Imperial-Time-Order Ideas, History, and Modern China

Edited by

Ban WANG (Stanford University) WANG Hui (Tsinghua University)

VOLUME 13

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/ihmc Imperial-Time-Order

Literature, Intellectual History, and China’s Road to Empire

Kun Qian

LEIDEN | BOSTON Cover illustration: “Golden Dragon,” Photographer Melinda Chan, used with permission from Getty Images.

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Contents

Acknowledgements ix Note on Romanization and Script xi List of Figures xii

Introduction 1

Part 1 The Imperial-Time-Order

1 The Imperial-Time-Order: The Eternal Return of the Chinese Empire 21

Part 2 Time, Unity, and Morality from the Late Qing to Mao’s China

2 Suspended Time: Grounding the Present in the Late Qing 55

3 Split Time: Enlightenment and its Discontent 82

4 Continuous Time: Heroes in the “Protracted War” 115

5 Transitional Time: Defining “the People” and the “Nation” in Mao’s China 148

Part 3 The Return of “Empire” in the Post-Mao Period

6 Resurgent Time: The Return of “Empire” in Post-Socialist Representation 183

7 Love or Hate: The First Emperor on the Cinematic Screen 209

8 The Fascinating Empire: Emperors in Contemporary Novels 239 viii contents

9 Tianxia Revisited: Empire and Family on the Television Screen 267

10 Becoming-Minority: Chinese Characteristics in Minority Historical Fiction 294

Conclusion 329 Bibliography 338 Index 360 Acknowledgements

Fourteen years ago when I first stepped onto US soil to study economics at Cornell University, I would not have imagined that someday I would become a scholar in Chinese literature and film; nine years ago when I had just started paying attention to the Chinese historical dramas on TV as a doctoral student in the program of East Asian Literature at Cornell, I would not have foreseen that someday my book would make a contribution to the understanding of modern Chinese history and historical thinking. A lot has transpired during all these years, and I owe a great deal to the understanding, inspiration, and help from professors and friends, whose encouragement and support have unfailingly kept me on the right track even at the most challenging times. The first person I should thank is my Ph.D. adviser at Cornell, Professor Edward M. Gunn, who admitted me to Chinese Literature even when I lacked formal training in the field. Without his confidence in me, my dream to become a literary scholar would still be a dream. From him I learned to be a positive person who encourages students to follow their passions in life. He is also the one who pointed me toward the right directions or crucial materials whenever my research seemed to be stuck, not to mention reading, commenting on, and correcting multiple drafts of this book. I am also deeply indebted to my other committee members: Timothy Murray, Thomas LaMarre, Petrus Liu, and Bruce Rusk. Professor Murray’s seminars on Gilles Deleuze inspired my discussion of time, and a semester at McGill University at the invitation of Professor LaMarre directly influenced the shape of this book. Needless to say, a book of this nature owes it existence to numerous scholars and writers who have discussed the topics I focus on, yet the ability to delineate theoretical arguments and select research materials depends largely on the professional training at the graduate school. For this I am forever grateful to the professors at Cornell, from whom I have received not only knowledge in history, literature, philosophy, and the arts, but also methodology to do research and longstanding inspiration and guidance. Special thanks are due to Sherman Cochran, Jonathan Culler, Dominick LaCapra, Brett de Bary, Naoki Sakai, Robin McNeil, and Satya Mohanty. Since its inception, many scholars and friends have read and commented on various chapters of this book in its different stages. I am particularly indebted to Evelyn Rawski, Katherine Carlitz, Marcia Landy, Xudong Zhang, Xiaomei Chen, Dongming Zhang, Soon Ong, Yvonne Howell, Ping Zhu, Li Guo, Minqi Li, and Xiaoling Shi. Discussions with them have greatly helped clarify my ideas and improve the quality of the book. Over the years the wonderful library collections at Cornell and the University of Pittsburgh have played an indispensible role in my research. I am especially x acknowledgements grateful to our East Asian Librarian at Pitt, Haihui Zhang, for her resourceful- ness and efficient service. Essential support for my research was also provided by two institutions I have worked in—the University of Richmond and the University of Pittsburgh. Generous summer fellowships and travel grants have made my research trips and conference travel possible. In particular, the Asian Studies Center at Pitt deserves a special mention for facilitating such grants. It is often a tiring journey to publish an academic book, but the editors at Brill have made publishing this book a pleasant experience. I am particularly grateful to Qin Higley and Victoria Menson, whose professional and enthusiastic support has made working on my manuscript an enjoyable process. I am also deeply indebted to the anonymous readers, whose comments and sug- gestions have further refined my arguments and enhanced the book. A special note of thanks goes to David Darling for his meticulous and professional copy- editing, and to my friend Xiaoling Shi for her carefully proofreading the final manuscript to make the book more presentable. An early version of Chapter Seven has appeared in Asian Cinema, 20.2 (Fall/ Winter 2009), pp. 39–67. A previous draft of Chapter Nine was included in Chinese Television in the Twenty-First Century: Entertaining the Nation, edited by Geng Song and Rouyun Bai, Routledge, 2014. A section of Chapter Five was published under the title “Biaoyan diguo: wuliu shi niandai de lishi ju” [表演帝国：五六十年代的历史剧 “Staging Empire: Historical Plays in Mao’s China”] in a Chinese language journal Xin wenxue pinglun [新文学评论 Modern Chinese Literature Criticism], Vol. 2, (May 2013), pp. 160–168. A portion of Chapter Four appeared under the title “Gendering National Imagination: Heroines and the Return of the Foundational Family in Shanghai during the War of Resistance to Japan” in Frontiers of Literary Studies in China, Vol. 8 (1) (March 2014), pp. 78–100. I thank the original publishers for granting their permission to reprint. Upon finishing this book, I found myself often immersed in loving memories of my father, Qian Zongjiu, who passed away in 2009, just before I gradu- ated from Cornell. He was the one who first introduced me to the fascinating world of literature yet strongly discouraged me from pursuing a career in it. While he finally accepted my changing the course of my life in the US, I am saddened by the fact that he could not witness my graduation and see this book in print. It is as if my link to the past has been partly severed. On the other hand, my son Ethan was born last year, offering me a biological connection with the future. Whenever gazing at my son, I see the magical workings of the universe that have made time continuous.

August 1, 2015, Pittsburgh Note on Romanization and Script

The pinyin system of Romanization is used throughout, except in citations from sources using other systems. Since the book covers a time span for more than a century, I have chosen to use in the main text traditional Chinese characters for the names, terms, and materials published before the founding of the People’s Republic in 1949, and simplified characters for the references that appeared after 1949. However, in the bibliography, I have followed the physical forms of the sources I actually referred to. For example, if I consulted a late Qing article reprinted in a selected volume in the 1990s in mainland China, the citation in the bibliography will appear in simplified characters. List of Figures

1.1 Outline of Ancient Chinese History 22 7.1–7.4 The film The Emperor’s Shadow (Dir. Zhou Xiaowen, 1996) 7.1 Yueyang and Gao Jianli make love for the first time 217 7.2 The Qin Army conquers Chu 218 7.3 Ying Zheng faces the river and the singing prisoners 219 7.4 The new emperor weeps in front of the cauldron. 221 7.5–7.10 The film The Emperor and the Assassin (Dir. Chen Kaige, 1998) 7.5 Ying Zheng meets Lady Zhao 225 7.6 Lady Zhao returns to see Ying Zheng 225 7.7 Ying Zheng talks to Lady Zhao 226 7.8 Lady Zhao: “I’ve come back to take Jing Ke’s body back to Yan.” 226 7.9 Lady Zhao is leaving 227 7.10 The lonely (future) emperor murmurs to himself 227 7.11–7.14 The film Hero (Dir. Zhang Yimou, 2002) 7.11 The empty position of Nameless in the storm of arrows 229 7.12 The funeral parade for Nameless 229 7.13 Flying Snow and Broken Sword die together 230 7.14 The lonely emperor stands in the court 230 9.1 The network facing the emperor, with the relationship of relatives to Emperor Wu in parentheses 274 9.2–9.9 The TV serial drama Hanwu da di (The great emperor Wu of Han) (Dir. Hu Mei, 2005) 9.2 The soldiers worship General Wei Qing and volunteer to carry him 277 9.3 The emperor watches Wei Qing arriving at the palace 278 9.4 The emperor steps down to welcome Wei Qing 278 9.5 Flashback of Wei Qing when he was young and conquered the Xiongnu 279 9.6 Wei Qing kneels down in front of the emperor 279 9.7 The emperor is dismayed by what he sees in the veterans’ village 281 9.8 The emperor stands in front of the monument dedicated to the martyrs 282 9.9 The emperor holds up the little prince standing between the monument and the people behind him. The little prince says: “Father, don’t cry, don’t cry.” 282 9.10 Premier Wen Jiabao in Yushu, Qinghai, after the earthquake, 2010. Courtesy of photographer Wang Peng. 291 Introduction

To argue that Chinese in modern times have unintentionally perpetuated a centuries old vision of history might be mistaken for a totalizing or essentialist gesture. Yet such a vision shares important affinities with the recent continental philosophy of history. This vision is apparent not only in the maintenance of a multi-ethnic polity inherited from the imperial past, but also in Chinese literature and media production. Again, conscious iconoclasm and major dis- putes among Chinese writers and intellectuals of the twentieth and twenty- first centuries might have destroyed any significant consensus about Chinese history. Yet until now, modern literary and media representations of China’s imperial history have never been examined together in order to explore their vision of history. This book seeks to explore the ways in which the thinking about modern China carries on and perpetuates its past. We begin, where so many good dramas do, in medias res, with the well-known example of the poet- statesman Mao Zedong. On July 8, 1966, shortly after initiating the notorious Cultural Revolution, Mao Zedong (Mao Tse-tung) wrote a letter to Jiang Qing, his wife and then deputy leader of the Central Committee of the Cultural Revolution.1 In the letter, Mao expressed his concerns for the continuation of such an unprecedented political experiment. He wrote:

Great turmoil achieves a great peace and order. So it will be again after another seven or eight years. The monsters and demons leap out. What they do is determined by the nature of their own social class, and they cannot help leaping out [to reveal themselves]. . . . One precious quality of a person is to know oneself. This past April at the Hangzhou conference, I already expressed my disagreement with our friend’s formulation [of me].2 But what use was that? He kept on speaking like that at the Beijing conference in May, and then exaggerated even

1 Mao Zedong, “Gei Jiang Qing de xin [A Letter to Jiang Qing]” in Jianguo yilai Mao Zedong wengao [Mao Zedong’s Writings Since the Founding of the People’s Republic], vol. 12. Online access: http://www.mzdthought.com/html/mxzz/mzdwg/12/2005/1113/7707.html, accessed on May 25, 2010. 2 “Friend” here refers to Lin Biao who initiated the printing of Mao’s Little Red Book. Mao tried to explain in this letter that he felt uncomfortable with Lin’s praise of him, but had to go along with him.

more in newspapers and journals, simply elevating me to a divine wonder. With things this way, the only thing left for me to do has been to escape up onto Liangshan.3 I guess their intention is to enlist the aid of Zhong Kui to exorcise demons,4 so now in the ’60s of the 20th century I have become this Zhong Kui of the Communist Party. Things always turn into their opposites. The higher one is promoted, the harder one falls. I am prepared to fall and be smashed to bits. Even so, it is nothing so serious. Matter will always be conserved, it’s just smashed, that’s all.5

This letter explains the beginning of Lin Biao’s praise of Mao in public, which later led to the notorious cult of Mao and the sacralization of his Little Red Book during the Cultural Revolution. Mao expresses his discomfort with being worshiped, filling the letter with allusions to imperial history and Chinese legends. Mao notes that the poet Ruan Ji of the Jin dynasty (1115–1234 AD) viewed Liu Bang, the founding emperor of the Han Dynasty (206 BC–220 AD), as a restless petty man, whose reputation was inflated and elevated because there were no heroes in his time. Mao also expresses his appreciation of Lu Xun’s self-deprecating remarks about his own writing. Yet he maintains that he has no choice but to go along with Lin Biao’s plan to create a cult deifying Mao, for the situation—the wave of the Cultural Revolution—could not be reversed. Originally a private letter to his wife, it could serve as a genuine reference to Mao’s state of mind at the time. People have paid attention to this letter for various reasons,6 yet I was most struck by two aspects of the document. One is Mao’s articulation of the dialectic relationship between “great turmoil 大乱” and “great peace and order 大治”; the other is Mao’s perception of his own role in the Cultural Revolution and Chinese history. Why would a ‘Marxist’ like Mao

3 Liangshan (Liang Mountain) is an allusion to a refuge for oulaws and rebels in the classic novel Water Margin and various Chinese operas. ‘Forced to go up Liangshan’ later became a commonly used phrase to describe a situation in which one has no choice. Mao used this phrase to explain that it was not his intention to promote worship of himself. 4 Zhong Kui is a legendary figure, the vengeful Lord of all Spirits whose mission is to catch evil demons and spirits. 5 Mao Zedong, “Gei Jiang Qing de xin [A Letter to Jiang Qing].” Parts of this letter were published in People’s Daily as an important Party document after Lin Biao died. In May 1972, this letter was printed and distributed as the fifth document for the meeting of criticizing Lin Biao and rectification. People’s Daily also published parts of its content on Oct 1, 1972, Sept 2, 1973, and March 1, 1975. 6 For instance, people try to analyze Mao’s intention and his relationship with other party leaders at the time. Refer to http://www.chinaelections.org/newsinfo.asp?newsid=134299, retrieved on May 25, 2010. Introduction 3 be so interested in fermenting a “great chaos” and be ready to be crushed by it? What was his justification for his decision to launch the Cultural Revolution and his vision to become its instrument? Beneath the façade of materialism, what vision of history can be discerned from Mao’s view of 1960s China? As will be discussed below, Mao’s letter demonstrates the gravitional pull of history that has not only shaped the perception of imperial Chinese history, but also loomed large in the modern period. The astounding assertion that “great turmoil leads to great peace and order” (天下大乱，达到天下大治) echoes the opening line of the Romance of Three Kingdoms—“The historical trend of the empire is that, long divided, it must reunite; long united, it must divide.” Exhibiting an enduring way of thinking about history, the vision is dialectical in that it seeks to situate short-term history in a longer cycle. In this deterministic historical vision, unity is seen as prosperous and moral, whereas disunity is chaotic and immoral. Meanwhile, individual agency is limited. The best one can do is to recognize and follow the inevitable historical trend. As the architect of the Cultural Revolution, Mao perceived himself as having to play Zhong Kui, the lord of spirits, in the chaotic historical situation. Fully aware that the Cultural Revolution would spell havoc, he deemed such great chaos necessary and beneficial because it would eventually lead to great order. Contrary to the popular opinion that Mao initiated the Cultural Revolution to consolidate his personal power, Mao saw himself only as an instrument to strengthen the revolutionary force after which he would be destroyed.7 Beneath what Mao described as “Marxist dialectical materialism,” there was another historical vision in Mao’s mind that legitimized his action. Even though official modern Chinese history has adopted a linear, progressive perspective, Mao’s view of history is dialectical, recurring, and continuous. For Mao and many others, history must be viewed in the long term, and historical events must be judged from a distance. Since they live in history and perceive themselves as agents propelled by a historical force to push history forward, they justify their actions through a combined temporal consciousness referring to both past and

7 In the letter, Mao predicted that he might be smashed by future generations. It seems that everything Mao foresaw in this letter has become reality: He was promoted as a god-like figure by Lin Biao; he was pulled down from his enshrined status after his death because of the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution; and the ‘rightists’ or the ‘capitalist roaders’ indeed gained power and reversed his revolutionary route. Yet what impresses me is not that what he said has become true, but his insistence on continuing the movement with the awareness that he might be “destroyed” and his confidence in the “people’s victory” in the long run. 4 Introduction future. No matter how iconoclastic they sound, eventually they will be swallowed and judged by a continuous history, and they know it. Regardless of how people judge Mao’s era in Chinese history, his vision of time and history embodies a continuous progression of civilization that has followed its own logic. This logic suggests a different order of history-making and reinforces a well-established myth in imperial Chinese history: a unified, heterogeneous empire can assimilate anything ‘foreign’ into its own cultural system. However, although this vision has generated increasing interest in the popular imagination, it has never gained serious scholarly attention. The reason, perhaps, is twofold: on the one hand, this assertion opposes the official version of modern Chinese history that focuses on the revolutionary break with tradition. To say nothing has fundamentally changed would contradict the self-definition of Chinese identity. On the other hand, the assertion also inevitably touches upon a crucial question that demands an answer: if past patterns continue, then is China an empire or a modern nation-state? To address this question we need clear definitions of empire and nation-state. Yet, given the different characteristics and parameters of these qualities, China might belong to both categories or to neither category. According to Jane Burbank and Fredric Cooper, who pay particular attention to the diversity of population, China is like the US, essentially an empire because of its large political size and historical domination over an area of different peoples.8 On the other hand, scholars looking through the lens of spatial organization, view modern China as a nation-state since its population is subjected to cultural homogenization and lives within an exclusive territory.9 While all scholars agree that ‘empire’ has connotations of expansion, diversity, hierarchy, and order, whereas ‘nation- state’ connotes commonality and equality, they differ in their interpretations of reality versus principle. While it is debatable whether China’s ethnic practices, which include both the mono-cultural and the multi-cultural, produce homogeneity or heterogeneity, equality or hierarchy, it remains difficult to sys- temically formulate continuity and discontinuity in modern Chinese society. In this book, I propose to bring the oft-overlooked intangible qualities of a culture—in the Chinese context, the imperial thinking that shapes the national imagination—into the discussion of nation-state or empire. Without defining China exclusively as an empire or a nation-state, I hope to open a discussion of a society in-between to shed light on the movement of civilization through time. Burbank and Cooper point out, “as long as diversity and

8 Jane Burbank and Frederic Cooper, Empires in World History: Power and the Politics of Difference (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2010), 8. 9 Alejandro Colas, Empire (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2007), 20. Introduction 5 political ambition exist, empire-building is always a temptation, and because empires perpetuate difference along with incorporation, there is always the possibility of their coming apart.”10 It is difficult, therefore, to draw a clear line between empire and nation-state. The old empire might have collapsed and the modern nation-state built on its ruins, yet the temptation to build empire survives. Regarding the Chinese context, I argue the empire’s afterimage not only persists in the modern period, but is also anchored to a deeply ingrained historical way of thinking that continually shapes people’s minds about imperial order. In other words, not only is there ‘surplus value’ in Chinese intellectuals’ thinking that cannot be contained in modern Western thought, but the surplus value also follows an indigenous cultural logic. As in Mao’s letter, the cultural logic is an enduring consciousness of time engulfing self and nation in a continuous stream of history. In particular, this book explores the relationship between the consciousness of time and the construction of self and nation in modern China. The fundamental questions it deals with are: How did imperial history and the encounter with the West function simultaneously to construct Chinese national identity? How were shame and glory reflected in the recognition of lived time, in relation to the Chinese notion of universal time? How did intellectuals respond to their perceptions of whether or not the historical trend was in favor of China in the new global order? And how does this recognition of time play a role in the imagination of China’s modern fate? To investigate these questions, this project anchors its argument in two overlapping fields. First, it addresses the significance of imperial history in China’s constant search for self-identity on the path toward modernity. This can be taken as a genealogy of the representation of time and traditional Chinese empire in different modern periods. These representations, ranging from historical novels, stage plays, and short stories, to films and television series produced during the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, offer a dynamic relationship between time and history that reflects intellectual thinking in modern times. Please note that, throughout this book, ‘time’ refers to both the concrete, lived human time and the transcendent, imagined time that subsumes past, present, and future, not the homogeneous, abstract time irrelevant to human activities. And ‘history’ refers to conceptual, recognized history, not necessarily the official, written History, but nor the realistic, social history. Based on this clarification, the second goal of the book is to explore a larger and more speculative issue—identifying China’s distinct path of modernization

10 Burbank and Cooper, Empires in World History, 9. 6 Introduction in light of an updated understanding of ‘empire.’ Time plays a significant role in the identity formation of civilizations. As Nancy Condee points out in her study of Russian cinema, continental empires have different power configurations than those of the maritime empires. Yet contiguity has been largely left out of the discourse of empire despite the existence of such great empires in the past.11 In China’s case, the extensive duration of imperial culture and the ‘central kingdom mentality’ in relation to its neighbors also exhibit an alternative tendency to that of the West, one which cannot be comfortably contained within the framework of a modern nation-state. Moreover, by focusing on the cultural realm, this study also participates in ‘the cultural turn’ on redefining empire. The interpretation of empire has increasingly shifted from the military-political domain to the economic- cultural realm and from territorial power to non-territorial power.12 The traditional cultural-imperial continuity has been replaced by a sort of regional- global connectivity. The notion ‘empire’ also changes from the static state of a political entity to reference more a society in formation, a process of ‘becoming the empire,’ which not only brings about a global space, but also highlights the function of time. My study thus seeks to explain this process of ‘becoming empire’ in China’s unique experience in relation to the world.

Time and the Imagination of Empire

Scholars of Chinese history have made efforts to deconstruct the modern- premodern dichotomy, but maintain that the West played an overwhelmingly dominant role leading to China’s hybrid modernity.13 They suggest either a

11 Nancy Condee, The Imperial Trace: Recent Russian Cinema (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 23. 12 Refer to Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Empire (Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 2000); Dominic Lieven, Empire: The Russian Empire and Its Rivals (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000); Peter J. Katzenstein, A World of Regions: Asia and Europe in the American Imperium (Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press, 2005); Alexander Motyl, Revolutions, Nations, Empires: Conceptual Limits and Theoretical Possibilities (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999). 13 See Joseph Levenson, Confucian China and its Modern Fate (Berkeley & Los Angeles, University of California Press, 1966); Hao Chang, Liang Ch’i-ch’ao and Intellectual Tran sition in China (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971); Arif Dirlik, Revolution and History: The Origins of Marxist Historiography in China, 1919–1937 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1978); Thomas A. Metzger, Escape from Introduction 7

‘Western impact-Chinese response’ model or an ‘internal demand-external solution’ model. These kinds of historical analyses coincide with poststructur- alist and postcolonial studies on identity formation, which usually emphasize a specific historical context—in this case, late imperial China—that describes reflexive, intersubjective, and spatial relationships between Self and Other. This reflexive understanding of identity formation has been extensively used in history studies to challenge certain forms of overly deterministic, teleological interpretations of history. Following this logic, modern Chinese history can be seen as a series of broad events, a transcultural practice whereby the West played a dominantly transformative role and historical continuity could claim only a local, fragmentary influence. This discursive model limits us to seeing only the horizontal, spatial relationships between different historical forces, while overlooking a vertical, temporal structure of history and a voluntarist agency of humans to cope with their historicity. The one work that demonstrates a major effort to overcome the limitations of this discursive model is Chinese scholar Wang Hui’s The Rise of Modern Chinese Thought.14 This sweeping work traces the origin of modern Chinese thought to the Song Dynasty in the tenth and eleventh centuries, long before the encounter with the modern West. Wang argues that Confucian scholars were deeply affected by the tremendous social change they witnessed during the Song Dynasty, so they developed the term tianli (‘heavenly principle’) to identify the relationship between ‘principle’ (li) and ‘things’ (wu), which created new capacities for self-criticism and paved the way for the later acceptance of modern Western scientific thought. The term gongli (‘public/general principle’) later introduced the Chinese version of modern thought that incorporates Western scientific laws while maintaining the ethical-political concerns of ‘principle’ (li) of tianli. This Chinese universalism poses a challenge to the Western model of modernity and blurs the boundary between the concepts of traditional empire and modern nation-state. Wang’s research, with its awe-inspiring scope and complexity, provides a comprehensive critique of Western modernist discourse, which he sees “both

Predicament: Neo-Confucianism and China’s Evolving Political Culture (New York: Columbia University Press, 1977); Prasenjit Duara, Rescuing History from the Nation: Questioning Narratives of Modern China (Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press, 1995). 14 Wang Hui, Xiandai Zhongguo sixiang de xingqi [The Rise of Modern Chinese Thought], (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 2004). The English translation of this four-volume book is forthcoming. 8 Introduction as the hegemonic discourse of our globalized world and as the currently dominant ideology of modernizationism in China.”15 It also calls for an alternative way to understand China’s experience of modernization outside the Western modernist framework. As much as I admire Wang’s work, I am less interested in the origin of Chinese modernity or critiquing Western modernity than in formulating an indigenous explanation for the seemingly random and inconsistent events of history. For example, Wang Hui’s research left a number of questions unaddressed: what accounts for the universal triumph of one development over the alternatives in modern Chinese history (e.g. the centralized state over federalism)? Or, more significantly, why did Marxism triumph over an alternative like Western democracy? Why did the Chinese forsake alternative opportunities to pursue a socialist regime? And how in theoretical terms can we understand the continual revivals of mutated tradition? The answers, I argue, reside in time, or more precisely a culturally specific temporal consciousness. It evokes both Heideggerian historicality—the property of history with human existence and experience that designates continuity—and the Deleuzian vision of non-linear history. Unlike the Foucaul‑ dian ‘discursive field,’ in which multiple social forces work together to construct spatial relations,16 the Deleuzian non-linear model frees time from represented History to uncover the virtuality and potentiality of history.17 For Deleuze, time is the ultimate subjectivity. We live in time, not the other way around: “Time is not the interior in us, but just the opposite, the interiority in which we are, in which we move, live, and change. Subjectivity is never ours; it is time, that is, the soul or the spirit, the virtual.”18 Time is heterogeneous, consisting of what Deleuze called ‘the actual’ and ‘the virtual’ aspects, which cannot be completely internalized and reduced to linear representation. In other words, time can be actualized in terms of a series of before and after, as in represented History or memory, interiorized by man. Yet this interiorizing is far from being permanently stable; it is constantly

15 Philip C. C. Huang, “In Search of Modernity: Wang Hui’s The Rise of Modern Chinese Thought,” Modern China 34, no. 3 (2008): 397. 16 Although Foucault also emphasizes the temporal process of a social structure formed by different discourses, he mostly takes it as a universal historical model to construct one paradigm, rather than cross paradigms. So basically his model emphasizes spatial relationship over temporal relationship. 17 Gilles Deleuze’s conception of time can be found in his Difference and Repetition (1968), trans. Paul Patton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), Cinema 2: The Time Image, and other books. 18 Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2: The Time-Image, trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Robert Galeta. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1989), 82–83. Introduction 9 challenged, mobilized, and changed by the differentiating power of time from outside. The person or subject whom we take to be the agent of history is himself an event within history and time, who creates and at the same time is created by history.19 Time is thus crucial to an understanding of the fundamental contradiction between structure and agency in the historical process. It designates the virtual, the potential, and the possible conditions of individual and social changes. Insofar as the virtual is multi-directional and can be actualized differently in different cultures, I suggest that Deleuzian time is both mechanical and cultural. Deleuzian time is the culturally unique time that defines the different characteristics of individual and social development and estows continuity on them. It is a historical consciousness that has cultivated an enduring mode of thinking and permeated the habits and mentality of a people. This consciousness of time constitutes what I call ‘transcendent time,’ a cultural scheme that defines the values and ‘opportunity costs’ of a certain choice, which is the key to exploring the dialectical relationship between spatial voluntarism and temporal limitations, between symptomatic occurrence and paradigmatic drive, and between the discursive and deterministic structures of history and identity formation. In The Anthropology of Time, Alfred Gell suggested that the study of time could be beneficial in defining a middle ground between deterministic and voluntaristic history.20 In particular, ‘opportunity cost’ could be used to illuminate the definitive nature of history and the function of human agency in relation to lived time and transcendent time. According to Gell, ‘opportunity cost,’ a term most widely used among economists, is the subjective definition of the ‘possible’ and the ‘alternative’ to a certain individual or collective choice. It deems time as a raw resource that, when devoted to one activity, cannot be applied to another simultaneously. The ‘opportunities’ that are forsaken thus constitute the ‘costs’ of the chosen activity.21

19 Claire Colebrook, Introduction to Deleuze and History, eds. Jeffery A. Bell and Claire Colebrook, (Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh Press, 2009), 9, 24. 20 Alfred Gell, The Anthropology of Time: Cultural Constructions of Temporal Maps and Images (Oxford & Washington D.C.: BERG, 1992, 1996), 322. 21 Ibid., 322–323. For instance, in a scenario in which one gives up his career of being a banker and becomes a literature professor instead, his perceived opportunity cost is the foregone ‘banker alternative.’ Although opportunity cost is mostly used to access the ‘rational’ calculation of an individual who is supposed to maximize his utility of resources, Gell believed that this concept could also be applied to solve collective, social theories. Since every action has opportunity costs, and is meaningful to the agent in light 10 Introduction

Opportunity cost thus reveals the relationship between time, subjectivity, and moral agency. It embodies both the fateful and discursive nature of history, and meanwhile highlights the human agency that mediates the process of historical development. Nevertheless, opportunity cost as a temporal notion is subjective, and hence, culturally specific. Gell relates that cultural background is crucial in defining opportunity cost, since conventional attitudes constrain the agent’s understanding of the scope of the possibilities accessible to him. Different cultures define different schemes of possibilities, which in turn fix the agent’s subjective opportunity cost and hence the subjective value and meaning of his act.22 In light of this discussion, the questions mentioned above could be approached through finding a Chinese ‘cultural scheme’ that has defined the possible worlds for China and shaped Chinese people’s historical choices. In this cultural scheme, unification outweighs federalism, and collective morality triumphs over individual liberalism. In other words, it is the Chinese cultural scheme that saw unification and Marxism as ‘feasible’ and ‘beneficial,’ and other ‘opportunities’ as ‘costly.’ To explore this cultural scheme, we need to take a China-centered approach and emphasize temporal continuity over spatial discontinuity. We also need to break the dichotomy between China and the West and find the commonalities between Chinese and Western thought. A China-centered approach, as Paul Cohen proposed,23 would take the ‘shared cultural orientation’ as the paradigmatic, driving force in guiding the symptomatic social changes into an established pattern. It is not only that the dominant, official discourse of modernity and nation in China (e.g. Marxism) suppressed the alternative narratives of reality (e.g. federalism), but also that the dominant discourse itself (e.g. Marxism) was an expression of this pre- existing paradigmatic force that produced it. Specifically, this cultural scheme, as a continuous historical way of thinking, deems unity as normal and the morality of a regime as the ultimate standard by which history should judge it. The normalization of unification and moralization of time constitutes an ‘imperial-time-order’—a critical term that will be elaborated in Chapter One to characterize this symbolic and transcendent historical way of thinking. It is a deep structure of Chinese intellectual

of these perceived costs, we can decipher what makes a certain action ‘meaningful’ in a certain context. 22 Alfred Gell, The Anthropology of Time, 324. 23 Paul A. Cohen, 1984. Discovering History in China: American Historical Writing on the Recent Chinese Past (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984, reprinted with new preface in 1996), 149. Introduction 11

thinking that encompasses time, unity, morality, and collectivism as its central concepts. In particular, time is the determining factor that weaves everything into this unique intellectual paradigm that is fundamental to the construction of self and nation. Here, it seems necessary to distinguish ‘thought’ from ‘thinking.’24 While thought can be petrified into a relic of only historical significance, such as Confucianism, thinking can to some extent detach itself from thought and live in the present. While thought might be despised as discredited atavism, thinking can be disguised in the historical unconscious to set the wheels of history in motion. I argue that this way of historical thinking of imperial-time-order consciously or unconsciously bound Chinese intellectuals to tradition and directed their efforts to find “substitutions” for tradition. While the political imperial regime has been challenged and disdained, this transcendent moral order, now detached from Confucianism, nonetheless has still influenced intellectual thinking in the modern period. In this respect, modern China continues the pattern of imperial China not only in terms of territorial boundaries, but also in the sense of popular mentality. A reconceived Marxism was chosen to substitute for Confucianism, rather than displace it, and the underlying discourse Minxin-Tianxia (“whoever wins the people’s heart will govern all-under- Heaven”) exerts its universalistic and moralistic power till this day. While I might be perceived as expounding an essentialist vision of China, unlike other scholars, who see Chinese thought as never changing,25 the ‘thinking’ of my understanding does not ignore discursive and qualitative historical change. On the contrary, it is change that makes continuity possible. As Chapter One will specify, continuity refers to both the ‘artificial’ continuity that people consciously sought at times of dramatic social transition and the ‘unconscious’ continuity in the way of thinking that pervaded generations of intellectual minds. For example, while the Qing Empire succeeded the Ming, the Manchu rulers intentionally claimed continuity from previous Chinese empires, despite the breaks, fissures, and structural difference from the Ming. On the other hand, while modern China claims a complete break away from its imperial past, there is an underlying imperial way of thinking that has guided the way modern China developed itself. The term ‘imperial- time-order’ is meant to capture the resilience and flexibility of this cultural

24 Joseph Levenson made the distinction in his posthumous book Revolution and Cosmopolitanism. 25 Take, for example, David Hall and Roger Ames, Thinking Through Confucius (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1987), and Chenshan Tian, Chinese Dialectics: From Yijing to Marxism (New York and Oxford: Lexington Books, 2005). 12 Introduction logic that contains both continuity and discontinuity. The continuity is created and maintained through constant reconstruction and reinvention of a moral/ utopian vision of China, a vision held by ethical subjects who themselves are the products of this imperial-time-order. Aside from intellectual inquiry regarding time and historical development, the imperial-time-order most intensively appears in historical representations. Close reading of these representations suggests that whenever Chinese writers and intellectuals since the late Qing Dynasty have engaged in envisioning their society in history and its place in the world, their thinking has customarily moved outside the bounds that are formally declared by a conscious ‘thought’—such as Marxism, liberalism, or Maoism—into the imperial- time-order, which is most tellingly embodied and materialized in the archetypal figures of history.

(Unstable) Archetypes of Morality in Historical Representations in the Modern Period

One common characteristic of historical representations is their portrayal of archetypal historical figures who have exhibited exemplarity. Historical characters, such as the patriotic heroes Wen Tianxiang and Zheng Chenggong, the female poet Cai Wenji, the first emperor Qin Shihuang, and many others have been important players in literary representations since the late Qing period. The burgeoning popularity of novels, modern stage plays, films, and television dramas, have tackled the time-sensitive issues regarding ethnic, national, and gender identity and help to define the position of self and nation in the modern world order. Inasmuch as these are exemplary individuals, who embody traditional moral values and possess a timeless quality that triggers a deep historical and spiritual response, I would like to call them “archetypes of morality.” They are called ‘archetypes’ instead of ‘ideal models’ because they are neither perfect nor ideal. These historical or legendary figures bear with them certain aspects of morality: loyalty, filial piety, righteousness, uprightness, bravery, etc. However, given the situation, they might either satisfy one virtue at the cost of another, or even make bad choices and fail in their mission completely. There is a long tradition in China that archetypes of morality are the exemplars for later generations, and history serves as the exemplum for the present. As the Tang Emperor Taizong said, “Use bronze for a mirror, and one can adjust clothing; take history as mirror, and one can delineate the rise and fall of Introduction 13 dynasties; take a person as mirror, one can realize one’s success and failure.”26 What this implies is that through following the great moral exemplars in history one can discern the cyclical pattern of the empire’s development, recognize the historical trend (shi, 勢) and historical time (shi, 時) in the present, and thus grasp the trend and benefit the empire. However, given that the archetypes of morality cannot be separated from their historical situations, they have an intrinsic instability. Insofar as they bear the double structure of the imperial-time-order—the transcendent moral time and lived amoral time—archetypal personalities generally invite multiple interpretations. For instance, the first emperor Qin Shihuang appears to be both an archetype of a terrible tyrant for his oppressive rule and an archetype of a great emperor for his unification of China. The dialectical nature of the imperial-time-order normalizes the unification for which Qin Shihuang should be praised; nevertheless, at the same time, it chides the emperor’s behavior for which he has been condemned for centuries. An archetype is, moreover, not merely a mirror in the hermeneutic sense, but is itself rhetorical. It aims to cause action, to provoke reflection, imitation, and transformation of the individuals. On the one hand, it understands the priority of antiquity to be ontological as well as historical: past experiences are seen to be sources of universal value and morality, which the present must appropriate through a hermeneutic leap across time. On the other hand, it is rhetorical. The exemplar can be seen as a kind of textual node or point of juncture, where one’s interpretation of the past overlaps with the desire to form and fashion the present.27 Following this logic, we can see that the literary practice of representing archetypal personalities is from the beginning a paradoxical double bind: on the one hand it reflects contingent historical situations that require time- sensitive reinterpretation or even the radical alterity of historical truth in order to inspire imitation in the present; on the other hand, it nevertheless emphasizes the authority of antiquity and promotes the timeless universality of virtues embodied in the archetypal figures. This intrinsic paradox of exemplary bodies, as Timothy Hampton observes, has led to an inevitable crisis in

26 The original Chinese for this quote is “以銅為鑒，可以正衣冠；以史為鑒，可以知興替；以人為鑒，可以明得失。” By Emperor Taizong, see Xin Tang Shu [The New Documents of Tang], by Ouyang Xiu and Song Qi, Vol. 110, Zhuan 22, “Wei Zheng.” Online access: http://guji.artx.cn/article/3616.html, retrieved on May 28, 2010. 27 Timothy Hampton, Writing from History: The Rhetoric of Exemplarity in Renaissance Literature (Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press, 1990). 14 Introduction the reading of historical figures in late Renaissance Europe.28 To be sure, the use of ancient exemplarity for pedagogical and ideological purposes is by no means unique to Chinese history. In fact, the metaphor of hero as mirror is also found in European literature. For instance, the Renaissance rhetorician Cristoforo Landino once commented on Virgil’s representation of Aeneas as “the sole exemplar for the living of our lives,” “a shining mirror” that “inflames” people to imitate him.29 However, Hampton further argues that the built-in tension between the heterogeneity/ambiguity of a hero’s acts and the moral- ism of humanist pedagogy that favors stability of the heroic image, anticipates the bankruptcy of representing exemplary figures in the late sixteenth century. In other words, in order to carry the rhetorical burden of moving the reader to virtuous action, the hero’s life must be a single, morally homogeneous unity devoid of irony or contradiction.30 The delicate tension—between the demand for homogeneity and stability of the exemplary image and the political and social chaos that often requires reinterpretation of history—renders problematic the very process of reading history. By the late sixteenth century, “exemplary figures from antiquity are seen as dangerously ambiguous, and the essayist [Montaigne] turns away from the exemplarity altogether.”31 In China, the situation is different. Not only have archetypal figures been constantly re-presented from ancient times to the present, but these personalities also remain heterogeneous and unstable even at the same moment of history. They thus testify to the intrinsic tension between historical trend and the individual’s moral choice, or in other words, the ‘malleability of history’ in recognizing historical trend or collective agency and the ‘rigidity of morality’ defined by humanist culture. The case of the first emperor Qin Shihuang offers a perfect example. As Chapter Seven will elaborate, since early imperial times the image of Qin Shihuang has been subject to multiple, even conflicting interpretations, and three films about him made roughly at the same time at the turn of the twenty-first century paint three quite different portraits of him. An examination of the discursive historical contexts sheds light on the different interpretations of the emperor, but also demonstrates a continuity of the same moral values: unification and humanist morality. Put otherwise, beneath the contingent sociopolitical ‘variables’ that might have changed history—it could have been someone else to recognize the historical trend and unify China—we

28 Ibid., 30. 29 Ibid., 20–21. 30 Ibid., 27. 31 Ibid., 28. Introduction 15 can discern the centuries-long ‘constants’ of unity and collectivity. As a result, it does not matter whether or not the emperor was a hero (whether we see him as a representative of the people in achieving unity or the enemy of the people for his tyranny); what matters are the implicit values that speak through the image. Unlike European Renaissance literature, the mission of which was to spread humanist messages after the period of medieval darkness, Chinese culture since ancient times has been secular and humanistic in nature. History in China has never been seen as the result of God’s work or of an individual hero’s accomplishment, but rather, the deed achieved by ‘Heaven’s mandate’ or collective endeavor. Unity and collectivity are the central issues explored in this book. My discussion of the representation of archetypal personalities therefore has two themes: the tension between the ‘malleability of history’ and the ‘rigidity of morality’ in discursive historical times that determines the construction of individual and collective subjectivity, and the (unstable) interpretation of empire and the modern nation-state through the archetypes of morality.

This book begins by paying attention to both the intellectual inquiry of time in relation to history and the literary representation of archetypes of morality. Part One establishes in detail the imperial-time-order and traces Chinese notions of time and their implications on subjectivity and agency. Traditionally, historical consciousness most closely correlates with the conception of empire. The unification of empire is deemed normal and moral; therefore the imperial- time-order is from the very beginning bound up with the vision of empire, of time, and of moral agency. Drawing on Confucian classics and secondary literature, I suggest that Chinese time has a double structure, consisting of both a contingent, amoral historical force and a transcendent, moral historical trend, with transcendent time subsuming contingent time. In this double structure of time, individual agency is both facilitated and debilitated. Since the individual has to insert himself and imminent history in long-term history, his agency appears to be no more than recognizing and following the historical trend. Chinese history thus exhibits a centripetal, unifying, and moralistic tendency that has continued to spill over to the modern period. This part also discusses the interactions between the imperial-time-order and various modern discourses, especially Marxism and individualism, which lead to the tensions between individual and collective agency, and between nation-state and empire. I argue that although intellectuals in the twentieth century tried to break away from tradition, their way of thinking has constantly moved outside the bounds of Western discourses, and perpetuated an established conceptual pattern of history. 16 Introduction

I then move to the interaction between lived time and transcendent time in identity formation during different time periods. Part Two deals with the revolutionary period in modern Chinese history until Mao’s death, when the Chinese strove to build a modern nation-state bearing historical stigma and a victim mentality. During the turbulent period between 1900 and 1976, intellectuals found themselves caught in rapidly changing times that forced them to ground self and nation in the newly discovered world order. Each chapter begins with a discussion of the intellectuals’ perception of their lived time, followed by analyses of historical representations of the archetypal figures that embodied the imperial-time-order. Chapter Two focuses on the late Qing period, highlighting the tension between ethnic nationalism and universal nationalism in intellectual thinking. Paying special attention to the aborted historical novels by Li Boyuan, Liang Qichao, and Wu Jianren, this chapter identifies a suspended time from the clash of empires. Chapter Three deals with the May Fourth period, which features the tension between individual agency and the ‘iron-house’ imperial structuring. Close readings of Guo Moruo and Ouyang Yuqian’s historical plays and Lu Xun’s Old Tales Retold reveal a split time in their search for an affirmative grounding of self and China. Chapters Four and Five center on the War of Resistance to Japan and the Maoist periods respectively, which witnessed the flourishing of historical representations that emphasized notions such as unity, morality, the Nation, and the People. The analysis of stage plays and films by A Ying, Guo Moruo, Ouyang Yuqian, and Tian Han, and novels by Yao Xueyin demonstrates the continuity and transitional natures of time. Yan Haiping’s play The Prince of Qin Li Shimin is also examined in Chapter Five to herald the return of positive interpretations of emperors in the post-Mao era. Part Three continues examination of the post-socialist period since the 1980s, in which the positive portrayal of past emperors signifies the grand return of ‘empire.’ On the other hand, some literary works portray imperial history from the minority perspective that demonstrates the centrifugal side of the imperial-time-order. Therefore, Chapter Six analyzes the intellectual vision of time and space in the post-Mao period, and divides the historical representation into two groups, the positive ‘empire representation’ centered on successful emperors, and the marginal portrayal of history that I call ‘minority historical fiction.’ Together, they exhibit differential interpretations of China’s position in the contemporary world. In the ‘empire representation’ group, archetypal characters such as emperors Qin Shihuang, Han Wudi, Kangxi, Yongzheng, Qianlong, etc., are portrayed in all popular media. To the extent that a different medium often corresponds largely to a different audience, I divide my discussion into three chapters according to the medium. Chapter Introduction 17

Seven explores films by Zhang Yimou, Chen Kaige, and Zhou Xiaowen on the first emperor Qin Shihuang, Chapter Eight the historical novels by Ling Li and Eryuehe, and Chapter Nine the emperor series produced by CCTV (China Central TV). Meanwhile, in the ‘minority historical fiction’ group, the center of discussion will be of national characteristics rather than archetypal figures. Chapter Ten examines the works of Su Tong, Wang Anyi, Gao Jianqun, Zhang Chengzhi, and Jiang Rong. Focusing on Han-minority interactions in building the Chinese empire, these works suggest that ‘becoming minority’ is a necessary and beneficial strategy in imagining the self and the nation.

Part 1 The Imperial-Time-Order

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Chapter 1 The Imperial-Time-Order: The Eternal Return of the Chinese Empire

Tianxia (the empire, all-under-Heaven) is not what belongs to one person, but one that belongs to all-under-Heaven, and only he who shares the benefit with all-under-Heaven can govern it. Jiang Shang (1211–1072 BCE)

Perhaps the warlords of the early Republican period were only recent versions of the end-of Han or end-of Tang warlords. Perhaps the Nanjing government of Chiang Kai-shek was the Qin or Sui type of unifying, ephemeral dynasty which paves the way for a longer-lived bureaucratic centralized regime. Maybe China is forever China, as the saying is, absorb- ing everyone, and nothing has been new in a crowded century except ephemeral detail, spilling over a changeless paradigm of Chinese history. Joseph Levenson

A time-map of Chinese history published in 1997, Outline of Ancient Chinese History1 depicts the history of China as a timeline twisted into the shape of a spiral. Everything starts in the center, at a tiny spot identified as ‘Yuanmou Ape-man.’ After Yuanmou Ape-man (approximately 1.7 million years ago), the timeline passes through Peking Man and different dynasties. The spiral becomes bigger with each turn and from Yuanmou Ape-man, it takes three turns of the spiral to reach the 1911 Revolution, before breaking the cycle and straightening out directly up and off the page (figure 1.1). The breadth of the spiral signifies the spatial dimension of Chinese history; the division of the transected block consequently indicates the partition of the territory in the time period. Thousands of years, compressed into one current, spiral up, like a river flowing ahead, implying a continuous history of China as an organic whole, inclusive and unified. The cyclical disunion-unification shift not only does not break through the bigger spiral, but rather reinforces the all-encompassing cyclical structure and the wholeness of the space. It seems not until the Republican Revolution when the last emperor was forced off the

1 Drawn by Lu Jixiang (Nanjing: Nanjing University Press, 1997).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��6 | doi ��.��63/9789004309302_003 22 Chapter 1 Outline of Ancient Chinese History, drawn by Lu Jixiang. by Outline of drawn Ancient Chinese History, fIGURE 1.1 The Imperial-Time-Order 23 throne that the space opened, turning outside, while the timeline is cut and broken. This is nothing other than the well-established myth of Chinese history as a long, continuous imperial history in a self-centered, isolated space and the discontinuous transition from the traditional empire to the modern nation-state. The time-map was published long after Chinese acceptance of the Marxist view of history. Despite the fact that Chinese history has been periodized according to the Marxist historical materialist periodization, identified as progressing from primitive, slave, and feudal societies to the current socialist state, a traditional view of history as a series of cyclical occurrences still wields influence. This enduring representation of history prompts one to wonder: What perspective of time can be discerned from this lasting understanding of history? How to perceive modern and contemporary Chinese society in light of this consciousness of time and history? Is modern China part of the giant historical spiral, perpetuating the cycle of unification and disunity or has it broken away from that tradition? What role has history, or more precisely a traditional historical consciousness, played in China’s continuous quest for modernity, in the individual, and in national identity formation? In this chapter, I will examine this deeply ingrained historical way of thinking— the imperial-time-order—and discuss its interaction with other modern discourses, in particular, Marxism and liberalism. The ways that Marxism has been adopted in China suggest a moralistic and unifying tendency that continued the imperial-time-order, which stands at odds with Marxist historical materialism. Moreover, the continued downplaying of individual function in historical development implies a consciousness of time that limits individual agency. Both aspects in modern intellectual thinking have suggested that history, or historical thinking, develops in a multilinear way. At the discursive intersection of cultures, the dominant force of history (as in the Chinese case) will display its established pattern by adopting the appealing discourse that is overall compatible with its pattern. It is not only that the Self (China) manipu- lates and appropriates the Other (West) to serve its own ends,2 but also that the (manipulated) Other already exists in the Self echoing the certain principle of its historical origin. The triumph of (reconceived) Marxism in China

2 Scholars have demonstrated that modern Chinese intellectuals appropriated Western thinking and creatively adapted it to Chinese society. For instance, Xiaomei Chen suggested that the May Fourth generation actively appropriated the Western ideals and the idea of the West as a lever from which to negotiate between the Chinese past and the future of a modern nation state. See Xiaomei Chen, “Occidentalism as Counterdiscourse: ‘Heshang’ in Post-Mao China.” Critical Inquiry 18, no. 4 (1992): 686–712. 24 Chapter 1 implies the unity-prone and collective nature of Chinese imperial thinking— the imperial-time-order.

The Imperial-Time-Order

Traditionally, historical consciousness closely correlates with the conception of empire, whose unification is deemed normal and moral. Since the birth of the Chinese empire, unification and morality have been bound together, and the ultimate morality resides in the “Mandate of Heaven” (tian ming 天命) or the ‘Intention of Heaven’ (tian yi 天意), a concept that gives the ruling house legitimacy to rule and is in tune with the cosmic-imperial order in which Heaven, Earth, and Humanity are in harmony. This imperial moral order, articulated and institutionalized in the Han Dynasty, was believed to have been perfectly fulfilled in the golden age of the Western Zhou period (1065–771 BC). According to Confucian canons, the early Zhou period offers an idealized model of utopian society with the perfect fusion of unification and morality. Later imperial regimes should look up to and model themselves after this lost utopia to restore or maintain order. The nostalgic longing for an idealized past not only sets the moralistic tone for the Chinese imperial order, but also doubles the imperial vision by differentiating the imagined past ideal from the imperfect present reality. From the fissure between the ideal and the reality emerges both the moral constraint for the present emperors and the moral authority for the past sages. Scholars have suggested that Confucian canons have established such a superior moral order transcending specific historical periods that the ‘uncrowned king’ Confucius could survive for the entirety of Chinese history.3 Emperors, and their associated empires, have to insert their political institutions into this imperial moral order to justify their rule, not the other way around. However, the lasting influence and authoritative power of this imperial moral order do not lie in the presence of any absolute moral agency, but in contrast, in its absence. The Sage, or rather the sages, is by and large the instrument of a totalizing morality. Just as Confucius claimed that he was merely a transmitter of the past sages’ morals, all the sages function as the messenger, not the creator, of this imperial moral order. Heaven, as an absolute, deterministic symbol, fills the void of moral agency, which demonstrates its omniscient presence with absence as such.

3 Michael Nylan, The Five Confucian Classics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001). The Imperial-Time-Order 25

For instance, Xunzi (荀子, 312–230 BC), a prominent disciple of Confucius, once discussed the Dao (Way)-in-Heaven mechanism in his rather notorious Discourse about Heaven (Tian lun, 天論) in this way:

The course of Nature (tian 天) is constant: it does not survive because of the actions of a Yao; it does not perish because of the action of a Jie. If you respond to the constancy of Nature’s course with good government, there will be good fortune; if you respond to it with disorder, there will be misfortune. If you strengthen the basic undertakings and moderate expendi- tures, Nature cannot impoverish you. If your nourishment is complete and your movements accord with the season, then Nature cannot afflict you with illness. If you conform to the Way and are not of two minds, then Nature cannot bring about calamity. . . . If you ignore the basic undertakings and spend extravagantly, then Nature cannot enrich you. . . . . If you turn your back on the Way and behave with foolish reck- lessness, then Nature cannot bring good fortune. Accordingly, there will be famine when neither flood nor drought has come, there will be sickness when neither heat nor cold has reached you, and there will be misfortune even though inauspicious and freak events have not occurred. Although the seasons are received just the same as in an orderly age, the catastrophes and calamities will be of a different order [of magnitude] from those of an orderly age; and you can have no cause to curse Nature, for these things are the consequences of the way that you have followed. Accordingly, if you understand the division between Nature and mankind, then you can probably be called a “Perfect Man.”4

天行有常，不為堯存，不為桀亡。應之以治則吉，應之以亂則凶。強本而節用，則天不能貧；養備而動時，則天不能病；循道而不貳；則天不能禍。. . . 本荒而用侈，則天不能使之富；倍道而妄行，則天不能使之吉。故水旱未至而飢，寒暑未薄而疾，妖怪未至「生」而凶。受時與治世同，而殃禍與治世異，不可以怨天，其道然也。故明於天人之分，則可謂至人矣。

According to Xunzi, there is an intrinsic order inside Heaven/Nature, and it is the order of Heaven that shapes the human order, the pattern of history. The difference between good fortune and bad fortune thus resides in the way human beings obey the Heavenly order. If one behaves like the sage ruler Yao

4 Xunzi, Tian lun, trans. John Knoblock, in Xunzi—A Translation and Study of the Complete Works (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1994), Vol. III, 14–5. 26 Chapter 1 following the Way of Heaven, Heaven will respond with blessings; however, if one acts like the brutal ruler Jie, Heaven will deliver punishment to the kingdom. Therefore, it is the contemporary ruler’s responsibility to seek the order of Heaven and follow the way of ancient sages. The mechanism of ‘obey-Heaven-and-imitate-antiquity’ ( feng tian er fa gu 奉天而法古) was most explicitly articulated in the Chunqiu fanlu (春秋繁露) by Dong Zhongshu (董仲舒 179–104 BC, a Confucian scholar-official in the Han Dynasty):

The Dao (Way) of spring and autumn (history, or time) is to accord to Heaven and imitate antiquity. Therefore, if you don’t build using compass and square, even with skillful hands, you cannot correct the round or square shape; if you don’t practice the six tones (liulü), even with alert ears, you cannot set the five pitches; if you don’t study the ancient kings, even with great intuition, you cannot pacify all-under-Heaven (Tianxia). However, the bequeathed Way of the ancient kings is also the compass and square and the tones of all-under-Heaven! Consequently, the sages obey Heaven, and the virtuous imitate the sages, thus is the deterministic way (da shu). If one obtains this deterministic way, the world will be in order; if one loses the deterministic way, the world will be in disorder. This sets the difference between order and disorder. There is no more than one Way (Dao) of all-under-Heaven. Therefore, even if there is difference among the sagely rulers, they basically follow the same principle. The present and antiquity can communicate with ease. This is why the ancient sages bestowed their principles on the later generations.

春秋之道，奉天而法古。是故雖有巧手，弗修規矩，不能正方圓；雖有察耳，不吹六律，不能定五音；雖有知心，不覽先王，不能平天下；然則先王之遺道，亦天下之規矩六律已！故聖者法天，賢者法聖，此其大數也；得大數而治，失大數而亂，此治亂之分也；所聞天下無二道，故聖人異治同理也，古今通達，故先賢傳其法於後世也。5

For Dong Zhongshu, there is only one principle of Heaven, which transcends time and space and still lives in the present, yet there could be multiple ways of actualizing the Heavenly Dao. The one-multiple schema in Dong’s statement at once confirms the transcendent Heavenly Way and the contingency of human

5 Dong Zhongshu, Chunqiu fanlu, vol. 1, online resource: http://guji.artx.cn/article/7845.html, access on August 2, 2013. The Imperial-Time-Order 27 behavior. The hierarchy that he sets among Heaven, sages, and virtuous men in terms of morality suggests a temporal gap defined by moral order within the present. Human agency in this regard exhibits itself as no more than the limited moral practitioner subsumed under the order of antiquity. Falling along a spectrum that ranges between impossible poles of definitive agency and inevitable lack, Heaven in this way gives rise to the speculation that the ultimate moral subjectivity is time, and it is time with its moral import that engenders the enduring centripetal forces throughout Chinese history. Indeed, as Gilles Deleuze observes, time is the ultimate subjectivity. It is we who are internal to time, not the other way around.6 This kind of historical consciousness, divergent from the Cartesian vision of omnipotent human subjectivity, has prevailed throughout Chinese history. However, in the Chinese view, far from being a natural, mechanistic, referential parameter outside human beings, time is intertwined with human activity. The moralization of time has at once stressed human agency and undermined this agency. The association of the past with authority and morality on the one hand deprives the present of its innovative agency; on the other hand, however, it manifests the temporal nature of this imperial moral order. Past legitimizes present and bespeaks future. Together it is time that constructs a moral order that is transmitted through the Sage’s mouth, one order that organizes the institutional imperial regime to become the instrument for its self-perpetuation. Meanwhile, in this moral order, unification is deemed normal and morality associated with order, whereas disunity is seen as abnormal and immorality associated with disorder. Time normalizes unification and universalizes morality, constituting an imperial-time-order that transcends specific historical periods and continually displays its driving force for unification in Chinese civilization. The imperial court has to comply with this imperial-time-order to show that they have the ‘Mandate of Heaven’ (tian ming 天命) or the ‘Time of Heaven’ (tian shi 天時) to legitimize the existence of the imperial court. It is time together with moral mission that continually reproduces itself, articulates itself, and perpetuates itself. However, the doubling structure of the imperial-time-order, the unavoidable gap between the past ideal and the present reality, suggests that time is split up as being both transcendently moral and contingently amoral in the present. Besides its unity-prone moral tendency, the imperial-time-order is accompanied by its own sub-order, from which a morally neutral term shi (勢) emerges. Shi, equivalent with [historical] force, or [historical] trend, signifies both historical determinism and the virtual possibilities intrinsic within

6 Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2—The Time Image, 82–3. 28 Chapter 1 the determinism. It could be understood in terms of the ‘wind’ or the ‘storm’ in Walter Benjamin’s image of the angel. In that image, the backward looking angel is propelled into the future by a storm, which signifies the force of time. Similarly, shi is the ‘storm’ that, even though mostly associated with the present, refers to the past and points to the future. Therefore, the recognition of shi is based on the knowledge of a time-conscious history and a continuous narrative of that history. The classic narrative Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo yanyi) opens with the line, “The historical trend [shi-勢] of the empire is that, long divided, it must reunite; long united, it must divide.”7 Just as Benjamin’s history that is teleological without a telos, shi could point to both unity and disunity, but unification, with its overpowering moral implication, still dominates disunity in the symbolic realm, and renders the imperial-time- order a lasting one in Chinese history. In other words, whereas the imperial- time-order as a paradigm in time manifests the transcendent moral order, shi, on the other hand, demonstrates that specific moments in history may not be transcended. Time, in this regard, exhibits a dialectical interchange within itself between its two layers. It is at once concrete and universal, factual and normative. 8 This notion of time, though institutionalized in Confucian canons, nevertheless cannot be reduced to Confucianism. Rather, it is a kind of imperial thinking instead of thought, embracing Confucianism, Daoism, and ancient dialectical thinking. On the other hand, rather than being impersonal and outside of human beings, the imperial-time-order, in both its layers, is fundamentally humanistic. The shi, albeit amoral as such, is a kind of situational timeliness, not of empirical events but a humanly shaped milieu.9 Indeed, time and history in the Chinese sense saw the constant interplay between transcendent time and lived time in human beings. Witnessing history and living in time, human beings immediately realized their limited agency to grasp the transcendence of time by means of their everyday moral behavior. By emulating the past sages, they were able to experience time in both an immanent and transcendent way. Chen Chi-yun described it as “immanent human beings in transcendent time.” Drawing a sweeping civilizational contrast between the ancient Greeks, who tried their utmost to think transcendentally

7 David Couzens Hoy, The Time of Our Lives: A Critical History of Temporality (Cambridge, Massachusetts & London, England: The MIT Press, 2009), 157. 8 Chun-Chieh Huang, “ ‘Time’ and ‘Supertime’ in Chinese Historical Thinking,” in Notions of Time in Chinese Historical Thinking, eds., Chun-chieh Huang & John B. Henderson, (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2006), Introduction, 28. 9 Ibid., 20. The Imperial-Time-Order 29 and the ancient Chinese, who tended to thinking immanently, Chen asserted that the Chinese philosopher, particularly the Confucian thinker Xunzi (荀子), inclined to avoid seeking to understand the transcendent, since for him “human beings cannot but act immanently.”10 Yet while “knowing that ‘transcendent time’ may be beyond their empirical reach, the Chinese nonetheless made endless attempts to figure out their respective standing in time.”11 They were not unaware of the “realm of the transcendent as well as its ontic importance, but thought that this (the transcendent) could better be hinted at, or alluded to, rather than clearly represented and expressly discussed in mun- dane human terms.”12 The ‘respective standing’ of human beings in time on the one hand manifests the consciousness of the impersonal force of time superimposed on human beings; on the other hand, however, it confirms the centrality of human agency in eliciting moral meaning through time. In fact, even though the historical shi-trend was outside individuals and out of control, what one could do was to follow the shi, directing it into its trend, and thus accomplish the moral meaning of time. Shi, observed Chun-chieh Huang, contains several characteristic features, among which events and human agency were two intertwined points that deserve our attention. According to Huang, shi, rather than a mere scattered “propensity of things,” is the dynamic trend among events. Thus, historians study events, “not because they are interested in events per se, but because they want to discern the shi stretching among the events.” Meanwhile, in all this inexorability of the shi, human agency plays a crucial role in grasping the shi to actualize Heaven’s will. Huang convincingly presents the strongest examples of the notion of shi in the early texts prior to and during the Warring States period (403–256 BC) and explains the centrality of human activities in molding the shi and being molded by the shi.13 Just as the old saying describes it, heroes mold shi while shi shapes heroes. Shi, therefore, is both material and spiritual, which constitutes a sense of contingency that allows human beings to act relatively freely in accordance with Heaven’s order. “Timeliness in situational flux, shi,” Huang asserted, “is steered by human beings, whose destinies

10 Chen Chi-yun, “Immanent Human Beings in Transcendent Time” in Notions of Time in Chinese Historical Thinking, eds., Chun-chieh Huang & John B. Henderson, 60. 11 Ibid., 63. 12 Ibid., 65. 13 Chun-chieh Huang, “ ‘Time’ and ‘Supertime’ in Chinese Historical Thinking,” in Notions of Time in Chinese Historical Thinking, 23. 30 Chapter 1 in turn are decided by shi. Such intermoldings constitute the history to be taught in later generations.”14 Insofar as the centrality of human activity is well stressed, it is easy to take shi as an interpretive term that human beings could manipulate to justify their actions. For instance, Wang Hui argues that shi shi (時勢, ‘the trend of all times’) is a term invented by Neo-Confucian scholars to put the discontinuity of history into a continuous narrative.15 However, it is important not to confuse what Wang Hui argues is an unlimited human agency to interpret time with the vision of limited human agency in history. As the Song Neo-Confucian scholar Zhu Xi (朱熹 1130–1200) wrote, “Following shi to guide and lead on— of this only sages are capable.”16 While he acknowledged the function of the sages to participate in molding shi in history, the term “following” nonetheless gives rise to the ultimate agency of time as Heaven, whose moral order determines the success or failure of all human activity. Rulers or emperors, thus, have to submit themselves to this imperial-time- order to display their sagely quality, following the shi-trend in order to create a peaceful world to fulfill the Mandate of Heaven. Ye Shi (叶適, 1150–1223), a Neo-Confucian scholar of the Song dynasty, was explicit about the relationship between the emperors and the shi. In his words,

If one desires to govern all-under-Heaven without looking at its shi, then nothing under Heaven can be ruled . . . [Now] such ancient rulers as Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, Wen, Wu, [emperors] Gaozu and Guangwu of the Han, and [emperor] Taizong of the Tang, all individually accomplished the shi of all-under-Heaven. Although their merits and virtues differed in greatness, [hence] their differences in the effectiveness of governance, they still wanted to shoulder the shi of all-under-Heaven onto themselves, not on anything outside. . . . Later generations saw shi to lie in things outside, not in oneself. Therefore, when the shi came, it came as if it were a flood and could not be stopped. What the rulers did was just to raise all their powers to help advance its tide. [This was done until the shi receded, and then fell] so that we could only sit and [idly] see [its recession], and no one could stop it, and the nation followed it to perdition. In fact, being unable to personally accomplish the shi of all-under-Heaven, vainly

14 Ibid. 15 Wang Hui. Xiandai Zhongguo sixiang de xingqi [The Rise of Modern Chinese Thought]. (Beijing: SDX Joint Publishing Company, 2008), 55. 16 Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei. [The Discourse of Zhu Xi], ed., Li Jingde, (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981), vol. 8, Zhuan 139, 3303. The Imperial-Time-Order 31

trying to solicit private safety by using petty laws of penalties and punishment to follow the shi of all-under-Heaven, this I your subject have not seen to work [at all].

慾治天下而不見其勢，天下不可治矣。. . . 古之人君，若堯、舜、禹、湯、文、武、漢之高祖光武，唐之太宗，此其人皆能以一身為天下之勢；雖其功德有厚薄，治效有淺深，而要以為天下之勢在己不在物。. . . 及其後世，天下之勢在物而不在己，故其勢之至也，湯湯然而莫能遏，反舉人君威福之柄以佐其鋒；至其去也，坐視而不能止，而國家隨之以亡。夫不能以一身為天下勢，而用區以刑法以就天下之勢而求安其身者，臣未見其可也。17

Clearly, Ye Shi’s notion of Heaven and time is different from Xunzi’s seemingly mechanistic vision of Heaven in the earlier period. The Neo-Confucian’s self- reflexive mode to interiorize the moral principle of the world is well displayed in this passage. However, although Ye Shi declared it the responsibility of rulers to internalize and shoulder the shi of all-under-Heaven and to steer the shi to a positive, moral direction, shi by itself seems to be amoral, which could be flowing in either good or evil ways. If the ruler just lets the shi flow without any action, or worse, takes advantage of the shi to reinforce his personal power instead of concerning all-under-Heaven, his rule will be doomed to end shortly. By contrasting the sagely, successful rulers/emperors with the failed ones, who could only make use of laws and punishment for private gain, Ye Shi in effect distinguished between the benevolent, moral shi actualized by the sagely rulers, which is connected to the shi of all-under-Heaven (hence the Mandate of Heaven), and the amoral shi which will result in universal chaos. Human agency, therefore, is moral. Only with morality, following the shi of all-under-Heaven and imitating the ancient sage rulers who embodied the Mandate of Heaven, could the rulers maintain a unified, peaceful, prosperous empire (zhi shi 治世). On the other hand, if rulers abuse shi for

17 Ye Shi (叶適), “Zhishi” (治勢上) in Ye Shi ji [Collected Essays of Ye Shi], Vol. 3 水心別集 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983), 637. This quote is also used by Chun-chieh Huang. Yet Huang takes this quote to demonstrate that human agency is at the core of the formation of shi-trend. I take a different point of view. I think for Ye Shi, shi itself is something amoral which could be steered in either positive or negative directions. It is the ruler’s responsibility to direct (rather than form) the shi in a positive, moral way as he interior- izes the moral principle of Heaven. Otherwise, if he takes advantage of the shi only to reinforce his own power, his rule won’t last, since he has lost the Mandate of Heaven. 32 Chapter 1

personal benefit, they lose the Mandate of Heaven and empires fall into chaos (luan shi 亂世). Such is the imperial-time-order, the symbolic moral order that continually enfolds the Chinese empire (or empires in terms of different dynasties) into its ultra-stable, cyclical pattern. Note that the imperial-time-order is not a moral order necessarily centered on Han Chinese. In fact, anyone who had occupied the central plain (zhongyuan, 中原) and unified the territory could be accepted as long as they promoted Confucianism and inserted themselves into the orthodoxy of continuous history. Here, the concept of contiguity comes into play for empire building. Since the adjacent cultures had been deeply influenced by Confucianism, the conquest states, including minority rulers such as the Mongols and Manchus, were equally driven to use the same rhetoric of Tianxia (‘all-under-Heaven’), claiming to have followed the Mandate of Heaven to legitimize their rule, thereby consciously continuing Chinese history. Transcendent moral time, on the one hand mandates human agency to follow the shi of all-under-Heaven, which structures the centripetal trend to maintain a unified imperial order. On the other hand, however, it at once undermines this agency by subjugating it to the remote past. Meanwhile, failing to follow the moral past will lead to chaos since the amoral shi will display its centrifugal force to pull the empire apart. Time, in this regard, perpetuates moral agency and manifests itself in a circular manner: it constantly articulates morality at times of unification at the same time it produces its own discontent generating disunity, which again calls for unification. Perhaps, the dynastic cycle of Chinese history best illustrates this imperial-time-order: its centripetal force dominates the centrifugal force and drives Chinese imperial history into a cyclical, spiral pattern. It is time that subsumes the institutional empires and constantly manifests itself in a process of continuous folding, unfolding, and refolding.18 It is common to view time in imperial Chinese history as cyclical, although this in no way means mere repetition without progression. As Chen Chi-yun points out, “The Chinese never claimed that real history (even dynastic history)

18 Deleuze introduced the notion of the fold in his discussion on Leibniz’s philosophy and Baroque aesthetics. For Deleuze, the fold is a temporal concept that signifies the spatial- temporal dynamic in the process of subjectivation and identity formation. It is as if in a temporal dimension, a singular identity is closed in space yet open in time. It is time that becomes the ultimate exteriority whose folding is what constitutes the process of subject formation. See Gilles Deleuze, The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque, trans. Tom Conley (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993). The Imperial-Time-Order 33 or time ever ‘repeated’ itself.”19 Similarly, after studying the Confucian Classic Yijing (Book of Changes), Liu Shu-hsien asserted that the Yijing, famous for its dialectical thinking, did not teach a cyclical philosophy of history in terms of recurrent repetition. Rather, “each cycle offers a new content, which cannot be seen as a mere repetition or going by circles.”20 Walter Benjamin once distinguished conceptions of time as pre-modern Messianic time and modern “homogeneous, empty time,”21 which inspired Benedict Anderson to take time as the point of departure to distinguish between the imaginings of classical and modern communities.22 For Benjamin, Messianic time means that past and future coexist in the instantaneous present in the eyes of God, something eternal and omnitemporal. On the other hand, the concept of “homogeneous, empty time” is one “in which simultaneity is, as it were, transverse, cross-time, marked not by prefiguring and fulfillment, but by temporal coincidence, and measured by clock and calendar.”23 Challenging Anderson’s radical division between the pre-modern and modern time, Prasenjit Duara reconstructed the continuity of history, stating, “we in the present together with our caller from the past, are coproducers of the past.” Thereby the present consists of the past—“It is more in the nature of a relay, a translation or a ‘return call.’ ”24 Indeed, in terms of its dialectical and morally transcendent nature, the Chinese notion of time diverges from both Messianic time and homogeneous, empty time. Rather, it is a reconstructive approach to time, one that exhibits itself as analogous to Deleuze’s reading of Nietzsche’s “eternal return.” Since any step further is made in reference to its origin (imagined origin), the Chinese time is the repetition with (qualitative) difference, which continually generates the ever-expanding spirals, instead of circles, pointing both to the past and the future. The imperial-time-order, therefore, transcends time and space, organizing history into its cyclical- yet-progressive, spiral pattern.

19 Chen Chi-yun, “Immanental Human Beings in Transcendent Time” in Notions of Time in Chinese Historical Thinking, 48. 20 Liu Shu-hsien, “On the Formation of a Philosophy of Time and History through the Yijin,” in Notions of Time in Chinese Historical Thinking, 91–92. 21 Waler Benjamin, Illuminations. Edited and with an introduction by Hannah Arendt, trans. Harry Zohn. (New York: Schocken Books, 1968), 263–4. 22 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. Revised edition. (London & New York: Verso, 2006), 24. 23 Ibid. 24 Prasenjit Duara, Rescuing History from the Nation: Questioning Narratives of Modern China (Chicago & London: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 73. 34 Chapter 1

Historical Unconscious: The Imperial-Time-Order in Modern Times

The all-encompassing imperial-time-order, as a way of thinking, continues to influence the modern period. However, this double-layered symbolic regime remains resilient in a rather disguised way in a modern nation-state. The imperial institution disappears, yet unification and its morality stays; individual subjectivity emerges, yet the vision of history remains. In fact, the ready acceptance of historical teleology is manifested as nothing other than the strengthening consciousness of historical determinism. The difference merely lies in that one is forward-looking, the other is backward-and-forward-looking (in terms of its perpetuating value); one is materially dominant, the other is morally dominant. In modern Chinese history, even though the intellectuals set out to search for power and wealth, the material-spiritual interplay was nevertheless continually directed toward the symbolic, ethical side. The highly mentalistic tendency inherited from traditional thinking prompted them to consider the primacy of spiritual, ideological power over material development, which from the beginning set itself against the Western scientific spirit, especially Marxism. From the debate on ti (‘substance’) /yong (‘function’) (Chinese learning as substance, and Western learning as function), to the debate on kexue yu renshengguan (the relationship between science and an outlook on life), to the wholehearted embrace of Mr. Democracy and Mr. Science, till the acceptance of Marxism, the gradual shift in emphasis from Chinese thought to Western ideologies exhibits the unsettled desire to find a substitute for Chinese learning that might serve as a moral and unifying equivalent; one that would transcend specific political regimes or national boundaries. The transplantation of Marxism, in this sense, was the successful answer to that moral call ingrained within tradition. Indeed, as will be demonstrated below, the adoption of Marxism in China manifested itself not so much as a product of rational analysis of Chinese society as the continuation of a traditional way of thinking. In Marx’s theory, socialist revolution could only take place in a highly industrialized society where material conditions prepare the mature working class to overthrow the hegemony of the bourgeois class. Infrastructure determines the superstructure, and the material condition determines the symbolic order, not the other way around. However, in the Chinese case, at the very inception of Marxism, material condition was regarded secondary to the universal and moral value manifested in the revolutionary theory. Arif Dirlik observed that although Chinese intellectuals became acquainted with Marxism as early as the 1910s, “their grasp of historical materialism remained superficial through the early The Imperial-Time-Order 35 twentieth century.”25 In other words, Marxism in China exhibited a reversal of Marxism by Marx. It is the idea of revolution and internationalism that addressed the Chinese intellectuals’ desire to find a substitute moral order, the idea that drove Chinese society to develop into socialism.26 Indeed, as a substitute for Confucianism, Marxism appealed to Chinese intellectuals not only for its ethical potential to achieve nationalism against imperialism, but also for its universal ideal to establish a utopian world order that was beyond narrowly-defined nationalism. Timothy Mitchell demonstrates that in history, the term ‘internationalism’ appeared prior to the spread of the term ‘nationalism,’ which was coined by the anti-colonial movement. The idea of ‘the international’ was popularized in London in 1862, when the world exhibition of that year was named the Great International Exhibition. A delegation of Parisian workers sent to the exhibition met with London trade unionists and borrowed the new word, forming the Working Men’s International Association under the leadership of Karl Marx.27 The word ‘nationalism’ appeared two decades later, introduced by the Irish Nationalist Party as it launched the struggle against British colonialism.28 What is implicit in these findings is that ‘internationalism’ appeared as a universal moral structure signifying a utopian world order, one that is prior to, and transcends, the narrowly defined ‘nationalism.’ It is no coincidence that the notion of ‘internationalism’ fascinated Chinese intellectuals. Joseph Levenson understood that the reason Marxism appealed to Chinese intellectuals is because Marxism, due to its Western anti-capitalist origin, fulfilled at once the Chinese desire to destroy the past (anti-feudalism) and

25 Arif Dirlik. Revolution and History: The Origins of Marxist Historiography in China, 1919– 1937 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1978), 2. 26 Dirlik argued that Marxist historical materialism provided a theoretical framework to explain the contemporary revolutionary change, which constituted a major appeal of Marxism to Chinese intellectuals. Yet I believe that the Chinese ‘material/revolutionary condition’ was quite different from what Marx described in his theory. This only proved that the Chinese ‘discovered’ their material condition later after they had already accepted the value of Marxism. It is the idea of Marxism that drove the new conception of Chinese society, and the idea was but the continuation and manifestation of traditional way of thinking. 27 Karl Marx, “Address and Provisional Rules of the Working Men’s International Association” (London, 1864), reprinted in Karl Marx, The First International and After: Political Writings. Vol. 3 (New York: Vintage, 1974), 73–84. 28 Timothy Mitchell, “The Stage of Modernity,” in Mitchell ed., Questions of Modernity, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000), 4. 36 Chapter 1 to combat the West (anti-imperialism).29 Yet, he overlooked the way that the enduring imperial notion of unity, morality, and universality might have provided the fundamental ground for Marxism to flourish in China. Communism, the higher stage of socialism, provided a classless, nationless blueprint for the future, which for better or worse, corresponded in the intellectuals’ minds to the traditional ideal of Great Harmony or Grand Unity (da tong, 大同), an ideal of the unified empire in which all subjects enjoy material and spiritual abundance.30 Meanwhile, Marxism also responded to Chinese intellectuals’ obsession with modern science and technology. It incorporates scientific knowledge into an ethical, overarching theory that put intellectuals (with social conscience) at the center of that knowledge, so that they were able to interpret the world in a scientific way, subsuming science and technology into a materialistic master narrative that is fundamentally ethical. In an essay that challenges Western cultural hegemony and affirms intellectual continuity in modern China, Thomas Metzger singles out the distinctive mentalistic tendency among modern intellectuals who, despite the (im)practicality of theories, have continued a shared Confucian “optimistic this-worldliness,” ready to pursue a normative formula as an intellectual project to describe historical change.31 This mentalistic and moralistic tendency, for Metzger, constitutes the distinct characteristic of Chinese intellectual thinking fundamentally divergent from the Western intellectual mainstream. Through their inherited ‘epistemological optimism’—“the belief in the ready availability of enough absolute moral knowledge to evaluate everyone perfectly and totally reform the political order”—Chinese intellectuals continue to conceptualize history in a manner that is rooted in Chinese tradition.32

29 Joseph Levenson, Confucian China and Its Modern Fate: A Trilogy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1965), 134. 30 In 1925, Guo Moruo wrote a couple of articles arguing that the higher stage of Communism, like the Confucian notion of the Great Harmony, would create a classless, nationless world. See Guo, “Qiong han de qiong tan [Poor Guy’s Poor Theory],” first published in Hong Shui [Torrent], vol. 1, no. 4, now available in Guo Moruo quanji [The Complete Works of Guo Moruo], Wenxue bian [Literature], vol. 18, (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1982), 24. And “Xin Guojia de chuangzao [The Creation of a New Nation]”, in Hong Shui [Torrent], vol. 1, no. 8 (1926): 228. 31 Thomas Metzger, “Continuities between Modern and Premodern China: Some Neglected Methodological and Substantive Issues,” in Ideas across Cultures, eds. Paul Cohen and Merle Goldman (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 1990), 277. 32 Ibid., 287. The Imperial-Time-Order 37

Following Metzger’s speculation, I would suggest that the inherited ‘epistemological optimism’ facilitated the adoption of Marxism, which, from its inception, has been reinterpreted to fit the imperial-time-order. To be sure, there has been a significant change in the field of historiography where historians highlighted historical materialism in their historical narrative. As Arif Dirlik observes, the materialist conception of history provided a fundamentally new perspective and methodology for Chinese historians to write a ‘new’ history of China. First, instead of discerning ‘moral lessons’ from the scattered, non-causal events, the socioeconomic approach allowed the historians to “bind events together in a causal nexus and treat them as connected wholes.”33 Second, Marxist materialism offered a materially based theory to “explain the social dimensions of contemporary revolutionary change,” and “it also expressed in the realm of history the new, revolutionary paradigm of change.”34 While there was indeed a materialistic overtone in the modern Chinese historical narrative, Dirlik may have over-simplified traditional historical thinking and shelved the difference between Marxist principle and Chinese application. In one sense, the fact that Chinese historians so overly identified with the ideological function of Marxism instead of its structural, material basis suggests that the superstructural ideal dominates the objective infrastructure, which is none other than the extension of the morality-driven historical way of thinking. Dirlik admitted that the Chinese Marxist historians often selectively ignored or dismissed the data that did not fit into their ideologically determinant preconceptions.35 Such a problematic treatment of Marxist historiography unavoidably undermines the fundamental principle of materialism. In another sense, the desire to pursue revolutionary change in Chinese society was but another manifestation of the desire to seek the shi-trend among discursive events in traditional historical thinking. Slavoj Zizek made keen observations on the deviation from Marxism in China’s revolutionary practice. Zizek asserts that Lenin’s theory of “the weak- est link of the chain” extended the original Marxist theory, yet only with Mao was the original model radically abandoned. Although Lenin accepted that the first revolution could take place not in the most developed country, but in a country in which the antagonisms of capitalist development are most aggra- vated, even if it is less developed, he still perceived the October Revolution as

33 E. G. Pulleyblank, “Chinese Historical Criticism,” in Historians of China and Japan, eds. W. G. Beasley and E. G. Pulleyblank (London: Oxford University Press, 1971), 152. 34 Arif Dirlik, Revolution and History: the Origins of Marxist Historiography in China, 1919– 1937 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1978), 18. 35 Dirlik, Revolution and History, 11. 38 Chapter 1 a risky breakthrough whose success could only be assured by a subsequent large-scale Western European revolution.36 However, for Mao, the materialist Marxist model was totally reversed. Not only could the revolution be achieved in the least developed country, but the class struggle was also reformulated as the contradiction between the First World “bourgeois nations” and the Third World “proletarian nations.” Moreover, since the economic condition could not automatically generate socialist revolution, the communist ideal should lead to the assertion of the “primacy of politics over economy.”37 In Zizek’s words,

The paradox here is properly dialectical, perhaps in the ultimate application of Mao’s teaching on contradictions: its very underdevelopment (and thus “un-ripeness” for the revolution) makes a country “ripe” for the revolution. Since, however, such “unripe” economic conditions do not allow the construction of properly post-capitalist socialism, the necessary correlate is the assertion of the “primacy of politics over economy”: the victorious revolutionary subject doesn’t act as an instrument of economic necessity, liberating its potentials whose further development is thwarted by capitalist contradictions; it is rather a voluntarist agent which acts AGAINST “spontaneous” economic necessity, enforcing its vision on reality through revolutionary terror.38

Zizek confirms the Maoist reversal of Marxism in terms of economic/political relations, and he sees the Chinese revision as a historical contingency, whether retroactively applauded as a creative Chinese response to necessity or criticized as un-Marxist, however necessary. Yet he does not resolve the contradiction between the ‘contingency’ and ‘the voluntarist’ agency: if the (collective) agent is voluntary, how can the revision become contingent? What is the psychological conditioning for the agent to achieve such a ‘contingency’? To answer such a question we have to refer to the historical mode of thinking that fostered this ‘contingent’ change. Perhaps, this paradox of such an ‘unripe’ condition for the revolution as ‘ripe,’ which is hard to understand in the Marxist framework, should be put into the historical shi-trend framework, which emphasizes the moral aspect over the economic aspect in the earlier uprisings and shifts of dynasties.

