer instead.

More than just Writers: Late Pre-imperial and Early Imperial Scribes and their Specific Duties

As has just been mentioned, one such writer was a man named Xi. He is already familiar as the deceased interred in Shuihudi No. 11 located in Yunmeng 雲夢 County, Hubei province. After having passed away in or around 217 BCE, he was encased in a single wooden coffin and interred in a fairly small wooden chamber – its exterior dimensions were 352 cm in length, 172 cm in width, and 116 cm in height – constructed at the bottom of a 510 cm deep pit (fig. 1).67 In 1975, Chinese archaeologists encountered the burial in nearly perfect condition apart from considerable flooding inside the chamber. In reaction to the publication of the findings and features shortly after, academia cared little for a number of lacquer vessels, some ceramic and bronze containers, bamboo hampers, or a bronze sword with a jade pommel that were stored in a separate compartment above the skeletonized occupant’s head. Scholars had eyes only for the 1,155 intact inscribed bamboo slips (1,285 if including fragmented specimens) that filled the interior of the coffin (fig. 2). The most alluring manuscripts turned out to be various legal documents, among them the statutes I made use of in the preceding section.68 The Day Books (Rishu 日書), which included texts entitled

66 Yuri Pines, Foundations of Confucian Thought: Intellectual Life in the Chunqiu Period (722-453 B.C.E) (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2002), p. 24. For transcriptions of the Yushu, see Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin Mu Bianxiezu, Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin mu, pp. 14-22; Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 13-16; for an extensive discussion thereof, see Wu Fuzhu, Shuihudi Qin jian lunkao, pp. 39-138. 67 Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin mu Bianxiezu, Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin mu, p. 11. 68 The Miscellaneous [Statutes on the Affairs of the] Ministry of Finance were part of a collection that is now known as the Eighteen Kinds of Qin Statutes, Qin lü shi zhong 秦律十八種 (translated by Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in 21

Renzi pian 人字篇 (Essay on the Human Form) and Jie 結 (Spellbinding), also have attracted considerable attention.69

These finds are impressive indeed. What makes Xi’s tomb truly special for the purposes of this article is the chronicle Biannian ji 編年記 (Record of Arranged [i.e. Consecutive] Years). Not only does it mention the tomb occupant by name and give the year he was born (262 BCE), but it reiterates the cornerstones of his career as a scribe.70 As a seventeen year old, i.e. in 246 BCE, he began to study with “a tutor” (Xi 喜傅). Hence, Xi probably began scribal training precisely at the age stipulated by the Shi lü. After three years of education (244 BCE), which again accords

Law). In addition, the tomb brought the following legal documents to light: Xiao lü 效律 (Statutes on Checking / Verification), Qin lü za chao 秦律雜抄 (Miscellaneous Copies of Qin Statutes), Fa lü dawen 法律答文 (Questions and Answers to Exemplary Statutes); Feng zhen shi 封診式 (Precedents for Sealing and [Physical] Exams); see, for instance, Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 67-164; Katrina C.D. McLeod and Robin D.S. Yates, “Forms of Ch'in Law: An Annotated Translation of the Feng-chen shih,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 41.1 (1981): 111-63. 69 See, for instance, Rao Zongyi 饒宗頤 and Zeng Xiantong 曾憲通, Yunmeng Qin jian rishu yanjiu 雲夢秦簡日書研 究 (Hong Kong: Zhongwen Daxue, 1982); Liu Lexian 劉樂賢, Shuihudi Qin jian rishu yanjiu 睡虎地秦簡日書研究 (Tabei: Wenjin chubanshe, 1994); Wang Zijin 王子今, Shuihudi Qin jian ‘rishu’ jia zhong shuzheng 睡虎地秦簡《日 書》甲種疏証 (Wuhan: Hubei jiaoyu chubanshe, 2002); Marc Kalinowski, “Les traités de Shuhudi et l'hémérologie chinoise a la fin des Royames-Combattants,” T’oung Pao 72.4-5 (1986), 175-228; Marc Kalinowski, “Les livres des jours (rishu) des Qin et des Han: La logique éditoriale du recueil A de Shuihudi (217 avant notre ère),” T’oung Pao 94.3-4 (2008): 1-48; A.F.P. Hulsewé, “The Ch’in Documents Discovered in Hu-pei in 1975,” T’oung Pao 64.4-5 (1978): 175-217 and 338; Michael Loewe, “The Almanacs (jih-shu) from Shui-hu-ti: A Preliminary Survey,” Asia Major, Third Series 1.2 (1988): 1-27; Roel Sterckx, “An Ancient Chinese Horse Ritual,” Early China 21 (1996): 47- 79; Liu Lexian 劉樂賢, “Shuihudi Qin jian rishu ‘Si fa ri’ xiaokao” 睡虎地秦簡日書《四法日》小考, Kaogu 考古 1993.4: 365-66; Liu Lexian 劉樂賢, “Shuihudi Qin jian rishu ‘Renzi pian’ yanjiu” 睡虎地秦簡日書《人字篇》研 究 , Jiang Han kaogu 1995.1: 58-61; Joachim Gentz, “Zur Deutung früher Grabbefunde: Das Renzi pian aus Shuihudi,“ in Han-Zeit: Festschrift für Hans Stumpfeldt aus Anlaß seines 65. Geburtstages, eds. Michael Friedrich, Reinhard Emmerich and Hans van Ess (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2006), pp. 535-53; Lian Shaoming 連劭名, “Shuihudi Qin jian rishu ‘Jie jiu pian’ yanjiu” 雲夢秦簡《結》篇考述, Kaogu xuebao 考古學報 2002.1: 23-38; Liu Lexian, “Shuihudi Qin jian rishu ‘Jie jiu pian’ yanjiu” 睡虎地秦簡日書《結咎篇》研究, Kaogu xuebao 1993.4: 435- 54; Donald Harper, “A Chinese Demonography of the Third Century B.C.,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 45.2 (1985): 459-98; Donald Harper, “Spellbinding,” in Religions of China in Practice, ed. Donald S. Lopez, Jr. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 241-50. 70 Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin mu Bianxiezu, Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin mu, pp. 1-13; also see, for instance, Huang Shengzhang 黃盛璋, “Yunmeng Qin jian ‘Biannian ji’ chubu yanjiu” 雲夢秦簡《編年記》初步研究, Kaogu xuebao 1977.1: 1-22; Gao Min 高敏, “‘Biannian ji’ de xingzhi yu zuozhe zhiyi“《編年記》的性質與作者質疑 and “Qin jian ‘Biannian ji’ yu ‘Shij’” 秦簡《編年記》與《史記》, in Yunmeng Qin jian chutan (zengding ben) 雲夢秦簡初 探 (增訂本), ed. Gao Min 高敏 (Zhengzhou: renmin chubanshe, 1981), pp. 10-15, and 109-32; Ma Feibai 馬 非百, “Yunmeng Qin jian Da shi ji jizhuan” 雲夢秦簡大事記集傳, Zhongguo lishi wenxian yanjiu jikan 中國歷史文 獻研究集刊 2 (1981): 66-92; B.J. Mansvelt Beck, “The First Emperor's Taboo Character and the Three Day Reign of King Xiaowen: Two Moot Points Raised by the Qin Chronicle Unearthed in Shuihudi in 1975,” T’oung Pao 73.1-3 (1987): 68-85; and Mittag, “The Qin Bamboo Annals of Shuihudi.” 22

with the Zhangjiashan regulation, he graduated (yu 揄)71 and became a scribe in the administration of the Qin state. A swift promotion followed in 243 BCE. Unfortunately, the character preceding the obligatory shǐ in Xi’s new title is illegible. Nonetheless, the entry tells us that the scribe was stationed at the city of Anlu 安陸72 at that particular time. There he rose to the rank of Directing Scribe (lingshi 令史) in 241 BCE, before being transferred to Yan County 鄢73 in the same position in the subsequent year. Seeing that no changes are reported for the intervening period, we have to assume that Xi was still lingshi when he “solved lawsuits” (zhi yu 治獄) in 235 BCE at his new place of activity. Without further explanation, the chronicle ends by simply stating the year 217 BCE, thus providing a terminus ante quem non for the scribe’s demise.74

A rather similar career trajectory may be discerned in the account of the curriculum of a Directing Scribe recovered from the Liye well:

資中令史陽里釦伐閲 十一年九月隃為史 為鄉史九歲一日 為田部史四歲三月十一日 為令史二月 □計 戶計 年卅六 可直司空曹 (tablet 8-269) Verification of the experience of Kou from the Yang hamlet, Directing Scribe (lingshi) at Zizhong:75 In the eleventh year [of King Zheng 政 of Qin, i.e. the later First Emperor; 236 BCE], Kou passed [the final exam at scribal school] and was appointed scribe (shǐ). He served as District Scribe (xiangshi) for nine years and one day.

71 I take yú 揄 (to lift; to raise) to be a homophone of yú 隃 (to exceed); the latter was part of the inscription on tablet 8-269 yielded by the Liye well, which will be translated and discussed below. 72 During the Western Han, Anlu belonged to Jiangxia commandery (江夏郡) and was located in the vicinity of modern-day Yunmeng 雲夢 County in northeast-central Hubei province. Zhongguo lishi dituji, di er ce: Qin, Xi Han, Dong Han shiqi 中國歷史地圖集, 第二册: 秦, 西漢, 東漢時期 (Beijing: Zhongguo ditu chubanshe, 1982), pp. 22- 23, grid (4)7. 73 During the Western Han, Yan County was subordinate to Nan commandery (南郡) and lay roughly eighty-five miles northwest of Anlu, near the modern-day city of Yicheng 宜城, Hubei province. On the renaming of Yan to Yicheng in 192 BCE, see Barbieri-Low and Yates, Law, State, and Society, p. 1008, n. 97. 74 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 3-7; Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 3-8; see also the section “More than just Writers,” below. 75 Zizhong 資中 was part of the Shu commandery (蜀郡) in , a few miles southeast of modern-day Chengdu 成都; see Tan Qixiang 譚其驤, Zhongguo lishi dituji, di er ce, pp. 29-30, grid (3)4. 23

He served as Scribe of the Agricultural Division (tianbu shi) [of the district he was appointed to] for four years, nine months and eleven days. He has been serving as Directing Scribe for two months. [In this capacity] he calculates [illegible] and households. [Kou is] thirty-six years old. He may be appointed to the Bureau of Convict Labor (sikong cao 司空曹).76

A man named Kou, the subject of this qualification check, had graduated from scribal school and was immediately recruited as a scribe. Once again this complies with the stipulations of the slightly younger Shi lü passage discussed above. Student scribes that met imperial expectations were given a job right away. Unlike the account of Xi’s career curve this record remains silent about Kou’s actual age at graduation. We can only say with some certainty that he must have been around twenty-three years old when he assumed his post as District Scribe (xiangshi 鄉史). After having worked as a scribe in specific capacities, i.e. District Scribe and Scribe of the Agricultural Division, for a total of thirteen years, five months, and twelve days, the previous performance of the thirty-six year old Kou was now being reviewed. The document indicates that this process was integral to the deliberations of assigning positions in imperial government. Among other things, Kou’s background in the management of population registers – it is referred to as “calculating households” on the tablet – was deemed sufficient to entrust him with new and additional responsibilities.