36 Slavoj Zizek, “Mao Zedong: The Marxist Lord of Misrule,” see online version: http://www .lacan.com/zizmaozedong.htm. This passage is missing in the print version Zizek Presents Mao’s On Practice and Contradiction (London & New York: Verso, 2007). 37 Ibid. 38 Ibid. The Imperial-Time-Order 39

Here, what I am trying to describe is a sense of historical unconscious that was translated into theoretical substitution. Indeed, although on the surface, there are fundamental discrepancies between traditional historical thinking and Marxist historiography, the underlying assumptions about time and history nonetheless exhibit a similar pattern. Although the linear, progressive time in Marxism ostensibly contradicts the Chinese cyclical time, the Marxist periodization of history is in effect perfectly compatible with Chinese historical thinking. Since the entire history of imperial China could be put into one phase, or ‘feudal society’ in Marxist historiography,39 the cyclical pattern of Chinese history does not conflict with the Marxist overview of progressive historical stages. On the contrary, class analysis from another perspective explains the Chinese notion of shi and the moral agency of human beings. Marx thought the antagonism between classes in an exploitative society would intensify until a certain point, based on certain material conditions of the society, when revolution would break out and a new period would begin. This periodization implies a historical determinism that the revolutionary trend is irreversible and the exploited class will surely follow the trend when the revolutionary conditions are ripe. Like the Chinese notion of shi, Marxist historical periodization offers a model to interpret the dynastic shift in Chinese history, in both moral and material senses. When one dynasty lost the Mandate of Heaven (usually when the starved peasants rose in rebellion, and the material revolutionary condition was mature), the sagely rulers would grasp the shi to insert a new dynasty (period). In this regard, Marxist historical thinking turns out to be no more than another form of the imperial-time-order, with the latter emphasizing the very acceptance of the former.40

39 There were debates on Chinese historical periodization according to Marxist historiography during the 1930s and 1940s. Yet after 1949, the five-stage history became the orthodox version of Chinese historical periodization. See Arif Dirlik, Revolution and History. 40 For instance, the Marxist historian Shi Cuntong (Shih Ts’un-t’ung) did introduce the idea of historical materialism. Although he stressed the socioeconomic basis for a revolutionary consciousness in terms of the conflict between the relations and forces of production, he nonetheless put the material conditions as the deterministic element for the revolution. “When the material conditions are ripe,” he said, “all questions are resolved.” Material conditions determine the revolutionary consciousness and the revolutionary result. For me, this material condition resembles a Chinese notion of shi, which is humanly formed yet out of individual control and historically cannot be transcended. See Shi Cuntong, “Weiwu shiguan zai Zhongguo de yingyong” [The application of historical materialism in China] in Shehui zhuyi taolun ji [Discussions on Socialism] (Shanghai: Xin Qingnian Society, 1922), 427–8. The Japanese Marxist scholar Tosaka Jun (1900–1945) offered a more specific discussion of historical time. In my view, he incorporated Bergson’s notion of 40 Chapter 1

In fact, since the very inception of Marxism, it has been seen as the arrival of a new ‘historical trend’ and it is the Chinese people’s responsibility to grasp this trend in order to enter a new period of history. In 1918, after the victory of the socialist revolution in Russia, Li Dazhao published two articles to celebrate the victory of the working class and Bolshevism. For him, it was “the victory of the new tide (chao liu 潮流) of the twentieth century,”41 and “we should be clear that we can only follow this tide, not resist this tide.” (my emphases).42 Socialism is the irresistible, legitimate trend of the world.

Such mighty rolling tides are indeed beyond the power of the present capitalist governments to prevent or stop, for the mass movement of the twentieth century combines the whole of mankind into one great mass. The efforts of each individual within this great mass . . . will then be concentrated and become a great, irresistible social force . . . In the course of such a world mass movement, all those dregs of history that can impede the progress of the new movement—such as emperors, nobles, warlords, bureaucrats, militarists, and capitalists—will certainly be destroyed as though struck by a thunderbolt.43

duration with Nietzsche’s “eternal return” and the traditional notion of “shi-trend.” After arguing that time is heterogeneous instead of homogeneous, he asserted that periodization of history depends on the character (content) of history, which is in turn determined by the material relations and forces of production. Yet the character is not something human beings can just think up or create; it is produced by history itself. “Character is like the fruit which when ripe, on its own it drops from the tree of history. When it does fall, people must catch it without fail. It is best to say that people only discover certain characters within history. But it must also be said that in what manner people faithfully receive this fruit depends on the character of the people themselves.” For me, this is the Confucian way of thinking about history, the exteriority of shi-trend and the interiority of human’s grasp of that shi-character. See Tosaka Jun, “Nichijosei no genri to rekichiteki jikan [The Principle of Everydayness and Historical Time],” (1934), in Tosaka Jun zenshu, vol. 3 trans. Robert Stolz, (Tokyo: Keiso Shobo, 1966), 95–104. 41 Li Dazhao, “Bolshevism de shengli [The Victory of Bolshevism],” Xin qingnian [New youth], Nov 15, 1918. See Chen Shouli, ed., Zhongguo xiandai wenxue shiliao zhaibian, vol. 1, 26. 42 Li Dazhao, “Shumin de shengli [The Victory of the Ordinary People],” Xin qingnian [New Youth], Oct. 15, 1918. See Chen Shouli, ed., Zhongguo xiandai wenxue shiliao zhaibian, vol. 1, 24. 43 Li Dazhao, Bolshevism de shengli, 26. Also cited and translated by Maurice Meisner in Li Ta-chao and the Origins of Chinese Marxism, 68. The Imperial-Time-Order 41

Such a voluntaristic and deterministic attitude to embrace Marxism and socialism, according to Maurice Meisner, is revealed in Li’s effort to resolve a Marxist dilemma over how to reconcile economic determinism and political activism. In his comprehensive study on Li Dazhao, Meisner observes that Li’s pre- Marxian worldview and social activism prepared his inventive interpretation of Marxist principle. By interpreting China as a ‘proletarian nation’ in which the internal proletarian class did not really exist and the collective moral endeavor as the fundamental materiality of revolution, Li was able to turn the material disadvantage into advantage to achieve the revolutionary goal.44 To Meisner, Li’s voluntaristic and nationalistic interpretation of Marxism was indebted to his pre-Marxian world view in which “by activity in the present the individual could become identified with the great progressive ‘tide of reality’ and reach a future where ‘the universe is the ego and the ego is the universe.’ ”45 Meisner sees this metaphysical understanding of time and history as one that is similar to the philosophy of Henri Bergson,46 and is also compatible with the Neo-Confucian impulse to transform the self and the society investi- gated by Metzger. In effect, such an understanding reveals the pervasiveness of the imperial-time-order. If Li Dazhao (1889–1927), the early Chinese Marxist and one of the founders of the Chinese Communist Party, is seen as an immature Marxist of modern China whose statement does not represent the evolution of Chinese Marxism, Guo Moruo, prominent as a Marxist historian and writer in Mao’s regime, continued building the link between Marxism and Confucianism, which suggests a compatibility between the two ideas. Guo imagined Marx coming to China to meet Confucius and discovering that Confucius is his Chinese “comrade”: “I never imagined that in the Far East two thousand years ago, there was already such an old comrade [like you]. Our opinions are totally in accord.”47 Later, in 1948, after Guo had become a more informed Marxist historian, he still held the opinion that Communism was but the modern manifestation of the ancient Confucian ideal da tong (大同, ‘Great Harmony’ or ‘Grand Unity’). In an article addressed to overseas Chinese, Guo juxtaposed Mao Zedong, Sun

44 Maurice Meisner, Li Ta-chao and the Origins of Chinese Marxism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967; reprinted New York: Atheneum, 1979), 154. 45 Ibid., 51. 46 Ibid., 49. 47 Guo Moruo, “Makesi jin wenmiao [Marx Came to the Confucian Temple],” first published in Hongshui (Torrent) 1925, vol. 1, No. 7, 1925. See Guo Moruo quanji [Complete Works of Guo Moruo], Wenxuanbian [Literature] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1985), vol. 10. 167–8. 42 Chapter 1

Zhongshan (Sun Yat-sen), and Mencius, implying that they all shared the same ideal of ‘Great Harmony’:

Please think about it: what is too radical about Mr. Mao’s thought? Isn’t the land reform the realization of Mr. Sun Zhongshan’s idea that “whoever works on the land will have his own land?” To speculate further, isn’t it the realization of what Mencius dreamed about in the well-field system (jing tian zhi 井田制) more than two thousand years ago? Mr. Mao is surely a disciple of Communism, yet isn’t Communism the reification of what Confucius advocated as the Great Harmony or the Grand Unity (da tong 大同) more than two thousand years ago?. . . . Therefore, strictly speaking, Mr. Sun Zhongshan should also be [considered] a Communist. Even Confucius and Mencius, who lived more than two thousand years ago, might be Communist Party members had they been born in the present period.48

Critics have pointed out that Guo in fact radically reinvented and reinterpreted Confucian thoughts in order to fit them into a Marxist framework.49 Yet in so doing, what Guo was trying to accomplish was to insert Marxism into China and legitimize it through Confucian doctrine. Confucianism, to him, rather than the feudal thought ossified in history, was a sort of ethos, a way of thinking, one that called for great morality and responsibility for the benefit of the people, which was completely compatible with Marxism and Communism. The historical continuity he created, which on the surface diverged from historical periodization in terms of materialist conditions, in effect reveals the universal historical thinking transcending specific time and space. Marxism, instead of aggressively intruding into China to reveal a Western universal, was actually drawn into China by legitimizing it as the traditional way of thinking. It is the imperial-time-order that welcomed Marxism and testified to its being the orthodox ideology in modern Chinese history.50

48 Guo Moruo, “Wei meidi furi xiang aiguo qiaobao huyu [To the Overseas Patriotic Compatriots about American Imperialists Supporting the Japanese],” in Yingjie xin Zhongguo [Welcome New China], (Shanghai: Fudan xuebao, 1979), 53. 49 Chen Yongzhi. Guo Moruo sixiang zhengti guan [A View on the Whole of Guo Moruo’s Thought] (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1992), 184. 50 Needless to say, Confucianism was constantly reinvented and reinterpreted in different social circumstances. I suggest distinguishing thought and thinking, and distinguishing the hierarchy and the Great Harmony in Confucianism. In other words, Confucianism was reinterpreted in different ways. In Mao’s regime, especially during the Cultural Revolution, Confucianism was attacked for its hierarchy when class struggle was the The Imperial-Time-Order 43

Modernity against Modernity (?): The Imperial-Time-Order and Global Capitalism

Such an analysis of grounding Marxism in China in the imperial-time-order might be seen as the extension of what Viren Murthy called “modernity against modernity,” and thus the manifestation of global modernity in tension with Chinese tradition. In reading Wang Hui’s critical history of Chinese thought, Murthy characterizes Wang’s argument as “modernity against modernity” because Wang insists on putting the transformation of Confucianism in the late Qing and the later adoption of socialism in the context of global capitalism. Whereas Chinese intellectuals at the turn of the twentieth century constantly drew on traditional resources to resist aspects of modernity, Wang relates, the resistance itself must be understood in relation to the logic of global capitalist modernity. “Wang does not believe that one can understand Chinese socialism as merely developing the conceptual logic of Confucianism. Rather one must analyze the changes in traditional thought in relation to the dynamics of the global capitalist system of nation-states.”51 In other words, insofar as the Chinese uncritically rejected tradition and accepted the discourse of the modern nation-state, the ‘alternatives’ (including socialism) they envisioned in effect participate in the reproduction of global capitalist modernity, manifesting the intrinsic paradox within the logic of global capitalism, not only not ‘indigenous,’ but also ‘modern’ and anti-imperial. Wang’s argument, built on the binary opposition between tradition and modernity, between empire and nation-state, still takes ‘thought’ at its static face value and emphasizes the “unlimited” agency of individuals. He overlooks the fact that, while intellectuals can mobilize past tradition to serve present purposes, they themselves are also the product of that tradition. Therefore, their participation or resistance is inevitably conditioned/bound by their own cultural outlook. Moreover, as discussed earlier, ‘thought’ and ‘thinking’ are distinguishable. While thought, such as Confucianism and Marxism, can be manipulated, criticized, and rejected, thinking, such as the imperial- time-order, can spill out of the bounds of the thought system and pervade the intellect. Wang also asserts that the nation-state is the political form of global capitalism, the internal element of the market, and thus signifies an

major concern of the society. Yet when the construction of the nation rose to be the highest objective, Confucianism became the unifying force to blend with Marxism in the project of nation building. 51 Viren Murthy, “Modernity against Modernity: Wang Hui’s Critical History of Chinese Thought,” Modern Intellectual History 3, no. 01 (2006): 142. 44 Chapter 1

irreversible rupture from tradition and empire. Here he assumes global capitalism and the nation-state as the end of History, even though both Confucianism and Marxism seek to transcend the limits of nation-state. Although Marxism originated from capitalist society, its creation was meant to overcome capitalism and provide a blueprint for a higher stage of history—Communism. This future-oriented theory first and foremost delivers a temporal structure of history that is compatible with the imperial-time-order. In other words, as much as Chinese intellectuals enthusiastically engaged in nation building at the turn of twentieth century, they were first motivated by the promise of the grand utopia of Communism. The tendency to transcend the nation-state is what makes tradition endure and overcoming capitalism possible. In 1925, Guo Moruo participated in a debate with some nationalists to argue against the misunderstanding that Marxism is anti-nation. He con- tended that the higher stage of Communism, like the Confucian notion of the Great Harmony, would create a classless, nationless world, which is trans- nationalistic.52 Yet prior to achieving that utopian world, Communism has to be centered on building a new nation-state with a proletarian class, which is in nature nationalistic. The new nation, with its ultimate goal to achieve liberation and freedom of the entire human race, in effect carries the spirit of wang dao 王道 (‘the imperial way of benevolence’), as opposed to ba dao 霸道 (‘hegemony’), which is the evil way of the old nations controlled by capitalists and imperialists.53 Therefore, there is no contradiction between nationalism and trans-nationalism in Communism. By linking Confucian Great Harmony with Communism and justifying Marxism’s function in nation building, Guo takes the nation-state as a transitional stage, rather than the concluding stage of history. In other words, in the early republican period, intellectuals like Guo thought of the nation as succeeding the empire while at the same time anticipating a future (ideal) empire as well. Nation building thus also becomes empire building, and becoming the nation is also becoming the empire.

The Vision of Moral Agency: Min-Ren-Renmin

To be sure, Marxist historiography promotes the people as the ultimate legitimate agency to push history forward, quite unlike the historical view of the ultimate moral agency residing in Heaven. While historically, the sages or the sagely rulers had the responsibility to shoulder the Mandate of Heaven,

52 Guo Moruo, “Qiong han de qiong tan [Poor Guy’s Poor Theory],” 24. 53 Guo Moruo, “Xin guojia de chuangzao [The Creation of a New Nation],” 231. The Imperial-Time-Order 45 the common people, xiaoren (小人) or min (民), were but the subjects to be led by the gentlemen. Min, according to Xu Shen’s Shuowen jiezi (說文解字)— one of the earliest dictionaries composed in the Han Dynasty—initially meant ‘ignorant children,’ but later referred to those who were illiterate, unenlightened, and uninformed.54 Seemingly in opposition to the well-informed gentlemen and incapable of recognizing the shi or Dao (the Way) of Heaven, min nonetheless were inextricably connected to the notion of all-under-Heaven (Tianxia 天下). A saying derived from Mencius (Mengzi, 孟子), “Whoever wins people’s hearts will govern all-under-Heaven,” (de minxin zhe de Tianxia 得民心者得天下),55 not only set a moral constraint for the ruler, but also placed the min at the heart of Heaven. Therefore, a ruler who desired to govern all-under-Heaven had to get the support of the min. In a sense, the shi, as inexorable as if it were coming from Heaven, resided in the very heart of the people. The moral agency of the gentlemen and the sagely rulers was thus centered on seeking to satisfy the min in order to fulfill the Mandate of Heaven. Unlike Marx’s definition of “Oriental despotism” as the social unity expressed in the “body of the despot,”56 the emperor unavoidably experienced a sense of dialectical reversal involving, to borrow Fredric Jameson’s words, “a painful ‘decentering’ of the consciousness of the individual subject, whom it confronts

54 Xu Shen, Shuowen jiezi. In ancient times, min (民) was equivalent to meng (萌）。“民，眾萌也。萌，古本者不誤。毛本作氓。非。古為民曰萌。. . . 萌，猶懵懵無知兒也。”Annotated by Duan Yucai. Refer to: http://www.gg-art.com/imgbook/index .php?bookid=53&columns=&stroke=5. 55 Mencius, Li Lou 1 (離婁上). “桀紂之失天下也，失其民也；失其民者，失其心也。得天下有道；得其民，斯得天下矣；得其民有道：得其心，斯得民矣；得其心有道：所慾與之聚之，所惡勿施爾也。” Mencius said, “Jie and Zhou’s losing the throne, arose from their losing the people (min), and to lose the people means to lose their hearts. There is a way to get Tianxia (‘all-under- Heaven’): get the people, and Tianxia is got. There is a way to get the people: get their hearts, and the people are got. There is a way to get their hearts: it is simply to collect for them what they like, and not to lay on them what they dislike.” Refer to The Works of Mencius, trans. James Legge, in The Chinese Classics, vol. 2 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1960), 299–300. Note that Legge translated Tianxia as ‘kingdom.’ 56 Karl Marx. Grundrisse, trans. Martin Nicolaus (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973), 472–3. Marx wrote: “In most of the Asiatic land-forms, the comprehensive unity standing above all these little communities appears as the higher proprietor or as the sole proprietor . . . the relation of the individual to the natural conditions of labor and of reproduction . . . appears mediated for him through a cession by the total unity—a unity realized in the form of the despot, the father of many communities—to the individual, through the mediation of the particular commune.” 46 Chapter 1 with a determination (whether of the Freudian or the political unconscious) that must necessarily be felt as extrinsic or external to conscious experience.”57 Though intellectuals of the May Fourth period attacked this form of interdependence between the rulership and the people for its hierarchy and suffocation of individuality, it nevertheless implies a sense of metastable collective unconscious to take on the moral agency to push history forward. In fact, this unconscious collectivism never ceased to exercise its deterministic or fatalistic power over the individual’s fate. During the May Fourth movement, although the iconoclastic intellectuals articulated their enthusiasm and determination to free individuals from feudal institutions, the attempt to produce a society of free love, humanitarianism, and individualism proved to be no more than a bankrupt endeavor. The call for ren (人, human), as against min (民, people), was aimed to draw out the consciousness of individualism in order to enlighten the whole nation. However, falling between the extreme poles of absolute freedom and ultimate fatalism, individuals found themselves incapable of achieving such freedom. As Sabina Knight effectively demonstrates, the limited, if not futile, moral agency exhibited in individual subjects and the constant surrender to fatalism and historical circumstances in modern narratives imply the undying influence of the traditional way of thinking.58 In this light, a socialist collectivism seems to respond to a collective unconscious in historical thinking. The construction of a collective subjectivity, renmin (the People, 人民), in contrast both to ren as designating individualism and to the traditional notion of the unenlightened min, endows the people with both historical consciousness and moral agency in pushing history forward. To some extent, renmin is the extension of min. While min comprises the majority of Tianxia (all-under-Heaven) and embodies the shi of all-under- Heaven, renmin exhibits a similar sense of universalism in that it represents all the (working) people in the world. Renmin, the people, not only refers to Chinese working people, workers and peasants alike (including intellectuals), but also includes the international working class. As Levenson observes, the notion of renmin exhibits a sense of cultural cosmopolitanism, conveying both nationalism and internationalism for its class-based ideological cause.59

57 Fredric Jameson, The Political Unconscious (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981), 283. 58 Sabina Knight, The Heart of Time: Moral Agency in Twentieth-century Chinese Fiction. Harvard East Asian Monographs (Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 2006), 274. 59 Joseph Levenson, Revolution and Cosmopolitanism (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1971), 7–8. The Imperial-Time-Order 47

Indeed, the Chinese notion of renmin as the ultimate historical force seems to fall back on the ethical/spiritual track in the traditional way of thinking, rather than being based on the Marxist definition of a social class determined by its material condition. Renmin, the effect of an abstract ideological construction, during the Chinese praxis of revolution, first and foremost manifested itself as the theoretically legitimate force in building the superstructure rather than the infrastructure. As Mao Zedong articulated it in his famous philosophical work Maodun lun (“On Contradiction”), the relationship between the infrastructure and the superstructure is one that is dialectical and interdependent, and the determinant position between them is interchangeable. Normally the infrastructure, the economic condition and the forces of production alike, determine the superstructure, yet sometimes, in certain conditions, the superstructure, such as theories, the relations of production, determines the infrastructure.60 The people’s interests and the relations among them, thus, not only legitimize the function of the Communist Party, but sometimes also determine whether the forces of production are progressive or backward. In 1946, after the civil war broke out between the KMT (the Nationalist Party) and the CCP (the Communist Party), Mao agreed to an interview with American journalist Anna Louise Strong. During the interview, he asserted, “all the reactionaries are paper tigers.” According to Mao, the American atomic bomb and the American-supported Nationalist army, despite their advanced military technology, only seemed frightening on the surface, “but in the long run, the real strong power doesn’t reside in the reactionary cliques, but in the people . . . The reason is none other than that the reactionary cliques represent reaction, yet we represent progress.”61 The determination of ‘reaction’ or ‘progress,’ hence, does not lie in the level of technological development, but in ethical/spiritual superiority. It is not that Mao dismissed the real power of the new technologies; on the contrary, he knew exactly how difficult it was to face such a powerful enemy. What is implied is the historical consciousness that transcends the immediate material conditions. In the long run, (as long as the people consciously pursue their justifiable cause), victory must belong to them (renmin). Such a collective consciousness, not only interacts with different forces on the same battlefield, but also resonates with history in time. It is more historical than Marxist materialism. Zizek observes that Mao’s philosophy contains

60 Mao Zedong, “Maodun Lun [On Contradiction].” 61 Mao Zedong, “He meiguo jizhe Anna-luyisi-sitelang de tanhua [Conversation with American Journalist Anna Louise Strong]” in Mao Zedong xuanji [Selected Works of Mao Zedong], vol. 4, 1139. 48 Chapter 1 a sense of ‘cosmic perspective’ in that Mao not only perceived human life as instrumental in the pursuit of a national blueprint, but also viewed the entirety of humanity as just a small part of the universe that cannot change the order of the universe as a whole.62 When Mao declared the Chinese people’s confidence in face of the threat of America’s atomic bomb, what underlay his confidence was the ethical-political spirit in the cosmic order:

The United States cannot annihilate the Chinese nation with its small stock of atom bombs. Even if the U.S. atom bombs were so powerful that, when dropped on China, they would make a hole right through the earth, or even blow it up, that would hardly mean anything to the universe as a whole, though it might be a major event for the solar system.63

According to Mao, humanity’s self-destructive behavior would not destroy cosmic ethics at large; or in other words, the justifiable collective moral cause will spiritually triumph over the mighty material power, since in the long run, “victory belongs to the people.” This collective, ‘cosmic perspective’ reveals the extreme understanding of the imperial-time-order: the interests of the people were abstracted in such a way that, not only renmin (the People) became instrumental to the national goal, but renmin could also triumph over any immediate material conditions to realize that goal. The overemphasis on renmin’s force beyond the objective material constraints was most irrationally and unrealistically performed in the Great Leap Forward of the late 1950s. It was as if the ideal, or structural, moral superiority, could transcend the specific material conditions and guarantee a great leap forward in history. However, the post-revolutionary era, under Deng Xiaoping’s slogan “seeking truth from facts,” showed that history cannot be transcended and again fused history with the traditional notion of shi (勢), the historical force beyond the individual’s control. The people might still be the creators of history, but only inasmuch as the condition that time/situation allows them to be. If the claim for modern subjectivity and agency proves to be an incomplete, if not failed, endeavor, it nonetheless suggests that the ultimate historical agency is time. Moreover, the consciousness of time and its insuperable

62 Zizek, “Mao Zedong: The Marxist Lord of Misrule.” Introduction to Mao: On Practice and Contradiction (London & New York: Verso, 2007), 10. 63 Mao Zedong, “Yuanzidan xia budao Zhongguo renmin [The Chinese People Cannot be Cowed by the Atom Bomb],” in Mao Zedong xuanji [Selected Works of Mao Zedong], vol. 5, 136–137. Translated by Zizek, in Zizek, Mao: On Practice and Contradiction, 106–107. The Imperial-Time-Order 49 transcendence best corresponds to the imperial-time-order and its sub-order. On the one hand, such a consciousness undermines human agency, be it individual or collective, as being limited in changing historical trends; on the other hand, nevertheless, it illustrates the enduring power of the transcendent moral order that is fundamentally humanistic. This transcendent moral order, manifested in the notion of Tianxia (‘all- under-Heaven’), later in ‘the People,’ exhibits a sense of cosmopolitanism, a historical unconscious that resists constriction within a national boundary. Indeed, as mentioned above, the triumph of Marxism in China is no more than the substitution of a universalistic worldview emphasized by the all- encompassing imperial-time-order. Modern Chinese history may be seen as a break from the pre-modern period (in terms of novel changes in social institutions, literary writing styles, technological developments, and disciplines of knowledge, etc.), yet from the perspective of historical thinking (in terms of empire and nation-state), the imperial-time-order nonetheless bridges the gap between the modern and the pre-modern. Or in Zhao Tingyang’s understanding, modern Chinese intellectuals accepted Western thoughts because they believed that the ‘revolutionary changes’ fulfilled the new Mandate of Heaven.64 In fact, not only was Marxist ideology transplanted and re-centered on Chinese soil so as to be compatible with the imperial-time-order,65 but also traditional thinking, including Confucian and Daoist thinking, continually reappeared to accompany the modernization process. Even in the early 1970s when class struggle was the primary concern in Mao’s China, Levenson already asserted that historical thinking, specifically one form that was embedded in Confucianism, refused to be relegated to a museum and petrified as of merely historical significance. In actuality, this form of historical thinking was still alive and managed to survive under harsh political conditions.66 Had Levenson lived to witness the revival of guoxue (Chinese national learning) in the early 1990s and the blossoming TV representations of the Chinese empire in the late 1990s that rearticulate the notion of Tianxia (‘All-under-Heaven’), he might have questioned his earlier statement about Western thought displacing Chinese thought.67

64 Zhao Tingyang, Tianxia tixi: shijie zhidu zhexue daolun [The Tianxia System: An Introduction to the Philosophy of a World Institution] (Beijing: Zhongguo Renmin Daxue chubanshe, 2011), 41. 65 For this point, I will elaborate in the next chapter. 66 Joseph Levenson, Revolution and Cosmopolitanism. 67 Joseph Levenson. Confucian China and its Modern Fate. (Berkeley & Los Angeles, University of California Press, 1966), 158–159. 50 Chapter 1

Indeed, the transcendent imperial-time-order, be it conscious or unconscious, embodied in forms of Confucianism, Neo-Confucianism, New Confucianism,68 or Marxism, has always remained above and beyond social conditions in various historical periods, including modern times. The normalization of unification and moralization of time, most explicitly expressed in literary representations, draws modern Chinese history back to its imperial origin, to time, always returning yet always progressing. The myth of Chinese empire, told and retold throughout history, instead of being ossified in textbooks, nonetheless continually displays its performative ability to pull the modern nation-state into its self-construction and self-perpetuation. History, in this regard, echoing Gilles Deleuze’s conception of a complexity system, is the master of itself; a closed set that folds within it the totality of certain social relations, while simultaneously open to time awaiting the qualitative change of those relations.69 And the change, according to Deleuze, is none other than the transformed ‘eternal return,’ which does not simply bring back the same; rather the “returning constitutes the only Same of that which becomes. Returning is the becoming-identical of becoming itself . . . Only the extreme, the excessive, returns; that which passes into something else and becomes identical.”70 The extreme, the excessive, in this regard, is the imperial-time- order, the virtual Whole that links to the incompossible actualizations of the empire along history,71 the transcendent order that continually points to the Chinese empire that is still becoming.

68 It is not my intention to distinguish these Confucian schools. Yet their evolving and differ- entiated existence demonstrates the resilient ability of Confucianism to survive different historical periods and social conditions, which from another angle explains the undying traditional way of thinking, rather than thought. 69 Deleuze used to interpret Bergson’s notion of durée in terms of closed sets and open whole. For Deleuze, the open Whole manifests duration as universal vibration and flow (in the temporal realm), and the isolable sets within the Whole exhibit the characteristics of commonsense space and time (in the spatial realm). See Gilles Deleuze. Cinema I: The Movement Image, 20–22. 70 Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, trans. Paul Patton, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), 41. 71 I perceive the ‘imperial-time-order’ as a virtual Whole in relation to the different actualizations (manifestations) of it in different time periods. For Deleuze, the relation between the virtual and the actual registers in time, and the virtual can only be conceived by actualization in space. Along with the shifting processes of actualization, the virtual would also change, in a process of becoming, yet remaining as a Whole in relation to the singular actualizations. For this discussion, refer to Michael Goddard’s discussion on fold and monadic point of view. Each monad is absolutely singular and could not be encom- passed in any over-arching point of view. Therefore, the monadic points of view cannot The Imperial-Time-Order 51

In this light, the representation of archetypal figures in modern Chinese literature and media offers a ‘virtual focus’ to examine the hidden imperial- time-order. In different time periods the ‘actual’ representations provide different historical, political emphases of participation in building the self and the nation, thus exhibiting the interaction between lived time and transcendent time. Nonetheless, the intrinsic tension between the ‘words’ and the ‘ethos’ within the representations betrays a deeply rooted historical way of thinking, which will be demonstrated in the following chapters.

be incorporated in a higher unity in the actual sense. Only in relation to a virtual whole could the incompossible monadic points of view be actualized. See Michael Goddard, “The Fold, Cinema and Neo-Baroque Modernity,” in Impacts of Modernities (Traces 3), eds. Thomas Lamarre and Kang Nae-hui (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2004), 218–219.

Part 2 Time, Unity, and Morality from the Late Qing to Mao’s China ∵

Chapter 2 Suspended Time: Grounding the Present in the Late Qing

Today’s China is in transition. . . . Alas! Is it that heroes mold the shi-trend? Or does the shi-trend mold heroes? The shi-trend, isn’t the shi-trend today? Heroes, heroes, where are they? . . . Therefore, the kind of heroes I desire, dream of, and pray for, are not influential individual heroes, but heroic masses as equals! Liang Qichao (1901)

The historical literature of late Qing dynasty writers was filled with both determination and aporia, vacillating between painful awakening, optimistic anticipation, and bitter hesitation that resulted from the newly discovered time and space. Liang Qichao’s turn-of-the-century “Song of the Twentieth-century Pacific” offers a glimpse into the determination of both reformists and revolutionaries:

Suddenly I thought, what now is the time and where now is the place? I am at the border of two centuries, the old and the new. I am at the center of two hemispheres, East and West, Neither behind me, nor before me, But just at the key crossing of the world. . . . It is certain that the shi-force of competition for Heaven’s natural selection has arrived, To separate the superior from the disadvantaged, what will rise from what will fall. Mercury enters the earth only when there is first a hole; Worms can make their way only into something that has decayed from within. . . . We have 450 million compatriots; How can we passively wait to be destroyed?1

1 Liang Qichao, “Ershi shiji Taipingyang ge [The Song of the Twentieth-century Pacific],” in Liang Qichao quanji [The Complete Works of Liang Qichao] (Beijing: Beijing chubanshe, 1999), vol. 9: 5426–5427.

驀然忽想今夕何夕地何地，乃在新舊二世紀之界線，東西兩半球之中央。不自我先，不自我後，置身世界第一關鍵之津梁。 . . . 物競天擇勢必至，不優則劣兮不興則亡。水銀鑽地孔乃入，物不自腐蟲焉藏 . . . 我有同胞兮四萬五千萬，豈其束手兮待僵。

Liang’s poem presents a panoramic view describing thousands of years of world history and places China in the increasingly connected global system. But he also situates himself at the center of the globe, playing the role of a prophet foretelling the future of the world. As the product of the encounter between the Qing Empire and other national empires, Liang emerged as an omniscient subject devoting himself to the project of re-centering China in the world. As Xiaobing Tang notes, Liang’s “global imaginary of identity underlay the discourse of nationalism.”2 Indeed, the humiliating encounter with the West (and Japan) in the late Qing period had driven the disoriented intellectuals to engage actively in the discursive practices of situating self and China in the linear, progressive world history. The way they practiced literature was subjectively to ground themselves and China—to understand themselves and China in the newly discovered world order of time and space. They faced an inevitable trend of social change that they must engage as shi-force in order to push for sociopolitical transformation. They wanted to enlist fiction and drama as substantial tools to identify the world shi-trend and reinforce the shi-force to modernize society. Thus, along with the burgeoning novels that were to present social reality, they promoted historical novels in particular to mirror the sociopolitical crisis to stir nationalist sentiments. Yet aporia arose from the very grounding they were so determined to assert. From their discussion of the present as a transitory period, we can see an internal struggle, a hesitancy and indecisiveness, in characterizing the present and defining the historical shi-trend. This internal struggle is best exhibited in historical novels through the portrayal of archetypal historical personalities, from whom we see multiple temporalities: the transcendent moral time, the contingent historical time of the shi-trend, and the contemporary late Qing time that mirrored the writers’ predicament of reconciling these forms of time with linear, progressive time. Among these temporalities are multi-layered tensions

2 Xiaobing Tang, Global Space and the Nationalist Discourse of Modernity: The Historical Thinking of Liang Qichao (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1996), 22. Suspended Time 57 intrinsic to the novels: the tensions between traditional and Western national empires, between nation-state and empire, and between individual choice and collective agency. In particular, intellectuals engaged social Darwinism with their own sense of transcendent moral time, and sought to define an idea of Chinese nation building that was not consistent with the concept of a modern nation-state. These tensions would all pour into the efforts to write historical novels, flooding determination with doubt, even in the most celebrated historical novel of the era, Wu Jianren’s Tongshi (“Painful History”).

Between Chinese Empire and National Empires: Transcendent Moral Time vs. Linear Time

Much has been said about Chinese intellectuals in crisis.3 As in Liang Qichao’s poem, intellectuals of the late Qing, revolutionaries and reformists alike, employed the rhetoric of the ‘destruction of China’ to justify their recognition of the shi-trend of social change. Behind that lay the frustration of trying to ground and define the present. The rhetoric of the ‘destruction of China’ was prevalent among intellectuals in the early reformists’ camp, to herald the movement of their time. Yan Fu proclaimed in his essay “Jiuwang jue lun (救亡決論, “On Rescuing China from Destruction,” 1895): “The clearest principle of all-under-Heaven and the most inevitable shi-trend is that, if China does not reform itself now, then it must soon perish.”4 Kang Youwei also employed this rhetoric in his petition “Gongche shang shu” (公車上書, “The Scholar’s Petition to the Throne,” 1895) to the Guangxu Emperor to advocate political reform.5 Shi (勢), as a temporal notion, here assumes the imminent discontinuity of Chinese civilization and the only way to keep it continuous is to acknowledge unavoidable change and channel it to the Qing court’s

3 See, for example, Hao Chang, Chinese Intellectuals in Crisis (Berkeley, Los Angeles & London: University of California press, 1987); Joseph Levenson, Confucian China and Its Modern Fate; Thomas Metzger, Escape from Predicament. 4 Yan Fu, “Jiuwang jue lun [On Rescuing China from Destruction].” The Chinese version of the sentence is “天下理之最明而勢所必至者，如今日中國不變法則必亡是也。” Reprinted in Zhongguo jindai wenxue da xi [The Comprehensive Collection of Early Modern Chinese Literature, 1840–1919] (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1992), vol. 12: 332. 5 Kang Youwei, “Gongche shangshu [公車上書, The Scholar’s Memorial to the Throne],” “夫治天下者勢也，可靜而不可動，如箭之在棔，如马之在埒，如决堰陂之水，如運高山之石，稍有发動，不可禁壓，當其無事，相視莫敢發難；當其更變，朽株盡可為患”。 in Zhongguo jindai wenxue da xi [The Comprehensive Collection of Early Modern Chinese Literature, 1840–1919] (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1992), vol. 12: 395. 58 Chapter 2 advantage. Put otherwise, the shi-trend signifies both continuity and discontinuity, with transcendent, continuous moral time enveloping discontinuous, amoral time and the intellectuals’ effort to deal with that. Lived time not only resided in the intersection between China and the West, but also in the contrasting narrative of the past and the present. Although scholars were promoting “Western learning” at this point to rescue China from looming destruction, they never ceased to look back at China’s past, never forgot to declare that Western learning had always been rooted in Chinese learning, and never stopped advocating that it was the contemporary people’s responsibility to continue their ancestors’ accomplishments. For instance, in the preface of Tian yan lun (天演论, the translation of Huxley’s Evolution and Ethics), Yan Fu discussed the commonality between Darwinian evolution and the Chinese dialectical theory of movement detailed in Book of Changes. Beneath the surface of applauding Western advancement and criticizing Chinese tardiness in modern science, a feeling of regret over loss abounds in this preface. “Though our ancestors pioneered [the study of science],” he mourned, “their descendants did not continue it; though our ancestors laid the fundamental groundwork, the descendants did not develop it in detail; [then the descendants] are just like ignorant, uninformed, and uncivilized people. Even though grandfather was sagely, he could not rescue his confused and muddled children and grandchildren.”6 The contrast between the greatness of ancestors and the failure of descendants echoes Hegel’s assertion of Chinese history as stagnant and inert, which piles all the past into the present to illuminate the future. The temporal strategy in this narrative constitutes a sense of counter-allochronism coded by Johannes Fabian. In his influential book Time and the Other, Fabian coined the term ‘allochronism’ to describe an inherent temporal problematic in Western anthropology. Since anthropology gives a distancing, objectifying, and seemingly scientific representation of the Other, the discipline actively sup- presses the simultaneity and contemporaneity of the ethnographic encounter that relies on intersubjective, dialogic communications with the Other. The result of this allochronic orientation is the spatialization of time, with the West enjoying the advanced time following the logic of global development, whereas the non-West represents the stage of the ‘primitive,’ backward,

6 Yan Fu, “Yi Tian yan lun zixu [The preface of the translation of Evolution and Ethics]” in Zhongguo jindai wenxue da xi [The Comprehensive Collection of Early Modern Chinese Literature, 1840–1919] (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1992), vol. 12, 349. Suspended Time 59

underdevelopment.7 Yan Fu’s preface, on the surface, ‘cited’ this developmental logic and allochronic narrative of the West about China, yet the coexistence of the past (China) and the present (the West) at the same time overcomes the spatialization of time and allochronic orientation, contradicting the linear, progressive time. As a result, this preface suggests not so much learning from the West as carrying on Chinese ancestors’ scientific projects, not following a linear fashion, but taking a long-overdue leap. As suggested in Liang Qichao’s Pacific poem, past and present echo each other. The rise of the modern Western nations through maritime expansion is reminiscent of the failures of four ancient civilizations (including China) nurtured by inland rivers. Even though Liang accepted the doctrine of social Darwinism that only the fittest will survive in a competitive environment, he believed that the fall of a country must start with erosion from within. To carry out the project of building a new nation, the intellectuals should lead the masses to construct a ‘young China,’ as opposed to the ‘old empire.’8 The ‘old’ and the ‘young’ were not two exclusive entities as in a creation process, but appeared as a temporal renewal or inversion between them. For instance, in his widely cited essay Shaonian Zhongguo shuo (“On the Young China”), Liang suggests that the old empire and the young state were in effect two sides of the same coin, depending on how you perceive it. In his idiomatic language:

The Japanese are used to calling our China the old empire, over and over again. They might get this idea from the Westerners. Alas! Is China indeed old? Liang Qichao says: Oh, how can they say that! How can they say that! In my heart there is a China that is young.9

He then lists examples of greatness since ancient times, including great emperors like Qin Shihuang and Han Wudi, great literature inherited from the Han and Tang dynasties, and great martial achievements during Kangxi and Qianlong’s reigns in the Qing Dynasty, to stress that there has been creative, progressive, and youthful energy inside China throughout its history. From this

7 Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object. Refer to foreword by Matti Bunzi in the 2002 version. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), xi. 8 Liang Qichao, “Lun xiaoshuo yu qunzhi zhi guanxi [On the Relationship between Fiction and the Government of the People]” and “Shaonian Zhongguo shuo [On Young China],” in Liang Qichao shiwen xuanzhu [Selected Poetry and Prose of Liang Qichao], edited and annotated by Wang Quchang. (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1987), 244–263. 9 Liang Qichao, Shaonian Zhongguo Shuo. See Wang Quchang, ed. Liang Qichao shiwen xuanzhu (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1987), 175. 60 Chapter 2 perspective China is young and energetic. To call for the new, then, does not mean to discard the old established regime, but to accentuate the new inside the old. Liang’s enthusiasm and optimism about China’s modern fate, in contrast yet also similar to Yan Fu’s sense of regret and agony, emphasizes the centrality of human intervention in pushing history forward, which, according to Leo Ou-fan Lee, allowed the late Qing intellectuals to reverse the fatalistic tendency of Darwinism determined by such ‘objective’ elements as heredity and environment.10 Meanwhile, by identifying youthful energy as the intrinsic engine driving social progress, with which any country could achieve modernity on its own, Liang is able to grasp modernity as a general period of transition, “a historical threshold that every nation is expected to pass.”11 This understanding of modernity constitutes what Xiaobing Tang characterized as “temporalization of space.” Modernity “is legitimated as a universal experience that occurs as naturally and irresistibly as time itself . . . [It] is also relocated, no longer as a specifically Western property, but as a world-historical moment that fulfills itself only in various bounded geographical spaces.”12 A favorite disciple of the Confucian scholar Kang Youwei, Liang at first shared a worldview similar to his master’s. In his philosophical works, Kang sought to revive Confucianism by radically reinterpreting some of its canonical works and portraying Confucius, conventionally glorified as the ‘uncrowned King’ longing to restore the ideal rule of the ancient sage-kings, as a progressive, utopian reformer.13 Latent in Kang’s thought is the triumph of a historical consciousness that favors progression and future over past. It is a consciousness that nonetheless places the imperial moral system in a transcendent, all-encompassing level. Confucius and Confucianism, albeit reinvented and reformed, are not only used to legitimize progressivism, but also subsume the materialistic social Darwinism under their moralistic overtone. Although Liang developed divergent views from his master after the aborted “Hundred Days Reform” in 1898, he still maintained his Confucian faith that all humanity

10 Leo Ou-fan Lee, “In Search of Modernity: Some Reflections on a New Mode of Consciousness in Twentieth-Century Chinese History and Literature,” in Ideas Across Cultures: Essays on Chinese Thought in Honor of Benjamin Schwarts, edited by Paul A. Cohen and Merle Goldman (Harvard East Asian Monograph, 1990), 113. 11 Xiaobing Tang, Global Space and the Nationalist Discourse of Modernity, 34. 12 Ibid. 13 Kang Youwei, Xinxue weijing kao (1891), Kongzi gaizhi kao (1897) and Da tong shu, are important examples in this regard. These works are his intellectual basis for a utopian nation built upon parliamentary democracy. Suspended Time 61 was capable of acting morally. As Peter Zarrow notes, Liang criticized both the traditional Chinese fatalism and the “aggressive and adventurous spirit” he ascribed to the West, and believed that modernized people would possess courage, zeal, and adventurousness without the predation justified by the law of the jungle.14 Both global imaginary and Confucian morality in Liang’s thought spill over the boundary of a modern nation-state, bringing to the fore the tension between the nation and the empire.

Between Nation-State and Empire: Ethnic Nationalism and State Nationalism

Whatever their differences, the divided intellectuals who kept proposing and revising new visions for China fell back on a universalistic concept emphasizing morality and unity. The idea of building a modern nation in the late Qing period had evoked an intense debate on defining ‘Chinese’ in relation to other ethnic groups, especially the Manchu, which created tension between ethnic nationalism and state nationalism. Whereas the reformists took the historical shi-trend of social change as a way of revitalizing Chinese civilization through the Manchu court, the revolutionaries took the trend as a sign of overthrowing Manchu rule to recover the ‘Chinese’ nation. Also employing the rhetoric of the ‘destruction of China,’ revolutionaries insisted that the Manchu had undermined Chinese civilization for three hundred years and now it was time to restore China. In 1906, Liu Yazi published Zhongguo miewang xiao shi (中国滅亡小史, “A Short History of China’s Destruction”) with the pen name “Zhongguo shaonian zhi shaonian” (中國少年之少年, The Youth among Chinese Youths).15 Taking the founding of the Qing Dynasty as the fall of China, this literary piece is a nationalistic diatribe advocating large-scale revolution against the Manchu court. The pen name, echoing Liang Qichao’s ‘young China,’ deliberately identified itself as among a group of youths who had suffered outsiders’ domination for three centuries and were determined to revive the Chinese nation with an aggressive revolutionary spirit.

14 Peter Zarrow, “Citizenship in China and the West,” in Imagining the People: Chinese Intellectuals and the Concept of Citizenship, 1890–1920, eds. Joshua Fogel and Peter Zarrow. (Armonk, New York and London, England: M.E. Sharpe, Inc., 1997), 19. 15 Liu Yazi, “Zhonguo miewang xiao shi [A Short History of China’s Destruction],” in Zhongguo jindai wenxue da xi [The Comprehensive Collection of Early Modern Chinese Literature, 1840–1919] (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1992), vol. 29, 290. 62 Chapter 2

This ethnic-based nationalism was born of state-based nationalism and humiliation by the West that intellectuals blamed on the Manchu court. Yet this nationalistic transference at the same time caused confusion and ambivalence in delineating ethnic boundaries within the empire. Inasmuch as late Qing intellectuals did not at first have a strong recognition of ethnic boundaries within the empire, the anti-Manchu sentiment that developed was in stark contrast with unity-prone imperial thinking. As a result, as was demonstrated later, the anti-Manchu rhetoric appeared unstable and ungrounded, and eventually disappeared. Scholars have characterized the late Qing period as the transitional period of the awakening of nationalism, identifying two types of nationalism. One was ‘reactive nationalism’ or ‘state nationalism,’ which grew mainly as a reaction against imperialist aggression in China. The other was ‘ethnic nationalism,’ which arose as an expression of resentment against the Manchu domination of China.16 Yet, scholarship has also demonstrated that these conceptions of nationalism are insufficient to define what Chinese intellectuals had in mind. Both Don Price and Hao Chang observe that the late Qing intellectuals carried a ‘universalistic’ orientation that cannot be reduced to nationalism in either sense.17 Indeed, Liang Qichao’s poem may imply a universalistic surplus value beyond ‘state nationalism.’ As for ‘ethnic nationalism,’ the category from its inception is groundless in the imperial-time regime, while the consciousness of this ethnic nationalism was triggered by foreign imperialism. In fact, the anti-Manchu sentiment manifests an intrinsic paradox that it is neither reasonable nor practical. On the one hand, to make the non-Chinese (Manchu) responsible for China’s failure against the third party (Western imperialism) not only puts the Manchu in a non-place within China, but also renders the understanding of ‘China’ problematic. To put it another way, the anti-Manchu sentiment appears to have been not so much an anti-foreign attitude to define China as to express disappointment toward the inability and the lack of morality in the leadership within China. Moreover, the revolutionaries also held a universal perspective to maintain China unified on the way to building a modern nation. For example, the early revolutionary Zhang Taiyan, imprisoned for his anti-Manchu views, took uni-

16 Hao Chang, Chinese Intellectuals in Crisis: Search for Order and Meaning (1890–1911) (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1987), 2. 17 Don Price, Russia and the Roots of the Chinese Revolution (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1974), 7–28. Hao Chang, Chinese Intellectuals in Crisis: Search for Order and Meaning (1890–1911) (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1987), 2. Suspended Time 63 fication as a priority to construct the republic. In 1912, when involved in the founding of the Republic, Zhang on several occasions articulated his ideal of China’s republic, a blueprint that exhibited the ‘universalistic’ tendency that is deeply-ingrained in the imperial-time-order: (1) China should not imitate the British or the Americans and should have a unique ‘third way to construct a political system; (2) unlike the West, unification is the key for the Chinese republic; (3) all Chinese people are equal in the republic; (4) China supports world peace and seeks to maintain independent sovereignty in the international arena.18 Given that “the ones who created freedom and equality in their own countries are actually those who imposed the most oppressive policy and inequality to other countries,” Zhang insisted that China should not adopt Western democracy due to its hypocrisy.19 China should have a system that fits the unique Chinese situation and that demonstrates moral integrity. Like many others, Zhang changed his political views many times during his life, yet these nation-building ideas of ‘the third way’ and ‘unification’ were certainly shared and inherited by later Chinese revolutionaries, including the communists. Unification and the articulation of public morality are both evidence of traditional Chinese imperial thinking, thinking that, over time, transformed Sun Yat-sen’s revolutionary rhetoric from “expelling the Manchu” to “the republic of five nationalities,” from “three people’s principles” to “being united with the Russians, with the communists, and assisting workers and peasants.” Intellectuals constantly caught up in their sense of the flow and force of time, trying to react to it in order to define the present, were repeatedly thrown back on a transcendent historical way of thinking.

The Groundless Future: Projective Anticipation and Anticipatory Retrospection

The inability to define the present is best demonstrated in Li Boyuan’s satirical novel Wenming xiaoshi (文明小史, “A Short History of Civilization”). Serialized in the magazine Xiuxiang xiaoshuo from 1903 to 1905, this sixty-

18 See Zhang Taiyan, “Zhonghua minguo lianhehui diyici dahui yanshuo ci [The Speech on the First Meeting of the United Association of the Republic of China],” and “Da gonghe ribao fa kan ci [Preface of the Great Republic Daily],” in Zhang Taiyan zhenglun xuanji [Selected Political Commentaries of Zhang Taiyan], (Beijing: Zhonghua shu ju, 1977), vol. 2, 532–536, 537–538. 19 Zhang Taiyan, “Wu wu lun” [On five “no”s], in Zhang Taiyan quanji [The Complete Works of Zhang Taiyan] (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1985), vol. 4, 433. 64 Chapter 2 chapter novel captures the social transition at the turn of the twentieth century. In fact, A Ying (aka Qian Xingcun) sees this novel as more valuable in presenting the social circumstances in late Qing China than Li Boyuan’s more famous novel of social satire, Guanchang xianxing ji (官場現形記, The Bureaucrats: A Revelation).20 An encyclopedic exploration of late Qing society, Wenming xiaoshi presents a portrait of a large number of people who are actively or passively drawn into, influenced by, or involved in the tremendous social change that resulted from encountering wenming, modern Western civilization, prompting various efforts to modernize China. Shi (史, history), with its common connotation, signifies both a temporal frame and a realistic illustration of the social landscape. Reading the novel feels like following a tracking shot to examine Zhang Zeduan’s scroll Qingming Festival on the Canal, only in a vertical, temporal fashion. In the frame we come across various characters, who consecutively act out in the transitional period their ambition, anxiety, fear, and hope. Reformists, revolutionaries, conservative and adventurous government officials, old-fashioned scholar-students, up-to-date students with modern education, traditional and avant-garde women, among many others, are all caught up in this all-encompassing swirl of history, attempting to comprehend social change or follow historical trend. However, unlike the novels we normally understand as having a closed structure, a cause and effect narrative that completes the ‘plot’ or ‘story,’ this novel has an episodic and open structure, with no central characters or coher- ent thread of events. The narrative form fits what Hu Shi and Lu Xun define as ‘exposé fiction’ (qianze xiaoshuo 譴責小說): “There are many different episodes and characters, and each anecdote usually deals with a different individual. Thus the book as a whole consists of a number of loosely connected stories like Wu Jingzi’s The Scholars [Rulin waishi].”21 These discontinuous stories bring together various aspects of China, covering a great many locali- ties—from Hunan, Hubei, Wujiang, Suzhou, Shanghai, Nanjing, Shandong, to Beijing, Anhui, Hong Kong, Japan, and America—that present a comprehensive picture of Chinese society in that period. However, the narrative stops

20 A Ying, Wanqing xiaoshuo shi [A History of Late Qing Fiction], preface. 21 Lu Xun. Zhongguo xiaoshuo shilue, [chatu ben] [A Brief History of Chinese Fiction, illustrated edition] (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2004), 259; translated in Lu Xun, A Brief History of Chinese Fiction (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1959), 354. See also Hu Shi “Wushi nianlai Zhongguo zhi wenxue [Chinese Literature in the Past Fifty Years],” in Hu Shi quanji [The Complete Works of Hu Shi], (Heifei: Anhui jiaoyu chubanshe, 2003), vol. 2, 320. Suspended Time 65 abruptly, as if suspended, at the sixtieth chapter, when the Qing court finally decides to dispatch several prominent officials to visit Western countries. One of these officials, Minister Ping, interviews and then refuses to take on his trip a number of ‘open-minded’ men, who appeared in the previous chapters. At the end of this chapter, the narrator says: “The author writes, types, prints, with tongue worn and lips burned. I have written sixty chapters of a history of civilization, so I will just stop it here.”22 It is not hard to speculate on the reason for this open ending. For the ‘history’ told is contemporary history; without a clear vision of the future, the author could not predict what would happen next. As the narrator states in the preface of the novel, he intends to write this ‘history’ to herald the greater social changes that could lead to civilization or enlightenment, yet what the greater social changes are remains unknown.

Please inform me, gentlemen, what is the time of today’s world? One said: “It is an old empire, it is nearly impossible to return from being old to being young.” The other said: “It is still at a juvenile age, so it will not be difficult for it to grow full-fledged and strong.” From my point of view, today’s climate is not juvenile, it is probably not far away from the moment when the Sun is about to rise or the heavy rain is about to fall. How could I tell that? You see during the past several years, more and more new policies and new schools emerged and have become really popular. Some are successful, some are not; some have learned, some have failed to learn. No matter whether something is good or not, still there are people who pioneered it; no matter whether they succeed or not, still there are people who want to learn. In addition, everybody has been stimulated and encouraged. Don’t you think these are signs very much like those when the Sun is about to rise and the rain is about to fall? So these people, successful or failed, bankrupt or thriving, public-minded or selfish, genuine or hypocritical, will still be heroes contributing to the future civilized world. Therefore, I intentionally write this book to praise them, in order to recognize their painstaking efforts.23

In this preface, the writer attempts to ground the present by portraying a rapidly changing social environment, and forecast an imminent future that is more civilized and promising. However, although the author intended to be

22 Li Boyuan, Wenming xiaoshi [A Short History of Civilization] (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2002), 386. 23 Li Boyuan, Wenming xiaoshi [A Short History of Civilization], 1. 66 Chapter 2 optimistic about the present and the future, the novel itself implies otherwise. What pervades the novel are the characters’ ignorance, corruption, hypocrisy, opportunism, and indifference, so characteristic of Li Boyuan’s well-known flair for satire as well as his underlying doubt and confusion about the future. Indeed, although intellectuals were enthusiastic about the ‘new’ and the ‘revolutionary’ and eager to predict the future, the inability to positively identify the present leaves the prediction moot. With time seeming to stand still and the direction of the future indeterminate, trying to project the future becomes impossible. While Li Boyuan aborted his prediction of the future because he lacked a sense of its direction, Liang Qichao adopted a different narrative strategy to define the future through anticipatory retrospection. However, the result remained the same—Liang could not ground his narrative, either. Around the same time as A Short History of Civilization, Liang Qichao published an incomplete novel Xin Zhongguo weilai ji (新中國未來記, “The Future of New China,” 1903) to introduce his utopian prophesy. Fraught with lengthy speeches and debates promoting his political ideal, it is hardly a novel in the literary sense.24 Yet it provides a good source for perceiving Liang’s vision of time and history. Inspired by Edward Bellamy’s Looking Backward, the novel begins in a retrospective fashion, setting the time of the narrative in the future, but in the style of Chinese historical yanyi of the past:25 “It is said that the year was 2062 [1962] in the Western calendar,26 2513 years after Confucius was born. It was the first day of the renyin year [Chinese lunar calendar], and we were celebrating the 50th anniversary of the political reform.” China has achieved great success at that time and become a center of worldwide admiration. Political leaders of powerful nations are coming to a world peace conference and exposition on China’s history in Nanjing and Shanghai, applauding China’s accomplishment, and foreign students from overseas abound in Chinese universities. Following this exciting portrayal of China in 1962, the protagonist, Kong Juemin, a prominent scholar and descendent of Confucius, makes a speech reflecting on the difficult years at the beginning of the reform sixty years before, the time in which Liang wrote the novel. In Kong’s understanding, the fundamental factors that determine the success of a nation reside in the people’s virtue,

24 A Ying, Wanqing xiaoshuo shi [The History of Late Qing Fiction] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1980), 76. 25 Liang Qichao, Xinzhongguo weilaiji (The Future of New China],” in A Ying, Wanqing wenxue congchao [A Collection of Late Qing Literature], (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), vol. 1. 26 In the original novel, it is the year of 2062. I think he miscalculated the year. Suspended Time 67 intellect, and spirit (min de 民德, min zhi 民智, min qi 民氣), the most crucial of which is the people’s virtue. Without virtue the nation is doomed to be weak and defeated.27 Not only a utopian image of a China-centered world future, the novel also asserts a correlation of Confucian morality with the new nation that reveals a preoccupation with imperial moral vision. As Liang already articulated in his poem on the Pacific, Mr. Kong also attributes the backwardness of the Qing Empire to moral decay from within. Note that this novel portrays the future in the present tense, projecting an ideal political regime hitherto non-existent in China yet buttressed by moral justification embedded in Confucianism. The juxtaposition of Western time and Chinese time, as revealed in the opening sentence of the novel, constitutes what Karatani Kojin called a parallax that “emerges in the difference between seeing something according to one historical periodization and seeing it according to another.”28 It manifests Liang’s consciousness of China’s discursive space in the ‘world,’ symbolically exhibits China’s localization of a global time, and at the same time promotes China as the center of the world. However, this promising future can only be brought to life through morality, with moral authority traced back to Confucius, personified in Mr. Kong. The future is not built upon the present but the historic past. The present is absent in terms of the lack of morality in the present, and it is the past that deems this imagined future meaningful. Nevertheless, this juxtaposition of the past and the future not only reveals that the future is conditioned by the past, but also displays an inherent paradox in his vision of time: on the one hand, the future is created out of the desire of the present for a better world; on the other hand, the inability to characterize the present makes the future groundless. The incorporation of the past with the future manifests the refraction of time here: whether history will develop linearly or cyclically remains unsettled. It seems for Liang, the only tangible ground for the present is (the lack of) morality. This morality is deeply rooted in the imperial-time-order and registered not so much in the past as in transcendent time, a time which, in Kang Youwei’s revision of Confucianism, refuses to be confined within the category of ‘tradition’ or ‘modern.’ The Future of New China remained unfinished, perhaps because of the author’s inability to characterize the present, which unfortunately vitiates his grand design for the future. As Liang admits in the preface of the novel: “Both a

27 Ibid., 5–6. 28 Kojin Karatani, History and Repetition, edited by Seiji M. Lippit (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 51. 68 Chapter 2 nation and a people are organisms whose phenomena are subject to constant changes. Even Guan Zhong or Zhuge Liang could not predict what will happen in the next year, not to mention predicting fifty years later, so how could some student like me to predict it!”29 The yearning for a predictable future went hand in hand with the realization of its unpredictability, rendering the belief in the future problematic; at the same time, the ever-changing present makes the prediction even more fruitless. Typical of many intellectuals in modern Chinese history, Liang’s political vision changed over his lifetime,30 and his anxiety to grasp a tangible present and future was a common problem both for his generation and those that followed. Both Li Boyuan’s projective anticipation and Liang Qichao’s anticipatory retrospection reflect intellectuals’ zeal and desire to situate self and nation in history, yet at the same time illustrate their fear and confusion in doing so.

The shi-trend of Present Time: Between Individual Heroes and the People

Although late Qing intellectuals were drawn into the forces of history and felt obliged to seek different social cures for China, both reformists and revolutionaries recognized the people as the ultimate carrier of the historical trend. Not only were they distressed by their own inability to characterize the present and predict the future, they were also aware of the limited agency of individual heroes to push history forward. In 1901, Liang Qichao published an article titled “Guodu shidai lun” (“On the Transitional Era”), to discuss the relationship between heroes and history. In the essay, he characterized the turn of the century as a transitional time, one that delivered both challenges and opportunities for China, and that called for heroes who fit this historical time to follow the trend. “Even though I am not a hero, yet I desire, dream of, and pray for heroes every day. There are all kinds of heroes, yet the most precious are those who fit the mission of our time.”31 After defining the appropriate qualities of heroes of the time, he continues to discuss the relationship between heroes and the historical shi-trend, suggesting that the people are the real heroes to push history forward.

29 Ibid., 1. 30 In his early age, Liang stood with his master Kang Youwei advocating a regime of constitutional monarchy. Yet later, he changed his mind and embraced the Republic. 31 Liang Qichao, “Guodu shidai lun [On a Transitory Time Period].” Online access: http:// www.eduzhai.net/wenxue/xdmj/lqc/019.htm, retrieved on June 8, 2010. Suspended Time 69

Alas! Do heroes mold the shi-trend? Or does the shi-trend mold heroes? The shi-trend, isn’t the shi-trend today? Heroes, where are the heroes? Among the national movements to pursue progress, I have heard that those that the majority of the people initiated with one or two representatives to assist them never failed; those that one or two representatives led with the majority of people following them rarely succeeded! Therefore, the kind of heroes I desire, dream of, and pray for, are not flam- boyant heroes who stand out from the crowd, but heroes who are a multitude of equals!32

Individual heroes should follow the needs and demands of the people to accomplish national salvation and progress, not the other way around. It is the people who form the center of the historical shi-trend who are to be recognized as the ultimate driving force of history. Intellectuals may interpret historical time from their own perspective, yet they are always conscious of the discrepancy between individual agency and collective agency. This consciousness, echoing the traditional populist ideal minben (民本), deeply rooted in the imperial-time-order, at once empowers intellectuals to engage in movements for political reform and revolution, and constrains their ability to produce fundamental social change. This consciousness, too, explains intellectuals’ inability to ground the present and predict the future, and their desire to push for mass enlightenment. At this time, the concept of qun (群, ‘grouping’) or min (民, ‘mass, people’) underlined the newly discovered discourse of citizenship.33 For late Qing intellectuals, the building of a modern nation was inseparable from the creating of a modern citizenry. Yet, unlike the Western understanding of citizenship based on a legal contract defining the rights and duties between citizen and state, Chinese intellectuals seldom thought of the state and the individual as naturally antagonistic.34 As Peter Zarrow notes, the Chinese “social contract . . . was

32 Ibid. The original Chinese version is: “嗟乎！英雄造時勢耶？時勢造英雄耶？時勢時勢，寧非今耶？英雄英雄，在何所耶？抑又聞之，凡一國之進步也，其主動者在多數之國民，爾驅役一二之代代表人以為助動者，則其事罔不成；其主動者在一二之代表人，爾強求多數之國民以為助動者，則其事鮮不敗！故吾所思所夢所褥祀者，不在轟轟獨秀之英雄，而在芸芸平等之英雄！” 33 Wang Fan-shen, “Evolving Prescriptions for Social Life in the Late Qing and Early Republic: From Qunxue to Society,” in Imagining the People: Chinese Intellectuals and the Concept of Citizenship, 1890–1920, ed. Joshua A. Fogel and Peter G. Zarrow (New York & London: M.E. Sharpe, 1997), 261. 34 Peter Zarrow, “Citizenship in China and the West,” Introduction to Imagining the People: Chinese Intellectuals and the Concept of Citizenship, 1890–1920, ed. Joshua A. Fogel and Peter G. Zarrow (New York & London: M.E. Sharpe, 1997), 13. 70 Chapter 2 conceived in harmony.”35 This harmonious notion of citizenship not only continued the imperial ideal of the populist state, but also reinforced the individual intellectual’s elitist position in educating the masses. Insofar as the individual intellectual is an intrinsic part of the people, the intellectuals could exercise their political pursuit as a collective project. In other words, a very elitist enlightenment movement could only be legitimized in the name of the ‘people,’ and the building of the state could only be justified if it was ‘for the people’ as well. As a result, intellectuals took it as their mission to enlighten the masses to fit in the historical trend. Literature, especially fiction, became the most celebrated tool to modernize people’s minds. Besides Liang Qichao’s well-known essay promoting fiction, “Lun xiaoshuo yu qunzhi zhi guanxi” (“On the Relationship between Fiction and Mass Governance”), many journals and magazines were created to publish fiction with the aim to educate people. For example, in the preface of Yueyue xiaoshuo (月月小說, Fiction Monthly, 1906), the editor Qingqi (aka Wang Weifu 汪惟父) reemphasized the function of fiction as both delivering knowledge and reinforcing morality. He criticized various fictional works available at the time for aiming only at the bizarre and the exotic, and thus failing to persuade ordinary people to improve their minds. Characterizing those people who published irresponsible fiction as reckless and unprincipled yes-men, he suggested that fiction should play a role in improving both people’s intelligence and ethics. In particular, historical novels are most valuable in that they not only teach historical knowledge, but also convey moral messages. “Historical novels,” he said, “do not just record historical facts, but also offer the deeper meanings of rewarding the good and punishing the evil.” Therefore, “in this time that lacks morality . . . I pledge to compile and translate historical novels to supplement historical textbooks.”36 The time of great social change is also the “time that lacks morality.” Historical novels were supposed to play an important didactic role boosting mass morality at a time of national crisis. Moreover, when both the projective anticipation of the future and the anticipatory retrospection of the present failed, they were to function by grounding the present through a mirror image of the past. The inability to present the future thereby gave way to the presentation of the past.

35 Ibid. 36 Qingqi, “Yueyue xiaoshuo xu [The preface to Fiction Monthly]” in Zhongguo jindai wenxue daxi [The Comprehensive Collection of Early Modern Chinese Literature], vol. 29, 343–4. Suspended Time 71

The Paradox of the Past: Retrospective Anticipation and the Poetics of Martyrdom

At the turn of the twentieth century, historical novels turned to troubled and chaotic eras in Chinese history, especially those periods when the Chinese regimes fell to minority invasions. For example, Tongshi (痛史, “Painful History,” 1902–1906) by Wu Jianren 吳趼人 (or Wu Woyao 吳沃堯) under the pen-name Wofo shanren (我佛山人) and Hai shang hun 海上魂 (“Spirits Over the Sea”) by Chen Motao (陳墨濤) both depict the fall of the Southern Song to the Mongol Yuan rulers, centering on the loyal Song hero Wen Tianxiang. Haiwai fu yu 海外扶余, (“Perseverance from Overseas”) about Zheng Chenggong by Chen Mofeng 陳墨峰, Choushi 仇史 (“The History of Hatred”) by Tongku sheng di’er 痛哭生第二 (“Crying Man II”), and Haijiao yibian 海角遺編 (“Records of the Cape”) by Buti zhuanren 不題撰人 all portray Southern Ming resistance against the Manchu Qing. Moreover, Wu Jianren’s historical novel Liang Jin yanyi 兩晉演義 (“The Romance of Western and Eastern Jin Dynasties,” 1906–1908) depicts the corrupt Jin court as unable to fend off the aggression of northern minorities. All these narratives explore the fall of Han Chinese dynasties to minority rulers, in an effort to mirror the late Qing crisis facing Western imperialist aggression.37 With an appeal for internal cohesion and morality, the authors sought to articulate a threatening message of ‘destruction of China’ 亡国, not because of the power from outside, but for lack of morality from inside. All these narratives adopted the perspective of the falling Chinese dynasties and took a defensive stand against the minorities as ‘foreign’ powers. They convey the moralistic message that, had the Chinese been adequately patriotic, the Jin, the Song, and the Ming empires would not have fallen to the nomadic minorities. Ethnic-nationalistic sentiments permeate the historical accounts, so much so that almost every novel begins with a moralistic lecture. Nevertheless, in mirroring late Qing social reality, the authors agonized over whether or not to view the Manchu as Chinese. If they took the Manchu ruler as a part of the China that is mirrored in the incapable Jin, Song, and Ming courts, then the Western imperialists would lose their counterpart mirror image in the novels. Are the Xianbei, the Mongols, and the Manchus still the ‘foreign’ enemies if they have been acculturated as Chinese? Is it really convincing to displace international contradiction with ethnic contradiction? Or more accurately, is the message of the ‘destruction of China’ really threatening

37 A Ying, “Wanqing xiaoshuo shi [The History of Late Qing Fiction],” in A Ying quanji [The Complete Works of A Ying], (Hefei: Anhui jiaoyu chubanshe, 2000), vol. 8. 72 Chapter 2 given that Chinese civilization has been continued and preserved by the minority rulers? The ambiguity surrounding these issues led to authors abandoning their novels, leaving them unfinished as the result of an author’s later change of political views (such as Wu Jianren’s Tongshi), or to journals ending their serialization before a novel’s completion. As an example of the latter, Tongku sheng di’er’s Choushi began serialization in Xingshi 醒獅 (Awakening Lion), but only the first two chapters were published. Later the publishers announced that they had discontinued the novel because it was too long and required a long time to complete. It remains unknown whether the novel was eventually finished. There is no record of a subsequent book edition, and the text available today is still limited to the first two chapters.38 Two possible explanations could account for this: one is that the journal found it inappropriate or was unable to continue publishing the novel because of the intense anti-Manchu sentiment permeating the novel; the other is that, with the fast changing sociopolitical situation, the author, like Wu Jianren, changed his political views and never completed the novel. In any case, many of the novels appear to be anticlimactic, opening with strong convictions and ‘ending’ with a weak conclusion or no conclusion at all, thereby ironically undermining the authors’ original nationalistic design. Indeed, Chinese imperial thinking is ambiguous in drawing a clear boundary between inside and outside in terms of race or ethnicity. Morality is generally taken as the ultimate factor differentiating civilized society from non-civilized society. The strong nationalistic feelings, the need to draw national boundaries in the late Qing period, thus, were translated as a sense of failure and criticism of internal corruption. For these writers, the brutality of ‘foreign’ aggressors certainly lacked morality, yet the Chinese were even more to blame for their own lack of morality. Paradoxically, it is this lack of morality that makes morality possible and meaningful. The Southern Song and Southern Ming histories, owing to the complicated ethnic encounters that characterized the crises of these ethnic Han Chinese empires, became the mirror of China in the late Qing period. In general, these novels convey a sense of ‘retrospective anticipation’ to call for morality in the present. Morality in these historical novels takes the form of loyalty and unity, which serve as the crucial factors in saving the country from ‘foreign’ invasion. From a Han-centered perspective, moral crisis outstrips national crisis, and the contrast between patriotic heroes and disloyal traitors dominates the contradictions between the Han and minorities.

38 Online source: baidubaike. See http://baike.baidu.com/view/971220.htm. Accessed June 27, 2012. Suspended Time 73

As a result, what we see in the novels are the tensions between state nationalism and ethnic nationalism, between the unity-prone, cyclical moral time in the past and the linear, progressive time adopted in the present. Moreover, in their effort to recognize the shi-trend and ground the present, writers exaggerated the message of failure and the impending “destruction of China.” While they sought to instill morality and provoke action, the heroic characters they portrayed are nonetheless those tragic heroes who died in defending the Han Chinese regimes. In terms of narrative strategy, there is a poetics of martyrdom that manifests a fatalistic sense of inability on the part of individual heroes. Therefore, beyond the tension between ethnic nationalism and state nationalism, or between universal empire and modern nation-state, there is yet another tension between individual agency and collective agency intrinsic to these novels.

Wen Tianxiang in Wu Jianren’s Tongshi (Painful History)

Serialized in Xin xiaoshuo (New Fiction) during 1902–1906, Wu Jianren’s Tongshi was regarded by A Ying as the best historical novel in the late Qing period.39 A serious exploration of the fall of the Southern Song (1127–1279 AD) to the Yuan Empire (1271–1368 AD), it probes a disturbing moment of history that had a contemporary resonance. Using a storyteller as narrator in the first chapter, Wu attributes the fall of a nation to the lack of morality within. Despite his embrace of the law of the jungle and acknowledgement of the mighty forces from outside,40 he nonetheless declares that unconditional loyalty to the country, fearless fighting spirit, and unity from within would save the country from falling. In his words:

If only everyone in the country had backbone (zhi qi 志氣), and were determined to fight until the last person, then the country will not fall. . . . I am angered that many of our fellow Chinese so lack courage and uprightness (xue xing 血性) that they often voluntarily sell out the country to the enemy, and even bring the enemy to slaughter their own

39 A Ying, “Wanqing xiaoshuo shi [The History of Late Qing Fiction],” in A Ying quanji [The Complete Works of A Ying] (Hefei: Anhui jiaoyu chubanshe, 2000), vol. 8, 163. 40 In the opening paragraph of the first chapter, he naturalized the competition among countries and acknowledged that the winner was usually the most powerful. Yet he took a defensive position from the perspective of the weak country, promoting martyrdom to defend the country from falling. 74 Chapter 2

compatriots. Rather than feeling a bit ashamed of themselves, they are even proud of their betrayal! I have no way to understand what their hearts are made of, so I intend to portray their stories in order to mirror the present.41

With a vivid portrait of negative exemplars, national traitors, and the corrupt ruling house in the Southern Song period, the novel speaks to the reader with anger, regret, and enticing power. The confrontation between the Song and the Mongols is displaced and played out in the encounter between the Chinese loyal to the Southern Song and the conspirators who choose to serve the Mongol court. Portrayed as an uncivilized, culturally inferior, and militarily aggressive people, the Mongols rarely appear in the narrative except to be mentioned as assimilated barbarians to be incorporated into the Chinese empire. But Wu Jianren apparently remained ambivalent about whether they could then become legitimate rulers. In Chapter One, the narrator introduces the process by which the Mongol tribal federation developed into the Yuan Empire. Assisted by an official named Liu Bingzhong, who was ethnic Chinese, Kublai Khan chose the Chinese character ‘Yuan’—from the Chinese classic Book of Changes—as the title of his empire and adopted the whole political structure from the Chinese imperial regime.42 Insofar as Liu inherited and transmitted Chinese culture to the Mongol ruler, the narrator sees his loyalty to the Mongol court as morally misplaced. Culturally expansive and inclusive yet politically defensive and resistant, Wu Jianren’s narrative registers his fundamental ambivalence in understanding the relationship between the Chinese empire and the emerging idea of a nation-state in his time. Compared to the comment on Liu Bingzhong, whose family had served non- Chinese powers for generations and whose loyalty to the Mongols is granted legitimacy due to his transmission of Chinese culture, Wu’s attitude toward the Song officials who surrendered to Mongol power was much harsher. Among those people whom he termed ‘betrayers’ (quan jian 權奸) and ‘traitors’ (han jian 漢奸), Jia Sidao is specifically cited as corrupt, dominating, and disloyal. Wu celebrated his death in a toilet as “leaving his stench for ten thousand years” ( yi chou wan nian 遺臭萬年) and treated his slayer, Zheng Huchen, as a

41 Wu Jianren, “Tongshi,” in Wu Jianren quanji [The Complete Works of Wu Jianren] (Beijing: Beifang wenyi chubanshe, 1997), vol. 4, 3. 42 Wu Jianren, “Tongshi,” 5. Suspended Time 75 hero for his avenging Jia’s betrayal.43 Similarly, the capitulating officials Zhang Hongfan and Liu Mengyan were seen as having betrayed their ancestors and deserving of condemnation for centuries. This attitude is best articulated in the words of Zhang Gui in Chapter Eight after being taken prisoner and listening to Zhang Hongfan’s rhetoric in favor of surrender. Juxtaposing the Zhang lineage with China, Gui condemns Hongfan not only for his betrayal of China, but also for his disgrace of the Zhang clan’s reputation.44 Satirical treatment of Zhang Hongfan follows in Chapter Eighteen when he orders his name to be inscribed in stone to commemorate his victory over the Song army. The inscription reads, “Here is the place where Zhang Hongfan defeated the Song.” Following this passage, the narrator mockingly inserts an episode from the later Ming Dynasty when a scholar changed the inscription into one that reads: “Here is the place where Zhang Hongfan of the Song defeated the Song.”45 The coexistence of different historical times and the juxtaposition of military accomplishment with lack of integrity on this monumental stone, entail an overall moral assessment that transcends time and space. It prompts the narrator to intrude immediately following the episode: “Right now [late Qing] those ‘gentlemen’ who are flattering the foreigners should be cautious that, someday later, there might be another scholar who would insert ‘Chinese’ in front of their titles [should they succeed in helping the foreign countries to defeat China]!”46 The moral judgment follows the generic tradition in historical yanyi narrative in which the intrusive narrator superimposes his moral vision onto the story, regardless of the open, episodic structure of the narrative. Yet what is hidden here is the omniscient view of time—past and future—that oversees and defines the present. It is not so much the author who elevates himself to insert his own perspective as it is time being endowed with transcendent moral judgment that enfolds the author. Indeed, the reference to ancestors and future generations links the past and the future to form a continuous historical consciousness that constitutes a moral eye to see through the present reality. This eye, historically transcendent and morally universal, confines the

43 Wu Jianren admitted that in the official history, Zheng Huchen, who killed Jia Sidao, was captured and prosecuted later. Yet in his narrative, he treated Zheng Huchen as a hero who continued heroic, secret operations against the Mongol ruling house after he killed Jia. 44 Wu Jianren, “Tongshi,” 34. 45 Wu Jianren, “Tongshi,” 166. 46 Wu Jianren, “Tongshi,” 166. 76 Chapter 2

individual within its powerful horizon and places him in history. It is through this all-encompassing moral eye that Wu Jianren created his positive and negative exemplars to emulate or disdain. In contrast to the immoral officials and the inept ruling house that together resulted in the fall of the Southern Song, there are many heroic figures praised as loyal and righteous fighters standing up for the country. Minister Wen Tianxiang, General Zhang Shijie, Scholar Xie Junzhi, and the fearless warriors gathered on Mount Xianxia together present a collective portrait of heroes. Though they are of differing social status, they share the common characteristic of unconditional patriotism, considering loyalty and righteousness more valuable than life. Facing an overwhelming situation, they choose to fight until the last when death completes, and continues, their spirit. Indeed, in situations when morality is impossible to achieve in life, death becomes the possible agency to accomplish the moral mission. Death is not the end of life; rather, it is the continuation of the moral life, which presents the living with a model to emulate. To some extent, death is valued more than life in that it makes the hero immortal in history. Wu Jianren obviously followed this poetics of martyrdom to dramatize, even mystify, the moral death in order to express his strong moral judgment. For instance, Wen Tianxiang’s death is portrayed as something of a miracle, one that proves his undying moral triumph over the Mongol intruders. After the Mongol army captures Wen Tianxiang, the widely admired prime minister of the Southern Song, he rejects all the appealing benefits offered by the Yuan court and vows to remain loyal to the Song even at risk of his life. Frustrated, the first Yuan emperor Kublai Khan finally decides to take Wen’s life. Yet, admiring his upright spirit, he later grants Wen a posthumous title and orders a memorial ceremony conducted in his honor. However, no sooner does the ceremony start than the clear, sunny sky darkens in a swirl of dense, black clouds. Following deafening thunder, heavy rain pours down and a gust of wind blows away Wen’s memorial tablet inscribed with the posthumous title bestowed by Kublai Khan. The shocked and flustered Mongol officials immediately replace it with another tablet on which Wen’s former Southern Song title is inscribed. The storm immediately disappears, and the sky clears. On the other hand, on the execution ground where Wen’s corpse is left, people of the Southern Song are amazed to see a healthy complexion on Wen’s face and to smell a soothing fragrance from his dead body that literally demonstrates the idiom “leaving a fragrance for a thousand years” (liu fang qian gu 流芳千古).47

47 Wu Jianren, “Tongshi,” 179. Suspended Time 77

This imagined scene, needless to say, is inconsistent because the Mongol court offers admiration for Wen’s spirit according to Chinese ritual, yet cal- lously discards his body on the execution ground. The supernatural descrip- tions of ‘Heaven’s anger’ and Wen’s immortal dead body nevertheless both glorify Wen’s virtue and reinforce the power of this China-originated virtue to assimilate the barbarians. The stark contrasts of Jia Sidao’s stinking corpse and Wen Tianxiang’s fragrant remains \ illustrate disloyalty and loyalty, immorality and morality, and transient life and immortal death. By literalizing fragrance and stench as the metaphors for one’s posthumous reputation to arouse moral consciousness, Wu Jianren also blurs the boundary between the spiritual and the material, and turns immortality into a sensory reality. The materiality of the body is thus imbued with both historical consciousness and universal moral judgment, and transformed into a performative site registered in time and instrumental in its own perpetuation. However, beneath the transcendent moral judgment exists the contingent situation. It brings to the surface the competing discourses that challenge the hierarchical configuration of the morality, and stresses the individual agency that renders the reconfiguration of the hierarchy meaningful. For instance, in a situation in which the imperial family is corrupt and weak, loyalty to what or whom becomes a discursive yet historically critical choice. On the one hand, there is a rhetoric that destabilizes the discourse of loyalty, one that says “the capable bird chooses the better wood to inhabit” (liang qin ze mu er qi 良禽擇木爾棲); on the other hand, the amoral shi-force in the contingent situation (xingshi 形勢) and the irreversible historical shi-trend (dashi 大勢) also call into question the hierarchy of the moral system. The ‘better wood’ that attracts the capable bird, like the rising Mongol power in the novel, usually represents the promising shi-force, yet whether it also follows the historical shi-trend depends on a more-encompassing moral ground and historical recognition. In Tongshi, the hierarchy of morality is established in this way, from lower to higher levels: pursuing individual interest, loyalty to the Song emperor, loyalty to the Song Empire, serving all-under-Heaven (Tianxia). In the case of conflict between the levels in the middle, such as the emperor’s inability to continue representing the empire, the higher level determines the moral choice. In the novel, to save the Song from falling, the loyal officials set up several young emperors in succession as legitimate sovereigns of the Song even while the former emperor Deyou is still alive and kept by the Mongols as hostage. In the end, when nobody in the imperial family is available to be emperor, the argument that “China is the China of all Chinese, anyone who has superior morality could govern it” emerges. This choice brings out the traditional notion of contingent decision (quan bian 權變) following the discursive situation (xingshi 78 Chapter 2

形勢); but at the same time it reveals the overpowering, unifying morality that determines the significance of the decision. One can see the emergent notion of the modern nation-state in Wu Jianren’s writing, which implies more an egalitarian sovereignty rather than hierarchical imperial sovereignty. This is embodied in the heroes hidden on Mount Xianxia who are attempting to recover the Song. Yet interestingly, the modern nation- state he tried to imagine is not only fully embedded within the Chinese imperial moral regime, but also rendered self-contradictory when he attempted to assert a national boundary. Near the end of his incomplete novel, Wu shifts the discussion from the nation to the concept of Tianxia: “ ‘Tianxia’ belongs to all-people-under- Heaven,” he declares through Zhao Zigu’s voice, “only he who is virtuous could govern it.”48 Zhao stresses the continuity of Chinese imperial history by asserting that the first emperor of the Song Dynasty, Zhao Kuangyin, inherited the empire from the ancient Zhou dynasty, implying that the legitimacy of Zhao’s rule was determined by the imperial-time-order: morality and unity granted a significant place for the emperor in history.49 What remains unstated is that it does not matter whether the emperor carried imperial blood from the previous ruling house. What matters is his care for the people. It is the people of all-under-Heaven that gives him the Mandate of Heaven that justifies his rule. Individual heroes, loyal and righteous as they were, could still fail if they do not represent the people. Here we see the intrinsic tension between individual agency and collective agency hidden in the discourse of Tianxia. The confrontation with the Mongols thus leads to the questions whether the Mongols should be included in Tianxia (are they civilized enough?) and whether they are moral enough to rule. Narrowly defined ethnic nationalism therefore gives way to the Chinese notion of Tianxia in the imperial moral order. At this point, one may detect how arbitrary the rhetoric of Tianxia may become. Since winners can always retroactively claim legitimacy by stating it is the intention of Heaven (Tianyi), the discourse will always justify the winner’s actions. Consequently, Tianxia could be a convenient tool whereby winners legitimize their conquests. The competing definitions of Tianxia therefore form a paradox, each side canceling the other, leaving little room for nationalistic perseverance. Insofar as only those who had gained the hearts of the people could rule the empire, and the new rulers always claimed to have done that, stubborn loyalty to the previous regime seems either blind or the result of bad judgment.