In this light, my previous statement that there existed no formal office identified by the solitary character shǐ might seem at odds with the initial stage of the lives of Xi and Kou in the workforce. Both launched their careers as shǐ, Xi for the duration of three and Kou supposedly for six years. But these were not the specific offices they later went on to hold such as District or Directing Scribes. The generic use of the term shǐ here suggests that junior scribes were expected to gather practical experience in various aspects of scribal duties before they were ready to take on more demanding and specialized tasks. They could, in fact, very well have been the “scribes without rank” (史毋[無]爵者) that one of the Shuihudi statutes refers to.77 It is equally likely to recognize in them the so-called “junior scribes” (xiao shi 小史; shao shi 少史) known from manuscripts

76 Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 26, pl. 54; Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, p. 125. I follow Barbieri-Low and Yates, Law, State, and Society, p. 194 in rendering sikong cao with Bureau of Convict Labor. 77 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 60 (slip 182); Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 103; Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in Law, p. 85 (A94). 24

secured at a beacon tower at Ejin Banner (Ejina 额济纳旗; ; dated ca. 59 BCE- 28 CE), Etsingol, and Liye. In some of these contexts, unattributed shǐ as well as junior scribes appear as members of a travelling workforce; the respective records simply state that they “came” (lai 來).78 Shortages in resident staff, attested to in the complaint about insufficient personnel mentioned earlier, were addressed by sending out rookie scribes to support local offices and, in turn, allowing them to improve existing skills and pick up new ones in praxis. As recent graduates from scribal school they were adequately literate; yet they had little knowledge of the practical demands of administering an empire. Active involvement in alternating divisions of the government slowly but steadily acquainted the young scribes with the many facets of their day-to- day work. Consider, for instance, the main premise of the modern German apprenticeship system:

It is assumed that a broad basis of elementary vocational qualifications leads to maximising flexibility of workers and mobility between workplaces … [and] specialization only takes place after an initial training period…79

In the initial phase of their training, apprentices hone the fundamental skills of their desired jobs. Mastering the basic tenets renders them highly versatile employees, who, after having completed this first step, are perfectly prepared to focus on a specific area of expertise. The same was true for early Chinese scribes. Once they had successfully finished scribal school and were appointed shǐ, a period of on-the-job training ensued. At this point in their professional lives writing was still very much part of everyday education; a considerable volume of writing exercises commingling with administrative manuscripts unearthed at, for example, Liye and Juyan is ample testament to the centrality of writing in their education.80 One particular find conveys how a scribe was engaging with the endonym of his job. He paired the single graph shǐ at least three times (the upper end of the slip was already missing) and referred to a lingshi (Directing Scribe) once.81 Usually such exercises adhere to a simple formula: one or more characters are repeated several times in columns that follow straight lines just as it was supposed to be in official documents. When

78 See, for instance, tablets 8-144 and 8-645, recto yielded by the Liye well: Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, pp. 17, 41; pl. 33, 88; Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, pp. 76; 189. For the Ejin beacon tower, see Sun Jiazhou 孫家洲, Ejina Han jian shiwen jiaoben 额濟納漢簡釋文校本 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 2007). 79 Thomas Deissinger and Silke Helwig, “Apprenticeships in Germany: Modernising the Dual System,” Education + Training 47.4-5 (2005): 312-24, here 315. 80 See, for instance, Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 21, pl. 43 (8-176, recto); p. 70, pl. 176 (8-1437, verso); p. 73, pl. 188 (8-1499); p. 88, pl. 236; Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, pp. 105 (8-176, recto); (8- 1437, verso); 340 (8-1499); 406 (8-1915); Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Juyan Han jian, pp. 15 (slip 24.9B; 25.11; 25.18B); 16 (26.9B); 20 (32.12B). 81 Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Juyan Han jian, p. 111 (slip 158.12). 25

browsing through the remaining examples, one narrow tablet uncovered at Juyan stands out. The ten graphs shǐ of the inscription are arranged so as to outline a cross:

史 史 史 史 史 史 史 史 史 史82

It does not seem like a coincidence that a scribe would invoke the very name of the job he worked so hard to get by his doodling. The image certainly expresses some sense of pride in being part of this illustrious group. One might even speculate whether the creator of the diagram intended to communicate an even deeper meaning. His exercise recreates the Chinese character zhong 中, “center, middle.” The ancient writer might very well have meant to say, to himself and to the people who may have read the tablet: “We scribes are central to the success of the empire!” All in all, before they would be eligible as fully fledged members of the rank and file, junior scribes had to prove themselves under varying circumstances over the course of several years. The curricula vitae of Xi and Kou are good (and at this point the only) examples of subsequent career trajectories. They both were eventually promoted to Directing Scribes. Since this post figures most prominently among excavated administrative and legal documents, it is ideally suited to shine some light on the precise areas of scribal expertise in more advanced career stages. In the introductory remarks of this section, we saw that competence in legal, divinatory, arithmetic, and medical matters was required from scribes. Yet, so far it has not been examined whether mastery of each these fields was mandatory for all kinds of scribes. On their own, the signifiers of scattered lingshi titles already affirm the involvement of their holders in essential aspects of imperial government on local and regional levels. For instance, Liye tablet 8-165 names a Directing Scribe of the Fields (tian lingshi 田令史),83 tablets 8-2003 and 2004 a Directing Scribe of the Office of Households (hucao lingshi 戶曹令史),84 whereas Juyan tablets 84.27 and 142.34-35 introduce the posts of Directing Scribe of Canal A (jiaju lingshi 甲渠令史)

82 Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Juyan Han jian, p. 152 (tablet 220.4B). 83 Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 20, pl. 40; Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, p. 100. 84 Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 91, pl. 243; Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, p. 166. 26

and Directing Scribe of the Municipal Granary (chengcang lingshi 城倉令史). In addition, Juyan tablet 84.18 refers to a Directing Scribe of the Armory (ku lingshi 庫令史).85 The majority of Directing Scribes, however, appears without further attributes. And even the inscriptions that actually add a signifier often offer little more information than the title itself because many manuscripts are only partially preserved. Nonetheless, there are some cases that allow deeper insights into their range of duties. We are told, for example, that the Directing Scribe of the Fields mentioned above was ordered to conduct some kind of audit before the slip brakes off. In contrast, the two wooden tablets relating to the Directing Scribe of the Office of Households was fairly complete: 卅四年八月癸巳朔癸卯戶曹令史[ / ] (tablet 8-2003) 盡卅三年見戶數牘北(背)移獄具集上□[ / ] 廿八年見百九十一戶 廿九年見百六十六戶 卅年見百五十五戶 卅一年見百五十九戶 卅二年見百六十一戶[ / ] 卅三年見百六十三戶[ / ] (tablet 8-2004) In the thirty-fourth year [of the First Emperor’s reign, i.e. 213 BCE] on the guisi day of the eighth month, whose first day was a guimao day, Directing Scribe of the Bureau of Households [broken] [has collected] (tablet 8-2003) the numbers of household verified on the backs of [household register] tablets until the end thirty-third year [of the First Emperor’s reign; 214 BCE]. He [i.e. I] is transferring legal cases and the prepared and collected [numbers of households] to the higher authorities [illegible; broken]: Twenty-eighth year [219 BCE], verified [number of] households: 191 Twenty-ninth year [218 BCE], verified [number of] households: 166 Thirtieth year [217 BCE], verified [number of] households: 155 Thirty-first year [216 BCE], verified [number of] households: 159 Thirty-second year [215 BCE], verified [number of] households: 161 Thirty-third year [214 BCE], verified [number of] households: 16386

85 Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Juyan Han jian, p. 62; 100. 86 Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 91, pl. 243. Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, p. 166 added some content to the inscription where the individual columns were illegible or the tablets had broken off. Since he does not tell his readers on what grounds he emended the Liye Qin jian version, I am following the former. 27

When read in conjunction, both documents present an outline of demographic change in what may have been a district (xiang 鄉) in the Qianling County 遷陵縣 (roughly modern-day Liye; established during the Qin dynasty). The fact that after a sudden drop between the years 219 and 218 BCE the population slowly recovered in the subsequent years is only of marginal interest here. It is more important to understand that this particular Directing Scribe of the Office of Households was supervising household registers. Keeping accurate count of such data was essential knowledge for the imperial government as they were the basis of tax revenues.87 In addition to overseeing the total figures, the lingshi was in charge of forwarding the numbers to the superior offices at the commandery level, something we observe several times in the Liye and Juyan manuscripts: 廿九年九月壬辰朔辛亥，遷陵丞昌敢言之：令令史感上水火 敗亡者課一牒。有不定者，謁令感定。敢言之。(tablet 8-1511, recto) 已。 九月辛亥水下九刻，感行。 感手 (tablet 8-1511, verso) In the twenty-ninth year on the renchen day of the ninth month, whose first day was a xinhai day, Chang, Assistant at Qianling [County] dares to inform [the higher authorities] of the following: Directing Scribe Gan was ordered to submit an evaluation [recorded on] one single tablet of the damages and losses [suffered by the district / county] that were caused by floods and fires. Gan was also ordered to confirm those [damages] that have not yet been confirmed. This is what I dare to convey. (tablet 8-1511, recto) This has already been taken care of. On the xinhai day of the ninth month as the water had fallen to the ninth mark [i.e. 1 p.m.] Gan forwarded [his report]. By the hand of Gan. (tablet 8-1511, verso)88

The front of the tablet preserves a direct order to a Directing Scribe who was tasked with assessing the scope of damages and losses to county property under his jurisdiction. The matter sounded somewhat urgent as the official giving the order made sure to remind the lingshi that all damages had to be included in his report. He need not have worried too much because on the back of the tablet we are informed of the Directing Scribe’s immediate response: on the very same day he informed his superior that he had already taken care of this business before signing off on the document himself. This and the previous episode illustrate that lingshi linked lower tiers of local

87 Also see the Statutes on Households (Hu lu 戶律) yielded by Zhangjiashan Tomb No. 247; Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, pp. 175-80, pls. 32-36 (slips 306-352); Barbieri-Low and Yates, Law, State, and Society, pp. 783-822. For an actual taxes imposed on households, see Liye tablet 8-1519; Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 75, pl. 193; Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, pp. 345-46. 88 Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 74, pl. 190; Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, p. 341-42. On time keeping using a water clock, see Yates, “Qin Slips and Boards,” p. 302. 28

administration with higher authorities on a county level. They supervised and built on the work of inferior officials in order to report to their own superiors. Tablet 8-1511 perfectly explains that reading and writing lay at the heart of their jobs. First, the Directing Scribe of the inscription needed to be able to read and understand the exact contents of what he was mandated to do. Second, he needed to read and intellectually process the information provided by those who assisted his efforts. Third, on the tablet verso he emerges as the actual writer. One could easily argue that years of training were well spent as lingshi Gan anticipated what he was supposed to do; he had already fulfilled the task. This is all the more true if we take into account that a lingshi intimately familiar with the statutes and ordinances – as he was expected to be89 – would naturally be prepared: the Statute on Fields (Tian lü 田律) recovered from Directing Scribe Xi’s tomb insisted that damages to crops caused by droughts, floods, or locust invariably were to be announced in writing.90

Among the Liye finds, Directing Scribes emerge from quite a few manuscripts in supervising capacities. They oversaw (jian 監; shi ping 視平) either the distribution of food supplies,91 assignment of labor,92 or issuance of money.93 Whenever food or money was involved, we might take the phrase shi ping, “watching the balance,” quite literally. It was the responsibility of the lingshi in charge to ensure proper procedure. Of course, situations such as these required the sort of arithmetic competence that has been proposed in the context of the mathematical text unearthed from Zhangjiashan Tomb No. 247 earlier.

Significantly, tied to the scribe’s mundane administrative responsibilities, the skills of divination enter the picture among those scribes whose duties required them to travel, as we see in one kind of record preserved in the Liye finds. As has been contended above, junior scribes were

89 There are at least two cases in the Liye corpus in which certain issues were forwarded in writing to Directing Scribes so that they may deal with them “in accordance with the statutes and ordinances” (可以律令從事). In a third case a lingshi traveled to a neighboring county in order to proofread (chou 讎) their copies of the statutes and ordinances. Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 7, 11, 63, pls. 10, 16, 155; Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, p. 19; 33-34; 293 (6-4; 8-21; 8-1219). 90 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 19; Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 24-25; Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in Law, p. 21 (A1). 91 See, for instance, Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 78, pl. 208 (8-1576); p. 86, pl. 230 (8- 1839); Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, pp. 364 (8-1576); 398 (8-1839). 92 See, for instance, Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, pp. 64, 67, pl. 158, 166 (8-1239+8-1334); p. 76, pl. (8-1551); p. 78, pl. 208 (8-1580); p. 78, pl. 209 (8-1584); Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, pp. 297 (8- 1239+8-1334); 356 (8-1551); 364 (8-1580); 365 (8-1584). 93 See, for instance, Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 57, pl. 135 (8-992); Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, pp. 258 (8-992). 29

part of a mobile workforce. Directing Scribes, on the other hand, were longer-term affiliates of specific offices near whose headquarters they most likely also resided. Nevertheless, the demands of their job rendered extended journeys unavoidable. Take lingshi Kou, for instance, who, at some point, “travelled to the ancestral temple” (xing miao 行廟).94 He was not the only one to have done so. Recently, Chen Wei has compiled a list of at least eleven different Directing Scribes who visited one or several unspecified ancestral shrine(s), some of whom went multiple times.95 At least one reason for their journeys was to supervise the sale of leftovers of sacrificial meals.96 Other evidence suggests additional reasons for traveling. Zhoujiatai Tomb No. 30 and Yinwan 尹灣 Tomb No. 6 (dated 10 CE; province) each yielded personal accounts of portions from the occupant’s professional lives. The deceased buried at Yinwan was a certain Shi Rao 師饒, who served as Scribe of the Bureau of Merit (gongcao shi 功曹史). His diary covers parts of the year 11 BCE and lists the toponyms of different places where he had lodged at overnight. Apparently, he was on the road so much that it warranted explicit mention whenever he spent a night at home (su jia 宿家). Shi Rao’s busy schedule is also mirrored in the so-called “greeting tablets” he was buried with. During his lifetime these were an integral part of etiquette on official visits.97 The Zhoujiatai itinerary, in contrast, is moderately more articulate about the precise duties the deceased scribe performed at diverse locations in 213 BCE. Although his exact post remains a mystery, we are informed, for instance, that he went to Jiangling 江陵 (modern-day south-central Hubei) in order “to manage the Inner Archive” (zhi hou fu 治後府).98 Crossing the walls of one’s hometown meant stepping into the unknown. The dangers that lay ahead were a constant source of anxiety for traveling officials. Shi Rao, for example, seems to have anguished about road conditions as he expressly recorded instances of heavy rainfall (shen yu 甚

94 Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 21, pl. 43; Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, p. 78 (8- 174, verso). 95 See his Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, p. 78. 96 Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, Liye Qin jian, p. 57, pl.136 (8-993); p. 57, pl. 136 (8-1002); p. 60, pl. 144 (8-1091); p. 58, pl. 141 (8-1055); p. 78, pl. 208 (8-1579); Chen Wei, Liye Qin jiandu jiaoshi, p. 258 (8-993); 259 (8- 1002+8-1091); 269 (8-1055+8-1579); also see Lu Jialiang , “Liye Qin jian ‘Lingshi xing miao’ wenshu zaitan” 里耶 秦簡《令史行廟》文書再探, Jianbo yanjiu 簡帛研究 2014: 43-51; Yates, “Qin Slips and Boards,” p. 318-26; Charles Sanft, “Paleographic Evidence of Qin Religious Practice from Liye and Zhoujiatai,” Early China 37 (2014): 327-58, esp. 337-40. 97 Lianyungang shi Bowuguan 連雲港市博物館, Zhongguo Shehui Kexuyuan Jianbo Yanjiu Zhongxin 中國社會科 學院簡帛研究中心, Donghai xian Bowuguan 東海縣博物館, and Zhongguo Wenwu Yanjiusuo 中國文物研究所, Yinwan Han mu jiandu 尹灣漢墓簡牘 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1997), pp. 3; 61-67; 138-44; Korolkov, “’Greeting Tablets’ in Early China.” 98 Hubei sheng Jingzhou shi Zhouliang Yuqiao Yizhi Bowuguan, Guanju Qin Han mu jiandu, pp. 11-17; 93-99. 30

雨) during his voyages on several occasions.99 One way to deal with the uncertainty associated with travel was to determine an opportune time. The fact that some scribes were buried with divinatory Day Books and diagrams is well known by now. What I have not yet touched upon is the fact that traveling figures prominently in writings related to divination.100 Thus, the voyage itself was serious business that needed to be carefully planned. Choosing the wrong day could have devastating consequences, worst of all the death of the traveler. This sounds rather grim to contemporary readers and anything but convenient. So, what were scribes to do when the issue at hand was urgent? From the Zhoujiatai tomb comes convincing evidence that ancient Chinese voyagers were not necessarily dogmatic about the outcome of initial prognostications:

有行而急，不得須良日。東行越木，南行越火，西行越金，北行越水，毋須良日可也。(slip 363) Whenever [the reason for] traveling is urgent, it is not necessary to wait for a good [i.e. an auspicious] day. When one travels east, one has to cross wood; when one travels south, one has to cross fire; when one travels west, one has to cross metal; when one travels north, one has to cross water. [If these precautions are taken] it is possible not to wait for a good day.101

A similar notion is expressed in a divinatory text salvaged from the remains the beacon tower at Ejin Banner:

[ / ] 南方火即急行者越此物行吉 (slip 2002ESCSF1:4) [Slip broken] south relates to [the element] fire; when travelers on urgent business cross this element, their voyage is going to be auspicious.102

Both manuscripts reveal a remarkable sense of pragmatism. Whenever a date was considered inopportune for going on a trip, scribes, as adepts in the occult arts, had an array of remedies at their disposal. Taking appropriate precautions was key to a safe journey.

99 Lianyungang shi Bowuguan et al., Yinwan Han mu jiandu, pp. 139-40. 100 See, for instance, Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 243 (slips 139-146); Hubei sheng Jingzhou shi Zhouliang Yuqiao Yizhi Bowuguan, Guanju Qin Han mu jiandu, pp. 31, 110 (slip 188); 32, 111 (slips 192, 194); Lianyungang shi Bowuguan et al., Yinwan Han mu jiandu, pp. 21, 126 (YM6D9, verso); 67-68, 145 (slips 77-89). The significance of hemerological texts for scribes such as Xi has also been touched upon by Robin D.S. Yates, “State Control of Bureaucrats under the Qin: Techniques and Procedures,” Early China 20 (1995): 331- 65, esp. 339-41; and Yates, “Introduction: The Empire of Scribes,” pp. 147-48. 101 Hubei sheng Jingzhou shi Zhouliang Yuqiao Yizhi Bowuguan, Guanju Qin Han mu jiandu, pp. 53; 133. 102 Sun Jiazhou, Ejina Han jian shiwen jiaoben, p. 104. For yet another set of precautions, see Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 243 (slips 139-146). 31

But this was not the only domain in which divination was applied. Day Books found in Zhoujiatai Tomb No. 30 and 放馬灘 Tomb No. 1, province (dated 239 BCE) highlight that the outcome of day-to-day affairs was dependent on proper timing as well:

子，旦有言，喜，聽；安(晏)不聽；晝得美言；夕得美言。 (slip jia 甲 54)

On zi [days]: At dawn, there is speaking, lightheartedness, and listening; late in the day one does not listen [to complaints, accusations, appeals]; during daytime one may find excellent words; in the evening one may find excellent words.103

This is but one excerpt from two sets of recommendations on how to conduct business on days that correspond with each of the twelve branches (zhi 支) of the . The individual days of Zhoujiatai were subdivided into five parts whereas those of the Fangmatan set are broken down into four sections. Each time of day was related to specific activities that were either linked to a value judgment or deemed unsuitable straight away. In opposition to the hours during which “one may find excellent words” there were those that inevitably “had unpleasant words” (you e yan 有惡言). Other parts of the day were regarded as causing fury (you nu 有怒) or not fit for managerial tasks (bu zhi 不治) in the first place. However, the majority of time slots were reserved for listening to formal complaints and accusations by the general public (ting 聽; gao ting zhi 告 聽之), or not (bu ting 不聽; gao bu ting 告不聽).104 This aspect of legal knowledge is very much related to the work of lingshi, although we cannot safely identify either of the tomb occupants as such. Conversely, Xi was, in fact, Directing Scribe when he died. Contrary to Kou, who is familiar from the performance check recorded on Liye tablet 8-269, and the remaining shǐ and lingshi discussed so far in this section, his professional duties aligned much more with legal than administrative matters. First of all, the chronicle deposited in

103 Sun Zhanyu 孫占宇, Tianshui Fangmatan Qin jian jishi 天水放馬灘秦簡 (Lanzhou: Gansu wenhua chubanshe, 2013), p. 114. 104 Hubei sheng Jingzhou shi Zhouliang Yuqiao Yizhi Bowuguan, Guanju Qin Han mu jiandu, pp. 37-38; 118 (slips 245-257); Sun Zhanyu, Tianshui Fangmatan Qin jian jishi, pp. 9-10; 114 (slips jia 甲 35-65). On the relation of divination and the interpretation of laws, see Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Severity and Lenience: Divination and Law in Early Imperial China,” Extrême-Orient, Extrême-Occident 21 (1999): 111-30; on the relation of medicine and divination, see, for instance, Yang Hua 楊華, “Chutu rishu yu Chu di de jibing zhanbu” 出土日書與楚地的疾病占 卜, Wuhan daxue xuebao (Renwen kexueban) 武漢大學學報 (人文科學版) 56.5 (2003): 564-70; Donald Harper, “Physicians and Diviners: The Relation of Divination to the Medicine of the (Inner canon of the Yellow Thearch),” Extrême-Orient, Extrême-Occident 21 (1999): 91-110. 32

his coffin informs us that he “solved lawsuits” in 235 BCE.105 In addition, Xi, analogous to the deceased interred in Tombs No. 77 at Shuihudi and No. 247 at Zhangjiashan, was accompanied by various kinds of legal texts. Apart from the statutes and ordinances I have made generous use of throughout this article, there was a corpus of texts now known as Feng zhen shi 封診式 (Precedents for Sealing and [Physical] Exams). None of these documents name Xi personally since they refer to Directing Scribes in abstract terms (Directing Scribe X; lingshi mou 令史某). But it is surely not an outrageous claim to say that the work associated with these abstract designations pertained to Xi’s own responsibilities in a meaningful way. Whether he himself was indeed charged with one of the following, very distinct duties at some stage of his life is somewhat beside the point as they would have been roughly comparable for all lingshi in Xi’s line of (legal) specialization. The Directing Scribes of the Feng zhen shi made use of medical skills in two instances: one time while examining the age of a cow in a dispute over rightful ownership of the animal and the other while conducting a physical exam on a disobedient slave. This brings to mind the medical texts recovered from Zhangjiashan Tombs No. 247 and 136 / 336 as well as Zhoujiatai Tomb No. 30, which suggested some level of medical expertise for their occupants. A practical understanding of the human body – and other mammals apparently – was required from Directing Scribes pursuing legal careers. Manuals such as the Writings on the Channels (Mai shu) and Pulling Book (Yin shu) were just the way to acquire the basic know-how. Yet, more serious issues also had to be dealt with. One lingshi was ordered to arrest a delinquent, while two Directing Scribes were sent to crime scenes as primary investigators. The first official was commanded with solving a robbery, the second with unravelling a murder. What is more, the respective reports needed to be submitted in writing.106 The emphasis on writing is also visible in the subsequent step of the legal process. One might doubt the reliability of the prescriptive Liji in general, but a statement that scribes were obliged to report disputable cases (yu 獄) to their superiors, who then passed them on to higher authorities, does not seem too far-fetched. Besides, an actual collection of such doubtful cases has

105 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 7 (slip 19); Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 7. 106 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 150 (slip 16); 152 (slip 24); 154 (slip 39); 157 (slip 55); 158 (slip 63); Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 251; 254; 259; 264; 267; McLeod and Yates, “Forms of Ch'in Law,” pp. 140; 142; 146; 154; 155. 33

been recovered from Zhangjiashan Tomb No. 247 (Zouyan shu 奏讞書, Book of Submitted Doubtful Cases).107 Directing Scribe Xi was thus an in-the-field legal expert. The sheer quantity of manuscripts assembled in his tomb illustrates the central role of literacy in his professional life. His ability to write was particularly highlighted by three bamboo writing brushes which were neatly kept in lacquered cases made of bamboo tubes and one bronze “scratch knife” with a ring butt (xue 削). Two of these brushes were even deposited inside the coffin, along with the entire set of bamboo slips. The remaining brush, together with the knife, whose exact relation to writing will be unveiled below, and most of the remaining burial goods emerged from the separate chamber compartment. Naturally, the association of manuscripts and writing utensils is no safe indicator that Xi himself wrote all the texts with which he eventually was interred. The only halfway safe way to establish that he was indeed the writer of at least some of the documents in his tomb would be by palaeographic analyses of the entire text corpus. Since I am not an expert in the field, this is a task I leave for specialists. Yet, collating the textual and material evidence at hand – his work as a scribe in tandem with his documents and writing paraphernalia – unmistakably proves that he was capable of writing and that this particular skill was very important to him. As an experienced scribe he most likely was a mentor to junior scribes who passed through his office during their period of on-the- job training as well. The fact that a text entitled The Way of Being a [Good] Official (Wei li zhi dao 為吏之道) was part of Xi’s collection of manuscripts suggests that he his took his role as an educator seriously.108 In this context a quote by 李斯 (?280-208 BCE), himself a former “junior official” (xiao li 小吏), comes to mind. He appealed to the First Emperor that “those who

107 Kong Yingda, Liji zhengyi 19, p. 555. For the Zouyan shu, see Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, pp. 89-112; Lau and Lüdke, Exemplarische Rechtsfälle; Barbieri-Low and Yates, Law, State, and Society, pp. 89-110; 1167-1416. 108 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 167-76; Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 280-96. For a brief summary of the Wei li zhi dao, see Lewis, Writing and Authority, p. 22; for arguments that relate the text to teaching, see Wu Fuzhu, Shuihudi Qin jian lun kao, p. 153, and Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” p. 357. In the context of scribal education, it is worth mentioning that Tomb No. 5 at Shuiquanzi 水泉子 in Yongchang 永昌 County, Gansu province (dated 72 BCE) brought parts of a primer with parallels to the Cangjie pian along with Day Books, an ink stone, and an ink lump to light (see table 1). Since no further information on this burial is available yet, it is impossible to say whether at least one of its two occupants might have served as a scribe; see Gansu sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo 甘肅省文物考古研究所, “Gansu Yongchang Shuiqianzi Han mu fajue jianbao” 甘肅永昌水泉子漢墓發掘簡報, Wenwu 2009.10: 53-61, esp. 60-61; Zhang Cunliang 張存良 and Wu Hong 吳葒, “Shuiquanzi Han jian chushi” 水泉子漢簡初識, Wenwu 2009.10: 88- 91. 34

want to study laws and ordinances ought to take officials as teachers” (欲有學法令，以吏為 師).109 All in all, the substantial variety of manuscripts found in Directing Scribe Xi’s burial and several more tombs under discussion (table 1) in combination with additional evidence provided by documents retrieved from settlement sites show that Xi himself and others like him were well versed in legal procedure, state administration, occult practices, and medical knowledge. These kinds of contents have little philosophical significance; instead they conform to Martin Kern’s category of formulaic writings. Although they have been identified as the basis of the Chinese empire,110 at least the ones directly concerned with governance, their lack of intellectual depth has earned them a bad reputation. For it is largely due to their association with legal and administrative documents that scribes generally are accorded low social status. Xi, for that matter, is considered to have been but a minor player in the administrative hierarchy of the late Qin state and early Qin empire.111