48 Wu Jianren, “Tongshi,” 235. 49 Wu Jianren, “Tongshi,” 235. Suspended Time 79

This utilitarian side of Tianxia obviously troubled the late Qing intellectuals, as they were determined to arouse the common people’s nationalistic sentiments. The writer Chen Motao even made it his mission to attack this arbitrary side of Tianxia. In his novel Hai shang hun (Spirits over the sea), also on Wen Tianxiang, Chen articulates his diatribe against ‘Heaven’ in the first chapter. For its incisive criticism of ‘Tianxia’ and ‘people’s heart,’ it deserves to be quoted in length:

Alas, dear readers, one saying from the ancient times is really misleading and harmful. It says: “those who obey Heaven will flourish, and those who disobey will perish.” In my view, it is just that “the winners always become kings and nobles, and the losers thieves and robbers.” What does it have to do with Heaven? If this is Heaven’s intention, then I would ask: how could one know which side Heaven favors? It is only after the result was clear that one could say the winner had obeyed Heaven, and the loser disobeyed Heaven. If you demand evidence, he would say Heaven bequeathed (the kingdom) to the winner, and the people followed him. Alas, observers, the three words—people following him—are the least trustworthy. In our Chinese ethics, it is only required that son dies for father, and subordinate dies for ruler. It has never demanded that the people die for the kingdom. Therefore, the people have never been concerned about the survival or fall of the country. No matter whether it was the traitor who usurped the throne, or barbarians who stole the kingdom, he always bowed and kowtowed, being a follower that obeyed “Heaven.” Despite the fact that someone was fickle, bouncing between rulers, now killing one king, then setting up another, he always maintained his image as an obedient subject. Dear readers, with such a “people’s heart,” does it mean anything that “the people followed him”? . . . Now let’s discuss the harm that has been done by the saying “those who obey Heaven will flourish, and those who disobey will perish.”. . . [According to this saying], all the loyal officials who refused surrender would be regarded as disobeying Heaven and deserved their fall, whereas the traitors who obtained benefits through selling out the country would be seen as knowing the shi-trend and following Heaven. Dear readers, in this case, all our Chinese heroes’ patriotic spirits would be extinguished! Don’t you think this saying is poisonous? Despite this, fortunately, the Huangdi Emperor has left his spirit [to us], so that patriotic heroes have not gone extinct. Therefore, traitors have continued doing their business, and heroes have kept fighting to the death for their country. Where the 80 Chapter 2

disloyalty of Qin Kuai exists there must also be the loyalty of Yue Fei. A mirror that exposes evil has reflected the traitor’s heart to the world, vividly displaying it to be spit upon for thousands of generations. Today, if you ask a three-foot-tall child, who does not know the utter devotion of Yue Fei?50

By attacking the utilitarian rhetoric of ‘Heaven,’ Chen Motao vehemently criticized the lack of national consciousness among the common people, which led to his late Qing attempt to ‘enlighten’ the masses and create a modern patriotic citizenry. On the other hand, his ostensibly convincing argument about the side effect of ‘Heaven’ nonetheless points to the pervasive and transcendent value of the imperial-time-order. The example of Yue Fei and Qin Kuai contradicts his earlier assertion that “all the loyal officials who refused surrender would be regarded as disobeying Heaven and thus deserved their fall; whereas the traitors who obtained benefits through selling out the country would be seen as knowing the shi-trend and following Heaven.” Yue Fei was a well-known general serving the Song court, in a transitional period when the Northern Song was defeated by the nomadic Jurchen Jin and retreated to set up a regime in the south. He was best known for defending the Song from the Jin, protecting the selfish Emperor Gaozong, who favored peace at any price in order to keep his throne. The collaborationist Qin Kuai subsequently persuaded the emperor to recall Yue Fei from the battlefield and executed him on false charges. The Southern Song then maintained a humiliating relationship with the Jin and later lost to the Mongol Yuan. However, contrary to Chen’s logic, according to which Yue Fei would be regarded as disobeying Heaven, he has always been praised as a patriotic hero. In 1169, twenty- seven years after Yue Fei’s execution, he was granted the posthumous name of Wumu by Emperor Xiaozong, and later granted the posthumous title of Prince of E (鄂王) by Emperor Ningzong in 1211. Just as Chen rightly pointed out, Yue Fei’s story has been widely circulated, and he has come to be recognized as the epitome of loyalty in Chinese culture.51 Meanwhile, Qin Kuai is regarded as an archetype of national traitors, like Jia Sidao, “leaving his stench for ten thousand years.” The story of Yue Fei and Qin Kuai suggests the resilience of the imperial system, or conversely, the transcendent power of Confucian morality. As Marc Matten notes, at times of minority rule, even in the Qing Dynasty when the

50 Chen Motao, Hai shang hun [Spirit over the sea], Chapter One. Online source: xiluwang. http://club.xilu.com/wave99/msgview-950484-119688.html, access on June 28, 2012. 51 Online source, Wikipedia. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yue_Fei. Accessed June 28, 2012. Suspended Time 81 rulers considered themselves to be descendants of the Jurchen Jin that Yue Fei had fought, the rulers were still able to ‘de-contextualize’ or ‘de-ethnicize’ Yue Fei’s deeds to praise his virtue.52 By activating the symbolic capital of the heroes and inserting themselves in the Confucian moral system, the rulers had legitimized their rule and continued the Chinese imperial-time-order. Therefore, the discussion of the shi-trend in history has rarely negatively influenced the image of loyal heroes such as Yue Fei or Wen Tianxiang. Loyalty, or more broadly, morality, has been sustained as a constant. Regardless of the variable, contingent situations, heroes’ virtues have transcended the confines of time. Similarly, on a separate note, disloyalty has never gained a positive place in the historical narrative. Chinese people may accept minority rule, believing the minority has followed the Mandate of Heaven, yet they never forgive the ‘traitors’ who have sold out their former regimes, such as Qin Kuai and Zhang Hongfan. The contingence and transcendence of time has tested every subject in troublesome historical periods, which was undoubtedly unsettling to the late Qing intellectuals. As discussed above, many literary works remain unfinished due to the suspended time. Tongshi was no exception. It was never completed, partly because Wu Jianren could not resolve the contradiction between ethnic nationalism and the more universal understanding of the Chinese empire. His preoccupied identification with the Song heroes’ fighting spirit and the ambivalent vision toward the Yuan constitute the fundamental conflict in the novel. He later changed his anti-Manchu stance,53 and with that the anti- Mongol narrative of the novel that implied an anti-Manchu position was no longer warranted. As a result, Tongshi became an incomplete statement of the unsettled friction between modern nation-state and empire, and a testimony to the undying imperial-time-order working through the modern transition. In this respect, the image of Wen Tianxiang, as an exemplar of a national hero, serves more to instill morality than to support anti-Mongol or anti- Manchu sentiment. To some extent, Wen Tianxiang is both a transcendent and transitional hero, transcendent for his undying spirit living through a continuous history, transitional for his position in a dramatically changing world that is fraught with ideological anxiety. As an embodiment of lived time and transcendent time, Wen’s martyrdom nonetheless left an uncertain reading of the historical shi-trend. Time seemed to have come to a halt, and the late Qing intellectuals still pondered where the shi-trend would lead China.

52 Marc Andre Matten, “The Worship of General Yue Fei and His Problematic Creation as a National Hero,” in Front. Hist. China 2011, 6(1): 93. 53 A Ying, “Wanqing xiaoshuo shi [A History of Late Qing fiction],” in A Ying quanji, 163. Chapter 3 Split Time: Enlightenment and Its Discontent

To my mind, then, if we can find no way out, what we need are dreams; but not dreams of the future, just dreams of the present. Lu Xun, “What Happens after Nora Leaves Home?”

Perhaps, no period in modern Chinese history is like the May Fourth era when there was an unprecedented discrepancy between transcendent time and lived time, as intellectuals were eager to break away from tradition. They commonly used metaphors like Lu Xun’s ‘iron house,’ Guo Moruo’s ‘crystal cage,’ or prison, or shackles to describe the Confucian tradition. Through such terms we see lived time portrayed as unbearable, a time from which rebellious young men and women were deeply wounded while trying to escape. Yet they fell back on a vision of the trend of time as shi-force. The May Fourth period is normally associated with youth, characterized by terms such as rebellious, iconoclastic, individualistic, and revolutionary. However, as David Der-wei Wang argues, no late Qing, no May Fourth: the May Fourth generation in fact inherited and continued the same ‘modern’ projects as the late Qing generation.1 To be sure, the rhetoric of the ‘old’ and ‘young’ had been prevalent during the late Qing period. Whereas Liang Qichao’s ‘young China’ attempted to accentuate youthful energy within the old empire, less than two decades later Chen Duxiu’s declaration of the ‘youth’ in the first issue of New Youth directly targeted the ‘old’ and justified the spirit of rebellion.2 What they shared is not only what C. T. Hsia calls the “obsession with China,”3 but also the disappointment and concern with the present. When history reached an intersection leading to multiple possibilities, both generations

1 Wang Dewei (David Der-wei Wang), “Bei yayi de xiandai xing [Repressed Modernity],” in Zhongguo xin wenxue da xi, 1976–2000 [The Comprehensive Collection of Contemporary Chinese Literature] (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 2009), vol. 1, 552–566. 2 In the first issue of New Youth in 1915, Chen Duxiu challenged the long-standing Confucian deference toward elders by celebrating youth: “Youth is like early spring, like the rising sun, like the trees and grass in bud, like a newly sharpened blade.” The original title of the periodical is The Youth, later changed into New Youth in 1916. 3 C. T. Hsia articulates the ‘obsession with China’ of modern Chinese intellectuals in the second edition of his A History of Modern Chinese Fiction (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971; reprint ed. Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1999).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��6 | doi ��.��63/9789004309302_005 Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 83 sought to delineate the right path to follow the right historical trend and initiate change. Nevertheless, whereas the late Qing scholars were obsessed with the ‘failure’ of the present and interested in imagining a future based on a moral and glorious heritage, the May Fourth generation were mostly motivated to smash that heritage. They were not certain, or in agreement with each other, on what they wanted for the future, but they were all clear what they did not want. In this sense, the May Fourth enlightenment movement is but another attempt at grounding the present, awaiting the more deterministic shi-force to reveal its historical pattern. In this chapter, the discussion of the temporal character of this period starts with the intellectual debates of the time, then the historical plays by Guo Moruo and Ouyang Yuqian, concluding with Lu Xun’s short stories in Old Tales Retold (故事新編, Gushi xinbian), which best attest to the discontent with the enlightenment. Without denying the intellectually creative agency in defining China and finding the national cure, I am more interested in the gap, discrepancy, doubt, and retreat in their novel experiments. My interest also lies in the ambivalent moral agency, a moral agency that intellectuals adopted yet at once paralyzed them by subjecting them to a larger historical trend.

The Rebellious Present: Iconoclasm and its Pitfalls

During the May Fourth period, intellectuals were obsessed with the ‘new.’ Numerous theorists and multiple media, magazines and newspapers alike, devoted themselves to producing ‘new literature,’ ‘new fiction,’ ‘new drama,’ ‘new culture,’ etc., to announce the break from the past and define the present. ‘Era’ or ‘times’ (shidai) became fashionable words to formulate arguments in literary debates. For instance, Zhou Zuoren suggested that ‘era’ be the only key term and standard in judging literary works when he advocated ‘humane literature’ in 1918.4 Cheng Fangwu argued that literature should shoulder the mission of the ‘era.’5 And Shen Yanbing (Mao Dun) emphasized that ‘Mr. Era’ would not allow the restoration of or reversion to the past ( fu gu) in the literary

4 Zhou Zuoren, “Ren de wenxue [Humane Literature]” Xin qingnian [New Youth], vol. 5, No. 6. Dec 15, 1918; reprinted in Chen Shouli, ed. Zhongguo xiandai wenxue yundong shiliao zhaibian [Selected Historical Documents of Modern Chinese Literary Movements], (Beijing: Beijing chubanshe, 1985), vol. 1, 30–31. 5 Cheng Fangwu, “Xin wenxue zhi shiming [The Mission of the New Literature],” in Chuangzao zhoubao [Creation Weekly], May 20, 1923; reprinted in Chen Shouli, ed. Zhongguo xiandai 84 Chapter 3 movement.6 This fascination with the ‘new era,’ for Leo Ou-fan Lee, signifies a modern consciousness of time that is forward-looking and privileges the present, which by definition, is a time of “breathlessly rapid changes and incessant innovation,” a new epoch that brings “new tides which could not be resisted.”7 However, the ‘era’ they envisioned was not the present they experienced in China, nor the present in the modern Western world, but rather the temporal gap between the ideal modern world and China’s present. The optimistic vision of irresistible trends or tides (chaoliu) of progression was nonetheless accompanied by a pessimistic realization of the unfavorable reality. As Cheng Fangwu described it in 1923, “Our era is an era governed by the law of the jungle, in which mighty powers silence justice, social conscience withers, and a sense of honor is lost. It is an era that is material-seeking, cold and cruel.”8 This was an immoral present in both China and the world, according to the ethical judgment embedded in the Chinese belief of evolutionary progressivism. Leo Lee observes that Darwinian evolutionary theory predominant in May Fourth China carried with it some “ethical and ‘cosmic’ tendencies” in Chinese discourse, whereby “the zealously ideological, heroic self” strived to move forward with the irresistible historical trend and even to push it forward.9 It is this deeply-rooted ethical and cosmic vision of time that split the present, propel- ling intellectuals not only to rebel against the past, but also against the present. The ‘era’ had directionality toward the future, yet that remained unclear since the modern Western world was corrupt as well. Like Walter Benjamin’s angel, who is carried by the storm into the future yet facing the past, Chinese intellectuals were impelled by the historical shi-force and imagined a utopian future. Yet for the lack of an established model to imitate, they defined the

wenxue yundong shiliao zhaibian [Selected Historical Documents of Modern Chinese Literary Movements], vol. 1, 68. 6 Shen Yanbing, “Wenxuejie de fandong yundong [The Reactionary Movement in Literary Circles],” Wenxue [Literature], May 12, 1924; reprinted in Chen Shouli, ed. Zhongguo xiandai wenxue yundong shiliao zhaibian [Selected Historical Documents of Modern Chinese Literary Movements], vol. 1, 111. 7 Leo Ou-fan Lee, “In Search of Modernity: Some Reflections on a New Mode of Consciousness in Twentieth-Century Chinese History and Literature,” in Ideas across Cultures, eds. Paul Cohen and Merle Goldman, 120. 8 Cheng Fangwu, “Xin wenxue zhi shiming [The Mission of the New Literature],” Chuangzao zhoubao [Creation Weekly] May 20, 1923; reprinted in Chen Shouli, ed. Zhongguo xiandai wenxue yundong shiliao zhaibian [Selected Historical Documents of Modern Chinese Literary Movements], vol. 1, 69. 9 Leo Ou-fan Lee, “In Search of Modernity,” in Ideas Across Cultures, 116. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 85 future as everything that was the opposite of a simplified present and selected past, which turned them, not toward the future, but to the past. The fractured view of the present meant that the rebellious spirit was not equally shared among intellectual groups or consistent even within them over time, which resulted in various intellectual positions and multiple debates. A Ying, editor of a collection of historical materials of the New Literature movement under the name Zhang Ruoying in 1933, surveyed the various challenges that the New Literature movement went through in nine years and was still undergoing and described them this way: in the beginning, there were debates between New Literature advocates and the ‘feudal’ writer Lin Shu about classical Chinese and vernacular baihua. Yet immediately after the ‘victory’ of vernacular literature, reformers and revolutionaries had once again to fight with the ‘Xueheng group’ (學衡派), which represented ‘a progressive group within feudal society.’ Following that came the movement to zhengli guogu (整理國故 ‘systematize the national heritage’), one that for the editor exhibited “the surrender of some New Literature advocates to feudal forces.” Later, came a ‘retrogressive period’ when a new battle broke out between the revolutionaries and ‘Jiayin group’ (甲寅派) which criticized the new cultural movement.10 The same period also witnessed the contest between two literary societies in the New Literature camp: Chuangzao she (創造社 ‘Creation Society’) and Wenxue yanjiu hui (文學研究會 ‘Literary Study Society’). After May 30, 1927, according to A Ying, the Chinese New Literature movement turned from literary revolution to revolutionary literature, which as a whole displayed Marxist moralistic and collective tendencies.11 The constant debating and changing positions among intellectuals characterized the unsettling nature of this time period. The present was fleeting, transitory as always, yet the future, to which the present opened up multiple paths, remained indefinable. As Lu Xun describes it, “Something is given, of course— hope for the future. But the cost is exorbitant. For the sake of this hope, people are made more sensitive to the intensity of their misery, are awakened in spirit to see their own putrid corpses. At such times there is greatness only in lying and dreaming. To my mind, then, if we can find no way out, what we need are

10 ‘Jiayin group’ refers to people who published articles criticizing new cultural movement on the periodical Jiayin zhoukan (aka Laohu bao, The Tiger Weekly), including Zhang Shizhao, Gao Yihan, and Tang Bihuang. 11 Zhang Ruoying (A Ying), Preface to Zhongguo xin wenxue yundongshi ziliao [Historical Materials of the Chinese New Literary Movement], (Shanghai: Guangming shuju, 1934), 2. 86 Chapter 3 dreams; but not dreams of the future, just dreams of the present.”12 Literature, in this context, was chosen not to illuminate the future, but to bridge the gap between the ideal future and the present. It is the “dreams of the present,” shattered by the hopeless vision of the past, that act to represent the present and project the future.

The Utopian Future: Between Universalism and Nationalism

The future, individualistic and humanistic as advocated in the official May Fourth discourse, demanded freedom of the individual from ‘feudal’ institutions—family and Confucian constraints—to construct the individual as an enlightened ‘human,’ a modern citizen. However, the individual and the masses are not contradictory here; rather, they complement each other. The New Literature movement promoted ‘mass literature’ (pingmin wenxue, 平民文學) as opposed to ‘elite literature’ (guizu wenxue, 貴族文學),13 at once embedding a conforming, collective subjectivity min (people) and an enlightened, rebellious individual subjectivity ren (human) in the project of nation building. Moreover, this new subject, ren or min, created out of desire for renewing China, favored universal love toward the entire world rather than the boundary-restrictive nationalism. This enlightened subject did not approve of the law of the jungle displayed in Western imperialism, but rather, tried to live an individualistic, ethical, moral, and universally loving life in harmony within the whole of humanity (ren lei, 人類).14 And most importantly, this universal love had been ingrained in traditional Chinese thinking. This understanding of ‘human,’ as Zhou Zuoren argued, can be traced back to Mozi’s conception of all-embracing love ( jian’ai 兼愛) two thousand years before.15 Shu-mei Shih suggests that May Fourth intellectuals adopted Western theories for their assumed universality and thus their legitimate applicability in China; in the meantime the intellectuals posed as ‘world citizens,’ who can freely and selectively pick up whatever they found appealing.16 This ‘selective

12 Lu Xun, “What Happens after Nora Leaves Home?” in Selected Works of Lu Xun, trans. Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1957), vol. 2, 87. 13 Zhang Ruoying, Zhongguo xin wenxue yundongshi ziliao, 1. 14 Zhou Zuoren, “Rende wenxue [Humane literature].” See Chen Shouli, ed. Zhongguo xiandai wenxue yundong shiliao zhaibian, vol. 1, 30–31. 15 Ibid. 16 Shu-mei Shih, The Lure of the Modern (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001). Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 87 appeal,’ I maintain, has much to do with the intellectuals’ desire to demonstrate their rebellious power, but it also has as much to do with tradition’s resilience to ground such power. Indeed, ironically, while the May Fourth intellectuals strove to negate tradition, what they broke with were only the hierarchy and inhumane constraints of the feudal institutions, not the universal and moralistic tendencies of tradition. Iconoclasm, in this regard, based on an absolute notion of tradition as obsolete and incapable of self-regeneration, nonetheless revealed the timeless and transcendent value of tradition. The attempt to embrace the universal, ideal future thus is grounded at the juncture between the Western humanistic, progressive ideal and China’s universal conception of morality in tradition. The iconoclastic enlightenment movement therefore appears to be more a re-figuration of a suppressed moral order within tradition than a wholesale movement of Westernization. The May Fourth period also witnessed the initial acceptance of Marxism in China. As discussed in Chapter One, Marxism appealed to Chinese intellectuals for its moralistic tone and universal internationalism. In 1918, upon the victory of the socialist revolution in Russia, Li Dazhao published two articles to celebrate the victory of the working class and Bolshevism. For him, it was “the victory of humanism, the victory of pacifism, the victory of reason, the victory of democracy, the victory of socialism, the victory of Bolshevism, the victory of the red flag, the victory of the world working class, and the victory of the new tide of the twentieth century. . . .”17 This exciting grouping of different universal ideals exhibited his enthusiasm for an internationalist spirit that transcended any national boundary: “The word Bolshevism, although invented by the Russians, manifests the spirit of all the enlightened people in the world.”18 In his eyes, and those of later leftist intellectuals, socialism was the future trend (chao liu, 潮流) of the world. To grasp this trend and resituate China in the global order, China had to be transformed into a socialist nation that was ideologically advanced and morally superior to the capitalist world. Li’s ecstatic response to the October Revolution, as Maurice Meisner observed, showed his pre-Marxian worldview and his understanding of time. His writings “were less concerned with what the millennium was to look like than with the fact that it was being created in the here and now,” Meisner writes. “He conceived of the revolution not so much as a revolt against particular

17 Li Dazhao, “Bolshevism de shengli” [The Victory of Bolshevism] in Xin qingnian [New Youth], Nov 15, 1918. See Chen Shouli, ed. Zhongguo xiandai wenxue yundong shiliao zhaibian, vol. 1, 26. 18 Ibid. 88 Chapter 3 oppressors but as a great, universal and elemental force that was transforming the entire world order.”19 This universalistic, moralizing tendency and the recognition of the historical trend in effect best illustrate the imperial-time-order that permeated modern intellectuals’ minds and displayed itself as Marxist internationalism. Yet it seems that the Western origin of this universal, or any other seemingly universal idea, continually met with resistance from Chinese intellectuals. From the late Qing on, the idea of wholesale modernization, or Westernization, constantly clashed with refusal and doubt not only from the traditionalists’ camp,20 but also from within the group that promoted the idea of enlightenment and Westernization. In 1927, Lu Xun clearly expressed his disbelief in social Darwinist evolutionary theory. He thought that progress was always accompanied by regression, and his evolutionist belief finally ‘collapsed.’21 He doubted that an individualistic, enlightened society could be realized in China. It seemed to him that “[in China] the time when everyone could be encouraged to develop his individuality has not yet come,” and he was not sure whether such a time would ever come in the future.22 The tension between the Chinese universalistic tendency and the Western origin not only engendered doubt and resistance, but also spawned a creative invention and reinterpretation of Western ideas and ideals. Xiaomei Chen characterizes this as a sense of ‘Occidentalism’ that bestowed on Chinese intellectuals an active agency to manipulate and appropriate the Western terms to suit the Chinese situation.23 Chen suggests that the May Fourth generation actively appropriated Western ideals and the idea of the West as a lever by which to negotiate between the Chinese past and the future of a modern nation-state. Although Chen takes Occidentalism as a counter-discourse negating both the West and tradition, it nonetheless uproots the ideas from their Western origin and transplanted them into the Chinese historical landscape. The negotiation between past and future, as well as the adoption of Western universal ideas, controversially and continually reveals the universalistic and moralizing tendency in a Chinese historical consciousness deeply rooted in tradition.

19 Maurice Meisner, Li Ta-chao and the Origins of Chinese Marxism (New York: Atheneum, 1979), 69. 20 This is obvious from the intellectual debates during the May Fourth era. 21 Lu Xun, Lu Xun quanji [The Complete Works of Lu Xun], (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1991), Vol. 11, 20, 354. See Cheng Guangwei, Zhongguo xiandai wenxueshi. 5. 22 Ibid. 23 Xiaomei Chen, “Occidentalism as Counterdiscourse: ‘Heshang’ in Post-Mao China,” Critical Inquiry 18, no. 4 (1992): 686–712. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 89

The Iron-House Past: Between Faith and Doubt

Certainly, during the May Fourth period, no matter how diversified intellectuals’ political positions, Confucian tradition as a whole was the common target of radical thinkers. Yet the spirit of iconoclasm went hand in hand with nationalism as a response to Western imperialism.24 The tension between them determines the ambivalent treatment of tradition. Whereas nationalism requires a construction of benign history for a sense of shared community, iconoclasm depicts the core of that tradition as a malignant tumor demanding immediate elimination. The inextricably intertwined contradiction between nationalism and iconoclasm therefore not only engenders the heterogeneity and complexity in Chinese modernization, but also undermines intellectual agency in the two treatments of tradition. Cultural revolution in China, in Kirk Denton’s words, “has in practice seemed to restore the traditional more than it has succeeded in destroying it.”25 Indeed, the past is an overwhelming existence, constantly haunting Chinese intellectuals. As Lu Xun stated in 1923:

Unfortunately China is very hard to change. Just to move a table or over- haul a stove probably involves shedding blood; and even so, the change may not get made. Unless some great whip lashes her on the back, China will never budge. Such a whip is bound to come, I think. But where it will come from or how it will come I do not know exactly.26

For Lu Xun, the ‘great whip,’ much like the historical shi-force or Benjaminian ‘storm’ blowing on the angel of history, “is bound to come,” but he puzzled over what that would mean for China.

24 Joseph Levenson and Theodore Huters both suggest that Chinese nationalism grew as the response of Western impact. Levenson argues that modern nationalism negates the traditional ‘culturalism,’ in which unity was derived from a set of cultural values embodied in sacred texts explicated by an intellectual elite; modern nationalism provides an alternative basis for unity. Huters also holds the idea that modernity in China includes both the need to reject the past and the idea of national salvation from imperialism. Joseph Levenson, Confucian China and Its Modern Fate: A Trilogy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1965). Theodore Huters, “Ideology of Realism in Modern China: the Hard Imperatives of Imported Theory” in Liu Kang and Xiaobing Tang, eds. Politics, Ideology, and Literary Discourse in Modern China: Theoretical Interventions and Cultural Critique (Durham: Duke University Press, 1993), 147–74. 25 Kirk Denton, Introduction to Modern Chinese Literary Thought: Writings on Literature, 1893–1945, ed. Kirk Denton (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1996), 11. 26 Lu Xun, “What Happens after Nora Leaves Home?” in Selected Works of Lu Xun, vol. 2, 92. 90 Chapter 3

This uncertainty, prevalent among intellectuals, generated multiple res ponses. It either transformed the old revolutionaries into new conservatives, such as Zhang Shizhao, or divided the new revolutionaries between mild reformists and radical Marxists, represented by Hu Shi and Chen Duxiu, respectively. However, although these intellectuals differed in their vision of the Chinese past in relation to an unknown future, their way of acting as progressive agents is nonetheless compatible with the traditional morality in that the agency is still a moral one.27 In 1925, during the well-known debate between New Culture activists and the traditionalist Jiayin group, Wu Zhihui published an article discussing three people holding three distinctive intellectual positions: the ‘regressive’ Zhang Shizhao who was against the New Culture movement and promoted traditional culture, the ‘radical’ Chen Duxiu who was iconoclastic and called for proletariat revolution, and the ‘mild’ Liang Qichao, who defended Chinese national capitalism. Despite their political differences, Wu incisively pointed out that all three shared two commonalities. First, they were sincerely patriotic and determined to revive China. Second, they were impatient, hoping to cure China effortlessly and immediately.28 Wu employed the metaphor of China as the Sick Man of East Asia, suggesting that three people conjured up three different prescriptions according to their diagnoses. In his words:

The republic has succeeded for fourteen years, yet China is still weak and damaged. [Therefore] they believe that the cure for the huge crisis must be something unprecedented in the world (this is also the common opinion within China). They have seen this Mr. Sick Man of East Asia lying in bed for so long, that they have decided to find proper remedies in order not to delay his recovery. One is suspicious that this gentleman has no ailment at all. It is the previous prescriptions that contaminate him. As long as he remains calm and detached, he will recover naturally. This doctor is Mr. Zhang. The other believes that the illness has been accumulated for ages, only to have worsened in the past fourteen years and thus requir- ing violent prescriptions like badou (purging croton) and dahuang (rhu- barb). This is Mr. Chen. Another [doctor] thinks that the patient was weak to begin with, and now his healing has been delayed again by the wrong medicines, which together have resulted in the condition today.

27 Prasenjit Duara, “De-constructing the Chinese Nation,” Australian Journal of Chinese Affaires 30, (July, 1993): 1–26. 28 Wu Zhihui, “Zhang Shizhao—Chen Duxiu—Liang Qichao,” in Zhang Ruoying, ed. Xin wenxue yundongshi ziliao, 255. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 91

We need mild medicine like huangqi (astragalus) or dangshen (Ginseng) to help him . . . This is Mr. Liang.29

Wu Zhihui then continued to describe the flaws in all three prescriptions, with a focus on criticizing Zhang Shizhao for his regressive attempt to restore bureaucratic tradition. For Wu, both Zhang Shizhao and Liang Qichao had been progressive in the past. In particular, Zhang over a decade before and well before his contemporaries, had made the farsighted prediction of the imminent crisis in Western political regimes, yet now he attempted to reverse course against the tide of historical development.30 The same was true for Liang, who failed to predict the inevitability of world revolution spreading to China. Liang further underestimated the conservative nature of the Chinese bureaucracy and the indecisive character of the bourgeois reformists. Since the reformists collaborated with the bureaucrats to suppress the revolutionaries, the disease had worsened and violent medicine was the only remedy. This helps to explain the outbreak of the Xinhai Revolution. Effective or not, revolution was the only way to temporarily relieve the symptoms. “Revolution was the demand of the contemporary situation, not just empty imagination or abstract propaganda by several activists.”31 Yet Wu did not believe in revolution either. He suspected that the radical prescription proposed by Chen Duxiu would lead China to chaos. At once admiring them for their patriotic effort and mocking them for their inaccurate diagnoses, Wu nonetheless did not present any feasible prescription himself. Falling into a multi-front battle against all possible parties, Wu yielded the ultimate historical agency to time. His general attitude was to be patient, waiting for China to progress over a longer term; haste makes waste. Wu also believed that, despite what these people were called in the present— whether national traitors, foreigners’ tools, or servants offering life-sustaining soup to foreigners on their deathbed—two hundred years later, all three would be praised as patriotic heroes. An early Kuomingtang (KMT) member, Wu was regarded highly by Jiang Jieshi (Chi’ang Kai-shek) and his followers. Yet despite Wu’s own Party association, he was critical of all the attempts at enlightenment and national salvation during the May Fourth period. His essay offers a unique glimpse into the intellectual landscape at that time when a deep-rooted historical way of thinking

29 Ibid., 255–6. Badou and dahuang are both strong herbal laxatives to cure constipation or other related illness. huangqi and dangshen are two other mild Chinese medicines helping to build up energy. 30 Ibid., 261. 31 Ibid., 256. 92 Chapter 3 was at work. First, there is an intrinsic historical timeline underlying the narrative—from before the Xinhai Revolution to the present, and even his projection to two hundred years into the future. Wu observed all three intellectuals in their respective historical contexts. Second, all three endeavored to cure China of its current situation, yet only the historical shi-trend could determine their success or failure. Individual agency is limited at best, anti- historical at worst. Third, Wu believed mild reform was the best policy and that unity among different parties would benefit China’s recovery. Yet he worried about the lingering force of traditional bureaucratic culture since the progressive bourgeois Party members were becoming new bureaucrats and collabo- rating with conservative forces. Finally, his call for patience demonstrates his ambivalent feelings toward enlightenment and progress. Without proposing any alternative action, his attitude indicates a crucial degree of pessimism beneath a superficial optimism. Wu’s vision of intellectual agency and the larger historical trend attests to some characteristics of what Thomas Metzger called the “zealously ideological, heroic self” with regard to time. For Metzger, regardless of the varying ideological positions, the ‘heroic self’ reveals the “common structure” or mode of thinking that still exists among modern Chinese intellectuals. He described six characteristics of the “heroic self”: First, the self is armed with a doctrinal system that explains the laws of the cosmos and history and fixes the goal of life. Second, this self is filled with a fiery, selfless determination to ‘struggle’ for this goal. Third, thus determined, the self is with ‘the people’ or with the people’s ‘real’ desires. Fourth, in this struggle, perceived historical tendencies constitute a ‘tide’ filled with ‘power’ and moving irresistibly toward the ego’s goal. Fifth, in this light, the key problem is fusing the ego’s heroic spirit with this powerful historical tide by “translating an inner vision into the outer world.” Finally, this heroic type, whether on the currently winning or losing side, “habitually expressed great optimism about the imminent change for the better in world affairs.”32 This observation of the ‘heroic self’ fits nicely with Wu Zhihui’s discussion of the three intellectuals yet oversimplifies their belief in a ‘doctrinal system’ and their optimism in the system. The fact that intellectuals constantly changed their positions and ‘remedies’ for China reveals their uncertainty about their

32 Thomas A. Metzger, “Comments on Leo Ou-fan Lee’s Paper at the Breckinridge Conference on Individualism and Holism”, unpublished, quoted in Leo Ou-fan Lee, “In Search of Modernity: Some Reflections on a New Mode of Consciousness in Twentieth- Century Chinese History and Literature,” in Ideas across Cultures, eds. Paul Cohen and Merle Goldman, 121. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 93 moral agency with regard to a larger historical trend. In fact, Wu Zhihui’s yield- ing to time exhibits the cosmic feature of the imperial-time-order, wherein individual agency is subject to a larger historical trend that, during the May Fourth period, remained unclear and overpowered by the centuries-long hold of traditional culture. Chen Duxiu used to note that the importance of Wu Zhihui to the KMT resembles that of the high esteem for Lu Xun in the CCP.33 Coincidentally, both also shared a similar distrust of the bureaucrats or the bureaucratized ‘gentlemen’ class. Their obvious enthusiasm for and concealed doubt concerning enlightenment, perhaps characterizes the common intellectual atmosphere of the May Fourth period. The clash between the subjective definition of lived time and transcendent historical time was again best illustrated in historical representations. However, unlike the late Qing period when national heroes such as Wen Tianxiang and Yue Fei were highlighted to serve as symbols for national identity, the May Fourth period featured unconventional, controversial historical personalities that demonstrate both the malleability of history subject to constant reinterpretation and the weakness of individual agency that, despite being mobilized by the trope of freedom, was overpowered by an entrenched social structure and the gravity of the past.

Women Rebels: Individual Agency and Social Change

In general, two types of historical figure were chosen to embody the enlightenment spirit: one was the woman rebel of imperial times reinvented to denounce the institution of Confucianism and its oppression of women. The other was the kind of pre-Qin legendary character that appeared in Lu Xun’s short stories to express rather complicated feelings toward individualism and enlightenment as a whole. Both figures suggest a trajectory of individual agency against traditional social structure. In particular, rebellious women trapped in a loveless marriage signify a gendered sensibility of enlightenment. The image of beautiful women being contained in embellished cages intensifies the feeling of suffocation and in turn, the awareness of time as well as the urgency to escape. Their declaration of independence thus not only calls for women’s emancipation, but also expresses a young generation’s desire for free love and freedom. However, the

33 Zhang Jiakang, “Chen Duxiu yu Lu Xun [Chen Duxiu and Lu Xun]),” in Wenshi jinghua [Gems of Culture and History], 2002, vol. 1, 48–51. 94 Chapter 3 failed rebellion and gender–centered approach made male writers profoundly anxious and uncertain about an independent, enlightened future. In 1923, Guo Moruo published two historical plays Zhuo Wenjun and Wang Zhaojun. He intended to write another about Cai Wenji to complete a trilogy on heroic women who denounce the suppressive Confucian ‘three obediences’: obedience to father before marriage, to husband in marriage, and to son after husband’s death. He wrote another play Nie Ying instead. Together these three plays constitute a collection entitled Three Rebellious Women.34 All three women are presented as independent characters that resist their fate dictated by Confucian rites. Zhuo Wenjun pursues free love despite her father’s objection; Wang Zhaojun rejects the emperor’s offer and volunteers to marry the Chanyu of Xiongnu tribe to end the border warfare; Nie Ying kills herself by her assassin brother’s side to draw attention to his little known heroic deed and as a call to people to follow their path of continued revolution. For Guo Moruo, these characters are archetypes of women’s enlightenment and liberation. Rebellious personality is the prerequisite for capable women to achieve something extraordinary in a patriarchal society. For famous women in history such as the poets Zhuo Wenjun, Li Qingzhao, or the only female emperor Wu Zetian, “It is not their superior talent that makes them rebellious, but their rebelliousness that allows for the full development of their talent.”35 Therefore, their rebellious character deserves accentuating and promoting. However, the tragic ending of each play underlines a preference for suffering and sacrifice, one that is intertwined in the complexities of conflict between generations, genders, and classes that dissolves the rebellious component of women’s liberation. Apart from the well-known historical stories of the protagonists, each play has a subplot that involves another imagined young woman who aspires to or engages in free love. As the enlightened double of the female protagonists, these young women’s disappointment with their respective love interests shows Guo Moruo’s distrust of men. There is no positive male figure in any of the three plays, with the exception of the minor background character Nie Zheng, the martyr assassin in Nie Ying. Once the male characters turn out to be untrustworthy lackeys, the free love these girls desire reaches a dead end. Death thus figures prominently in all three plays. Both the tragic suicides of the enlightened young women and the bloody executions of the antagonists suggest an aesthetic of violence that at

34 Guo Moruo, “Xie zai ‘sange panni de nüxing’ houmian [Postscript to Three Rebellious Women],” in Guo Moruo quanji [The Complete Works of Guo Moruo] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1986), vol. 6, 134–149. 35 Ibid., 136–137. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 95 once sensationalizes and compromises the spirit of enlightenment. Moreover, the female protagonists also have to suffer the consequences of their free choice. Wang Zhaojun’s rebellion against the emperor’s objectifying affection results in her lifelong loneliness in the northern steppe, a wandering soul in exile; and Nie Ying’s sacrifice only serves to perpetuate her brother’s name. These women’s hard earned independence does not bring them individual freedom and emancipation from their patriarchal society; on the contrary, they are either punished or sacrificed to the revolutionary cause. Only Zhuo Wenjun has a relatively promising ending. Yet, Wenjun’s suggested success is built on another girl’s sacrifice of her life. Furthermore, if we examine the subtext of Zhuo Wenjun together with Ouyang Yuqian’s play Pan Jinlian, Wenjun’s victory appears less encouraging. Zhuo Wenjun restages a celebrated Han Dynasty romantic story, in which Wenjun, a young widow known for her expertise in music and poetry, falls in love at first sight and elopes against her father’s wishes with Sima Xiangru, a distinguished essayist and poet. The story in Shiji has been celebrated among literati scholars. Wenjun’s behavior has enjoyed mixed receptions and interpretations ever since. Literati scholars took it as poetic material that evokes nostalgic and romantic feelings to testify to their commitment to the art of courting. Moralist educators, however, viewed it as immoral conduct that would corrupt young people’s ethics.36 For Guo Moruo, Wenjun represents a brave young woman whose story would encourage more followers to rebel against the “crystal cage” of the Confucian family institution. Therefore, he endowed Wenjun with a declaration of independence to blast tradition: “I believe my behavior will provide a role model for later generations.” Wenjun further says, “The old rules that you men created, the old rules that you old people maintain, will no longer constrain our enlightened young people, no longer constrain our enlightened women!”37 Unlike the secretive eloping of the original story, Guo Moruo’s play intensifies the contradiction between the young generation and the authoritar- ian patriarch by inventing several fictional characters that in actuality set things in motion and carry out dramatic acts. The patriarch’s camp consists of Wenjun’s father, Zhuo Wangsun, a crude, greedy, and snobbish merchant whose friendship with Xiangru is driven by desire to please the county magistrate who appreciates Xiangru’s talent, and Wenjun’s father-in-law, Cheng Zheng, who turns out to be a disgusting hypocrite pathologically obsessed with

36 Guo Moruo, “Xie zai ‘Sange panni de nüxing’ houmian” [Epilogue to Three Rebellious Women] in Guo Moruo quanji, vol. 6, 138. 37 Guo Moruo, “Zhuo Wenjun,” in Guo Moruo quanji, vol. 6, 55. 96 Chapter 3 desire for Wenjun. Despite their different motives, Zhuo and Cheng agree to keep Wenjun at home to fulfill her duty to her deceased husband. The young people’s camp consists of Wenjun, Xiangru, and Hongxiao, Wenjun’s maidservant, who emerges as a pioneering revolutionary, urging Wenjun to control her own fate and accept Xiangru’s love. Hongxiao and her secret lover Qin Er serve as messengers for Wenjun and Xiangru and help them prepare their escape. However, Qin Er changes his mind and reports the affair to Zhuo Wangsun in order to get the master’s approval for Hongxiao’s hand. Zhuo Wangsun and Cheng Zheng catch Wenjun and Hongxiao eloping. Wangsun demands that Wenjun kill herself. After Wenjun refuses, Hongxiao, devastated by her lover’s betrayal, stabs Qin Er to death. Emotionally overwhelmed, she then stabs herself and collapses on Qin Er’s body. Zhuo Wangsun and Cheng Zheng are so shocked, they flee and the scene ends with Xiangru left with the dumbfounded Wenjun. The play ends in suspense. In the aftermath of the dreadful deaths of Hongxiao and Qin Er, the reunion of Wenjun and Xiangru seems less than a triumph of love, and whether they live ‘happily ever after’ remains unknown. One cannot help but wonder why Guo Moruo had to let Hongxiao and Qin Er die. Would it not be more encouraging to restage a ‘grand reunion’ to grant the young people a liberating victory? Or if bloodshed is necessary, for the purpose of intensifying conflict, why does Hongxiao have to kill herself? As critic Zhang Jichi points out, Hongxiao’s death contradicts the primary theme of the play: “Since Hongxiao is an enlightened woman, as the key facilitator for Wenjun’s elopement and the executioner of Qin Er, why would she kill herself on top of Qin Er’s body to accomplish the mission of ‘eternal loyalty to one man’!”38 Guo Moruo’s historical plays of this period were often singled out for criticism for their lack of aesthetic values and for Guo’s awkward use of revolutionary language to serve his political ideals.39 Xiang Peiliang, for one, makes the trenchant observation of Guo Moruo that:

38 Zhang Jichun, “Zhuo Wenjun,” in Wang Xunzhao et al. Guo Moruo yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials on Guo Moruo] (Beijing: Zhishi chanquan chubanshe, 2010), 768. 39 See Gu Zhongyi, Jin hou de lishi ju [Historical Plays in the Future]; Xiang Peiliang, Suowei lishi ju [The So-called Historical Plays]; Zhang Kebiao, Guo Moruo de ‘Zhuo Wenjun” [Guo Moruo’s Zhuo Wenjun]; and Zhang Jichun, Zhuo Wenjun in Wang Xunzhao, et al. Guo Moruo yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials on Guo Moruo] (Beijing: Zhishi chanquan chubanshe, 2010), 715–727, 764–768. They all criticized Guo’s historical plays in this period for their lack of aesthetics and their exaggerated motives to serve the revolutionary or rebellious ideals. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 97

In general, Guo Moruo is one of the relatively promising authors—his strength lies in his courage and boldness. But after all he is someone who has been deeply and chronically intoxicated by the old literature and old teaching; in his works, we can see two dramatically distinctive things— although he is walking forward, he still falls into the old traps.40

Hongxiao’s “eternal loyalty to one man” seems to be one of these “old traps.” The fact that he made Nie Ying die to honor Nie Zheng, Wang Zhaojun and Mao Shuji volunteer to go into exile to challenge the emperor, and Hongxiao kill her lover and then herself to rebel against the patriarch, marks a disturbing quality to the rebellion in Guo Moruo’s plays—sacrifice. It seems that there is an unconscious ‘death drive’ that affected Guo Moruo, prompting him to use the excess of death, loss, and despair as dramatic props to demonstrate how the individual’s strong will ironically dissolve into nothing other than the ‘poetics of martyrdom.’ Individual agency, trapped between the ‘new’ and the ‘old,’ cannot express itself but through the theatricality of sacrifice. On the other hand, women’s sacrifice mirrors the sickness and weakness of men. If men (such as Qin Er) are not enlightened, Guo implied, the destiny for enlightened women is either death or self-exile. The identification with women martyrs therefore suggests a gendered sensibility and a pessimistic attitude toward enlightenment. One may argue that Wenjun’s love interest, Sima Xiangru, seems to be a positive figure in the play. Yet he stays in the background for the most part and displays no signs of enlightenment. Moreover, if we consider the historical subtext off stage that could offer a more promising ending, the play’s exemplarity and revolutionary potential are further compromised. According to the record in Shiji, after Wenjun’s elopement, the dispossessed couple were poverty- stricken, and had to open a small wine shop to make ends meet. Their courage and love for each other deeply touched other people who persuaded Wenjun’s father to forgive them. In the end, the father gave in so that they lived happily ever after with abundant wealth. Romantic and pleasant, this story had been celebrated by literati scholars for centuries to extol an independent, resolute, and talented woman who turned emotional excess and transgression into a productive relationship that eventually won sympathy and applause. The key to her success and the reason that the story was widely circulated, however, does not just lie in her rebellious

40 Xiang Peiliang, “Suowei lishi ju [The So-called Historical Plays],” in Wang Xunzhao, et al. Guo Moruo yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials on Guo Moruo] (Beijing: Zhishi chanquan chubanshe, 2010), 722. 98 Chapter 3 spirit and her eye-catching romantic encounter; it was her prestigious background that could elevate Sima Xiangru’s social status and living standard. From a feminist perspective, Wenjun is denounced by one patriarch, her father, yet embraced by other, more underprivileged men, like Sima Xiangru. Rather than escaping a suffocating patriarchal social order, she was reincorporated into that order. In other words, the traditional patriarchal order is not consistently oppressive to women. Sometimes disadvantaged men could col- laborate with free-spirited women to deconstruct that order within the male- dominated world. Socioeconomically, the self-deconstruction within the male world almost always concerns a poor young scholar and a wealthy older patriarch or matriarch—the asymmetrical confrontation between two generations of different social status. Women’s free love, in this regard, turns out to be a valuable vehicle by which unprivileged men could advance themselves. The late Qing scholar Wang Kaiyun speculated that the great historian Sima Qian wrote about Zhuo Wenjun in order to inspire women of later generations to self-salvation. This comment is perhaps influenced by the late Qing discourse on women’s liberation, which is much less convincing than his student Chen Rui’s intuition from a totally different perspective. On his friend Wang Xiangqi’s comment on this romantic story that Sima Qian’s intention was probably to pave way for the practice of uxorilocal marriage, Chen responded: “Truly insightful! Those who blindly advocate ‘free marriage’ should know where it comes from!” Modern scholar Qian Zhongshu applauds Chen Rui’s opinion on this, suggesting that Sima Qian approved of Wenjun’s behavior more for her helping the man to gain social prestige than for promoting free love.41 Free love has a price. In a patriarchal society, it means the woman has to enjoy a higher social status so that the man can benefit from it financially and politically. On the surface this successful story undermines the rule of the patriarch within the family, yet in effect it reinforces the patriarchal social order, in which men have all the financial, political, and intellectual capital. As discussed above, there is a lack of positive male figures in the play. Sima Xiangru’s character is often described in the words of others. In Hongxiao’s eyes, he is a fragile scholar often possessed by loneliness and sentimentality.42 From Zhuo Wangsun’s perspective, he is no more than a useless beggar dependent upon the county magistrate.43 Although Wenjun admires his literary

41 Qian Zhongshu, “Sima Xiangru liezhuan [The Biography of Sima Xiangru],” in Shiji huizhu kaozheng 58 ze [Fifty-eight Evidential Notes on Shiji],” in Qian, Guan zhui bian [Limited Views: Essays on Ideas and Letters] (Hong Kong: Zhonghua shuju, 1980), vol. 1, 360. 42 Guo Moruo, “Zhuo Wenjun,” in Guo Moruo quanji, vol. 6, 23. 43 Ibid., 35. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 99 talent, Xiangru remains a poor scholar in need of social recognition. He is incapable of initiating revolutionary change in his own fate. Keeping this subtext in mind, Wenjun’s exemplarity as a rebellious woman is further offset. It carries a socioeconomic connotation that rebellion comes with a cost, its success relying on financial wellbeing. Indeed, historically, literati scholars generally excused sexual transgression among women of high social status, yet among women from lower social status it was usually regarded as immoral and thereby disdained by Confucian doctrine. As an example, Pan Jinlian depicts her love for both Wu Song and Ximen Qing as pure lust, and she was vilified as the archetype of a depraved woman. In 1928, Ouyang Yuqian published a play titled Pan Jinlian (“P’an Chin- lien”) to rewrite the tales of this murderous, adulterous female.44 Originally a fictional character in the sixteenth-century novel Shui hu zhuan (“Water Margin”), Pan Jinlian also plays a major role in the seventeenth-century novel Jin Ping Mei (“The Plum in the Golden Vase”). In the novel Shui hu zhuan, Jinlian first appears as an attractive maid for the wealthy master Zhang who, angry at her refusing his sexual advances, punishes her by marrying her off to the short, hideous, incompetent cake vendor Wu Da. Disappointed with her dreary daily life and an incompetent husband, Jinlian falls in love with Wu Da’s younger brother, the handsome, brawny, tiger-killer Wu Song. After Wu Song rejects her advances and leaves town, Jinlian quickly has a secret affair with a rich merchant, Ximen Qing, with the help of an older woman Wang Po. Once she realizes Wu Da is aware of her adultery, she poisons him for fear that he will tell Wu Song. On his return Wu Song investigates his brother’s mysterious death and, on learning the truth, he executes both Jinlian and Ximen. It is almost an erotically cathartic moment in the novel when Wu Song eliminates this unredeemable woman to avenge his innocent brother’s murder. Ouyang Yuqian’s play, however, offers a rousing and sensitive portrait of Jinlian as more of a victim deserving sympathy. Her misfortune originates as much from her underprivileged social standing as from her assertive character. For Ouyang Yuqian, “. . . a woman, being a maidservant, could not reject the master’s rape, nor could she refuse the master’s forcefully marrying her off. Even though she possesses intelligence, pride, and rationality, she could do nothing but hide [these qualities] and let others torment her. She has no alternative but to bury her youth quietly. Is this circumstance any different from being buried alive? If the woman is vulnerable, she would just submit to fate; if

44 Ouyang Yuqian (Ou-yang Yu-Ch’ien), Pan Chin-lien, trans. Catherine Swatek, in Edward Gunn, ed. Twentieth-Century Chinese Drama (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983), 52–75. 100 Chapter 3 she is someone like Pan Jinlian with strong character, she would definitely seek her way out.”45 It is Jinlian’s character that leads her to become an adulteress and murderer, yet the common fate of less prestigious women predetermines Jinlian’s unfortunate life in any case. Probing into the stifling gender and class situation, Ouyang Yuqian stresses Jinlian’s misfortune at the hands of master Zhang, which sets in motion all the following tragic events. The play opens with master Zhang’s brazen remarks on his possessive attitude towards women, likening keeping women to raising goldfish, and contrasting the rebellious Jinlian with other, opportunistically submissive women around Zhang. Jinlian appears as an innocent, strong- minded girl who is obviously immune to monetary temptation. Her later treacherous and murderous behavior, it seems, results from a self-destructive revenge against men and the patriarchal society. “I’d rather be hated than be pitied,” Jinlian says in Act Two.46 She does not love Ximen Qing, because “he relies on his money and influence to come around here looking for a good time—where does he have any real feelings?” Deeply wounded, she explains the affair with self-destructive bitterness:

I only keep him around to relieve my boredom and pass the time. The minute I can’t take him anymore the whole thing will be off. What’s there to like about men? All they do is bully us. Even if you had all the talent in the world they wouldn’t let you do anything with it. All you can do is dance on their strings.47

Moreover, Jinlian speaks about the unfair treatment of women since ancient times:

Whenever a man wants to abuse a woman there are lots of men to back him up. Only women who meekly allow men to torture them to death are ‘chaste and exemplary.’ Anyone who survives the ordeal is a whore, and the woman who isn’t willing to put up with a man’s abuse is a criminal.48

45 Ouyang Yuqian, “Pan Jinlian zi xu [Self Preface to Pan Jinlian],” in Ouyang Yuqian yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials on Ouyang Yuqian], ed. Su Guanxin (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1989), 154. 46 Ouyang Yuqian (Ou-yang Yu-Ch’ien), Pan Chin-lien, 59. 47 Ibid., 58. 48 Ibid., 65. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 101

It seems that master Zhang’s vicious punishment, Ximen Qing’s foolish toy- ing, and most importantly, Wu Song’s cold rejection, all contribute to her inexorable desire for revenge and subsequent demise. It is men in general and their patriarchal society that transform this strong-minded woman into a murderer. In the last act, when Wu Song prepares to execute her, the scene is powerfully erotic:

Chin-Lien [Jinlian]: Everyone has to die, better to commit the crime, face disaster, and die forthright than be tortured to death bit by bit. To be able to die at the hand of the man I love—even to die—is something I’ll do gladly. Brother—is it my head you want, or my heart? Wu Sung [Wu Song]: I want to cut out your heart. Chin-Lien: Ah, you want my heart. That is very good. I’ve already given you my heart. It was here, but you didn’t take it. Come and see— [She tears open her clothing] inside this snow-white breast is a very red, very warm, very true heart. Take it! [As the neighbors, nerves drawn taut, watch with amazement, Wu Sung drags Chin-Lien to him with one arm; she half reclines on the ground...... Chin-Lien: [raises both hands] Ah! You’ve killed Hsi-men Ch’ing [Ximen Qing]. That shows that I was right all along. But brother, you just said that I’d better go with Hsi-men Ch’ing. Those words really hurt me. I can’t be together with you in this life, in my next life I’ll be reborn as an ox and flay my hide to make boots for you. I’ll be reborn as a silk- worm and spin silk to make clothes for you. Even if you kill me, I will still love you. [She opens wide her arms, wanting to get up and embrace Wu Sung and fixing him with a look of passionate feeling] Wu Sung: [Steps backward, his left hand grasping Chin-Lien’s right hand, eyes open wide] You love me? I . . . I . . . [With one thrust of the knife Chin-Lien falls. Wu Sung stares at the corpse and lets the knife drop to the ground. All are struck dumb] [Curtain]49

This violent scene articulates the widely celebrated theme ‘love.’ Yet unlike Zhuo Wenjun’s productive romance, Pan Jinlian’s love is destructive and obses- sive. Wu Song never shows a single hint of being able to return Jinlian’s passionate gaze. If love is the only placeholder of Jinlian’s happiness, then not only does the patriarchal society deprive her of right to love, but her own misplaced

49 Ibid., 75. 102 Chapter 3 love also closes the door to happiness. As long as Wu Song stands in Jinlian’s mind in contrast to the corrupt master Zhang and Ximen Qing, her condemnation of men in general will be undermined. Or, if we believe Wu Song is also a victim in this suffocating social order while Jinlian is the only enlightened one, there is still no suggestion that they could be happy together should Wu Song be enlightened enough. In other words, Jinlian loves someone she should not love, which plays an important role in her demise, one that is more of “a tragedy of character than a tragedy of fate,” the same phrase Guo Moruo used to describe his character Wang Zhaojun. In this regard, the play succeeds more in portraying an unfortunate woman than promoting free love or criticizing the patriarchal social order. Without an alternative positive solution, Jinlian must die. Moreover, just like confessions of sexual behavior described in Michel Foucault’s History of Sexuality served to arouse the clergymen listening to them, the violently erotic scene at the end seems to arouse male voyeur- ism and so reinforce the status quo more than generate revolutionary support for women’s liberation. Meanwhile, if we examine Zhuo Wenjun and Pan Jinlian together, we see another interesting aspect in the two rebellious women’s love stories— economic status. While Wenjun’s success depends on the economic and symbolic capital associated with her that could make a lucky winner of the man whom she chooses, Jinlian’s failure not surprisingly originates from her lack of such capital—her underprivileged and dependent economic status. Just as the heated discussion about Ibsen’s Nora suggests, women’s freedom is defined by economic independence. In the early 1920s, Lu Xun wrote an essay called Nala zouhou zenyang (“What Happens after Nora Leaves Home?”), raining on the parade of the feverish campaign for women’s freedom spearheaded by the translation and adaptation of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. He made the sober observation that Nora is oppressed not just as a woman, but also as a member of a dispossessed class.50 Spiritual freedom without material guarantees could only make women (and men) fall back on the fatalistic triumph of the old patriarchal social order. Therefore, women’s liberation during the May Fourth period, as a movement initiated by men, appears to be no more than a by-product of a male-centered patricidal movement, assisting the young generation to gain political, intellectual, and economic independence.

50 Haiyan Lee. Revolution of the Heart: A Genealogy of Love in China, 1900–1950 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007), 112. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 103

In a wartime speech about women’s fate, Guo Moruo continued the discussion about Nora and asserted that women’s emancipation relies on the overall liberation of society:

Where should Nora go after she leaves the dollhouse? [She should] acquire necessary knowledge and skills to gain economic independence; strive for women’s self-liberation through the liberation of the entire society; take up the respective obligations of women in the cause of overall social liberation, and be ready to sacrifice her life to accomplish these missions—this is the right answer.51

Here he incorporated women into the project of overall social revolution, submitting the individual’s liberation to the collective cause, and meanwhile, extending his theatrical aesthetics of sacrifice to sacrifice for a righteous calling that is larger than life. Yet during the May Fourth period, before intellectuals consciously adopted the path of socioeconomic revolution, their solution for spiritual ‘rebellion’ seems to have stopped at individual ‘sacrifice’ or ‘death.’ The self-destructive deaths of Hongxiao and Jinlian suggest more the anxiety and uncertainty of enlightenment than the steadfast belief in individual liberation. From the perspective of literary practice, it is no coincidence that writers of the May Fourth period were drawn to the Western theatrical form of tragedy. Both Guo Moruo and Ouyang Yuqian had been influenced by tragedies, especially those of Shakespeare.52 The combination of revolutionary content with a tragic form betrays a fundamental angst toward enlightenment. As Timothy Hampton points out, tragedy as a genre is intrinsically problematic in representing exemplary characters and rousing imitation in reality. For tragedy usually depicts the downfall of a hero with inborn weakness or imperfect virtues (such as Oedipus) and it poses a question about the relationship of the narrative to public action: “this sacrificial element in tragedy which sparks the pity and fear analyzed by Aristotle in the Poetics serves precisely to appease the audience and reaffirm its communal ideals rather than inflame it to

51 Guo Moruo, “Nala de da an [Nora’s Answer],” quoted in Chu Shuchu, “Hu fu [The Tiger Tally],” an essay commenting on Guo Moruo’s wartime play, The Tiger Tally. In Wang Xunzhao et al. Guo Moruo yanjiu ziliao, 781. 52 Guo Moruo admitted that Goethe and Shakespeare were influences in writing his historical plays. See Guo Moruo, “Xie zai ‘Sange panni de nüxing’ houmian” [Postscript to Three Rebellious Women],” in Guo Moruo quanji, vol. 6, 143–145. 104 Chapter 3 action.”53 The plays of both Guo Moruo and Ouyang Yuqian present the suffering and sacrifice of imperfect heroines with character flaws that from the beginning paralyze the characters’ exemplarity and render the plays no more than mere transmitters of an empty discourse of rebellion. In this regard, the identification with these rebellious women indicates that progressive writers, in this case, Guo Moruo and Ouyang Yuqian, found themselves caught in a larger web of signifying powers. Though ostensibly individualistic and iconoclastic, they were in a weak and disadvantaged situation. The gendered presentation of enlightenment overshadows their ability to initiate change. A long established view among modern Chinese intellectuals held that Chinese culture was feminine compared to its Western counterparts. In fact, the stigma of being effeminate, and thus not fully ‘civilized,’ had registered in intellectual consciousness since the late Qing period, and motivated the practice of pursuing modernity and building a modern nation. Scholars have argued that women’s status has historically been regarded as an index of the degree of civilization. The assumption was that there was a ‘ladder’ of social development, and women’s position served as an indicator of the rung society currently occupied.54 As Sanjay Seth points out, in the early nineteenth century, Scottish enlightenment thinker John Millar had already argued that, “as societies progressed from ‘ignorance to knowledge, and from rude to civilized manners,’ the position of women improved accordingly, from being virtual slaves of men to being their ‘friends and companions.’ ”55 In other words, the more exalted women were, the more civilized the society. Accepting this gendered logic of civilization, non-Western countries have to various extents worked to improve women’s condition on their way toward modernity. Chinese intellectuals also took women’s status as a site of anxiety and activity in order to transform their society. However, the gendered discussion about civilization did not stop at women in the Chinese context. Still taking a male-centered point of view, intellectuals saw femininity as a less favorable trait shared by both men and women in China that signified the ‘backwardness’ of Chinese civilization. Chinese men were not only blamed for their degradation and suppression of women, but they themselves were also seen as the victims of Confucian teachings which

53 Timothy Hampton, Writing from History, 199. 54 Sanjay Seth, “Nationalism, Modernity, and the ‘Women Question’ in India and China,” The Journal of Asian Studies 72, no. 2 (2013): 274. 55 Millar’s argument was made in 1806. Cited in Sanjay Seth, “Nationalism, Modernity,” 274. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 105 celebrated the ‘civil’ (wen) rather than the ‘martial’ (wu) qualities of a man. As a result, intellectuals lamented, Chinese men lacked the masculinity required to confront Western militant modernity.56 As early as the turn of the twentieth century when Liang Qichao was in exile in Japan, he witnessed a ritualistic recruitment of soldiers on the street. The Japanese people’s enthusiasm for the glory of war made him ponder the difference between the militant Japanese and the pacific Chinese. He later attributed China’s weakness to a lack of military spirit, agreeing in essence with a Japanese scholar’s view about China as an effeminate nation.57 Similarly, in the postscript of Three Rebellious Women, Guo Moruo stated that, compared to Western men, Chinese men were almost all feminine:

Our Chinese people’s subjection to suspicion, jealousy, laziness, subservi- ence, dependence, attention to trivial matters, gossiping, lack of concern for national affairs outside of family affairs, and lack of concern for society beyond oneself, are all feminine traits. Aren’t all these feminine qualities also apparent in men? . . . The male-centered morality first turned women into chimpanzees, then turned men into women. A country like ours as such can really be called ‘motherly’ [backward]! So how can we still be content with such degeneration and not think of self-salvation?58

Regardless of the gender hierarchy they set up, the inferiority complex tied with gender identification to some extent resembles ‘castration anxiety’ and the feeling of ‘deficiency’ in male intellectuals. Perhaps this gendered analysis of Confucian culture explains the shadowy male characters such as Sima Xiangru, to whom the author likened himself. The tragic endings of rebellious women, thus, not only reinforce the predicament of women’s emancipation, but also mark male writers’ profound anxiety and uncertainty over an independent, enlightened future.

56 Wendy Larson, “The Self Loving the Self: Men and Connoisseurship in Modern Chinese Literature,” in Chinese Masculinities, Chinese Feminities: A Reader, edited by Susan Brownell and Jeffrey N. Wasserstrom (Berkeley and Los Angles: University of California Press, 2002), 177. 57 Xiaobing Tang, Global Space and the Nationalist Discourse of Modernity: the Historical Thinking of Liang Qichao, 15. 58 Guo Moruo, “Xie zai sange panni de nuxing houmian” [The Postscript to Three Rebellious Women] in Guo Moruo quanji [The complete works of Guo Moruo], vol. 6, 137. 106 Chapter 3

Both Guo Moruo and Ouyang Yuqian wrote more historical plays later in their lives, plays that express more overt belief in collective force. Yet the May Fourth period witnessed their constant frustration in promoting individual enlightenment. The dilemma between individual heroes and collective social force, and between enlightenment and the lingering power of tradition, was most discernable in Lu Xun’s writings. An individualistic and iconoclastic loner, Lu Xun in his later years more and more expressed his doubts about individualism and turned his hope to collective force, which was best manifested in his short stories in Gushi xinbian.

Lu Xun’s Unconventional Heroes in Old Tales Retold: Between the Rhetorical and the Real

Written from 1922 to 1935, Old Tales Retold (hereafter Old Tales); contains eight short stories from ancient mythology and history re-told in the form of a national allegory of contemporary Chinese society.59 As such, one major aspect of these stories is the collapse of the distinction between past and present temporalities, rendering the narrative a timeless history, one that transcends both past and present, posing questions about the future. The temporal dimension in these stories, besides acting as a narrative strategy to mock contemporary reality, casts a doubtful shadow on both past and present. It provides a rare glimpse into Lu Xun’s grief, not only his skepticism about past civilization, but also his pessimism about the current enlightenment. Critics have noted that Old Tales was written at a time when Lu Xun was constantly experiencing personal and social crises. Along with other contemporary works that demonstrate his iconoclastic fighting spirit, Old Tales exhibits Lu Xun’s deepest suspicion about innovative change in society and the possibility of enlightenment. As both a fighter and a doubter, Lu Xun found himself caught in his own vision of history and Chinese civilization in general.60 One of his eight stories, “Mending Heaven” (“Bu tian”) was written in 1922; while others like “Flight to the Moon” (“Ben yue”) and “Forging the Swords” (“Zhu jian”) were written in 1926. Accompanying his enthusiastic support for the iconoclastic enlightenment movement and call for an individualistic, humanistic society, these three stories nonetheless reveal Lu Xun’s fundamental dis-

59 Cheng Guangwei, Zhongguo xiandai wenxue shi, 65. 60 Qian Liqun, Gushi xinbian man tan [A Casual Reading of Old Tales Retold]. A talk given in Guolinfeng bookstore. Electronic access: http://www.univs.cn/univs/hust/content .php?id=101551 Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 107 trust of the enlightenment. Lu Xun draws his heroes from ancient myths: Nüwa the Goddess-Creator, Houyi, the legendary archer who shot down nine suns in the sky, and Meijianchi, who successfully avenged his father’s death. All three stories pose the question: what would happen after the heroes accomplish their extraordinary deeds? Regarding the reality of Lu Xun’s time, the question then becomes a quest for the destiny of the heroes after the enlightenment movement. All three heroes experience unavoidable adversity and eventual loss. And their efforts prove to be no more than futile attempts. Not only does Nüwa encounter criticism and misunderstanding when she tries to repair the sky, but she also suffers the exploitation of her body and name after she dies of exhausting work. Those whom she created yet once criticized her now reside in her belly for its rich resources, claiming to be her legitimate descendants. The supposed immortal mountain she placed on the turtle’s back also turns out to be the barbaric islands.61 The great blueprint to create civilization manifests itself as no more than delusion and miscomprehension. Similarly, in “Flight to the Moon”, after Houyi hunts down nine suns and all the big animals, he finds himself sinking into emptiness and depression. He benefits neither the world, nor his family. His heroic behavior ironically eliminates his own resources for survival, which finally results in his wife’s betrayal.62 The hero’s self-doubt and frustration are most highlighted in “Forging the Swords”. As the Dark Man (heise ren) attempts to convince Meijianchi to allow him to take revenge, he directs his unbearable rage toward both the hypocritical world and himself:

I knew your father, just as I have always known you, but this is not my reason for coming to you tonight . . . Your vengeance is mine; and so is his. I have no care for myself—my soul is thick with scars, inflicted by others and by my own hand; I hate myself for it.63

61 Lu Xun, “Mending Heaven,” in The Real Story of Ah-Q and Other Tales of China: The Complete Fiction of Lu Xun, trans. Julia Lovell (London: Penguin Books, 2009), 306. 62 Critics usually pay more attention to the background of this story, taking the story as Lu Xun’s response to a young writer Gao Changhong at that time. Although Lu Xun admits that the stories in Xinbian are not serious historical writings, overly emphasizing the contingent events in Lu Xun’s life may only obscure his serious thinking about Chinese civilization. I take this story as the product of his historically oriented thinking about the enlightenment movement. For another reading of this story, see Leo Oufan Lee, Voices from the Iron House: A Study of Lu Xun, (Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1987), 34. 63 Lu Xun, “Forging the Swords,” in The Real Story of Ah-Q and Other Tales of China: The Complete Fiction of Lu Xun, trans. Julia Lovell (London: Penguin Books, 2009), 361. 108 Chapter 3

Leo Ou-fan Lee sees this ambiguous statement as having no rational basis and so incomprehensible that it only serves to contribute to the creative surrealism of Lu Xun’s writing.64 Yet in the story it is this statement that immediately wins Meijianchi’s trust with his life and his sword, paving the way for the success of later revenge. The crucial function of the statement betrays Lu Xun’s penchant for piercing words to carry the power of determining life and death. With trenchant comments on the discrepancy between rhetoric and reality, Lu Xun was able to probe into the grimness of society through the Dark Man’s eyes: “Don’t insult me with such language,” the Dark Man rebukes Meijianchi for calling him “O champion of justice,” “Justice, pity—once, these words were pure. Now, they are the debased capital of fiendish usurers.”65 Unlike the madman in “The Madman’s Diary,” whose madness turns out to be the sober perception of the illness of society and who appears to be the enlightened individual,66 the Dark Man fails to find a transcendent or interior view of society. Rather, he finds himself tormented within the very heart of society, without any language to justify his action. Inasmuch as the language is manipulated and exploited as pure rhetoric, he is in a non-place of symbolic power. He is not just in a position that is against the king, but he himself is situated within the symbolic order that the king represents. If the king justifies himself as moral and orderly, there is no language left for the Dark Man to claim his righteous stance. Meijianchi’s personal enmity, shouldered by the Dark Man, is in this sense elevated into a social, structural cause. By the end of the story the overwhelming symbolic order merges everyone within its melting pot, leaving no way to distinguish the good from the evil, self from other. The image of three unidentifiable skulls of the king, the Dark Man, and Meijianchi in the boiling water vividly mirrors the troubling social reality Lu Xun envisioned. To some extent, the big cauldron with boiling water creates an imaginary, allegorical world as opposed to the symbolic world outside the cauldron. Outside, the courtiers, the concubines of the king, and the people who witness the funeral procession, together construct a symbolic social order. In this order structured by language people are blind, ignorant, hypocritical, and incapable of distinguishing the king from the assassins. Only within the cauldron lies the truth, implying that justice can only be done in a primitive, violent way. It blends the good and evil together, refusing to be characterized in

64 Leo Ou-fan Lee, Voices from the Iron House: A Study of Lu Xun, 36. 65 Lu Xun, “Forging the Swords,” 361. 66 There is also ambiguity in that story. Since the madman finally recovers to become ‘normal’ in the introduction of the narrator, he is hardly an enlightened hero who can escape from the old regime. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 109 any terms that exist in civilization. It is particularly revealing that the revenge is finally accomplished through a battle between the three heads, and the only weapons they have are their mouths and teeth! A grotesque image of vivid imagination, it nonetheless sheds light on Lu Xun’s pessimistic and cynical attitude toward the intellectual debates and the enlightenment movement. In her study on Lu Xun’s work in this period, Shu-mei Shih points out that Lu Xun employed Freudian psychoanalysis in his experimental writing.67 Lu Xun himself once explained why he created the character Nüwa the way he did in “Mending Heaven”: he meant to show how the “primordial incipience of the sexual urge resulted in creation and death.”68 Beyond sexual desire in the ahistorical, Freudian sense, Shu-mei Shih observes that the Freudian content in Lu Xun’s work nevertheless bears specific historical significance. Lu Xun’s use of Freudian psychology “echoes Kuriyagawa Hakuson, in whose conception the repression of desire and life force in the libido produces anguish, and the expression of this anguish in symbolic form is art.”69 Shih interprets Lu Xun’s creation of madness and grotesque images as the manifestation and embodiment of anguish. By constructing madness in grotesque images, Lu Xun was able to release unconscious fears and desires and make discernable the latent content of Chinese society.70 Focusing on Lu Xun’s experimental writing using psychology and other Western techniques, Shih convincingly identifies Lu Xun as a complete Occidentalist who confidently borrowed foreign knowledge and technology without fear of cultural contamination or subjugation.71 However, she is not convincing in identifying him as a steadfast believer of progress who only embraced linear development. Freudian psychoanalysis does not signify any sense of historical development as linear and progressive; on the contrary, the repressed, condensed, and displaced desire reveals itself repeatedly in disguised forms. What psychoanalysis conveys is the never-ending pursuit for origin, unfulfilled desire for return, and a non-linear time flow, which appealed to some Chinese intellectuals not only for its insight into individual psychology,

67 Shu-mei Shih, The Lure of the Modern: Writing Modernism in Semicolonial China, 1917–1937. (Berkeley, Los Angeles, & London: University of California Press, 2001), 89–91. 68 Lu Xun, “Wo zenme zuoqi xiaoshuo lai [How I Started Writing Fiction],” (1933), in Lu Xun quanji [The Complete Works of Lu Xun], vol. 4, 513. 69 Shu-mei Shih, The Lure of the Modern, 90. 70 Ibid. 71 Ibid., 86. 110 Chapter 3 but also for its function to express anxiety and denunciation of reality.72 Shih also acknowledges that psychoanalysis did not fit seamlessly into the May Fourth ideology of progress.73 Lu Xun’s conscious employment of psychoanalysis on the other hand exhibits his unacknowledged doubt about progress and linear development. Just as the grotesque image of three heads signifies the unspeakable horror and violence of civilization beyond comprehension, Lu Xun’s use of psychoanalysis casts a doubtful shadow on his enlightenment project. Moreover, Lu Xun’s Occidental universalism is crystallized in his notion of “grabbism” (na lai zhu yi 拿来主义). “[D]efined as borrowing from other countries with confidence, like a master who chooses freely according to his needs and not like a neurotic who fears the loss of indigenous tradition or enslave- ment by what is borrowed,”74 the concept of grabbism does not take the West as a homogeneous and righteous entity. Rather, it separates the good from the evil, with the good serving for China’s enlightenment and the evil threatening to destroy that enlightenment. Seen in this light, what for Lu Xun had seemed to be the clear boundaries of China and the West become porous. The West is not all together advanced and admirable, and Chinese civilization is not totally corrupt and disposable. In this sense, Lu Xun’s iconoclastic stance may be less radical than it appeared to be and his later Marxist turn may become more comprehensible. Not until the 1930s did Lu Xun’s historical fiction display more of the positive side of Chinese culture and his collective consciousness. The other five stories in Old Tales that were written during 1934–1935 shift the focus from an individual hero’s destiny to the entire philosophical foundation of Chinese civilization. Still maintaining a cynical and pessimistic tone toward intellectual discourse, Lu Xun nonetheless separated the real from the hypocritical, distinguished the merely speculative from the practical, and turned to the pragmatic, hard-working people he considered as the exemplars of the civilization. In these stories, intellectual discourses like Confucianism and Daoism are unsparingly attacked as empty rhetoric. “Leaving the Pass” (“Chu guan”) depicts Confucius as a mediocre and invidious hypocrite, whose suspicion and jealousy drive Lao Zi to leave his territory. Similarly, “Resurrection” (“Qi Si”) portrays Zhuang Zi as an impractical daydreamer incapable of dealing with reality. Even though he believes that in principle, clothes are unnecessary for

72 Jingyuan Zhang, Psychoanalysis in China: Literary Transformations, 1919–1949 (Ithaca: Cornell East Asia Series, 1992), 66. 73 Shu-mei Shih, The Lure of the Modern. 63. 74 Ibid., 86. Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 111 the human being to embrace the Dao and harmonize with nature, he himself insists on dressing formally to meet authority while refusing to give his clothes to the naked man he revived. In other stories, the trenchant cynicism toward intellectual discourses nonetheless gives way to the optimistic portrayal of heroes. Self-sacrificing and courageous, these heroes sincerely care about the people and take great pains to solve practical problems in times of adversity. Yu-the-Great in “Taming the Floods” (“Li shui”) and Mo Zi in “Anti Aggression” (“Fei gong”) belong to this group. Hard working without expecting personal benefit, for Lu Xun they are the real heroes in Chinese civilization. As Lu Xun described them in his essay, “Since ancient times, there have always been people who are hard working with their heads down, who stick to their way even at the cost of their lives, who dare to challenge authority for the benefit of the people, and who sacrifice their lives to pursue justice and truth. . . . They are the backbone of China.”75 Rather than dismissing Chinese civilization and the entire intellectual heritage, Lu Xun wanted to be able to distinguish the genuine from the false, the fighter from the speaker, and the sincere believer from the hypocritical talker. What he was cynical and pessimistic about was the manipulation of people by usurping ideology or discourse, not the moral values promoted in the discourse. However, for Lu Xun, the boundary between the genuine and the false was not always clear-cut, since he had a deep-rooted suspicion and distrust of human beings and the conditional nature of the traditional moral code. The ambivalence of his attitude can be best discerned in “Gathering Ferns” (“Cai wei”). “Gathering Ferns” reproduces the story of Boyi and Shuqi recorded in the first-century BCE text Shiji (“The Records of the Grand Historian”), as well as drawing on some of the numerous other, unofficial versions of the story over the centuries. “Gathering Ferns” compresses the different perspectives of this story into one tale that not only casts a doubtful shadow on the protagonist’s character, but also reveals the conditional nature of the moral system in traditional culture. In the original version in the Shiji, Boyi and Shuqi, sons of Prince Guzhu in the kingdom of Shang, are portrayed as steadfast believers in moral integrity and unconditional loyalty toward authority. Disappointed with King Wu’s disloyalty and conquest of the Shang, they vow not to eat the grain of the Zhou, the new kingdom replacing the Shang, and hide themselves on Shouyang Mountain, gathering ferns for survival. Almost exhausting the ferns available,

75 Lu Xun, “Zhongguo ren shiqu zixinli le ma?” [Are Chinese Losing Confidence?] in Lu Xun quanji [The Complete Works of Lu Xun], (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 2005), vol. 6, 121. 112 Chapter 3 they finally starve to death on the mountain. Sima Qian finished this story in Shiji in detached tone without obvious personal judgment, although he did record the comment by Duke Jiang Taigong of the Zhou who regarded them as ‘righteous heroes’ ( yishi 义士). This original account aside, other historical sources in Gushi kao (“The evidential reference of ancient history”) and Lieshi zhuan (“The Biographies of Martyrs”) tell a different story, suggesting that their deaths might not be the result of their belief in moral integrity, but rather of a character flaw. According to these sources, Boyi and Shuqi stop gathering ferns because a village woman points out that even the ferns now belong to the Zhou kingdom. Trapped in the Zhou yet loyal to the Shang, they have no choice but to wait for death. Nevertheless, recognizing their laudable behavior, Heaven sends a doe over to offer them her milk. Instead, Shuqi secretly attempts to kill her for her meat. This is immediately sensed by the divine deer, which promptly disappears leaving the two recluses to starve to death. Needless to say, the episodes recorded in Gushi kao and Lieshi zhuan were later constructs trying to justify the rule of Zhou by subverting the moral integrity of Boyi and Shuqi. On one level, they suggest that the absolute loyalty to one lord leaves no room for survival in times of political transition. Moral integrity consequently has to be conditional or else it is inhumane. On another level, the involvement of Heaven gives reassurance that their moral integrity transcends time and space, that Heaven rewards them with a non-place in the Zhou for survival. However, it is not the Zhou Kingdom or Heaven that causes them to die, but their own greed. In the latter sense, the episodes not only promote unconditional morality as a rewarding political orthodoxy, but also shift the focus of moral interrogation from the King of Zhou to Boyi and Shuqi. Instead of favoring any of the narratives, Lu Xun consolidated all these episodes in “Gathering Ferns” to form a meditative exploration of history, morality, and agency. Yet the story of the deer is framed within the narrative of a dubious maid called Ajin. When villagers speculate on the two brothers’ cause of death and blame Ajin for her harsh comment about the ferns belonging to the Zhou, Ajin tells the story of the deer for her own defense. Without testing Ajin’s honesty, the story remains an uncertain one. If Ajin is telling the truth, then Boyi and Shuqi appear to be somewhat hypocritical and not as righteous as they claim to be. However, if Ajin is lying, the attitude of other people becomes more interesting. Upon hearing the story, other people in the village are relieved, making it explicit that people actually like to believe what Ajin says. Ordinary people would rather embrace the imperfect hypocrites than be contrasted with righteous heroes who would only mirror their own moral weakness. On the other hand, if people can really justify their own surrender, believing that the King of Shang is corrupt and immoral, a ruler not qualified Split Time: Enlightenment And Its Discontent 113 to be king who deserves to be overthrown by the Zhou, Boyi and Shuqi’s rigid loyalty then appears no more than a tragicomic farce, one that fails to realize the conditional nature of the moral discourse. Herein lies Lu Xun’s deepest doubt about the overpowering moral order. On one level, morality is conditional and flexible due to contingent situations and subject to hermeneutic and rhetorical interpretation, which will inevitably be turned into an ideological tool to suppress people. On the other hand, the moralistic regime of Chinese society enfolds every individual in its centripetal current, leaving no room to escape. The blurred boundary between the authenticity and inauthenticity of morality renders it almost impossible to make a moral choice. Falling along a spectrum that ranges between absolute moral integrity and unavoidable hypocrisy, Lu Xun found himself caught in a suffocating web of multiple discourses, unable to escape the shadow of tradition. Heroes, like Lu Xun himself, might feel that they are working for history, to change history, yet he was quite aware that they merely lived in history. The history is the iron house he referred to in Nahan (“A Call to Arms”) that has the last word on individuals and from which there is no escape. The idea that (textual) history has the last word on everyone continues the historical way of thinking,76 echoing Wu Zhihui’s vision of individual heroes in time. In the preface to Qiejieting zawen (“Demi-Concession Studio Essays,” 1934), Lu Xun expressed his desire to understand an author and his time. He believed compiling works by chronological order regardless of genres would help to delineate the historical situation and present a fuller portrait of the author. “Chronicles are good for comprehending the historical shi-trend. If we want to know the person and his world, we have to read his collections in chronicle form.”77 Though he hoped readers would understand him and his situation through this chronological collection of essays, this understanding nonetheless demonstrates how embedded was his historical way of thinking—individual subjectivity develops through the interaction of time and space, and most importantly, in time. Enough has been written about the complexity of Lu Xun: at once the zeal- ous advocate of evolutionary progress and the pessimistic observer asserting that history merely repeats itself; both the promoter of iconoclastic enlightenment and the doubter seeing it dissolve in the fatalistic gravity of tradition; and equally the believer of genuine hard workers and the skeptic of hypocritical

76 Shelley Hsueh-lun Chang, History and Legend: Ideas and Images in the Ming Historical Novels, x. 77 Lu Xun, Preface to “Qiejieting zawen,” in Lu Xun quanji [The Complete Works of Lu Xun] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 2005), vol. 6, 3. 114 Chapter 3 ideological speakers who render history malleable. Lu Xun’s ambivalence and contradiction, perhaps, originates from his unsettling position as a commit- ted player and a detached spectator of history. At once engaged in delineating the larger historical shi-trend and fighting the discursive shi-force in reality, he yielded the ultimate subjectivity and agency to time. The heterogeneous nature of intellectual responses in the May Fourth period, not surprisingly divulging a fatalistic notion of time, continued to develop until the collective characteristic of time manifested itself more overtly during the War of Resistance to Japan when national crisis gave rise to the recognition of the ‘People.’ Chapter 4 The Continuous Time: Heroes in the “Protracted War”

We necessarily express ourselves by means of words and we usually think in terms of space. . . . What I attempt to prove is that all discussion between the determinists and their opponents implies a previous confusion of duration with extensity, of succession with simultaneity, of quality with quantity. Henri Bergson1

The historical plays of the late 1930s and 1940s presented the configuration of time and space in the era of the War of Resistance to Japan that introduced the Sinicization of Marxism. Like historical representations in the previous periods, the wartime plays are concerned more with the time in which they were written than with the history they represent, or in terms of narrative strategy, they cope more with space than with time. In Guo Moruo’s play, Qu Yuan, for example, the entire life of this melancholy ancient poet is presented in one day, hence time compressed into space, capturing dramatic conflict, plot, deceit, sacrifice, and a hero’s unparalleled morality. “We necessarily express ourselves by means of words and we usually think in terms of space,” wrote Bergson in his seminal work Time and Free Will. In an abstract sense, ‘space’ refers to ‘situation,’ a discrete point of time represented in a historical scenario; literally, it could also mean distinct interaction among places coexisting at a certain point in history. In wartime China, therefore, it amounts to both the annihilating ‘situation’ of war and the ‘relationships’ among different power groups involved in the war. When a full-scale war was crushing every aspect of ordinary people’s lives, space dominated time and one’s moral choice became a contingent event. Yet precisely because the present situation was imminently devastating, time plays a crucial role in cultivating fighting spirit, hope, confidence, and faith in the future. Indeed, during the eight years of resistance to Japan (1937–1945), time and space ceased to be abstract concepts, but rather, became concrete para meters. These carried serious material implications through which Chinese

1 Henri Bergson, Time and Free Will: An Essay on the Immediate Data of Consciousness, trans. F. L. Pogson (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, Inc, 2001), xix–xx.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��6 | doi ��.��63/9789004309302_006 116 Chapter 4 intellectuals attempted to map out the discursive and determinant factors that could describe and prescribe China’s present and future. This time period saw the spatial, political, and ideological divide (and compromise) between the Nationalist Party and the Communist Party, witnessed the gradual shift of ideological preference to the Communist side and the fruition of Maoist- Marxist thought, and documented the ‘eternal return’ of tradition as the basis of ‘national culture’ and collective subject formation. In speaking of time and space, we immediately encounter the distinctive political geography—the Nationalist-ruled areas, the Communist-controlled areas, and the Japanese-occupied areas, as well as the split lived time associated with these areas—despair about the present, hope for the future, and longing for the past. We also recall the military strategies directly translated from the temporal-spatial configuration of wartime China—Mao’s theory of “protracted warfare” and Jiang Jieshi (Chi’ang Kai-shek)’s tactic of ‘trading space for time.’2 Both strategies underscore a continuous time. Mao’s theory, in particular, elaborates the righteous nature of the Chinese defense and the magnitude of collective agency, with a transcendently moralistic statement subsuming a careful material analysis of the war. As the following sections will show, no matter how fragmented the space and how contingent the present were perceived, Chinese intellectuals still believed in a continuous time that links past and future, one that emphasizes unity and morality as the transcendent values that comfortably transplanted Marxism into Chinese soil. The debate on ‘national form’ (minzu xingshi) is evidence of the reappraisal of traditional values as well as the forces of a collective subject. Literature, especially historical representations, once again became a transparent channel transmitting the ubiquitous imperial-time-order to suggest a triumphant future.