On a more general level, it has been argued that the mere act of writing (i.e. calligraphy), and scribal writing in particular, were little respected in pre-Eastern Han (25-220 CE) times.112 Martin Kern has also asserted that the literate demands on shǐ were rather limited.113 Some roughly contemporary thinkers apparently shared the same view. One opinion expressed in the Xunzi, for example, is downright cynical. It describes Zhou period officials (shì and dafu 大夫) as people who simply “obey the laws and regulation” (xun fa ze 循法則) and follow whatever is written in “charts and registers” (tu ji 圖籍, i.e. books) without any comprehension of their contents (bu zhi qi yi 不 知其義).114 To Yang Xiong’s 揚雄 (53 BCE-18 CE) mind, copying a text was a legitimate pursuit

109 Shiji 6, p. 255; Shiji 87, p. 2546. 110 Kern, “Methodological Reflections,” p. 149; Kern “Offices of Writing and Reading,” pp. 65; 67; Nylan, “Calligraphy,” p. 19; Connery, The Empire of the Text, p. 42; Li Ling, “Formulaic Structure of Chu Divinatory Bamboo Slips,” Early China 15 (1990): 71-86. 111 See, for instance, Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, p. 1; Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” p. 339; Robin D.S. Yates, “Social Status in the Ch'in: Evidence from the Yunmeng Legal Documents. Part One: Commoners,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 47.1 (1987): 197-237, esp. 201-19; Robin D.S. Yates, “Introduction: The Empire of Scribes,” p. 144; Constance C. Cook, “Myth and Fragments of a Qin Yi Text: A Research Note and Translation,” Journal of Chinese Religions 26 (1998): 135-43, esp. 136; and Kern “Offices of Writing and Reading,” pp. 71-72. Robin Yates, however, conceded that Xi was nevertheless given a rather lavish burial; see his “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” p. 357. 112 Nylan, “Calligraphy,” p. 19; Nylan, Yang Xiong, p. 52; Nylan, “Toward an Archaeology of Writing,” pp. 7, 9. 113 See his “Offices of Writing and Reading,” p. 67. On the other hand, Hans van Ess rightly cautioned against a tendency to oversimplify ancient social reality that is solely based on transmitted literature; see his, “An Interpretation of the Shenwu fu of Tomb No. 6, Yinwan,” Monumenta Serica 51 (2003): 605-28, esp. 608. 114 Wang Xianqian 王先謙, Xunzi jijie 荀子集解 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1988), p. 59 (juan 2). 35

only when the writer truly engaged its essential meaning.115 Although active roughly 200 years after the majority of tomb occupants under discussion and therefore not necessarily representative of their time, 王充 (27-100 CE) was equally vocal about his distaste for the formulaic writings of shǐ. “Mere talent or the ability to wield a brush, physically and rhetorically, have little or no inherent value, being the skills of contemptible craftsmen,” as Michael Nylan has summarized Wang’s stance on the topic.116 The fact that scribes were working with crude materials – bamboo slips and wooden tablets in lieu of fancier silk (or later paper) – surely did not help their reputation either. In general, solely the production of philosophical works carried prestige. Ancient and modern commentators alike agree that scribes remained on the margins of the literate community. In a society, which placed great emphasis on the written word, and, in which barely anybody was literate, one would expect highly educated people to proudly display their writing skills. Ostensibly, the opposite was true. Writing for its own sake seems to have been widely despised among the literati. It is therefore all the more interesting to learn from the analysis of archaeological data in the subsequent section that individuals such as Directing Scribe Xi decisively stressed their ability to write.

In sum, regardless of whether junior or senior scribes were mainly carrying out administrative or legal assignments their daily routines shared many features. First of all, they were responsible for collecting, documenting, communicating, and preserving information that was fundamental to the functioning of the empire.117 This required a fair amount of traveling, be it to some distant ancestral shrine or a crime scene. Embarking on out-of-town journeys, in turn, necessitated divination, as did many other aspects of scribal work. Yet, one thing lay at the very core of all official actions: literacy. It was their continuous training as readers and writers that enabled scribes not only to read but to completely grasp the meanings of written orders. Literacy was the prerequisite to gain an in-depth knowledge of statutes and ordinances, which they certainly did not merely copy, as some contemporaries contended, but fully comprehended. Otherwise a statement

115 Michael Nylan, Yang Xiong, p. 52; Nylan, “Calligraphy,” p. 30. 116 Michael Nylan, “Calligraphy,” p. 42. Moreover, see Michael Puett “The Temptations of Sagehood, or: The Rise and Decline of Sagely Writing in Early China,” in Books in Numbers: Seventy-fifth Anniversary of the Harvard- Yenching Library, ed. Wilt L. Idema (Cambridge, MA: Harvard-Yenching Library, 2007), pp. 23-47. 117 H[erman] te Velde has made a similar argument for Ancient Egypt: “Scribes were the core and backbone of Ancient Egyptian civilization;” contrary to Ancient China, though, “[t]hey were the elite.” See his “Scribes and Literacy in Ancient Egypt,” in Scripta Signa Vocis: Studies about Scripts, Scriptures, Scribes and Languages in the Near East Presented to J.H. Hospers by his Pupils, Colleagues and Friends, ed. H. L. J. Vanstiphout (Groningen: E. Forsten, 1986), pp. 253-64. 36

that certain matters were forwarded to lingshi in writing so that they may “follow up on the issues in accordance with the statutes and ordinances” (可以律令從事) transmitted by at least two Liye slips would have made little sense. This is even more apparent from a document yielded by the same cache that records the trip of a Directing Scribe to a neighboring county with the intent of proofreading their versions of the statutes and ordinances (chou lü ling 讎律令).118 The very fact that Statutes on Forwarding of Documents (Xingshu 行書 (SHD); Xingshu lü 行書律 (ZJS)) even existed is ample evidence of the pivotal role of written communication in late pre-imperial and early imperial government.119 This is all the more evident if we take into account that any kind of correspondence was filed in archives for future reference. For instance, the household registers gathered by the districts (xiang 鄉) were put in sealed cases and shipped to the county (xian 縣) court. In case they were needed, the supervising Directing Scribe and the court official in charge (li zhu 吏主) both had to ensure that the seal was intact before the box was opened.120 Scribes made active use of their writing talents on a slightly more personal level as well. From the two diaries introduced above we know that taking notes, which one way or another all related to the job, seems to have been common practice. Apart from conveying factual information such memoranda reveal a way of structural thinking that is to be expected for members of a hierarchic bureaucracy: they were taken so that the scribe could rely on them at a later date. Shi Rao, for example, listed the amount of money he gave to the custodian of his own estate on several occasions. In short, the abilities to read and write were the most basic skills to work as a scribe. All additional expertise was dependent on the fact that scribes were truly literate; mastering the intricate details of imperial administration, laws, medicine, and divination was only possible when writers were not simple copyists, but absolutely able to immerse themselves in the contents of their documents. Considering the various demands that were put on scribes, then, begs a more fundamental question: Is it even appropriate to translate shǐ with scribe or should they rather be addressed as clerks? The claim that they were crude copyists has already been disproved. If one

118 See note 89, above. 119 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 61 (slips 183-185); Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, pp. 103-104; Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in Law, pp. 85- 86 (A95-A96); Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, pp. 169-171, pls. 29-30 (slips 264-277); Barbieri-Low and Yates, Law, State, and Society, pp. 729-52. 120 Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, p. 178, pls. 34-35 (slips 331-336); Barbieri-Low and Yates, Law, State, and Society, pp. 798-99. 37

were to understand shǐ in the sense that the Merriam Webster dictionary ascribes to “clerks,” it would indeed be more adequate to identify them as such:

[A]n official responsible (as to a government agency) for correspondence, records, and accounts and vested with specified powers or authority.121

Seeing shǐ as officials in charge of correspondence, records, and accounts might look like an accurate assessment at first sight. Yet, it is open to interpretation whether being responsible for something entails actual engagement in the contents of the documents one is being asked to handle. Today, clerks at the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) may have only a superficial understanding of the statutes that permeate the forms they hand out to customers, collect, file, or transfer to higher authorities. In contrast, the arguments in this section have demonstrated at great length that late pre-imperial and early imperial shǐ were very much experts in their respective fields. Besides, not every shǐ specialized in basic administrative work; some were criminal investigators and legal experts. Seeing that literacy and writing lay at the very root of all their work, it seems more apt to indeed call them scribes.

WRITERS IN EARLY CHINESE TOMBS: THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL EVIDENCE

Since the aim here is to establish a link between the writing skills of tomb occupants and the way they depicted themselves as literate beings through the use of material culture, tombs eligible for analysis require other finds in addition to manuscripts. From the sole existence of written materials in burial contexts dating from the fifth through first centuries BCE, we can barely go beyond mere speculation. The deceased may have been able to read and write, or may not have been literate after all, their respective documents intended only to impress an audience (perhaps somewhat similar to so-called “coffee table books” of our times). Naturally, actual writing tools are the best indicators to remove such doubts. The more such implements are associated with manuscripts, the more likely it is that the tomb occupant was not only a writer, but prided himself on being capable of writing. Then again, brushes and / or ink / ink stones by themselves need not necessarily point to literacy

121 http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/clerk, last accessed on January 16, 2016. 38

as they were employed by early Chinese painters as well. This is perfectly illustrated by two ink stones and 4,385 ink lumps from the antechamber (qian shi 前室) and western ancillary chamber (xi er shi 西耳室) of the King of ’s 南越 ( Hu’s 趙胡 / 趙眜; r. 137-122 BCE) tomb at 廣州. Scientific analyses of ink lump samples, ink residue on the surfaces of two ink stones and painted cloud patterns in ink on the walls and ceilings of both chambers verified identical chemical compositions in all three instances. The ink that was used to decorate the tomb was, in fact, prepared on both ink stones. 122 Thus, the most plausible combination of burial goods suggesting literacy is manuscripts and writing paraphernalia (table 1).123

So far, various kinds of manuscripts have been introduced throughout this article. Most notably, so-called “tradition texts” have been distinguished from “occasion texts.” The former were often recorded on silk, whereas the latter were put down on bamboo slips and rectangular tablets usually cut from wood, sometimes from bamboo.124 The amount of affection a piece of writing was awarded was not only dictated by its content – remember the intellectual’s distaste for formulaic texts –, but could also be affected by the choice of stationery. Silk, as one of, if not the most prized material in early Chinese society, was preferred over crude bamboo and wood. One of the Shuihudi statutes deemed wood from willow trees (liu 柳) and other soft (rou 柔) timber as suitable for

122 Guangzhou shi Wenwu Guanli Weiyuansuo 廣州市文物管理員所, Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan Kaogu Yanjiusuo 中國社會科學院考古研究所 and Guangdong sheng Bowuguan 廣東省博物馆, Xi Han Nanyue wang mu 西漢南越王墓 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1991), pp. 29, 128, and 142. An ink lump was also associated with an ink stone in Tomb No. 1 at Huacun 華村 in Hunyuan 渾源 County, Shanxi province. However, writing utensils or stationery were missing from the assemblage; see Shanxi sheng Wenwu Gongzuo Weiyuanhui 山西省文物工作委員 會, Yanbei Xingzheng Gongshu Wenhuaju 雁北行政公署文化局, and Datong shi Bowuguan 大同市博物館 “Shanxi Hunyuan Huacun Xi Han muguomu” 山西渾源華村西漢木槨墓, Wenwu 1980.6: 42-51, here 44 and 46. 123 A brush and ink stone in combination with administrative documents have also been found in a Western Han building in Dunhuang 敦煌 County, Gansu province; see Gansu sheng Bowuguan 甘肅省博物館 and Dunhuang xian Wenhuaguan 敦煌縣文化館, “Dunhuang Majuanwan Han dai fengsui yizhi fajue jianbao” 敦煌馬圈灣漢代烽燧遺 址發掘簡報, Wenwu 1981.10: 1-7, esp. 4 (items 79D.M.T7:01 and T7:03); Wu Rengxiang 吳礽驤, “Yumenguan yu Yumenguan hou” 玉門關與玉門關候, Wenwu 1981.10: 9-13 and 32, esp. 11 (item 79D.M.T7:11). 124 For general information on fifth through first centuries BCE stationery, see Tsien Tsuen-hsuin, Written on Bamboo and Silk: The Beginnings of Chinese Books & Inscriptions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), pp. 96-104. Paper as a writing material is archaeologically verified for a few Qin and Western Han sites. The respective contents seem more related to formulaic writing than high cultural literacy; see Tsien, Written on Bamboo and Silk, pp. 146-47. Michael Nylan, moreover, claimed that the spread of “cheap paper” fostered literacy; see her “Calligraphy,” pp. 36 and 42. For a scientific analysis of early paper, see T.J. Collings and W.D. Milner, “An Examination of Early Chinese Paper,” Restaurator 3.4 (1979): 129-51. 39

writing.125 On the other hand, we should not forget that practical demands such as ease of transport or space requirements certainly played a role in the selection process as well.126

For our purposes it is of marginal interest what kinds of materials eventually carried writing as the vast majority of documents yielded by the tombs under review had already been recorded – either by the respective tomb occupants or some other, anonymous writer – on wood or bamboo. As table 1 explains, only three tombs at Fenghuangshan 鳳凰山 cemetery in Hubei province – Nos. 10, 167, and 168 – provided unused stationery in the form of several wooden tablets. Authentic utensils (in contrast to replicas of no practical use),127 though, refer to the act of writing. As has just been implied, brush, ink and ink stones were essential to the process. Brushes were in use as early as the Neolithic when pottery was first ornamented by painting; writing with brushes is safely attested for the Shang period. 128 The instrument itself, at least in its fifteen archaeological incarnations in fifth through first century BCE burials (table 1), consisted of bamboo or wooden shafts with animal hair attached at one end (fig. 3). Customized cases fashioned from lacquered bamboo tubes were regular companions. Because of their capacity to influence whatever words emanate from their tips, brushes have occasionally been attributed with apotropaic powers.129 Yet, considering how closely the respective fifteen artifacts relate – in content and spatially – to administrative and legal records, formulaic texts concerned with divination practices, mathematical and medical treatises (see table 1), warding off evil was not their primary function in burials.

By the dawn of the imperial age, the brush had become the tool of the scribal trade, or so the Liji compilers proclaimed. Accordingly, “scribes carry brushes and gentlemen carry words” (史載 筆，士載言).130 There is not much practical sense in wielding a brush without leaving a mark. Although nowadays we can watch calligraphers practicing their art by softly dipping brushes in

125 Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 50; Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1978, Shuihudi Qin mu zhujian, p. 83; Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in Law, p. 76 (A77). 126 Matthias Richter, “Handschriftenkundliche Probleme beim Lesen altchinesischer Manuskripte,” Aspekte des Lesens in China in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart: Referate der Jahrestagung 2001 der Deutschen Vereinigung für Chinastudien (DVCS), Bernhard Führer ed. (Bochum: Projekt Verlag, 2005), pp. 88-121, here 90-91. 127 A wooden imitation of a scratch knife was detected near the pelvis of a certain Shiji Yao 侍其繇, who was buried sometime during the first century BCE near modern-day Wangtuan 網疃 village in Jiangsu 江蘇 province; see Nan Bo 南波, “Jiangsu Lianyungang shi Haizhou Xi Han Shiqi Yao mu” 江蘇連雲港市海州西漢侍其繇墓, Kaogu 1975.3: 169-77, esp. 170 (fig. 1.5), and 174. 128 This was probably first mentioned by Edward Erkes, “The Use of Writing in Ancient China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 61.3 (1941): 127-30, esp. 128; also see Tsien, Written on Bamboo and Silk, pp. 176-82. 129 See, for instance, Nylan, “Toward an Archaeology of Writing,” p. 9. 130 Kong Yingda, Liji zhengyi 4, p. 105. 40

water before elegantly drawing characters on asphalt surfaces in public parks,131 ancient writers were not content with fabricating evaporating graphs. They required something permanent, and ink was the perfect solution. For its production, soot was collected and mixed with glue to give the amalgam a solid texture. This way, ink was handy whenever needed at work or on the road. Before it was ready to be absorbed by a brush, it was necessary to liquefy the small soot-glue lumps. With a little water added, another archaeologically verified artifact was called into action. The twenty- two ink stones yielded by the tombs in question (table 1) usually consisted of a circular or rectangular solid base and a smaller rub stone (fig. 4). After the ink lump had been pulverized by circular or longitudinal movements of the latter, the resulting black powder was blended with water.132 Moreover, half of the ink stones under discussion – eleven, to be exact – were fitted in customized wooden cases, some of which were painted with quite elaborate lacquer motifs. For instance, Tomb No. 11 at Jinqueshan 金雀山 in Shandong 山東 province yielded a strikingly decorated specimen. The lid of the case portrays a cloud-like pattern that is crowded with two large birds, a feline quadruped, another quadruped, and a bear.133

Not even well educated writers are immune to mistakes, neither today and nor in ancient China. Once an incorrect graph was applied to a wooden or bamboo surface, the damage was done. To remove permanent ink from stationery, a simple yet ingenious remedy was devised: the so-called “scratch knife” (xue; occasionally known as “book knife,” shu dao 書刀; fig. 5.A.18). Ordinarily cast from bronze with a circular butt at the end of the handle – iron examples are known, but in the minority –, evidence of its appropriation in the writing process chiefly stems from received literature.134 Such tools permitted writers to erase characters by softly scraping them from the surfaces of bamboo or wooden stationery. In addition, they could be used to trim the edges of pre- prepared slips and tablets. The fact that thirty-eight scratch knives were associated with

131 See, for instance, Angela Zito, “Writing in Water, or, Evanescence, Enchantment and Ethnography in a Chinese Urban Park,” Visual Anthropology Review 30.1 (2014): 11-22. 132 Ink lumps were discovered in Zhoujiatai Tomb No. 30 and Shuihudi Tomb No. 4; see Hubei sheng Jingzhou shi Zhouliang Yuqiao Yizhi Bowuguan, “Guanju Qin Han Mu qingli jianbao,” p. 31; Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin mu Bianxiezu, Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin mu, p. 26. Moreover, see table 1. On ink production, see Tsien, Written on Bamboo and Silk, pp. 184-85; Herbert Franke, Kulturgeschichtliches über die chinesische Tusche (München: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1962), pp. 6-7. 133 Linyi shi Bowuguan 臨沂市博物館, “Shandong Linyi Jinqueshan Zhao shi muqun fajue jianbao” 山東臨沂金雀 山周氏墓群發掘簡報, Wenwu 1984.11: 41-58, esp. 48-49; Hu Jigao 胡継高, “Yijian tese de Xi Han qihe shiyan,” 一 件特色的西漢漆盒石硯, Wenwu 1984.11: 59-61; also see table 1. On ink stones and ink stone cases, also see Zhang Tiexian 張鐵弦, “Gu yan suo tan” 古硯鎖談, Wenwu cankao ziliao 文物參考資料 1958.12: 17; Li Zebin 李則斌, “Han yanpinlei de xin faxian” 漢硯品類的新發現, Wenwu 1988.2: 44-46. 134 Tsien, Written on Bamboo and Silk, pp. 194-95. 41

manuscripts lends sufficient credence to the assertions made in transmitted texts (table 1). These were either discovered in close proximity to written documents and / or other writing tools, or in the pelvic regions of the tomb occupants. The latter observation bears on the function of the typical ring butt. Seven of Qin Shihuang’s terracotta figures excavated in 2000 in pit K0006 wore scratch knives in combination with whetstones on their belts. Hence, the ring butt served as an eye that allowed its owner to suspend the knife from the hip. This way, it was always close at hand.135

By invoking a scratch knife yielded by Fenghuangshan Tomb No. 168, the excavators of pit K0006 concluded that the seven pottery sculptures represented officials. Judging from the sum of burial goods contained in Tomb No. 168, this might be anything but a safe assumption. In contrast to Shuihudi Nos. 11 and 77, Zhoujiatai No. 30, Zhangjiashan No. 247, Yinwan No. 6, and Tianchang 天長 No. 19,136 in which the existence and contents of especially administrative and / or legal texts rather unambiguously designate the tomb occupants as scribes in official employ, comparable manuscripts are missing from Fenghuangshan No. 168. The tomb only retained inventory lists, a Written Announcement to the Underworld Bureaucracy (Gao di xia guan li shu 告地下官吏書), and unused stationery. Furthermore, although the bamboo hamper holding the scratch knife was partially filled with finds such as an ink stone, a brush (including a case), and the aforementioned six blank wooden tablets that suggest some degree of literacy, the remaining items – five bamboo sticks, thirteen bamboo counting rods, one bamboo equal-arm balance including a bronze weight, and 101 banliang 半兩 coins (fig. 5) – indicate probably mercantile affinities. Admittedly, weighing merchandise and collecting money most likely were among the duties assigned to scribes; just think of the Directing Scribes that supervised the sale of the leftovers of sacrificial meals mentioned above.137 However, scratch knives cannot be understood as status

135 Shanxi sheng Kaogu Yanjiusuo 陝西省考古研究所 and Qin Shihuang Bingmayong Bowuguan 秦始皇兵馬俑博 物館, Qin Shihuangdi lingyuan kaogu baogao (2000) 秦始皇帝陵園考古報告 (2000) (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe 2006), pp. 74-79, and 88. 136 Tianchang shi Wenwu Guanlisuo 天長市文物管理所 and Tianchang shi Bowuguan 天長市博物館, “ Tianchang Xi Han mu fajue jianbao” 安徽天長西漢墓發掘簡報, Wenwu 2006.11: 4-41, esp. 5 (fig. 2.48), 7, and 11- 20; for this and all the other tombs mentioned above also see table 1. The two scratch knives yielded by this tomb were found inside the coffin, to the right of the pelvis of the skeletonized male occupant. 137 In this context it is also worth mentioning that a bamboo hamper discovered in Tomb No. 15 at Zuojia Gongshan 左家公山 in 長沙 contained, among other things, a bamboo writing brush stored in a bamboo case, a bronze scratch knife, and a wooden equal-arm balance including nine bronze weights. Yet, the undisturbed tomb did not yield any manuscripts and is thus not included in table 1. See Hunan sheng Wenwu Guanli Weiyuanhui 湖南省文物管理 委員會, “Changsha Zuojia Gongshan de Zhanguo muguo mu” 長沙左家公山的戰國木槨墓, Wenwu cankao ziliao 1954.12: 3-19, esp. 7-8; Hunan sheng Wenwu Guanli Weiyuanhui 湖南省文物管理委員會, “Changsha chutu de sanzuo daxing muguomu” 長沙出土的三座大型木槨墓, Kaogu xuebao 1957.1: 93-101, esp. 95, fig. 3, pl. 1. 42

symbols of a particular profession by default; additional data must be taken into account. An interesting find in this regard is an iron scratch knife presumably owned by a certain Huo He 霍賀 (identified by a seal found near his hip). Together with another iron scratch knife, a stack of six blank wooden tablets, an inventory list (qian ce 遣冊), three wooden combs, and a silk pouch filled with millet seeds, the item gathered around the feet of the deceased. The knife’s outstanding feature is the following inscription:

宜官腆二千石 Suitable for [public] offices remunerated with two-thousand bushels.

This specific object was undoubtedly a status symbol, one that broadcast that its proprietor held a post of the second or third highest rank in the administration of the Han Empire.138 Yet, as I have already stated, every single archaeological case might be different and merits closer scrutiny. Besides, as cutting tools, scratch knives could have been utilized in any number of different ways. 139 Consequently, table 1 only includes burials that yielded both, writing utensils and manuscripts.

Mere association of one or even several utensils – a brush, an ink stone, ink lumps, a scratch knife – with documents in a tomb assemblage may not suffice to entirely convince all readers of the writing skills of interred individuals. Such justified skepticism notwithstanding, one additional factor considerably enhances the chances of identifying a writer, as immediate or close spatial proximity of writing paraphernalia to texts is not pure coincidence. The objects were jointly deposited because the act of writing is inseparable from its consequence, that is to say, a text.

As the two columns to the far right of table 1 exhibit, manuscripts have regularly been deposited together with one or several writing tools. Three occupants had their documents and utensils right next to their bodies in their coffins (Yinwan No. 6, Shuihudi No.11, and Huo He at Wangtuan), while four others had writings and writing paraphernalia stored in special containers

138 Nanjing Bowuguan 南京博物館 and Lianyungang shi Bowuguan 連雲港市博物館, “Haizhou Xi Han Huo He mu qingli jianbao” 海州西漢霍賀墓清理簡報, Kaogu 1974.3: 179-86, and 178, esp. 185; Bielenstein, The Bureaucracy of Han Times, p. 4. 139 See, for instance, Tombs No. 1 and 3 (table 1) for two scratch knives directly related to toiletry products and 六博 game paraphernalia. In Zhao Mo’s tomb a total of twenty-seven scratch knives came to light in a lacquer box that mainly contained carving tools; see Guangzhou shi Wenwu Guanli Weiyuansuo et al., Xi Han Nanyue wang mu, p. 106. 43

(Zhoujiatai No. 30, Fenghuangshan Nos. 168 and 10, Jiudian 九店 No. 56). Yet another four burials united at least one writing utensil with texts at one and the same location (Shuihudi Nos. 77 and 4, Zhangjiashan No. 247, and Tianchang No. 19). Even if they were not necessarily the writers of every single text in their tombs, these individuals were certainly literate. What is more, with the sole exception of two personal letters in Shuihudi No. 4, they were exclusively accompanied by formulaic writings: chronicles / calendars, administrative records, legal codes, divination manuals, medical and mathematical texts, as well as scattered inventory lists and Written Announcement to the Underworld Bureaucracy.