Trading Space for Time: Protracted Warfare

In 1938, Mao Zedong published a pamphlet entitled On Protracted Warfare to communicate his vision of the War of Resistance to Japan. This later not only became a strategy guideline to orchestrate the CCP-led army’s resistance, but also harvested support in the Nationalist group that promoted the strategy of ‘trading space for time.’3 In this long essay, Mao criticized both the theories

2 This is the Nationalist’s strategy similar to Mao’s theory of ‘protracted warfare.’ By temporarily giving up vast areas to the Japanese, the Chinese army was able to preserve its strength and gain time for future counter-attack. 3 Mao Zedong, Lun chijiu zhan [On Protracted Warfare], written in May 1938. In Mao Zedong xuanji [Selected Works of Mao Zedong], vol. 2, 407–484. (Beijing: Renmin Chubanshe, 1966). The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 117 of the ‘destruction of China’ and the ‘speedy victory of China.’ By thoroughly comparing and contrasting Chinese and Japanese conditions, Mao argued that even though for the time being China would still have to suffer a great deal of sacrifice, in the long run victory must belong to China. For Mao, the war on the Chinese side was defensive, righteous, and progressive, whereas on the Japanese side it was belligerent, destructive, and reactionary. China had the moral support of the patriotic Chinese people, from honorable anti-Fascist international friends, and from the upright Japanese people. In advocating a United Front both within and outside China, Mao echoed the ancient Chinese saying that “one who holds the Way has more support and one who loses the Way lacks support” (de dao duo zhu, shi dao gua zhu 得道多助，失道寡助), suggesting that the moralistic nature of the war would determine the final triumph of China. Here, ‘the People’ denotes all the righteous people in the world, beyond the working class, and the key for China’s victory resides in the unity of ‘the People.’ Yet because Mao was also aware of the present military and technological advantage of the Japanese, he insisted on ‘protracted warfare,’ a conclusion derived from the assumption that the moral advantage of China could only become manifest in the long run.4 His moralistic statement in a temporal framework cannot be fully comprehended from a purely historical materialistic perspective. Although Mao carefully analyzed the material conditions of the two countries and suggested specific military tactics to counteract the Japanese invasion, his confidence went beyond a genuine materialist’s comfort zone. As I have argued in Chapter One, Mao’s thought reflects the compatibility of Marxist ‘internationalism’ and the pervasive imperial-time-order. The synthesis of Marxism with Chinese traditional thinking, or more accurately, the rudimentary Chinese historical thinking expressed in Marxist terms, not only helps theorize the military strategy, but also becomes a basis for the eventual legitimization of Marxism in China. It is crucial to note that it is during the war that Marxism was spatially transplanted into the Chinese soil and made a temporal leap to Chinese tradition. During this period, a dialectic conception of Marxist universality and Chinese particularity grew to fruition, which artistically resolved the tension between the world historical trend (shi shi 時勢) and China’s domestic situation (xing shi 形勢), and between China’s past and present. Also in 1938, Mao Zedong openly articulated his understanding of Marxism and its relationship with China’s history:

4 Ibid, 420–421. 118 Chapter 4

China today has developed from the China in history; as we are believers in the Marxist approach to history, we must not cut off our whole historical past. We must make a summing-up from Confucius down to Sun Yet-san and inherit this precious legacy. . . . Communists are internationalist-Marxists, but Marxism must be integrated with the specific characteristics of our country and given a national form before it can be put into practice. . . . If the Chinese Communists, who form a part of the great Chinese nation and are linked with it by flesh and blood, talk about Marxism apart from China’s characteristics, that will be only Marxism in the abstract, Marxism in the void. Hence how to turn Marxism into something specifically Chinese, to imbue every manifestation of it with Chinese characteristics, i.e. to apply it in accordance with China’s characteristics, becomes a problem which the whole Party must understand and solve immediately.5

Before this speech, the Communist Party had suffered a great deal of frustration in its confrontations with the Nationalist Party, which eventually led to the hardship-stricken Long March, retreating from urban areas to the countryside to preserve itself. During the Long March (1934–1936), the CCP (Chinese Communist Party) leadership decided to adopt Mao Zedong’s idea of initiating the revolution from the countryside instead of cities, thereby establishing Mao’s leading status in the Party. Mao’s revolutionary model, as opposed to the Russian model delivered by Wang Ming, Bo Gu (Qin Bangxian), Li De (Otto Braun), and other Marxists returning from Russia, was accepted as the best model considering China’s particular situation. Practically tested, Marxism with a Chinese variation had gradually gained authority within the CCP. After the outbreak of war in 1937, Mao took steps further to theorize his model of “Marxism with Chinese characteristics” to promote the Communist Party’s status and attract support as much as possible throughout China. On the surface, he distinguished between Chinese particularity and universal Marxism, yet by emphasizing Chinese history and national form, he successfully grounded Marxism in China, in Chinese history. Beneath the utilitarian appropriation of Marxism, we see a deeply-ingrained historical way of thinking that has conditioned the formulation of Chinese Marxism. The world historical shi-trend (shi shi 時勢), reflected in traditional Chinese thinking, and the present Chinese situation (xing shi 形勢), together constitute a temporal-

5 Mao Zedong, “The Position of the Chinese Communist Party in the National Defense” [Zhongguo gongchandang zai minzu zhanzheng zhong de diwei], in Selected Works of Mao Tse-Tung (London: Lawrence & Wishart Ltd, 1954), vol. 2, 260. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 119 spatial chronotope that firmly inserted Marxism into the Chinese context. It is in effect an event of universalizing the particular. Or in Slavoj Zizek’s words, it is the ‘betrayal’ of Marxism, the movement of ‘concrete universality,’ the radical “transubstantiation . . . through which the original theory has to reinvent itself in a new context: only by way of surviving this transplant can it emerge as effectively universal.”6 The Marxism of Western origin finally took root in China. It is characterized by the enduring imperial-time-order that continually articulates the moralizing and unifying tendencies in the name of the modern nation-state.

The Continuous Time: The Eternal Return of Tradition

In conjunction with the legitimization of “Marxism with Chinese characteristics” in China, the war period also witnessed the rise of ‘the People’ and the ‘eternal return’ of tradition. By ‘eternal return,’ I endorse the Deleuzian reading of Nietzsche’s ‘eternal return,’ a term suggesting repetition with difference, which subsumes qualitative changes and embraces both the return of the repressed, the unconscious, and the newly invented past that conscious effort makes possible. Right after the publication of Mao’s aforementioned speech, a widespread debate on Chinese ‘national form’ emerged in literature and art circles responding to Mao’s advocacy of “Chinese style and Chinese manner that are favored by the Chinese mass.”7 Intellectuals in various areas enthusiastically engaged in open forums, large-scale conferences, and inter-journal exchanges. Within two years, they published more than two hundred essays in some forty journals, covering a wide spectrum of concerns such as content vs. form, nationalization (minzu hua 民族化) vs. popularization (dazhonghua 大眾化), and elite aesthetics vs. collective subjectivity. At the heart of this debate was the re-articulation of literature’s function as an instrument in educating and mobilizing the People, thereby bringing to the fore a reexamination of literary practice since the late Qing period.8 Huang Sheng, for one, observed

6 Slavoj Zizek, “Mao Tse-tung, The Marxist Lord of Misrule,” in Slavoj Zizek Presents Mao on Practice and Contradition (London & New York: Verso, 2007), 4. 7 Mao Zedong, “The position of the Chinese Communist Party in the national defense” [Zhongguo gongchandang zai minzu zhanzheng zhong de diwei], in Selected Works of Mao Tse-Tung (London: Lawrence & Wishart Ltd, 1954), Vol. 2, 260. 8 Refer to Wenxue de “minzu xingshi” taolun ziliao [Materials on the Discussion of the “National Form” of Literature], ed. Xu Naixiang, (Beijing: Zhishi chanquan chubanshe, 2010). 120 Chapter 4 that, due to the intrinsic tension between Western form and its internal demand for mass mobilization, or between its non-national form and national content to represent social reality, the new literature since the May Fourth was from its inception saddled with limitations in enlightening the People. In order to achieve the popularization of literature (wenxue de dazhonghua 文學的大眾化), literature should first and foremost achieve Sinicization (Zhongguohua 中國化) or nationalization (minzuhua 民族化), thereby negating May Fourth literature in order to establish a ‘People’s literature.’ National literature should have ‘the People’ as its subject rather than its object. Nevertheless, far from being a sweeping dismissal of May Fourth literature, this negation is a critical inheritance based on a dialectical continuation. Meanwhile, literature should continue the popular traditions of imperial times to accentuate the central position of the People.9 The dual inheritance in creating the ‘national form’ characterizes the majority voice in the debate, which takes both the May Fourth and the contemporary periods as transitional times in a continuous history. Ba Ren (Wang Renshu, 王任叔), for instance, in his “Chinese Style and Chinese Manner” (Zhongguo qipai yu zhongguo zuofeng 中國氣派與中國作風), a title referring to Mao Zedong’s speech, argued that breaking away from tradition in the May Fourth period and re-incorporating tradition into literary practice in the contemporary era were both necessary. He pointed out that although Lu Xun discouraged young people from reading traditional literature at the beginning of the May Fourth movement for the purpose of introducing new literature from the West, Lu Xun’s own literary works were nonetheless nurtured by traditional Chinese style and Chinese manner. The discontinuity in form and continuity in essence in literature, then, exhibit the different demands of different eras in the discursive practices of literature. Now it was time to re-define the Chinese style and Chinese manner, the national characteristic that includes both national essence and national form to create the People’s literature and art. He wrote:

The People’s literature and art is the higher stage of the new Chinese literature. It is neither inferior to, nor a regression from, the demand of May Fourth for humanistic literature. From the May Fourth period, to the

9 Huang Sheng, “Dangqian wenyi yundong de yige kaocha” [An Investigation of the Contemporary Movement in Literature and Art], Wenyi zhendi [Battlefield of Literature and Art], vol. 3, issue 9, August 16, 1939; republished in Wenxue de “minzu xingshi” taolun ziliao [Materials on the Discussion of the “National Form” of Literature], ed. Xu Naixiang, (Beijing: Zhishi chanquan chubanshe, 2010), 36–46. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 121

emergence of the revolutionary literature around 1927, and up until the development of the People’s literature today is the negation of negation.10

Though he described the re-appropriation of tradition in a Hegelian dialectic fashion, on the visible level, the underlying assumption in this statement is nevertheless the ubiquitous presence of tradition sometimes rendered invisible in subjective literary practice. In reality, during all this time, the historical dramas in traditional forms in musical theater had remained popular, albeit erased from mainstream literary discourse.11 In other words, tradition had always been accompanying literary movements, and the temporal gap between the elitist avant-garde aesthetics and mass culture rendered the literary practice a twofold practice, its parallel elements interacting with each other, making the literary practice always in a process of becoming and grounding. The dualism of literary practice is best articulated in Guo Moruo’s essay “National Form Negotiation” (Minzu xingshi shangdui “民族形式”商兌).12 Guo Moruo maintained that the contemporary ‘new literature’ is in effect the synthesis of the Chinese popular literature and the scholar-elite literature of the past, the synthesis of the Chinese and Western traditions, one that, just like traditional Chinese literature and culture, is the fusion of domestic and Sinicized outside sources that has continually enriched Chinese culture since ancient times. Tradition has never been monolithic, nor is contemporary culture. Under the rubric of ‘development,’ history will not repeat itself; yet it is continuous, and the essence of Chinese culture will survive, despite the purposive effort in cultural reform and change. To support his argument, Guo cited proposals to use simplified Chinese characters. He wrote:

10 Ba Ren, “Zhongguo qipai yu Zhongguo zuofeng [Chinese Style and Chinese Manner],” in Wenyi zhendi [Battlefield of Literature and Art], September 1, 1939; republished in Chen Shouli, ed. Zhongguo xiandai wenxue yundong shiliao zhaibian, 94. 11 Cheng Huaping, Zhongguo xiaoshuo xiqu lilun de jindai zhuanxing [The Modern Transition in Theories of Literature and Musical Theater] (Shanghai: Huadong shifan daxue chubanshe, 2001). Cheng argued that the revolutionary attempt to reform the traditional musical theater resulted in limited effect in practice. Since the reformers were usually not experts in musical theater, their reform mostly remained at a theoretical level. Yet the musical theater of traditional dramas still remained as a popular form of entertainment. 12 Guo Moruo, “Minzu xingshi shangdui [“National Form” Negotiation],” Dagong Bao (Chongqing), June 9–10, 1940; republished in Wenxue de “minzu xingshi” taolun ziliao [Materials on the Discussion of the “National Form” of Literature], ed. Xu Naixiang, (Beijing: Zhishi chanquan chubanshe, 2010), 254–265. 122 Chapter 4

[Some people] worry that once the new characters are put into use, traditional Chinese culture will perish. They are really senseless alarmists. Not only will Chinese cultural essence be more widely transmitted and continue through the dispersion of new characters, but the traditional characters will not perish. . . . Is Chinese cultural essence really that vulnerable?13

Abiding by evolutionary developmentalism, Guo’s statement nonetheless reveals both senses of ‘development,’ a term coined by Andrew Jones as “haunted by its own semantic instability, by the gap between its sense as an intransitive and inevitable historical unfolding, and as a descriptor for the transitive and purposive activity of active historical agents, particularly elite intellectuals and the state.”14 Put otherwise, for Guo, with or without the conscious intervention of intellectuals, Chinese cultural essence has always been, and will continue, perpetuating itself. Chinese literary practice, seen in this light, is but the individual intellectual’s continuous efforts in following and forging the ‘inevitable’ historical trend of development, a constant process of grounding and becoming, for “it is hard to say what will emerge in the future, but we can foretell it [literary form] must be diverse and free.”15 Although the discussion of national form mostly focuses on ‘form’ instead of ‘content,’ intellectuals’ arguments converge in creating a continuous timeline in Chinese history and articulating the centrality of the ‘People’ in defining Chinese ‘national culture.’ Beneath the utilitarian surface in service of mobilizing the masses and serving the nation, there is a pervasive historical thinking at work that reveals the tension and symbiosis between individual and collective subjectivity. The construction of the ‘individual,’ the ‘nation,’ and the ‘People,’ espoused by the “negation of negation” of “tradition,” in this perspective, is but the effect and present of ‘becoming the individual,’ ‘becoming the nation,’ and ‘becoming the People,’ while history and tradition, in the form of metamorphosis, continually speak through the process of becoming.

Historical Plays: Perpetuation of Morality

The continuous history and re-articulation of the ‘People’ are most tellingly presented in the historical plays. During the War of Resistance to Japan, historical

13 Guo Moruo, “Minzu xingshi shangdui [National Form Negotiation],” 261. 14 Andrew Jones, Developmental Fairy Tales: Evolutionary Thinking and Modern Chinese Culture, (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2011), 3. 15 Guo Moruo, “Minzu xingshi shangdui [National Form Negotiation],” 265. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 123 representations, far from being marginal or alienated, were highlighted at the center of audience attention for their nationalistic appeal. On the one hand, they were to expose the dark reality and meanwhile evade Japanese or KMT censorship; on the other hand, they were to mobilize the ordinary audience as country folks favored historical dramas over modern-themed plays.16 The blossoming of historical representations during the war invokes Ben Anderson’s discussion of boosting morale in a ‘total war’ situation. Although illusive and excessive in nature, Anderson observes that morale emerged as an object for specific techniques of power as part of the changing relations between the state and the population. In the United States during World War II, for example, various forms of power apparatus, such as radio, were employed to mobilize and unite the population in the face of ‘total war’.17 In general, mobilizing morale promises to synchronize two narratives: a ‘provi- dential’ apparatus defined by relations of prediction, relief and repair organized around ‘a faith in the future’ and a “ ‘catastrophic’ apparatus defined by relations of destruction, damage, and loss.”18 While most cultural productions about contemporary warfare, such as documentaries and movies, follow this affective strategy, attempting to create a homogeneous collectivity demarcating the national boundary,19 the historical representations nonetheless deviate from this nationalistic model. They usually highlight unity and morality, universal values that transcend national boundaries. In general, these representations depict righteous and loyal heroes in times of crisis. Yet instead of focusing on the confrontation with external enemies, the plays almost always dramatize the internal contradiction within the state. Thus, the failure of the heroes and the fall of the country are not seen resulting so much from the mighty power of the external invasion as from the immoral betrayal of the traitors. In fact, the resentful sentiment toward traitors and capitulation was so prevalent that the writers could not help but intensify individual relations among characters in terms of political crisis, no matter how obscure the ‘foreign enemy’ was defined.

16 Guo Moruo, “Tan lishi ju: zai shanghai shili xiju xuexiao yanjiang [On Historical Plays: a Speech in the Shanghai City School of Theater],” in Guo Moruo lun chuangzuo [Guo Moruo on Literary Creation], (Shanghai: Shanghau wenyi chubanshe, 1983), 506–7. 17 Ben Anderson, “Modulating the Excess of Affect: Morale in a State of ‘Total War,’ ” in The Affect Theory Reader, eds., Melissa Greg and Gregory Seigworth, (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2010), 173. 18 Ibid., 164. 19 Many war films in this time period were based on actual battles with the Japanese and portray war heroes. See Li Daoxin, Zhongguo dianying shi, 1937–1945 [Chinese Film History, 1937–1945], (Beijing: Shoudu shifan daxue chubanshe, 2000). 124 Chapter 4

Indeed, as Edward Gunn convincingly argued, the notion of the ‘foreign’ in these plays is but an abstract concept.20 The enemy cannot be reduced to any specific ‘foreign’ category. It only vaguely refers to the powerful outside groups who lack legitimacy to rule from the protagonist group’s perspective, a perspective that celebrates the unity of the empire and represents the people. The following sections focus on the temporal-spatial configurations in the historical plays during wartime. In the dramatization of spatial relations, the historical context is one in which contingency overpowers individual agency, and moral choice takes place in overwhelming darkness “which is heavier than iron.”21 This moral choice sheds light on the construction of individual and collective subjectivity in wartime China, and on how historical personalities, archetypal figures, negotiate with the discourses of the ‘People’ and ‘the Nation.’ Although on the surface the present dictates the everyday, and space dominates time, these historical plays present a vertical structure that creates a continuous historical time, whereby morality and unity remain key factors in national defense and nation building. Moreover, unlike the late Qing historical novels that portray a suspended time in which the poetics of martyrdom dissolves individual subjectivity and agency, and also unlike the May Fourth historical narratives that present an ahistorical time in which individual heroes drowned in an iron-house tradition, historical representations during the war period suggest a continuous time that opens room for individual and collective agency to bring about change and progression. These representations usually situate individual heroes among the people, make them the representatives of the people, and indicate a bright future wherein ‘the People’ and ‘the Nation’ become the ultimate subjects of history.

Qu Yuan: Spatial-Power Divide and Temporal-Spiritual Unity

Written in 1942 after the Nationalist KMT Party abandoned the United Front of Resistance to Japan and attacked the Communist New Fourth Army in the so-called Wannan Incident, Guo Moruo’s stage play Qu Yuan was intended as a timely “intangible sword” attacking the KMT for deception and betrayal. Guo employed the images of thunder, lightning, and wind in his celebrated “Ode to Thunder and Lightning” to signify the patriotic intellectual’s ‘will’ to con-

20 Edward M. Gunn, Unwelcome Muse: Chinese Literature in Shanghai and Peking, 1937–1945 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980), 127. 21 This metaphor is from Guo Moruo’s play Qu Yuan. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 125 quer the political darkness in wartime Chongqing, the provisional Nationalist capital.22 Qu Yuan, as the embodiment of internal unity and moral integrity, not only represents the righteous intellectuals who longed for unity and victory during the war, but also articulates “the will of the universe” by “integrating with the lightning.”23 He appears to be a universal moral paragon who possesses both the ultimate truth and valor in a troubled historical time. Situating its plot in the Warring States period before the Qin state unified China, Qu Yuan is a demonstrative exploration of Qu Yuan’s life when he was some forty years old. A prominent poet and minister of the State of Chu, at the beginning of the play Qu Yuan has persuaded the King to reject the proposal for an alliance from Qin and instead to strengthen the alliance with Qi, in the hope that the allied states could counter the growing power of Qin. The Queen, afraid that the disappointed Qin envoy Zhang Yi will return with beautiful girls to win the King’s assent, colludes with Zhang Yi to discredit Qu Yuan’s character. In a simple plot, she succeeds in accusing Qu Yuan of having sexually harassed her. She succeeds in discrediting both Qu Yuan’s mental capacity and his political advice. Therefore, what seems to be a personal/ family matter resulting from the Queen’s jealousy and insecurity brings about profound political consequences. The simple-minded King ostracizes Qu Yuan and accepts Zhang Yi’s proposal in favor of Qin. Throughout the play, the state of Qin as an imposing threat remains in the background, without being recognized by the gullible King, whereas the life- and-death conflict between Qu Yuan and the Queen takes place in several locations. The palace, representing the origin of deception and intrigue, as well as Qu Yuan’s prison, alludes to the wartime power center Chongqing. Meanwhile, Qu Yuan’s home is the place where people’s character is tested and revealed: Qu Yuan’s idealism and righteousness, Song Yu’s opportunism and betrayal, Zi Lan’s dalliance and ambition, and Chan Juan’s innocence and loyalty are all presented and magnified, which sheds light on elite people’s moral choice during national crisis. The street signifies the space where ordinary people confront authorities, revealing the source of real power to save the country—the People. Different spaces are associated with different conflicts, reminding one of the division of power in wartime China. As Qu Yuan’s unfortunate experience suggests, contingency and uncertainty characterized

22 Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, trans. Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang, in Selected Works of Guo Moruo: Five Historical Plays (Beijing: Foreign Language Press, 1984), 181–2. 23 Xu Chi, “Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan he Cai Wenji [Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, and Cai Wenji],” in Wang Xunzhao, et al., Guo Moruo yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials on Guo Moruo], (Beijing:Zhishi chanquan chubanshe, 2010), 738. 126 Chapter 4 the daily experience of Chinese society during the war. People faced the imminent dangers of losing employment, home, and even life. They were forced to choose whether to stay or move to other places to live, to work, and to fight. Space dominates time in making moral choices. The interaction among different spaces in the play therefore highlights the contested philosophies of life and mirrors the moral quandaries people encountered in wartime reality. Whereas most characters in the play are cast in a black and white fashion, Qu Yuan, moving between all three spaces—home, palace, and street—nonetheless demonstrates some development of character, especially in his relationship with common people. In the beginning, Qu Yuan is portrayed as a righteous literati official with limitations. He lives in his upper-class, ivory- tower home, indulging in self-cultivation, admiring the spirit of the orange tree, and composing poetry for his unworthy student. He soon pays a price for his naiveté and lack of judgment in a scene set in the palace where the Queen easily beguiles him. No doubt, his trusting nature also blinds him to Song Yu’s disloyalty and fools him into believing the Diviner, the Queen’s father. Keeping in mind only the country and his elitist morality, he nonetheless fails to recognize the virtue and power of the people. Although he has expressed his desire to learn from the common people, what he has loved is their sincer- ity and simplicity, qualities he perceives as belonging to the young as well as those that could refresh his poetry. Only after he is informed and rescued by people of lower social status, does he learn a lesson about what the common people mean for a country. An individual hero’s frustration thus gives way to the recognition of collective agency, indicating that ultimate self-fulfillment is through participating in a mass movement of revolution. The tension between individual subjectivity and collective subjectivity is best revealed when Qu Yuan confesses his opinion of the common people in a conversation he has with the Diviner in prison:

Qu Yuan:. . . . The common people are very exasperating too; they have no judgment of their own. Thus when Zhang Yi said I was mad, everybody believed him at once. They consider the phoenix as a chicken, the uni- corn as a lamb. How can I bear it? Thus the more sympathy they show, the more disgusted I feel. What do I want with their worthless sympathy?

Diviner: That’s true, most people are too simple.

Qu Yuan: On the other hand, my feelings are rather at variance, for although I dislike their simplicity, in another way I like it. Similarly, although I admire the queen’s cleverness, in another way I dislike it. I The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 127

think there is no way to resolve this conflict. I would like people to be clever and simple, artless and complex, wise and foolish. In fact, I would like every man to be a sage. What do you think of this?

. . . . .

Qu Yuan: . . . What do you think I had better do? Should I be a peasant? I cannot use the hoe. Should I go on a journey? I do not want to forsake my country. Should I beg the queen’s forgiveness? Although she can work with Zhang Yi, I most certainly cannot. What then do you think I should do?24

The ambivalent feelings toward the common people and the desire to save the country by his own hand isolate Qu Yuan in loneliness. In this time of both national and individual crisis, the disoriented poet hopes for advice from the deceiving Diviner, unaware that the Diviner has poisoned his wine. It is Chan Juan who, in order to quench her thirst, inadvertently rescues Qu Yuan when she drinks the wine. Her (un)timely death prompts Qu Yuan to give up the last hope for the King and the Queen, and encourages him to follow the people’s lead. In the end, the tension between individual hero and the people is resolved in such a way that they are interdependent: Qu Yuan is regarded as the ‘soul’ of the country without whom national salvation cannot be achieved; the common people are embodied in the anonymous Guard without whom Qu Yuan cannot find support. The individual hero is thus incorporated into ‘the People.’ He even says to the Guard: “Very well, I shall do as you say. I have resolved to live as a peasant north of the Han River”.25 The contradiction between the hero and the common people has persisted in historical narratives since ancient times. Only after the individual hero stands by the people could he recognize the historical shi-trend and fully execute his moral agency. Yet before the wartime era, we usually see the heroes placed above the common people to enlighten them. Only during the war and after do we see a complete symbiotic relationship between individual heroes and the people whereby the hero exists in the people and needs to learn from the people, pre-figuring a Maoist, socialist dynamic in terms of individual and collective subjectivity. To be sure, Qu Yuan presents Guo Moruo’s Marxist orientation born out of a Confucian moral framework, yet the development of Qu Yuan’s character follows a common route undertaken by many Chinese

24 Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, 184. 25 Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, 191. 128 Chapter 4 intellectuals since the May Fourth period, from seeking individual enlightenment to engaging in a collective cause of national salvation. In this play, Qu Yuan is the upright hero, yet he is a character far from perfect. Only the imagined Chan Juan appears to be an idealized figure, innocent, loyal, virtuous, coming from the People, enlightened by the master, and eventually sacrificing her life for the master and the country. She is the medium to merge individual subjectivity and collective subjectivity, both subsumed by the discourse of ‘the Nation.’ Before her premature death, Chan Juan stammers her last words to Qu Yuan:

. . . I am a daughter of the people, master. You taught me, and from you I learned what my duty was. I have served you faithfully, for you are the soul of our country. . . I love our country, so I cannot but love you. . . master, I always wanted to dedicate my life to our country, as you taught us; but never thought my wish would come true today. (Growing weaker.) I am giving my humble life for your precious one. How lucky I am!. . . I am happy. . . happy. . . .26

Unrealistic as it sounds, Chan Juan places her love for the ‘country’ first, so her loyalty to the master becomes the result of her love for the country. Indeed, during the urgent national crisis, ‘the country’ became the dominant parameter to encompass enlightenment and exhortations for unity from within. However, it would be misleading to compare the ‘country’ in the play with the ‘country’ in reality. In the play, it is not clear whether ‘our country’ ” indicates Qu Yuan’s state of Chu or China as a whole. It seems both. For instance, Qu Yuan advises the King to practice benevolent rule in order to unify China:

You should think more of our people, more of the people of China. All men want to live as human beings, all men long for the time when disunion shall end and China become a peaceful, united country. When you took my advice about caring for the people and allying with the kingdoms east of the Pass to resist the power of Qin, you were not wrong at all. If you pursue this policy, you will bring about the unification of China.27

Qu Yuan’s concern is far beyond the survival of Chu. It is the unification of China, with morality and peace, brought about by Chu, rather than by Qin with military aggression. Therefore, instead of holding onto the narrowly defined

26 Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, 187–188. 27 Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, 122. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 129

‘nationalist’ sentiment for his native state, Qu Yuan strives to seek the legitimate state that can unify China. Guo Moruo once asserted that by the late Warring States period, the unification of China had been an unavoidable historical trend that only awaited some state to achieve it. Therefore it is merely a matter of historical contingency whether Qin or Chu would unify China. Qu Yuan, Guo wrote, was historically a Southern Confucian, whose political ideal was to achieve China’s grand unification (da yi tong 大一統) through moral rule (de zheng 德政), yet he was frustrated by the two benighted kings he had served and eventually chose to drown himself as a martyr to his ideal.28 Even though it was before the unification of the Qin Empire, Qu Yuan’s thought had been imbued with moralistic imperial vision, which for Guo, was the “spirit of the time.”29 Self-centered, expansive in space, universalistic and moralistic, Qu Yuan articulates the fundamental characteristic of the imperial-time-order—the normalization of unification and moralization of a regime. Without a doubt, it would be mistaken to identify each state in the play with the power groups in wartime reality, for Japan was considered in every way ‘foreign’ during the war. However, Qu Yuan’s expansive notion of the national space does shed light on the boundary defining ‘nationalism’ during that time period. It speaks more to unity and morality than to self-defense and national salvation. ‘China’ seems to be more a culturally oriented signifier than a spatially constrained entity. In other words, such a notion opens up to a universal, global space rather than defines a national space. Needless to say, as a Marxist historian, Guo Moruo’s conception of ‘the People’ comprised ‘all men,’ transcending the boundaries of nation-states. Scholars have paid attention to the cosmopolitan character of Guo Moruo’s thought during the May Fourth period. Shu-mei Shih views Guo’s use of Freudian psychoanalysis as an indicator of his cosmopolitanism,30 and Xiaoming Chen argues that Guo’s Confucian/Marxist thought continued a centuries-long intellectual heritage. Traditionally, the ultimate realm of intellectual achievement is to fuse four levels of ideals: xiushen 修身 (morally cultivating the self), qijia 齊家 (regulating the family), zhiguo 治國 (managing the state), and pingtianxia 平天下 (harmonizing the world). Chen observes that

28 Guo Moruo, “Qu Yuan sixiang [Qu Yuan’s Thought],” in Pu Jian Ji [Sedge and Sword], (Chongqing: Chongqing wenxue shudian, 1942), 75–76, 91–94; cited in Liu Tao, “Tan Qu Yuan beizhuang ju [About the Tragedy Qu Yuan],” in Wang Xunzhao et al. Guo Moruo yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials on Guo Moruo], 753–754. 29 Ibid., 755. 30 Shu-mei Shih, The Lure of Modern. See especially pp. 96–109. 130 Chapter 4

Guo’s trajectory of intellectual development still follows the Confucian path from self-cultivation to harmonizing the world, and it sheds significant light on the Chinese Communist revolution as a whole.31 Chen’s observation is best embodied in the character of Qu Yuan. The character of Qu Yuan conforms to every aspect of the moral sequence, and maps out a unified space for China that embraces all the individual states, which indicates a cosmopolitan vision of China situated in a global space. Indeed, spatial division necessitated spiritual unity, facing the ambitious and brutal Other. Moreover, the moralistic overtone predicted the final triumph of the righteous spirit, in time. In the play Qu Yuan, as in Mao’s discussion on protracted warfare, Qu Yuan’s own righteous spirit triumphs over material limitation, leaving hope for the future. For example, in several circumstances, the humiliated Qu Yuan declares that his righteousness will transcend time and space: “I have done nothing to be ashamed of! I can look on death without flinching. Which of us is right and which is wrong, which loyal and which treacherous, will be judged by future generations.”32 ‘Future generations’ now become the agent of morality to impinge on the present moral decay—time is continuous and each modality contains moralistic characters. This moralistic vision of time exemplifies the traditional imperial-time- order that has helped transplant Marxism in China. David Tod Roy observed that Guo Moruo’s conversion to Marxism was not for “the relative validity of Marxism-Leninism as an economic theory,” but for “the apocalyptic vision of the world which it afforded. He felt that by becoming an adherent of this doctrine he could join forces with history and regain his sense of pride and responsibility as a participating member of an ancient culture with a badly bruised sense of self-esteem.”33 “Joining forces with history,” an alternative expression of “following the historical shi-trend,” underlines a universal temporal structure in historical contingencies. Indeed, in Qu Yuan and most other historical plays of this period, although space dominates time to dramatize conflicts, a temporal structure is implicit in the storyline—an open timeline rather than a closed one indicating unlimited possibilities for human agency to achieve the final victory.

31 Xiaoming Chen, From the May Fourth Movement to Communist Revolution: Guo Moruo and the Chinese Path to Communism (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2007), 111. 32 Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, 132. 33 David Tod Roy, Kuo Mo-jo, The Early Years (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1971), 5. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 131

The vertical structure of Qu Yuan is by and large achieved by the repetition of the “Ode to the Orange.” This signifier of what Yi Zheng terms the ‘feminine beautiful’ that Guo employed in the play in effect plays a larger role than “the Ode to Thunder and Lightning” in binding the aesthetic elements together. Zheng observes that Guo started the play with the portrayal of the ‘feminine beautiful,’ as manifested in the “Ode to the Orange” and the Queen, to create aesthetic tension. Only after Qu Yuan overcomes the “feminine beautiful” can he achieve the ‘masculine sublime,’ a moment of madness captured in the “Ode to Thunder and Lightning.”34 However, insofar as the ‘masculine sublime’ needs to be overcome as well (and it is Chan Juan’s sacrifice that eventually enlightens the poet), “the Ode to the Orange” in actuality documents the dialectical process of ‘negation of negation’ and the temporal structure of the play. Originally composed for Song Yu, “Ode to the Orange” in the end becomes a eulogy to Chan Juan. In fact, the poem is a motif through the entire play, brack- eting the plot and testifying to the character of the people. It makes its first appearance in the beginning of Act One, when Qu Yuan in his orange grove writes the poem praising the upright spirit of the orange trees. Alluding to Bo Yi of the Shang Dynasty, he endows the orange with the most valuable moral characteristics:

. . . Your youthful and impetuous heart Sets you from common men apart, And well-contented I to see Your resolute integrity. Deep-rooted thus you stand unshaken, Impartial, by no fancies taken; Steadfast you choose your course alone, Following no fashion but your own. Over your heart you hold firm sway, Nor suffer it to go astray; No selfish wishes stain your worth, Standing erect’ twixt heaven and earth. Then let not age divide us twain; Your friend I ever would remain. Be noble still without excess,

34 Yi Zheng, “The Figuration of the Sublime: Guo Moruo’s Qu Yuan,” Modern Chinese Literature and Culture 16, 1 (Spring 2004): 153–98. 132 Chapter 4

And stern, but yet with gentleness. Though young in years and in complexion, Yet be my master in perfection. Then Bo Yi as your standard take, This virtuous man your model make.35

In the previous chapter Bo Yi in Lu Xun’s “Gathering Ferns” was mocked by later generations, for his steadfast belief was entangled with the contingent shi-force that discounted his moral choice. Yet here Qu Yuan takes Bo Yi as a moral exemplar whose spirit is represented in the orange, and its material presence, in turn, reminds one of the transcendent virtues that could achieve eternity. Between the past, present, and eternity, we see a temporal realm in which people, things, and spirits are indistinguishable. It seems that for Qu Yuan, one needs to resort to the past to imitate great models, yet in the present, there is always a gap between ideal and reality. Since a continuous time line is the prerequisite for any positive change, the challenge is how to bridge this gap. He therefore believes that it is the future, or time itself, that bears the final judgment for one’s actions. The poem is meant to be a gift to Song Yu, Qu Yuan’s favorite disciple, to encourage him to continue the moral values of both the orange and Bo Yi. Yet instead of holding a retrospective worldview, Qu Yuan has faith in progression—that in terms of morality, one should take higher models in history, yet with unceasing effort, one can surpass the great man in terms of material achievement. Neither linearly progressive nor cyclically stagnant, this vision of history is at odds with the official Marxist materialist view. In particular, Qu Yuan admires young people, believing that the unbridled young people “are more innocent, active, generous and unselfish than old ones,” and they possess “freshness, purity, and simplicity of imagination” in poetic composition.36 The symbolic act of bequeathing the poem thus indicates Qu Yuan’s wish to maintain cultural continuity and accomplish progression through his disciple. However, Song Yu betrays his master’s teaching, or only partially understands his master’s teaching—he only takes up the progressive part in writing yet gives up the moral principle. The desire to surpass the master and gain personal success tempts him to follow the opposite direction, to serve the Queen and Zi Lan in the palace, while condemning his master as a madman. Song Yu’s character is obviously meant to mirror opportunist literati during the war.

35 Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, 91–92. 36 Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, 96. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 133

Nevertheless, on closer inspection, the story of Qu Yuan and Song Yu seems to illuminate Guo Moruo’s critical reflection on the May Fourth enlightenment. Qu Yuan’s long speech about the generation gap provides the older generation’s critical perspective on iconoclasm. It suggests that merely paying attention to the material aspect of progression while ignoring moral principle would only lead one astray. In fact, in the process of modernization, morality is still the key to achieving real progression, and that moral principle resides both in history and in the People. To some extent, Song Yu signifies an attempt to achieve modernity that has gone off track, whereas Chan Juan appears to be the rightful successor in the young generation to hand down the mission of modernization and nation building. After Song Yu decides to move to the palace, he casually transfers the poem to Chan Juan, symbolically shifting the legitimacy of defending and building the country to the People. Indeed, the repetition of the poem seems to offer an allegory of modern Chinese history: the late Qing articulation of a progressive worldview, the May Fourth generation’s individualistic iconoclasm, and the return to tradition and to the People during the wartime era. However, it is repetition with a difference. Each period repeats a morality with the same transcendent values, yet receives them differently. The last time the poem is recited is at the end of the play. Qu Yuan discovers the scroll by Chan Juan’s body and decides to use it as a lament to the sacrifice of Chan Juan. Now the poem has traveled full circle to return to Qu Yuan’s hands. Ambivalence notwithstand- ing, Qu Yuan has been enlightened by the People, through Chan Juan’s sacrifice. Yet, unlike the poetics of martyrdom in late Qing novels, the burning of Chan Juan’s body signifies the reincarnation of the phoenix, an image in Guo Moruo’s earlier poem Fenghuang niepan that calls to mind farewell to the past yet return in the future. And Qu Yuan, now enlightened, will carry on Chan Juan’s spirit to immerse himself in the people to defend the country: “Ah, Chan Juan, my daughter! Chan Juan, my dear pupil! Chan Juan, my benefactor! You have set the place on fire, you have conquered darkness; you are for ever and ever the angel of light!”37 It is noteworthy that in general, Qu Yuan has represented a tragic hero in history. He served two kings in his lifetime, neither of whom took his advice to ally with other states to undermine Qin’s power. Eventually after Qin conquered the capital city of Chu, the exiled Qu Yuan drowned himself in the Miluo River. The traditional Duanwu Festival (Lunar calendar May Fifth) is meant to commemorate this great poet and some popular activities such as racing dragon boats and drinking Xionghuang wine are dedicated to his memory.

37 Guo Moruo, Qu Yuan, 191. 134 Chapter 4

However, in this play, Guo Moruo portrayed a revolutionary intellectual whose righteous spirit triumphs over dark reality and continues to lead the revolution. That Qu Yuan lives instead of dying manifests a continuous time that in the war era leaves room for a sense of revolutionary optimism rather than pessimism. In retrospect, Guo Moruo recalled that he originally intended to write a play in two parts to depict the frustrated poet’s tragic life over thirty years. However, after he started writing, what “flowed out” fundamentally negated his plan yet better portrayed the hero’s character. “[Thus I] planned to write about the entire life of Qu Yuan,” Guo said, “yet consequently only wrote one day of his life—from morning to midnight. However, only just that one day seems to also sum up Qu Yuan’s whole life.”38 Guo Moruo viewed Qu Yuan as a satisfactory achievement that surprised him, particularly because he was possessed by a state of writing frenzy, so that it seemed more that the play was “flowing out” by itself than being written by him.39 This writing frenzy seems to suggest a cultural unconscious repressed in more self-conscious professions of political orientation. Therefore, the finished product exhibits the most imposing character of Qu Yuan, and the play, compressed, displaced, and secondarily revised, like a dream work, reveals the fundamental structure of Guo’s vision of history and reality. In this light, the dramatization of space and compression of time is a result of Guo’s overlapping the past with the present. The temporal distance collapses. Qu Yuan lives in Guo’s present, and Guo lives in Qu Yuan’s time as well. It is not just the past being employed to mirror the present, but the present is also shaped by the past. Hence, the continuous time manifested in the play not only reveals the revolutionary optimism in Marxism, but also bespeaks of the age-long vision of time that is moralistic and allows for individual and collective moral agency in history.

Li Xiangjun and Hua Mulan: The Return of the Foundational Family

While Chan Juan’s character represented the ‘daughter of the People’ in the hinterland, personifying collective subjectivity with a feminine piquancy,40 capable and righteous heroines emerged in the Japanese-controlled areas to shame male incapability or submission in the profound national crisis.

38 Guo Moruo, “Qu Yuan fulu, [Appendix to Qu Yuan],” in Guo Moruo lun chuangzuo [Guo Moruo on Literary Creation], (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1983), 387. 39 Ibid., 382. 40 In December 1941, Guo Moruo also wrote another play Twin Flowers [Nie Ying] to portray female characters as the representatives of the People. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 135

In the ‘orphan island’ Shanghai, for once, historical dramas were dominated by female leads.41 Women warriors such as Hong Xuanjiao, Liang Hongyu, and Hua Mulan were active in cultural productions, and renowned historical beauties such as Diao Chan and Li Xiangjun foiled the incompetence of male characters in troubled historical times. The representation of female characters, apart from a possible psychoanalytic reading that might suggest male intellectuals’ ‘castration anxiety’ or a desire to fulfill the voyeuristic ‘pleasure principle’ during enemy occupation, continues the May Fourth project of enlightening and liberating woman from the conventional family. At the same time it also reintroduces the concept of the nation in a family setting and proposes the foundational family as the basic unit of the new nation. In the late 1930s, Ouyang Yuqian wrote a Peking opera Peach Blossom Fan and a film script Mulan Joins the Army. Both stories originated from classical literature. The famous late Ming courtesan Li Xiangjun and the Northern Wei woman warrior Hua Mulan nonetheless had little in common in history. Yet in Ouyang’s scripts, both women stand up for the ‘nation,’ in their unique ways, and the private space of family appears as the public space in which to defend the country. Peach Blossom Fan was adapted from the early Qing dramatist Kong Shangren’s opera of the same title. The story has been so popular that the play has been adapted numerous times in multiple media—in folk operas, stage plays, and films, centering on an (anti)romantic story of a scholar and a beauty. Ouyang Yuqian’s script was used in a Peking opera in Shanghai and a Gui opera in Guilin during the wartime, and both were banned shortly after their perfor- mances. The same script later was revised for a stage play in 1946 and a film in 1963.42 Even though there is a little difference in the portrayal of the supporting character Yang Wencong in different adaptations, Ouyang’s script by and large depicts a black and white world in which a girl becomes the most righteous hero. It is a sensitive and rousing exploration of the love story between the renowned courtesan Li Xiangjun and the literati scholar Hou Chaozong in the chaotic transition between the Ming and Qing dynasties. What a potentially scholar-beauty stereotype is thereby framed in and dramatized by the fateful events wherein romantic love is tested, not only through the lovers’ (unconditional) commitment to each other, but also through their righteousness and

41 Edward Gunn, Unwelcome Muse, 149. 42 Ouyang Yuqian, Preface to Tao hua shan [Peach Blossom Fan], (Peking Opera), (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1959), 1–2. 136 Chapter 4 loyalty to the country. Consequently, it is more of a political drama than a romantic saga. Hou Chaozong is an influential leader of late Ming political society, Fu She, literally Revival Society, which is founded by righteous literati scholars to revi- talize the Ming from its declining fate. These scholars regard the former dominant eunuch Wei Zhongxian and his followers as their enemies. During his temporary stay in Nanjing, Hou asks his artist friend Yang Wencong to introduce him to a high-class brothel well known for the celebrated courtesan Li Xiangjun. Like other typical scholar-beauty encounters, Hou and Xiangjun fall in love at first sight. However, Hou cannot afford to pay for Xiangjun’s precious first time but to his delight, Yang Wencong offers to take care of it. This is later revealed as coming from Ruan Dacheng, eunuch Wei Zhongxian’s former follower and now unemployed man, who is disdained by Hou and most young reform-minded scholars. Trapped in this embarrassing web of desire and moral obligation, Hou is uncertain how to treat Ruan afterwards. It is Xiangjun who, considering herself the intellectual equal of Hou, rescues Hou from this awkward situation and saves his reputation as an untainted scholar. Xiangjun returns Ruan’s gift and ridicules his character as a corrupt running dog, thereby ensuring Ruan’s resentment. Later, when Ruan resumes power after the Chongzhen Emperor hangs himself in Beijing, he takes every opportunity to slander Hou Chaozong and his fellow Fu She friends, forcing Hou into exile. The young couple is thus separated by the unavoidable political turmoil: the vulnerable Southern Ming regime, while facing the double threat from both the subversive peasant rebellion and the Manchu army’s aggressive advance, remains corrupt and divided, foreshadowing the fall of the Ming. Against this daunting backdrop, the individual’s moral choice reflects in every sense both the rigidity of morality and flexibility in recognizing the historical shi-trend. In the wartime plays, just as in the late Qing historical novels, writers dramatized the rigidity and integrity of morality, or in Haiyan Lee’s terms, ‘virtue of constancy,’43 in the hope that if everyone is righteous and dedicated, the historical shi-trend would favor the Chinese. Exemplary figures are used as the focus for attempts to create relationships between the individual and the public space of political action. In Peach Blossom Fan, the rigidity of morality is embodied in the girl Li Xiangjun, in contrast to the wavering male character Hou Chaozong and the double-faced flatterer Yang Wencong. After Hou leaves, Ruan Dacheng seeks to give Xiangjun away as a present to another powerful official. Determined to stay loyal to Hou, Xiangjun refuses to be transferred to

43 Haiyan Lee, Revolution of the Heart: A Genealogy of Love in China, 1900–1950, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007), 68. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 137 someone else. At the very moment that the bridal sedan chair forces its way to fetch her, she bumps her head against the wall, staining the fan Hou Chaozong has given her with blood as a symbol of her love. Xiangjun’s chastity and determination shocks the second-time matchmaker Yang Wencong and impresses the people around her in the pleasure quarter. With a simple trick of substitution, Xiangjun’s adoptive mother, Li Zhenli, the brothel’s madam, then dresses up like Xiangjun and takes the sedan chair. Inspired by Xiangjun’s bloodied loyalty, Yang Wencong paints peach blossoms on the fan based on the pattern of the bloodstain. In the end, the Qing army occupies Nanjing and Xiangjun, now sheltered in a convent, continues looking for Hou Chaozong. When the couple eventually reunites in a monastery, Xiangjun discovers that Hou has become a submissive subject of the Qing to pursue a political career in the civil service. Astounded by Hou’s betrayal of the Ming Empire, she refuses to follow him home. A frail girl suffering deteriorating illness and now overwhelmed by disillusion, Xiangjun loses her will to live and collapses in Hou’s presence. It deserves mentioning that in adapting the play, Ouyang Yuqian changed the ending of the story. In the original play by Kong Shangren, both Xiangjun and Hou Chaozong are saddened by the fact that the Ming Empire has fallen and their home has gone, so they decide to give up all secular attachments. Xiangjun becomes a nun and Hou follows the monks to the mountains. Needless to say, the change of Hou’s character in Ouyang’s script mirrors the ‘traitors’ during the War of Resistance to Japan. Ouyang Yuqian deliberately contrasted the characters of Li Xiangjun and Hou Chaozong, of righteous, ordinary people represented by musicians and courtesans with corrupt, flattering officials and literati scholars, dramatizing the good and evil, integrity and dishonesty, loyalty and betrayal. The playwright once admitted that he intended to expose and criticize those intellectuals who were of two faces and two minds during the war period. “There were many such educated people at the time [wartime],” he wrote. “They wavered in their positions according to the change of situations, practicing their life philosophy of ‘offending no one.’ ”44 Yang Wencong thus represents the double-faced Chinese, while Hou Chongzong mirrors the submissive collaborators during wartime. In fact, both Yang Wencong and Hou Chaozong can be seen as representatives of what Wendy Larson calls literati “connoisseurs” whom modern writers have tried to criticize and distance themselves from.45 Hou’s love for Xiangjun

44 Ouyang Yuqian, preface to Tao hua shan [Peach Blossom Fan], 1. See also Ouyang Yuqian yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials on Ouyang Yuqian], 133. 45 Wendy Larson, “The Self Loving the Self: Men and Connoisseurship in Modern Chinese Literature.” 138 Chapter 4 is no more than the superficial appreciation of her beauty as an image of deli- cacy, as a sexualized prize within ritualized practices of male literati convention, and as a toy or pawn “within social, psychological, or literary games.”46 The connoisseur is especially exemplified by Yang Wencong, whose artistic talent turns out to be no more than heartless exploitation of Xiangjun’s predicament. His eroticized connoisseurship thus transforms the suffering of the weak into the aestheticized pleasure and playful display of the powerful. The combination of aesthetic connoisseurship and lack of moral integrity constitutes what Liang Qichao and Guo Moruo despised as ‘effeminate men.’ As discussed in Chapter Three, at the turn of the twentieth century when Liang Qichao lived exiled in Japan, he accepted Japanese scholar Ozaki Yukio’s observation that Chinese culture was effeminate, and later attributed China’s weakness to a lack of military spirit.47 Similarly, in the 1920s, Guo Moruo also stated that Chinese men were effeminate compared to their Western counterparts.48 In this regard, continuing the May Fourth tradition, the promotion of a delicate, fragile beauty’s uprightness serves to highlight men’s weakness and flaws, arousing men’s feelings of shame and anxiety. On the other hand, Xiangjun’s love for Hou exceeds the scope of an ordinary romance. It is conditioned upon the wellbeing of the country and Hou’s loyalty to the country. In the versions of both Kong Shangren and Ouyang, the romance is meant less to form a conjugal bond as the basis of a family, than to build a foundational unit for the empire or the nation. The relationship between the romance, the family, and the country is most vividly displayed in the peach blossom fan, the love symbol that plays a role similar to that of the “Ode to the Orange” in Qu Yuan, moving the narrative forward. Throughout the play, the fan is the essential motif whose repeated appearance suggests layered significance associated with different inscriptions. The first inscription is Hou Chaozong’s poetry, an all-too-familiar instrument in the scholar-beauty stories. It signifies Hou’s admiration, not necessarily commitment, to Xiangjun, yet is obviously received by Xiangjun as a life-long obligation that deserves to be protected with her life. The second layer of inscription is Xiangjun’s blood, which endows the fan with the most celebrated virtues of a ‘good’ woman—chastity, loyalty, dignity, unwavering devotion,

46 Ibid., 176. 47 See Xiaobing Tang, Global Space and the Nationalist Discourse of Modernity: The Historical Thinking of Liang Qichao (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1996), 15. 48 Guo Moruo, “Xie zai sange panni de nuxing houmian [The Postscript of Three Rebellious Women],” first published in 1926 in Guo Moruo quanji [Complete Works of Guo Moruo], (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1986) vol. 6, 137. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 139 indifference to the lure of material benefit and most of all, love—virtues contrary to the stereotype of a prostitute who is generally regarded as shameless public property. The third layer, the peach blossom, indicates the social recognition of Xiangjun’s virtues and her self-identification as Hou’s legitimate companion, thus incorporating her into a family structure. The peach blossom implies social recognition because Yang Wencong is indeed touched by Xiangjun’s fierce determination and goes along with the substitution plan. Although the painting of the peach blossom exhibits the literati connoisseur’s playful display of his artistic talent, it also shows his prediction of the future of such a conjugal bond—an ephemeral, vulnerable destiny symbolized by the peach blossom. Lastly, after all these layers of inscription, the fan ‘travels’ from Xiangjun to Hou Chaozong, reminding him of his promises and reinforcing his desire to take Xiangjun back home. However, in the end, when the reunited Xiangjun and Hou Chaozong once again appreciate the fan and reflect on its experience, Xiangjun chooses to reject the idea of the family. On the whole, Kong Shangren’s play reinforces the Confucian homology between family and empire. For without a legitimate state (guo), a family would lose its legitimate foundation, therefore both Xiangjun and Hou decide to withdraw from society to denounce the Qing government. The play takes an anti-romantic turn, and love is not only incorporated into the conjugal relationship within the family structure, but also woven into the homology between family and empire—it is by and large sublimated as ultimate loyalty, almost emptied of attraction and desire, and the rejection of a family reunion articulates the rejection of the new political regime. In this light, Ouyang Yuqian’s opera concerns less a regime’s legitimacy than an individual’s integrity. Family is still an important avenue through which to define an individual’s identity and on which to base the nation, but the rejection of the family is first triggered by Hou’s disloyalty that submerges the concern for the legitimacy of the regime. Specifically, Xiangjun’s death on seeing Hou instead of withdrawal from society more powerfully articulates the transcendent value of morality, not only to denounce the illegitimate regime, but also to demonstrate that death is the only way to maintain her integrity to love both Hou and the country when Hou betrays that country. Loyalty to the ‘nation’ constitutes the first-order virtue among all virtues, and death carries with it the pervasive power of morality that mobilizes the living to continue the struggle. It is crucial to note that Kong Shangren’s play was written soon after the Qing dynasty had succeeded the Ming. Therefore, for the late Ming survivors, emphasizing rigid loyalty to the corrupt and already fallen Ming regime is less meaningful than calling for disengagement from the current regime. After all, 140 Chapter 4

Kong’s intention was to “borrow the sentiments of separation and reunion to describe the feelings for the rise and fall of the empire.” Nevertheless, Ouyang Yuqian’s play was written right after the war broke out in 1937. Obviously, different social contexts bring about different concerns for the ending of the story. Regardless whether his play is faithful to history, a topic that caught critics’ attention was the updated ‘poetic justice’ of the war period.49 The emotionally strong yet physically frail Xiangjun plays a counterpart for the woman warrior Hua Mulan. Western audiences are probably familiar with this legendary character from the Disney animated film version: a girl dressed up like a man joins the army to fulfill her father’s military duty. After twelve years in disguise, she has won countless battles at the border and the emperor appoints her to high military rank. In the end when the emperor intends to betroth ‘him’ to a wife, she reveals her real identity and asks to go home to take care of her aging parents. This Northern Wei tale has become the source of many cultural productions. In 1939, Ouyang Yuqian was asked to write a film script to bring Mulan’s character to the screen. Directed by Bu Wancang, the film Mulan cong jun (“Mulan Joins the Army”) achieved unprecedented success. It created a record for screening for eighty-five days straight in Shanghai and its leading actress Chen Yunshang became a megastar overnight. In the film, Mulan’s masculine morale and martial skills are highlighted. Horseback riding, archery, handsome armor, and deliberately performed male movements, all constitute the image of a heroic woman warrior. Yet Mulan’s feminine beauty was never ignored; instead, it was repeatedly emphasized throughout the film. In the beginning, Mulan appears to be the girl next door who loves singing, hunting, and helping other people. She is obviously attractive, for boys in the neighborhood constantly flirt with her, tease her, and even try to bully her to get her attention. Yet it is shown that her beauty arrests them, her martial skills surpass them, and her brain outwits them. In the army, her fellow soldiers also comment on ‘his’ fine skin. When ‘he’ decides to disguise as a woman to spy on the enemy’s camp, ‘her’ beauty immediately mesmerizes ‘his’ subordinate Liu Yuandu. Undeniably, the combination of Mulan’s feminine and masculine beauty in the film is an essential tool to attract the audience. Her wit, bravery, and martial skills make her a comprehensive and valuable talent for the war, and

49 Refer to Liu Zhijian, “Ye tan Hou Fangyu de chujia wenti” [Also on Hou Fangyu’s Conversion to Buddhism]; Huang Qingquan, “Cong lishi de zhenshi dao yishu de zhenshi” [From Historical Truth to Artistic Truth], in Ouyang yuqian yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials for Ouyang yuqian], ed. Su Guanxin, (Beijing: Zhishi chanquan chubanshe, 2009). The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 141 her feminine nature sufficiently outshines and thereby bewilders every man around her. Like the upright Li Xiangjun or Chan Juan, it seems to suggest that, if a woman can be a warrior, why cannot a man? Meanwhile, the emphasis of Mulan’s feminine charm appeals to voyeuristic male desire, bringing eroticism into the nationalistic discourse. As Shengqing Wu astutely asserts, the idealized and eroticized representations of legendary women embody “a certain tension or complexity between the film based on a moral and lofty subject empowered by the nationalist discourse and the market-oriented exploitation of overtly sensual themes.”50 “The female body became the site for predomi- nantly male-led discourses on nationalism and eroticism, in which the female embodiment of the nation bound private desire and passion with public, collective discourse.”51 The masculinized woman, hence, at once continues the theme of women’s emancipation emphasized during the May Fourth movement, and pre-dates the socialist turn of constructing a female subject subsumed by a collective national subject. At the end of the film, Mulan refuses the emperor’s promotion, asking to go back home to fulfill filial duty. She then returns home and reveals her female identity. With the blessing of her parents and her fellow soldiers, she marries Liu Yuandu to give audiences a cathartic grand reunion. It is noteworthy that family and empire undergo a slight twist in the film. In the original tale, filial piety is the motivation for Mulan to join the army and go back home. In the film, however, Mulan puts loyalty to the empire ahead of her filial duty to parents. At the farewell dinner before she leaves home, Mulan expresses her gratitude and hope to family members: she thanks her father for teaching her martial arts and the idea of being a patriotic subject; she thanks her mother for cultivating her as a useful person for the empire; she thanks her elder sister for taking care of their parents while she is away; and she tells her little brother to study hard so that someday he will become a hero. It seems like a mobilizing meeting that identifies the family as the source of Mulan’s determination and success on the battlefield. By the same token, at the end of the film, Mulan’s marriage not only indicates her return home after fulfilling her obligation to the country, but also suggests that the entire family, now including Liu Yuandu, has become a unit ready for mobilization whenever needed. Indeed, whereas Li Xiangjun’s rejection of the family is to defy the immoral husband and the illegitimate ruler, Mulan’s marriage suggests a foundational family that contains superior subjects for the empire. ‘Foundational romance’

50 Shengqing Wu, “Gendering the Nation: The Proliferation of Images of Zhen Fei (1876– 1900) and Sai Jinhua (1872–1936) in Late Qing and Republican China,” Nan Nü 11 (2009), 29. 51 Ibid., 64. 142 Chapter 4 is a term coined by Doris Sommer to describe the marriage between eros and polis in the romance novels of nineteenth-century Latin America. Turning away from a European tradition of love triangles that typically lead to tragic endings, Sommer observes that Latin American romances usually depict unbridled passions in which the success or failure of lovers mirrors the political fortunes of the nation.52 By the same token, the union or separation of the lovers in Ouyang Yuqian’s plays also projects the ultimate blueprint of the nation, in which productive romance functions as the imaginary force that grounds the (ideal) nation. In wartime Shanghai, such a grand reunion could be a mesmerizing pill to brighten the suffocating atmosphere, or to satisfy the much- needed ‘pleasure principle’ against outside oppressive terror. Yet perhaps its success for the most part is evidence of the positive mobilizing effect, the rhetorical function of a historical tale—that if everybody, including women, is prepared to be a warrior, people should be confident that eventually they will win the war. Indeed, in the ‘orphan island’ Shanghai enveloped by Japanese occupation, when people faced the moral dilemma between personal survival and patriotic duty to the nation,53 an intact family with a positive fighting spirit would help to cultivate confidence and patience to wait for eventual victory. Ouyang Yuqian once received a severed finger in an envelope bullying him to collabo- rate with the Japanese,54 yet this seems only to have strengthened his spirit of resistance. For him, it seems that as long as the Chinese eliminated traitors from within and everyone prepared to be a warrior, they would eventually achieve victory. In another version of Mulan’s story by Zhou Yibai, the ending is rather different. In 1940, Zhou Yibai wrote a play titled Hua Mulan, in which the emperor discovers Mulan’s beauty after she reveals her gender, so he invites her into his harem. Mulan refuses and the emperor offers two options—harem or decapi- tation. At the moment when Mulan prepares to die and the ax is about to fall a messenger arrives with the report of another outbreak of fighting. A wise official suggests that the emperor commission Mulan to lead the army in response, to which Mulan agrees on condition that she be allowed to return home

52 Doris Sommer, Foundational Fictions: The National Romances of Latin America (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford: University of California Press, 1991). 53 Poshek Fu, Passivity, Resistance, and Collaboration: Intellectual Choices in Occupied Shanghai, 1937–1945 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), xiii–xiv. 54 Ouyang Jingru, Huiyi fuqin Ouyang Yuqian [A Memory of my Father Ouyang Yuqian], Beijing historical archive (Beijing Dang’an shiliao). The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 143 after the campaign.55 Zhou’s play, in addition to dramatizing Mulan’s superb ability, criticizes the emperor as a corrupt, lascivious, and thus illegitimate ruler. The war is the condition for Mulan’s survival from the emperor’s clutches, and Mulan and her army are the conditions for the survival of the empire. In either case, life goes on, the war continues, and time grants Mulan’s symbolic victory. It is nothing unique in wartime historical representation for writers to alter an image of a historical personality or freely single out a period in a hero’s life to eschew a tragic or unfavorable ending of an event. Guo Moruo’s rendition of Qu Yuan, Ouyang Yuqian’s portrayal of Hou Chaozong, and Zhou Yibai’s depiction of the emperor in Mulan’s story all demonstrate ideological contingency in a discursive historical moment that obscures historical truth. In the name of ‘borrowing history to mirror reality,’ intellectuals favored the present over the past, a literary practice that is most notably theorized by Guo Moruo who, in 1942, made the assertion of “pursuing the similarity at the expense of the facts” in historical representation.56 Thus the historical plays are nothing other than the symptomatic artifacts of the war period, through which we may view the contemporary public sphere of heterogeneous concerns, and through which we also see the transcendent values of unity and collective agency. Indeed, during wartime, no matter whether it is to criticize illegitimate rulers, attack national traitors, or promote righteous heroes, time is the ultimate subjectivity whose open structure provides essential possibilities for human agency. Morality is transcendent, yet when morality is severely tested by overwhelming negative forces, people can only leave hope to time—it is a protracted war.

Zheng Chenggong: Hero in a Protracted War

In highlighting the perseverance of resistance and the collective power of the people, no effort was stronger than A Ying’s continual working on his Nanming shiju (“Historical Dramas on the Southern Ming”), so much so that his literary work itself could resemble the persistent defense of the Ming that he rendered so lively in his plays. During 1939–1941, A Ying (aka Qian Xingcun; pen name Wei Ruhui) remained in Japanese-dominated Shanghai and wrote several plays on late Ming and

55 Edward Gunn, Unwelcome Muse, 125–6. 56 Guo Moruo, “Lishi, shiju, xianshi [History, Historical Plays, and Reality],” written in 1942, in Guo Moruo lun chuangzuo, 501. 144 Chapter 4 late Qing history. The Southern Ming histories consist of four plays: Mingmo yihen (“The Eternal Regret of the Late Ming,” or Ge Nenniang, Bixue hua), Haiguo yingxiong (“The Hero of the Ocean Kingdom,” or Zheng Chenggong), Yang E zhuan (“The Biography of Yang E”), and Xuandai shenyuan (or Zhang Cangshui). Dramatizing different heroes associated with different short-lived Southern Ming emperors, the four plays document the enduring effort to recover the Ming Empire after the Manchu occupied Beijing and established the Qing. All attribute the fall of the Ming to the internal divisions among Ming loyalists rather than to the external Manchu enemy, which merely appear to be the depraved, illegitimate, background placeholders of the traitors’ machi- nations rather than the powerful foreign invader. Besides the Southern Ming histories, Hong Xuanjiao, written in 1941, depicts the Taiping rebellion in the late Qing period. By the same token, the Manchu court is portrayed as no more than an illegitimate regime occupying the Chinese empire. Should the leaders of the peasant rebellion remain unified and far-sighted, they would be able to overthrow Manchu rule to resurrect the Chinese empire. In the same spirit, Li Chuangwang, written in 1945, depicts the peasant rebellion in the late Ming. Regarding the courts of both the Ming and the Qing as disqualified rulers owing to their exploitation of the people, the play portrays the peasant rebels as strong and justified through the people’s support. However, moral decay and internal contradiction within the peasant leadership finally deprive them of this support, which ultimately results in the rebellion’s failure. It deserves mentioning that although all these plays portray the predetermined breakdown of such honorable attempts, they all have an open ending, suggesting that in their wake the people will bring hope for the future. The failure or death of the heroes, hence, calls on the people to learn the lessons of the past, to inherit their ancestors’ moral integrity and upright spirit, and to believe that such spirit transcends time and space as the moral essence of Chinese civilization. The moral call in these plays, no doubt, is closely related to the social reality during wartime, yet the moralizing tendency nonetheless manifests the undying imperial-time-order handed down from antiquity. However, unlike Wu Jianren’s Tongshi, in which the poetics of martyrdom undermines individual agency to change an overwhelming situation, A Ying’s plays focus more on the consciousness of time. They pay more attention to the future, a future that is not only based on a linear historical continuity, but also the product of the Marxist outlook that defines the present. The most appealing example is the play Haiguo yingxiong (“The Hero of the Ocean Kingdom”). Written in 1940, this play depicts the effort to recover the Ming Empire led by Zheng Chenggong. As the adopted son of Emperor The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 145

Longwu and nicknamed Guo xing ye 國姓爺 (“Master of the Imperial Name”), Chenggong represents the righteous group wanting to resurrect the Ming Empire. However, his birth father Zheng Zhilong, the dominant official who controls the army, betrays the emperor and cooperates with the Manchu general Boluo. At the threshold of moral choice, Chenggong places loyalty to the emperor and the Ming Empire ahead of filial duty. Chenggong appears to be a moral paragon embodying multiple virtues in the play in that he still remains a loyal son trying to rescue his father’s reputation, even though his father betrays him. Inspired by his righteous spirit and several important victories, Chenggong’s army grows. However, after a sneak night attack by the Manchus after a promised armistice, Chenggong is forced to withdraw to Taiwan. Toward the end, Chenggong hears that the Qing court has executed his father and the rest of his family. Deeply saddened by the news, he advises his children to carry on the mission of recovering the Ming Empire with the support of the people represented by the unofficial organization Tiandi Hui (“Heaven and Earth Society”). Far from being an exemplary piece that could win A Ying literary accolades, this play nonetheless gained great success on stage with a mixed critical reception in wartime Shanghai. Besides the positive comments from the literary critics, two negative criticisms were: that the play predicted the failure of Chinese resistance to Japan; and that its aesthetic value as a stage play was questionable. In the prefaces of the published version, A Ying responded to the latter criticism while Liu Yazi reacted to the former.57 In his preface, Liu not only applauded the accomplishment of the play, but also strongly attacked the vision of defeatism held by some other critics. For Liu, instead of propagating defeatism, the play anticipated a victory destined for the future. Since Zheng Chenggong’s spirit was handed down by the people’s organization Tiandi Hui, which later evolved into the Sanhe Hui, then Xingzhong Hui, and finally the Tongmeng Hui (the predecessor of the Nationalist KMT) led by Sun Yat-sen (Sun Zhongshan), then the success of Sun Yat-sen’s revolution could rightly testify to Zheng Chenggong’s ultimate victory. In his words, “The righteous spirit of three generations of the Prince of Yanping [Zheng Chenggong]’s family and the revolutionary system of the Taiping rebellion were finally inherited by our national founding father, Sun Zhongshan, who continued to carry forward this spirit.” Moreover, Liu maintained, Sun Zhongshan’s followers would definitely win the war against Japan and someday take back Taiwan from the Japanese.58

57 A Ying, “Haiguo Yingxiong” in A Ying quanji, Vol. 10, 3–15. 58 Ibid., 5. 146 Chapter 4

Needless to say, the historical continuity he created among Zheng Chenggong the imperial prince, Hong Xiuquan the failed scholar and leader of the Taiping rebellion, and Sun Zhongshan the founding father of the republic, is problematic. What is at stake here is not so much the historical connections between these people so much as the common traits they share: the anti- Manchu sentiment (Sun changed his attitude later) and the patriotic and revolutionary spirit. Yet for Liu, the Manchu deserved to be overthrown not only because they were illegitimate rulers of the Chinese empire, but also because they ceded Chinese land (including Taiwan) to foreigners. The Manchu could be anything but ‘foreign.’ There is, thus, a sense in which ethnic nationalism like that of Liu and A Ying gives way to the desire to maintain the integrity of imperial territory. The temporal and the spatial dimensions latent in this play (and Liu’s comment) are indexical to the imperial-time-order, in which unity and morality transcend time and space. It at once verifies the vision of the present and legitimizes the prediction of the future. In A Ying, Liu Yazi, and many others’ textual worlds, history is malleable in that it is subject to contemporary interpretation, leaping from the present to the past to make a reverse cause- effect connection. However, morality is rigid as ‘spirit’ that can be inherited by later generations and spark collective action. The intrinsic contradiction between the ‘malleability of history’ and ‘rigidity of morality’ led late Qing writers (such as Wu Jianren) to a suspension of representing history, yet intellectuals in the war period found a solution to the problem by creating a continuous time and arguing for collective agency in history. In A Ying’s play, the malleability of history also shows itself in the image of a virtuous girl, Zheng Yu, whose textual existence bears significant modern characteristics in the treatment of women and gender relations. A talented, patriotic, and sweet girl, in the play Zheng Yu appears to be Chenggong’s daughter and a fervent loyalist. Yet the prototype of Yu should be Chenggong’s concubine. Reluctant to dismiss a character he greatly admired, A Ying transformed her into Chenggong’s daughter in order to improve Chenggong’s image for a modern audience.59 The transformation of Yu in the play not only draws

59 Ibid., 127–130. According to a historical document Fan Tianlu Conglu [The Documents from Fan Tianlu], Yu was Zheng Chenggong’s concubine, pretty and talented, good at writing poetry. After Chenggong died, Yu lamented him with the poem: “His bare hand used to lift the Sun and the Moon of the Ming Empire, his cordial heart still shines through the universe of the Han.” A subordinate general tried to persuade her to marry him, yet Yu refused him and remained chaste for Chenggong. She finally died as a nun in a Buddhist monastery. The Continuous Time: Heroes In The “protracted War” 147 her out from the domestic space of Chenggong’s family into public space, but also presents her as an independent subject to carry out the mission of recovering the Ming Empire. Much has been written about how women were incorporated into nation building during the modern period. From the May Fourth enlightenment to the national salvation movement, women’s emancipatory practice proved to be no more than another male-centered attempt to mobilize women to participate in modernizing the nation.60 Chan Juan, Mulan, and Zheng Yu are just a few examples of ‘enlightened women’ mobilized to serve the nation, predat- ing the ‘masculinized’ woman subject in the socialist era. Yet the deletion of the gender difference from another angle demonstrates the predominant goal of unity required by the new nation, a nation that persistently refuses to be confined within the conceptual boundary of a modern nation-state and constantly refers to the past for legitimation. Moreover, the concept of ‘the People’ both signifies unity and carries a moralistic undertone, which worked harmo- niously with the construction of a new nation, until Mao’s theory of “continuous revolution” dominated the national horizon.