The latter two genres, however, are slightly at odds with my general argument since such texts, in all likelihood, were composed after the tomb occupants had already passed away. Hence, an ink stone, two scratch knives, and inventory lists of burial goods accumulated in Huo He’s coffin do not conclusively prove his literacy. Assuming that he was, in fact, the legitimate owner of the inscribed knife, it may have been hard for Huo to become a relatively high-ranking official without being able to write and read. He may simply have passed the point where the act of writing was overly important to him. At such an advanced career stage, writing competence was taken for granted.140 This is also suggested by the fact that few tradition texts were linked to writing tools (Dingxian 定縣 No. 40 in Hebei 河北, Shangsun Jiazhai 上孫家寨 No. 115 in Qinghai 青海, Shuanggudui 雙古堆 No. 1 in Anhui 安徽, and Mawangdui 馬王堆 No. 3 in Hubei; table 1). The respective owners surely were capable of reading their copies of the Lunyu 論語, Wenzi 文子, Laozi 老子 or Sunzi bingfa 孫子兵法, and they most probably were writers (not authors!) themselves. These people just did not put much emphasis on this particular aspect of literacy. The same could be said for any other individual – the men buried in Guodian No. 1 or Mawangdui 馬 王堆 No. 3 instantly spring to mind141 – that was found in the company of tradition texts but no

140 This is also true for Shao Tuo 邵佗, the occupant of Baoshan 包山 Tomb No. 2, who served as a high court official during his lifetime; see Hubei sheng Jing Sha Tielu Kaogudui 湖北省荆沙鐵路考古隊, Baoshan Chu mu, shang ce 包山楚墓, 上册 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1991), pp. 45-277, esp. 334-37, and table 1. Moreover see Cook, Death in Ancient China, pp. 4-6. 141 Hunan sheng Bowuguan 湖南省博物館 and Hunan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo 湖南省文物考古研究所, Changsha Mawangdui er, sanhao Han mu. Di yi juan: tianye kaogu fajue baogao 長沙馬王堆二, 三號漢墓. 第二卷: 田野考古發掘報告 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 2004), pp. 26-240. Mawangdui No. 3 famously contained many manuscripts, of which two versions of the Laozi and various medical texts figure most prominently in secondary scholarship. For references to Guodian Tomb No. 1, see note 60 above. 44

writing tools (assuming that conditions for the preservation of both kinds of artifacts were roughly comparable and the tomb had not been robbed).

To sum up, most of the burials at the bottom of table 1 allude vaguely to literacy. First, they only couple either one ink stone or one scratch knife with manuscripts. Second, it is impossible to establish a spatial connection between both kinds of finds. And third, the nature of the majority of respective documents (inventory lists, another announcement to the underworld (here entitled Wengao du 文告牘, Written Announcement on a Wooden Tablet), a prayer, a testament, divination texts) implies that they were brushed by someone else.

With regard to the remaining tombs, an obvious pattern of literate tomb occupants emerges. The direct association of writing utensils and manuscripts primarily in coffins and containers has been demonstrated above. It deserves further mention that in most of these cases two or more writing tools were present. But ultimately, it is the contents of the various texts that allow us to distinguish different types of writers. The male entombed in Shuihudi No. 4 was a soldier who could at least draft letters, in which he asked for money, to his family.142 The situation with tombs Jiudian No. 56 and Fenghuangshan No. 168 is a bit more complex. Judging from their manuscripts and the rest of their grave goods, both occupants may or may not have been officials. Several weapons – a wooden bow, seventeen bronze arrowheads, as well as a bronze short sword – and a pile of lacquered leather armor scales yielded by Jiudian No. 56 could also mark the deceased a military man (even a military official, wu li 武吏, or shi li 士吏?).143 Yet, the administrative and legal character of records that emerged from Yinwan No. 6, Shuihudi No. 11, Zhoujiatai No. 30, Fenghuangshan No. 10, Shuihudi No. 77, Zhangjiashan No. 247, Tianchang No. 19, and Shuanglong No. 1144 makes one thing abundantly clear: The men interred in these tombs were not

142 Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin Mu Bianxiezu, Yunmeng Shuihudi Qin mu, pp. 25-26; for an English translation, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, “Military Histories of Early China: A Review Article,” Early China 21 (1996): 159-82, esp. 181. Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women,” p. 363 argued that the tomb occupant may have had help from a professional writer. 143 Hubei sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo 湖北省文物考古研究所, Jiangling Jiudian Dong Zhou mu 江陵九店東周 墓 (Beijing: Kexue chubanshe, 1995), pp. 61-62; Hubei sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo 湖北省文物考古研究所 and Beijing Daxue Zhongwenxi 北京大學中文系, Jiudian Chu jian 九店楚簡 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2000), pp. 149- 55. 144 Lianyungang shi Bowuguan 連雲港市博物館, “Jiangsu Lianyungang Haizhou Xi Han mu fajue jianbao” 江蘇連 雲港海州西漢墓發掘簡報, Wenwu 2012.3: 4-17; see also table 1. 45

only writers, but scribes in public service; a fact that they conspicuously transferred into their underground homes.145

EARLY CHINESE SCRIBES AND IDENTITY

What exactly does it mean when one emphasizes literacy in archaeological contexts? Identity, in this regard, is a widely discussed subject. The common consensus is that material culture was used to define various kinds of identity. From the very beginnings of archaeology as an academic discipline, research has focused on exposing patterns of national or ethnic identity, cultural identity, class or status identity, or individual identity. More recently, the spectrum has widened as connections of religion, age, the human body, and intimate relations with identity came to the fore.146

Individual identity may be approached in various ways. Archaeologists most often turn to the work of the anthropologist Marilyn Strathern, who introduced the concept of dividual persons. She made the following observation in her seminal study The Gender of the Gift (1988):

Far from being regarded as unique entities, Melanesian persons are as dividually as they are individually conceived… Indeed, persons are frequently constructed as the plural and composite site of the relationships that produced them.147

We can take away two things from this statement. First, it implies that persons are believed to be unique entities in the Western line of thought. Indeed, Strathern’s own and subsequent studies148

145 For tombs as underground homes, see, for instance, Poo, In Search of Personal Welfare, p. 165; Mark Edward Lewis, The Construction of Space in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006), pp. 119-21; Cook, Death in Ancient China, pp. 55-63; Michèle Pirazzoli-t’Serstevens, “Death and the Dead: Practices and Images in the Qin and Han,” in Early Chinese Religion. Part One: Shang through Han (1250 BC-220 AD), eds. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2009), pp. 949-1026, here 950-51; Susan N. Erickson, “Han Dynasty Tomb Structures and Contents,” in China’s Early Empires: A Re-appraisal, Michael Nylan and Michael Loewe eds. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp. 13-82, here 14; Wu Hung, The Art of the Yellow Springs: Understanding Chinese Tombs (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2011), pp. 38-40. 146 Stephen Shennan ed., Archaeological Approaches to Cultural Identity (London: Unwin Hyman, 1989); Margarita Díaz-Andreu, Sam Lucy, Staša Babić, and David N. Edwards, eds., The Archaeology of Identity: Approaches to Gender, Age, Status, Ethnicity and Religion, eds. (London and New York: Routledge, 2005); Timothy Insoll, ed., The Archaeology of Identities: A Reader, ed. (London and New York: Routledge, 2007); Lynn Meskell, “The Intersections of Identity and Politics in Archaeology,” Annual Review of Anthropology 31 (2002): 279-301; Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis, esp. pp. 130-60. 147 Marilyn Strathern, The Gender of the Gift: Problems with Women and Problems with Society in Melanesia (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988), p. 14. 148 See, for instance, John Chapman, Fragmentation in Archaeology: People, Places and Broken Objects in the Prehistory of South-eastern Europe (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), pp. 27-29; Chris Fowler, “Personhood 46

aim at refuting modern notions of individuality that see the self as a self-contained, self-interested, and unchanging entity. Second, Melanesia persons, by contrast, are viewed as products of the relationships they have and maintain with other people. People affect one another by the exchange of dividual parts of their own identity. Such exchanges may include objects that serve as carriers of fractions of one’s own identity. For instance, the time, labor, and food it takes for a man to raise a piglet is epitomized by the mature pig. If he gives the grown-up animal away, he is actually giving a part of himself. By accepting such a present the recipient, in turn, is absorbing this very fraction of the donor’s persona. 149 By constantly alienating and incorporating dividual elements, the Melanesian concept of a person is always in flux. As a consequence, larger social units are

achieved through eliminating what differentiates them… Thus a group of men or a group of women will conceive of their individual members as replicating in singular form.150

In Melanesia, the formation of social groups is based on the lowest common denominator. By disposing of the differences between the individual persons and focusing on the traits they all share in common, the group presents a unified front.

Despite the all-pervading influence of Strathern’s assertions, there have been some critical voices among anthropologists. These take issue with the fact that Strathern’s claims create a seemingly insurmountable dichotomy between western and Melanesian understandings of individuality. Edward LiPuma, for example, argued that individual and dividual aspects of personhood exist in all cultures, albeit to different degrees. 151 Mark Mosko has shown that Christian views of individual agency are more closely related to the idea of partible persons than they are to supposedly monolithic notions of the individual in western cultures.152

and Social Relations in the British Neolithic with a Study from the Isle of Man,” Journal of Material Culture 6.2 (2001): 137-63; Chris Fowler, The Archaeology of Personhood: An Anthropological Approach (London and New York: Routledge, 2004); Trevor Kirk, “Materiality, Personhood and Monumentality in Early Neolithic Britain,” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 16.3 (2006): 333-47; Chris Gosden, “The Past and Foreign Countries: Colonial and Post- Colonial Archaeology and Anthropology,” in A Companion to Social Archaeology, eds. Lynn Meskell and Robert W. Preucel (Malden, MA; Oxford, Carlton: Blackwell Publishing, 2007), pp. 161-94. 149 Strathern, Gender of the Gift, pp. 204-205. 150 Strathern, Gender of the Gift, p. 15. 151 Edward LiPuma, “Modernity and Forms of Personhood in Melanesia,” in Bodies and Persons: Comparative perspectives from Africa and Melanesia, eds. Michael Lambek and Andrew Strathern (Cambridge et al.: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 53-79. 152 Mark Mosko, “Partible Penitents: Dividual Personhood and Christian Practice in Melanesia and the West,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, N.S. 16 (2010): 215-40, esp. 219-20. 47

The theoretical arguments forwarded by anthropologist and archaeologists are usually vague in the definitions of the concepts they are concerned with. Most notably they indiscriminately equate identity with individuality. Turning to sociological and social-psychological scholarship and thus returning to the research that initially inspired this article allows us to get a better understanding of the identity concept. In the respective fields, all inquiry into identity starts with the self. The so-called “self-concept,” i.e. how a person sees itself, represents what an individual: a) could become, b) would like to become, and c) is afraid of becoming.153 For these reasons, individuals reflect on their current behavior and regulate future conduct accordingly. The possibility to adjust to social challenges, of course, precludes a static sense of the self. Instead of clinging to one fixed notion of the self, the phrase “working self-concept” was coined to acknowledge the dynamic nature of the concept. Here we have tremendous overlap with Marilyn Strathern’s notion of dividual personhood, which is, above all, dynamic because it is shaped by the interactions with other social agents. Sociologists, however, do not perceive the self as a somewhat passive entity – apart from actively giving a pig to someone else, Melanesian persons are forced to return the favor and thus a part of themselves154 –, but as an absolutely active agent that adapts to changing circumstances. The self, moreover, is represented in material culture as well as interpersonal behavior.155 It is widely recognized that a person actually commands more than one way to express a desired self. In social interactions, some self-representations carry more weight than others. Actors choose those self-representations that they deem most beneficial in any given situation. This pool of self-representations is not only based on past experiences, but draws from present experiences as well. Self-representations are just as dynamic as the self-concept.156

While archaeologists and anthropologist identify identity with individuality, sociologists often use the term “identity” synonymously for what has just been described as “self-concept.” This

153 Ann Patrice Ruvolo and Hazel Rose Markus, “Possible Selves and Performance: The Power of Self-relevant Imagery,” Social Cognition 10.1 (1992): 95-124, here 96. Also see Daphna Oyserman and Hazel Rose Markus, “Self as Social Representation,” in The Psychology of the Social, ed. Uwe Flick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 107-25, esp. 107, and Daphna Oyserman, “Self-concept and Identity,” in The Blackwell Handbook of Social Psychology, eds. A. Tesser and N. Schwarz (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2001), pp. 499-517, esp. 499. The self, thus, is the object of reflection. In the process, an actor assumes the perspective of others. On these points, see Jan E. Stets and Peter J. Burke, “Identity Theory and Social Identity Theory,” Social Psychology Quarterly 63.3 (2000): 224-37, here 224, and Jan E. Stets, “Identity Theory and Emotions,” in Handbook of the Sociology of Emotions, eds. Jan E. Stets and Jonathan H. Turner (New York: Springer, 2006), pp. 203-23, here 203. 154 Strathern, Gender of the Gift, pp. 203-205. 155 Ruvolo and Markus, “Possible Selves and Performance,” p. 305; Oyserman, “Self-concept and Identity,” p. 501. 156 Oyserman and Markus, “Self as Social Representation,” pp. 107-108, and Hazel Markus and Elissa Wurf, “The Dynamic Self-Concept: A Social Psychological Perspective,” Annual Review of Psychology 38 (1987): 299-337, here 301. 48

intimate bond between both concepts is all the more visible by the pairing of “self” with “identity” in the titles of numerous essays and monographs. There are minor differences though. Some scholars conceived of identity as “a way of making sense of some aspect or part of self-concept.”157 Identity, thus, is only a contributing element to the self-concept. The definition of the modern western notion of individuality as “autonomous, self-animated, and self-enclosed”158 that many anthropologists and archaeologists are trying to debunk is akin to the sociological self-concept in the sense that it defines how a person perceives himself or herself. Seeing that identity is but part of the self-concept it is impossible to maintain that identity equals individuality (i.e. the self- concept). Regardless of whether one deals with the self as a whole or identity as one aspect of it, the basic principles remain unchanged as “[p]ossible identities are not fixed. Rather they are amended, revised, and even dropped depending on contextual affordances and constraints.”159 Individuals tailor particular identities for specific occasions because they want to be as convincing as possible in their self-portrayal. 160 Only then can actors expect maximal rewards for themselves.161

Sceptics might protest that identities exist only in the mind of the object, yet empirical studies have offered unambiguous evidence to the contrary: They are perceived as such by the outside world as well.162 Consequently, identities are “joint constructs” by the social actors, their audiences, and the situations in which interactions occur. Different identities are developed for different audiences. A person assumes “role identities” that are conditioned by social circumstances. At first, role identities are specific to certain situations. Over time a hierarchy of role identities develops that places the most central ones at the top.163 Adjustments in the display of identities are not

157 Daphna Oyserman, Kristen Elmore, and George Smith, “Self, Self-Concept, and Identity,” in Handbook of Self and Identity, eds. Mark A. Leary and June Price Tangney (New York and London: The Guilford Press, 2012), pp. 69-104, here 73. 158 Edward LiPuma, “Modernity and Forms of Personhood in Melanesia,” in Bodies and Persons: Comparative perspectives from Africa and Melanesia, eds. Michael Lambek and Andrew Strathern (Cambridge et al.: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 53-79, here 53-54. 159 Daphna Oyserman and Leah James, “Possible Identities,” in Handbook of Identity Theory and Research. Vol. 1: Structures and Processes, eds. Seth J. Schwartz, Koen Luyckx, and Vivian L. Vignoles (New York: Springer, 2011), pp. 117-45, here 120. 160 Mahzarin R. Banaji and Deborah A. Prentice, “The Self in Social Contexts,” Annual Review of Psychology 45 (1994): 297-332, here 306. 161 Stets and Burke, “Identity Theory and Social Identity Theory,” p. 227; Stets, “Identity Theory and Emotions,” p. 206. 162 Markus and Wurf, “The Dynamic Self-Concept,” p. 323. 163 Sheldon Stryker, “Identity Salience and Role Performance: The Relevance of Symbolic Interaction Theory for Family Research,” Journal of Marriage and Family 30.4 (1968): 558-64, here 559-60; Peter J. Burke and Judy C. Tully, “The Measurement of Role Identity,” Social Forces 55.4 (1977): 881-97, here 883. On the interplay of actors, 49

necessarily made deliberately; a person might be so familiar with some conditions that the most salient identities come into play intuitively.164

Identity is not exclusively relevant for individuals. Social theory distinguishes two to four differing identities. The most common distinction is between personal and social identity. Peter J. Burke, for instance, opted for a more nuanced understanding when determining a “person identity” (sometimes also called “core identity”) that is tied to the individual, a role identity tied to particular roles, and a social identity tied to a social group. Jonathan H. Turner even saw the “self as composed of four fundamental identities.” In addition to Burke’s three suggestions, Turner introduced group identity. In contrast to social identities that are associated with “cognitions and feelings that people have of themselves as members of social categories” (e.g. gender, sexual preference, ethnicity, or class), group identities “stem from membership in, or identification with, corporate units.”165 Group members are united by what they have in common. Studies have also verified that individuals often go through great pains to protect group interests.166 The actor is no longer viewed as an individual, but becomes part of the group (“depersonalization”). All of this accords well with Strathern’s observation on the formation of social groups in Melanesia. When the personal identities of social actors fade into the background because they identify with a larger unit, loyalties lie with the group. Individuals consciously – note: group identities differ in this respect from personal identities that can also operate unconsciously, as was stated above – seek out social categories, or objects for that matter, that define one’s own group (intra group) and distinguish them from other groups (out-groups).167

To sum up, identity does not equal individuality as it is (uncritically) perceived in current western societies; it is but a contributing part of it (or better, of the self-concept). In developing identities, the individual reflects on itself and its behavior. It adjusts the way it represents itself accordingly in order to fit an ideal notion of the self. The individual chooses from a variety of

audiences, and situations, also see Markus and Wurf, “The Dynamic Self-Concept,” p. 325; Oyserman, “Self-concept and Identity,” pp. 501-507. 164 Oyserman and James, “Possible Identities,” p. 120. 165 Jonathan H. Turner, Contemporary Sociological Theory (London, New Delhi, Singapore: Sage Publications, 2013), pp. 344 and 349. 166 Naomi Ellemers, Russell Spears and Bertjan Doosje, “Self and Social Identity,” Annual Review of Psychology 53 (2002): 161-86, here 163. 167 Michael A. Hogg and Scott A. Reid, “Social Identity, Self-Categorization, and the Communication of Group Norms,” Communication Theory 16 (2006): 7-30, here 10. Jan Assmann, for instance, explicitly attached his “collective memory” concept to a specific social group; see his Das kulturelle Gedächtnis, p. 39. 50

possible self-representations the most salient ones in any given situation. The fact that self- representations and identities are malleable and regularly adapted whenever audiences shift not only shows the dynamic character of both concepts, but highlights that they are indeed social forces that impact the structures of society. One significant consequence of this communal aspect is the formation of group identities based on personal identities and self-representations. The group as a collective intentionally utilizes shared traits to set itself apart from other groups.

With regards to the archaeological material under discussion, the final part of the preceding sentence raises an important question: Was it really the deceased themselves who assumed the identities of scribes in burial rituals, or was it rather a concern of the bereaved? Whenever dealing with mortuary remains, one has to consider two inextricably interrelated levels of motivation. On the one hand there is the religious meaning of the burial ritual in all its facets; on the other hand we have the social implications of such rituals. They were dominated by the desire of the departed to express a certain self-concept and by the perspective of the descendants who wished to legitimize their own social standing. Might this essay, then, be more aptly entitled, “He wrote, therefore he was”?

Assuming that accounts of the early ritual compendia are halfway trustworthy in this respect, ancient Chinese funerary rites entailed a procession leading from the deceased’s place of residence to the burial plot. Along the way, personal objects as well as presents made by attending mourners were first displayed and afterwards deposited in the tomb. When we also accept that the showcased goods were recorded on inventory slips / tablets that sometimes come to light in fifth century BCE through first century CE tombs,168 then writing tools explicitly mentioned on inventory slips that were recovered from tombs of scribes confirm that such items were part of the ceremonies. For instance, the subsequent inscriptions were found in Zhangjiashan Tomb No. 247: 書一笥 (slip 34) 筆一, 有管 (slip 39) 研一, 有子 (slip 40) One bamboo hamper [containing] documents; One ink brush with case; One ink stone with rub stone.169

168 鄭玄, Yili zhusu 儀禮注疏 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2008) 39.13, p. 1189-90. 169 Zhangjiashan Ersiqihao Han Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu, Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, p. 304, pls. 123-24. 51

Yinwan Tomb No. 6 provided a second example: 刀二枚 筆二枚 板研一 墨橐一 (tablet YM6D13, recto) Two [scratch] knives; Two ink brushes; One board [i.e. case] with ink stone; One ink pouch.170 Table 1 indicates that the Zhangjiashan burial actually contained two ink stones including one rub stone each and one bamboo case holding a brush.171 The only thing missing from the tomb was the bamboo hamper reported on slip 34. However, since manuscripts and writing paraphernalia were found in immediate proximity (table 1), it seems more than likely that both kinds of objects originally had been placed in an organic container that did not survive. Shi Rao, the male occupant of the Yinwan grave, was buried with two writing brushes, two scratch knives, and a lacquered ink stone case in his coffin. The ink pouch probably had already decomposed by the time the tomb was opened.172 On the whole, the inventory records accord very well with the archaeological evidence at hand. Manuscripts, brushes, and ink stones were visible parts of the mortuary rites. Indeed, they were the integral aspect of self-representation. In all the cases presented previously, the rest of the tomb assemblages were quite generic: mostly lacquer and pottery containers, some furniture, the occasional weapons, in addition to zoomorphic and anthropomorphic figurines as well as some miniature models. Following the argument that actors choose from among a pool of various role identities the ones most beneficial to them, the tomb occupants were deliberately presented to an audience as literate beings. The hope was that everyone should see and most probably admire the fact the departed served as scribes. Judging from the relatively large number of deceased individuals that resorted to similar methods of self-representation – nine out of the thirty-three tombs under review – it is plain to see that the personal identity of scribes also contributed to and largely constituted a group / social identity. Writing and its practical implementation in office

170 Lianyungang shi Bowuguan et al., Yinwan Han mu jiandu, pp. 3; 24; 131. 171 Jingzhou Diqu Bowuguan, “Jiangling Zhangjiashan san zuo Han mu,” pp. 2, fig. 5.44-46; 7. 172 Lianyungang shi Bowuguan et al., Yinwan Han mu jiandu, pp. 164-65; Lianyungang shi Bowuguan 連雲港市博物 館, “Jiangsu Donghai xian Yinwan Han muqun fajue jianbao” 江蘇東海縣尹灣漢墓群發掘簡報, Wenwu 1996.8: 4- 25, here 9; 16; 17; 23. 52

became their common denominator. Interestingly, a similar mindset is more explicitly expressed in the ancient Egyptian text “The Satire on the Trades” (2025-1700 BCE), in which a scribe enlightens his son about the advantages of his profession by casting an extremely dark shadow on several other crafts.173 Considering that it was an inheritable privilege to train as a scribe, in ancient China as well as Egypt, one could argue that intra group membership was legally mandated and hence nothing special. Yet, while other contemporary writers might have stressed different identities after their demise, these particular nine tomb occupants decisively took pride in being part of this rather exclusive group. Distinction from out-groups such as the illiterate masses or classically educated literati, who were unable to find merit in the work of scribes, ranked first on their agenda.

Now, as to whether the dead or the bereaved were the primary instigators of such burial arrangements – most likely both parties, albeit to varying degrees, had a say in the issue – is only of minor importance for my argument. The tomb occupant either chose a specific personal identity by himself or was assigned one by his close relatives for exactly the same reason: maximum efficacy. Of course the immediate descendant could profit in real life. The prestige of an esteemed father, augmented by a goal-oriented funeral, surely bore the capacity to open doors for the son. The advantages for the deceased person were mainly effective in the afterlife (except for his postmortem prestige among the living).

CONCLUSION

The earliest scribes known to us were not at all concerned with writing. They were military leaders, ritual specialists, or envoys who, over time, became more and more associated with literacy. By the late pre-imperial and early imperial period scribes were an integral part of governance. After three years of successful training in reading, reciting, and writing they were ready to enter state administration. However, getting acquainted with the means to produce and engage in texts was only the beginning of their education. As novice contributors to local and regional government, junior scribes were not yet awarded official ranks. First they had to go through a period of on-the-

173 William Kelly Simpson, “The Satire on the Trades: The Instruction of Dua-Khety,” in The Literature of Ancient Egypt: An Anthology of Stories, Instructions, Stelae, Autobiographies, and Poetry, ed. William Kelly Simpson (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2003), pp. 431-37, esp. 435. 53

job training. A plethora of writing exercises yielded by various settlement sites indicates that honing one’s writing skills was as much part of the proceedings as experiencing different aspects of governance. Equipped with this kind of knowledge, the upcoming scribes were perfectly prepared to specialize either in administrative or judicial work. At least at that point they were not just functionally literate, as is often assumed. For instance, the resumes of Zhao Yu 趙禹 (fl. mid- second century BCE) and Lu Wenshu 路溫舒 (fl. mid-first century BCE), who both started out as modest scribes but then rose through the ranks to the upper echelons of Western Han imperial administration, show that gathering practical experience for a few years helped to transform mid- career scribes into extremely capable writers.174

Those inclined to pursue the administrative line of government were more familiar with the methods of dealing with numbers (e.g. household registers etc.), whereas judicial experts needed to know human (and mammal) anatomy. Regardless of whether mid-career scribes focused on administrative or legal matters, they all had an excellent command of the current statutes and ordinances. Some of the work associated with them in praxis, such as extensive traveling or interacting with the general public, required divination. But at the very core of all these activities still lay written documents, reading, and writing. All forms of knowledge implemented in office originated from writing and every kind of communication needed to be handled in writing. Literacy was the be-all and end-all of scribal existence. The significance of writing as related to the scribal profession may even be gleaned occasionally in writing exercises. The one example from Juyan I have invoked above in which an anonymous writer brushed the character shǐ 史, “scribe” ten times in order to outline the graph zhong 中, “center, middle” discloses a sense of accomplishment and pride in one’s occupation. Such a sentiment, along with the fact that training as a scribe was in theory an inheritable privilege, highlights that the late pre-imperial and early imperial governments succeeded in educating highly qualified and, more importantly, intensely dedicated scribes. They were most certainly the backbone of the empire.

Looking at the archaeological record, we now can tell that some tomb occupants were indeed deeply aware of their own significance. Tombs that yielded a large volume of administrative, legal, divinatory, mathematical, and medicinal texts in close proximity to writing paraphernalia are

174 For Zhao Yu, see Shiji 122, p. 3136; Hanshu 90, p. 3651; for Lu Wenshu, see Hanshu 23, p. 1102; Hanshu 51, p. 2367. 54

sufficient testament to that effect. If the general consensus is accurate and the netherworld truly replicated secular bureaucratic structures,175 then scribal identity expressed through interred texts and writing tools should guarantee the status quo in the beyond. In the end, all that really mattered was the job: “I write therefore I am” – in this life and the next.