60 See Dai Jinhua and Meng Yue, Fuchu lishi dibiao: xiandai funü wenxue yanjiu [Emerging from the Horizon of History: Modern Chinese Women’s Literature] (Beijing: Renmin daxue chubanshe, 2004). Maryfair Mei-hui Yang, “From Gender Erasure to Gender Difference: State Feminism, Consumer Sexuality, and Women’s Public Sphere in China,” in Yang, Space of Their Own (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999). Or see Lydia Liu, “Invention and Intervention: The Making of a Female Tradition in Modern Chinese Literature,” in Widmer and Wang, eds., From May Fourth to June Fourth (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993); Lydia Liu, “The Female Body and Nationalist Discourse: Manchuria in Xiao Hong’s Field of Life and Death,” in Angela Zito and Tanie Barlow, eds., Body, Subject and Power in China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). Chapter 5 The Transitional Time: Staging “the People” and the “Nation” in Mao’s China

Between capitalist and communist society there lies the period of the revolutionary transformation of the one into the other. Corresponding to this is also a political transition period in which the state can be nothing but the revolutionary dictatorship of the proletariat. Karl Marx, Critique of the Gotha Programme, 1875

The persistence of the imperial-time-order through the Maoist era follows a tortuous course through Mao Zedong’s distinctive Marxist vision and the efforts of intellectuals to position themselves in the unstable political times that Mao’s vision precipitated. Mao’s China, known for its overemphasis on ‘class struggle’ and ‘continuous revolution,’ resulted from a steadfast belief in a Communist future and an analysis of the world’s ‘Cold War’ situation in reality. Once again, the temporal gap between the classless future and the antagonistic present defined the contemporary period as a transitional time, a period of the People’s Democratic Dictatorship followed by socialism that would eventually lead to Communism. Only in this way could China unify the working class of the world and identify the boundaries between ‘the People’ and the ‘enemy.’1 However, due to Mao’s peculiar dialectic of contradiction and unity, the boundaries between ‘the People’ and the ‘enemy’ were by no means clear-cut and stable. Therefore, this particular transitional time saw multilayered tensions between China and the world, and between the People and the Nation. Internationally, Mao’s thought has a universal, moralistic rhetorical flavor challenging the domination of the world superpowers—the US and the USSR.

1 Mao Zedong attempted to theorize the ‘transitional period’ several times during the 1950s–1960s. For Mao, the socialist period could last for a long time, encountering different and newly emerged contradictions. Even after the realization of Communism, contradictions will still exist and push the society to develop. So Communism is not a static utopia, but full of contradictions. See Shui Luzhou, Xuexi Mao Zedong (Study Mao Zedong). Online source: Wuyouzhixiang 乌有之乡, http://www.wyzxsx.com/Article/Class17/200808/46956.html. Mao’s opinion on ‘eternal contradiction’ and the later ‘Continuous Revolution’ that derived from it, diverges from the historical vision of Communism, manifesting the traditional Chinese dialectic thought.

As Wang Hui points out, Mao’s concept of Chinese Marxism had always been positioned on the global horizon and the “Three Worlds” theory was the moralistic narrative to oppose world hegemonic power.2 Domestically, the call for spiritual and ethnic unity, as the basis of the unified socialist nation, and the ceaseless effort to define ‘the People’ and different social classes, constitute the fundamental paradox of Mao’s China. Whereas both the moral righteousness and the taken-for-granted unity reveal the underlying characteristics of the imperial-time-order, the theoretically endless contradictions made the practice of defining class boundaries a slippery process that, in retrospect, appeared no more than an arbitrary labeling performance that led to disastrous consequences during the Cultural Revolution. Two seemingly compatible and unifying concepts—‘the People’ and ‘the Nation’—mark the special temporality of this period, yet they present an intrinsic paradox that rendered the particular situation and the long-term historical shi-trend difficult to recognize. To define the lived time, under the rubric of moral unity and class struggle, intellectuals once again resorted to history for guidance. However, writing literature about history was fraught with greater difficulties during the Maoist era than earlier periods. These difficulties had to do both with how history was understood and how writers were positioned socially. For Mao, history was a continuous process of development, in which the People are the fundamental subject driven by class conflict to push history forward. Yet he also followed a utilitarian historical view that applauds the accomplishment of individuals who had achieved or strengthened the unification of China in the past.3 Therefore past rulers such as the first emperor Qin Shihuang, Empress Wu Zetian, and the posthumously named Emperor Weiwu Cao Cao earned his praise, their notorious reputations in history notwith- standing. The seemingly contradictory goals of representing both the ‘People’ and the ‘empire,’ the latter being the precursor of a unified modern nation,

2 Wang Hui, “Depoliticized Politics: From East to West” in New Left Review, vol. 41, Sept–Oct. 2006, 41. In Wang’s words: “The ‘Three Worlds’ theory did not only posit the Third World as a political subject, which, through links and breaks with elements of the Second World, would oppose the two hegemonic powers, the USA and USSR, and form a new kind of international relations. It also sought, through theoretical investigation, political debate and moral appeal, to break the ideological power and prestige of the American and Soviet systems. The practice of counter-hegemony implied a contestation of cultural authority.” 3 Li Hui, Jiyu Mao Zedong dianping lishi renwu kan qi lishi guan [Discerning Mao’s Historical View Based on his Commentary on Historical Characters], Master’s Thesis, Shandong University, 2008. Available online: http://cdmd.cnki.com.cn/Article/CDMD- 10422-2008190249.htm. 150 Chapter 5 posed a challenge for writers, for the discourse of class struggle would expose their works to uninformed readings. How to confirm the great deeds of the rulers and unveil their reactionary nature at the same time characterizes the central problem of the historical plays. Moreover, the delicate position of intellectuals, their status shifting between bourgeoisie and working class, renders their writings even more self-conscious constructions of history. From the historical plays of Tian Han and Guo Moruo, written in the late 1950s and early 1960s, to Yao Xueyin’s novel Li Zicheng, written during the Cultural Revolution but only published later, and Yan Haiping’s play Qin Wang Li Shimin (“Li Shimin Prince of Qin”) written in the early 1980s, there was a strategic and delicate positioning of the emperor and the People in the unified nation throughout the Maoist period. What we see in these works are thus the interaction between lived time and transcendent time, not only the symptomatic renditions of history that follow the contemporary discourse of class struggle, but also the paradigmatic moral order that encompasses the People and the empire in harmony. This subjects the rulers to moral and ideological scrutiny as well as endows the intellectuals with a voice to articulate the imperial-time-order.

The Transitional Time: Mao’s Dialectic of Unity and Contradiction

One characteristic of Mao’s thought is the dialectic between unity and contradiction. Whereas Mao stressed the unity of the world working class—‘the People’—with a moralistic undertone that defies national boundaries, he nonetheless believed that contradictions are eternally at odds with unity, and that ceaseless contradictions envelope temporary unity. This can be found in his wartime philosophical piece “On Contradiction” and his later discussion of the transitional socialist period. Rather than a static, stateless, classless utopia, Mao envisioned that Communist society must also consist of contradictions, for otherwise the dialectic would perish.4

4 In a talk about reading in late 1959, Mao said, “We say that Communist society has two stages, the primary stage and the advanced stage, which are scientifically predicted by Marx, who was conditioned by his historical times. Yet, after achieving an advanced stage, the Communist development must encounter a new stage. New goals thus need to be proposed.” In 1964 in a talk on philosophy, Mao maintained that “Socialism is determined to perish; without its death there won’t be Communism. . . . I don’t believe that there is no qualitative change in Communist society! . . . According to dialectics, this is unthinkable. . . . [Without change] dialectics is going to perish.” See online source: Wuyouzhixiang 乌有之乡, http:// www.wyzxsx.com/Article/Class17/200808/46956.html. the transitional time 151

Moreover, Mao’s dialectic exhibits a dualistic nature that emphasizes ‘unity of opposites.’ It consists of two types of contradictions, defined as a primary contradiction between the “enemy” and “us” and a secondary contradiction within ‘the People.’ The two sides within one contradiction and the two types of contradictions can be mutually transformed to develop new contradictions.5 This understanding is in contrast to the three-category ‘dialectical synthesis.’ Mao insisted:

The most basic thing is the unity of opposites. The transformation of quality and quantity into one another is the unity of opposites quality and quantity. There is no such thing as the negation of the negation. Affirmation, negation, affirmation, negation. . . in the development of things, every link in the chain of events is both affirmation and negation.6

Slavoj Zizek sees this dialectic of ‘eternal movement’ or ‘antithetical unity’ as Mao’s misunderstanding of Hegel’s dialectic, for Mao consistently rejected the notions of ‘negation of negation’ and ‘dialectical synthesis.’ In Zizek’s words:

Mao was right in rejecting the standard notion of “dialectical synthesis” as the “reconciliation” of the opposites, as a higher unity which encompasses their struggle; he was wrong in formulating this rejection, this insistence on the priority of struggle, division, over every synthesis or unity, in the terms of a general cosmology-ontology of the “eternal struggle of opposites”—this is why he got caught in the simplistic, properly non-dialectical, notion of the ‘bad infinity’ of struggle.7

Mao’s diversion from Hegel’s dialectic and insistence on ‘eternal movements,’ may well have been inspired by his reading The Riddle of the Universe by Ernst Haeckel, a German Darwinist, as Mao himself told the German political scien- tist and journalist Klaus Mehnert.8 Yet Mao may have been open to Haeckel’s vision of matter, movement, and the workings of the universe as a whole from

5 Refer to Mao, “Guanyu wuchanjieji zhuanzheng de lishi jingyan [On the Experience of Proletarian Dictatorship],” People’s Daily (Renmin ribao) April 5, 1956; “Zai lun wuchanjieji zhuanzheng de lishi jingyan 再论无产阶级专政的历史经验 [Again on the Experience of Proletarian Dictatorship]. People’s Daily (Renmin ribao December 29, 1956). 6 Mao Tse-tung, “Talk on Questions of Philosophy,” August 1964. In Zizek, Slavoj Zizek Presents Mao on Practice and Contradiction (London & New York: Verso, 2007), 181. 7 Slavoj Zizek, “Mao Tse-tung, the Marxist Lord of Misrule,” 9. 8 Yuan Zhiying, “Guanyu Daerwen zhuyizhe Haike’er zai Zhongguo de yingxiang,” Zhonghua dushu bao, Oct 14, 2009. Online source: http://www.gmw.cn/01ds/2009-10/14/content_995362 .htm. 152 Chapter 5 his perusal of Chinese dialectics in the ancient Book of Changes (Yijing). Mao’s contradiction-oriented dualistic thinking, his belief in the ‘unity of opposites,’ for some Japanese scholars, reflects the traditional Chinese dialectic that is most synthetically documented in The Book of Changes.9 Scholars have observed that the dialectic manifested in the Book of Changes represents a traditional Chinese theory of time.10 While everything in the universe seems to be changing, following a fundamental law that is utterly plain and simple, “among the changing tides there is a persistent principle, a central rule, which does not vary with space and time.”11 Both paradigmatic and symptomatic, encompassing transcendent invariability and immanent contingency, this cosmic vision of things constitutes the traditional Chinese theory of time. As discussed in the first chapter, this vision of time lays the foundation for the imperial-time-order. For Mao, however, the ‘persistent principle’ of time seems to be ‘change’ or ‘struggle’ with itself: “All things are at once in motion and not in motion,” Mao maintained, “—such is the dialectics of our world. Pure motionlessness does not exist; neither does pure motion. Motion is absolute while rest is temporary and conditional.”12 The overemphasis on motion and contradiction in Mao’s thought, for Atsuyoshi Niijima, negates or reverses the traditional Chinese yin-yang thinking, and thus developed and enriched the Marxist dialectics.13 Whether we see it as traditional or as Marxist dialectic, Mao’s ‘stray’ thought with its ubiquity of struggle predicated the theory of ‘continuous revolution’ that reached its catastrophic height during the Cultural Revolution. The (non-)dialectical relationship between unity and contradiction, and the delicate practice of ‘defining boundaries’ for the slippery two sides of

9 Atsuyoshi Niijima, The Philosophy of Mao Tse-tung (chapter 10, 1976 edition); refer to Xu Li, “Riben dui Mao Zedong zhexue zhuzuo yanjiu guandian gaishu [An Introduction to Japanese Scholars’ Research on Mao Zedong’s Thought],” online source: http://politics .csscipaper.com/marxism/maozedong/16535_2.html. 10 Manuel B. Dy, Jr. The Chinese View of Time: A Passage to Eternity, chapter XX. Online source: http://www.crvp.org/book/Series03/III-11/chapter_xx.htm. 11 Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Book_of_changes. 12 Mao Tse-tung, “Speech at the Second Plenary Session of the Eighth Central Committee of the Communist Party of China,” made in November 15, 1956. In Selected Works of Mao Tse-tung, Volume 5. Online source: http://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/mao/ selected-works/volume-5/mswv5_56.htm. 13 Atsuyoshi Niijima, The Philosophy of Mao Tse-tung, refer to Xu Li, “Riben dui Mao Zedong zhexue zhuzuo yanjiu guandian gaishu [An Introduction to Japanese Scholars’ Research on Mao Zedong’s Thought],” online source: http://www.mzdlib.com/libszzy/ maozedongxingjiushujuku/5644.html. the transitional time 153 the contradictions (as to who belonged to the ‘enemy,’ who belonged to ‘the People’; who possessed the ‘right’ opinion, and who understood it ‘wrongly’; and who changed over time or under what circumstances, etc.), therefore, adds up to the Maoist ideological dynamic in the process of building a modern nation. At a moment when the People’s Republic desired to establish itself as an independent socialist nation that inherits ‘unification’ from the imperial past and articulates the moral authority of internationalism, the recognition of ‘social class’ stands at variance with the unity the nation requires. In the cultural realm, this ideological anxiety of reconciling unity and class struggle was translated into the semiotic interplay of the ‘Nation’ and ‘the People.’ The ‘Nation’ transcends ethnic and class boundaries within China, the emphasis of which obscures the demarcation of social classes and regional, ethnic differences; ‘the People,’ on the other hand, transcends national borders, yet requires clear-cut boundaries between social classes, the ambiguity of which in turn renders the ‘defining practices’ unstable and sometimes arbitrary labeling experiments. In other words, who should or should not belong to ‘the People’ became sensitive and contingent classifications. To tackle this contingency and to exercise their moral agency, intellectuals once again resorted to historical representations to stage the ‘Nation’ (or the empire) and ‘the People.’ Moreover, by reactivating the dynamism of history through the rhetoric of the ‘Nation’ and ‘the People,’ intellectuals displayed their innate anxiety to define their identity and situate themselves in history.

Historical Representations: Intellectuals in the Interplay of the ‘Nation’ and ‘the People’

Symptomatic of the national crisis during the first half of the twentieth century, historical narratives of the time usually take a defensive position resisting the external threat and criticizing internal splits in the Han Chinese group. This thus plays out the tension between empire and modern nation-state in terms of national, ethnic, and cultural boundaries. Historical narratives in the Maoist period, however, are devoted to confirming a multi-ethnic, unified, socialist nation as negations of both the capitalist countries and the Chinese traditional empires. The ideal of the new nation thus requires the construction of ‘the People,’ a category that demands homogeneity and totality that erases differences, as ‘reformed’ citizens equipped with Marxist-Leninist-Maoist thought. On the other hand, the ongoing process of ‘reform’ (gaizao) that aimed to transform the ‘old’ citizen into the ‘new’ and the recurrently strengthened class struggle make it explicit that there was a split within ‘the People’—the 154 Chapter 5 old exploitative social class and the working class, the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. The intrinsic paradox of the ‘Nation’ as a transcendent totality and ‘the People’ as a category alert to class difference constitutes the basic tension in historical representations in Maoist China. Whenever unity was stressed to mirror the newly-founded nation, historical individuals, members of political or cultural elites alike, were to be applauded as heroes, such as Hai Rui, Guan Hanqing, and Xie Yaohuan; whenever class struggle or the internal sociopolitical conflict dominated other concerns, as during the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), these historical figures were seen as the ‘enemy’ of the socialist revolution, and as a consequence, history turned out to be a very sensitive and dangerous site capable of destroying the writers. ‘The People,’ a concept that has evolved from min (the mass) to renmin (the People), thus, is a double-edged sword that both motivates and admonishes intellectuals for their ambiguous positioning. Indeed, since the late Qing period when the spirit of national defense prevailed, the articulations of Zhongguo ren (the Chinese people) and renmin (the People) had both served the umbrella notion of ‘China’ that encompasses all patriotic people, certainly including intellectuals, who identified with China. In the Maoist era, ‘the People,’ now connoting social class, became a fuzzy category that demanded clarification. In 1957, Mao Zedong defined ‘the People’ in the contemporary period as comprising “all social classes, social strata, and social groups that applaud, support, and participate in the socialist cause,” and the contradictions between these groups or classes are contradictions within the People.14 This all-encompassing definition at once eased and intensified the anxiety of intellectuals, who often had historical ties with exploitative classes. On the one hand, being situated within ‘the People,’ intellectuals were granted a voice to assert their opinions without falling into the category of the ‘enemy’; on the other hand, as the object of reform (gaizao) by the proletariat, intellectuals stood at the verge of crossing the ideological line. In this light, historical representations in the Maoist period can be seen as both the product of a class-based literature of political utility enshrined in Maoist thought and manifestations of intellectuals’ anxiety in positioning themselves. This anxiety, prevalent throughout the Maoist era, can be traced in many intellectuals’ memoirs after the Cultural Revolution. For example, the renowned playwright Cao Yu reflected on his response to a Guangzhou

14 Mao Zedong, “Guanyu zhengque chuli renmin neibu maodun de wenti [On the Correct Handling of Contradictions among the People],” February 27, 1957. In Mao Zedong xuanji [Selected works of Mao Zedong], vol. 5 (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1977), 363. the transitional time 155 conference in 1962 in which intellectuals were officially freed from the label ‘bourgeois intellectual’ and treated as part of the proletariat:

After liberation, like many other intellectuals I put a lot of effort into my work. Although in an organizational sense we were admitted to the Party, the fact is we were still saddled with the “bourgeois intellectual” label, which in practice kept us from holding our heads high and breathing freely. With this label pressing down on us, how could we express ourselves without inhibition in our creative work on behalf of socialism? That time was also one in which our hearts were burdened by worries. Not only I, but many other comrades as well, experienced a deep fear that if we didn’t do a good job, we would become “poisonous weeds who opposed the party and opposed socialism.” The Guangzhou conference overnight liberated people’s thinking and did away with the labels. Thirteen years after the founding of the People’s Republic, that strange and confusing shadow, sometimes visible, sometimes hidden, finally vanished from our minds. How could this not cause people to express heartfelt gratitude toward the Party? How could it not fill people with joy? Yet, this good time did not last!15

What can be deduced from this statement is that the political atmosphere in the early People’s Republic did not leave much room for free intellectual expression. Political campaigns, reminiscent of a roller coaster, sometimes minimizing and sometimes exaggerating the contradictions within ‘the People,’ recurrently tested the intellectual’s resilience and confidence in the current regime. In 1956, the CCP announced the Hundred Flowers policy to let “a hundred flowers bloom, and a hundred schools contend,” encouraging creativity and diversity in cultural production. Yet, soon after in 1957, the ‘anti-rightist’ movement dampened the enthusiasm of the writers for their creativity. Many young writers were sent to the countryside to undergo re-education, a sign of the delicate status of the intellectuals in the new socialist nation. In 1958, the robust wave of the Great Leap Forward once again swallowed the writers and pressured them to increase cultural production. Partly for the purpose of following the policy route, partly in order to navigate politically sensitive waters, historical plays were produced to mirror the present while avoiding direct

15 Tian Benxiang, Cao Yu Zhuan [Biography of Cao Yu], 411. Quoted and translated by Paul A. Cohen, Speaking to History: The Story of King Goujian in Twentieth-Century China (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 2009), 173. 156 Chapter 5 representation of reality. Meanwhile, they helped reassert the intellectual’s status as the legitimately moral voice transcendent over political authority.16 During this period, a number of famous writers devoted themselves to the creation of historical plays, many of which dramatize the conflict between the people and the ruling class and highlight the righteousness of the people by giving them voices.17 For example, Cao Yu’s play Dan Jian Pian (“The Gall and the Sword,” 1961), written to reflect the material difficulty and spiritual vigor of Chinese people after the break-up with the USSR and the following famine, assigns a major role to the people of Yue—the representative of them, a peasant named Kucheng, even comes to instruct King Goujian and shape his basic moral and political outlook. This exaggerated vision of the people, cited by critics of the play as being too idealized,18 needless to say, keeps in line with the Party rhetoric of ‘the People,’ yet is also seen by many others as a result of Cao Yu’s anxiety and timidity in representing history.19 We have every reason to believe that intellectuals’ anxiety was pandemic, so much so that the premier Zhou Enlai and the then foreign minister Chen Yi needed to deliver two separate speeches in 1962 to reassure intellectuals of their membership in the working class.20 This anxiety, discernible in Cao Yu and many others through their unrealistic adulation of the peasant- people, is also revealed in historical representations of the righteous scholars,

16 Rudolf Wagner observed that during this period, historical dramas were produced as perplexing political texts that needed to be deciphered to serve as social critique due to the sensitive political environment. Refer to Rudolf Wagner, The Contemporary Chinese Drama: Four Studies (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford: University of California Press, 1990), 2–3. 17 There are also other historical novels that were written and published in Taiwan, Hong Kong, or overseas during the Maoist period. For instance, Gao Yang’s historical novels in Taiwan, Jin Yong’s martial arts novels in Hong Kong, Lin Yutang’s Biography of Wu Zetian published in the United States in 1959, and so forth. Since they were not available in the mainland until late 1980s, I exclude them from the discussion in this chapter. 18 Paul Cohen, Speaking to History, 165. 19 Zhou Enlai, in a Beijing speech made to over one hundred playwrights in February 1962, talked about a lack of creativity and productivity in the playwrights’ writing as symptomatic of a general political/ideological problem. He singled Cao Yu out for his timidity in following the party line: “Yet his writing in The Gall and the Sword is marked by anxiety. After he was admitted into the Party, he should have become bolder, but instead he became more timid.” Quoted in Paul Cohen, Speaking to History, 172. 20 Refer to Xu Qingquan, “Jianguo hou dang dui zhishifenzi jieji shuxing rending de jianxin licheng [The Strenuous Journey of the CCP in Defining the Class Character of Intellectuals after the Founding of the People’s Republic].” Online source: http://cpc.people.com.cn/ GB/64162/64172/85037/85039/5926430.html. the transitional time 157 ministers, and lower rank officials who, as a medium between the ruler and the common people and a mirror image of the contemporary intellectuals, voice the concern ‘of the people’ and ‘for the people.’ This image prompted such dramatic figures as the Ming Dynasty righteous official Hai Rui, refashioned in Wu Han’s Peking Opera Hai Rui ba guan (“Hai Rui Dismissed from Office”), the Tang Dynasty female official Xie Yaohuan, depicted in Tian Han’s Peking Opera Xie Yaohuan, and the Southern Song young scholar Pei Yu portrayed in Meng Chao’s Kun Opera Li Huiniang. All declaring the traditional moral value of wei min qing ming (‘speak for the people’) and therefore regarded as ‘poisonous weeds’ in the Cultural Revolution,21 these dramas not only are ‘guilty as charged’ for articulating the centuries-long populist thinking (‘min ben thinking’), unpacked as min wei gui, jun wei qing 民为贵，君为轻 (“the people are crucial while the ruler is trivial”), but also divulge the playwrights’ desire to present themselves as the paramount ‘voice of the People.’

Guan Hanqing: The Intellectual and the People

The play that most vividly and directly articulates the playwright’s appre hensively positioning himself is Tian Han’s Guan Hanqing. Written in 1958 to honor Guan Hanqing, who had just been listed as one of the world’s greatest cultural figures, and to represent a literary ‘satellite’ participating in the Great Leap Forward,22 Guan Hanqing won immediate praise in the intellectual realm. Depicting the great dramatist Guan Hanqing in the Mongol-ruled Yuan

21 In a November 1965 article in the Shanghai newspaper Wenhui Bao [Mercury], Yao Wenyuan condemned the historian and deputy mayor of Beijing, Wu Han, for representing a positive portrait of the Ming Dynasty official Hai Rui in the opera Hai Rui Baguan [“Hai Rui Dismissed from Office”]. Under the assumption that all literature reflects the author’s class identity, Yao asserted that this opera manifested the author’s intention to justify the landlord class and criticize contemporary policy. This logic, patently political and absurd as it seems, forms the essence of the so-called ‘suggestive historiography.’ In the same spirit, Tian Han’s Xie Yaohuan and Meng Chao’s Li Huiniang underwent similar attacks for introducing social conflict to the stage, which was charged as ‘anti-Party’ and ‘counter- revolutionary.’ For a similar criticism of Tian Han’s Xie Yaohuan, refer to Yun Song 云松, “Tian Han de Xie Yaohuan shi yi ke da ducao [Tian Han’s Xie Yaohuan is a Big Poisonous Weed],” People’s Daily, February 1, 1966. Online source: http://www.wengewang.org/read .php?tid=22011 accessed on June 10, 2014. 22 He Jimin, “Wei min qing ming: Tian Han shi tian xie jiu Guan Hanqing [Speaking for the People: Tian Han Finished Writing Guan Hanqing in Ten Days],” online source: http:// www.tongzhougongjin.com/review/list/showlist/?id=270&Jounrnals=4. 158 Chapter 5

Dynasty, this play presents a courageous, upright cultural hero who dares challenge authority by speaking out against injustice done to the common people, even at the cost of his own life. The story is straightforward. Outside a small tavern where he is a regular, Guan Hanqing witnesses an execution squad passing by and is told that the condemned woman, Zhu Xiaolan (Chu Hsiao-lan), a loyal wife and faithful daughter-in-law, has been framed for murder. The corrupt prefect, Lord Khoshin, a racially prejudiced money-grabber who is also the son of the influential Lord Akham, has been bribed by the murderer, turned a deaf ear to Xiaolan’s defense, and decided that either Xiaolan or her equally innocent mother-in-law should take the blame. In order to save her elderly mother-in-law, Xiaolan pleads guilty. This story and the people’s bitterness over the rampant corruption prompt Guan Hanqing to write a play to “lay bare the hypocrisy of these vicious, corrupt officials to the blazing sun so that everybody can see. . . Let all know that in the hearts of the people there is still a sense of justice and that they know what’s right and wrong.”23 The resulting play is nevertheless set in the period of the Han Dynasty, whereby Guan Hanqing reincarnates a legendary devoted daughter Dou E (Tou Ngo) and lets her share the fate of Xiaolan. Hence, the play within the play is Guan Hanqing’s best-known opera, Dou E Yuan (“Injustice Done to Tou Ngo”). Tian Han did not dwell on the play Dou E Yuan in Guan Hanqing. Instead, he highlighted the interaction between the play as a text and the social context in which the play is produced. He portrayed various characters in different social classes—the performers represented by the female lead Zhu Lianxiu (Chu Lien-hsiu), the common people such as the Liu family who run the small tavern, the literati scholars who hold different philosophies of survival, and the corrupt and righteous officials in court. In general, the common people, opera performers and peasants alike, are encouraged and excited by the play. Zhu Lianxiu even vows to stand by Guan Hanqing, declaring that as long as he dares to write, she dares to perform, ready to risk her life for this righteous cause. Despite the caution of a literati-scholar Ye Hefu (Yeh Ho-fu), they stage the opera in a popular theater, where it immediately attracts widespread support from the people, and at the same time infuriates and threatens the Mongol officials. Lord Akham attempts to persuade Guan Hanqing to revise the content of the play. Having refused to change, Guan Hanqing and Zhu

23 Tian Han, “Kuan Han-Ching [Guan Hanqing],” in Twentieth-Century Chinese Drama: An Anthology, ed. Edward M. Gunn, (Bloomington: University of Indiana Press, 1983), translated by the Foreign Language Press, 334. the transitional time 159

Lianxiu are both jailed; and another performer Sai Lianxiu (Sai Lien-hsiu) has her eyes gouged out and is also thrown in prison. The playwright and his loyal troupe are not allowed to suffer in vain. Here Tian Han consciously stressed the rhetorical and performative function of the play and the theater, for we soon know that the Han military commander Wang Zhu (Wang Chu), stirred by the play, assassinates Lord Akham while Guan Hanqing is in jail. At the moment Wang is executed, he cries out: “It’s the people’s enemies that I, Wang Chu, have slain!” As Ye Hofu points out, his words resemble a line in the play that says, “Put all the evil, corrupt officials out of the way!”24 Hence, it is as if Wang has internalized the line from the play, translating it ino actions that have generated social effect. What the theater delivers is therefore not just the theatrical spectacle, but also the performative act that has released its rhetorical power. This self-reflexive portrayal of the theater, for its twofold hermeneutic and rhetorical functions, at once puts the playwright on center stage, and reasserts the crucial role of the theater in the society. Guan Hanqing ends in a bittersweet fashion. With an official investigation that exposes Lord Akham as corrupt and deserving execution, and a petition signed by more than ten thousand people to spare Guan Hanqing, Lord Horikhoson is eventually persuaded against his better judgment to release Guan Hanqing and allow him to go into exile. In the final scene, loyal friends and neighbors come to see Guan Hanqing off, including another well-known dramatist Wang Shifu, author of The West Chamber. Zhu Lianxiu, already spellbound by her love for Guan Hanqing, hopes to join him in exile, but her plea is rejected. The disappointed Guan Hanqing and Zhu Lianxiu thus have to bid farewell to each other, singing a song of butterflies that Guan Hanqing has written in prison to express his love for her. Critics of Guan Hanqing have read a great deal into the textual-contextual interplay revolving around this play, given the function attributed to the opera Dou E Yuan in the society that Guan Hanqing lived in and the fact that this play was later branded as another ‘poisonous weed’ by Tian Han.25 Yet there is no common ground to compare the social environment in the Yuan Dynasty that Xiaolan experiences with that in Maoist China, where the common people were ‘masters’ of the country. It would be hard to find matching ‘corrupt

24 Tian Han, Kuan Han-ching, 355. 25 For a more comprehensive analysis of this play, refer to Rudolf Wagner, “A Guide for the Perplexed and a Call to the Wavering: Tian Han’s Guan Hanqing (1958) and the New Historical Drama” in The Contemporary Historical Drama (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford: University of California Press, 1990). 160 Chapter 5 officials’ in reality and one should keep in mind that Tian Han himself was also a high ranking government official. What is comparable here, perhaps, is the status of intellectuals within and outside the play. As the play makes clear, Yuan Dynasty scholars were ranked ninth in the social strata, between courtesans (eighth) and beggars (tenth), lower than physicians (fifth) and artisans (seventh).26 In comparison, during the Maoist period, intellectuals were the object of reform, their status shifting between being cast out of, and being accepted within, the category of ‘the People.’ They had been deprived of their own voice for fear of political incor- rectness. A voice is all that intellectuals have, just as the brush is their sword.27 However, the discourse of ‘reform’ that seemingly carried universal truth had silenced them, though not in a coercive fashion as Akham tells Horikhoson in the play, “No, that is one thing we cannot do—let them talk. Once the lid is loose, there’ll be a deluge of rebellion and they’ll take the law into their own hands. No. You can’t let them go too far!”28 The angst of losing one’s voice and position in society, perhaps, constitutes the unconscious drive that prompts Tian Han to represent Guan Hanqing this way. By integrating Guan Hanqing’s voice with the people’s voice, Tian Han resumed the intellectual’s voice at variance with authority. A modern playwright writing about a historical dramatist writing historical drama, Tian Han thus successfully produced a multilayered text with a distinctive consciousness of the leading role of intellectuals and the rhetorical function of theater in society. Indeed, Tian Han’s Guan Hanqing reveals not so much sentiment to challenge Mao’s leadership or criticize contemporary society as to reassert the intellectuals’ role as the ‘voice of the people.’ Directly identifying with Guan Hanqing, Tian Han invested himself deeply in the writing of the play, “taking the character’s fate, personality, feelings and soul to steam, to stew, to grind, and to fry, and also putting himself in to steam, stew, grind, and fry.”29 He created a self-portrait, through the image of Guan Hanqing, as “a bronze bean that cannot be softened by cooking or flattened by beating.”30 This image prompted the critics of his time to swiftly recall Tian Han’s experiences and recognize his characters.31 Taking himself as the representative of the people,

26 Tian Han, Kuan Han-ching, 333. 27 Ibid., 334. 28 Ibid., 349. 29 Dong Jian, Tian Han Zhuan [Biography of Tian Han] (Beijing: Shiyue wenyi chubanshe, 1996), 800. 30 Tian Han, Kuan Han-ching, 356. 31 Dong Jian, Tian Han Zhuan [Biography of Tian Han], 812. the transitional time 161 as Chen Sihe observes, Tian Han once again declared the elitist function of the intellectuals in the Maoist era.32 Moreover, the self-reflexive portrayal of the theater suggests that the theater, a profession or a cultural space that had been regarded as ‘polluted’ by marginal or accessory ‘bourgeois performers’ in Maoist China, not only can ‘serve the people’ by representing their voice, but also inspire social action, and thus deserves more serious recognition from the newly-founded socialist regime. Tian Han once wrote two articles to urge concern for performers. One was “We Must Truly Be Concerned For and Improve the Performers’ Life,”33 and the other was “Speaking On Behalf of the Youth of the Performers” (Wei yanyuan de qingchun qingming),34 both of which were used as evidence of his ‘reactionary thought’ during the Cultural Revolution.35 Regardless of the historical contingencies that both promoted and destroyed the playwright, due to the unstable political practice of defining the people and the intellectual in relation to the new regime, Tian Han’s play nonetheless inherited the deeply-ingrained historical way of thinking—the people embody the ultimate righteousness and morality as the basis of a unified empire or a modern nation-state. Beyond articulating ‘the People’, another feature of Guan Hanqing that merits attention is its minimizing of ethnic tensions. Unlike the historical narratives of earlier periods, anti-Mongol sentiment is nowhere to be found in this play. On the contrary, the Yuan Empire appears to be the legitimate successor and the mirror image of the Han Empire. The emperor does not appear and Lord Horikhoson is portrayed as a promising official except that he is sometimes confused and his judgment clouded by villainous officials. Needless to say, the portrayal of a unified, multi-ethnic empire is in accord with the building of a unified, multi-ethnic modern nation. ‘Unity’ was such a prevalent imperative that ethnic minorities were labeled as ‘brothers’ of the majority Han group, continuing the ‘civilizing project’ of imperial times. Hence, representing ethnic relations historically as friendly and harmonious marks another characteristic of the historical plays in the Maoist period.

32 Chen Sihe, Zhongguo dangdai wenxue shi [A History of Contemporary Chinese Literature], (Shanghai: Fudan daxue chubanshe, 1999), 114–116. 33 “Bixu qieshi guanxin bing gaishan yiren de shenghuo,” Xiju bao [ Journal of Theater], no. 7, 1956. See Dong Jian, Tian Han Zhuan, 182. 34 Zhang Yaojie, “Tian Han zhi si de rendao fansi [Humanist Reflection on Tian Han’s Death].” Refer to online source: http://www.chinaelections.org/newsinfo.asp?newsid=34793. 35 “Tian Han de Xie Yaohuan shi yike da ducao [Tian Han’s Xie Yaohuan is a Big Poisonous Weed],” People’s Daily, Feb 1, 1966. 162 Chapter 5

In 1960, Tian Han published Wencheng gongzhu (“Princess Wencheng”), another play that, together with Guan Hanqing, constitutes what people call the ‘two precious jades’ (shuang bi 双璧) of his late writing career. Wencheng gongzhu stages the story of the Tang Dynasty Princess Wencheng marrying the Tibetan King Songtsan Gampo of the Yarlong Dynasty of Tibet. Niece of the great Taizong Emperor of Tang Dynasty, Princess Wencheng is popularly known by Tibetans as Gyasa and is regarded as a cultural envoy who greatly improved the Sino-Tibetan relationship in history. Tian Han’s play highlights the brilliance of Princess Wencheng who, despite the hardship on the long way to Tibet, is determined to bring knowledge and happiness to the Tibetan people. On the other hand, Songtsan Gampo also appears to be a courageous and wise ruler whose marriage to Wencheng serves as a foundational family for the multi-ethnic, unified empire. From ethnic friction to ethnic unification, historical representations since the late Qing period have undergone noteworthy changes with regard to the legitimization of a certain rule. However, although the representations differ from one another in terms of whether the minority groups (the Mongol and the Manchu) should be seen as legitimate rulers, they nevertheless all take unity without question as a pre-determined imperative. In the Maoist era, this unity is dramatized as the Han returning to the center stage and minorities subordinated as ‘little brothers.’ Apart from Wencheng gongzhu, Guo Moruo’s Cai Wenji serves as another example.

Cao Cao: The Empire and the Ruler

Written in 1959, Guo Moruo’s Cai Wenji traces the journey of the poetess Cai Wenji returning to the Han Court during the period of the Three Kingdoms. Daughter of an influential official-scholar in the Eastern Han dynasty, Wenji was captured by the Xiongnu Hun invaders and forced to stay married to Prince Zuoxian of the Xiongnu Hun for twelve years. In 208 AD, Cao Cao sent envoys to take Wenji back to Han China. The play opens with Wenji’s sorrow at returning to the Han court and leaving her beloved husband and children. Eventually the legate of the Han, Dong Si, Wenji’s childhood friend, announces that the great minister Cao Cao expects Wenji to return to compile her father’s incomplete historical work. On the way home, Wenji misses her children greatly and, sympathetic with her feelings, Dong Si encourages her to transfer energy spent on personal unhappiness to work for Tianxia (‘all-under-Heaven’). However, out of jealousy, the other legate, Zhou Jin, slanders Dong Si to Cao Cao, casting aspersions on Dong’s the transitional time 163 friendship with Prince Zuoxian and his close relationship with Wenji. Infuriated, Cao Cao orders Dong Si to kill himself. Hearing this news, Wenji comes to Cao Cao to explain the whole situation and rescues Dong Si. In the last act, eight years after Wenji has returned from the Xiongnu Hun, her children are brought back to the Han court, suggesting that the Xiongnu and the Han are incorporated into one family. Prince Zuoxian is now dead, and Cao Cao convinces Wenji to marry Dong Si. There are several ways to approach this five-act play. First, as in the case of Guan Hanqing, the destiny of the intellectuals invites attention. Guo Moruo admitted in the preface to this play that he intended to portray Cai Wenji as the mirror image of the intellectuals, including himself.36 The transformation of Wenji from a sentimental poetess into a productive historian recording the greatness of the Han Empire parallels the transformation of the modern intellectuals who finally devote themselves to building the socialist country. Second, the trajectory of the relationship between the Han court and the Xiongnu Hun allegorizes the trajectory of ethnic tensions in the modern period. Wenji’s ‘return’ signifies the relief of the tension and the unification of the Xiongnu Hun and the Han. The return of Wenji and eventually of her children to the Han Empire offsets the previous misfortunes of the ethnic confrontation, and the decision of the Chanyu to stay in the Han in the end also demonstrates the centering position of the Han in terms of ethnic relations. Unlike the historical plays during the late Qing and the War of Resistance to Japan in which ethnic relations remain ambivalent and contradictory, this play consciously and affirmatively takes a Han-centered perspective to incorporate the minorities into the boundary of China. Instead of barbarizing the minorities, the Xiongnu are portrayed as an understanding and peace-loving group who share the same moral standard as the Han people. For instance, in Act Two, Wenji recalls her being captured by Xiongnu soldiers and rescued by Prince Zuoxian. Prince Zuoxian appears to be a righteous hero who criticizes the moral decay and political turmoil of the Han and finally convinces Wenji to go to the Xiongnu with him. However, after Dong Si tells Wenji and her husband about the great deeds Cao Cao has accomplished and how peaceful the Han Empire is, Prince Zuoxian’s negative attitude toward the Han is completely reversed. He supports Wenji’s wish to return to the Han to compile historical works and promises to be cooperative with the Han afterwards. It is noteworthy that Prince Zuoxian’s change in attitude is not due to the Han’s military

36 Guo Moruo, “Cai Wenji xu [Preface to Cai Wenji],” in Guo Moruo lun chuangzuo [Guo Moruo on Creative Writing], (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1982), 464. In the preface, dated July 1959, Guo admitted that Cai Wenji is the image of himself. 164 Chapter 5 power or diplomatic strategy but to the accomplishments of Cao Cao, who is presented by Dong Si as a humane, capable, and legitimate ruler. Governed by morality, unity is well preserved, with the Han at the center of this political- cultural landscape. The transformation from disunity to unity, from chaos to order through moral power, once again attests to the imperial-time-order that takes unity as normal and morality as the ultimate standard by which to judge a regime. Prince Zuoxian’s voluntary submission is secured in his will as well. Before Prince Zuoxian dies, he asks his son to bequeath a mirror, initially from Wenji as a symbol of love, to Dong Si, suggesting that he wishes Dong Si to take care of Wenji. The transfer of the mirror symbolically displays the transfer of Wenji from a Xiongnu husband to a Han husband. Wenji is hence not only re-incorporated into her homeland as a valuable individual, but also re-reunited with a Han husband to create a family as the basic unit of the empire.37 Cao Cao’s kindhearted arrangement of Wenji’s marriage, therefore, also fulfills the proposal made by Prince Zuoxian, whose wholehearted veneration of the Han builds the moral foundation of the ethnic relations within the empire. In addition to all these aspects, Cao Cao’s image is greatly improved in this play. Normally seen as an immoral opportunist emerging out of turbulent times, particularly in popular literature like Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Cao Cao is portrayed as a widely admired leader who is capable of achieving unification and peace with farsighted vision. Through Dong Si’s depiction, we know that Cao Cao possesses all the moral traits of a great ruler and has done remarkable deeds for the unification of the empire: he cares about the soldiers and the common people; he has carried out a series of land reforms to improve peasants’ life and social stability; his army is called the ‘army of benevolence and righteousness,’ only fighting for justice. Even the former stubborn enemy, the Wuhuan, are moved and transformed by his moral charisma to become part of his army. Indeed, Guo Moruo stated it was his intention to ‘reverse the verdict’ ( fan’ an) on Cao Cao. In Guo’s own words:

37 In the 1920s, Guo Moruo intended to write a play about Cai Wenji, aiming to portray her as a tragic figure who was betrayed by her Hun (Xiongnu) husband and had to be separated from her children. Guo meant to create such a character to attack the patriarchal, feudal system and advocate the emancipation of women. This play was never written, yet it is clear that his intention was to emphasize the friction and contradiction taking place in Wenji’s life, rather than the unity and harmony manifested in the later play Cai Wenji. See Guo Moruo, Xie zai sange panni de nüxing houmian [Postscript to “Three Rebellious Women”], 1926, in Guo Moruo lun chuangzuo [Guo Moruo Discusses Creative Writing], 360–362. the transitional time 165

I really appreciate Cao Cao’s accomplishment. He gradually created social stability during the chaotic period at the end of the Han dynasty. He also restored and developed the order of production in the region of the Yellow River so that the refugees could enjoy a peaceful and settled life. Although he once fought against the Yellow Turban Rebellion, the Yellow Turban rebels in effect upheld him. . . . In sum, Cao Cao indeed made massive contributions to the people of that era, and he contributed greatly to our national and cultural development.38

The justification of Cao Cao derives first from his close relationship with the people, then his effective policy to create unity and peace, and finally his contribution to history by means of building a concrete foundation for the reunification of the empire. In Guo’s eyes, Cao Cao was a national hero with historical limitations, one whom history constructed and the people reformed. It is the historical shi-trend that determined his accomplishment since he was the one who was morally qualified and strategically competent to become a legitimate ruler.39 To overcome the legacy of Cao Cao’s negative image, Guo particularly emphasized Cao Cao’s relationship with the Yellow Turban rebellion. Though Cao Cao built his career on suppressing the Yellow Turban rebellion, Guo speculated that the peasant rebels nevertheless also influenced him. And it is the interaction with the peasants that later directed him to follow a path welcomed by the people. Guo’s speculation on cause and effect (he carried out land reform because he was influenced by the rebellion) is problematic, for it is purely imaginary and reverses the temporal order, diverging from the methodology of historiography. However, it nonetheless reveals Guo’s long-established ideal of historical representation. As both historian and playwright, he distinguished historical research from historical plays by characterizing them as ‘pursuing authenticity from the facts’ (shi shi qiu shi 实事求是) and ‘pursuing similarity at the expense of the facts’ (shi shi qiu si 失事求似), respectively. He believed that a playwright should be a ‘concave mirror’ in which many historical traces

38 Ibid., 467. 39 Ibid., 467. Guo Moruo pointed out in the preface that Cao Cao changed his career due to the historical situation. Initially Cao Cao was hoping to be a reclusive scholar, then he thought he could be a great general to glorify his family name. Yet the historical trend and the situation (时势) finally determined that he suppressed the powerful local families, prevented expansion of large, private landlord estates, and became the most powerful minister, accomplishing the reunification of North China. 166 Chapter 5 converge and at the same time diverge toward the outside, and in that way he could create a ‘virtual focus’ which is the intersection of history and creativity.40 In historical research, if some record or evidence is missing, historians have to leave the research with a question mark; yet in literary representation, it is the playwright’s obligation to create causation and emplot history. Unlike Hayden White’s metahistory that links history with literary emplotment to construct history as a whole sequence of causation,41 Guo on the contrary contrasted historiography with literary creation. For him, historical research could remain fragmentary due to incomplete records, while historical plays have to be a totality in terms of emplotment.42 The creation of the totality, thus, relies on the ‘virtual focus,’ the point of juncture between history and creativity. This ‘virtual focus,’ in its emphasis on the imaginative causality that defies historical record, might evoke Gilles Deleuze’s theory on the virtuality of time. Deleuze argued that time is heterogeneous in nature: it consists at once of the present that passes and the past that is preserved. When I speak now, the present has already passed, yet it is not the past related to the real past, but related to the present. Therefore, naturally, every spot of time has two aspects: the actual present and its contemporaneous past, the virtual aspect, which is the mirror image of the actual. The actual is associated with space and representation, whereas the virtual is associated with time and non-representable becoming.43 The dynamism embedded in the virtuality of time constitutes the underlying drive in the process of becoming, which resists discrete, fragmentary, and telos-oriented representation. In light of this theory, Guo Moruo’s ‘virtual focus’ can be understood as evoking a ‘virtual aspect’ of history and the driving force that links history to the present. As such, the ‘virtual focus’ at once frees literary representation from historical records, insisting on a moral and spiritual compatibility and

40 Guo Moruo, “Lishi, shiju, xianshi [History, Historical Plays, and Reality],” written in 1942, in Guo Moruo lun chuangzuo, 501. 41 Hayden White, Metahistory: the Historical Imagination in Nineteeth-century Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973). 42 In fact, here may exist the fundamental difference between traditional Chinese historiography and Western historiography. Charles Gardner suggests that the Chinese traditional historiography more often than not remains fragmentary in terms of causation in historical events, albeit they keep sufficient historical records for it. While Western historiography centers on the causation of events, Chinese traditional historiography centers on individuals with moral judgment. See Charles Gardner, Chinese Traditional Historiography (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1938). 43 Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2: The Time Image, trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Robert Galeta (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1989). the transitional time 167 continuity over time, while at the same time it admits the representation as yet another attempt in ‘actualizing’ history that is subject to future re-presentation. On the surface, the virtual focus favors the present over the past, yet in effect disrupts the temporal order. It does not simply reverse the temporal order by projecting the present onto the past, but also refracts time by reflecting the projection back from the past to the present. As a result, the totality is the product of the synthesis of the past and present, and what is in ‘focus’ is the transcendent value that prevails over different historical times. It deserves attention that, historically, Cao Cao’s image has also been heterogeneous, depending on how people have wanted to view the legitimacy of his regime. The official history of Sanguo zhi by Chen Shou and the subsequent Zizhi tongjian by Sima Guang both endorse its legitimacy due to the de facto recognition of its contribution to the later unification of China. Yet various texts expressed doubt about Cao Cao’s morality (he usurped the throne from the Han Emperor) from as early as the fourth century. In the twelfth century, Zhu Xi, the Song Dynasty Neo-Confucian scholar who, out of the pro-Han sentiment aroused by the threat of northern ‘barbarian’ neighbors, denounced Cao Cao’s legitimacy and upheld the state of Shu as the justifiable successor of the Han Empire.44 This pro-Han sentiment was widely propagated in popular storytelling and eventually secured in the historical novel Sanguo yanyi (“Romance of Three Kingdoms”), wherein Cao Cao is portrayed as a villain who betrays the Han Emperor and ruthlessly murders the imperial concubines, in contrast to his counterpart Liu Bei, the founder of the Shu state, who is legitimized by his royal blood from the Han imperial family, his moral integrity, and his concern for the people who unwaveringly follow him. Taking this into consideration, we can tell that Cao Cao’s heterogeneous image relies heavily on what is the ‘focus’ of historical time—unity or morality. Regardless of whether he is seen as a villain or a sage-king, he must be enfolded in moral time, and history always has the last word.45 Literary representations of history in the modern period also followed this path. As we have discussed, beyond the selectivity and malleability of historical materials to mirror a contingent present, historical representations have consistently revealed the time-honored transcendent values. In Cai Wenji, the ‘virtual focus,’ or the totality, is secured in both unity and morality, from a Han-centered point of view. To justify Cao Cao is to justify the winner who established the foundation for reunification during a long period of disunity.

44 Shelley Hsueh-lun Chang, History and Legend: Ideas and Images in the Ming Historical Novels, (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1990), 35–40. 45 Shelly Hsueh-lun Chang, History and Legend, x. 168 Chapter 5

People may speculate on the resemblance between Cao Cao and Mao Zedong, given the particular historical context, yet the preference for unity over disunity is a persistent force throughout Chinese history. As Guo Moruo stated in 1941, “Desiring unity while detesting disunity has been the common wish since the start of the Republican era; it was also the common wish of past generations since the origin of the Chinese history. Inasmuch as it is common to both the past and the present, we can speculate on the past from the present, and borrow the past to mirror the present.”46 This argument was to explain his imaginative creation in his wartime play Tangdi zhi hua (“Twin Flowers”). It also provides an interpretation for the common theme in all the historical plays of the modern period. On the other hand, the reversal of the verdict on Cao Cao is also through moral justification. By linking Cao Cao with the people, Guo turns Cao Cao into a benevolent and righteous ruler. In fact, ‘reversing the verdict’ characterizes another feature of the historical plays in the Maoist era. For instance, Tian Han’s Xie Yaohuan and Guo Moruo’s Wu Zetian both aim to overturn the image of Empress Wu Zetian, the only female to rule as an emperor in Chinese history.47 Highlighting Wu Zetian’s concern for the common people, through her elimination of powerful officials and unprecedented promotion of women and lower class literati scholars in court, both plays base their favorable verdict on the morality of Wu Zetian’s treatment of the people and on her effort to maintain social stability and imperial unity. In his comprehensive study of the historical dramas in this period, Rudolf Wagner continues the tradition of suggestive reading of the plays. He makes direct associations between Mao Zedong and the ruling figures in various texts, be it Cao Cao, Kublai Khan, Empress Wu Zetian, or Emperors Qianlong and Wanli.48 The multifaceted images of authority in the texts, for Wagner, reflect different attitudes toward Mao Zedong in reality. As such, there are intertex- tual dialogues among the historical plays and all these plays closely interact

46 Guo Moruo, “Wo zenyang xie Tangdi zhi hua [How I Wrote Twin Flowers],” in Moruo juzuo xuan [Selected Plays of Guo Moruo], (Beijing: Remin wenxue chubanshe, 1978), 80. 47 Tian Han wrote in the preface of Xie Yaohuan that he intended to confirm Wu Zetian’s accomplishment. Refer to “Tian Han de Xie Yaohuan shi yike da ducao [Tian Han’s Xie Yaohuan is a Big Poisonous Weed],” People’ Daily, Feb 2, 1966. Guo Moruo also explicitly expressed in his essay that he aimed to reverse the verdict on Wu Zetian. See Guo Moruo, “Wo zenyang xie Wu Zetian [How I Wrote Wu Zetian],” in Wang Xunzhao, et al., Guo Moruo yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials on Guo Moruo], (Beijing: Zhishi chanquan chubanshe, 2010), 348–361. 48 Rudolf Wagner, The Contemporary Chinese Historical Drama (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford: University of California Press, 1990). the transitional time 169 with the contemporary political situation. It is as if Mao Zedong directed his Propaganda Department to produce literary works praising unity and upright spirit yet received multiple products that intended either to flatter or attack him.49 Closely related to the immediate sociopolitical environment, the historical narratives hence flow from the center and fold back to the center, creating a closed loop that leaves no room for literary autonomy beyond the suggestive interpretation. The problem in this kind of reading is that it collapses the distance between history and the present, rendering the historical representation an actual battlefield directly pointing to specific individuals in the present. It proves to be nothing other than the notoriously allusive tradition during the Cultural Revolution when these historical representations received arbitrary treatment, one that matched the characters in the plays with the real political leaders in the present according to their political positions. For instance, for Wagner, Tian Han’s Guan Hanqing was a critique of Mao’s bureaucratic regime while Mao himself was ignorant of the misdeeds of his bureaucrats; on the other hand, Guo Moruo’s Cai Wenji sang Mao’s praises, suggesting that Mao was Cao Cao. While both seem reasonable in terms of the writers’ characters and their popular reputations, a problem still emerges from this identification. In one sense, Mao never took himself as the equal of the emperors in the past; on the contrary, he saw himself as a modern leader superior to them since he achieved the People’s democracy. In another sense, if writers intended to com- pliment Mao, they could have chosen great, more popular emperors in history such as Emperor Wu in the Han Dynasty or Emperor Taizong in the Tang Dynasty instead of ambiguous figures like Cao Cao and Empress Wu Zetian as Guo Moruo did.50 If the writers meant to criticize Mao’s policy, they could have

49 In the late 1950s, it was Mao Zedong who promoted Hai Rui’s “daring to keep the truth and daring to speak,” which later was characterized as the ‘Hai Rui Spirit.’ Therefore, the literary productions about Hai Rui, including Wu Han’s Hai Rui Dismissed from Office, were the direct products of Mao’s speech, though the outcomes were tragic for these playwrights. In Wagner’s reading, following the interpretation made during the Cultural Revolution, the writers selected Hai Rui’s story in order to challenge Mao’s policy. It is as though Mao called for an attack on himself, and the writers were pretty aware of the risky consequences. Similarly, Guo Moruo wrote about Cao Cao because Mao had praised Cao Cao. So every historical play was a product that could be traced to Mao and folded back to Mao, as if there were no room for literary autonomy beyond suggestive interpretation. See Rudolf Wagner, The Contemporary Chinese Drama, 258–9. 50 As shown in Wagner’s study, images of Emperor Qianlong and Emperor Taizong did appear on stage during this period. Yet they were not portrayed as wholly positive emperors. Emperor Qianlong was in a Peking Opera entitled Da Qianlong [Trouncing 170 Chapter 5 written about periods of crisis in past dynasties to sound an alarm as they did during the wartime era. Perhaps, to answer these questions, we need to consider once more Guo Moruo’s theory and the ‘virtual focus.’ A ‘virtual focus’ is the juncture between the past and the present that allows difference or temporal gap. To completely overlap the picture of the past with that of the present is to willfully create an ‘actual focus,’ which eliminates the historical depth manifested in the open representations. Perhaps, more reasonably, as we have seen in Guan Hanqing, rather than positioning Mao and his regime in history to identify Mao with the past emperors and compare the contemporary commune system with the past land situation, the plays for the most part serve to situate the intellectuals as the representatives of the people in the newly founded nation-state at a time when the intellectual’s status had become fragile and ambiguous. The playwrights now identified with cultural heroes like Guan Hanqing, Cai Wenji, or the upright scholar officials like Hai Rui and Xie Yaohuan, as a righteous moral voice confronting and correcting authority.51 Even Cai Wenji, presented as a submissive intellectual who finally sings praise to Cao Cao in her poem, dares to stand up for Dong Si to challenge Cao Cao’s mistake, not to mention the other characters, the upright scholar-officials who risk their lives to remonstrate while remaining absolutely loyal to the emperors and the empire. The emperors need them, since they are the transcendent righteous voice with which, and only with which, the empire can remain unified and prosperous.

the Qianlong Emperor] staged in Jiangsu province. In this piece, Emperor Qianlong is smacked by a young woman when he is trying to seduce her with his identity hidden in common clothes during his inspection trip to the South. The ending of the opera is that the people teach the emperor a lesson so that he is made fun of and forced into a shameful retreat. Emperor Taizong was also in a Peking Opera Tangwang na jian [The Tang Emperor Accepts Remonstrance], in which the upright prime minister Wei Zheng and the empress together teach the emperor a lesson so that he realizes his fault. It is noteworthy that both stories were not new on the opera stage, which usually served as the entertainment for the people. And in both pieces, the emperors are portrayed not as the ultimate heroes; instead, they need to listen to the people or righteous officials to correct their mistakes, as is common in other plays. 51 Both Tian Han and Guo Moruo had claimed that they identify with their intellectual protagonists, Guan Hanqing and Cai Wenji. Wu Han had stated in the preface to Hai Rui Dismissed from Office that he was “a Hai Rui,” and Meng Chao also claimed that “Li Huiniang, that is I; I have given her my heart’s blood. I have also given my feelings to Pei Yu (Huiniang’s lover, a righteous Confucian student); therefore I am also student Pei.” See Wagner, The Contemporary Chinese Historical Drama. 312. the transitional time 171

Additionally, to ‘reverse the verdict’ for the notorious rulers is not so much to sing praise to Cao Cao or Wu Zetian, as to erase the tension between unity and the people—a ruler who can achieve or maintain unity must care about the people, or vice versa. Through the images of Cao Cao and Wu Zetian emerge instead the highlighted words—unity and the people. In this light, the intellectuals were in effect attempting to continue their political function by reemphasizing the imperial legacy. Through historical representation, the intellectuals attempted to secure a place for themselves while making their voices heard by authority, even though that authority was vaguely defined, as in the wartime period when the ‘foreign’ was referred to abstractly. And what can be seen as a life-and-death difference between Tian Han and Guo Moruo (Tian Han died during the Cultural Revolution, whereas Guo Moruo was protected by Mao and survived), between intellectuals’ centrifugal compliance and centripetal submission toward authority, is far less significant compared to their commonalities. Unity and morality, the empire and the people, these themes prevailed in the historical representations, embodied in a multitude of archetypal images of intellectuals, officials, and rulers, and sometimes, of peasant rebels. During the Maoist period, the one work about peasant rebellion that is significant is Yao Xueyin’s Li Zicheng.

Li Zicheng: The Empire and the People

If Guo Moruo’s ‘virtual focus’ emphasizes fictional creativity at the intersection of history and literature in order to represent a contingent present and a continuous history, Yao Xueyin’s Li Zicheng claims to recover the universal historical truth under the guidance of Marxist historical materialism. Distancing himself from the discursive social reality, under Mao Zedong’s direct protection,52

52 In 1966, after the publication of the first volume of the novel, Mao told people who were in charge of the Cultural Revolution to protect Yao Xueyin from the revolutionary campaigns in order to allow him to continue writing the novel Li Zicheng. In 1975, feeling that his writing could be disrupted because of the outside Revolution, Yao wrote to Mao Zedong asking for help and received Mao’s direct protection. See Nie Hualing (Nieh Hua-ling), “Qishi niandai de gushi [The Story of the 70s],” which is an interview with Yao Xueyin by Nieh Hua-ling and Paul Engle in 1978, in Guanyu changpian lishi xiaoshuo Li Zicheng [About the Historical Novel Li Zicheng], (Shanghai: Shanghai Wenyi chubanshe, 1979), 335–336. 172 Chapter 5

Yao Xueyin was able to remain in a relatively quiet environment to write Li Zicheng. The novel turned out to be a success during and after the Cultural Revolution. As the first historical novel since the May Fourth period,53 Li Zicheng consists of five volumes, more than three million words.54 Ambitiously conceived, the novel took almost forty years to complete. The first volume was published in 1963, the second in 1977, the third in 1981; and the last two volumes did not reach readers until the late 1990s. Over the course of tremendous social change within those forty years, the novel received dramatically diverse treatment from its inception to its completion. This is partly due to the loose structure that requires the reader’s dedication and patience, partly due to socio-political change, which brings about varying spiritual and aesthetic pursuits. Generally speaking, the first two volumes were more successful both in terms of the writing skill and critical reception.55 In 1982, the second volume won the first Mao Dun Literature Prize, one of China’s most prestigious literary awards. The prize demonstrated the institutional recognition of the novel in both political and literary terms, and legitimized the status of epic narrative on peasant rebellions.56 However, by the 1990s, when other representations of past emperors gradually emerged and seized the attention of a general audience, the publication of the last two volumes generated little interest. It is the first two volumes that concern this study, since they are the product of the revolutionary discourse in the Maoist era. Seen by Yan Jiayan as a “social encyclopedia of the transition from the Ming to the Qing dynasties,”57 this novel provides a detailed portrait of social life in different social groups. With a panoramic perspective, the novel not only depicts the heroic image of the peasant rebels centered on Li Zicheng, who forced the Ming Emperor Chongzhen to commit suicide and established his own regime before the Manchu conquered Beijing, but also explores the complicated political struggles within the Ming court. The first two volumes trace the rise of Li Zicheng’s rebellion before he overthrew the Ming court. Having survived the extreme difficulty in which his troops were almost exterminated,

53 Shen Yanbing (Mao Dun), “Guanyu changpian lishi xiaoshuo Li Zicheng [About the Historical Novel Li Zicheng],” in Guanyu changpian lishi xiaoshuo Li Zicheng, 158. 54 In fact, it is 3.26 million words. See Wang Aisong, Zhengzhi shuxie yu lishi xushi [Political Writing and Historical Narrative], (Beijing: Zhongguo guangbo dianshi chubanshe, 2007), 240. 55 Wang Aisong, Zhengzhi shuxie yu lishi xushi, 238. 56 Tang Zhesheng, Zhongguo dangdai tongsu xiaoshuo shilun [History of Chinese Contemporary Popular Fiction], (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 2007), 279. 57 Yan Jiayan, “Li Zicheng chu tan [A Preliminary Discussion of Li Zicheng], in Guanyu changpian lishi xiaoshuo Li Zicheng, 170. the transitional time 173

Li’s army grows rapidly, attracting people of all walks of life to join the rebellion, including literati counselors such as Niu Jinxing, Song Xiance, Li Yan, and Li Mou. Unlike A Ying’s play Li Chuangwang written in 1945, which mainly focuses on the failure of Li Zicheng’s regime after he occupied Beijing,58 the first two volumes of this novel describe the popular and promising rise of Li’s rebellion in contrast to the failing Ming court. In A Ying’s play, Li Zicheng appears to be a capable yet narrow-minded peasant leader who fails to appreciate the sound advice of Li Yan to deal with the complex situation after they have overthrown the Ming. Based on Guo Moruo’s study of Li Zicheng,59 A Ying’s play depicts Liu Zongmin, the important peasant general in Li’s army, as no more than a short- sighted, greedy, and impertinent rebel whose rough behavior revolts both the former Ming officials and the common people. Moreover, he steals the famous beauty Chen Yuanyuan from the important Ming general Wu Sangui, who is defending the Ming against forces of the Qing dynasty. Liu Zongmin’s actions prompt Wu to surrender to the Qing in order to join forces to attack Li Zicheng, and lead directly to the peasant regime’s final defeat. Should Li Zicheng have listened to Li Yan’s advice to discipline his subordinates and tactfully cope with the former Ming officials, the fate of this great peasant rebellion might have been different. A Ying’s play, written on the verge of the civil war, aimed to alert the CCP party cadres to the complicated situation waiting ahead when advancing from the countryside into the cities.60 Dramatizing the limitation of the peasant class, the play in effect calls to mind the crucial importance of intellectuals in guiding the correct path of revolution. Contrary to Guo Moruo’s research and A Ying’s literary adaptation, Yao Xueyin reversed the negative portrayal of Liu Zongmin and accentuated Li Zicheng’s decision-making ability based on democratic discussion among the peasant rebels. To Yao, Guo Moruo’s research was by any standard biased, for Guo merely relied on insufficient historical records. His lack of rigor and overly subjective attitude blemished the peasant rebel’s image and misled readers.61

58 A Ying, Li Chuangwang, in A Ying quanji [Complete Works of A Ying] (Hefei: Anhui jiaoyu chubanshe), vol. 10. 59 A Ying acknowledged that this play was based on Guo Moruo’s essay “Jiashen sanbai nian ji [A Memorial Essay on Year Jiashen/1644 Three Hundred Years Later].” See A Ying, “Li Chuangwang bianyan jishi [About the Play Li Chuangwang]” in A Ying quanji, vol. 10, 557. 60 Ibid., 558–9. 61 Yao Xueyin, ‘Preface to Li Zicheng’ in Guanyu changpian lishi xiaoshuo Li Zicheng, 283. Note that this comment on Guo’s research was deleted in the preface published together with the novel. 174 Chapter 5

Moreover, Guo Moruo and A Ying both emphasized the positive function of Li Yan, a literati intellectual from a feudal official’s family, as a crucial element in determining the destiny of the revolution. For Yao, however, to overly emphasize Li Yan’s function was to undermine the peasants’ intrinsic revolutionary consciousness. The truth should be the opposite: Li Yan never completely betrayed his own class, so that he inevitably had some negative influence on the rebel group, though he was sympathetic with the people and voluntarily joined the peasant rebellion.62 Indeed, the novel Li Zicheng implicitly applies class analysis in structuring the narrative to create typical characters determined by their class background in typical contradictions.63 This typicality abides by the formula of socialist realism, an aesthetic form that follows Marxist-Leninist-Maoist class struggle discourse. Taking class analysis as the theoretical paradigm, in which class struggle is seen as the dominant contradiction in a hierarchical society and the people the ultimate force pushing history forward, the novel attributes the fall of the Ming to class contradiction rather than to the Manchu invasion. In fact, the Marxist class analysis is so prevalent that it claims to be the universal perspective transcendent of any historical period and national boundary. For instance, in dealing with the tension between class contradiction and ethnic contradiction, Yao created a compound narrative structure by taking the ethnic conflict as the background foil to give prominence to the class conflict.64 For Yao, the primary cause that prompted Wu Sangui to surrender to the Qing was not that he lost his favorite concubine to the peasant rebel, but that his class background determined his cooperation with the oppressive class to suppress the peasant regime.65 The class structure pre-determines the discursive event in the process of important decision-making. This structure, according to Yao, not only manifested itself in the last Ming Emperor Chongzhen’s court, but also in the late Northern Song, late Qing, and Jiang Jieshi’s regime in the modern period. Since these declining regimes shared a common class interest with an external aggressor, such regimes would rather sacrifice the national interest in order to first suppress the internal peasant revolution.

62 Ibid., 284. 63 Jiang Xiaotian, “Ping Li Zicheng [On Li Zicheng],” in Guanyu changpian lishi xiaoshuo Li Zicheng, 214. 64 Yan Jiayan, “Li Zicheng chu tan [A preliminary discussion of Li Zicheng],” in Guanyu changpian lishi xiaoshuo Li Zicheng, 199. 65 Yao Xueyin, Preface to Li Zicheng, vol. 1, in Li Zicheng (Beijing: Zhongguo qingnian chubanshe, 1977), 22. the transitional time 175

To formulate it in Jiang Jieshi’s famous words: “To counter the foreign one must first pacify the domestic” (rang wai bi xian an nei 攘外必先安內).66 This class analysis, on the one hand suggests that since the aforementioned regimes lost their legitimate foundation their rule is doomed to failure; on the other hand, nonetheless, it implies a universal tendency beyond the state/ ethnic boundary. Class transcends ethnicities and nations. In a manner that is the opposite of ‘internationalism,’ the ruling classes cooperated with each other across national/ethnic borders to suppress the people, and as such, class analysis overlapped with the traditional imperial moral order to confirm the cyclical pattern of Chinese history. As long as the new regime rectified its name by alleviating class contradictions, developing social economy, and reclaiming the moral high ground, it could insert itself squarely into Chinese civilization. The so-called ‘traitors,’ then, might have betrayed their own ethnicity and former authority, but never really betrayed the Chinese empire. In this sense, Chinese Marxist theory offers a rational analysis of such betrayal and historical development in its entirety, even while it condemns as immoral the whole feudal regime since it represented the oppressor’s interests. Indeed, moral judgment never ceases to accompany the rationalization of historical events during the discursive representations of empire. The question is not whether moral judgment is necessary, but who has the morality. Such is the juncture of traditional imperial-time-order and modern Marxist theory. As discussed in the first chapter, with the enlightened renmin (the people) substi- tuting for the passive min (mass, people) as the ultimate holder of morality and unity, Li Zicheng not only justifies the peasant rebellion, but also reinforces the conception of the unified. For instance, in the first volume, Yang Tinglin, the upright official in Emperor Chongzhen’s court, articulates his understanding of the Manchus as part of the Chinese empire:

In the capital city Beijing even three-foot high children know that the area east of the Liaohe River (the Northeast), and north to Nuergan, east- ward to the sea, is Chinese territory. It has been that way since the Jin and Yuan dynasties. Whenever there is a time of prosperity, our China is unified and both the Han Chinese and the minorities (Hu) support the same emperor. Since ancient times, the territory east of the Liaohe River has been a place inhabited by different tribes, who have been the sub

66 Ibid., 33. 176 Chapter 5

ordinates of the Chinese during the Qin, Han, Sui, and Tang dynasties, and remained that way till our Ming dynasty. How can there be a country other than China?67

Hearing his words, Lu Xiangsheng, the loyal general who has been advocating fighting the Manchu, extends this argument, demonstrating that the Manchu have always been part of the Chinese empire since the Zhou dynasty. The invasion of the Manchu is in effect the rebellion of a subordinate tribe rather than a foreign invasion. Hence, it is a shame that the Ming court allows the Manchu to attempt to separate Chinese territory rather than unify the empire handed down from the ancestors.68 Perhaps, it was this latent assumption of unity that allowed Yao Xueyin to dramatize class contradiction within the empire, and perhaps, it was the resemblance between Li Zicheng’s peasant rebellion and Mao’s revolution that induced Mao to support the novel. Mao Zedong both compared and contrasted himself with earlier successful emperors in ancient China in his poem in traditional song lyric ci form “Qinyuanchun: Xue” (To the Tune of Qinyuanchun: Snow). For Mao, what he was going to accomplish would not only inherit, but also outshine and negate what the earlier emperors had established.69 What emerges from the poem is a consciousness of time and space, a consciousness that endows the new generation with will and confidence to build a new country on the foundation of past empires. The beautiful China, embodied in the eternal images of the Great Wall and the Yellow River, challenges Heaven for its height. Such a splendid landscape of ‘river and mountain’ ( jiangshan 江山), a metaphor for the empire, continually calls for the heroes—past emperors like Qin Shihuang, Han Wudi, Tang Taizong, Song Taizu, Genghis Khan, and the contemporary new generation—to protect and improve her beauty. However, past emperors are just ‘heroes’ who belong to the past, while the genuinely ‘successful figure’ ( fengliu renwu 風流人物) resides in the present. Many Chinese intellectuals applauded Mao as having the most insurmountable energy ever displayed in a modern individual. Mao himself, in comparing and contrasting his era with those of past emperors, not only created the historical continuity of a unified empire, but also implied the fundamental difference initiated by a socialist regime. Between the lines of the poem, there emerges the ambiguous

67 Yao Xueyin, Li Zicheng, Vol. 1, 57. 68 Yao Xueyin, Li Zicheng, Vol. 1, 56–7. 69 The poem Snow was written in 1936. In the poem, Mao listed the great emperors such as Qin Shihuang, Han Wudi, Tang Taizong, Song Taizu, and Genghis Khan. He implied that the present hero would outshine all these people in history. the transitional time 177 figure that refused to be put in the categories of both the ‘empire’ and the ‘nation-state.’ However, besides Mao Zedong’s allusion to those great emperors in his poem, in modern literary representation there was no direct, positive portrayal of successful emperors celebrated in the past.70 It seems that national crisis and class-consciousness worked together to force those successful emperors off stage. Not until 1981 did the unambiguously positive portrayal of a great emperor, Tang Taizong, appear on the public horizon, marking the transition to the post-Mao period in historical representations.

Li Shimin Prince of Qin: The Emperor and the People

In 1981, the young scholar Yan Haiping published the ten-act play Qinwang Li Shimin (“Li Shimin, Prince of Qin”), paving the way for representing the great emperors of Chinese history in the post-socialist period.71 Nevertheless, rather than a direct depiction of the emperor, the play focuses on his life as an uncrowned prince before he stepped onto the throne. Published at a time when the country needed social stability after the Cultural Revolution, the play stresses the double theme of both the unification of empire and the support of the people. Repeatedly articulating the emperor’s famous saying that “water can float the boat yet can also capsize the boat,” the play positions itself in the post-Mao transitional period. On the one hand, it continues the Maoist discourse of ‘the people’; on the other hand, however, the play frees itself from the shadow of the ‘suggestive literature/history’ and openly praises the great (future) emperor in history.72

70 Guo Moruo wrote a historical play Zhu in 1941, in which he portrayed the first emperor Qin Shihuang as an ugly, cruel, and lascivious figure to mirror Jiang Jieshi. In 1956, he revised this play and changed its title to Gao Jianli, in which Qin Shihuang’s image was greatly improved, yet he still remained as a morally questionable figure. In 1960, Guo published the historical play Wu Zetian, depicting the only female to rule as an emperor in Chinese history. Yet Guo’s intention was to “reverse the verdict” on Wu Zetian and took her mainly as a female ruler who was serving the interests of the people. 71 Yan Haiping, Qin Wang Li Shimin [Li Shimin, Prince of Qin]. The play was first published in the literary journal Zhongshan in 1981. See Zhongshan, (Nanjing: Jiangsu renmin chubanshe, 1981), vol. 1, 6–60. 72 Dong Jian, “Lishi zhenshi, yishu zhenshi he xianshi qingxiangxing de tongyi—ping lishiju Qinwang Li Shimin” [The Unity of Historical Truth, Artistic Truth, and the Contemporary Realistic Tendency—on the Historical Play The Prince of Qin Li Shimin]” in Dong Jian, Wenxue yu lishi [Literature and history] (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi chubanshe, 1992), 256. 178 Chapter 5

In the play, Prince Li Shimin is portrayed as a diligent young man who cares deeply about the people and the empire. He surpasses the emperor and the crown prince in morality, wisdom, and performance, so much so that he wins the support of the righteous officials in court and the common people outside the court, which gives him the ultimate legitimacy to take the throne. Besides the tense, convoluted plot and the vivid use of theatrical language, which caught critics’ attention,73 the historical consciousness of the empire and the people in dialogues and poems throughout the play endows it with a transcendent flavor. More than just a depiction of the struggle between Li Shimin and the court, the play conveys the imperial-time-order that enfolds the prince and the imperial family to be evaluated according to the historical trend. For instance, the theme song, which introduces the protagonist Li Shimin and sets the tone for the entire play, articulates the historical consciousness concerning the relationship between the people and the empire. It reads:

The Yellow River flows east. For centuries its waves have washed the sands, Floating and capsizing the boat of state. How many are aware of this in the rise and fall of empires?74

Borrowing the metaphor of river and boat, the image of the Yellow River signifies the history of the Chinese empire. The individuals, the dynasties, are like sands washed out in the current of history, while the secret of their rise and fall is both concealed and revealed in these sands. The relationship between the river and the boat and between history and the present is most clearly articulated in Li Shimin’s remonstrance to his father:

Your Majesty! King Wu of Zhou has said, “What Heaven sees is what the people see; what Heaven hears is what the people hear!” Duke Mu of Qin has said, “The people (min) are the foundation of the state; only when the foundation is stable does the state remain peaceful.” Since ancient times there has been the saying “to pursue the Way for the people (min)”!

Also see Gu Ertan, “Rencai nande—du huaju Qinwang Li Shimin you gan [The Talent of One in a Thousand—Some Thoughts on the Play The Prince of Qin Li Shimin],” in Zhongshan,1981, vol. 1, 63. 73 Gu Ertan, “Rencai nande—du huaju Qinwang Li Shimin you gan [The Talent of One in a Thousand—Some Thoughts on Play The Prince of Qin Li Shimin],” in Zhongshan, 1981, vol. 1, 61. 74 Yan Haiping, Qin Wang Li Shimin, 7. the transitional time 179

Father! The common people are like the Yangtze and Yellow rivers, and the emperors are like the giant boats on the water. The river can float the boat; it can also overturn the boat!75

Citing King Wu of Zhou and Duke Mu of Qin as successful rulers in ancient times, Li Shimin not only compresses the temporal gap between the present and the past, but also elicits the transcendent rule—to pursue the Way for the people—for a prosperous state. Needless to say, such a statement delivered a significant message in the post-Mao era on the legitimacy of the Party-state, with a self-reflexive, all-encompassing historical consciousness. As Dong Jian suggests, this play digs out “the not-yet-past content of history” for the present.76 The moral imperative of ‘the empire’ and ‘the people’ in historical representations, embodied in the archetypal images of historical intellectuals, righteous officials, peasant rebels, and (future) emperors (Cao Cao, Wu Zetian, and Li Shimin), speaks volumes to the defining and differentiating practice of ‘the People’ during the Maoist era. Under the magnified discourse of social class, which intersected and overlapped with the traditional moral code of ruling in the interests of ‘the People,’ who can represent ‘the People’ seemed to be an arbitrary determination that could be freely interpreted through Mao’s dialectic of “ceaseless movements between two sides of the contradictions.” Perhaps, the tragedy that befell most intellectuals during the Cultural Revolution, apart from the practical power struggle in the political center, was determined in theoretical terms by Mao’s dialectic, which is a hybrid of the imperial-time-order, the continuous movement in yin-yang bipolarity, and Marxism. From the ideological perspective, it was the intrinsic tension embedded in the dialectic of contradictions and the over confidence in collective agency to challenge material laws that led to the catastrophes of the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. As discussed in Chapter One, the unbridled enthusiasm for the collective agency of ‘the People’ that can defy natural and economic laws proved nothing but the limitations of human agency with regard to time. On the other hand, beneath the diverse treatments of the literary works due to historical contingencies, one can see the pervasive discourses of unity and people-oriented morality that spill beyond the bounds of the official discourse of building a socialist modern nation. Thus, it is no surprise that right after the

75 Yan Haiping, Qin Wang Li Shimin, 43. 76 Dong Jian, “Lishi zhenshi, yishu zhenshi he xianshi qingxiangxing de tongyi—ping lishiju Qinwang Li Shimin [The Unity of Historical Truth, Artistic Truth, and the Contemporary Realistic Tendency—on the Historical Play The Prince of Qin Li Shimin],” 256. 180 Chapter 5

Cultural Revolution, Yan Haiping’s Li Shimin Prince of Qin attracted a great deal of attention. The re-articulation of min (people, mass), devoid of strict class connotation in a post-Mao context, signifies the return of the emperors and empires to the center stage, and foreshadows the grand restaging of synthetic harmony between the emperors and the people in building the unified, multi- ethnic Chinese nation in post-socialist China. Part 3 The Return of “Empire” in the Post-Mao Period

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Chapter 6 Resurgent Time: The Return of “Empire” in Post-Socialist Representation

The history of empire is far too important to be face value. The rise and fall of empires to a great extent determines which values and ideologies will dominate an era. The study of empire says much about the contemporary global order, its origins, its moral and political bases, and the manner in which it may evolve. Dominic Lieven Empire

From ‘Revolutionary Narrative’ to ‘Empire Representation’

The tremendous social change over the last two decades of the twentieth century promoted a highly diversified cultural field, in which the topic of imperial history was prominent. For the first time since the late Qing period, an ‘empire complex’ fully unleashed its nostalgic splendor. Critics observed the shift from ‘revolutionary narrative’ to what may here be termed ‘empire representation,’ implying that the representations of peasant rebellions gave way to the representations of the prosperous dynasties in the past, and event-centered history gave way to character-centered history.1 From the late 1970s into the early 1980s the publication of a large number of historical novels on peasant rebellions that first signaled the return of imperial history, following Yao Xueyin’s Li Zicheng, were mostly conceived and written during the Cultural Revolution era.2 Among them were Feng Jicai and Li Dingxing’s Yi he quan (“Boxer Rebellion,” 1977) on the Boxer Rebellion, Ling Li’s Xing xing cao (“Alkali Grass,” 1980–81) on the Nian minority revolt in the Qing Dynasty, Liu Yazhou’s Chen Sheng (1977) on Chen Sheng’s uprising at the end of the Qin Dynasty, Guo Candong’s Huang Chao (1985) on the peasant insur- rection at the end of the Tang Dynasty, Li Yuewu’s Fang La qiyi (“The Uprising of Fang La,” 1985) on Fang La’s rise in the Song Dynasty, Jiang Weiming’s Bailian nüjie (“Women Warriors of the White Lotus Rebellion,” 1985), and so on.

1 Wang Aisong, Zhengzhi shuxie yu lishi xushi [Political Writing and Historical Narrative], (Beijing: Zhongguo guangbo dianshi chubanshe, 2007), 277. 2 Ibid., 232.

Whereas these writers were seeking a psychological refuge in historical writing to avoid the intense political environment around them in the 1960s and ’70s, they were also influenced by the revolutionary master-narrative of that time. In the Maoist historical view, peasant rebellions were enshrined as the fundamental force to push history forward.3 Progress was tied to class struggle in which ‘the people’ are the ultimate bearers of morality and the historical trend. Therefore, the peasant leaders of those uprisings were seen as righteous heroes fighting against oppressors who blocked historical progress. Given the desire to construct historical epics portraying peasant rebellions, these novels mostly take the perspective of social class to depict a black-and- white world glorifying the peasant heroes and disparaging the imperial ruling class. One author who in the 1990s enjoyed great commercial success, Ling Li, commented that her early novel Xing xing cao (“Alkali Grass,” 1980–81) was a result of her subjective limitation and of the longstanding leftist propensity in literary creation. In her own words, the reasons for the flaws of Xing xing cao were “subjectively, because I idealized the peasant heroes, trying to endow the protagonists with all kinds of great virtues and highlight their mountain- shaking heroic spirit, I could not afford to write about their mistakes and flaws. Objectively, the longstanding extreme-leftist thoughts, and the mentalist view and method in creating the ‘lofty, great, and perfect’ (gao da quan 高大全) model characters also influenced me, so much so that I could not break out of the fetters and the frame [of the model], which shows my own historical limitations.”4 By 1986, when Ling Li’s novel on the achievements and love life of the Qing dynasty emperor Shunzhi was appearing in the periodical Changpian xiaoshuo (“Novels”), it was clear she had abandoned her previous inspiration in class warfare, and after the novel appeared in book form the following year under the title Shaonian tianzi (“Young Son of Heaven,” 1987) it received a major literary award. To the amazement of many China observers, post-Mao China saw an increasing surge of ‘empire’ at the turn of the twenty-first century. From the

3 Mao Zedong articulated the importance of peasant rebellions in Chinese history in his article “Zhongguo geming he Zhongguo Gongchandang [The Chinese revolution and the Chinese Communist Party].” He wrote, “The scale of the peasant rebellions and peasant wars in Chinese history finds no match in world history. In the feudal society of China, only this kind of class struggle [between peasants and landowners], peasant rebellions and peasant wars were the real force of historical development.” Mao Zedong xuanji [Selected Works of Mao Zedong] (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1966), vol. 2, 588. 4 Ling Li, “Cong Xing xing cao dao Shaonian tianzi de chuangzuo fansi [Reflecting on the writing from Xing xing cao to Shaonian tianzi],” in Duo qing wu (Beijing: Jingji ribao chubanshe, 1998), 5. resurgent time 185

1990s to the early 2000s, as the market economy within China and worldwide globalization intensified, historical narratives and historical images about past Chinese empires came nearly to dominate cultural production, constituting what we may call an ‘empire fever’ that captured a renewed intellectual interest and popular craze for imperial history. A great deal of literature, including novels, biographies, films, and television series dealt with the lives of emperors, empresses, powerful officials, legendary scholars, controversial beauties, and the periods when the Chinese empire proudly assumed the role of ‘Central Kingdom’ in the world. Almost all the mighty dynasties in imperial China— the Qin, Han, Tang, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties and their associated influential emperors—were dramatized to shower the audience with convoluted stories and splendid images. The term ‘empire,’ after nearly a century’s exile, also returned to center stage to seize the national imagination with its past glory. With it reemerged the imperial discourse of Tianxia, literally ‘all-under- Heaven,’ or Minxin-Tianxia, understood as ‘whoever gains the hearts of the people will govern all-under-Heaven.’ A horizontal, contextualized analysis of this ‘empire fever’ might see it as a transient phenomenon symptomatic of sociopolitical transformation. Yet if we put it in a vertical, continuous temporal frame, a paradigmatic historical way of thinking—the imperial-time-order underlying the historical representations—emerges to the surface from a cultural unconscious that has helped define Chinese national identity. To account for ‘empire fever’ and the associated ‘empire representation,’ we then need to examine the intellectual realm in the 1980s and 1990s—a short period of ‘cultural fever’ comparable to that of the May Fourth and the ensuing fin-de-siecle ideological void that followed the Tiananmen Incident in 1989. Between the lived time when intellectuals continued to situate self and China in the post-Cold War world order and the transcendent time that bespeaks a universal imagination of the world, we see a synthetic time that contains multiple temporalities coexistent in the cultural production. Two television series—He shang (“River Elegy,” 1988) and Zouxiang gonghe (“Toward the Republic,” 2003) are thus both relevant and illustrative in tracing this synthetic time and the intellectual trajectory. From He shang to Zouxiang gonghe, later to Daguo jueqi (“The Rise of the Great Powers,” 2006) and Lang tuteng (“Wolf Totem,” 2004), we can tell that, irrespective of the great transformation of Chinese society and the diversified intellectual opinions before and after Tiananmen, a deeply rooted historical way of thinking pertaining to time and space drove intellectuals to prescribe their various cultural ‘cures’ for China, wherein an unconscious ‘empire complex’ became increasingly apparent in their discussions. This ‘empire complex,’ as will be discussed later in this 186 Chapter 6 chapter, characterizes the cultural unconscious of the 1980s’ intellectual realm and found its more exuberant expressions in the ‘empire representation’ of the post-Tiananmen era. Following the Tiananmen Incident of 1989, social discourses took a depoliticized, practical turn that displayed two interlacing tendencies: abandonment of the social class narrative and positive portrayal of empire, exemplified by the dramatic TV series Zouxiang gonghe and the television documentary Daguo jueqi. Meanwhile, expressions of the empire complex took divergent courses. One course was ‘empire representation,’ as depicted in the flourishing historical representations of past Chinese empires and emperors. The other was what may be termed ‘minority historical fiction’ in line with the novel Lang tuteng. By exploring the ‘empire complex,’ especially its temporal features in both ‘empire representation’ and ‘minority historical fiction,’ this chapter seeks to offer some insight into the cultural unconscious as well as the conscious display of both centripetal and centrifugal characteristics in the imagination of Chinese empire in the global era.

From He shang to Daguo jueqi and Lang tuteng: The Burning Time and the ‘Empire Complex’

In 1988, a six-part TV documentary caught Chinese people’s attention. It scruti- nized China’s cultural heritage and the road to modernization by revisiting the issue of Chinese characteristics that Western, Japanese, and Chinese observers inaugurated in the late Qing. This is the legendary TV series He shang (River Elegy) that the ill-fated General Secretary of the Party Zhao Ziyang report- edly commended, and was shortly after banned in China in a wave of rhetoric attacking bourgeois liberalism. For its notorious condemnation of a timeless, ultrastable Chinese civilization lacking in self-regenerating energy for progress and its unabashed endorsement of total Westernization, He shang was believed to have helped shape the Tiananmen democratic movement in 1989 and thus characterize liberal intellectual discourse in the 1980s.5 Adopting Jin Guantao’s speculation on an ultrastable structure of Chinese history inspired by cybernetic theory, He shang presents a continuous history that passes over the modern revolutionary experiences, suggesting a deeply rooted imperial/agrarian mentality—as represented by the timeless cultural symbols of the Yellow River, the Great Wall, and the dragon—that has prevented China from moving forward. What has been celebrated as the cradle

5 Mark Seldon, “He shang: A Symposium, Introduction.” Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars, 23, no. 3, (1991): 3. resurgent time 187 of Chinese civilization, the Yellow River, is linked to China’s ultrastable political culture by comparing the river’s periodic flooding to the cycles of unrest and collapse in Chinese history. Its restraining dikes are thus seen as symbolic of China’s restrictive earthbound culture, in contrast to the ‘maritime culture’ associated with the boundless ocean that signifies openness, freedom, and innovation. To break from the extraordinary continuity of Chinese history and its suffocating inertia, He shang proposes that China has to open up, learn from the West, and rely on its intellectuals to transform its peasant mentality. Needless to say, He shang’s bold argument invited mixed responses, mirroring the diverse intellectual landscape of the late 1980s, in which liberals and New Confucian scholars engaged in a debate that culminated in what could be seen as another (unfulfilled) enlightenment movement. And the historians, who were conveniently left out of the series, also stood up to criticize its theoretical and historical fallacies. Yet, despite the seemingly diverse intellectual opinions and their conscious effort to complete the enlightenment project left unfinished by their May Fourth predecessors, we can discern a similar mode of thinking reflected in an analogous temporal-spatial imagination of China in the post-Mao era. In He shang, the May Fourth (as well as late Qing) rhetoric of ‘young vs. old’ is renewed as “maritime civilization vs. agrarian civilization,” and the discourse of “irresistible trend of revolution” is substituted by the discourse of “irresistible trend of reform” (liberalization and marketization). The post-Mao rhetoric of enlightenment is motivated by the same collective and nationalist cause of national revival, and the recognition of the historical time and trend conveys a similar urgent air. Time is represented as a linear line imbued with distinct stages of development, according to which China has lagged far behind with its backward agrarian economy in contrast to the industrial society of the West, thanks to the failure to industrialize in the past several hundred years. Moreover, time is endowed with implicit notions such as ‘starting point,’ ‘turning point,’ ‘points of opportunities,’ and ‘speed,’ contingent moments and concepts that link Chinese history with the Western developmental experience, delivering a tone of urgency that calls for immediate social action. For example, the following lines explicitly express the lamentation over the tardiness and slowness that has exacerbated the unprecedented crisis of China in the fast developing global arena (emphasis mine):6

6 Su Xiaokang & Wang Luxiang, Death Song of the River: A Reader’s Guide to the Chinese TV series Heshang, trans. Richard W. Bodman and Pin P. Wang, (Ithaca: Cornell University East Asia Series, 1991). Page numbers for citations of this source are provided in parentheses in the text. 188 Chapter 6

In the present world, whenever a people with an ancient civilization comes face to face with the challenge of western industrial civilization and with the general tendency for the merging of cultures in this world, it encounters a serious crisis, both in terms of its present situation and its tradition. (104) Hegel says that the ocean invites mankind to conquest and to trade. And yet the Chinese who answered the invitation of the Pacific [Zheng He’s fleet] were such modest gentlemen who “upheld righteousness and did not scheme for profit.” Even when they reached the sea the Chinese were unable to exceed the limited circles of the thought and action of the land. History chose the Chinese people, but the Chinese people were unable to choose History. (133) If we admit that China has already wasted historical opportunities, then we will never again refuse to choose. (134) On the 18th of December 1978, this ineluctable current of history finally swept China too into the mainstream of reform among socialist nations. (161) Though we always thought we were making great strides towards progress, how little we knew that others were making faster strides than us! If the gap should continue at present rates, . . . China’s global citizenship will be revoked! (171) The Chinese people at this moment are more eager than ever before to enter the world market. . . . This opportunity afforded by a great readjust- ment in the structure of world production may well be quite fleeting, while we are the late-comers whose preparations are both hasty and incomplete. (173) If we want China to enter into the world, we must let the world enter China. Otherwise, we will lose a good opportunity once again! (175)

Beneath the overt nationalistic crying over lost opportunities that might have brought China wealth and power before the onset of Western industrialization, we see a familiar configuration of time and space implicit in the imperial-time- order: the irresistible historical trend that needs to be followed and pushed by the collective agency, presumably led by the educated elite. Critics have not failed to point out that the proposal for total Westernization, bankrupt following the crackdown on the Tiananmen movement of 1989 and the exile of some advocates including Su Xiaokang, the scriptwriter of He shang, was driven as much by a self-serving psychology to promote underprivileged intellectuals in the ideological void of the post-Mao era as by nationalist resurgent time 189 sentiment that has pervaded the entire modern period.7 For the educated elite, the anxiety of asserting their enlightened leading role in society attests once again to what Thomas Metzger calls the “zealously ideological, heroic self” attempting to follow the historical trend of modernization and find a remedy for China that has been left behind.8 Meanwhile, underneath the iconoclastic façade of enlightenment that calls for abandoning tradition, one sees the nationalistic nostalgia for the golden past that has been haunting Chinese intellectuals since late imperial times. As Jing Wang observes, He shang lays bare the nostalgia for the bygone Chinese empire and laments its failure in the modern period. It repeats the quest for “what’s wrong with China,” juxtaposing the ancient glory in economic, political, and technological prowess with the modern weakness and poverty in global arena. The documentary poses questions such as: “why had Industrial Civilization with its promise of vast wealth never appeared in Chinese history?”9 Or, “why did not China keep this great lead she had won by her rapid return to unity and order? Why does she not to this day dominate the world culturally and politically?”10 In so doing the documentary betrays a cultural unconscious that inevitably lapses into the May Fourth paradox between enlightenment and nationalism. In Jing Wang’s words: “Little seems changed since the May Fourth Movement. Su Xiaokang and his generation of intellectuals inherited not only the iconoclastic tradition of their predecessors, but also the superiority/inferiority complex that characterizes the May Fourth generation’s reflection of China’s past.”11 This superiority/inferiority complex, for Jing Wang, constitutes the intrinsic paradox in the Chinese enlightenment movement(s), as much in the May Fourth as in the post-Mao period. “History is both the dream and the night- mare from which neither the Chinese people nor the intellectuals themselves

7 Edward Gunn, “The Rhetoric of He shang: from Cultural Criticism to Social Act,” Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars, Vol. 23, No.3, 18–19. 8 Thomas Metzger, “Comments on Leo Ou-fan Lee’s Paper at the Breckinridge Conference on Individualism and Holism”, quoted in Leo Ou-fan Lee, “In Search of Modernity: Some Reflections on a New Mode of Consciousness in Twentieth-Century Chinese History and Literature,” in Ideas across Cultures, edited by Paul Cohen and Merle Goldman, (Cambridge and London: Harvard East Asian Monographs, 1990), 120–121. 9 Su Xiaokang and Wang Luxiang, Death Song of the River, 162. 10 Ibid., 145. The series quoted questions asked in The Outline of History (1920) by H.G. Wells, following the narrative: “even Westerners could not help but feel sorry for us.” 11 Jing Wang, “He shang and the Paradoxes of Chinese Enlightenment,” Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 23, no. 3 (1991): 25–26. 190 Chapter 6 have awakened.”12 Even though members of the post-Mao cultural elite such as Li Zehou and Liu Zaifu intended to continue the enlightenment movement by differentiating themselves from the May Fourth intellectuals, Jing Wang suggests, they nonetheless fall into the same cultural trap by carrying the same cultural unconscious.13 Li Zehou once characterized the emotional makeup of May Fourth iconoclasts as “a complex structure of cultural psychology,” and Liu Zaifu went a step further to describe it as Tianchao qingjie, the complex of the Dynasty of Heaven, equivalent to a superiority complex.14 However, despite their conscious divergence from their May Fourth predecessors, Jing Wang asserts, they still took the pursuit of wealth and power as the national imperative. “If the quest of modernity is haunted by the compulsion to recover the status of the ‘Dynasty of Heaven,’ then modernity is ultimately identical to that of the political and economic hegemony of a nation. Li Zehou’s vision of enlightenment thus remains as confined as that of his May Fourth predecessors.”15 Indeed, He shang once more appealed to the intellectuals’ desire to recognize the larger historical trend and demonstrate their elite function, in the same fashion as their May Fourth forebears, after decades obscured in a cultural unconscious, to recover the imperial glory of China. In fact, the cultural debate in the 1980s was centered on the critical reflection of what went wrong in the past revolutionary experience—the limitations of May Fourth enlightenment and the mistakes of Mao’s voluntarist policy which, for them, were weighed down by the centripetal gravity of history. Yet, from their discussion of Chinese history and mentality, we continually see a deeply ingrained historical way of thinking at work. As Woei Lien Chong points out, whereas Li Zehou, Liu Xiaobo, and Liu Xiaofeng, three influential intellectuals who had engaged in the cultural debate, diverged from each other on how to achieve enlightenment and make personal choice, they nonetheless converged on the recognition of limited individual agency in pushing history forward.16 In particular, the Marxist dialectician Li Zehou demonstrates a mode of thinking implied in the imperial-time-order. For Li, “the role of the will is limited to selecting the right moment for social action on the basis of an understanding of the objective laws of historical development.” Thus, Chong

12 Ibid., 25. 13 Ibid., 26–27. 14 Ibid., 26. 15 Ibid., 27. 16 Woei Lien Chong, “Hubris in Chinese Thought: A Theme in post-Mao Cultural Criticism,” in The Magnitude of Ming: Command, Allotment, and Fate in Chinese Culture, ed. Christopher Lupke (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2005), 269. resurgent time 191 concludes, “Li’s view of history is a conscious attempt to steer a course between the Scylla of Maoist voluntarism and Marx’s messianistic eschatology on the one hand, and the Charybdis of mechanical determinism on the other.”17 “The right moment” betrays Li’s vision of time, the identification of an irresistible historical trend, by following which an individual could execute his moral will to push history forward. It is this vision of time, and the accompanying “complex of the Dynasty of Heaven,” which can be simply termed the ‘empire complex,’ that has compelled the intellectuals to constantly prescribe ‘remedies’ for the ‘illness’ of Chinese culture since the late Qing and has been continued into the post- Tiananmen period. The superiority/inferiority dynamic continues to show its ambivalent attitude toward Western culture and Chinese civilization, except that it adopts a more self-centered perspective, one that deflates the role of the West as the only model for reference against which China has been measured, and bifurcates into the effusive media exhibition of the past Chinese empire and the critical self-examination of Chinese characteristics from a minority perspective. After Tiananmen, the most vivid display of the ‘empire complex’ appeared in media representations of imperial history that bombarded audiences, and it was paralleled with the calmer, de-politicized portrayal of the Western powers. The latter, inheriting and amending the legacy of He shang, appears in a 2006 CCTV documentary, Daguo jueqi (The Rise of the Great Power). Introducing the rise of modern national empires such as Portugal, Spain, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Japan, Russia, and the United States, the documentary endorses the idea that China should learn from the experiences of other great powers in order to prepare for its own ‘peaceful rise.’18 What caught people’s attention as much, however, was the abandonment of the class struggle narrative that had condemned Western powers as imperialists, as the exuberant display of ‘empire complex’ replaced the sense of inferiority conveyed in He shang. Moreover, whereas He shang was banned in the late 1980s, Daguo jueqi was immediately rerun at the beginning of the new century.19

17 Woei Lien Chong, “Hubris in Chinese Thought,” 254–255. 18 Wikipedia, online source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rise_of_the_Great_Powers. 19 Online articles, see Qian Wenjun, “He shang yu Daguo jueqi [He shang and The rise of Great Powers],” http://www.chinavalue.net/Article/Archive/2009/5/15/175727.html; Xian Zhi, “Yu He shang yimai xiangcheng de Daguo jueqi [The Rise of the Great Powers that is in the same strain as He shang],” http://www.globalview.cn/bbs1/dispbbs.asp? boardID=2&ID=1484&page=1; Zuo Gun, “Cong He shang dao Daguo jueqi kan yizhong jinbu 192 Chapter 6

Meanwhile, the 2005 novel Lang tuteng (“Wolf Totem”) reworked the investigation of Chinese characteristics in He shang, replacing ‘maritime civilization’ with nomadic culture as a source, this time within China, to revive China. Though still critical of Han Chinese agrarian culture, Wolf Totem nonetheless incorporates the Mongolian nomadic spirit into Chinese characteristics, concluding a decade of cultural introspection that testifies to Chinese sufficiency for self-renewal. These two tendencies, the direct representation of the Chinese empire and the self-critical or differential portrayal of imperial history from a minority perspective, here termed ‘empire representation’ and ‘minority historical fiction’ respectively, characterize post-Tiananmen historical representation. Displaying divergent perspectives, they nevertheless both draw attention to the increasing confidence of China, hence the ‘empire complex,’ in the newly emerging global order. They also both reflect the pragmatic strategies the Chinese adopted in the process of marketization and globalization. This pragmatic strategy, characteristic of the general post-Tiananmen intellectual approach overlapping with Deng Xiaoping’s “black cat, white cat” theory, is best exemplified in a historical TV series, Zouxiang gonghe (“Toward the Republic”).

“Toward the Republic” and Toward the Empire

Zouxiang gonghe (“Toward the Republic,” hereafter Republic) was first aired during primetime CCTV-1 in 2003,20 immediately arousing popular interest with its controversial and subversive portrayal of late imperial history. The series restaged the turbulent transition from the late Qing to the Republican period, immersing the conservatives, the reformists, and the revolutionaries into the same hot water of this shameful period, and posed a provocative challenge to the officially established view on modern Chinese history.21 Unlike the mainstream view taught in history textbooks that the feudal regime of the decadent imperial family and officials were the primary reasons for China’s backwardness and accompanying humiliation, the series almost completely inverts the images of the ‘corrupt’ Empress Dowager Cixi, the ‘quisling’ official Li Hongzhang, and the ‘national robber’ Yuan Shikai.

[Seeing Progress from He shang to The Rise of Great Powers],” http://news.boxun.com/ news/gb/pubvp/2008/08/200808071321.shtml. 20 Zouxiang gonghe (Toward the Republic). Directed by Zhang Li, written by Sheng Heyi and Zhang Jianwei. (Beijing: Minzu chubanshe, 2003). 21 Ibid. See the interview with the director Zhang Li and the scriptwriter Sheng Heyi. resurgent time 193

It suggests that these people have been the undeserving scapegoats for the national stigma in history and that in reality they were no less patriotic and moral than the reformists and revolutionaries. In the series, Cixi radiates calculated wisdom, soberness, intelligence, and strategy, no less open-minded than the situation allows her to be; Li Hongzhang shines as a capable and devoted diplomat, extremely loyal, diligent, self- sacrificing, yet with no alternative options to choose from. Similarly, Yuan Shikai excels as a man who is talented, competent, realistic, and far-sighted, only to be trapped by the dream of being an emperor that conservatives instill in him. Commonly regarded ‘historical felons,’ these late Qing figures now appear understandable and reasonable due to their respective situations, and no less than able protagonists in seeking the way to save China during its crisis. On the other hand, Sun Zhongshan (Dr. Sun Yat-sen), the founding father of the Republic, is portrayed as an idealistic, enthusiastic, and credulous radical revolutionary, who is no more rational than the reformists, no more realistic than the conservatives. Sun, as a representative of the people brimming with exuberant ideals, seems no more heroic than any of the other characters. On the contrary, Cixi, Li Hongzhang, and Yuan Shikai are more capable figures, who each impress the audience with their individual appeal. It implies that their endeavors to save the Qing Empire (and Yuan’s attempt to establish a new dynasty) fail not due to their character flaws or moral deficiency, but because they lack the vision to recognize the historical trend in the chaotic global contingencies. Similarly, the steadfast believer in constitutional monarchy, reformist Kang Youwei, could not fulfill his plan owing to his lack of vision of the people’s power and their demand for democracy. As a result, the success of revolution overthrowing the Qing is presented as more of an outcome of historical inevitability discursively shouldered by Sun than a real break from centuries of the imperial system. The process of moving toward the Republic, hence, appears not so much as social progress led by national heroes as it does a grassroots movement determined by the larger historical trend.22 The end of the Qing dynasty, then, seems to be no more than a discursive change in Chinese history, and the boundary between the late imperial regime and the modern republican state is blurred. This representation of late Qing history mirrors the fin-de-siècle intellectual field in the post-Tiananmen period that followed a revisionist trend in representing imperial history.23 In contrast to promoting revolutionary ideology,

22 Ying Zhu, Television in Post-Reform China: Serial Dramas, Confucian Leadership and the Global Television Market (London & New York: Routledge, 2008), 50. 23 Ying Zhu, Television in Post-Reform China, 50. 194 Chapter 6 intellectuals favored a pragmatic approach to carry out the mission of reviv- ing China. Critics have observed that the post-Tiananmen intellectual sphere exhibited a tendency to ‘wither away.’ This was evident in its general agreement with the government on anti-radicalism, in its retreat to discipline- confined professionalism and voluntary participation in the international division of intellectual labor, and in its obscure relationship with the state— seemingly autonomous yet remaining dependent on the socioeconomic policies of the state.24 Moreover, although the general intellectual consensus that existed in the 1980s fragmented in the gigantic socioeconomic transformations, there was common ground. Intellectuals were divided into loosely labeled groups such as ‘neoliberal,’ ‘nationalist,’ ‘postmodernist,’ and ‘New Leftist,’ remotely echoing the late Qing intellectual positions of ‘reformist,’ ‘conservative,’ and ‘revolutionary,’ with the difference that the post-Tiananmen intellectuals were more in agreement with each other with regard to non-violent reform. As Xudong Zhang observes, despite the ostensibly contradictory ideas the diverse intellectual groups proposed about the future of China, they evolved from the same origin of the 1980s’ ‘cultural fever,’ and shared a political and intellectual common ground of populist sentiment and the endorsement of a strong central government.25 This common ground, the confluence of intellectual impetus, was further buttressed by what Xudong Zhang calls ‘neonationalism’ or ‘postnationalism,’ a type of nationalism that emerged in the 1990s as a result of increasing disillusionment with what the Chinese people used to imagine as a utopian West, when China entered the US-dominated global landscape and was constantly humiliated and rejected by the West. For Zhang, events such as the bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade, the rejection of China’s application for hosting the 2000 Olympic Games, and the exhausting negotiations to enter the WTO, all contributed to reopening all too familiar national wounds. Nevertheless, the new form of nationalism, Zhang suggests, was based on a discovery of the international space by the population at large, thanks to the disappearance of social-cultural barriers that were either imposed by the limitation of information exchange or government sanctions in the past.26 This

24 Xudong Zhang, “The Making of the Post-Tiananmen Intellectual Field: A Critical Overview,” in Whither China: Intellectual Politics in Contemporary China, edited by Xudong Zhang, (Durham & London: Duke University Press, 2001), 1–75. 25 Xudong Zhang, “The Making of a Post-Tiananmen Intellectual Field: A Critical Overview,” in Whither China, 26. 26 Ibid., 41–42. resurgent time 195 newly available international space, the result of unparalleled commercial, informational, and human interactions, shaped the boundary-defying postnationalism as it sought a universal form transcendent over a nation-state to counter Western hegemony.27 The ‘Chinese alternative way,’ hence, could be seen as a concerted effort of both government and intellectuals to refute the Eurocentric universality of notions like capitalism, market, modernity, and democracy, categories that for Chinese could be contextualized as historical contingencies rather than modular or universal ideas. Yet, this Chinese alternative has been nothing other than an alternative universal itself paralleling the Western universal. In Zhang’s words, “any alternative vision of modernity must consider itself as engaging not in particularizing the universal, but rather, quite contrary, in universalizing the particular. It must see its intellectual mission in constantly historicizing the arbitrariness of power and intellectual closures of all those circulating universal claims while keeping the future-oriented, utopian horizons of history open.”28 One may recall Mao’s Sinicization of Marxism as the ‘universalization of the particular’ discussed in Chapter Four, its universal tendency betraying the pervasive influence of the imperial-time-order. By the same token, the ‘postnationalism’ or the search for a ‘Chinese alternative’ also reveals such a cultural unconscious, i.e. the ‘empire complex.’ Moreover, the advent of mass media as a channel of information exchange and an outlet to express popular sentiment endows the manifestation of ‘empire complex’ with multiple voices, which emphasizes the portrayal of a ‘“gray zone’ that allows the coexistence of contending ideas. Following China’s speedy rise as a new global superpower, both the government and the masses have become more ready to embrace the image of empire and downplay the ideological connotations. Just as Republic grants every party a legitimate voice, historical representation in the post-Tiananmen period indulges in the glory of the past Chinese empire that encompasses more the ideologically neutral ‘gray zones’ than the antagonistic black-and-white worlds of the revolutionary narratives. In fact, Republic completed a change in the field of historical representation that had been in place since the mid-1980s. The subversive portrayal of different characters signified the shift of attention from the idealistic to the empirical, from revolutionary discourse to ‘empire representation,’ and from modernization to globalization. Republic offers a major example of these shifts and tensions. Insofar as the empirical situation becomes the primary concern

27 Ibid., 42. 28 Ibid., 67. 196 Chapter 6 in carrying out the national strategy, Sun Zhongshan’s idealistic enthusiasm seems no nobler than the realistic calculations of Li Hongzhang on behalf of the falling empire. Following Deng Xiaoping’s era of pragmatic policy, the post- socialist discourse has tended to de-sublimate idealism and endorse practicality. While revolutionary history has faded, imperial history is brought to the fore; while the black-and-white world is blurred, the gray area is legitimized, presented, and brought to the surface on both the national and global horizons.

Synthetic Time: Characteristics of “Empire Representation”

It is noteworthy that Republic is a rather unique case in that it revisited the troublesome late Qing era. Most historical representations since the mid- 1980s restaged the glorious times in Chinese history, constituting the major body of ‘empire representation.’ The cross-fertilization of ‘empire representation’ and mass media delivers a sense of glory, unity, beauty, and abundance, which significantly diverges from the revolutionary cultural tapestry a decade before. Tang Zhesheng characterized the shift from revolutionary narrative to ‘empire representation’ as the shift from ‘people’s culture’ (qun zhong wenhua 群众文化) to ‘mass culture,’ (da zhong wenhua 大众文化), for the elite-led, idealistic pursuits in ‘people’s culture’ gave way to the popular interests of ‘mass culture,’ and the market played a crucial role in propagating imperial stories and images.29 While ‘the People’ indexes a class-conscious, clearly demarcated, antagonistic world, ‘the mass’ signifies the gray zone wherein class struggle is disguised and blurred. According to the critic Wang Aisong, the resurgence of the imperial narrative means that the ordinary people were moved off stage and replaced by historical celebrities. Moreover, event-centered history gave way to character-centered history.30 In the latter, there is a tendency to glorify emperors, officials, and successful merchants, dramatizing romantic encounters and power intrigues, which points to the commercialized, vulgar direction of both production and consumption.31 Inasmuch as ‘empire representation’ corresponds to a globalized mass culture, it automatically exhibits the simultaneously centralizing and de- centering tendencies that reveal the centripetal and centrifugal forces of the

29 Tang Zhesheng, Zhongguo dangdai tongsu xiaoshuo shilun [The History of Contemporary Chinese Popular Fiction], (Beijing: Peking University Press, 2007), 300–309. 30 Wang Aisong, Zhengzhi shuxie yu lishi xushi,285. 31 Ma Zhenfang, Zai lishi yu xugou zhijian [Between History and Fiction], (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 2006). resurgent time 197 imperial-time-order unfolding throughout history. This form of representation can be broken down into several characteristics. First, ‘empire representation’ presents a dialectic between ‘the People are missing’ and emperors as heroes. On the surface, the commercialization of imperial history de-sublimates a lofty, idealistic revolutionary history that aims to construct a unified class memory. Hence, ‘the People are missing.’32 Yet paradoxically, ‘the People’ constructed in the revolutionary textual world are in effect always in opposition to the enemy—the ruling class—and to read it contextually, ‘the Nation’ in this discourse is always in competition with other nations of the world. The unity achieved in the revolutionary master narrative therefore implies an intrinsic disunity from both within and without. By contrast, the commercialized mass culture reconstructs the stories from remote collective memory embodied in famous historical figures in order to glorify the unified, wealthy empire, which ironically brings the national imagination to centralization. For instance, Ling Li’s series of novels on the early Qing dynasty was given the series title “One Hundred Years of Resplendence” (bai nian hui huang 百年辉煌), and a similar series by Eryuehe portraying the splendor of the great Qing Empire at its height was titled “The Trilogy of the Evening Glow” (luo xia san bu qu 落霞三部曲). The concentrated portrayal of imperial glory comes across as natural and harmonious, perceivable in both the past and the present, engendering a positive feeling of common root and collective belonging. Moreover, the dilemma between the absence of the People and the presence of the emperors is resolved in the rhetoric of Tianxia (“all-under-Heaven”) or Minxin-Tianxia (“whoever gains the hearts of people will govern all-under- Heaven”). Put another way, even though on the surface ‘the People are missing,’ the discourse of Tianxia has blended the spirit of the people with the very image of the heroes. The displacement of ‘the People’ by Tianxia thus primarily serves as a bridge to maintain continuity between the pre-modern empire and the modern nation-state, mend the class antagonism between the despot and the people, and emphasize a vision of harmony and abundance. Indeed, in terms of the image of the ruling heroes, emperors and officials alike, there is a primary concern that the heroes are not fundamentally different from the common people. By contrast, there is a strong tendency to overturn the general assumption that the emperor has unlimited imperial power and stands in opposition to and above the people. In these historical

32 Gilles Deleuze, “One Less Manifesto” in Mimesis, Masochism, & Mime: The Politics of Theatricality in Contemporary French Thought, ed. Timothy Murray, (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997). 198 Chapter 6 representations, far from being free and authoritative with absolute power, the emperors are usually placed in critical situations facing multiple threats. In Republic the late Qing court is portrayed as having no more practical chance than anyone else to save the empire. Instead of being portrayed as a totalitar- ian, transcendent ruler, the emperor is seen to have to deal carefully with a crucial situation while keeping Tianxia uppermost in his mind. Whereas the failed emperors like the late Qing rulers are shown as incapable of shoulder- ing the mission for lack of ability or vision, the successful ones become heroes with superb talent, wisdom, vision, and ability. The emphasis on the empirical situation not only erases the distance between the emperor and the common people, but also lifts the notion of Tianxia to a transcendent level. Tianxia is absent, yet also omnipresent. As such, ‘empire representation’ displays itself as the centralizing force organized by the imperial-time-order. Secondly, there appears a dialectic between the centralizing and de-centering effects. The imagination of the empire is reified in the images of wealth, beauty, romance, and success that are also attractive to the individual viewer. The symbiosis between historical representation and mass media, hence, not only contributes to the collective national imagination, but also caters to the popular desire to achieve the ideal success in both spiritual and material senses. The material abundance, including simultaneous possession of wealth, beauty, and fame, is built upon social security and stability, an environment that provides the possibilities of maximal gain and cultivates materialist motivation in a commercialized, post-socialist context. For instance, the representations of the famous merchants Fan Li and Lü Buwei in the Warring States period deliberately lead the readers to the “open sesame of their grand success.”33 In that sense, historical narratives correspond to multiple desires and identifications that are not always lofty and noble, promoting an egocen- tric, acquisitive response toward an otherwise unitary cultural text. However, in most cases, the characteristics that contribute to a character’s success are not just tactics and chance, but mostly the traditional virtues and values those characters possess. As discursive and contingent as the social encounters are, the underlying factor that makes a hero is traditional morality. As Tang Zhesheng points out, while these historical representations adopt a perspective that is neither elitist nor highly spiritual, the glorified protagonists usually display superhuman charisma in a culture that values Confucianism highly. Thus, the Yongzheng Emperor becomes the advocate of traditional

33 Han Yaoqi, Juedai zhengshang Lü Buwei [The Unprecedented Politician- Merchant Lü Buwei], (Beijing: Guoji wenhua chuban gongsi, 1996); Xie Shijun, Shangsheng—Fan Li quanzhuan [The Merchant Saint—the Grand Biography of Fan Li] (Beijing: Beifang wenyi chubanshe, 1997). See Tang Zhesheng, Zhongguo dangdai tongsu xiaoshuo shilun, 332. resurgent time 199 values and the genuine practitioner of the view of Minxin-Tianxia; the official Zeng Guofan is portrayed as first and foremost a prominent Confucian scholar; and the successful merchant Hu Xueyan also possesses qualities comparable to those of a Confucian shi-scholar.34 Whereas material success is what attracts popular attention, the larger-than-life spiritual pursuit and the Confucian social conscience remain the cultural core that offers reassurance of benign social stability. The construct of an ideal character is thus centered on the traditional values by which the protagonists shine through history and on which the empire was founded and stabilized. Lastly, the ‘empire representation’ betrays a synthetic time that encompasses multiple and differential temporalities. As will be shown in later chapters, more often than not the same history is represented heterogeneously rather than homogeneously. The interweaving of the past, present, and future exhibits a sense of crystalline time, neither linear nor cyclical, but the composite of both. For instance, Ling Li’s historical novels inherit more of the revolutionary legacy, assuming a linear, progressive history and projecting a better future. By contrast, Eryuehe’s ‘emperor series’ shows neither a sentiment of nostalgia nor a vision of projection onto the future, but rather radiates a double-layered, universal, all-encompassing temporality: the transcendent moral time and the empirical amoral time. The coexistence of different temporalities signifies the overlapping of differential historical consciousness, the consciousness that desires to resituate contemporary China in history and in the world. It is an enduring desire that enfolds the so-called nativist, liberalist, new-leftist, and just plain ordinary audience, into an all-encompassing staging of the ancient Chinese empire. In the meantime, this differential consciousness also partially parallels and partially overlaps with the self-critical examinations of Han Chinese culture, produced by some avant-garde writers who took a minority perspective. These writers continued to grapple with a lingering inferiority complex, and opted to divulge the inadequacies of Han Chinese culture by portraying the constitutive relationship between the Han and the ethnic minority culture, on the basis of the unification of Chinese empire. Such narratives, termed ‘minority historical fiction’ and exemplified by Wolf Totem, coexist with mainstream ‘empire representation,’ revealing a diversifying, centrifugal tendency in the portrayal of Chinese empire.

34 Tang Zhesheng, Zhongguo dangdai tongsu xiaoshuo shilun, 314–339. Zeng Guofan in Tang Haoming, Zeng Guofan (Changsha: Hunan wenyi chubanshe, 1990); Hu Xueyan in Gao Yang, Hu Xueyan quanzhuan [The Complete Biography of Hu Xueyan], (Beijing: Zhongguo youyi chuban gongsi, 1992); Emperor Yongzheng in Eryuehe, Yongzheng huangdi (Wuhan: Changjiang wenyi chubanshe, 1998). 200 Chapter 6

Minority Historical Fiction: Other Sides of the Empire

While the seemingly objective, textbook-, media-friendly historical representations occupy the center stage of mass culture, the so-called ‘serious’ literary field has also turned its attention to imperial history. The once experimental- ist, vanguard writers such as Su Tong, Zhang Chengzhi, and Wang Anyi have also projected their imaginations onto the cultural screen of the past Chinese empire. However, they often situate themselves in a marginal position to write about imperial history, from either an individual or a minority perspective, to create an imagined, alternative account that de-centers and deconstructs the totality of the well-established, dominant, ‘official’ history. Since their works are often connected with minority ethnic groups, they function as ‘minority historical fiction.’ These works usually depict a lifestyle or spiritual pursuit specific to a certain minority group, yet they all attempt to elicit universal or transcendent values or characteristics that could be critical and constitutive of the perpetuation of Chinese civilization. They are also inclined to make general comments on Chinese history, in terms of Han-minority interactions, the recognition of which plays a critical part in the ever-expanding representation of the Chinese empire from the minority perspective. To some extent, minority historical fiction shares something in common with both ‘root-searching literature’ and new historical fiction. Emerging from the mid-1980s and exemplified in works by writers like Han Shaogong and A Cheng, ‘root-searching literature’ is a term characterizing a literary landscape that contrasts with that of Mao’s era. As Huang Ziping points out, rather than portraying an ethical, utilitarian world in which a “great man” has “morality, responsibility, and a sense of vocation” to strive for his ideal and self-realization in Mao’s era, root-searching literature emphasizes the “aesthetic situation, the atmosphere, the cultural sedimentation, the celebration of the power of nature, the unrefined, wild and basic beauty in the crude, primitive mode of life.”35 Minority writers such as Zhang Chengzhi, A Lai, Zhaxi Dawa, and Han writers like Wang Anyi, Gao Jianqun can be loosely put into this group.36

35 Huang Ziping, Xingcunzhe de wenxue [Literature of the Survivors], (Taipei: Yuanliu, 1991), 192. See Xudong Zhang, Chinese Modernism in the Era of Reforms (Durham & London, Duke University Press, 1997), 138. 36 Xudong Zhang, Chinese Modernism in the Era of Reforms (Durham & London: Duke University Press, 1997), 137; Howard Yuen Fung Choy, Remapping the Past: Fictions of History in Deng’s China 1979–1997 (Ph.D dissertation, University of Colorado at Boulder, 2004), 85. resurgent time 201

On the other hand, new historical fiction is brewed by writers who “are engrossed in re-creating an aura of history, or in an aesthetic of historical imagination. They are concerned with the peripheral rather than the dominant, the legendary rather than the logical, and the individual rather than the integral, breaking corporate wholes into fragmentary cases.”37 Put otherwise, new historical fiction comprises works that are free from the paradigm of traditional historical writing, works that replace historical research with fiction, and works that attempt to convey a discourse rather than represent historical reality. Writers “cease to think with historical materials, but rather, take history itself as the material of thinking.”38 Writers like Mo Yan, Su Tong, Yu Hua, and other aforementioned writers have practiced such writings. Needless to say, both concepts are loosely defined, and writers themselves seldom agree on such categorizations. What is significant here is the attention given to the paradigmatic shift in the literary world. Inasmuch as writers consciously choose the aesthetic over the didactic, the poetic over the political, the periphery over the central, they automatically take a marginal stance against the official, dominant account of history. What is at stake here is both the individual identity and the national identity. ‘History’ in both categories of literature remains an amorphous figure that explicitly or implicitly deconstructs and subverts the totality of the linear, homogeneous, official history. Consequently, these types of literature engage in an ongoing project of creating an alternative history, problematize and de-center the existing definition of national identity, and negotiate a new national identity from a marginal, minority perspective. In this regard, minority historical fiction could be placed either in root- searching literature or in new historical fiction, filtered through the lens of imperial history. Specifically, for our purpose of analysis, there are three categories of minority historical fiction. The first category consists of those portrayals of Chinese history from a marginal, individual perspective, for example, Su Tong’s fictional depiction of imperial history. The second category comprises those texts that highlight the continuity of premodern and modern history regarding family lineage and ethnic interactions, for instance, Wang Anyi’s Fact and Fiction (Jishi yu xugou 纪实与虚构) and Gao Jianqun’s The Last Xiongnu Hun (Zuihou yige Xiongnu 最后一个匈奴). The third includes those works that identify with ethnic minority groups, romanticizing the minority cultures and criticizing yet also complementing the Han cultural center, for instance,

37 Howard Yuen Fung Choy. Remapping the Past: Fictions of History in Deng’s China, 1979– 1997, (Danvers, MA: Brill, 2008), 21. 38 Ibid. 202 Chapter 6

Zhang Chengzhi’s Spiritual History (Xinling shi 心灵史) and Jiang Rong’s Wolf Totem (Lang tuteng 狼图腾).39 Needless to say, these categories are interrelated and overlap. The individual, familial, and national identifications all have to do with the search for both individual and national identity. Gilles Deleuze used to interpret minority as a critical term in power relations. He defines minority as either concrete or abstract, either in terms of a state of rule, or in terms of a cultural stance that is still becoming. In his words:

To conclude, minority has two meanings that are related, no doubt, but very distinct. First of all, minority denotes a state of rule, that is to say, the situation of a group that, whatever its size, is excluded from the majority, or even included, but as a subordinate fraction in relation to the standard measure of that which regulates the law and establishes the majority. . . . There follows a second meaning: minority no longer denotes a state of rule, but a becoming in which one enlists. To become- minority. . . . Minority here denotes the strength of a becoming while majority designates the power or weakness of a state, of a situation.40

For Deleuze, minority signifies both the actual being and the potential becoming. In the first sense, Deleuze refers to minority as fewer in number, the subaltern, or the powerless, for instance, women. In the second sense, minority nevertheless implies a self-reflexive attitude, self-critical consciousness, and the power of false identification. In his words, “everyone is a becoming-woman, a becoming-woman who acts as everyone’s potentiality.”41 In light of this definition, contemporary minority historical fiction thus contains both layers of minority: both as a material existence of ethnic minority groups and as a consciousness of becoming-minority. On one level, these literary works make visible the lifestyles and values of the minority groups that remained marginal in the majority cultural landscape; on another level, they represent the tendency to deconstruct the monolithic or unitary portrayal of Chinese culture and history. Critically and self-reflexively, they participate in the ongoing discussion of redefining China’s self-identity in terms of minority- majority, periphery-center, and individual-society interactions.

39 Strictly speaking, Wolf Totem is not a novel about imperial history. But because it provides a lengthy lecture as the appendix in the end discussing Chinese history and civilization, I include this novel as the concluding part of the chapter. 40 Gilles Deleuze, “One Less Manifesto: Theater and Its Critique,” in Mimesis, Masochism, and Mime, ed. Timothy Murray (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997), 255. 41 Ibid. resurgent time 203

However, examined further, no matter how much intertwined, the two layers of minority nonetheless require two different approaches or movements in order to function as a minority. Whereas the first one—the actual being minority—starts from the margin, having either to assimilate or to seek recognition from the majority, the second departs from the center so that ‘becoming minority’ is a self-critical gesture or tendency. In other words, they work in centripetal and centrifugal directions, respectively. If for Deleuze, minority is first and foremost about ‘subversion’ of majority, the centrifugal and centripetal directions nevertheless render the ‘subversion’ indiscernible. In the Chinese case, minority historical fiction manifests a much more complex relationship with the official historical representation, with regard to the double meanings of minority. On the one hand, minority writers, for instance, the Hui ethnic minority writer Zhang Chengzhi and female writer Wang Anyi, still adopt the patriarchal, Han-centered discourse to convey their minority status; on the other hand, however, even though they represent a divergent, centrifugal force from the official history or discourse, all these writers are promoted by, or even reside in, the literary center. They have either won major literary prizes, or attracted considerable attention from literary circles and the intellectual world. To some extent, they represent the literary trend of the 1990s. If margin and center, being-minority and becoming-minority are indistinguishable from each other, minority then must have ceased to be uni- directionally subversive. If becoming-minority signifies a major literary trend coexistent with the mainstream mass culture, not only in the sense of the avant-garde literature defined by form, but also in the sense of representation of historical content, then minority literature has lost its purpose as minority. Its function must be two-fold: both centrifugal and centripetal. Homi Bhabha once discussed the strategy of the minority. By adopting the language of the dominant discourse, minority makes itself a supplementary force to interrogate the solidity of mainstream social power. In his words:

The minority does not simply confront the pedagogical, or powerful master-discourse with a contradictory or negating referent. It does not turn contradiction into a dialectical process. It interrogates its object by initially withholding its objective. Insinuating itself into the terms of reference of the dominant discourse, the supplementary antagonizes the implicit power to generalize, to produce the sociological solidity.42

42 Homi Bhabha, “DissemiNation,” in Nation and Narration (London & New York: Routledge, 1990), 306. 204 Chapter 6

Whereas it is persuasive that the minority has to be strategic in order to be recognized, Homi Bhabha stopped short of stressing adequately the flipside of the strategy: inasmuch as the minority accommodates itself to play the game with the dominant discourse, it at once questions and constitutes the unity of the dominant discourse by expanding the scope of it. In the Chinese context, instead of simply being subversive of mainstream Chinese culture or history, minority historical fiction creates a parallel narrative that contributes to the diversity and unity of the multi-ethnic, multi-linguistic Chinese culture. It is noteworthy that being subversive and being constitutive are not contradictory in this sense, as they target different objects. While the object of ‘subversion’ is the synchronic mainstream historical discourse within China, the object of ‘constitution’ is the China that is related to the imagined West. Indeed, the complex relationships reflected in minority historical fiction display the double-layered relationships between the minority and the majority within China, and between China and the West. For centuries, the minority ethnic groups have been regarded as culturally inferior barbarians. Only after they were Sinicized or civilized could they be included in the Chinese empire, no matter whether they were ethnic subal- terns or imperial rulers. In modern China, as historians have observed, the Chinese government has continued the civilizing project toward their minority brothers.43 In assuming cultural superiority, the central government has been able to incorporate the minorities into its unified history following a linear and rigidly structured historical narrative of progress.44 Needless to say, this linear historical narrative has put China in an awkward situation in modern world history. The ambivalent sentiment of acknowledg- ing technological inferiority yet at once insisting on moral superiority compared to the West, as discussed in previous chapters, has led to the substitution of a re-conceived Marxism for the deeply ingrained imperial thinking. On the other hand, within China, the Han-centered Chinese government presumes a complete package of superiority over the minorities, both morally and techno- logically. The double standard towards the outside and inside, inevitably, allows room for the stratification of identification in minority literature. Inasmuch as the writers could identify with either the minority group or Chinese, their works could be subversive of the official narrative on account of ethnic interactions, or could be constitutive of the unity of Chinese history by inventing

43 Stevan Harrell, Cultural Encounters on China’s Ethnic Frontiers (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1995),79. 44 Jonathan N. Lipman, Introduction to Familiar Strangers: A History of Muslims in Northwest China (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1997), xxi. resurgent time 205 the minority to re-imagine Chinese characteristics in the world arena, or both. In general, the minority historical fiction under examination here consists of both layers of identification: with the minority and with China. As a result, they at once rebel against the totality of official historical narrative, bring about the crucial contribution of the minority to the Chinese empire, and express the nationalistic concern by trying to re-imagine, or reconfigure Han-minority relations to improve China’s status in the world.

Revisiting Time and Space: Characteristics of Minority Historical Fiction

Simply stated, minority historical fiction includes those works that define Chinese imperial history from a marginal, minority perspective. At the current stage, there are not many in quantity, and they are quite diverse. Despite their diversity, they nonetheless share some common characteristics. First and foremost is the dialectic between the centripetal and the centrifugal connotations that the minority historical fiction conveys regarding imperial history. As discussed above, what distinguishes minority historical fiction from the conventionally written historical novels is that, although both are about Chinese empire, they portray imperial history from different perspectives. If history writing is to convey historical knowledge, and the historical novel is to make use of the available historical knowledge to create stories, then Ling Li and Eryuehe’s emperor series belong to the centripetal historical novel that makes commonly known history ‘re-appear’ centered on the emperors and the empire, whereas minority historical fiction belongs to the centrifugal type of historical novel that makes the local, suppressed, or unknown history ‘appear’ from a minority perspective.45 On the other hand, minority historical fiction does not negate mainstream history by simply dismissing the function of the imperial center or Chinese civilization; rather, it incorporates the minority into the foundation of the Chinese empire, creating an alternative history that parallels and complements the official history. Celebrating the crucial function of minorities in the

45 In a talk, “The Historical Novel in Postmodernity,” Fredric Jameson mentioned that the post-modern historical novel is to ‘make history appear,’ suggesting the subversive and deconstructive effect of the postmodern historical novel. I am borrowing his notion of ‘making history appear,’ though I am not quite sure about the definition for ‘postmodern.’ See Jameson’s talk in the Colloquium “Between History and Narrative: Colloquium in Honor of Hayden White,” University of Rochester, April 24–25, 2009. 206 Chapter 6 past, they serve to re-imagine and re-construct unified, more balanced, and better-conceived national characteristics in the present and future. In other words, what they write is marginal in the official history, yet the reason they write that way shows their nationalistic concern and reinforces the image of a unified empire from a minority perspective. Moreover, minority historical fiction presents a dialectic between the temporalization of space and the spatialization of history. Critics have characterized contemporary historical fiction, especially the so-called ‘new historical fiction,’ as “spatialization of history.”46 Since the narrative is engaged in the rewriting of histories that focus on the local places, the teleological, unilinear, official history has been turned into fragmentary, space-specific histories. “By changing the tradition of ‘once upon a time’ to the fiction of ‘once upon a place,’ ” as Howard Yuen Fung Choy notes, “the spatialization of history flattens the past into a plane surface or, more precisely, a map, on which the shadows of the past are projected without the depth and weight of ‘the whole truth’ of history. None of these shadows can be seen as history itself; rather, they are the other of history, a fabulous analogy of it.”47 Indeed, as Choy argues, “the spatialization of history” cannot be seen as history itself. Yet, alternative histories are more than just depthless shadows. In the case of minority historical fiction, even though the places of minorities, the Mongol grassland or the Shaanbei Plateau, for example, provide a focus to construct an alternative history, these places nonetheless embody the transcendent values that are crucial to Chinese history. By discovering and rearticulating these values, writers have turned these minority places into everlasting cultural spaces that bear the same weight of history. Instead of reducing these places to an uncivilized world that is left behind according to the linear, progressive historical time frame, minority historical fiction celebrates the nomadic spirit and universal values prevalent in these minority places and promotes them to a national level. In other words, those values have transcended the local spaces and become national characteristics. As a result, the backward minority space shares the same time with the Han majority space. Therefore, along with the ‘spatialization of history,’ there is also ‘temporalization of space.’

46 Howard Yuen Fung Choy, Remapping the Past: Fictions of History in Deng’s China 1979–1997; also Lin Qingxin, Brushing History Against the Grain (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2005), 17. Lin suggests that the new historical fiction shares a mode of ‘spatial narration.’ 47 Howard Yuen Fung Choy, Remapping the Past: Fictions of History in Deng’s China 1979– 1997, 11. resurgent time 207

Furthermore, minority historical fiction also exhibits a dialectic between diversity and unity. Needless to say, minority historical fiction displays various cultural scenes as the writers devote themselves to the portrayal of varied times and spaces and to experimentation with different writing techniques. Nevertheless, insofar as there is ‘stratification of identification’ and China is an overpowering entity to identify with, the alternative histories in minority historical fiction betray a deeply ingrained historical understanding: unification is the key to the blossoming of the Chinese civilization. For instance, they all incorporate the ethnic minority cultures into the Han-centered culture; all take the unification of the Chinese empire as normal yet celebrate the functions of minorities. They either justify the historical shi-trend by means of strength, or criticize the Chinese center in terms of its lack of morality or competitive drive. The normalization of unification, justification of the historical trend, and de-legitimizing of the winner’s behavior all prove the other side of the imperial-time-order: its centripetal and centrifugal effects are also played out in the contemporary minority literature. The coexistence of ‘empire representation’ and ‘minority historical fiction’ makes evident the crystallizing time and history in post-Tiananmen China. In the following chapters, I will address both in order to show the multifaceted manifestations of the ‘empire complex.’ Chapters Seven to Nine examine the historical films, novels, and TV series about successful emperors and empresses, starting with three films on the first emperor Qin Shihuang to discuss the local-global interactions, followed by the historical novels of Eryuehe and Ling Li, and the TV series about the emperors. These chapters address the tension between history and present, the importance of genre in shaping literary production and reader’s expectations, and the impact of media on narrative structure and collective reception, in a word, the ‘empire fever’ across media at the turn of the new century. Chapter Ten focuses on the ‘minority historical fiction’ produced by various writers. Specifically, it discusses how Su Tong’s fictional history de-legitimizes and de-sublimates Chinese history. A fictional, illegitimate emperor’s dramatic life suggests an ahistorical, metaphorical account of history: an individual is the victim of imperial structure, and only by escaping from that structuring can one gain freedom and enlightenment. The history of China is one of corruption, decadence, and ceaseless internal struggle, a history that consumes the energy that should have been used for loftier, more productive causes. On the other hand, the family histories of Wang Anyi and Gao Jianqun link the minority groups with national characteristics, attribute a productive spirit of rebelliousness and the revolution to nomadic peoples, and reveal the positive function of minority cultures in Chinese history. Further, the works of Zhang 208 Chapter 6

Chengzhi and Jiang Rong reveal the spiritual values lacking in the Han cultural center. They not only comment on Chinese national characteristics in contrast to the minority spirit, but also attempt to seek a national cure from the minority cultures. Revisiting Lu Xun’s legacy of discussing Chinese characteristics, this chapter aims to tackle the underlying imperial-time-order that has been the central concern of this book. Chapter 7 Love or Hate: The First Emperor on Screen

Empire is materializing before our very eyes. Hardt & Negri, Empire

The ultimate realm (jingjie) of the art of swordsmanship is no sword in hand, and none in mind either. It is to embrace the Whole with the most open mind. It is non-killing. It is peace. Zhang Yimou, Hero

In December 2006, the world premiere of Tan Dun’s opera The First Emperor at the Metropolitan Opera Theater in New York City marked a decade of sustained film, television, and stage productions about the first Chinese emperor Qin Shihuang.1 Plácido Domingo’s performance as the first emperor added a novel transnational sensation to this notoriously controversial figure, making yet another statement about the notions of hero, empire, nation-states, time, and history in a global context. Navigating across media—opera stage, television, and film screen alike, and across national borders—produced within or outside China, the representations of the first emperor display the changing national vision of China, China’s continuous attempt to position itself in the world, and its recognition of a global time and participation in redefining the revived notion of ‘empire.’ In these representations, the emperor is either portrayed as a superhero, for instance, in Zhang Yimou’s film Hero, or as a legendary tyrannical devil, for example, in the 2008 Hollywood hit, The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor. Yet in most cases, the emperor is portrayed as a rather complex human being, as evidenced in Tan Dun’s opera The First Emperor, Zhou Xiaowen’s film The Emperor’s Shadow, and Chen Kaige’s film The Emperor and the Assassin. The multifaceted complexity of the emperor’s image signifies the coexistence of multiple and differential temporalities of the past, present, and future, and the constant negotiation of China’s status in the contemporary global order. For the purpose of examining the Chinese-based cultural products, this chapter will focus on the three films on the first emperor, in the hope of turn-

1 Composed by Tan Dun and directed by Zhang Yimou, the script is based on Zhou Xiaowen’s film The Emperor’s Shadow. Plácido Domingo played the first emperor, and most performers sang in English.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��6 | doi ��.��63/9789004309302_009 210 Chapter 7 ing the perspective from global to local, and then back to global again. Despite the textual differences revealed in these films, we will see the underlying influence of the imperial-time-order that has continually rendered the representations of Chinese empire visible and clear. Moreover, the re-articulation of the imperial discourse Tianxia (“all-under-Heaven”) calls for centripetal forces in negotiating and shaping the new world order at the turn of the new century.

Three Films on the First Emperor

By the turn of the twenty-first century, three films on the first Emperor Qin Shihuang had appeared in the competition for global film awards: The Emperor’s Shadow (hereafter Shadow), directed by Zhou Xiaowen in 1996, which was the primary source of Tan Dun’s opera, The Emperor and the Assassin (hereafter Assassin) by Chen Kaige in 1998, and Hero by Zhang Yimou in 2002. All three films capture the moment of attempting to assassinate the King of Qin, Ying Zheng, before he founded the Qin Empire in 221 BC. By any measure, such intensive attention to such a historical topic reveals the strategic significance of the founding of the empire in the contemporary period. On the other hand, the divergent views of the same event invite multiple perspectives on ‘empire’ as a concept in the world. Critics have paid attention to the issues of transnational visuality, nationalism, and even Sinocentrism exhibited in Hero, yet they stop short of address- ing all three films from a comparative perspective to dig out the complexity manifested in the textual worlds.2 In fact, as will be shown below, the textual commonality manifests the enduring as well as fashionable consciousness about empire and the unity it embodies, while the textual difference nonetheless opens up a performative space in which to play out tensions, ambiguities, and possibilities. One of the attractions of these films is that they all capture people’s imagination about that critical moment by prompting the ‘what if’ question: what if the assassination succeeded? Would history have been changed? How should we perceive the function of individual heroes in relation to the larger historical trend? Who (or what) would assume the moral agency in pushing history forward? Is the unification fully justifiable?

2 Refer to Tzu-hsiu Chiu, “Public Secrets: Geopolitical Aesthetics in Zhang Yimou’s Hero,” online journal E-ASPAC (East Asian Studies on the Pacific Coast). See http://mcel.pacificu.edu/easpac/2005/tzuchiu.php3. The article addresses the dialectics of ‘Orientalist Eurocentrism’ and ‘Chinese Nationalist Sinocentrism.’ Also refer to Robert Y. Eng, “Is Hero a Paean to Authoritarianism?” See http://www.asiamedia.ucla.edu/article.asp?parentid=14371. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 211

Historically perceived as being in tune with the imperial-time-order whereby unification is deemed normal and moral, the unification that Qin Shihuang achieved has been fully justified as a proud moment in Chinese civilization and the solid foundation for its national identity. Yet the emperor himself has always been seen as a notoriously controversial figure in Chinese history. How to comprehend his accomplishment of unification and the accompanying tyrannical rule is an enduring task in various representations throughout history. Accordingly, the story of assassination, owing to its dramatic playing out of the tension between violent unification and moral justification, has been a long lasting focus across the media. As a result, the choice of hero alter- nating between assassins and the emperor suggests issues of the respective time period. Regardless of the different views of the assassination attempt in imperial China,3 in the modern period the vision has also changed in different sociopolitical situations. In 1936, the historian Ma Yuancai wrote a biography of the first Qin emperor, aiming to praise Ying Zheng’s accomplishment of unification and alluding to Jiang Jieshi (Chi’ang Kai-shek) as Ying Zheng’s equal in modern China.4 Conversely, in 1942, Guo Moruo, who situated himself in the Communist camp, wrote a stage play Zhu, in which the heroic Gao Jianli tragi- cally fails to assassinate the first emperor, who is portrayed as an ugly, cruel, lascivious, and superstitious figure universally hated.5 The initial intention of this play was to criticize Jiang Jieshi, who was the orthodox leader during the period, and possibly to mirror himself and other Communists during the Chongqing reign through the tolerant, disguised assassin Gao Jianli.6 Interestingly, the same play was revised by Guo himself in 1956, wherein the image of the Qin emperor was noticeably improved.7 However, despite the improvement of his image in the revised version of the play, Qin Shihuang

3 For instance, in Shiji, Sima Qian portrays Jing Ke and Gao Jianli as heroes who are loyal to friends and sacrifice themselves for the sake of trust, which consequently undermines the image of the emperor. On the other hand, In Zi zhi tong jian, Sima Guang views the assassins as blind villains who, despite the mighty power and historical trend, risk their lives for an unworthy mission. See An Zuozhang and Meng Xiangcai, Qin Shihuangdi da zhuan [The Grand Biography of the First Qin Emperor], (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 129–130. 4 Ma Yuancai, Qin Shihuangdi zhuan [The Biography of the First Emperor of Qin], 1936. 5 Guo Moruo, Zhu (Shanghai: Qunyi chubanshe, 1946). 6 Guo Moruo, Gao Jianli. (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1970), 125. 7 Guo Moruo, Gao Jianli. (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1970). Guo says in the epilogue: “When I was writing this play (1942), I intended to allude to Qin Shihuang as Jiang Jieshi, so my treatment was unfair to Qin Shihuang. Qin Shihuang is an important figure who contributed to China’s historical development a great deal. How could Jiang Jieshi compare to him!” 212 Chapter 7 still remains a negative figure with many personal flaws, whereas Gao Jianli is a hero who finally becomes an enlightened representative of the people. Gao in the end realizes the inadequacy of an individual as assassin and advocates a people’s war against the tyranny.8 During the Maoist era, especially during the Cultural Revolution, Mao Zedong praised Qin Shihuang for his achievement of unification, which later led to exaggerated embellishment of Qin Shihuang’s image.9 Obviously, every version of the Qin emperor Ying Zheng bears the historicity of the period, echoing the saying “all history is but contemporary history.” The fact that Qin Shihuang often becomes the focus at many critical moments of history indicates his intrinsic complexity as the source of open-ended value judgment and multi-layered interpretations. In fact, his images perfectly demonstrate the “complex strategies of cultural identification and discursive address that function in the name of ‘the people’ or ‘the nation’ and make them the immanent subjects and objects of a range of social and literary narratives,” as Homi Bhabha put it.10 In other words, the image of Qin Shihuang displays the inherent paradox of the ‘Nation’ and ‘the People’ in modern times.11 Whenever unity and national identity become the predominant concern, he is the identifiable hero; whenever people’s interests become the primary concern, he is reduced to the despotic enemy of the people. To be sure, in the socialist discourse, both the ‘Nation’ and ‘the People’ have symbolic and rhetorical functions. The difference merely resides in the level of unity they signify. While the ‘Nation’ designates a more universal, transcendent unity, ‘the People’ (with its social class connotation) implies a more collective, homog- enizing unity among the multitude, which is ideologically consistent with the interests of the ‘Nation.’ Hardt and Negri note in their book Empire that the fundamental crisis within a modern nation-state lies in the built-in contradiction between the immanent forces of the multitude and the transcendent state power to restore order. The concept of empire, as a transcendent global form of sovereignty in globalization, might provide a utopian solution for this crisis in modernity.12 Setting aside the definition for nation-state or modernity, which raises another

8 Ibid., 90. 9 An Zuozhang and Meng Xiangcai, Qin Shihuangdi da zhuan [The Grand Biography of the First Qin Emperor], (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 458–459. 10 Homi Bhabha, “DissemiNation: Time, Narrative, and the Margins of the Modern Nation,” in Nation and Narration (London & New York: Routledge, 1990), 292. 11 I have discussed this in detail in Chapter 5. 12 Hardt and Negri, Empire, 76. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 213 problem, the image of Qin Shihuang embodies in modern China the antagonism between ‘the People’ with immanent desires and the ‘Nation’ as transcendent sovereignty. However, the antagonism is not so much exposing a national crisis as reinforcing a lasting imperial vision of China. Indeed, it constitutes a continued myth-making process, one in which unification as a norm of Chinese history has been deemed ultimately moral and ethical. The persistent cry for unity at times of disunity, the forces pushing for unification in history, have structured an empire mentality that contributes to the myth of Chinese civilization. This imperial vision of China, the imperial-time-order, has fertil- ized a multi-ethnic country that otherwise would be perceived as a contradiction of a modern nation-state. As a result, the diversified representation of the Qin emperor never aims to undermine the desirability of unification, but to convey ambivalent humanistic messages to appeal to public sentiment and call for social consciousness. In this light, it does not matter whether or not the emperor is portrayed as a hero, what matters is the vision of history reflected in the representations. He could be an immoral tyrant deserving to be overthrown, yet the unification he achieved set the norm for Chinese history, and the notion of Tianxia (‘all- under-Heaven’) manifests the transcendent moral order for the people. On the other hand, as demonstrated above, specific historical situations do determine the different strategies to manipulate the discursive identification either with the emperor or with the assassin. The image of the emperor thus exhibits the specific historicity or temporality of the time period when it is produced. Besides Guo Moruo’s stage plays, one interesting story about the shifting historicity is the evolution of the film Shadow. The film was first conceived in the mid-1980s. Director Zhou Xiaowen at that time had in mind the title Xue Zhu (“Bloody Lute”), referring to the musical instrument used by Gao Jianli to attack the emperor. Resonating with Guo Moruo’s 1940s stage play Zhu, it reminds us of the scene in which the revolutionary hero Gao Jianli attacks the brutal tyrant. Yet by 1995 when the film was finally shot, the title became Qin Song (“The Anthem of Qin”; English title “The Emperor’s Shadow”).13 Replacing the actual weapon of assassination—the musical instrument—with intangible music, the film instead emphasizes the transcendent moral power of music and the rhetoric of Tianxia that it signifies. The thematic shift in Shadow parallels the diachronic transition from ‘revolutionary narrative’ to ‘empire representation.’ For the latter, Assassin and Hero

13 See Dai Jinhua “Ci Qin xingdong [The Action of Assassinating the Qin Emperor],” a talk at China Central Television Station (CCTV) on April 5, 2005. See http://www.cctv.com/ program/bjjt/topic/education/C13808/20050405/101615.shtml. 214 Chapter 7 also play a part. Although the images of Ying Zheng are not unamibiguously heroic in the three films, they are not as negative as in Guo Moruo’s plays. Whether portrayed as a hero or not, the (future) emperor is the protagonist in all three films, which signifies the intensive attention to empire. On the other hand, synchronically, the three films produced in the same time period on the same event manifest differing temporalities in contemporary China. They converge in justifying unification as a promise of ultimate peace in the rhetoric of Tianxia, yet they diverge in portraying the image of the emperor. Moreover, all three films were aimed at global film awards, trying to win international recognition. As Dai Jinhua points out, Shadow and Assassin are in the category of art film, aiming at European film awards, yet Hero is characterized as a commercial film, targeting Hollywood Oscar film prizes.14 The different categorization of the films also influenced the filmmakers’ thematic and stylistic choices. As usual, the recognition of a Chinese temporality is intertwined with the imagination of global expectation, both thematically and stylistically. The convergence and divergence of the three films, hence, exhibit the multifaceted manifestations of a dialectic relation between “the imagination of what the international audience want to see” and “what the directors want to show” about Chinese history and culture. Falling within the spectrum between national imagination and global imagination, the three films not only participate in the ‘empire representation’ prevalent in contemporary China, but also contribute to the global imagination of a newly emergent world order at large. All three films justify unification as a promise of ultimate peace in the rhetoric of Tianxia (“all-under-Heaven”), even though they employ different strategies to influence the conditional identification with the emperor. Despite the various images of the emperor, his behavior is understood to follow the historical trend of unification, which, if not accomplished by Ying Zheng, might have been accomplished by somebody else. The normalization of unification, justification of the historical trend, and moralization of the emperor’s behavior all attest to the lasting influence of the imperial-time-order—its centripetal and centrifugal forces are played out in the contemporary national-global context. In Shadow, the emperor appears as a sympathetic hero, yet he has to suffer personal loss that stems from his violence. In Assassin, the emperor is portrayed as a physically unappealing, psychologically unstable, illegitimate usurper. He suffers not only loss of love but also a psychological split and constant self-questioning. It is hard for people to identify with him except to sym-

14 Ibid. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 215 pathize with his ideal blueprint of unification. In Hero the cinematic language creates the emperor as a hero of superhuman wisdom. Yet, rather than a flesh- and-blood human being, he is portrayed as no more than an abstract concept, which more or less disrupts the rule of cinematic identification and superimposes a heroic image onto the audience. While the omnipotent, sage-like Ying Zheng in Shadow and Hero implies the vision of history as a predetermined, irreversible progression in which a charismatic hero plays a crucial role in pushing the historical trend forward, the psychologically unstable Ying Zheng in Assassin conveys more a discursive development of history in which an historical event happens just by chance. While Shadow and Assassin celebrate both the unified empire and humanistic message of benevolence, Hero takes unification as automatically justifiable and articulates the abstract concept of Tianxia that promises the ultimate peace. All three films convey the term Tianxia as the displacement of ‘empire.’ Literally meaning “all-under-Heaven,” Tianxia contains two layers of implications signifying unification: one is the integration of geographical spaces, the other is the unity of human subjects; one is objective, the other is subjective; one is material, the other is spiritual; and one is political, the other is moral. These two layers, interrelated yet sometimes contradictory, construct the double-structure of empire and compose the basic contradiction in the films: military conquest and moral justification, or as Feng Lan put it, the legalist and Confucian imaginations of the empire.15 To resolve the contradiction is to eliminate the middle realm within the three-level hierarchy: individual- state-empire, to transform individuals into qualified subjects of the empire, to persuade them to accept the present killing for the sake of future non-killing, to convey the Grand Unification (Da yi tong) message of Tianxia which could transcend the boundaries of states. Tianxia, as an all-encompassing symbolic figure, transcends time and space, and signifies an overpowering morality to legitimize violence. To articulate this ultimate moral order associated with Tianxia, each of the three films surprisingly employs a similar narrative strategy. They all invent fictional figures involving romantic relationships to sensationalize, intensify, and meanwhile compromise, the confrontations within Tianxia.

15 Feng Lan, “Zhang Yimou’s Hero: Reclaiming the Martial Arts Film for ‘All-under-Heaven,’ ” MCLC (Modern Chinese Literature and Culture) 20, no. 1 (Spring 2008): 1–43. 216 Chapter 7

Romance Sublimated—Love or Hate

1. The Emperor’s Shadow: winner’s tears The tension between the double conquests of states and human minds is presented in Shadow through a triangular relationship that complicates the dynamics between conquering and being conquered. The scenario of “who gets the girl” in a quasi-romantic setting in the end metaphorically splits Tianxia into two realms and dramatizes Ying Zheng as a contradictory ruler. To carry out his plan of conquering people’s minds after unification, the King of Qin Ying Zheng abducts his childhood friend, the reputable musician Gao Jianli, in order to persuade him to compose an anthem for the empire, which the king believes will erase the memories of killing, eradicate hatred, and bring peace into people’s minds. However, Gao Jianli refuses to cooper- ate and embarks on a hunger strike. The king is rescued by his daughter, the beautiful but crippled Princess Yueyang. “You go to conquer Tianxia ‘Tianxia,’ I am going to conquer this madman,” she says to her father. Yueyang’s feminine charm indeed brings Gao back to life, and she herself also miraculously recovers from lameness after making love with Gao. They fall in love, thus both conquering and being conquered by the other. The twist involved in the romance suggests the ambivalent yet interdependent relationship between the conquest of states and the conquest of human minds. Gao, as a physically weak, mentally pedantic, and virtually symbolic assassin, represents non-killing, benevolence, and love. His conquest of Yueyang, or more precisely, rehabilitation of Yueyang, is a metaphor for the power of benevolence and love. Even his powerful counterpart, Ying Zheng, has to admit: “If you can make Yueyang cry, then you can make me cry, then you can make all the people of Tianxia cry.” To this end, to keep Gao alive is to keep the power of moral justification, and is to keep the potential of conquering people’s minds. Therefore, the romance not only involves Gao Jianli and Yueyang, but also involves Ying Zheng, who in effect plays a devastatingly crucial role in this relationship. In fact, everybody in the balanced triangle has a double identity, implying the intersubjective relationship among them. Yueyang nurtures Gao back to life, serving the role of mother; on the other hand, Gao gives her a second life by curing her disabled legs, symbolically serving the role of father. Similarly, as the father of Yueyang, Ying Zheng in childhood was fed by Gao’s mother, and the image of this mother in turn prompts Gao to make love to Yueyang. These double Oedipal twists suggest that both men have a mutually reversible relationship—father/daughter and mother/son relations—with Yueyang. This seemingly entangled and preposterous relationship, nonetheless brings to the fore the internal split or contradiction of Ying Zheng himself. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 217

To push it further, it is rather safe to state that Yueyang actually embodies the empire itself. As the product of the future emperor, powerful and beautiful as such, she is nevertheless disabled. Only with Gao’s love can she recover as a more complete figure. Without love, she would either be incomplete or wither away and remain fragmentary, as implied in the ending when Wang Ben dis- members her body in their wedding room. Such is the metaphor of the newly founded empire that falls apart without benevolence and love. The metaphor that Yueyang embodies the vulnerable empire is best portrayed in the scenes of parallel action when Gao and Yueyang first make love. With a joyful scream, the Qin army breaks the gate of Chu with a log—a phallic symbol—while at the same time Yueyang’s body melts in Gao’s arms. The alternate and overlapping images of the victory banners and Yueyang’s body manifest the parallel processes of two conquests: conquest with military aggression and conquest with love (Figures 7.1 and 7.2). Unlike the commonly used parallel action in cinematic practice that stresses condensation of time and a continuum of consecutive film segments,16 this parallel action is purely metaphorical. Yueyang’s female body, insofar as it nurtures as well as suffers, signifies the empire awaiting rescue, not by military invasion, but by

Figure 7.1 Yueyang and Gao Jianli make love for the first time.

16 Stefan Sharff, The Elements of Cinema: Toward a Theory of Cinesthetic Impact (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982), 87. 218 Chapter 7

Figure 7.2 The Qin Army conquers Chu. love. In the succeeding scene Gao waves in front of people the silk stained with Yueyang’s virgin blood, a gesture deliberately juxtaposed with a shot of the Qin army banners, suggesting the triumphant occupation of both territories. In another situation this metaphor resides in the scene in which Ying Zheng listens to the prisoners singing across the river, while the newly recovered Yueyang is walking falteringly along the bank and stumbling in sight of both Ying Zheng and Gao. Against the imposing music, the awe-inspiring current of the river separates the emperor and the singing prisoners led by Gao. The music mixed with the sound of the river, and the fusion of water mist with the image of the prisoners, together imply the power of the people. The scene echoes the Tang Emperor Taizong’s famous motto: “Water can float the boat, yet it can also capsize the boat.” Indeed, in the previous long shot, the small, isolated figure of the emperor facing the magnificent river exposes this worry- ing concern (Figure 7.3). Only the appearance of the staggering Yueyang, symbol of the vulnerable empire, breaks the tension between the two contrasting parties. The caring eyes of Gao looking toward Yueyang suggest that only Gao and the benevolence he embodies can make up the defect of the empire, and stabilize the emperor’s rule. It is noteworthy that in this sequence, the camera adopts an omniscient view, belittling both Ying Zheng and Gao Jianli. The shot is framed over Ying Zheng’s shoulder towards the river from a high angle, contrasting his small image with love or hate: the first emperor on screen 219

Figure 7.3 Ying Zheng faces the river and the singing prisoners. the breathtaking current of the river. Yet Ying Zheng always occupies a more privileged subjective position than Gao Jianli. It is first from his gaze, followed by Gao’s, that Yueyang’s vulnerability is exposed. The multi-angularity of the camera and the visual manipulation—modulating emphasis and emotional tone through variations in camera positioning vis-à-vis the scene’s action— ambivalently leads to intended identification with the emperor while at the same time undermining that identification. Moreover, if we leave aside the romance for a moment and pick Yueyang out of the triangle, the relationship between Ying Zheng and Gao Jianli turns out to be unbalanced. As Ying Zheng responds to Gao’s remonstration against his cruel killing: the Way of Heaven is nothing but the face of the winner. Given the cinematic portrayal of Ying Zheng, as powerful, intelligent, and omniscient, he is the pre-determined winner from the very beginning; Gao Jianli is just a foil, a shadow, another part of Ying Zheng himself. In this sense, the twist of the double conquests revealed in the Gao-Yueyang romance is nothing but the disclosure of Ying Zheng’s internal contradiction, his dynamic perception of the unified empire. In other words, even though the ultimate winner is registered with power in his mind, he sometimes is dominated by the counterforce of love. As Ying Zheng utters to Gao Jianli explicitly: “. . . for how many times I was trying to conquer death, yet I was always blocked by a shadow. It is the Way of Heaven that brings you to me. You have become 220 Chapter 7 part of me. You must endure all of this and prepare for the severe punishment with me.” The contradiction between Ying Zheng and Gao Jianli thus gives way to the internal split within Ying Zheng himself. Along the same logic is the children’s song depicting two fighting dogs. The song is later used to compose the melody for the anthem of the empire, but also resonates with Ying Zheng’s enduring psychological split, his attempt of self-othering, self-mirroring, and self-correcting. The most telling example is the sequence portraying Jing Ke’s failed assassination. Unlike the historical tale in which a map of the state of Yan is enough to attract the king’s attention and give the assassin opportunity to draw the knife hidden in the rolled-up map, in this film the king is indifferent to the territory offered. Only after Jing Ke lies to Ying Zheng that Gao Jianli, in order to remonstrate with the king, has put his severed finger into the rolled-up map, does the concerned king rush to spread the map and discovers the knife. This fictional detail suggests that, Ying Zheng’s concern for Gao Jianli, or the human part of himself, turns out to be the sharp weapon against himself. This continuous internal contradiction finally reaches a resolution when both Yueyang and Gao Jianli die before the emperor performs the ritual to Heaven. Love is suppressed, and military victory displays its power to all-under- Heaven. As mentioned above, the dismembered body of Yueyang foretells the fragmenting of empire due to the lack of love. By the same token, does introducing the image of Huhai, the even crueler future emperor in the short-lived Qin Dynasty, herald the fall of the empire owing to its greater malevolence? The imbalanced power encounter between military victory and moral justification is dramatically demonstrated in the final sequence.17 Against the background of strong music that sets the tone, during his victory speech, Ying Zheng is suddenly struck by a zhu, the lute thrown by the poisoned, blind Gao Jianli. Unfortunately, unlike the historical record of Gao’s assassination attempt, the attack is too weak to be effective. It is at most a symbolic assassination, a warning gesture. After Gao dies, he is taken down from the steps while Ying Zheng is walking up to the huge cauldron to light the fire. The sharp contrast between the upward and downward directions, between the upright, strong figure and the prone, frail body, between the confident, lonely emperor and the dead, weak shadow, visually intensifies the victory of the military unification. This sequence, with the rhetorical juxtaposition of camera angles, with the imposing music the Anthem of Qin, and finally with the panning camera following the steps of Ying Zheng, worshiped by the Terra-Cotta army-

17 This reading is also in agreement with that in Dai Jinhua, “Ci Qin xingdong.” love or hate: the first emperor on screen 221 like troops, is maintained for almost two minutes. In all respects, this scene celebrates unification and power, whereas the voice of love remains weak. As Ying Zheng says to the dying Gao: “You are wrong. History is going to be written by me [the victor],” implying the assassination attempt would not exist in history, so that even the shadow himself may be erased forever. However, despite the overpowering statement, the identification process remains ambiguous. Insofar as the anthem was composed by Gao and sung by the prisoners, this scene also suggests the undying legacy Gao left behind and its subversive force to the empire. In the end, after lighting the fire in the huge cauldron, facing Heaven alone when he kneels down, the emperor weeps uncontrollably (Figure 7.4). This scene echoes yet contradicts Yueyang’s statement that her father is unable to cry in any circumstance, suggesting the virtual force of love that is still working and fighting inside him. Benevolence is the eternal task to be accomplished. The huge cauldron, the symbol of unified empire from the ancient myth,18 witnesses his tears with indifference, rendering the problem unresolved at the end of the film.

Figure 7.4 The new emperor weeps in front of the cauldron.