175 See, for instance, Lewis, Writing and Authority, pp. 27; 49; Pirazzoli-t’Serstevens, “Death and the Dead,” p. 970; Guo Jue, “Concepts of Death and the Afterlife Reflected in Newly Discovered Tomb Objects and Texts from Han China,” in Mortality in Traditional Chinese Thought, eds. Amy Olberding and Philip J. Ivanhoe (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2011), pp. 85-115, esp. 95-104. 55

Fig. 1: Wooden chamber of scribe Xi’s tomb at Shuihudi (No. 11) (no. 60 = writing brush; no. 64 = scratch knife). (After: Xiaogan Diqu Dierqi Yigong Yinong Wenwu Kaogu Xunlianban, “Hubei Yunmeng Shuihudi shiyihao Qin mu fajue jianbao,” p. 2, fig. 3.1). 56

Fig. 2: Distribution of various manuscripts inside the coffin of scribe Xi’s tomb at Shuihudi (No. 11). One writing brush was found near his right elbow, another by his right knee. (After: Xiaogan Diqu Dierqi Yigong Yinong Wenwu Kaogu Xunlianban, “Hubei Yunmeng Shuihudi shiyihao Qin mu fajue jianbao,” p. 3, fig. 4).

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Fig. 3: Bamboo writing brush stored in a lacquered bamboo case yielded by Fenghuangshan Tomb No. 168. (After: Hubei sheng Wenwu Kaougu Yanjiusuo 湖北省文物考古研究所, “Jiangling Fenghuangshan yiliubahao Han mu” 江陵鳳凰山一六八號漢墓, Kaogu xuebao 1993.4, pp. 455-513, esp. 495, fig. 40.2).

Fig. 4: Circular ink stone including a smaller rub stone yielded by Fenghuangshan Tomb No. 168. (After: Hubei sheng Wenwu Kaougu Yanjiusuo, “Jiangling Fenghuangshan yiliubahao Han mu,” p. 495, fig. 40.1). 58

Fig. 5: Contents of a bamboo hamper retrieved from the lateral compartment of Fenghuangshan Tomb No. 168. Finds in upper stratum (A): ink stone (no. 1), rub stone (no. 2), sixty-two banliang coins (no. 3), one bronze weight (no. 4), one bamboo equal-arm balance (no. 8), and five bamboo sticks (nos. 5-7; 9-10); Finds in lower stratum (B): six blank wooden tablets (nos. 11-16), one writing brush with case (no. 17), one scratch knife (no. 18), ink lumps (no. 21), greyish-white powder (no. 22), bamboo counting rods (no. 20), and thirty-nine banliang coins. (After: Hubei sheng Wenwu Kaougu Yanjiusuo, “Jiangling Fenghuangshan yiliubahao Han mu,” p. 491, fig. 36).

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Table 1: Association of manuscripts and writing tools in fifth through third century BCE tomb assemblages.

Tomb Publication Date Manuscripts Ink Ink Brush Scratch Find Find- Stone Stone Knife Spot spot Case Uten- MSS sils Shandong, WW 1984.11: Late 3rd Inventory lists 1 1 1 1 (?) (?) Jinqueshan M11 41-58. to late 1st (fragments) (m) (?)i c. BCE Hubei, JHKG 2008.4: Early 2nd Admin. registers; 1 1 1 Comp. Comp. Shuihudi M77 31-37. c. BCE chronicle; statutes; and (d/r?) legal text; mathe- brush matical treatise Jiangsu, Lianyun- WW 2012.3: 4- Mid- to “greeting tablets;” 1 1 1 Coffin Coffin gang, Shuanglong 17, esp. 8-9; 12; late 1st c. inventory lists No. 2 No. 2 M1 (ud) 14; BCE (m) (m) Jiangsu, WW 1996.6: Wang Admin. registers; 1 2 1 Coffin Coffin Yinwan M6 (ud) 4-25. Mang chronicle; various (m) (10 CE) divination texts and charts; “greeting tablets;” diary, rhyme prose Hubei, WW 1999.6: 209 BCE calendar; itinerary; No 1 1 North North of Zhoujiatai M30 26-47. various divination stone, (?) of coffin; (r)ii texts and charts; only coffin; in “Methods [for ink in hamper Curing] Ailments” lumps hamper (Bing fang 病方) Hubei, KGXB 1993.4: 167 BCE Inventory lists; 1 1 1 Lateral Lateral Fenghuangshan 455-513; “Announcement to (m) comp.; comp.; M168 (ud)iii WW 1975.9: the Underworld” in in 1-7, 22. (gao di ce 告地策); hamper hamper tablets lacking inscriptions (blank stationery?)

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Hubei, WW 1985.1: Late 3rd Chronicle; statutes; 2 1 Head Head Zhangjiashan 1-8. to early legal texts; medical comp., comp., M247 (d) 2nd c. treatises; mathe- next to next to BCE matical treatises; MSS brush, divinatory texts; ink inventory lists stone Hubei, WW 1976.10: 179-141 Inventory lists; 1 1 Head Shaft Fenghuangshan 31-37. BCE tablets lacking (f) comp. filling M167 (ud)iv inscriptions Hubei, Yunmeng 217 BCE Chronicle, statutes; 3 1 Coffin; Coffin Shuihudi M11 Shuihudi Qin legal texts; mathe- (m) Head (ud) mu, p. 26. matical treatises, comp. divinatory texts (xue) Hubei, Baoshan Chu 316 BCE Divination texts 1 3 N N, E, Baoshan M2 mu, pp. 224; (brush) S, W (ud) 264. E a. comp. center (xue) Henan, Xinyang, Xinyang Chu Mid-late Inventory lists; 1 2 NW NW Changtaiguan M1 mu, pp. 64-67. 5th c. one text concerned (m?) comp.; comp. (d) BCE with Duke of Zhou in box (lists); (Zhou gong 周公) E comp. (Zhou gong)v Gansu, WW 1989.2: 1- 239 BCE Divination texts; 1 Coffin; Coffin; Fangmatan M1 11; 31. several maps (maps next to next to (ud) outside of coffin) MSS brush Hebei, WW 1981.8: 35 BCE Chronicle; 4 1 4 Coffin Eastern Dingxian M40 1-10. philosophical texts (m) back (r)vi (Lunyu 論語, Wenzi cham- 文子 et al.) ber Jiangsu, Wangtuan, KG 1974.3: Late 1st c. Inventory lists 1 1 2 Coffin, Coffin, Tomb of Huo He 178-86. BCE (m) (m) next to next to 霍賀 (ud)vii MSS utens.

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Anhui, WW 2006.11: 1st BCE Administrative 1 1 2 Coffin Head Tianchang M19 4-41. registers; “greeting (?) (xue); comp. (d) tablets” comp. next to (ink st.) ink st. Qinghai, Shangsun WW 1981.2: Late 1st c. Military texts; Sun 1 1 2 Dis- Dis- Jiazhai M115 (r) 16-21.viii BCE Bin bingfa 孫臏兵法 (?) order order Shandong, WW 2010.1: 87 BCE Inscribed bamboo 1 1 Undis- Head Haiqu M106 (d) 4-25. slips (chronicle?) closed comp. Anhui, WW 1978.8: 165 BCE Zhouyi 周易; 1 1 Comp. Comp. Shuanggudui, 12-31. annals; (NE) (NE); Tomb of Marquis Cangjie pian 倉頡 in of Ruyin 汝陰侯 篇 hamper (r) Hubei, WW 1976.9: Late 3rd c. Two letters written 1 1 Head Head Shuihudi M4 (?)ix 53-61; Yunmeng BCE by soldiers comp., comp., Shuihudi Qin next to next to mu, pp. 24; 26. MSS ink st. Hubei, Jiangling Mid-3rd c. List of various fruits; 1 1 Lateral Lateral Jiudian M56 Jiudian Dong BCE various divinatory niche, niche, in (d) Zhou mu, pp. texts in case case 61-62. Jiangsu, KG 1964.8: Late 1st c. Inventory lists 1 1 (?) (?) Sangyangdun M1 393-402. BCE (m) (r) Hunan, WW 2010.4: Early 2nd Inventory lists; 1 1 S comp S, E, Wangchengpo, 4-35, esp. 30, c. BCE deed of donation, (m) (xue); coffin Tomb of Yu Yang 32. labels E comp comp. 渔楊 (r) (ink st) Hubei, WW 1992.9: Early 2nd Rishu 日書 1 Lateral Lateral Zhangjiashan 1-11. c. BCE comp. comp. M127 (d) Hubei, WW 1974.6: Early 2nd Various 1 Lateral Lateral Fenghuangshan 41-61. c. BCE administrative comp.; comp.; M10x registers; tablets in in lacking inscriptions hamper hamper

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Gansu, WW 2009.10: 52- 72 BCE Primer with 1 Unspe- On top Shuiquanzi M5 61; 88-91. terminus parallels to the 1 ink cified of E (possibly robbed) post Cangjie pian; lump coffin quem Rishu lid Jiangsu, KG 1979.5: 419- Late 1st c. Prayer 1 1 Coffin Coffin Dongyang M7 26. BCE (female occupant) (f) (m) (m + f) (f) (ud) Hubei, Jiangling Mid-4th Divination texts 2 Head Head Wangshan M1 Shazhong BCE comp comp (ud)xi Wangshan Chu mu, p. 106 Jiangsu, WW 1981.11: 12- 70 BCE List of deities; 1 Coffin Coffin Huchang M5 23. “announcement to (m) comp. (d) the underworld;” diary Jiangsu, KGXB 1987.4: 1st c. Inventory lists 1 Eastern S Yandaishan M1 471-501. BCE (m) coffin chamb. (r) Hunan, Changsha 168 BCE Inventory lists 3 N E comp. Mawangdui M1 Mawangdui (f) comp., (ud) yihao han mu, pp. ivory in box 128; 130-55. Hunan, Changsha 186 BCE Laozi (2 versions); 2 N E, S, Mawangdui M3 Mawangdui er, medical texts (Shi (m) comp., W com- (r) sanhao Han mu, wen 十問, et al.); in box; part- pp. 162-66; 235. “announcement to a. liubo ments the underworld;” 六博 maps, inventory lists case Hubei, Zeng hou Yi mu 433 BCE Inventory lists 4 E N Tomb of Marquis 曾侯乙墓 (m) chamb. chamb. Yi of Zeng (Zéng (Beijing: Wenwu, hóu Yi 曾侯乙) 1989), pp. 250- 52; 452-58; 487- 531. Jiangsu, WW 1987.1: Post 5 CE Testament 1 Coffin Coffin B Xupu M101 (ud) 1-19. (m?) A (m?) (f?) 63

Abbreviations: WW = Wenwu; JHKG = Jiang Han kaogu; KGXB = Kaogu xuebao; ud = undisturbed; r = robbed; m = male occupant; f = female occupant; comp. = compartment; chamb. = chamber; (?) = information either indeterminable or remained unspecified by the excavators. i No tomb plan available. ii Additional finds of interest: counting rods. iii All utensils were stored in a hamper; tomb also yielded a wooden object that might have been used as a writing pad. iv All utensils were stored in a hamper. v Apart from the bamboo writing brush (M1-708; length 23.4 cm) that was kept in a lacquered bamboo case (M1-708; length 25.9 cm) and the two gilded bronze scratch knives (M1-698: length 23.6 cm; hilt and blade decorated with geometric patterns; M1-699: handle decorated with geometric patterns), the rectangular wooden box (M1-730; length 35.9 cm, width 16.1 cm, height 14.7 cm) contained additional writing paraphernalia: one bronze saw with wooden shaft (M1-707; length 29.3 cm; seventy-eight teeth); one bronze adze with wooden shaft (M1-705; length adze 6.5 cm, length shaft 28 cm); five bronze carving knives (two different kinds: M1-702, M1-703 and M1-700, M1-701, M1-709); and one bronze awl with lacquered wooden shaft (M1-706; length 9.8 cm). See Henan sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo 河南省文物考古研究所, Xinyang Chu mu 信陽楚墓 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1986), pp. 64-67; for the manuscripts (M1-833), see pp. 67-68; 124-36. vi Three of the four ink stones, one of the four scratch knives and the manuscripts were stored in a hamper. vii One of the scratch knives carried the following inscription: 宜官腆二千石, “Suitable for offices remunerated with two-thousand bushels.” Moreover, the ink stone case was adorned by a largely illegible inscription. viii Also see Qinghai sheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo 青海省文物考古研究所, Qinghai Xining Shangsun Jiazhai Han mu 青海西寧上孫家寨漢晉墓 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1993), pp. 30-32; 186-194. ix No tomb plan available; the tomb also yielded one ink lump. x No tomb plan available; the ink stone was stored in a hamper that also contained one ruler (this function of the object is doubtful since the 22.8 cm long lacquered wooden staff exhibited no scale) and dice. xi The two bronze scratch knives along with two whetstones, an adze and a pointed bronze knife were stored in a lacquered wooden box.