18 In Chinese myth, Yu the Great divided a unified empire with nine caldrons. 222 Chapter 7

2. The Emperor and the Assassin: loss of love It is notable that the film Assassin also presents a triangular relationship, though in a conventional romantic sense. Moreover, the woman in this film is also transformed from the emperor’s collaborator to his enemy, though at a different level. While Princess Yueyang in Shadow is more of a rebellious victim without any choice, Lady Zhao in Assassin is very much a strong-willed, free woman. While Yueyang’s love is devoted only to one man, Lady Zhao’s love is extended to all the people of Tianxia. In a sense, Lady Zhao embodies the idea of unification with love, and she is consistent in this throughout the film.19 At the beginning, Lady Zhao is convinced that Ying Zheng’s project to unify the warring states will stop killing and rescue all the people under Heaven. Deeply moved, she is determined to help him. Holding the dagger Ying Zheng gives her, she goes off with Prince Dan of Yan like an agent with a secret mission. At this point, Lady Zhao is presented as a godlike figure, transcending both narrowly defined human love and the boundary of individual states. She embodies the ideal fusion of unification with power and with love. “You are different from them (other kings), you said you will rescue all the people of Tianxia. . . . Finally, I have found things to do for you,” she says to Ying Zheng before setting out. Contrary to the confident and determined Lady Zhao, Ying Zheng appears to be a paranoid maniac. The repeated reminder from a courtier—“King of Qin, have you forgotten the great mission of unifying ‘Tianxia?’ ”—uttered in an off-pitched voice, signifies the vulnerability of his psyche. He is constantly torn apart by internal weakness and an externally imposed mission. It is as if the idea of unification is not from his own ambition, but from that of his ancestors, including his newly-discovered biological father, Lü Buwei. As he says to Prince Dan, “even if you kill me, this cause [unification] will still be carried out by somebody else; if not me, maybe you.” This articulation of both a discursive turn and a predetermined teleology of history distances him from a superior hero, reducing him to an ordinary person being placed onto the throne accidentally. The legitimacy crisis stemmed from his birth secret and the tremendous pressure imposed upon him gradually alienate Ying Zheng from his good nature, transforming him into a cruel, lonely tyrant. He can only find security in cold-blooded killing, beginning within the court with executing his real father Lü Buwei and half brothers that his mother has had with Lao Ai. After that only ransacking the towns and slaughtering the people of conquered

19 A feminist reading of this film may assert that the treatment manifests gender consciousness. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 223 states can bring him psychological satisfaction. The will of benevolent rule, the love for the people of Tianxia, in the end gives way to the desire for power and self-protection. In this sense, the initially visionary hero in Lady Zhao’s eyes, Ying Zheng, is now indistinguishable from other narrow-minded kings. The chauvinistic King of Zhao, at the moment of losing his kingdom to Ying Zheng’s army, calls on innocent children to sacrifice their lives rather than survive the fall of Zhao. No better than he, Ying Zheng, the incoming conqueror, out of fear of revenge, commands his soldiers to bury the children alive. These two painfully violent actions, though carried out for different reasons, converge in the same result— killing, which finally destroys Lady Zhao’s love for and faith in Ying Zheng. Along with the deepening discovery of a dynamic psyche, the gradual transformation of Ying Zheng engenders a transferring, intersubjective effect among the characters. In fact, Jing Ke’s transformation proves to be Ying Zheng’s reversal. Initially a reclusive swordsman who regrets his previous misdeeds and refuses to kill any more, Jing Ke agrees to help Lady Zhao (and Ying Zheng) to create an excuse to invade the state of Yan, only to finally turn into a metaphorical dagger pointing at Ying Zheng.20 Jing Ke’s change of attitude, from empathetic for Lady Zhao and cooperation with her, to being willing to kill Ying Zheng for the sake of all the children under Heaven, reflects Lady Zhao’s change of attitude toward Ying Zheng. Deeply saddened by Ying Zheng’s brutality, Lady Zhao transfers her love to Jing Ke—her punishment of Ying Zheng for his betrayal of benevolence. The dagger hidden in the map, originally a gift to Lady Zhao from Ying Zheng, now becomes the weapon carried by Jing Ke to attack him. In this regard, a similar structure can be perceived in both Shadow and Assassin. The triangular relationship in both films functions to play out the tension between rule by power and rule by benevolence. The female figure, Princess Yueyang in Shadow and Lady Zhao in Assassin, embodying the ideal empire fusing power with love, dramatizes the original contrasting relationship between the emperor and the assassin.

20 There are two versions of this film, in which Jing Ke is presented differently. In the longer version, presumably popular in the West, Jing Ke is portrayed as more of a strong-willed hero, and Lady Zhao’s love for him is a just and natural response to his charming character and humanistic concern. Yet in the shorter version, presumably popular within China, Jing Ke’s image turns out to be a flatterer, seemingly being controlled by Lady Zhao. This analysis is mainly based on the shorter version in which Lady Zhao occupies a more important position than Jing Ke. 224 Chapter 7

It deserves attention that Lady Zhao plays a more active and loftier role than Yueyang. While Yueyang functions to manifest the internal split within Ying Zheng himself, Lady Zhao’s existence uncovers the gradual alienation of Ying Zheng. The two assassins, Gao Jianli in Shadow and Jing Ke in Assassin, intended by Ying Zheng to conquer human minds in the former and to justify military invasion in the latter, display the different emphases of the two films. While in Shadow, Ying Zheng is partially aware of the importance of benevolence from beginning to end, in Assassin, he betrays this ideal further and further, which results in losing the love of Lady Zhao. The loss of love finds its visual evidence in the ending sequence. After the failure of Jing Ke’s assassination attempt, the desperate Ying Zheng meets Lady Zhao again in the empty Unification Hall. This is the visual repetition of an earlier scene in which Ying Zheng sends Lady Zhao off to carry out her secret mission. However, there is a significant difference. Rather than coming back to celebrate her fulfilled mission and prove her love for him, she comes back to take Jing Ke’s body with her. Separated by the water of a pool, Ying Zheng and Lady Zhao are presented in a series of reverse shots moving pro- gressively closer, from long shots, to medium shots, and finally facial close-ups of them (Figures 7.5–7.8). These shots manifest the physical as well as emotional distance, rather than intimacy, of these two former lovers. Moreover, in this sequence of separation, Lady Zhao’s image carries a longer ‘apparent time’ than Ying Zheng’s image. ‘Apparent time,’ a cinematic term related to the lingering ‘after image’ which holds over from one image to the next in separation, is defined as the time created by the ‘aura’ of the extra ‘after image’ of each picture in separation. It refers to the strength and intensity of an image. “The more significant an image is (in form), the stronger the apparent time.”21 Insofar as Lady Zhao’s calmness belittles Ying Zheng’s fluster, her image generates a stronger impact on Ying Zheng, thus a longer ‘apparent time.’ It visually demonstrates Ying Zheng’s diminished stature as a character. After seeing Lady Zhao off, standing alone on the bridge in the Hall, Ying Zheng hollowly whis- pers to himself: “Ying Zheng, King of Qin, have you forgotten the command-

21 ‘Apparent time’ is a term drawn from nautical vocabulary. In nautical terminology, ‘apparent wind’ refers to the wind created by forward movement of a boat. Through proper sail arrangement, this ‘extra’ wind is used, in addition to the ‘real’ wind from the atmosphere, to propel the craft forward. In separation, time is compounded in the sequence of images by the aura of that extra after-image. While watching image A, the viewer is strongly and predictably aware of the presence of image B in recurrent cycles. In short, image A receives a ‘shadow’ of apparent time from the previous shot and, in turn, projects an apparent time on the next image B, and so on. See Stefan Sharff, The Elements of Cinema: Toward a Theory of Cinesthetic Impact, 63. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 225

Figure 7.5 Ying Zheng meets Lady Zhao.

Figure 7.6 Lady Zhao returns to see Ying Zheng. ment of unifying Tianxia?” (Figures 7.9 and 7.10) With an ambiguously bitter smile on his face shown in close-up, this murmur suggests his unchangeable dominant goal of unification without mercy. The psychological pain, caused by the loss of love from his mother, father, siblings, and lover, complicates and dramatizes the issues of power struggle within the court and the greater mission of unifying Tianxia. It is ironic that in this scene, the celebration of power and the manifestation of alienation contradict each other, yet reinforce each other. The square artificial pool, symbolically the ‘four seas’ (si hai) of the world, together with 226 Chapter 7

Figure 7.7 Ying Zheng talks to Lady Zhao.

Figure 7.8 Lady Zhao: “I’ve come back to take Jing Ke’s body back to Yan.” the grand hall, implies the power of unification. On the other hand, the vacant, lonely figure standing on the bridge in the emptiness of the huge hall suggests the internal emptiness. This sequence is composed of virtually still images. It visualizes the stratification of different discourses, intensifying the dramatic contradictions in layers from outside to inside. Resonating with the lovely memory of his childhood when Lady Zhao held his hand crossing the bridge, this scene reveals the double-edged nature of power: acquiring power needs legitimation, and abusing power loses that legitimation. Without love from Lady Zhao, Ying Zheng now loses the support of the people of Tianxia, which love or hate: the first emperor on screen 227

Figure 7.9 Lady Zhao is leaving.

Figure 7.10 The lonely ( future) emperor murmurs to himself. will prove the downfall of his rule. The symbolic image of a bridge, comparable to the image of the water current in Shadow, echoes the Chinese proverb “having abundant help once you have the Way, lacking help once you don’t have the Way” (de dao duo zhu, shi dao gua zhu). It foreshadows the pre-destined failure of Qin rule. It is noteworthy that in both Shadow and Assassin, the female characters both willingly have themselves branded with a Chinese character qiu (‘prisoner’) on their faces. A symbol of military triumph of the Qin state, this character initially signifies eternal inferiority and humiliation for people who have 228 Chapter 7 it. However, in the films, the character bears double implications for Yueyang and Lady Zhao. On the one hand, it symbolizes a prisoner of love: for Yueyang, the consistent love for Gao Jianli; for Lady Zhao, the love for Ying Zheng and the people of Tianxia. On the other hand, it manifests the rebellious potential for betrayal. For Yueyang, it represents the rebellious attempt against the oppressive father who betrays his own and her will; for Lady Zhao, it finally turns out to be the evidence of disillusionment and hatred. Nevertheless, these irreconcilable double meanings still imply the imbalanced encounter: after all, they are ‘prisoners.’ Indeed, the disproportionate confrontation between emperor and assassin in Assassin, similar to Shadow, still conveys the absolute advantage of power while celebrating the discourse of Tianxia. Yet Assassin is more humanistic in the sense that it explores the complexity of Ying Zheng’s psyche and reduces him to an ordinary man placed into a significant position, rather than making him a sage-like hero. Director Chen Kaige once said that he intended to portray Ying Zheng as an ordinary person with a complicated personality. He wanted to show how an individual’s fate is determined by uncontrollable historical situations that result in dramatic change in one’s life.22 Against the backdrop of the empire, the emphasis that he puts is more on the story of an individual rather an emperor, which significantly differentiates his film from other portrayals of Ying Zheng as a born hero.

3. Hero: an abstract concept of Tianxia, dancing with romance and tradition Contrary to Shadow and Assassin that both devote great effort to exploring the psychological complexity of the emperor Ying Zheng, Hero depicts Ying Zheng more as a shallow figure dressed in stylized armor, placed in a huge palace and animated through illustrative dialogues. Moreover, the name of the assassin he encounters is Nameless, symbolically non-existent, which implicitly indicates the fiction of the whole confrontation. Their presence is just to articulate the even more abstract concept Tianxia. For Tianxia, Nameless finally gives up assassination; for Tianxia, Ying Zheng has to kill Nameless to maintain the efficacy of law. Toward the end of the film when Ying Zheng finally reluctantly orders the killing of Nameless, thousands of arrows fly at Nameless, suggesting he is killed by the arrow storm. However, the supposed dead body is shown as an empty space surrounded by a mass of arrows sticking on the gate. From the following birds-eye view, the machine-like Qin army is shown performing a funeral

22 An interview with Chen Kaige by Li Erwei. See Beijing qingnianbao [Beijing Youth], Oct 23, 1998. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 229 parade, implying Nameless’s body is on the board. Yet, still, the red cover renders the body invisible. (Figures 7.11 and 7.12)23 Against the army’s shout, “Hail! Hail!” and the melancholy thematic music, the camera cuts to the image of the dead Broken Sword and Flying Snow in the desert, followed by the shot of the empty space on the gate again, finally back to Ying Zheng standing alone in the Hall. (Figures 7.13 and 7.14) These juxtaposed images, ambiguous and lyrical, provide reassurance of the virtual existence of Nameless. Meanwhile, it is indicated that the actual encounter and final reconciliation is between the

Figure 7.11 The arrow storm that shoots Nameless [The empty position of Nameless in the storm of arrows].

Figure 7.12 The funeral parade for Nameless.

23 This observation is also emphasized by Dai Jinhua, “Ci Qin xingdong [The Action of Assassinating the Qin Emperor],” a talk at China Central Television Station (CCTV) on April 5, 2005. See http://www.cctv.com/program/bjjt/topic/education/C13808/20050405/101615 .shtml. 230 Chapter 7

Figure 7.13 Flying Snow and Broken Sword die together.

Figure 7.14 The lonely emperor stands in the court. two lovers and Ying Zheng. Like the vaguely depicted, homogeneously clothed statesmen in court who push Ying Zheng to kill Nameless, Nameless, rather than a flesh-and-blood human being, merely functions to bring together two contrasting groups of people, assassin and emperor, living in disorder and order, to play out the tensions between individual and state, between state and the unified empire. These tensions, uttered in the conversation between the emperor and the assassin, also manifest themselves through the relationship of two lovers in different scenarios. Thus, the romance between Broken Sword and Flying Snow revealed in different narratives conveys different phases of love, parallels the inquiry into the value of life, and ultimately articulates the necessary sacrifice for the sake of Tianxia. Indeed, the articulation of Tianxia in Hero, unlike those in the other two films, bypasses the tension between rule by power and rule by benevolence. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 231

It supports more explicitly unification as the dominant goal with ultimate moral justification, which is gradually developed through three romantic scenarios. The first scenario narrated by Nameless depicts Broken Sword and Flying Snow as two ordinary, jealous lovers. Out of jealousy for each other, they fight, seek revenge, and hurt each other, which later results in their easy defeat by Nameless. Their lives, due to their superior swordsmanship, are measured as no more than the reward offered by the King of Qin, Ying Zheng. According to this narrative, the two lovers both place their individual emotion ahead of the mission of assassination, or the mission of their state, which leads to their worthless deaths only to benefit Nameless’s material pursuit of reward. Displaying its disorder by disarrayed passion, beautiful swordplay, and soaring cinematic choreography bathed in red, this narrative divorces the two lovers from their state identity and their initial mission. Ying Zheng sees through this scenario because he refuses to believe that heroic assassins would be so ignoble. The second scenario, narrated by Ying Zheng, however, shows the two lovers as having consistent belief in their assassination mission. They love each other so much as to sacrifice one to protect the other; they love their state so much as to sacrifice themselves in exchange for Ying Zheng’s life to save their state. Framed in blue, the color conventionally signifying the rational, the idealistic, and the lofty, this narrative suggests the phase of love that is to endure the life- and-death parting for the higher mission of assassination. In the third scenario, a correction by Nameless, both the phase of love and the value of life witness a dramatic turn. While Flying Snow sticks to her identity as a subject of Zhao and insists on carrying out the assassination mission, Broken Sword identifies himself with the people of Tianxia through a far- sighted vision. Therefore, the contradiction between the two lovers parallels the contradiction between individual states and the unified empire. According to Broken Sword, to achieve ultimate peace, one has to transcend his/her own state identity to become a subject of the unified empire, and to some extent, to sacrifice one’s life if necessary. “One individual’s suffering, compared to the sufferings of the people of Tianxia, is no longer suffering; the hatred between states of Zhao and Qin, placed under Tianxia, is no longer hatred,” says Broken Sword to Nameless. Moved by this statement, Nameless finally gives up the assassination attempt, bringing about the deaths of the three would-be assassins in the end. These lives, sacrificed for the foreseeable peace of Tianxia, gain their highest value as history. On the other hand, in terms of love, Broken Sword offers his life to Flying Snow, in this way compromising his love for her and for Tianxia, and equating his romantic love with concern for the future empire. Similarly, Flying Snow kills herself to be with Broken Sword, which 232 Chapter 7 echoes Moon’s words: “Broken Sword and Flying Snow, their lives never part, their swords never part either.” This tragic climax manifests the highest realm of love in traditional Chinese romance—loyalty to each other forever, be it in life or death. Presented in white, the color that conventionally signifies purity and death, the violent sacrifice of the two lovers most powerfully justifies unification and the discourse of Tianxia, yet in a superimposed, intangible manner. To be sure, the film makes every effort to celebrate the power and order of the Qin state. The geometric-shaped, machine-like military force, the highly exaggerated arrow hail, and the awe-inspiring imperial court, by all means signify the might of the winner and the violence it generates. However, unlike the compelling, sometimes exaggerated, portrayals of violence in Shadow and Assassin, the unavoidable violence in Hero, beautifully exhibited as it were, is nevertheless always softened by the tone of color, by the settings of natural splendor, by the lyrical and agonistic music, and by the highly stylized performance. Setting aside the commercial appeal of the performance, the visual decoration of violence erases all historical verisimilitude, whereas it facilitates conveying the abstract discourse of Tianxia.

Fictional Figures: Imagined History

It merits attention that in all three films, fictional figures play a crucial role in constructing the narrative. For the purpose of separating history from fiction, it is necessary to distinguish two categories of the characters: the imagined and the fictional. In the category of the imagined are characters that historically existed but are reinvented in the films. For instance, Ying Zheng, Gao Jianli, and Jing Ke, can all be found in Shiji and other historical records, which essentially form the basis for all kinds of later narratives and representations.24 They are basically the bearers of the double temporality consisting of past and present. The category of fictional characters means the invented figures have no trace in history and are created for the sake of cinematic narrative. For example, Yueyang, Lady Zhao, and all the assassins in Hero, are purely fictional characters invented to convey the ideas of the filmmakers. They bear the double temporality of present and future. If the imagined assassins Jing Ke and Gao Jianli are representatives of the revolutionary force within the multitude, as Hardt and Negri would argue, the fictional characters are a rhetorical device to mediate the antagonism and to

24 The stories of Jing Ke and Gao Jianli can be found in Shiji and Zhanguo ce, which are constantly referred to by later writers and biographers. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 233 deliver the discourse of Tianxia. If the imagined characters bring to the present what has happened in the past, the fictional figures nonetheless suggest what might be potential, the virtual, and the subversive problems in the future. In one sense, the narratives promote the empire logic for the promise of future peace and abundance; in another sense, however, they at once criticize and justify the violent sacrifice in the present. Needless to say, the history thus conveyed, diversified as such, has lost its historical context and been registered in multiple temporalities. The textual difference, revealed in these contemporaneous artifacts, thus, opens up a performative space, interacts with a much more complicated social context, and invites new possibilities to reconfigure relationships between past and present, and between China and the West.

National or Global Empire: Timeless, Universal History and Nationalism?

In his book Overcome by Modernity, Harry Harootunian philosophizes on the rationality of Japan’s “alternative modernity” during World War II. He argues that the Western influence and ever-changing modern life have generated an anxiety toward the fragmentation and superficiality of the modern, and brought to the fore the desire to create a concrete wholeness, a culture in contrast to commodity, and an aesthetics in opposition with politics. As a result, the ambiguous attitude of enjoying the fantasy of the modern and the desire to overcome the ephemeral modern leads to the projection onto the past, to create a concrete, universal, and timeless history conquering the modern. However, he continues, the collaboration of this timeless history with a market that ultimately turns history into commodity nevertheless manifests the final triumph of modernity. The attempt at overcoming proves to be nothing but being overcome in the end.25 This eye-opening argument at first glance perfectly fits the postmodern representation of history. As discussed above, the re-imagined, forged history has lost its historical context and been transformed into a visual commodity for consumption. The extreme example might be Hero. As a globalized martial arts film, Hero can be compared with Ang Lee’s blockbuster Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon in many ways. On the surface, it also fits well with Lee’s interpretation of his creation of Crouching Tiger. For Lee, the film is his invention

25 Harry Haroontunian, Overcome by Modernity (Princeton & Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2000). 234 Chapter 7 of ancient China, a world that no longer exists except in his imagination. Therefore, “[c]ulture, tradition, ethnicity, and ‘Chineseness’ for that matter,” as Sheldon Lu and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh put it, “are de-historicized, decontex- tualized, and disembedded from deep national roots. Chinese culture, in the form of martial arts or ethnic cuisine, becomes a portable package that travels, is carried over, and is ultimately consumed effortlessly from region to region across the globe—such is the state of cultural consumption and entertainment in the age of globalization.”26 Yet, does it fully characterize Hero in the same manner? Or, does it mean the final triumph of the market? Can we apply the same commercial model to Shadow and Assassin?27 A close study of the three films reveals that there is more than one version of history in the cinematic representations. The textual difference in the three films, far from showing a homogeneous, universal, timeless history, rather manifests a complex reality with multiple perspectives. These representations are time-sensitive and history-conscious. They not only represent diachronic history, but also themselves construct the synchronicity of history in the contemporary period. Displaying dynamic interaction and reconciliation between the timely representation of history and its timelessness, the synchronicity suggests a middle ground bearing the historicity of the contemporary moment. This middle ground, however, does echo Harootunian’s assertion in the sense that it is symptomatic of the present social reality. The origin of the empire represented at the turn of the new century, showing the transition from chaos to order, from division to unification, from destitution to abundance, appears to mirror the contemporary social situation in a metaphorical way. With the intensification of the market economy, the socialist social order is collapsing, while a fragmentary, uncertain social life and an ever-deepening anxiety arise. Urbanization, migration, and commercialization have been breaking the old geopolitical boundaries and transforming Chinese society into an unprecedented biopolitical place. ‘Stability’ and ‘harmony’ have become the new government slogans accompanying the primary one, ‘development.’ In this regard, unity and order, embodied in the historical empire, seem to provide a

26 Sheldon H. Lu and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh, “Introduction: Mapping the Field of Chinese- Language Cinema,” in Chinese Language Film: Historiography, Poetics, Politics (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2005), 16. 27 Dai Jinhua, “Ci Qin xingdong,” observes that even though three films all aim at the global market, Shadow and Assassin belong to the art film series, aiming at the European international film festival to show their artistic value and critical function; whereas Hero was aimed at the Oscar in Hollywood to expand its market channel for global distribution, which means that commercial production and circulation become the ultimate goal. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 235 symbolic, rhetorical, and optimistic cure in a transcendent way. If the assassination attempt signifies the immanent desire from the multitude to find security in the present, then the unification depicted at the conclusion offers an optimistic, powerful, and transcendent sovereignty promising the ultimate peace and order. If the tension played out in the romantic stories displays the anxiety over competition for scarce resources in reality, the discourse of Tianxia suggests cooperation for the assurance of unity and abundance in the future. However, the unity desired is not as hierarchical as in the historical Empire, but rather leveled, manifesting a more egalitarian, transcendent flavor. The fact that all three films pay more attention to the rhetoric of Tianxia as moral justification and painstakingly dramatize sacrifice for unification exhibits the ambivalent encounter between the immanent desire and the transcendent order. This encounter, not only reveals itself within China, but projects out- wardly and globally. The turn of the new century has witnessed China’s rapid economic development and a newly emerged desire to recover long lost national pride and past glory.28 On the other hand, the ever-changing global order refreshes people’s consciousness and conception of empire. How to redefine empire and re-envision its function in the world has caught the attention of scholars world-wide and emerged as a hot topic of intellectual scrutiny.29 In this context, the reemergence of the Chinese empire on the cinematic screen serves to dramatize the confrontation between China and the West, the asymmetrical encounter between the symbolic and the political, economic power, and the ambivalent juxtaposition of national morality with global superpower.30 In his recent study on Zhang Yimou’s Hero, Feng Lan situates the film within China’s intellectual trend to revive the perspective of Tianxia. He argues that the concept of Tianxia informs the ideological orientation and aesthetic features of Zhang Yimou’s Hero. Taking Tianxia as the alternative to the modern

28 Dai Jinhua, “Ci Qin xingdong [The Action of Assassinating the Qin Emperor],” a talk at China Central Television Station (CCTV) on April 5, 2005. See http://www.cctv.com/ program/bjjt/topic/education/C13808/20050405/101615.shtml. 29 For instance, Empire by Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri (Cambridge & London: Harvard University Press, 2000); and A World of Regions: Asia and Europe in the American Imperium by Peter J. Katzenstein (Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press, 2005) For a Chinese American scholar’s attention to this topic, see Clash of Empires by Lydia H. Liu (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004). 30 Sensitive scholars might go so far as to assert that the benevolence conveyed in Shadow and Assassin is the demonstration of Confucian morality, which is the foundation of the stable Chinese empire, and which is the unique cultural capital contrasting China to the West. 236 Chapter 7 order of nation-states, and following the trend of asserting the legitimate role of Chinese culture in constructing a new global vision on the basis of a Chinese transnationalism, Zhang reinvents the martial arts film as a way to invigorate Chinese cinema in the international film market.31 In terms of commercial success, Hero could not compete with Crouching Tiger in the international market. It did not capture the Oscar that Zhang Yimou originally sought. Nevertheless, it overwhelmingly broke box-office records in mainland China. At a time when Hollywood films, instead of Chinese films, dominated the attention of Chinese audiences, Hero not only invigorated Chinese cinema in the international film market, but also revived China’s national cinema vis-à-vis the ascendant hegemony of Hollywood films in China’s domestic film market.32 The Chinese audience’s enthusiastic response to Hero was in sharp contrast to their initial reaction to Shadow and Assassin. In Spain, Shadow won the San Sebastian Film Festival Jury Prize. Assassin was nominated for the Palme d’Or Award and finally did win the Technology Award in the Cannes International Film Festival. However, neither film received much attention in the domestic market. Only after the success of Hero did the audience start looking for vid- eos of Shadow and Assassin and to reevaluate the two films.33 It is no longer news that Chinese directors deliberately let their films travel abroad before returning to China in order to raise domestic attention. However, Chinese audiences are generally known for giving a cold shoulder to films that have won international awards, like Yellow Earth (by Chen Kaige), or Not One Less (by Zhang Yimou) that portray an Orientalist backwardness in China. These domestic audience reactions reveal a discrepancy between China’s national imagination and global expectation. While most internationally awarded films cater to what global audiences want to see about China, these films cannot match the domestic audience’s national imagination. The success of Hero, both domestically and globally, brought together the different perspectives of national imagination and global expectation about Chinese film at the turn of the twenty-first century.

31 Feng Lan, “Zhang Yimou’s Hero: Reclaiming the Martial Arts Film for ‘All-under-Heaven’ ” in Modern Chinese Language and Culture 20, no. 1 (Spring 2008): 1–43. 32 Sheldon Lu and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh, “Introduction: Mapping the Field of Chinese- Language Cinema” in Chinese Language Film: Historiography, Poetics, Politics, ed. Sheldon Lu and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh, (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2005), 20. 33 See Yang Jinsong, “Chen Kaige Jingke ci Qinwang de beiju [The tragedy of Chen Kaige’s Emperor and Assassin],” in which the author reveals that because of Hero, the film Assassin got more attention after its initial failure several years before. Published on www .sina.com.cn, April 11, 2005, see http://ent.sina.com.cn/r/m/2005-04-11/1642700094.html. love or hate: the first emperor on screen 237

Indeed, what Hero conveys is more than just transnational entertainment and pleasure. The diversified reactions it engenders from the critics— Orientalist Eurocentrism, Nationalist Sinocentrism, or authoritarianism, (not) guilty as charged34—place the film in the political areas of national identity, transnationality, globalization, national imagination and the understanding of the emerging global order. Meanwhile, Shadow and Assassin add differential temporalities to what Hero conveys, complicating the asymmetrical encounter between China and the West in a globalized culture. The painstakingly portrayed complex of power and moral justification in all three films, ambivalently lingering within and beyond a national boundary, reveals the contemporary consciousness and anxiety to resituate and re-imagine China in the global topography. As Dai Jinhua points out:

Since the 1990s, during the process of rapid economic reform and participation in globalization, China’s self imagination has ceased to dwell on self-criticism or reminders of national crisis, but on attention to strengthening the country so as to participate in globalization or the global village as a strong nation-state. . . . Artists and filmmakers, their self imagination, their self identification, have gone beyond identifying with the symbolic assassin, but rather with the emperor who founded the powerful and unified empire. This is the change in the imagination of China [compared to the 1980s].35

It is questionable that the emperor is the only person to identify with. As discussed above, Gao Jianli and Lady Zhao are both heroes in Shadow and Assassin. However, as far as the imagination of China is concerned, the discourse of Tianxia deserves more attention. And Tan Dun’s opera comes to

34 Refer to Tzu-hsiu Chiu, “Public Secrets: Geopolitical Aesthetics in Zhang Yimou’s Hero,” published on E-ASPAC: An Electronic Journal of Asian Studies on the Pacific Coast, May, 2004. See http://mcel.pacificu.edu/easpac/2005/tzuchiu.php3. The article addresses the dialectics of ‘Orientalist Eurocentrism’ and ‘Chinese Nationalist Sinocentrism.’ Also refer to Robert Y. Eng “Is Hero a Paean to Authoritarianism?” which challenges those who argue that the hit martial arts film celebrates authoritarianism. Published online in Asian Media—Media News Daily. September 7, 2004. See http://www.asiamedia.ucla.edu/ article.asp?parentid=14371. 35 Dai Jinhua, “Ci Qin xingdong.” She compared the representations of history in the 1980s with that in the 1990s, suggesting that in the 1980s the vision of history was more self- critical, whereas in the 1990s, it became more self-reassuring. For instance, the original plan during the 1980s for the film Shadow was to portray Gao as the heroic protagonist, and the title of the film was supposed to be Bloody Zhu, yet the emphasis was shifted in the final version of Shadow in 1996. 238 Chapter 7 the fore. As in the film Shadow, in the internationally made epic opera The First Emperor that the New York Metropolitan Opera commissioned, Tianxia is articulated in the anthem sung by the prisoners who are captured to build the Great Wall. The grandiose music is synthetic, the language is English plus Chinese, and the performers are nationally diverse. Tianxia resides in the heart of the people. It transcends national and cultural boundaries, and reveals its centuries-long, historically tested moral power. In both Empire by Hardt and Negri, and A World of Regions by Peter Katzenstein, the authors discuss the emergence of global empire (“American imperium” as Katzenstein defines it) and its function in the contemporary world.36 The emphasis on non-territorial power as manifested in its moral justification shaping the new world order poses the major challenge in redefining empire. In this light, there is a question whether the rhetoric of Tianxia is a responsive counterpart to American ideological power or a submissive collaboration with the new world order, or both.

36 Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Empire (Cambridge & London: Harvard University Press, 2000); and Peter J. Katzenstein, A World of Regions: Asia and Europe in the American Imperium (Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press, 2005). Chapter 8 The Fascinating Empire: Emperors in Contemporary Novels

The history of empire cannot be merely political, military and diplomatic. Economy is crucial and so too is culture. In the long run the strength and attractiveness of an empire’s culture will contribute greatly to its longevity and its influence. Imperial ideologies are both fascinating in themselves and vital to empire’s survival. Dominic Lieven: Empire

No other medium better grasps the relationship between historicity and nar- rativity than fiction, and no other literary genre has the capacity of the historical novel to represent in detail the violence and its justification in history. The grand return of historical novels on imperial China in the 1990s testifies to what Dominic Lieven describes as “attractive” and “fascinating” aspects of imperial culture in China.1 As discussed in previous chapters, the ‘obsession with China’ and its imperial history have been embedded in the ongoing pursuit of a Chinese identity in modern times. However, whereas in previous decades this ‘obsession’ was concentrated on China’s failure and its crisis, in the post-socialist era, it is the ‘fascination’ with imperial culture that occupied the canvas of historical representation. With the illusion of revolution increasingly fading, the depoliticized society welcomed the repressed, the alternative, and the avant-garde to the foreground of public attention. The richness of imperial culture hence appeared on the literary scene, corresponding to popular imagination of what Xudong Zhang calls “postnational” identity.2 One may ask: what exactly fascinated the writers and readers? Besides longing for wealth and power, what motivated writers to reproduce the imperial images in the postsocialist period? Wu Jianren nearly a century before argued that historical novels should “imply education in idle conversations so that

1 Dominic Lieven, Empire: The Russian Empire and Its Rivals (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), xiii. 2 As I discussed in Chapter 6, Xudong Zhang perceived a sense of ‘postnationalism’ in the intellectual field in the post-Tiananmen period. See Xudong Zhang, “The Making of a Post- Tiananmen Intellectual Field: A Critical Overview,” in Whither China? Intellectual Politics in Contemporary China, 1–75.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��6 | doi ��.��63/9789004309302_010 240 Chapter 8 the reader could have the benefit (of historical knowledge) from entertainment and pleasure.”3 Contemporary historical novels seem to have followed this double imperative of education and entertainment, triggered by a long- lasting fetish of the imperial culture that by then emanated both familiarity and strangeness. Instead of dwelling on national crisis and class struggle, these novels lavish on readers encyclopedic depictions of imperial customs and manners that otherwise had become mysterious or forgotten in the modern periods, negotiating the ideological and political in the domains of the everyday, the familial, and the feminine, across the imperial court and ordinary families. Meanwhile, as critic Fang Wanxian observes, writers attempted to find from traditional elites the positive aspects of Chinese culture, a culture that could reveal a fundamental spiritual connection between past and present, and that could serve as a counternarrative to the dominant discourse of “modernization=Westernization” during the transitional period. They tried to construct a “diachronic glory of traditional Chinese culture to counteract the synchronic threat from the hegemonic modern Western culture, manifesting strong national pride and the desire to rebuild Chinese national culture in the context of globalization.”4 Among historical novels, those of Ling Li and Eryuehe on the emperors of the early Qing Dynasty represent the extensively researched ‘serious’ ones. To some extent, their novels heralded a ‘Qing history fever,’ resulting in the explo- sion of TV series adapted from historical novels. This chapter will focus on their emperor series in an attempt to discern common thematic traits and their divergent strategies. Close reading of the novels reveals that there is an intrinsic correlation between the emperor as a hero and the empire that defines his greatness. Thematically, both writers create images of the successful emperors in the early Qing Dynasty, rearticulating the theme of Minxin-Tianxia (‘people’s hearts-all-under-Heaven’). Yet, structurally, they diverge in the representation of time. Although both writers portray three generations of emperors, they each create a different movement of empire. While Ling Li inherits more of the modern revolutionary legacy and reveals tensions between modernity and the empire narrative in her novels, Eryuehe takes a more traditional perspective and presents an all-encompassing, timeless image of the empire. Time for Ling Li is spiral and developmental, imbued with her speculation of the rise

3 Wu Jianren, “Liang Jin yanyi xu” [Preface to the Romance of Western and Eastern Jin Dynasties] in Wu Jianren quanji [The complete works of Wu Jianren], vol. 4, 257. 4 Fang Wanxian, “Diwang lishi de liangzhong jingdian shuxie [Two Classic Narratives of Emperors’ History],” Wenshi bolan—Lilun [Cultural and Historical Vision—Theory], Oct. 2010, 19. The Fascinating Empire 241 and fall of a civilization in the global arena. For Eryuehe it is differential—both transcendent and empirical, exhibiting potential crisis even in the most glorious times.

Ling Li’s Developmental Tales of the Early Qing Emperors

Ling Li’s series “One hundred years of resplendence” (bainian huihuang) comprises three novels. Qing cheng qing guo (“Toppling the City and Overthrowing the Kingdom”) captures the transition from the Ming to the Qing dynasties associated with the last Ming Emperor Chongzhen and the first Qing Emperor Taizong Hong Taiji. Shaonian tianzi (“Young Son of Heaven”) explores the frustration of the Shunzhi Emperor’s reforms as well as his love tragedy. Mu gu chen zhong (“Evening Drum and Morning Bell”) provides an account of the Kangxi Emperor in his youth. As a scholar of the imperial history of the Qing dynasty, Ling Li considers the ascending period of the Qing Empire as one of the most glorious eras in Chinese history, and it is through the aforementioned three Qing emperors that the empire achieved unity and stability after the fall of the Ming. Apart from the encyclopedic scope of these novels, the series accentuates the theme of unification and consolidation in both military and civil senses. Whereas contradictions abound between the corrupt Ming and the promising Qing, between the military Manchu and the civil Han, and between the nobles and the ordinary people, they are finally resolved in the imperial discourse Minxin-Tianxia that requires a heroic emperor’s ambition, ability, and sacrifice of individual desires. Qing cheng qing guo places the scholar-general of the Ming Dynasty Sun Yuanhua in the midst of the political intrigue and the military confrontation between the Ming and the Qing to imply the inevitability of the fall of the Ming and triumph of the Qing.5 An almost flawless figure in the novel, loyal, virtuous, capable, far-sighted and wholeheartedly admired by his subordinates, Sun Yuanhua falls victim to the ruthless political struggle in the Ming court and is finally executed by the seemingly wise yet in fact benighted Emperor Chongzhen. His subordinate officer Kong Youde is forced to surrender to the Qing, after the failure of his ambition to become a great general under the Ming. The novel portrays the paranoid Ming Emperor Chongzhen in contrast to the ambitious, visionary, open-minded Emperor Hong Taiji of the Qing. Unlike the historical representations set in previous periods that dramatize

5 Ling Li, Qing cheng qing guo (Beijing: Beijing shiyue wenyi chubanshe, 1996). 242 Chapter 8 ethnic conflicts and call for unity from within the Han Chinese, this novel takes historical continuity for granted, reiterating the assertion that the Ming fell because it lost the hearts of the people and the Qing continued its mission to consolidate all-under-Heaven. Hong Taiji is a hero since he understands that “in order to gain Tianxia [all-under-Heaven], [the ruler] has to win the hearts of the people.”6 The people’s hearts thus forge the inevitable historical shi-trend that favors the Manchu Qing when the Ming has lost the Mandate of Heaven, articulated later from a bottom-up point of view by an ordinary young soldier, Lu Qiyi, before his premature death:

We ordinary people, common soldiers, don’t know [the obligations between] the despot, officials, and the like. Whoever treats us well, we pay him back with the same; whoever treats us badly, we show him no concern!7

Here the abstract notion of loyalty begs reciprocal responsibility, in particular, the obligation of the emperor to his subjects. The same theme of Minxin-Tianxia is continually reinforced in the novels Shaonian tianzi and Mu gu chen zhong to show how the Qing emperors Shunzhi and Kangxi solve the contradictions between the Manchu and the Han and win the hearts of all-under-Heaven to stabilize their rule. Both novels move the focus from the political periphery (as in Qing cheng qing guo) to the political center—the imperial family and court. Moreover, unlike the historical representations in the previous decades that describe ethnic contradiction from the perspective of the Han majority, these novels emphasize the resentment of the Manchu nobles toward the Han and their conscious resistance to being Sinicized. Shaonian tianzi highlights the difficulty and obstacles bewildering the young Shunzhi emperor when he resolves to incorporate Han culture into his Manchu rule. The Manchu nobles, in a desperate attempt to maintain their privilege, relentlessly expropriate the land and execute their Han slaves, at the same time as the teenage emperor shows his admiration for Han civilization and aspires to be a benevolent emperor.8 The Han-Manchu contradiction permeates the entire novel, occupying various spaces—debates between officials within the court, discussions outside the court among the late Ming literati scholars, in villages where violent conflicts take place, and in the imperial palace where it is concentrated and

6 Ibid., 476. 7 Ling Li, Qing cheng qing guo, 494. 8 Ling Li, Son of Heaven, trans. David Kwan (Beijing: Chinese Literature Press, 1995). The Fascinating Empire 243 intensified in the female character, Black Pearl (Lady Dongeh).9 Ling Li paid special attention to Black Pearl and her love for the young emperor to dramatize the confrontation as well as the union of Manchu and Han. Born into a noble Manchu family by an ethnic Han mother, Black Pearl radiates refined southern manners and remarkable literary talent, which quickly win the heart of the young emperor and, unavoidably, put her at the center of jealousy and intrigue among the Mongol- or Manchu-born imperial consorts. Her infant son dies in a sinister plot and she subsequently pines away with overwhelming grief. Devastated by the loss of his loved one and frustrated by the Manchu nobles, the initially reform-minded emperor sinks into dejection. After shav- ing his head and announcing his intention to become a Buddhist monk, he is later persuaded by the imperial adviser Yulin to resume the affairs of state. However, he is soon struck down by smallpox and dies prematurely at the age of twenty-four. Mu gu chen zhong follows the ethnic friction to the next emperor, Kangxi. After ascending the throne at age seven, Kangxi’s life unfolds against a background of social upheaval as Ming resistance continues and the Qing struggles to strengthen its foundation.10 Young, ambitious, and exceptionally brilliant, Kangxi finds himself hemmed in by four Manchu regents, who have abandoned the Shunzhi emperor’s reform proposals and exacerbated the Manchu- Han conflicts. Measuring himself against the past sage-rulers, he matures quickly, quietly waiting for opportunities to weaken the power of these Manchu nobles. At age sixteen he cleverly imprisons the dominating regent Oboi and removes all obstacles to his independent rule, thus inaugurating a great epoch of Chinese history.

Reluctant Transcendence and the Sublimation of the Feminine: Love and Empire These three novels, centered on the Han-Manchu contradiction, all intertwine romance with political struggle. In fact, romance as an imagined element parallels politics, signifying the unspeakable cruelty of politics. Presenting ideal matches destroyed by political turmoil, the romantic stories dramatize the brutality of the counter-productive forces manifested in the social transition. Only by overcoming these forces can the protagonists become heroes. In traditional accounts of imperial romances it is a convention that they distract the

9 In the translation of the novel, the imperial consort’s name is spelled “Dongeh,” yet in some other sources, it is spelled “Donggo.” See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shunzhi_Emperor. 10 Ling Li, Shaonian Kangxi (the title of Mu gu chen zhong when the novel was published in Taiwan) (Taipei: Guojicun wenku shudian, 1993). 244 Chapter 8 emperor’s attention from crucial affairs of state, such as the romance between the Tang Emperor Xuanzong and his favorite consort Yang Guifei that has been blamed for the decline of the Tang Dynasty. Romance in Ling Li’s novels, however, embodies the prospect of unity and stability of the empire. That the marriage between eros and polis implies the ideal picture of the nation has been a theme in previous revolutionary literature, as discussed in Chapter Four on historical dramas during the war of resistance to Japan and the revolutionary romance novels in the later periods. The portrayal of the ‘foundational family’ not only reinforces the May Fourth advocacy of ‘free love’ between man and woman, but also continues the homology between family and empire. By the same token, the union between the lovers in Ling Li’s novels projects the ultimate blueprint of the empire, in which productive romance functions as the imaginary force that grounds the (ideal) empire. In Qing cheng qing guo, the love story between the literati officer Lü Lie (later Lü Zhiyue) and General Sun Yuanhua’s daughter Youfan epitomizes the political turmoil during the transition between the Ming and Qing dynasties. The couple fall in love at first sight yet remain separated for almost twenty years. The Ming separates them, yet the Qing rejoins them. Their detachment from the Ming and attachment to the Qing therefore provides an emotional relationship with two regimes, indirectly legitimizing the rule of the Qing. In Shaonian tianzi, the unrestrained passion between Emperor Shunzhi and Black Pearl (Lady Dongeh) depicts a desirable union of Manchu and Han, the martial and the civil, rigidity and gentleness, enthusiasm and rationality, all of which projects an ideal image of the future empire the young emperor dreams of establishing. Historical records and popular anecdotes portray Shunzhi as a controversial emperor, more of an ultimate romantic than an established emperor. His conversion to Buddhism and exclusive devotion to Lady Dougeh make him a source of drama and mystery in popular representations. Some accounts even speculate that he indeed became a Buddhist monk after Lady Dongeh’s death, abdicating the throne in favor of his young son Xuanye, the next emperor Kangxi.11 Ling Li emphasizes Shunzhi’s romantic nature in the novel, yet fuses his romantic passion with political ambition. It seems that his headstrong attachment to Black Pearl is not only due to the predestined chemistry between two young people, but also owes to the common political ideals they share. In an adverse environment, Black Pearl is the source of inspiration and the only supporter of his reform. Therefore, her premature demise signifies the triumph of conservative forces, foretelling the frustration of Shunzhi’s political ambition, and romantic passion is thus imbued with a

11 Refer to online source Wikipedia. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shunzhi_Emperor. The Fascinating Empire 245 significant political connotation, taking on the role of a foundational relationship to ground the ideal empire, but a relationship that fails. The failure of this foundational romance, nevertheless, does not delegiti- mize the imperial rule, but rather, reveals the asynchronic consciousness of the emperor. The love of Shunzhi and Black Pearl for each other appears to be quite untimely, incompatible with the development of empire at that stage. In a sense they are not defeated by discursive forces, but by a pre-determined logic of empire, one that requires the emperor to follow the rules of imperial polygamy and create balance and harmony. To some extent, the Shunzhi Emperor in Ling Li’s novel can be seen as carrying a pseudo-modern consciousness, like a rebellious May Fourth youth desiring autonomy and monogamous passion. He steals Black Pearl from his younger brother, who as the original husband com- mits suicide upon knowing the relationship between the emperor and his wife. He promotes Black Pearl in spite of the resentment within and outside the imperial palace. In the imperial system, where harmonious polygamy is key for the balance of power within the court, such desire and behavior can only come across as reckless and irresponsible, which often brings disastrous consequences. As Keith McMahon notes, polygamy as an institution in China “had to do with the idea that a ruler did not engage in polygamy because he wanted to, but because he had to in order to fulfill his role as Son of Heaven. He was obligated to extend the patriline and was as if following a hallowed directive.” The successful rulers all understood how to distribute their affection among multiple women instead of favoring one on account of sexual desire.12 The seemingly irrelevant feminine domain then appears as a touchstone to test the emperor’s character. According to this logic, Shunzhi’s love for Black Pearl then appears as nothing other than favoritism that great emperors should avoid, for it disrupts the imperial order and sinks into willful gratification of individual desires at the expense of political harmony and stability. It is in this respect that Ling Li’s promotion of ‘productive romance’ runs into a paradox: even though she tries to reverse the verdict for Shunzhi and portray him as an open-minded reformer, his indulgence in individual romance foretells his failure as an emperor. Without situating himself properly in the timeline of history, the emperor’s otherwise legitimate desire can only become its opposite—a destructive force that strips him of the chance to become a great hero. By emphasizing both the romance and the inevitable doom, Ling Li did not intend to criticize the irrational imperial system, but seems to offer a reluctant transcendence that suggests emotional sacrifice. For an emperor to be a

12 Keith McMahon, “The Institution of Polygamy in the Chinese Imperial Palace,” The Journal of Asian Studies 72, no. 4 (2013): 917. 246 Chapter 8 successful hero, he has to outgrow his romantic stage. Romance is but a temporary foil for the growth of the hero, an essentially physical and psychological stage he must pass through. Romantic passion is not the apex or end of the hero’s life; rather, it should ignite, incite, and mature the hero’s vision on how to balance, develop, and consolidate the empire. A hero cannot transcend the limit of his time, but can relinquish his individual desire. It is in this regard that the Shunzhi Emperor appears a lesser hero than his son, the Kangxi Emperor. Like his father, Kangxi also experiences a frustrating love. In Mu gu chen zhong, the adolescent Emperor Kangxi is deeply in love with Icy Moon (Bingyue) yet cannot marry her. Comparable to Jia Baoyu and Lin Daiyu in the Dream of the Red Chamber, Kangxi and Icy Moon grow up together with tele- pathic understanding of each other. However, Icy Moon appears to be Kangxi’s cousin from the same imperial clan. Even though she is actually the daughter of an unidentifiable prince of the fallen Ming Dynasty and a Han woman of lowly origin, both her official and real identities make marriage between them impossible. Far from acting the independent emperor who can choose his love freely at the time, young Kangxi learns to compromise his personal desire for the stability of empire when the two are in temporary contradiction. Romantic passion is in this sense the necessary obstacle he has to overcome in order to grow up, to surpass his father the Shunzhi Emperor, and to become a greater emperor. When his request to marry Icy Moon is refused by the Empress Dowager he sinks into ambivalent musings:

What he wanted was both to be an emperor and have Icy Moon. Icy Moon could help him become a good emperor. Yet, since it was impossible to have both, what should he choose? Losing Icy Moon would leave him heartbroken, with no way to make up the loss and pain, and no way to have so real a love for the rest of his life. Yet if he gave up the throne, would he be content with living his life as a commonplace man without any great accomplishment? . . . He should remember what the imperial grandmother told him: what he shoulders is the cause handed down from his ancestors, the great empire with boundless territories, and millions of people!13

13 Ling Li, Shaonian Kangxi (Taipei: Guojicun wenku shudian, 1993), vol. 2, 746. The Fascinating Empire 247

Taking an emperor’s responsibility as a prioritized obligation, sacrifice then seems indispensable and unavoidable, which makes him at once a human being of flesh and blood and a super-human who can subordinate personal feelings for the future of the empire. Like the union of the Shunzhi Emperor and Black Pearl, the love between Kangxi and Icy Moon is also productive and positive for the ideal of a unified empire, yet that is the end of it—just an ideal or idea, for an emperor’s mission demands that he forsake monogamous love and engage fully in the affairs of the state. As a result, Icy Moon has to become an abstract idea that motivates Kangxi to accomplish his goal as an emperor and a man without sincere love. The domain of the feminine is therefore at once sublimated and subsumed into the narrative of empire. Ling Li’s emphasis on exclusive love as a positive contribution to govern- ing an empire manifests her modern consciousness to construct foundational romances to ground a nation, yet the way she portrays a hero inevitably falls back on the logic of empire: the historical shi-trend creates a great hero, on the condition that he situate himself appropriately in history and sacrifice his individual desires for the sake of Tianxia. The clash of modern consciousness with imperial thinking leads to a reluctant transcendence and a sublimated abstraction—transcendence of the emperor to relinquish his personal love, and sublimation of female characters to carry ideals for the future. Indeed, in all three novels the female characters are idealized as embodying not only the future unified empire but also the melting pot of Chinese civilization. They are neither the victims of imperial history, nor the dissident voices that ‘talk back’ to the oppressive patriarchal order, but rather, they are the best product possible of that imperial culture and carry considerable agency and power. Such a rendition of women at once attracts female readers to identify with their femininity associated with the familial/domestic domain and caters to a mainstream masculine narrative that holds a relatively conservative, unifying outlook of life. Youfan, Black Pearl, and Icy Moon were all born into influential families significant enough to impact the fate of the empire, and they are all innocent, learned, talented, and virtuous, not only passionate about personal love, but also deeply concerned for the people and the empire. Youfan, daughter of the Confucian-Christian literati general, practices Chinese medicine for the people in need and when her father’s unit is deprived of sub- sidy and the soldiers are on the verge of revolt, she volunteers to trade herself for the stipend to appease the troops. Her love transcends ethnic and cultural boundaries, displaying qualities characteristic of all-encompassing benevolence. As a baptized Christian, she embraces all humanity, more broadly than the Christian missionary Tang Ruowang (Tang Jo-Wang)—the knowledgeable 248 Chapter 8

German Jesuit Johann Adam Schall von Bell, who advocates God’s love yet dismisses other religious doctrines and practices. As Lü Lie comments on his wife, only Youfan’s life-saving medicine displays the genuine love and benevolence towards the people that transcends any political, ethnic, and cultural limits.14 Like Youfan, Black Pearl and Icy Moon epitomize ethnic and cultural unity. They have both Manchu and Han origins, are well versed in Confucian teaching, but also embrace Buddhist and Christian principles. They represent the all-encompassing ideal of the future empire that is yet to come.

Developmental Logic: Encountering the Modern Besides the sublimation and abstraction of female characters, Ling Li’s modern consciousness also manifests itself in the reception of Schall, who represents China’s early encounter with the West and its increasingly disadvantaged positioning in the world. The presence of Schall and his foreign friends not only foreshadows later Western imperialist ambition, but also serves as a reminder of China’s growing technological gap with the West. Both a devoted Christian missionary and a dispenser of modern sciences, Schall at once attracts and repulses the Chinese with his knowledge and beliefs. He has successfully entered the sociopolitical center and befriended some influential members of the Chinese elite, including the emperors. Moreover, he has been offered the position in charge of astronomy and calendric affairs. Yet he has never ceased to be frustrated by the Chinese’s polytheistic attitude toward religion, finding the Chinese even more reluctant to believe in only one God than to follow the principle of monogamy. The partly successful yet ultimately frustrating experience of Schall, on the one hand, provides a depiction of the assimilative, inclusive, and centripetal quality of Chinese civilization. On the other hand, Schall’s tragic death during Kangxi’s reign lays bare the brutal suppression of science by conservative forces, which foreshadows the decline of the empire in the global arena by the late Qing period. The failed foundational romances and the early encounter with the West together stage the early Qing in the temporal axis of world history, which reveals Ling Li’s consciousness in constructing the overall timeline of her empire narrative and situating the early Qing in both Chinese and world history. The time in her novels appears more linear than spiral—even though the discourse of Minxin-Tianxia articulates the transcendent moral values that underlie the cyclical dynastic transition, the bildung portrayal of both the emperors’ and the Qing Empire’s growth signifies a developmental logic. Moreover, the

14 Ling Li, Qing cheng qing guo, 661. The Fascinating Empire 249 narrative strategy also suggests a vertically woven temporal structure. This is achieved through the movement of the characters. As a roman fleuve, the three novels, each with their independent stories featuring different heroes, form a serial narrative of one hundred years of early Qing history. Some influential characters remain active in different time periods, witnessing and participating in the building of the empire. Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang, Lü Zhiyue, and Schall, all live through the successions of power and from different perspectives view the temporal trajectory of the ascending empire. Meanwhile, fictional characters create continuity and link the court with commoner families, transgressing various social spaces and creating suspense to generate dramatic effect. For instance, fictional characters such as Menggu and Tongchun, Menggu’s lost twin daughters Icy Moon and Shiny River (Yingchuan), and the half-Manchu-half-Han boy Feiyaose, all move through different social spaces, from the village to the noble household, even the imperial palace. Encountering people from various social backgrounds, they thus interweave the diversified spaces into one single imperial fabric. In a sense, in terms of narrative technique, the influential historical figures provide the vertical, temporal structure for the novels, and the fictional characters construct the horizontal, spatial structure, introducing the full range of society in late imperial China. Moreover, the narrative enhances the temporal structure by employing the device of concealed identity among these characters to add tension, suspense, and mystery. In Shaonian tianzi, Menggu and Tongchun are introduced as destined lovers from ordinary origins. In order to marry Menggu, Tongchun gives up his profession as a female impersonator singing operas, only to find that Menggu’s mother has married her off to the self-appointed Prince of Ming, who has been hiding in the village. Menggu and Tongchun suffer tremen- dously in their separate tragic lives, yet their unfulfilled desire to see each other remains. In the sequel Mu gu chen zhong, both Menggu and Tongchun are by chance employed in the household of the Manchu Prince An, yet they fail to recognize each other until much later. Similarly, Icy Moon is one of Menggu’s lost daughters, adopted by Prince An. While Menggu is hired as the nanny for the baby girl, who is particularly attached to her, neither of them knows their real relationship. On the other hand, Icy Moon’s twin sister is adopted by Lü Zhiyue, yet her life story remains undeveloped in contrast to Icy Moon’s prominent existence in the novel. Stories like these extend across the volumes of the novels. Uncontrollable social calamities, unfulfilled desires, secret birth, mysterious separation, and cathartic reunion, all these dramatic elements are woven together to construct a long-term tapestry of imperial China. The omniscient narrator constantly 250 Chapter 8 creates suspense and mystery by concealing information from the readers that is known to characters, or sometimes revealing a secret to readers that remains concealed from characters. Altogether, such time-honored narrative techniques not only manipulate the reader’s interest in characters and plot, but also construct a historicality of the empire’s growth, from its dramatic origin to its promising rise, suggested through family reunions and increasing consolidation of nobles and commoners, of Han and Manchu. In a sense, Ling Li adopts a developmental perspective, inserting the early Qing dynasty in the current of Chinese history accompanied by a global vision. The three novels are imbued with pride, glory, and regret. By paralleling the political struggle with foundational romances to project a unified, prosperous, all-encompassing image of the Chinese empire, Ling Li reiterates the historical lesson underlying the rise and fall of empire, and at the same time articulates the transcendent vision of the imperial-time-order: unity and morality as the keys to judge a regime in history. On the other hand, however, the failed romances and sympathetic portrayal of Schall mark a disturbing disappointment with such a self-perpetuating moral regime for subsuming individual desires and overlooking modern sciences; to a lesser extent this carries the weight of the kind of self-pity most notoriously manifested in the TV series He shang (“River Elegy”).

Eryuehe’s Representation of Tradition in his ‘Emperor Series’

If Ling Li’s novels display an elitist vision of empire and modernity with a female sensitivity, Eryuehe’s reveal rather more of a popular imagination of the timeless imperial culture and an ambivalent male ego. The omniscient narrator seems to have completely immersed himself in the Qing Dynasty, and the boundary between the past and present is blurred, drawing readers into the complex and rich fabric of imperial languages, manners, relationships, and discourses. Moreover, unlike Ling Li’s conscious construction of time in her novels, Eryuehe’s emperor series exhibits a typical ‘spatial narrative’ that privileges spaces over time in telling imperial history. Three multi-volume novels comprise Eryuehe’s “Trilogy of the Evening Glow” (luoxia san bu qu), which portray the flourishing reigns of emperors Kangxi (Aisin Gioro Xuanye 1654–1722), Yongzheng (Aisin Gioro Yinzhen 1678–1735), and Qianlong (Aisin Gioro Hongli 1711–1799) of the Qing Dynasty. Titled eponymously Kangxi da di (“The Great Emperor Kangxi”), Yongzheng huangdi (“Emperor Yongzheng”) and Qianlong huangdi (“Emperor Qianlong”), the novels explicitly focus on the three emperors’ lives and the great accomplishments associated with them. The Fascinating Empire 251

From the mid-1980s when Eryuehe started publishing historical novels, his emperor series gradually attracted broad attention and, thanks to the television dramas adapted from his novels, his name became widely known among the Chinese audience in East Asia. Influenced by traditional narrative techniques, especially the Dream of the Red Chamber,15 Eryuehe adopted the traditional episodic structure with couplets introducing the chapters and dividing each chapter into two stories. There is a rhetorical emphasis on witty conversations, insinuated jokes, allusive poetry, and suggestive riddles associated with different characters and situations to intensify contradictions, dramatize seemingly ordinary circumstances, and reveal relationships among the characters. Such a narrative strategy emphasizes space over time, and puts more emphasis on social customs and relations than temporal emplotment of a single event. It incorporates numerous elements into a well-structured, centralized theme— the emperor and the empire, without superimposing a developmentalist vision of the future. It is reminiscent of what Andrew Plaks argued as the traditional Chinese narrative pattern that resembles the Chinese empire with “ceaseless alternation,” “complementary bipolarity,” and “cyclical recurrence,” or “multiple periodicity.” In his words:

What we observe in the structural patterning of Chinese narrative is an interminable overlapping—a dense web of intermingled events and non- events which obviates any sense of unilinear plot development and hence clouds the perception of artistic unity . . . It is not a lack of movement (or development), but the totalization of temporal flux which dis- penses with a clear sense of direction and hence creates the impression of motionlessness (italics in the original text).16

David Der-wei Wang interpreted this ‘motionlessness’ as the effect of imitating traditional storytelling to “synchronize the continuous diachronic sequence.”17 This ‘motionlessness’ implies the spatialization of temporality, which is seen

15 Eryuehe used to devote himself to studying the Dream of the Red Chamber, and he admitted that he was deeply influenced by it. See Feng Xingge et al., eds. Jujiao “huangdi zuojia” Eryuehe [Focus on the “Emperor Writer” Eryuehe], (Guangzhou: Guangdong renmin chubanshe, 2003). 16 Andrew Plaks, “The Problem of Structure in Chinese Narrative,” Tamkang Review, Vol. VI, No. 2 and Vol. VII, No. 1, Oct. 1975–Apr. 1976, 437. 17 David Wang, Xiangxiang zhongguo de fangfa: lishi, xiaoshuo, xushi [The Ways to Imagine China: History, Fiction, Narration], (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1998), 90. 252 Chapter 8 by Lin Qingxin as a “spatial narration.”18 Rather than the homogeneous time embraced in modernity, the novels exhibit heterogeneous time in representing the Chinese empire: the transcendent, omnipresent moral time and the amoral shi-force in the present. The numerous characters hence embody the hierarchy of morality, showcasing the multifaceted variations within imperial culture in the typology of the empire. Eryuehe explains that he treated his work as a “four-knurled lotus root.” He invested his energy evenly into different aspects of the novel, such as the patterning of narrative structure, design of legendary plots, description of anecdotes, construct of poems, riddles, and medical prescriptions, and so forth, making all aspects interconnected yet relatively independent. A failure in one aspect would not affect the quality of the entire novel, in the sense that one rotten part of the lotus root would not keep other parts from being edible.19 Such an encyclopedic yet non-elitist approach means that his novels incorporate all popular genres of classical narrative, including crime detection, knight-errantry, humor and satire, and forbidden love, in an effort to appeal to people of diversified tastes, allowing the readers to cross the borders between the realistic and the fantastic, the historical and the legendary, and the refined and the vulgar. Indeed, the lengthy series poses itself as a repository of tradition, in which elements from the Confucian literati-elitist culture, Buddhist and Daoist philosophical influences, pragmatic power-money exchange, entertainment and pleasure seeking activities, male and female knight-errant legends, and so on, are intertwined and blended together, rendering the novel a kaleidoscopic display of imperial culture. The selection and combination of traditional cultural elements on the one hand mirror contemporary diversified culture of the late twentieth century, suggesting that the world has not fundamentally changed in terms of social relations; on the other hand, however, the temporal distance endows the past with a gloss of unity, concentrated on the emperor under the omnipresent rubric of da yi tong (“Grand Unity” or “Great Harmony”). As in Ling Li’s novels, the transcendent notion of Tianxia functions as an ‘invisible hand,’ organizing and consolidating the empirical situation, and the otherwise fragmented elements are enshrined in the unifying imperial thinking. On the one hand, showcasing the maturity and richness of imperial culture, Eryuehe’s works highlight the positive aspects of traditional ethics and

18 Lin Qingxin, Brushing History against the Grain: Reading the Chinese New Historical Fiction (1986–1999), (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2005), 17. 19 Feng Xingge et al., eds. Jujiao “huangdi zuojia” Eryuehe, 262. The Fascinating Empire 253 morality, embodied in the successful emperors, brilliant Confucian advisers, and the emperors’ loyal assistants of lowly origin, who all struggle against the threats of corruption and decadence. On the other hand, however, the complex power relations involved in these people’s survival and success suggest the intrinsic paradox of imperial culture: individual agency versus fatalism, and suppression versus indulgence of desires.

Hierarchy and its Transcendence: Paradox in Traditional Morality and Ethics In these novels, the image of the three capable emperors fulfills the popular imagination of a mingjun (‘edified ruler’) in pre-modern China. Eryuehe emphasizes benevolence—the central concept that defines a good emperor in Confucian Orthodoxy—in these emperors. Apart from embracing the overarching notion of Minxin-Tianxia, the emperors are all keen on learning the living conditions of ordinary people, and like to experience the suffering of their subjects alongside them. For instance, when there is a food shortage on a military expedition, the Kangxi Emperor orders his meals reduced to once a day. Similarly, the Qianlong Emperor, known for his multiple trips in disguise to investigate the Jiangnan region, volunteers to eat rice that has gone bad in order to experience with the poor the real consequences of natural disaster. The most explicit example is seen in the harsh policies of the Yongzheng Emperor, hated by officials but justified by his concern for relieving the burden of ordinary people. Although these emperors face different challenges, have different personalities, and therefore enjoy different reputations, such sympathetic portrayal of benevolence automatically places them among the enlightened rulers of history and also reinforces a well-established reason for their legitimacy and success, thanks to their other qualities, such as farsightedness, strategic thinking, and self-discipline. Meanwhile, the portrayals of unconventional political advisers satisfy the popular imagination of literati scholars who possess the ability and wisdom of a capable prime minister yet desire a freer life once their mission is accomplished. Their profound knowledge of history, classics, and poetry, insightful observation of social reality, and detached attitude toward wealth and power, make them exceptional exemplars, combining qualities of both junshi (军师 ‘political adviser’) and mingshi (名士 ‘independent scholar’). Eryuehe pays special attention to constructing several fictional or semi-fictional scholars who serve as the emperors’ mentors and advisers. In general, they are the medium between the emperors and the masses, embody the transcendent moral values and interests of ordinary people, and hold the wisdom to legitimize the emperors’ rule and strengthen the empire. 254 Chapter 8

Young Kangxi’s mentor Wu Ciyou, for instance, is indispensable in helping Kangxi consolidate his power when the emperor is still a teenager. A pun on the phrase ‘no such friend,’ the fictional character Wu Ciyou first appears as a righteous scholar. Guided by a Confucian scholar’s consciousness of social responsibility, he writes a critical essay attacking land annexation, which offends the dominant regent Oboi and destroys his hopes of a successful political career. This seemingly self-destructive action, nevertheless, wins respect and trust from the young emperor, who then disguises himself as a wealthy youth seeking Confucian learning from him. However, when Wu Ciyou discovers the real identity of the emperor after he has unknowingly helped him achieve independence from the domineering regents, he asks to leave the emperor to lead a reclusive life. From a passionate social activist to a withdrawn hermit, Wu Ciyou’s choice testifies to both the Confucian doctrine of social engagement and the Daoist advocacy for individual freedom, revealing the deepest desire of literati scholars, perhaps, including Eryuehe himself, to become a mingshi (‘independent scholar’)—qiangu wenren mingshi meng (千古文人名士梦). Such glorification of emperors and advisers creates an idealized reciprocal relationship between the ruler and the scholar implicit in Confucianism. Whereas the capable scholar aspires to have a successful political career, he cannot stand or get involved in political corruption. The contradiction between his ambition to serve the empire and his righteous spirit requires that he meet a worthy master who recognizes his talent and treats him with respect. On the other hand, the emperor has to put aside his divine status to prove he deserves such exceptional service. The relationship between the emperor and the adviser is at once that of emperor-subject and disciple-mentor, so that it seems to transcend the political hierarchy and construct a mutually beneficial bond. However, this transcendence only exists in the short term. In fact, both parties are well aware of their respective positions in maintaining political order. Once the adviser has accomplished his mission, voluntary withdrawal seems to be the only wise choice for his survival, for he realizes that the emperor no longer needs him, and the emperor is unlikely to want someone around as a constant reminder of his dependence on him. Herein lies Eryuehe’s fundamental narrative dilemma—at once promoting the emperors and advisers as outstanding Confucian heroes and presenting their flaws of being constrained by their respective positions; showing both the transcendence of political hierarchy and the reinforcement of it. The desire to transcend hierarchy and the consciousness of submission to order reflect the deepest paradox of imperial culture: in this well-knitted imperial structure, each individual is like a cog in a machine, whose position and fate are pre- determined. While everybody strives to advance oneself, fatalism runs deep in these novels. The Fascinating Empire 255

Indeed, fatalism is an underlying theme throughout the novels. Eryuehe believes that every dynasty has had its own fated destiny, and no one single emperor could have changed the fate of the empire, which explains the cyclical development of Chinese history.20 The shi-trend of the empire could be molded by human beings, but only collectively not individually. A heroic individual might discursively change his empirical situation in a microcosmic way to follow the historical trend, but he cannot change the macrocosmic trend itself. This sense of fatalism is most explicitly demonstrated in the novel Emperor Yongzheng.

Writing Controversy: Fatalism in Fictive Characters Emperor Yongzheng traces the second half of Yongzheng’s life, from uncrowned prince to his death at age fifty-six. Hailed for its skillful portrayal of late Qing society, this novel was regarded as the most successful of Eryuehe’s emperor series. Literary critic Ding Linyi even considers it the historical novel most worth reading since the Dream of the Red Chamber.21 Besides its superb presentation of court struggle and convoluted plot design, the success of the novel mostly lies in the reversal of the verdict against Yongzheng, which makes it a great example of fatalism and imperial-time-order. Conventionally, Emperor Yongzheng has been depicted as a severe, cruel, and vengeful ruler who, intolerant of the existence of competitive siblings and any other challenges to his legitimacy, created the ‘word prison’ to trap discontented scholars. This remained the most unforgivable crime attached to his name. During his reign, he imprisoned five of his imperial brothers, drove one of his own sons to death, and prosecuted countless officials and subordinates who had helped consolidate his rule in the past. This paranoid and ungrateful image is reversed in Eryuehe’s novel, in which he appears as a reformer and the guarantor of the people’s interests. The novel not only legitimizes his rule but also puts him among the great emperors in history. As the theme song of the adapted TV series suggests, “it is said that whoever gains the hearts of the people will govern all-under-Heaven, so let us see who will rule the empire,” Yongzheng’s heroic stature is first of all granted by the notion of Minxin-Tianxia. Not only is his rule justified by his devotion to the wellbeing of the common people and the empire, but his mercilessness toward privileged officials and nobles is also made to seem necessary and essential. Presented as the “cold-faced emperor,” Yongzheng dares to challenge age-old bureaucratic

20 Feng Xingge, et al., eds. Jujiao “huangdi zuojia” Eryuehe, 265. 21 Ding Linyi, Beijing qingnian bao [Beijing Youth], March 19, 1996. Reprinted in Feng Xingge et al., eds. Jujiao “huangdi zuojia” Eryuehe [Focus on the “Emperor Writer” Eryuehe] (Guangzhou: Guangdong renmin chubanshe, 2003), 221. 256 Chapter 8 corruption, working diligently to make sure that people suffering from natural disasters are well taken care of, funds loaned to officials returned to the state treasury, and the foundation of the empire further strengthened. This iron- fisted determination generates serious resistance from his officials, yet paves the way for the prosperous period under the next emperor, Qianlong. As the transitional figure between the two most successful emperors, Yongzheng plays a crucial role in furthering the rise of the Qing Empire to its peak in Qianlong’s reign. The transitional nature of his reign, then, seems to parallel the general perception of China’s rise at the turn of the twenty-first century, and responds to the popular desire to eliminate official corruption in contemporary society.22 Moreover, it is implied that as the heir of the Kangxi Emperor, Yongzheng is destined to play an unpopular role if he wants to maintain the great achievements of his father. In other words, his position determines his despotic rule; any other alternative ways will lead the empire onto a downward path. The prosperous era of the Kangxi Emperor, despite its unprecedented expansion of imperial territory and flourishing economy, has accumulated profound social problems. Without Yongzheng’s ironclad reforms, one cannot imagine Qianlong’s prosperity continuing. Through extensive portrayal of difficulties, challenges, and crises, Eryuehe places Yongzheng in a constant swirl of struggles, justifying his reforms as crucial and beneficial, portraying Yongzheng as an emperor with foresight and a spirit of selfless sacrifice. However, the widespread hatred of Yongzheng’s image in the popular imagination leaves an unsettling effect on the overall positive portrayal of the emperor. After all, unlike his father Kangxi or his son Qianlong, Yongzheng never enjoyed popularity among literati scholars. Eryuehe’s way of treating this controversy is to stress the tension between individual agency and determinism, a dialectic of antithetical interchangeability. The novel seems to suggest that Yongzheng’s excessive use of discipline and power, paranoid control of literati scholars, and his unnatural suppression of individual desires and emotions, in the end all lead to their opposites, and foreordain his tragic ending. There are two widely discussed mysteries/controversies in Yongzheng’s life, often the sources of popular representations. One is Yongzheng’s inheritance of the throne; the other is his death. Historical anecdotes often imply that Kangxi intended to bestow the throne to another son, but Yongzheng fabricated the imperial edict and usurped the throne. Similarly, Yongzheng’s

22 Zhu Ying, “Yongzheng wangchao he meiguo huangjin shiduan de dianshiju [The Yongzheng Dynasty and the Revisionist Qing Drama: Chinese Primetime Television’s Historical Turn],” in Zhongmei dianshiju bijiao yanjiu [Comparative Research on Television Drama between China and America], 47. The Fascinating Empire 257 sudden death is open to multiple interpretations. Some popular accounts attribute his death to a legendary woman’s revenge for her wrongly executed family; others to a drug overdose. Eryuehe did not employ these legends, yet does not completely abandon them, either. Instead, he incorporates these accounts into his own version to demonstrate the relationship between individual agency and fatalism, which is accomplished through two invented characters outside the political struggle: Wu Sidao and Qiao Yindi. Wu Sidao is essential in the issue of disputed succession; Qiao Yindi is directly related to his death. Wu Sidao fades out after the emperor takes the throne; Qiao Yindi enters the emperor’s life in the middle of his reign as emperor. Wu Sidao represents the highest potential of individual agency and its limits in an uncertain situation; Qiao Yindi embodies the tragic side of fatalism.

Wu Sidao: Individual Agency and Determinism in Yongzheng’s Ascendance Wu Sidao is a historical figure who served as an adviser for one of Yongzheng’s officials, yet Eryuehe makes him Yongzheng’s mentor in this novel. Like Wu Ciyou, Wu Sidao also blights his own political career due to his upright character. Infuriated by the corruption involved in the civil service exam, he stages a public scene to expose the corrupt officials. Although the officials are later punished, he is also sought after by the government for his disobedience, though many people, including the Kangxi Emperor himself, admire his courage. Having lived as a fugitive for ten years, he has become a cripple and lost most of his ambition by the time he meets Prince Yinzhen (Yongzheng). However, the prince immediately recognizes his talent and eventually takes him under his wing, which turns out to be the wisest decision Yinzhen has ever made. Wu Sidao becomes the crucial instrument for Yinzhen to win the throne. At the beginning of the novel, Yinzhen seems to have no ambition or prospect as imperial successor. First and foremost, there is a crown prince in place. Although the crown prince has increasingly lost the Kangxi Emperor’s trust for his reckless behavior and lack of ability, Yinzhen has no advantage over his other imperial brothers. Seeing the uncertainty over the choice of crown prince, nine grown princes enter the competition for the throne. They devote themselves to forming factions, expanding their power groups, pleasing the emperor, and circumscribing each other’s power, all in order to strengthen their individual claims as designated heir. The protagonist, the hard-working, unassuming fourth prince Yinzhen, on the contrary, has lost most court officials’ support for his strict policy of retrieving private loans to enrich the state treasury and pacify the flood. Though he also has secret aspirations, he seems out of place in this power struggle. It is Wu Sidao who, recognizing the 258 Chapter 8 great potential of Yinzhen in this uncertain situation, persuades the prince to be himself, believing that being righteous and rigorous will compensate for Kangxi’s overly relaxed, tolerant rule. “The emperor cultivates the empire through benevolence,” Wu Sidao says, “your highness complements it with righteousness. Isn’t it a sign of Heaven’s will?”23 Here, Wu Sidao articulates the dialectical relationship between Heaven’s intention and individual agency, encouraging Yinzhen to build up confidence and strive for his best destiny. “If Heaven bestows something on you, and you don’t take it, then you are the one to blame. Heaven never only favors one person.” He says, “It is one thing that you know your destiny; it is quite another that you follow your destiny. If you know your destiny yet don’t follow it, your destiny will change. This is the recurrent way of yin and yang, positive and negative, since the ancient times. . . . If one believes he has [the Mandate of Heaven] and relinquishes effort, then there should not be any history. [History] can then be written through divination.”24 This analysis of destiny and effort reveals two seemingly conflicting views that simultaneously face the characters in the novel—individual agency and determinism. It is implied that although the crown prince has the Mandate of Heaven (the Emperor), he will lose it if he fails to apply his effort in the right place. Conversely, in an uncertain situation where the future is not percep- tible, people who are eligible should work in every way to actualize their best potential, and their innate character or behavior will decisively lead to their pre-determined destiny, which may or may not be what they have imagined. In other words, uncertainty is the engine by which individuals can strive for their fate, to enhance the empirical force to complete the inevitable destiny. Indeed, with Wu Sidao’s insightful appraisal of the situation, effective reading of the emperor’s intentions, and efficient manipulation of timing, Yinzhen’s innate nature of diligence, justice, benevolence, and competence is recognized by the emperor, who eventually decides to bestow the throne on Yinzhen. However, in order to avoid the same mistake with the deposed crown prince, the emperor decides to keep his decision a secret. The princes, still uncertain of their situation, expose their ‘inappropriate’ ambition more than ever, which further intensifies the contradiction among them and renders the textual struggle a tense and exciting one. Nevertheless, the surface

23 Eryuehe, Yongzheng huangdi—Jiuwang duo di [Emperor Yongzheng, vol. 1—Nine Princes Compete for the Crown], (Wuhan: Changjiang wenyi chubanshe, 2002), 403. 24 Ibid., 404. The Fascinating Empire 259 indeterminacy merely serves to distinguish Yinzhen from the other princes, gather support for his legitimacy, and finally lead to his unavoidable destiny— to be the next emperor. The dialectical relationship between agency and determinism also manifests itself in the character Wu Sidao. Again, like Wu Ciyou, Wu Sidao decides to leave Yinzhen (Yongzheng) once he takes the throne. The talented adviser foresees a dangerous future if he takes the tempting position offered by the emperor. Though instrumental in Yinzhen/Yongzheng’s success, his special relationship with the prince/emperor means that the prince needs him, but the emperor does not. Once his mission for the prince is accomplished, he needs to leave, for the emperor’s new position requires him to treat the adviser differently. His decision to withdraw comes as much from his understanding of historical determinism as from his knowledge of the emperor’s character. As described by the old saying “the moon starts to wane once it is full,” Wu Sidao believes that he has achieved the height of his political career as a shadowy adviser, and he is not fated to be a prime minister. Wu Sidao’s involvement adds an intellectual and philosophical aspect to the political struggle in the novel, turns an otherwise arbitrary event (Yongzheng’s succession to the throne) into a preordained historical necessity, and demonstrates the dialectical relationship between agency and determinism in the career of Prince Yinzhen. Meanwhile, Wu Sidao’s presence emphasizes the centrality of Confucian scholars in helping establish a legitimate emperor, articulating the transcendent notion of Minxin-Tianxia. His departure, nevertheless, threatens that very legitimacy, at once reinforcing the scholar-adviser’s fate and foreshadowing the emperor’s inglorious destiny. Indeed, the sense of fatalism does not stop with Wu Sidao’s departure. While Wu Sidao fades out of the limelight, the emperor still needs to muddle through all kinds of challenges, perfectly aware that he is the target of court intrigues and resentment. His vulnerable positioning and radical reform plans are therefore bound to backfire, leading to his pre-determined future as a disgraced emperor. This time, the sense of fatalism is achieved through the fictional character Qiao Yindi.

Qiao Yindi: Fatalism in the Emperor’s Unusual Demise The invention of Qiao Yindi is often regarded as a fatal flaw in the novel Emperor Yongzheng. Her real identity as Yongzheng’s daughter and the tragic incestuous relationship between them casts an ironic and poignant shadow on the heroic image of the emperor, which seems inconsistent with the overall tone of the novel. This perhaps motivated the screenwriters to change the plot in the adapted TV series that portrays the emperor as a more upright 260 Chapter 8 character.25 However, compared with other legendary accounts of the emper- or’s demise, this version, distasteful as it sounds, nonetheless offers a psychological dimension of Yongzheng’s life, at once humanizes and dehumanizes him, and best reveals a fatalistic view. Qiao Yindi is a young girl born into an ordinary family in Shanxi province, administered by the greedy and corrupt governor Nuo Min. Faced with the emperor’s demand that officials return their private loans to the state treasury, Nuo Min transfers this burden to ordinary people by collecting more taxes. As a result, many overburdened families, their plight exacerbated by natural disaster, are forced to sell their children. Upon learning that she is actually sold to a brothel, Yindi escapes and is saved by Prince Yunti after fainting in a snow- storm on her way home. The prince gives her some gold to go home with but this money is confiscated by the order of the governor Nuo Min. Yindi eventually becomes a crucial witness in a corruption case when the emperor decides to investigate Nuo Min. She is brought to Beijing where she meets Prince Yunti and later becomes his favorite consort. Yindi’s life takes another turn when the emperor Yongzheng meets her at the empress dowager’s birthday ceremony and is struck by her resemblance to his former lover Xiao Fu. Many years earlier, Xiao Fu rescued him when he almost drowned in a flood, and they subsequently had an affair. However, Xiao Fu was from a low caste and her clan saw her further transgression as an unbearable sin that deserved to be punished by death. Unable to save her, the prince witnessed her set on fire by her clan. Overcome by guilt and compas- sion, the emperor later abolished the system of low caste status. Now seeing Yindi as the mirror image of Xiao Fu, Yongzheng is aroused to keep Yindi for himself. Disregarding her resistance and his brother’s resentment toward him, he orders Yindi to serve him in his palace. After Yindi’s attitude toward him gradually changes from hostility to admiration and finally to love, the truth is revealed that Yindi is in fact his daughter by Xiao Fu. The girl burned to death was Xiao Fu’s twin sister Xiao Lu while Xiao Fu survived with the baby. This harsh revelation destroys their will to live, ultimately leading to Yindi’s suicide and his own death. Yindi stabs herself to death in front of him with a pair of scissors, while he, distraught and already overdosed with drugs, stabs himself as well.

25 In the TV series, Qiao Yindi has no blood relationship with Yongzheng. She finally falls in love with the emperor, but there is no indication that they develop the tense mutual attraction into a sexual relationship. The Fascinating Empire 261

Despite this violent ending, Yindi’s existence to some extent humanizes the emperor and brings to light his psychological state. It is through his relationship with her that his character and motives are further highlighted. In an inti- mate, domestic setting, Yindi witnesses the emperor’s simple and abstinent lifestyle, his disinterest in physical pleasures, his exceptionally hard work, his great self-control, and occasional loss of composure. Unlike the commonly assumed image of the emperor as a petty, vengeful, and coldblooded despot, Yongzheng appears in Yindi’s mind as a normal human being who has a great sense of responsibility and deep emotions, who has relinquished worldly desires and endured challenges, misunderstandings, and loss of loved ones. Yindi’s change of attitude therefore reinforces the image of a lonely hero fighting against the current of corrupting forces. Yet, Yindi’s presence as a positive vehicle to embellish the emperor’s image has its limits. In fact, she is the double-edged sword that brings to light the excesses of Yongzheng’s suppressed desires and overly harsh policies. On the surface, the love between Yongzheng and Yindi is fraught with chance events, for there is no obvious reason for them to meet. Yet on the other hand, too many aleatory encounters amount to nothing but fate. It is as if there is a deterministic force that has brought them together, and every seemingly random chance can be traced back to Yongzheng himself. First, without his affair with Xiao Fu, Yindi as a character would not exist. She is the product of his unchecked passion and an eternal source of guilt. Second, without his policy for loan retrieval, Nuo Min would not be discovered as a corrupt official, and perhaps Yindi would not be sold to a brothel. In this case she represents the numerous victims suffering from both corrupt officials and ‘good’ policies. Hence, ordinary families have been destroyed because of the emperor’s righteous act, misfortunes that the emperor’s will to kill all corrupt officials cannot eliminate. Similarly, people also suffer under clean yet harsh officials who care only about their achievement in the emperor’s eyes. Third, without his decision to curb corruption, Yindi would not serve as a vital witness brought to Beijing, and without the Empress Dowager’s birthday, the two would not have met in person. Here, Yindi embodies both the social injustice and the emperor’s personal mistake. Her appearance reminds the emperor of his failure in both private and public realms. Although each occasion has a legitimate cause and leads to a positive result (except for Xiao Lu’s death), Yindi is the ultimate victim of the excessive emotions and forces the emperor employs to realize his political ambition. The emperor can justify his actions, yet the suppressed desire and passion, the consciousness of guilt, and the unbearable loneliness and loss never cease to haunt him. Yindi arouses all these secret emotions. Seeing Yindi, the emperor seems to have found his chance to redeem himself. By converting 262 Chapter 8 a resistant Yindi to a loving imperial consort, he allows himself to release suppressed desire, abandon negative feelings, and legitimize his actions. However, this effort is doomed to failure, and the only moment of indulgence in his life brings about disastrous consequences. At the end of the novel, after realizing Yindi’s real identity, the emperor bursts out in an erratic monologue:

I have a vain ambition to continue the career of the Holy Lord [the Kangxi Emperor], to be an outstanding ruler remembered for a thousand years. But my fate is so unfortunate. Fate plays me so! Putting me in a ridiculous position to be humiliated by later generations! ...... In order to change the decadent and corrupt condition rampant in the later years of the Holy Lord’s reign, how many people have I offended? Among my brothers, there are Eldest Brother, Second Brother, Third Brother, Eighth Brother, Ninth Brother, Tenth Brother, and . . . Fourteenth Brother. Nian Gengyao, Nuo Min, Yang Mingshi, Zhong Yueqi, Zhang Zhao [prominent officials being punished] . . . all literati scholars, all rich people from prestigious backgrounds! People today see me as an iron- fisted emperor; later generations will surely look on me as a lone tyrant— oh, yes, the common people applaud me, the abject classes also applaud me, because I don’t allow corrupt officials to exploit them, because I abolished their abject status . . . But what use is that? What use? They don’t have pens or voices; who will understand me later?26

At this moment, Yongzheng has just received the report from the frontier that the commanding generals have lost the battles against the Uyghur and more corrupt officials need to be prosecuted. Disappointment, anger, regret, feelings of loss, and the anxiety of not being understood are all stirred up, prompting him to take a larger dose of drugs to calm down. Yet it is the revelation of Yindi’s identity that finally destroys his will and patience to defend himself. The stigma accompanying incest takes away every bit of hope for redemption, and suicide seems a natural reaction to such tragedy. Herein resides Eryuehe’s writing anxiety about this controversial emperor. As a writer, he likes to be the pen and voice to articulate the emperor’s achievement and promote his image, yet as a modern intellectual akin to traditional literati scholars, he cannot wholeheartedly romanticize the emperor without

26 Eryuhe, Yongzheng huangdi—Henshui dongshi [Emperor Yongzheng Vol. 3—Regret Flowing East], (Wuhan: Changjiang wenyi chubanshe, 2002), 729–730. The Fascinating Empire 263 taking into account his utterly brutal ways of rule. Conscious of the writings of “later generations” since Yongzheng’s time, Eryuehe attempts to take Yongzheng back to his historical context and explore his psychological vulnerability. The invention of Yindi’s character thus functions to intensify the internal conflict of Yongzheng. As the offspring of Yongzheng, she embodies the emotional abandonment, the excess of political oppression, and guilty pleasure of revenge toward his disobedient younger brother. She arouses in Yongzheng the long suppressed feelings of guilt, fear, and loss, and sexual release of such emotional burdens. Only with Yindi can Yongzheng remove his mask and indulge in normal pleasures. The carnivalistic portrayal of Yongzheng’s obsession with Yindi manifests Eryuehe’s ambivalent male consciousness that his overburdened emperor needs an outlet to relieve his stress, and that is a sexual outlet. However, Yindi’s existence turns out to be both reward and punishment for Yongzheng, both the accomplishment of individual effort and the constraint of determinism, both the force from outside and the force from inside. It is as if the external force defeats his self-justification, a defeat that also derives from his own actions. It is the contradiction explained by Wu Sidao: individual agency and Heaven’s will are, like Yin and Yang, interchangeable with each other; anything too extreme will lead to its opposite. The limits in Yongzheng’s ability and flaws in his character determine what he can achieve, regardless of his individual will and effort. This sense of fatalism imbedded in a psychological state is an important aspect in Eryuehe’s emperor series, which all highlight the unsettling effect of the throne on the growth of the emperors. With great power comes great responsibility and great insecurity. The threats come from equally legitimate brothers, or from powerful officials/generals who have military ability, or from the common people, who can initiate peasant rebellions to overthrow the throne. Insecurity is the given condition that reminds the emperor to calculate, to balance, and even to sacrifice in order to secure his position and his identity. As Yongzheng utters his concern in front of his skeptical, competing brothers upon Kangxi’s death, insecurity in effect haunts every emperor in history:

Zhu Yuanzhang once said, since ancient times the barbarians’ rule in China has never lasted for a hundred years. Thinking back to the time when the Five Hu’s [ethnic minorities] unsettled China and on down to the Yuan dynasty, this has proved true. We Manchu are only less than one million people. To rule China, if we are not alert, careful, and concerned day and night as if walking on thin ice, it will be like trying to make spicy soup by tossing a handful of spices into Lake Taihu—something impossible! And that is how difficult our task is! Even though we are trying to be 264 Chapter 8

vigilant enough, and working diligently from early morning until late into the night, there are still many mistakes that are hard to correct! In my view, the Holy Lord [Kangxi] really worked his heart out for all-under- Heaven, for ruling the Chinese empire, so much so that he succumbed to exhaustion! So it is a demanding task to be an emperor, and it is even more demanding for one of us Manchu to be an emperor!27

He then lists all the virtues his brothers have and insincerely offers to abdicate the throne to whoever desires it. Of course, such a speech is designed to disguise his ambition and seek recognition of his authority from his competitive brothers, yet it also articulates the real anxiety of the emperor originating from both outside and inside the court. The motivation to measure up to the great emperors and the delicate practical situation force the emperor both to enlarge and belittle himself in realizing the blueprint of the great empire. In Eryuehe’s novels, what distinguishes the great emperor (Kangxi) from other people is his unprecedented ambition to build an unparalleled empire and the supreme ability to deal with the unbearable pressure, which requires that the emperor must have superhuman strength and wisdom, and at the same time, be aware of his insecure situation within the empire and in history. In The Great Emperor Kangxi, Eryuehe accentuates the ‘greatness’ of Kangxi. “Yao Xueyin criticized me for using the word ‘great,’ ” Eryuehe writes in his cor- respondence, “yet my central gist is to describe his ‘greatness.’ ”28 He then lists various great accomplishments of Kangxi, concluding that the emperor’s enor- mous martial and civil achievements could be compared with those of Tang Taizong and Song Taizu, which make him one of the greatest emperors in a thousand years.29 Implicit in this assertion is that Kangxi’s ‘greatness’ is conditioned by the great empire he established, only through which is his legitimacy secured and his authority acknowledged. The relationship between the emperor and the empire in Eryuehe’s statement nonetheless manifests the deeply rooted imperial-time-order. By situating the emperor in thousands of years of Chinese history, time assumes the ultimate subjectivity and agency, while individuals can only strive to define

27 Eryuehe, Yongzheng huangdi—jiu wang duo di [Emperor Yongzheng Vol. 1—Nine Princes Compete for the Crown], 629. 28 Ibid., 240. 29 Eryuehe, Eryuehe zuopin zixuanji [Self Selected Works of Eryuehe], (Zhengzhou: Henan wenyi chubanshe, 1999), 220. The Fascinating Empire 265 their respective standing. An informed wisdom includes one’s recognition of his positioning in time and history, and staying within the limit testifies to one’s definition of his identity. In this temporal framework, time manifests itself with a double structure: empirical time, or timing, associated with practical situations; and transcendent moral time, which determines the succession of the throne and the fate of the individuals. However, unlike Ling Li’s novels, in which events presage a developmental future, the two features of time in Eryuehe’s novels exhibit a tense relationship with each other. While empirical time, or timeliness, involves chance and strategy that calls for individual agency to manipulate timing in order to deal with uncertainty, transcendent time is an all-encompassing fate that undermines individual agency, as though everything is foreordained, and there is no alternative possibility. Yongzheng’s accomplishment and his unfortunate demise demonstrate this delicate view of agency and fate. As bildungsromans, the novels of the emperors by Ling Li and Eryuehe render visible both the emperor and the empire. The visibility of the emperor’s private life, needless to say, is not a modern phenomenon. In imperial times, the reigning Chinese emperor was invisible on the public horizon. Although he was the symbol of power and loomed large in popular imagination, he lived behind multi-layered walls; very few people had access to his inner court. His given name was taboo and his personal image was not circulated among the population. As scholars have noted, it is the absence of the emperor that licensed popular imagination of him as a divine figure associated with gods or dragon spirits.30 However, once his dynasty was succeeded by another, an emperor and his private life in the previous periods could become entertaining material widely circulated among the populace. The simultaneous sanctifying and de-sanctifying of the emperor’s status testifies to the conditional positioning of the emperor in the transcendent imperial-time-order: his status depends on the legitimacy of the dynasty and his life judged by history. Since the abdication of the last emperor in 1912, the image of the emperor has been further de-mystified, and past emperors’ lives have become more available to mass consumption. Yet the interiority of the emperor’s psyche remained relatively underexplored until the 1990s when the unprecedented visibility of the emperors, especially the visibility of their psychological state, peaked the de-sanctification and consumption of the emperors’ image in the post-socialist era. These representations make the emperor an extraordinary individual who has to execute his agency following the historical shi-trend.

30 Peter Zarrow, After Empire: the Conceptual Transformation of the Chinese State, 1885–1924 (Stanford, CA: University of Stanford Press, 2012), 12. 266 Chapter 8

Meanwhile, the presence of the empire also reflects the rise of China in contemporary world. At a time when commercial culture has increasingly fragmented the established social structure and de-sublimated the revolutionary narrative, the historical novels have provided a counter-revolutionary discourse, one that promotes unity and abundance associated with the shared cultural root. Material scarcity reinforced by keen competition in the market, commonly felt spiritual emptiness owing to the lack of a sublimated ideal, and newly emergent confusion resulting from the intensive social transformation, have all found a solution, or refuge, in the historical novels, which provide a ‘fascinating’ picture of the imperial culture. Not that the ‘empire narrative’ has projected an idealistic fantasy image which leads people to turning away from reality, but that it has mirrored reality in the sense of providing reassuring precedents in history that “we have been there before, everything will be fine as long as we. . . .” Such a corrective portrayal of history functions not so much to criticize reality as to articulate the transcendent notion of Minxin-Tianxia. In other words, even though historical novels have given evidence of the historicity of the time in which they were written, they have provided not so much pragmatic solutions to the current crisis as reassurances of a universal truth transcending any time and space. They have been not only a product symptomatic of their authors’ social context, but also driven by an unconscious historical paradigm—the imperial-time-order. Meanwhile, the detailed portrayal of power struggles in history epitomized the empirical situation and the richness of Chinese culture. Hence, the ‘empire narrative’ overall bears a double structure as both transcendent and empirical, with the transcendent organizing the empirical and the empirical containing the transcendent. Moreover, the voluminous TV series expanded the empire narrative to a broader scale. Most of the novels of Ling Li and Eryuehe were adapted into television dramas, participating in a larger trend of visualizing empire. Yet in the television dramas, the heroic image of the emperors appears to be more unified and harmonious, while the tensions among the characters and discourses are secretly resolved not only in language, but also in image. Insofar as a TV series has greater representational capacity than film, and is more visually appealing than novels, it possesses a comparative advantage in representing the idea of empire and projecting the image of harmony and abundance. Chapter 9 Tianxia Revisited: Empire and Family on the Television Screen

Europeans suffered from a schizophrenia of the soul, oscillating forever unhappily between the heavenly host on the one side and the ‘atoms and the void’ on the other; while the Chinese, wise before their time, worked out an organic theory of the universe which included nature and man, church and state, and all things past, present, and to come. Joseph Needham Science and China’s Influence on the World

Nothing has been more influential than television drama in cultivating a broader audience for the ‘empire representation.’ It is the television series that most directly contributed to the ‘empire fever’ at the turn of the twenty- first century. From the late 1990s, almost all the mighty dynasties of imperial China—the Qin, Han, Tang, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties and their associated influential emperors—have been represented on TV to shower the audience with convoluted stories and splendid images. Like historical novels and films, the television emperor series speaks volumes to the fragmentation of post-socialist Chinese society and articulates Chinese recognition of a new global time and space. Nevertheless, unlike historical novels that could be seen as works of the writer’s individual creativity, television dramas have been by and large collective products that are designed to follow mainstream Chinese morals and ethics and to cater to popular imaginations.1 Moreover, unlike films on the historical emperors, which targeted both domestic and global markets and therefore exhibited conflicting perspectives on history, television dramas have mainly attracted the Chinese-speaking audience in what Ying Zhu called the “cultural-linguistic market.”2 As a result, they reflected the confluence of

1 Yin Hong and Yang Daihui, “Zhongguo dianshiju yishu chuantong [The Artistic Tradition of Chinese TV Drama],” in Qu Chunjing & Zhu Ying, eds. Zhongmei Dianshiju Bijiao Yanjiu [Comparative Research on Television Drama between China and America], (Shanghai: Sanlian shudian, 2005), 343. 2 In their recent work on Chinese television, Ying Zhu and Chris Berry described the ‘global phenomenon’ of Chinese television this way: “The increasing flows of programming, talent, and funding across borders, along with the establishment of transnational satellite-based stations and channels, mean that ‘Chinese television’ today is a global phenomenon. But

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��6 | doi ��.��63/9789004309302_011 268 Chapter 9 intellectual discourses and government policies within China, placing practicality ahead of idealism and corresponding to the Hu-Wen regime’s advocacy of a ‘harmonious society.’ Moreover, insofar as the emperor series underscored a shared cultural root among people of Chinese descent around the world, they simultaneously de-centralized and re-centralized the imagination of a Chinese identity. The seemingly flat, artificial imperial images are thus imbued with a vertical structure, a temporal depth that signifies the lasting influence of the Chinese empire. This chapter will address the ‘empire fever’ in the televisual field. I suggest that the figure of ‘empire,’ embodied in the lavish images and bearing transcendent values, is one of rather egalitarian social relations that put the emperor not on top of, but within, the people. Due to the specificity of the media, this construction of the ‘empire’ and the articulation of Tianxia point to harmony between family and empire, between the emperor and the people. Textual analysis reveals a dialectic between enduring contradiction and ultimate harmony that spills over the textual frame, and calls for a capable leadership to create a harmonious world embracing discrepancies and welcoming differences. In the ensuing sections, I will first focus on the textual analysis of the emperor series in general, and Han wu da di in particular, to address the concept of ‘empire,’ then move to the representation of ‘empire’ in a contemporary China-global context. I argue that the emperors’ images seamlessly navigate through and offer imaginary solutions to layered questions that are otherwise in conflict with each other: domestic discordance emerging from economic reform that begs for answers, the legitimacy of government policies that have betrayed revolutionary ideology, national imagination in the new global time

what does this mean? Satellite and cable packages aimed primarily at migrant communities make selected Chinese-language programming available to viewers with the funds to subscribe in most countries and territories on the planet. A number of Chinese-language stations operate in the United States, and Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, and Canada all have Chinese-language stations. Furthermore, Chinese-language programs are not produced only in the core Greater China territories of Hong Kong, Taiwan, and the People’s Republic of China. They are also produced in Australia and many other countries, and Chinese cultural programming in other languages is produced in still more.” In Ying Zhu and Chris Berry, “Introduction,” in TV China, eds. Ying Zhu and Chris Berry. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2009), 2. Although this definition emphasizes the rationale behind the idea of the “global phenomenon,” I still doubt the scale of the global access of the Chinese TV program. As long as Chinese TV production is aimed at the Chinese-speaking audience rather than being translated into other languages to attract global audiences as English or Spanish TV programs are, to say it is a global phenomenon is either a stretch or too early to assert. Tianxia Revisited 269 and space, and self representation of a national identity that negates a victim mentality, etc. Enveloping all these layers of questions, the image of empire and the imperial discourse of Tianxia seem to illuminate a China-specific path and project a symbolic harmony into the future. Therefore, beneath the symptomatic representations of imperial history, the discourse of Tianxia reveals a paradigmatic imperial thinking that not only appears relevant to today’s world, but also continues to shape the popular imagination and justify the reform policies of contemporary Chinese society.

What is an Empire?: The Energy Flow Scheme

Scholars in recent years have attempted to redefine the concept of ‘empire’ on various occasions.3 Whatever the emphasis, people are reminded of the static qualities associated with an empire: wealth, power, extended territory, and political, economic, and cultural influence over other countries. In the world of contemporary Chinese TV series, nevertheless, beyond such assumed qualities, the traditional is mostly represented in a temporal, dynamic way. It is usually embodied in a young emperor, develops with the growth of the emperor in the early stage of a dynasty, and through the emperor, manifests itself as both a concrete and a moral entity embodying dynamic relations that put Tianxia at the center of the imperial ideology. However, the concept of Tianxia is first and foremost unfolded in the imperial family setting where the emperor has to fulfill his double identity as a filial son or grandson subject to filial piety and a transcendent emperor subject to the discourse of Tianxia. The traditional homology between family and empire might be the reason behind such a narrative strategy, yet the specificity of the media as an art targeted at home audiences must also played a role in this design. The imperial family is presented as the microcosm of the empire on the television screen, dramatic interactions among the most powerful people being troubled about family affairs comparable to those of the ordinary family yet more complicated in scope and larger in scale. The term ‘power fetish,’ used by some cautious critics to criticize the mesmerizing ideological effect of the historical dramas,4 testifies to the negative function of such a glorifying

3 See Hardt and Negri, Empire; Peter Katzenstein, A World of Regions: Asia and Europe in the American Imperium. (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2005); and Dominic Lieven, Empire: The Russian Empire and Its Rivals (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002). 4 See Zhang Dexiang “Lishi ticai dianshiju siti [Four Topics on Historical Television Series],” in Qu Chunjing and Zhu Ying, eds, Zhongmei dianshiju bijiao yanjiu [Comparative Research on 270 Chapter 9 portrayal. Yet the splendid image of the imperial family nevertheless projects a sense of all-encompassing unity, abundance, and the ultimate harmony achieved after balancing different interests among the family members and the empire. The combination of epic (grand history with historical depth) and melo- drama (that seeks emotional identification) and the tension between them, between the grand and heroic, on the one hand, and the trivial and familial, on the other, unfolds the emperor’s double identity as he strives to fulfill his role as both an emperor and a family member. In the emperor series, in most cases, the emperor is situated in the complicated network of imperial family members, court officials related to the emperor by marriage, powerful generals who can both protect and threaten the throne, and the other subordinates associated with different power groups. He has to position himself within the network of family plus empire, empiri- cally in the family and transcendently in the empire. To secure his position, the emperor has to subject himself to the larger imperial rhetoric Tianxia; to be successful and great, he is forced to manipulate different forces and consolidate them into positive energy for the prosperity of the empire. The familial space, in this sense, becomes the foundational node for the interaction of forces, in which the emperor is both surrounded and elevated, being both inside and outside—within the family as a member of it, outside it as a transcendent emperor. The tension between the family and the empire, hence, resides in the emperor’s double identity, which could either fail him as an emperor if he cannot balance the duality or fulfill him if he could master the flow of different political forces around him. The great emperors, such as Emperor Wu of the Han or the Kangxi Emperor of the Qing, are such masters who have artfully dealt with this double identity and brought the contradictory forces into the fullest harmony. However, the compromise and reconciliation of forces are not so much the Confucian ‘middle way’ as the continuous transformation of forces through the emperor’s manipulation. In other words, the forces are far from fixed in terms of their function as constructive or destructive to the emperor’s rule or the strength of the empire; rather, they are relative and exchangeable. They are in the constant flux of change between imbalance and equilibrium. Just as the Book of Changes describes them, yin and yang, or the positive and the negative energies, are interchangeable while the optimal state is their being in changing

Television Drama between China and America], (Shanghai: Sanlian shudian, 2005), 486–502. Also see Tang Zhesheng. Zhongguo dangdai tongsu xiaosho shilun [A History of Contemporary Chinese Popular Fiction], (Beijing: Peking University Press, 2007), 331. Tianxia Revisited 271 equilibrium. Whereas at one point one force is positive for the empire, it may become negative later; whereas in one circumstance the forces are balanced under the emperor’s control, in another circumstance they may turn out to be imbalanced and threaten the emperor’s rule. To bring about the optimal function of the state, the emperor is forced to realize this dialectic and adjust his own strategy so that he can balance the power groups and try to reach the maximal equilibrium. The Chinese TV dramas present a striking parallel and contrast to Jin Guantao’s discussion of the ultrastable system of Chinese history. Jin argued a theory of internal forces that determine cyclical shifts between order and disorder throughout the entire imperial history.5 Inspired by the theory of homeostatic systems that Joseph Needham had applied to his study of Chinese civilization, Jin observed the Chinese empire as a mature, ultrastable living organism with a powerful internal modulating scheme to maintain long-term stability. Specifically, the imperial ideology legitimized the ‘the Grand Unity’ and the literati-official social estate enforced the internal compromising power of the organism. Since it was almost impossible to prevent corruption in such a huge bureaucratic system, or to prevent land annexation due to the territorial scale of the empire, unification and internal equilibrium faced constant challenge. Generally, in order to secure his transcendent position, the emperor had to maximize his modulating power through balancing different power groups. In that sense, the contradiction between the emperor’s unlimited power and limited compromising ability constituted the fundamental dilemma within the empire. The wise emperor learned from the lessons of the past and balanced the power groups to the advantage of the unified empire, which would restore order and bring about prosperity. Such an analysis offers a fresh perspective on the cyclical structure of imperial history as it has appeared on TV, and most importantly, it is possible to epitomize the gigantic institution at the core of its power—the imperial family—to describe the dynamic of forces within the empire. However, unlike the theory in which the basic tension is between the emperor’s unlimited power and limited balancing ability, which ultimately leads to internal decay of the empire, in the TV series on the heroic emperors, the basic tension is between the emperor’s limited power and unlimited modulating ability. Since the emperor is so aware of the negative consequence of his abuse of power, the pressure stimulates and brings out his talent and wisdom to reconcile

5 Jin Guantao, Zai lishi de biaoxiang beihou—dui Zhongguo fengjian shehui chao wending jiegou de tansuo [Behind the Phenomena of History—An Exploration of the Ultrastable Structure of Chinese Feudalist Society], (Chengdu: Sichuan renmin chubanshe, 1983). 272 Chapter 9 the powerful groups and assemble the forces to his advantage. Moreover, the empirical familial situation is more complicated than theory. Far from being independent with absolute authority, the young emperor in many cases is fet- tered by influential people around him. Besides the powerful officials who have potential to overthrow his throne, usually there is a mother, or grandmother, who has been helpful in his attaining the throne, yet continues attempting to maintain her authority over him. Emperor Wu of the Han and Emperor Kangxi of the Qing are two obvious examples in the television representations.6 To balance the tension between filial piety and loyalty, the emperor is also forced to employ rhetoric, strategy, and tactics, to strive for his autonomy. In a word, the successful emperors all stand outside this ultrastable, self-decaying imperial organism, and it is the TV series that visualizes their lives and accentuates their individual greatness.

The TV Series The Great Emperor Wu of the Han

The best example to describe this ‘energy flow scheme’ conducive to the image of the emperor is the TV series Han Wu da di (“The Great Emperor Wu of the Han”).7 Adapted directly from official history texts such as Shiji (“Records of the Grand Historian”) and the Hanshu, this serial drama represents a heroic image of Emperor Wu (156–87 BCE) of the Han dynasty, commonly regarded as the greatest emperor since Qinshihuang unified China. Broadcast during primetime on Channel One of CCTV, the series was offered as a serious representation of the Han dynasty and the emperor’s life. In the video edition, the series was advertised as follows:

He bequeathed a people confidence to live proudly through thousands of years; his dynastic title became the eternal name of a great people; the greatest empire in Chinese history; the contemporary screen presents the cruelest battle in the warring history of milennia . . .8

Obviously, pride, glory, greatness, and martial achievement are the intrinsic qualities the series is dedicated to present in both the emperor and the

6 In both the TV series Han Wu da di and Kangxi wangchao (Kangxi da di), the roles of the mother and the grandmother are elaborated in detail. They are portrayed as extraordinary women with farsighted wisdom and personal limitations. 7 TV series Han Wu da di, directed by Hu Mei; written by Jiang Qitao. 2005. 8 VCD cover. Hongen wenhua shiye youxian gongsi. n.d. Tianxia Revisited 273

Han Empire. However, not surprisingly, these grand qualities are also mainly exhibited in family settings, among the imperial family members and their associates. The series comprises fifty-eight episodes, the first seventeen of which depict Emperor Wu’s childhood centered on his father, Emperor Jing, who is troubled by trying to balance the power struggles among his mother, younger brother, other Liu family princes, and the imperial concubines, in order to build a peaceful foundation for his successor. An inexperienced child without the title of crown prince, the unprivileged young prince is already situated in the middle of the swirling complications within the imperial family. The relationship between the father and son, hence, not only is crucial for the relative status within the family, but also determines the future of the empire. In this sense, the detailed portrayal of Emperor Jing is vital to understand the growth of the young emperor. It is the father (under the influence of other family members) who determines his status as the new crown prince, and introduces him into the power machine of the empire. As Dou Ying comments on the emperor’s intention to imprison the former crown prince, the father is removing the thorns for the next emperor, since every emperor in effect stays in a cluster of thorns [Episode 14]. It is the father who painstakingly tries to secure the centralized and transcendent status of the future emperor so as to pave the way for the son’s future success. Generally, as emperors, the father and the son share the same position in the family and the empire. The position could be described in the following diagram (Figure 9.1): Both emperors (and all the emperors in imperial China) have to deal with three groups that pose a potential threat to the throne: the princes from the same imperial lineage with hereditary fiefdoms, the families close to the emperor through marriage, and the powerful generals who have authority in the army. Of course, the three groups are not separate, but sometimes interact and overlap, and in most cases, they are in competition for wealth and power. For instance, in this drama, Prince Liang is also the favorite son of Empress Dowager Dou, and thus he has both the imperial blood and the Dou family’s support. Similarly, generals Wei Qing and Huo Qubing are the relatives of Empress Wei, and their promotion cannot be totally separated from nepotism. The emperor is at once dependent upon them and scrupulous in employing them. In order to secure his rule, the emperor needs to negotiate with different groups to let them balance each other so that the contradictory energies among them can be transformed into positive energies to carry out his policies. In addition to letting the different power groups balance each other, the emperor also needs to employ harsh officials who dare to challenge these powerful people, supervise them all, investigate crimes, and enforce the law. On 274 Chapter 9

Figure 9.1 The network facing the emperor, with the relationship of relatives to Emperor Wu in parentheses. the one hand, this ensures that the emperor does not have to directly face the family members (especially those of his older generation); on the other hand, this is effective in preventing any single group from growing overly dominant. The double structure of family and empire determines that the emperor’s life is filled with tensions and contradictions. Inasmuch as any family situation is also an affair of state, it forces the emperor to decide strategically when to obey a family rule (e.g. filial piety) and when to follow the law of the empire. The tension between the family and the empire, between different power groups, thus, constitutes the primary flow of conflicts to unfold the emperor’s life, and with it the plot of the TV series. Each episode presents one or several aspects of the tensions, generating suspense in leaving the tensions unresolved. Once the former tension is solved or the power imbalance achieves equilibrium, new tensions appear, and a new imbalance awaits leverage. Moreover, the relative power position is in constant evolution, so much so that the roles played by characters in supporting or undermining the emperor are interchangeable, which renders the storyline unpredictable. For instance, Empress Dowager Wang (Lady Wang before she becomes the empress) and her brother Tian Fen represent the constructive force in the beginning to help the young prince win the crown, yet they turn out to be relatively destructive after the young emperor takes the throne. The dramatic unpredictability not only facilitates Tianxia Revisited 275 portraying the emperor as a hero with superb wisdom who can always sufficiently transform diverse agendas of characters into productive achievement, but also situates the audience, enfolding them in the field of family/empire to yearn for the final reconciliation among the powers. Han Wu da di presents Emperor Jing as a far-sighted strategist and Emperor Wu as surpassing him in both civil and martial achievements. In the first seventeen episodes, it shows that Emperor Jing continually identifies different forces and balances them to make sure that the emperor is the only authority in court. Yet his way to achieve this is strategic: he knows exactly how to compromise between his obligation to the family (mother) and to the empire. In order to resolve a hot debate between a Confucian and a Daoist scholar, he takes contradiction as the source of productive energy and directs it to a harmonious track. When the two scholars insist on their doctrine and refuse to be reconciled, the emperor articulates his opinion in the presence of the crown prince:

You cannot say that a person does not know how to eat fish if he refuses to eat fish bone; you cannot say that a person does not know how to eat horsemeat if he refuses to eat the poisonous liver of the horse [Episode 14].

Without commenting on either Confucianism or Daoism, he cleverly manifests his all-encompassing and pragmatic philosophy, which also indirectly echoes his strategic manipulation of the powerful forces. It is obvious that Emperor Wu inherits his father’s philosophy. Though he openly favors Confucianism over Daoism, he himself is far from a dedicated Confucian. His military ambitions do not follow Confucian principle, and his political ambition proves a composite of traditional intellectual thinking. Princess Pingyang sees him as a Legalist, yet in his later age, he is shown advis- ing his son to read more of Laozi. Indeed, what we see is an all-embracing emperor with unprecedented ambition, wisdom, and tactical skill. In the beginning of his reign, he allows his grandmother’s family to balance his mother’s family so that none is overpowering; meanwhile, he secretly collects his own men to train cavalry preparing to launch the campaign against the Xiongnu. When both grandmother and mother are dead, he has matured into an authoritative emperor with his own core of power to fulfill his desire to establish a great empire. No significant force can block his blueprint since he has learned to balance the power structure and elicited absolute admiration and loyalty from subordinates. However, the tension within the court and family continues, so that this not 276 Chapter 9 only pushes the narrative forward, but also increases the suspense for the harmonious climax. The image of the emperor is more heroic than perfect, and not all his treatments of situations are fair.9 In fact, more often than not, the audience is left to feel sympathetic toward some of the other characters, thinking the emperor is merciless or overly suspicious. Such an emotional identification casts a shadow on the positive portrayal of the emperor’s character, which, however, is balanced later in the presentation of the emperor’s emotional release and the lyrical display of the harmonious relationship between the emperor and his subordinates, and between the emperor and the common people. Such emotional display, however, begs for embellishment in visual representations, in addition to the verbal exchange.

The Performative Space of Harmony and Disharmony: Between the Emperor and his Subordinates

The relationship between language and image can be best grasped in the last meeting between the emperor and the great general Wei Qing. Wei Qing is the younger brother of Empress Wei, both of whom are from a lowly origin. Right after the young emperor developed affection for the empress (then a slave dancer in the palace), he noticed Wei Qing’s martial talent and promoted him as his imperial guard. Over the years Wei Qing has been crucial in the emper- or’s military success, most importantly, winning decisive battles against the Xiongnu Hun and thus eliminating the threat from the northern borders. Now the most decorated general at court, the emperor’s sister, Princess Pingyang, has fallen in love with and married him. Increasingly suspicious of Wei Qing’s

9 The director claims that the emperor’s image was faithfully based on historical records, yet the TV series deliberately skips over the ‘negative’ portrayals of the emperor in historical works. Things like the emperor’s active engagement in seeking immortality and obsession with Daoist practice, which are elaborated in historical anecdotes, are omitted to present the emperor as an overall hero with superb wisdom. See, for example, Ban Gu, “Han Wu gushi [The Story of the Emperor Wu of the Han],” in Zhongguo lidai duanpain xiaoshuo xuan [Historical Selection of Chinese Short Fiction], (Hong Kong: Shanghai shuju, 1968) 10–21. Similarly, in other TV series, such shortcomings of the emperors are also glossed over. For instance, Yongzheng wangchao (Yongzheng Dynasty) also deliberately dismisses lightly the emperor’s activity in preparing medicine for immortality. In a word, in general, the emperor series tend to glorify the emperors, and by and large portray them as heroes comparable to modern equals. Tianxia Revisited 277 growing power, the emperor divides Wei’s military authority with another general, Huo Qubing, and deliberately ignores Wei. A loyal servant of the emperor since his youth, Wei is saddened yet remains silent. However, as his death approaches, Wei decides to go to the palace to talk to the emperor about the crown prince, who is his nephew by Empress Wei and has lost the emper- or’s favor. Lying on a couch carried by servants, the sick general is enthusiastically greeted by soldiers, who still revere him (Figure 9.2). On the other side, the emperor orders his eunuchs to dress him formally and rushes out to greet the old general. At the sight of Wei outside the palace, the emperor stops, anx- iously watching Wei staggering up the steps (Figure 9.3). The camera dwells on the eyes of the two men, sentimental music plays, and the camera begins cutting back and forth from the emperor to Wei struggling up the steps and then to flashbacks of the growth of the young general in the emperor’s eyes, indicating their lifelong interdependent relationship (Figures 9.4 and 9.5). Uttering “Your Majesty,” Wei Qing eagerly approaches the emperor, who steps forward to embrace Wei Qing as he kneels (Figure 9.6). Both are shown tearful to see each other. [Episode 55] Such an idealized portrayal of the relationship between the emperor and his subordinates not only shows the general’s absolute loyalty toward the emperor as a foil to the latter’s greatness, but also softens the emperor’s image as a cold-hearted strategist and renders him accessible and forgivable. The disharmony in the past now gives way to harmony.

Figure 9.2 The soldiers worship General Wei Qing and volunteer to carry him. 278 Chapter 9

Figure 9.3 The emperor watches Wei Qing arriving at the palace.

Figure 9.4 The emperor steps down to welcome Wei Qing. Tianxia Revisited 279

Figure 9.5 Flashback of Wei Qing when he was young and conquered the Xiongnu.

Figure 9.6 Wei Qing kneels down in front of the emperor. 280 Chapter 9

The dialectical relationship between harmony and disharmony can be compared to the mutually dependent relationship between dramatic tension and visual representation, between diegesis and mimesis. While the dramatic series requires disharmony to develop the plot, the visual representation transforms the disharmony to harmony that leads to dramatic climax and psychological catharsis. Such a dramatic climax bears both historical and contemporary ideological significance. In fact, the meeting scene has an architectural quality of reconciling or harmonizing stratified discourses, what I term ‘stratification of image.’ In other words, the scene visualizes the ideal hierarchical relationship between people, in a disguised, lyrical, and visually appealing way. The palace, the steps, upward and downward directions all signify the vertical structure of the social strata, while the lyrical song (which is strangely a popular love song)10 and the public display of reciprocal emotions exhibit the seemingly egalitarian relationship that softens, mitigates, and harmonizes the hierarchy. Symbolically, Wei Qing represents a hero from a lowly origin supported on the shoulders of the common people, and the emperor represents the lonely ruler standing against the backdrop of the empire. In a sense, the lofty union of the ruler and the general idealizes the relationship between the lord and his subject, between the hero and the common people, and between the emperor and the empire. The reunion at once recognizes the hierarchy and masks it, suggesting that the relationship is both vertical and horizontal, naturalizing the harmonious social structure within the empire. The visual harmony compensates for the dramatic discordance, temporally balancing the endless contradictions. Whereas the drama constantly creates tensions to attract attention, the image stratifies the discourses and reconciles them. In this sense, the television screen turns out to be a performative space to transfer the multi-directional forces, between the family and the empire, between language and image, and between the textual world and contextual world. It at once dramatizes and reconciles the multi-dimensional contradictions, and also points to delivering the discourse of Tianxia.

10 This might indicate the homoerotic (or homosexual) relationship between the emperor and the general, as some historical anecdotes suggest. Yet in the TV series, there is no indication that the emperor is bisexual. On the contrary, he is portrayed as heterosexual. The love song mainly serves to idealize the relationship between the emperor and the general, given the contextual situation. Tianxia Revisited 281

Tianxia Revisited: Between the Emperor and the People

The most obvious scene to portray the relationship between Emperor Wu and the common people is the one in which the aged emperor with his little son (the future emperor) visits the martyr’s village [Episode 58]. Since the majority of the village men have been enlisted to fight against the Xiongnu Hun, the village now is full of disabled veterans and starving women and children. While the emperor is at first enthusiastic about the glory of the heroic village, he is shocked by what he sees: aged veterans deformed, haggard women in rags, and skinny children naked. Although the veterans show great enthusiasm at seeing the emperor, in a loving, admiring rather than distant or fearful way, he cannot help feeling guilty about the cost of his military aggression (Figure 9.7). Standing in front of the monument of the martyrs against the ordinary people kowtowing at his back, the emperor silently sheds tears, murmuring to himself, “No war ever again.” Upon the inquiry of the little prince, he holds the boy up in his arms, symbolically placing the future emperor among the common people, between the dead and the living, and between foreign and domestic affairs (Figure 9.8 and 9.9). Indeed, the image puts the emperor among, rather than above, the common people, figuratively suggesting the logic of the empire—Minxin-Tianxia (“Whoever gains the heart of people will govern all-under-Heaven”).

Figure 9.7 The emperor is dismayed by what he sees in the veterans’ village. 282 Chapter 9

Figure 9.8 The emperor stands in front of the monument dedicated to the martyrs.

Figure 9.9 The emperor holds up the little prince standing between the monument and the people behind him. The little prince says: “Father, don’t cry, don’t cry.” Tianxia Revisited 283

In the succeeding sequence, we are told that an attempted assassination has been prevented in the palace. It is the former prince of the Xiongnu Hun, now the bodyguard of the emperor, who saves the emperor’s life. The conversation between the emperor and the Xiongnu prince suggests that the Xiongnu Hun are absolutely subdued by the Chinese, both militarily and psychologically, implying great accomplishment and harmony in foreign affairs. On the other hand, the assassination attempt, together with the experience in the martyr’s village, reminds the emperor of the domestic disharmony. He later delivers a rescript of self-accusation to all-under-Heaven to criticize himself for being so militarily ambitious and ignorant of the people’s living condition, promising that future policy will be focused on the rehabilitation of the people’s wellbeing. Thus far, the TV series completes the loop of the emperor’s life. While he reconciles forces and accumulates the domestic resources to achieve glory in territorial expansion, the domestic people’s welfare constrains and holds back his personal ambition. While he learns to manipulate, balancing different forces to transform them to his advantage, he is far from being a free man who can carry out his plan at will. In fact, what he does can only be justified in the logic of the empire. It is the empire, or Tianxia, that legitimizes his behavior, and organizes the diversified forces into the highest level of harmony. Indeed, without the discourse of Tianxia, the emperor’s life would be full of inexpli- cable mistakes and unspeakable cruelty. Tianxia reconciles all.

History as Self-Deconstruction: Between the Emperor and the Historian

The emperor’s double identity makes it difficult to evaluate his life accomplishment. This is what the otherwise closed-structured TV series leaves open for the audience. The series is framed by the conversation between the aged emperor and the great historian Sima Qian. In the first and last episodes, Emperor Wu is shown talking with the historian about his historical writing, especially Sima’s evaluation of him. It is as if the entire drama is folded within the historian’s book, out of the historian’s writing, which is in fact the producer’s claim. However, the appearance of Sima Qian in the drama ironically destabilizes the historian’s writing, rendering the established perspective problematic. After reading the historian’s book on himself, the emperor is infuriated to the extent that he first orders the book burned, then changes his mind, yet spits a mouthful of blood and faints on the huge pile of bamboo slips. Later, during the meeting with Sima Qian, he expresses his respect for the historian’s righteousness and courage, yet continues to defend himself for what he did, 284 Chapter 9 suggesting that nobody could really understand his ambition, accomplishment, and sacrifice in order to build a great empire. Apparently moved by the emperor’s sincere speech, Sima Qian admits that the emperor is the greatest ruler for a thousand years, his achievement beyond the reach of others. Still insisting on keeping the objectivity of historical recording, he nevertheless implies that he might lack the perspective to write about the emperor, which to some degree denies his own writing [Episode 58]. There are, perhaps, two functions of this conversation scene. One is to show the emperor’s dramatic reaction toward the book, further accentuate his character as an overbearing yet open minded hero, and provide an opportunity for the emperor to defend himself; the other is to exhibit Sima Qian’s response to the emperor, to question the historian’s ability to write about such a great hero, and thus cast doubt on the objectivity of the historical account. Needless to say, such a scene serves to glorify the emperor’s image, liberate the emperor from historical writing, and reinsert him in the emperor’s own narrative, the narrative that justifies his goal to establish a great empire. It is the discourse of empire, of Tianxia, rather than the historian’s writing, that enfolds the emperor, the discourse that elevates the emperor’s cacophonous life into the highest harmony yet at the same time leaves the evaluation of the emperor open. Here, the intrinsic tension between the emperor’s double identities as an individual and an emperor, both inside and outside the family, situated in both an empirical situation and a transcendent realm, perpetuates itself and can only achieve reconciliation in the notion of Tianxia—all-under-Heaven. While the empirical situation is being elaborated and dramatized, the imperial discourse is omnipresent and transcendent. Unlike Giorgio Agamben’s description of the sovereign who “is at the same time outside and inside the juridical order,” and has a monopoly on deciding what is order or disorder,11 the Chinese emperor is automatically subject to both family law (filial piety) and the imperial discourse of Tianxia. It is Tianxia that enfolds both the emperor and the historian to judge the emperor’s accomplishment in history. Without the collective way of thinking and deeply-ingrained historical consciousness about a unified empire, one cannot fully comprehend the emperor’s image portrayed in this TV series. At the end of the series, the voiceover states that shortly after Emperor Wu’s death, the Xiongnu Hun divided into two groups due to the multiple attacks from the Han. One group went to China to live with the Chinese people, and

11 Giorgio Agamben, Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life, trans. Daniel Heller-Roazen (Stanford, California: University of Stanford Press, 1998), 15–16. Tianxia Revisited 285 the Xiongnu Hun as a people gradually disappeared owing to assimilation among the Chinese. The Chinese empire hence also consists of the blood of the Xiongnu. Thus ends the TV series of Great Emperor Wu of the Han. The flow of conflict is a scheme that finally leads to the great harmony of the Chinese empire—the inclusion of the Xiongnu Hun, symbolic of the all-encompassing, assimilative, and centripetal power of China. The emperor’s image is thus superimposed on the image of the empire, shown as the Great Wall, with the latter replacing the former, implying that while the emperor is deceased, the empire stays, in the images of the eternal landscape.

Emperor Series: Interplay of State Policy and Intellectual Visions

Hanwu da di was broadcast at a time when China began its swift rise at the beginning of the new millennium and the Communist party had just articulated the idea of creating a ‘harmonious society.’12 No doubt, the concept of ‘harmony’ reminds people of the Confucian notion of ‘benevolence’ and ‘harmony.’ The adoption of such a concept thus leads to speculation on the Hu-Wen regime’s official incorporation of traditional Chinese thought as another invention of the CCP’s ideology in the aftermath of Mao’s Sinicization of Marxism. It signifies the official abandonment of social class narrative and an ideological leap into the past to find theoretical inspiration for “Socialism with Chinese characteristics.” Meanwhile, the historical period of Emperor Wu, who is believed to have established the foundation of the great Chinese empire and institutionalized Confucianism as the enduring imperial orthodoxy, seems to mirror contemporary China in its speedy ascendance as a new global superpower. The coexistence of the Hu-Wen ideology and Hanwu da di therefore seems to signify the official resurgence of Confucianism in China. Indeed, one can find sufficient evidence for the grand return of Confucianism to public affairs. In late September 2004, when the TV series Hanwu da di was in production and shortly before broadcast on CCTV at the beginning of January 2005, the government-sanctioned grand ceremony commemorating Confucius was resumed in Qufu, Shandong province, the hometown of Confucius. It was the first public ceremony celebrating Confucius’s birthday since the founding of the People’s Republic. After so many years of banishment in the name of

12 The idea of ‘constructing a harmonious society’ was officially articulated during the 2004 National People’s Congress by the Hu-Wen administration as a signature ideology of Hu Jintao, and the TV series Hanwu da di was broadcast shortly thereafter on CCTV. 286 Chapter 9

May Fourth iconoclasm and the subsequent Maoist revolution, Confucius now returned to public purview with a glorious image and sublime acclaim.13 The highly ritualized memorial ceremony later won a glowing title as an “intangible cultural legacy” that is supported by the central government and widely cov- ered in the media. It is believed to have the functions of helping disseminate traditional morality, improve national character, consolidate national cohesion, promote world harmony, and finally, advance human civilization.14 In this all-encompassing narrative, Confucianism was reintroduced as a universal ideology that not only bears ‘Chinese characteristics’ and thus is relevant today, but will also contribute to world harmony. Shortly after, several influential New Confucian scholars initiated a serious discussion on the contemporary role of Confucianism, and a ‘cultural declaration’ signed by seventy-one well-known scholars was pushed forward to promote traditional Chinese cultural values as the core of Chinese cultural identity. Not surprisingly, the radical popularization of Confucian teaching by media-created celebrity scholars such as Yu Dan and the rapid spread of the ‘Confucian Institute’ around the world also elevated the momentum.15 In this context, the appearance of Emperor Wu on the television screen seems to foreshadow both the revival of Confucianism and the rise of China in the world. Some critics even see in the image of Emperor Wu the potential for rejuvenating China with Confucian doctrines.16 However, both the official discourse and the textual world tend to minimize the influence of Confucianism as we understand it. As discussed above, the textual analysis of Hanwu da di suggests not so much a harmonious society following Confucian teaching embodied in Emperor Wu as it does a world of disharmony that requires a strategic leader to achieve balance of power and concordance of society. For one thing, the emperor’s behavior cannot be contained in any single ideology. Rather, it is a composite of Confucianism, Daoism, and Legalism enveloped in the imperial discourse Tianxia that mirrors contemporary ideological plurality and complexity. Just as Emperor Jing’s discussion of fish and horsemeat echoes Deng Xiaopong’s pragmatic “black

13 In the Republican period, Jiang Jieshi (Chiang Kai-shek) supported the memorial ceremony in celebrating Confucius’ birthday, yet the activity was stopped on the mainland after the founding of the PRC. 14 Refer to online source: baidu baike (Encyclopedia of baidu). http://baike.baidu.com/ view/808108.htm. 15 Zhang Liwei. Hanwu di he Zhonghua minzu de fuxing zhi lu [Emperor Wu of Han and China’s Path Toward Revival].” Caijing shibao [Businesstimes.com.cn], Jan 23, 2005. Access online: http://www.angel-poem.com/history/hwemperor/hwemperor37.htm. 16 Ibid. Tianxia Revisited 287 cat, white cat” policy, Emperor Wu’s achievement resonates with China’s vision of a new era embracing diversified discourses and opinions. In this sense, it is the (dis)harmony in the TV series that lends itself to the imagination of harmony, and the conflicts among the characters and groups permit the vision of harmony in contemporary society. In her work on contemporary Chinese television, Ying Zhu makes an insightful observation that the booming historical dramas, especially the emperor series, are informed by the major intellectual debates among Neo- authoritarianism, New Conservatism, and New Left at the time, and manifest the common ground between state policy and popular sentiment within China.17 Specifically, the rise of the New Left intellectuals, who favor a strong centralized state and an alternative path toward modernization, coincides with the state policy to construct a ‘harmonious society’ grounded in Confucian doctrine. This assertion, despite its seemingly controversial labeling, nonetheless indicates the convergence of different forces conducive to the blossoming of historical television dramas, including political, economic, and intellectual forces. Or, conversely, it seems that all the different, even contradictory, social groups can find their voices in the textual world, in the open-text of the empire. Just as the power groups in court eventually find compromise or balance among each other, the image of the empire embraces and dissolves the conflict and offers a transcendent solution in the name of Tianxia. Indeed, television in China as a state-sanctioned yet market-oriented medium, distinguishes itself both from the ‘subversive medium’ which offers an unprecedented channel to propagate information that challenges political authority,18 and from what was originally conceived as the state-controlled medium for political propaganda. Rather, it attests to constant negotiations among different power groups in what Pierre Bourdieu calls “the Field.” For Bourdieu, society can be divided into multiple yet interrelated fields, among which different forces interact, compete, and negotiate with each other to gain legitimacy or power. Individuals, or a group of individuals, are ‘agents’ with various forms of capital, including cultural, symbolic capital, to operate within or between the fields.19 Therefore, any field

17 Ying Zhu, Television in Post-Reform China: Serial Dramas, Confucian Leadership and the Global Television Market. (London & New York: Routledge, 2008), 18–20. 18 Alvin Toffler. Powershift: Knowledge, Wealth, and Violence at the Edge of the 21st Century (New York: Bantam Books, 1990), 348. 19 Pierre Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power, edited and introduced by John B. Thompson, tr. Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991), 29. 288 Chapter 9 can be a space where multiple forms of capital are involved in following different game rules, and political or economic capital is far from the only ‘actor’ in the ‘field’ of television.20 In this light, television in China is not solely the product of political or economic capital, but is also still on the way to achieving a balance and harmony among different forms of capital. As many researchers point out, television in China today is experiencing an on-going negotiation between political, intellectual, and economic powers.21 On the other hand, the competition among different levels of TV stations determines that the audience is the ultimate judge of the programs. ‘The invisible hand’ of the market has involved different ‘agents’ in ‘the field’ of television. The audience, especially the educated audience, participates in both producing and consuming high quality TV series that satisfy social, educational, and entertainment functions. The encounter and compromise between different forms of ‘capital,’ especially between monetary capital and politics, suggest that TV productions have to be politically mainstream, market-oriented, and conducive to the security and stability of society. In this sense, the propagation of historical dramas indicates the underlying convergence in national imagination among the intellectuals, be they New Leftists, Nativists, as some characterize those who promote traditional values, or liberals. In other words, unlike film, which can demonstrate multiple, controversial, even extremely oppositional perspectives, television drama nonetheless blurs the boundaries of intellectual visions and provides a performative platform for a convergence of national imaginations. It is not that the state adopted the New Leftist or New Confucian view and superimposed it on the production and distribution of television dramas; rather, television dramas have resulted from the active negotiations between political and economic powers, and the confluence of intellectual visions of China’s future, which is projected onto China’s imperial past.

20 Bourdieu, On Television (New York: The New Press, 1998). 21 Liu Haibo, “Zhengzhi yu ziben de boyi [The Game-play between Politics and Capital],” in Qu Chunjing and Zhu Ying, eds. Zhongmei dianshiju bijiao yanjiu, 455–70; Joseph M. Chan, “Toward Television Regionalization in Greater China and Beyond,” in TV China, eds. Ying Zhu and Chris Berry (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2009), 33. Junhao Hong, Yanmei Lü, & William Zou. “CCTV in the Reform Years: A New Model for China’s Television?” in TV China, 51; Chris Berry, “Shanghai Television’s Documentary Channel: Chinese Television as Public Space,” in TV China, 72. Tianxia Revisited 289

Tianxia: The Figure of Empire in Domestic and Global Contexts

It is significant that the ‘emperor series’—spanning two thousand years of history from the first emperor Qinshihuang to the Qing emperors—all adopted a similar representational strategy. The imagination of the empire is opened up through the representation of the imperial family, and the theme of balance and harmony is the common trait among the representations. Even in the most prosperous, ascendant periods of history, such as the reigns of emperors Han Wudi, Tang Taizong, Qing Kangxi, the representations seek to dramatize empirical contradictions and leave harmony and abundance as the goal to be achieved or the background to be remembered. Each representation could be regarded as the epitome of imperial history, one that favors practicality over idealism, while the notion of Tianxia is omnipresent. In other words, even though the TV series idealizes the image of the emperors and their relationship with the people, the dramatic portrayal of the empirical situation accentuates the difficulty of achieving that kind of ideal. It delivers the message that, even in the most glorious historical period, it is hard for an emperor to succeed in managing affairs of state while carrying out an imperial blueprint. This has proven to be the case in other TV series as much as in Hanwu da di. Defending the glorification of the Yongzheng Emperor’s image in the TV series Yongzheng wangchao (“Yongzheng Dynasty”), the director Hu Mei wrote that she took Yongzheng as a reformist and the TV series was aimed at dramatizing the hardship he faced during his reform to accentuate his heroic image:

There is a latent theme in Yongzheng wangchao. That is, it is the difficulty of managing state affairs (zhi guo nan 治国难), and also the difficulty of benefiting the people (li min nan 利民难). For Kangxi to treat everyone generously and with tolerance is difficult; for Yongzheng to be strict and severe with subordinates is also difficult. In a word, it is hard to manage the ‘family.’ (dang jia nan 当家难).22

Setting aside the analogy between state affairs and family affairs, which has been discussed at length, the sympathetic attitude toward the emperor in Hu Mei’s speech as well as in the TV series implies understanding and sympathy toward contemporary reform. Insofar as “it is difficult,” it requires patience and

22 Fang Jinyu. “ ‘Gaige huangdi’ zouhong yingping, Yongzheng wangchao huobao jingcheng [The Reformist Emperor is Hot on the Screen, Yongzheng Dynasty Explodes in Beijing],” in Feng Xingge et al, eds., Jujiao “huangdi zuojia” Eryuehe [Focus on the “Emperor Writer” Eryuehe] (Guangzhou: Guangdong renmin chubanshe. 2003), 160. 290 Chapter 9 faith in the leadership from the people to support the reform. The ‘empire representation,’ hence, provides a justification for the side effect caused by contemporary economic reform on the one hand, and reassuring precedents in the prior periods on the other. Contemporary society has witnessed much social discord: the growing income gap between the rich and the poor, the disadvantaged working class expressing discontent in the competitive market, corrupt government officials trying to seek ‘rent’ from the economic reform, and the disoriented people struggling in the spiritual void. All these problems challenge the legitimacy of the reform and the market economy. Coincidentally, the historical TV series, especially the emperor series, all in one way or another address these kinds of problems, and provide a reassuring ‘cure’ centered on the heroic emperors. Nevertheless, the ‘cure’ is not so concrete or pragmatic as to suggest an effective way to resolve the problems, but rather symbolic and transcendent as manifested in the discourse of Tianxia and in the images of harmony and abundance. To some extent, the emperor series created an imaginary space to animate the vision of harmony and prefigure the images of central government leaders to identify with that harmony. Critics have observed that Emperor Yongzheng’s image overlapped with the then Premier Zhu Rongji who, iron-handed and cold-hearted, had also invited controversial criticism for his determination to push economic reform and fight government corruption.23 Similarly, Emperor Wu’s visit to the veterans’ village prefigured Wen Jiabao’s empathetic image as a loving premier devoted to the people. In each national catastrophe of the time, such as the earthquakes in Sichuan and Qinghai, Premier Wen Jiabao unfailingly presented his fundamental appreciation of human life and his deep concern for ordinary people’s wellbeing, which successfully won people’s love and support for him (Figure 9.10). Note that I use the term ‘prefigure’ not to assert that the top leaders were consciously imitating the great emperors’ images on TV, but to suggest that a traditional populist (min-ben) thinking guided and structured the pre- miers’ behavior, and that the imperial images on TV allowed the audience to make such a connection and imagine an idealized relationship between the leader and the people. Scholars have noticed the close relationship between the human-centered (ren-ben) policy of the Hu-Wen regime and the traditional mass-based (min-ben) populist imperial discourse. With the updated notion of ren (human)—an enlightened individual with self-consciousness—

23 “Diwang jiuxi de hong chao xinying: Zhu Rongji yu Yongzheng wangchao [The Contemporary New Image of the Old Emperor Play: Zhu Rongji and Yongzheng Daynasty],” online source: http://www.wyzxsx.com/Article/Class22/201005/154771.html. Tianxia Revisited 291

Figure 9.10 Premier Wen Jiabao in Yushu, Qinghai, after the earthquake, 2010. Courtesy of photographer Wang Peng. replacing the ignorant mass min, contemporary ideology nonetheless continues the imperial thinking that states: “people are the major concern and the ruler the minor concern” (min wei gui, jun wei qing 民为贵君为轻).24 Or, to put it in Mencius’s words, “de minxin zhe de tianxia 得民心者得天下” (“whoever wins people’s hearts will govern Tianxia”). According to this rhetoric, it is people that are situated at the heart of the empire. The articulation of ren-ben and Tianxia in the postsocialist context, hence, suggests a double- speak: not only is the imperial image employed to legitimize contemporary policy, but traditional thinking has also helped shape and structure contemporary ideology. In a recent study on the emperor series, Xueping Zhong engaged Zhang Yiwu’s discussion of Han Wu da di, focusing on the question of whether or not a new historical consciousness emerged from this TV series.25 In his critique, Zhang Yiwu enthusiastically celebrated the splendid image of the emperor,

24 Liu Hai and Dong Yongliang, “Yi ren wei ben he minben sixiang guanxi zhi tanxi [The Relationship between Human-centered Discourse and Mass-based Iideology],” online source: Wuyou zhixiang, http://www.wyzxsx.com/Article/Class22/201005/154771.html. 25 Xueping Zhong, Mainstream Culture Refocused: Television Drama, Society, and the Production of Meaning in Reform-Era China. (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2010), 67–74. 292 Chapter 9 believing the grandeur of the empire has negated/updated the victim mentality of the Chinese people that was so deeply inscribed by the modern critical intellectuals such as Lu Xun. For Zhang, the positive portrayal of the empire signified a ‘new collective imagination,’ a ‘new historical consciousness.’ However, for Zhong, what Zhang celebrated was nothing more than wealth and power, an old dream that has haunted Chinese intellectuals for more than a century. What was revealed in the emperor dramas was the age-old da guo qingjie, or, empire complex. Therefore, the new/old dichotomy did not apply.26 Whereas I appreciate Zhong’s insight about the continuity of the empire mentality, I do agree that Hanwu da di did signal a new collective imagination and a new consciousness about time and space. Just as Liang Qichao’s 1900 trip across the Pacific prompted him to recognize the relative time and space of China in relation to the world,27 the emperor series suggested a renewed sense of relative time and space to situate China in the new millennium. It was the relative time, or timing, or historical trend (shi shi 时势) that was different. By reconfigur- ing time and space in relation to the rest of the world, the audience saw in the emperor series what they could imagine to be their own reality. Moreover, in the global context, the propagation of the serial dramas throughout the pan-Chinese area and the overseas diaspora created a cultural- linguistic market comparable to those of the English- and Spanish-speaking worlds.28 Yet unlike English or Spanish TV programs that blur national boundaries when they circulate among the audience, the Chinese television dramas attracted the Chinese-speaking audience in a centripetal rather than a centrifugal way. In other words, unlike the multi-centered or non-centered English or Spanish TV programs, the Chinese television dramas, especially the historical dramas, reasserted the Chinese center yet expanded the national boundary by promoting and consolidating traditional values. As a result, the emergence of a Chinese cultural-linguistic market in the global context signified a simultaneous de-centralization and recentralization, or de-territorialization and re-territorialization. As Ying Zhu rightly argued in clarifying her argument in a more recent article, the success of the Chinese TV dramas in pan-Chinese areas manifested the convergence in portraying shared characteristics of being

26 Ibid., 69. 27 See chapter two for the discussion of Liang Qichao’s configuration of time and space at the turn of the 20th century. 28 Ying Zhu, Television in Post-Reform China: Serial Dramas, Confucian Leadership and the Global Television Market, (London & New York: Routledge, 2008), 3–4. Tianxia Revisited 293

Chinese.29 The imagination of being Chinese overlapping with the imagination of the Chinese empire, in this regard, not only exhibited the longing for the glorious past in redefining one’s self identity, but also suggested that the figure of ‘empire’ transcended national boundaries, and the imperial discourse of Tianxia (rather than the revolutionary ideologies) reincorporated the Chinese diaspora in reimagining a new Chinese identity. In this sense, the blooming of the ‘empire representation’ in contemporary China addressed multi-layered questions: it offered at once a much-needed assurance to elicit faith (in the government), confidence, and national pride from the people; a dynamic ‘field’ that brought diversified intellectual discourses into confluence; a rejuvenation of imperial thinking that inspired and justified contemporary policy; and a global counter-discourse for the building of a nation with ‘Chinese characteristics.’ It projected an all-encompassing image to indicate that China had ceased playing victim in the global arena and stopped producing antagonistic ideologies to exclude its own people. It underscored the configuration of a new time and space, a parallel of past and future that situated the present in the becoming of ‘China with Chinese characteristics.’ All these elements were embodied in the image of empire and enveloped in the concept of Tianxia. Tianxia, as a transcendent moral notion that normalizes unification and gave positive moral significance to the political regime, seemed to deposit the figure of ‘empire’ in both the imaginary and the symbolic realms, continuing to shape the vision of China’s past as well as its future.

29 Ying Zhu, “Transnational Circulation of Chinese-Language Television Dramas,” in TV China, ed. Ying Zhu and Chris Berry (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2009), 224–225. Chapter 10 Becoming-Minority: Chinese Characteristics in Minority Historical Fiction

Nomads have no history; they only have a geography. Gilles Deleuze

Minority historical fiction, as defined in Chapter Six, refers to those fictional works about imperial history, from either an individual or an ethnic minority perspective, that created an imagined, alternative account de-centering and deconstructing the totality of the well-established, dominant, official history. Usually a meditative exploration of culture and spirituality specific to a certain minority group, these works offered a rare glimpse into a different past, seldom-seen aspects of the present, and a bold thesis in imagining the future. In other words, although the writers took a minority stance, the purpose of their writing was nonetheless to elicit transcendent values or characteristics that could be critical and constitutive of the perpetuation of Chinese civilization, and their undivided attention to Chinese history put their works among the ever-expanding corpus of representations of Chinese empire. This chapter will deal with minority historical fiction that ranges from Su Tong’s fictional account of imperial history to Jiang Rong’s wolf epic on the Mongol grassland. Although most of these works focus on the modern period, contain a strong voice of the narrator/implied author, and depict diverse interactions between the minority and the majority, they converge in constructing positive national characteristics to re-imagine imperial history and redefine national identity. Specifically, all the works reveal a sense of emotional exile, self-banishment, and spiritual redemption, suggesting that the mainstream Confucian/imperial/Han culture is corrupt or stagnant and only by stepping outside of that culture can one find a cure for it.

Su Tong’s Wu Zetian and My Life as Emperor: The Individual Against History

Su Tong is well known for a number of works of historical fiction, which the Chinese critical field defined as part of what it termed “new historical

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��6 | doi ��.��63/9789004309302_012 Becoming-minority 295 fiction.”1 Among these, only two novels are set in imperial times, My Life as Emperor and Wu Zetian. Su Tong rejected the idea of labeling them “new historical fiction,”2 arguing that these two novels portray two different kinds of history.3 Nonetheless, the two novels do fit into the category of “new historical fiction” in the sense of “taking history itself as the material of thinking.”4 Both novels take up imperial history in two senses. In one sense the novels portray history as the ominous background, the lived time, of the individual’s life, while there is another sense of history that overlaps with the narrator/ author’s historical consciousness that situates the individual in a long stream of history. Following a maze of intrigues, oppression, and alienation, both novels convey a desperate atmosphere in the lived time of the characters in the imperial palace, caught in a spell, or verging on a bottomless abyss that would eventually swallow the characters’ rationality, beauty, and humanity. Transcendent time, or a historical consciousness, meanwhile, predisposes the narrator/character to take on an agonistic role. A Foucauldian analysis of these novels will yield a sensitive and rousing look at the imperial culture, in which the two protagonists, Empress Wu and Emperor Duanbai, are both agents trying to transform their pre-determined identity in the imperial structure. In each story, history appears to be a power machine of such stifling power that no one can escape its control. While both characters are rebellious, they differ in their attitude toward power. Whereas Empress Wu Zetian strives to transcend her designated gender role to become an emperor, the fictional Emperor Duanbai involuntarily gives up his assigned role as a puppet emperor. Empress Wu achieves the divine status of an emperor by losing her humanity; Duanbai regains his after stepping down from the throne. Su Tong suggests that the role of emperorship is incompatible with humanity. So long as it claims a divinely autocratic position, it tramples on humaneness.

1 Jin Han, Zhongguo dangdai xiaoshuo yishu yanbian shi [The Evolution of the Art of Contemporary Chinese Fiction], (Hangzhou: Zhejiang daxue chubanshe, 2000), 260. 2 Wang Zheng, “Su Tong fangtan [Interview with Su Tong],” in Wang Zheng and He Ping, Su Tong yanjiu ziliao [Research Materials for the Study of Su Tong], (Tianjin: Tianjin renmin chubanshe, 2007), 5. 3 Su Tong, Preface to Hou Gong [Imperial Palace], (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi chubanshe, 1994), 1. 4 Howard Yuen Fung Choy. Remapping the Past: Fictions of History in Deng’s China, 1979–1997, (Ph.D dissertation, University of Colorado at Boulder, 2004), 22. This quote disappeared in the book edition by Brill (2008). 296 Chapter 10

In Wu Zetian, the use of multiple narrative voices renders Empress Wu’s unprecedented success an unbearable failure, through which she appears to be a cruel monster who never escapes historical judgment. She is still defined and evaluated by her gender role, as a woman, a wife, a mother, and a sister, rather than as a capable ruler. Though the third-person narrative attempts to provide an objective account to celebrate her victories, the first-person narrative of her sons nevertheless portrays her as an inhumane mother. After she uses her husband, her friends, her sister, and her children as steppingstones to achieve power, she is seen to have alienated herself to the point of losing her humanity. Therefore, her success as an extraordinary woman is overshad- owed by her failure as a woman. As Su Tong claims, “I don’t have the desire to invent a Saint Empress Zetian, so this novel as well as this famous woman will inevitably fall into the historical stereotypes.”5 The term “historical stereotype” betrays the author’s consciousness that Wu Zentian’s image is more complex than what he portrayed, yet he feels justified to stress the overwhelming destruction of absolute power. Similarly, in My Life as Emperor, power transforms an innocent child into a paranoid tyrant, and his abandonment of that power leads to his enlightenment and redemption. A skillful mix of tragedy and farce, this novel traces an illegitimate emperor’s search for identity, starting from the day the adolescent Duanbai becomes the emperor thanks to the empress dowager’s secret manipulation. Growing up, Duanbai recklessly abuses his power to rebel against his role as a puppet emperor, until the legitimate prince overthrows and drives him into exile, during which he turns to a career as a tightrope walker. His favorite concubine Lady Hui is forced out of the palace and is discovered later working as a prostitute. His loyal servant, the young eunuch Swallow follows him into exile to become a juggler and is eventually killed by the invading Peng army. The fictional Xie dynasty falls, and Duanbai, the former emperor and tightrope walker, spends the rest of his days in a monastery walking the tightrope during the day and reading Confucius’s Analects at night. Fictional and dramatic as such, the novel nonetheless best serves Su Tong’s purpose to portray life as brimming with conflicts and turns played out on a historical stage.6 History turns out to be a myth or an allegory designating the imagined imperial order, wherein an individual freely traverses the border between past and present. Stylistically, the novel employs phonetic puns, metaphorical images, parallel storylines, symmetrical structure, and seasonal

5 Su Tong, Preface to Hou Gong. 1. 6 Su Tong, Preface to the English translation My Life as Emperor, trans. Howard Goldblatt (New York: Hyperion East, 2005), v–vi. Becoming-minority 297 cycles, to construct a degenerate imperial culture determining and consuming an individual’s life. Among the tropes, the most probing is the motif of the phonetic pun on the word ‘wang,’ which could refer to two distinctive Chinese characters in the novel: ‘wang’ (王, ruler) and ‘wang’ (亡, death). A not-too-subtle association, the double meaning of the term ‘wang’ (ruler-death) foreshadows the doomed fate of the imperial culture. Literally, it documents two emperors’ unavoidable deaths: the former emperor’s passing away in the beginning and the last emperor Duanwen’s violent demise upon the fall of the empire. Symbolically, it also suggests Duanbai’s death as an emperor when he is deposed, and therefore links the entire imperial culture with inevitable decline and fall. To some extent, the entire novel can be seen as Duanbai’s constant attempt to escape his designated identity and this imperial doom (ruler-death). As a child obsessed with playing, his original absentminded presence in court could be perceived as deliberate absence. The throne to him is nothing other than a prison constraining his childhood. Yet later when he gradually understands his puppet position and what this nominal position grants him, he starts willfully denying the duty of a responsible emperor by abusing his power, with the silent encouragement of the empress dowager. Cutting out the tongues of imperial women in the “Cold Palace” to silence them, and killing a loyal general on the battlefield to cover up his mistake in military planning are among Duanbai’s acts of self-destruction that no doubt contribute to his forced abdication. The coming-of-age story that traces Duanbai’s spiritual exile and documents his transformative journey from human to emperor (god) and to human again, culminates with his success as a tightrope walker witnessing the fall the Xie Empire. In the novel, the connection between ‘wang’ as ruler and ‘wang’ as death is articulated through a motif of birdcalls. As an embodiment of freedom, a bird announces the death of the emperor and the beginning of a free individual. The image of a birdcall as a message of death first appears to declare Duanbai’s departure from the imperial palace as a dethroned, ordinary man:

I saw a gray bird fly by overhead, its strange cry slicing through the sky. Wang-Wang-Wang.7

The image later recurs several times, gradually reinforcing the curse on the emperor and the empire. It reappears when Duanbai parts with Lady Hui

7 Su Tong My Life as Emperor, 207. The quotation is from the English translation. In the original Chinese version, ‘wang’ here is the Chinese character 亡 (death). 298 Chapter 10 after she has become a prostitute, when he meets a young man who insists on remaining in a plague-stricken village in order to fulfill Confucian filial duties, and when Duanbai performs tightrope walking while envisioning the fall of the Xie palace. The birdcall unfailingly reappears to signify the end of an attachment—his last emotional attachment to his life as an emperor, the inhumane nature of the Confucian values, and the fall of the empire. Structurally, the motif of birdcalls verifies earlier, ominous messages from the madman Sun Xin, and the recurrence of the birdcalls replaces and echoes the repetition of Sun Xin’s message in the first half of the novel. Sun Xin, an old imperial attendant, plays the role of madman as soothsayer, one foresees the fall of the Xie Empire.

“Autumn is deepening, and calamity will soon befall the Xie Empire.”8 “The fire is out, and calamity will soon befall the Xie Empire.”9 “An assassin’s arrow has been shot, and calamity will soon befall the Xie Empire.”10 “Now that eunuchs have gained favor, calamity will soon befall the Xie Empire.”11 The Emperor is young, and very cruel, he muttered, and calamity will soon befall the Xie Empire. . . . His [Duke Zhaoyang’s] mournful comment was the same as the one that had so often come from the mouth of the madman Sun Xin.12 His [Sun Xin’s] deep red lips were parted, and it almost seemed as if I could hear his raspy voice say to me, Sun Xin is dead, and calamity will soon befall the Xie Empire.13

Sun Xin is dead, yet his reiterated, spell-like message foreshadows the impending calamity of the emperor and the empire, as if the events have been written and determined in advance, as if he is reincarnated into the bird continuing to cry for the end of the empire, and history. It is noteworthy that the image of the bird emerges together with the appearance of Lady Hui. Originally a free-spirited, quick-witted, charming girl, Lady Hui captivates the young emperor by her innocent motion of imitating

8 Su Tong My Life as Emperor, 5. 9 Ibid., 18. 10 Ibid., 24. 11 Ibid., 43. 12 Ibid., 77. 13 Ibid., 100. Becoming-minority 299 birds flying. The emperor falls in love with the girl as well as the birds. Palace intrigue among women gradually destroys Lady Hui, turns her into an overly sensitive, insecure, hateful woman, and finally brings an end to her life as an imperial concubine. On the other hand, the power struggle within and outside the court also transforms the young emperor into a cruel, immature, reckless ruler, and eventually leads to the end of his identity as an emperor. The image of a bird therefore signifies the two lovers’ pursuit of freedom, their desire to escape from the imperial culture, and their future adoption of new identities. There is a parallel storyline about the young Emperor Duanbai and Lady Hui, also repeatedly associated with the image of birds and birdcalls. When Duanbai finally fulfills his dream of becoming a free bird by becoming a tightrope walker, Lady Hui becomes a prostitute as an ordinary woman. Some critics saw the shift of identities, especially the change of Lady Hui’s identity, as a pitiful transformation. For instance, Wu Yiqin takes Lady Hui’s turning into a prostitute as the loss of Lady Hui and the last obstacle that Duanbai has to overcome in order to become enlightened.14 Yet in the novel, the narrator takes Lady Hui’s unfortunate experience as the depravity of the body and the epiph- any of the soul:

I assumed that so many coarse, low-class whoremongers had fundamentally changed this genteel girl from Pinzhou, a once lovely girl who had run beside the Imperial Stream flapping her arms like a bird. Now she truly did seem like a bird, one that had flown off, never to return, leaving behind only a degraded body that was beginning to smell.15 My beautiful, unlucky Lady Hui had already been transformed into a free-flying white bird, and from now on we would soar in the same skies, our meetings limited to brief encounters and a wave of the hand; this would legitimize our worship of birds and our dreams of becoming one. We had reached the same goal by different routes.16

It seems that becoming a prostitute is the only way for Lady Hui to gain freedom, to become a free bird. By discarding the Confucian moral code, Lady Hui liberates her body and soul to break away from the imperial structuring. Yet at the same time, her lowly status manifests what Lu Xun called the “iron

14 Wu Yiqin, “Lunluo yu jiushu [Depravity and Salvation],” in Dangdai zuojia pinglun [Review of Contemporary Writers], Vol. 6, 1992; reprinted in Wang Zheng and He Ping, Su Tong yanjiu ziliao, 311. 15 Su Tong, My Life as Emperor, 241. 16 Su Tong, My Life as Emperor, 264–265. 300 Chapter 10 house” of the imperial culture. Insofar as her social status stays low, she is not completely outside of the Confucian moral hierarchy. In this regard, Lady Hui’s change serves to awaken Duanbai to ponder Confucian culture in its entirety. The imagery of the flying bird signifying reincarnation is not only enhanced by the parallel storylines, but also reinforced by the symmetrical structure of the novel. Besides the balance of the ominous messages articulated by Sun Xin and the bird, Duanbai’s two identities also mirror each other. To some extent, being an emperor is also being a tightrope walker. The second identity—the king of tightrope walking (走索王)—is simply a literal manifestation of the emperor’s first identity. Both are risky, and the secret for both resides in the art of balance. On the other hand, the two identities also negate each other. Being an emperor is being a manipulated chess piece in the imperial palace; being a tightrope walker nonetheless results from free choice. Being an emperor means that his fate is predetermined by his role in history; being a tightrope walker makes him live again as a free-spirited individual. Duanbai succeeds as a tightrope walker by skillfully handling the rope, yet he fails as an emperor in court. In the last part of the novel, Duanbai puts two things in his backpack: a dog-eared copy of The Analects and a coiled tightrope, which he regards as two unrelated objects that have perfectly summarized his life.17 The symbolic meaning is transparent. While he has never been interested in reading The Analects as an emperor, he spends the rest of his life walking the tightrope and reading The Analects. Yet, about this bible of imperial rule, Duanbai notes, “Sometimes I feel that this sagely book holds all the wisdom of the world; sometimes I don’t get anything at all out of it.”18 Here exists the most ambiguous and ambivalent message of the novel. It is not clear why Duanbai fails as an emperor: whether because he has never learned to master the art of imperial rule—Confucius’ Analects—or because the imperial culture itself is doomed to destroy humanity and alienate people. In other words, is Duanbai’s failure a manifestation of the importance of Confucianism for the empire or the criticism of its strangulation of freedom and humanity? Duanbai’s remark seems to suggest both. On the one hand, it could mean that this sagely book holds the key to balancing power and morality for the success of the empire; on the other hand, however, it could mean that the book betrays its sagely reputation and has tricked everyone. The tightrope walker, the free flying bird, does not seem to be fully enlightened after all.

17 Su Tong, My Life as Emperor, 286. 18 Su Tong, My Life as Emperor, 290. Becoming-minority 301

In various places in the novel, there are remarks on history as false narrative: how later historians mistakenly portray Duanbai’s romantic life; how Duanwen is judged as an emperor who lost the empire; et cetera. It seems that Duanbai attempts to recover the real history with his own narrative, and feels that “we had both been tricked and made fools of by the forces of history.”19 The deconstruction of official history here exhibits the split consciousness of time: not only the discursive events, the forces of lived time, that have shaped the individual’s fate, but also the forces of nominal history, the emplotment of history, that could determine one’s value and position in history. This nominal history, presented in Confucian historical writing, is simply the imperial-time-order, the transcendent moral time that could engulf individuals in the current of history. With this consciousness of time, an individual can only dream of obtaining the calm, aloof, disengaged perspective of an outsider to history. As Su Tong once wrote, he wished that he could “transform myself into an old customer at some teahouse on an ancient street in the midst of a kaleidoscopic world with its teeming masses, and soak up the passage of time with my eyes.”20 Yet, he was also aware that it is difficult to have that outsider’s distance, since everyone lives in history and is defined by history. “The distance between the individual and history is both far and near. I see history as some music playing outside my wall or a scary dream on a rainy night; history might see me as an ignorant frog sitting at the bottom of a well.”21 The desire to create a distance and the awareness of the impossibility of this bring about Su Tong’s ambivalent agnosticism toward history: “what is real, and what is unreal?”22 Without obvious moral judgment, Su Tong manages to make his novel an organic whole of contradictions and ambiguities. Just as the name of the empire—Xie (燮)—suggests, what is meant to be ‘harmony’ ironically entails disharmony throughout the novel. However, as agnostic, sarcastic, and ambiguous as it is, the novel nonetheless is partial toward a sense of death, doom, and the end of the imperial culture, revealed in the ominous messages, the non-productive palace intrigues, the cold blooded killing, and natural catastrophe resulting from human behavior. History serves as a backdrop for an individual’s spiritual journey. Yet, rather than finding the lofty, the sublime, the enlightened, he finds himself involved

19 Su Tong, My Life as Emperor, 279. 20 Ibid., Preface to the English translation of My Life as Emperor, v. 21 Su Tong, Preface to Hou Gong, 1. 22 Ibid. 302 Chapter 10 in the writing of history, and also being written by history. History is an overwhelming existence. There is no escape. In contrast to other contemporary historical novels that celebrate the collective consciousness centered on the imperial discourse, My Life as Emperor reinvokes the resistance of the individual against the imperial structuring. Echoing from afar Lu Xun’s observation that ‘the feudal society eats people’ (吃人), Su Tong delivers a more ambiguous account to characterize the relationship between individual, empire, and history.

Wang Anyi’s Fact and Fiction: Family History Reconstructed

While Su Tong’s individualistic journey to the past brings about an ‘iron-house’ history that is decadent, suffocating, and unproductive, Wang Anyi and Gao Jianqun’s family histories seem to accentuate the revolutionary, productive aspects of history borrowed from minority groups. In Wang Anyi’s autobiographical novel Fact and Fiction, the narrator, a female writer based in Shanghai, presents an unusual account of matrilineal family history. Finding herself an orphan of a revolutionary family lost in Shanghai’s indifferent crowd, unable to identify with either the revolutionary ‘cadres’ who remain as outsiders of Shanghai and the local Shanghainese who still cherish their lost capitalist modernity, the narrator engages in a root-searching project to define her own position in history, which she believes will give her a sense of identity and convey a meaningful relationship. “I have always been trying to find and construct a fateful relationship, to locate my position in the crowd and clarify my situation, so as to avoid losing myself and falling into confusion.”23 The entire novel is structured around the questions: “who am I?” and “where did I come from?” As Huazhi Wang appropriately points out, Fact and Fiction directly responds to the contemporary identity crisis, and serves as an attempt to reconstruct the self and the national identity.24 The root-searching process is structured around temporal-spatial coor- dinates, with the vertical axis representing the historical timeline, the family lineage, and the horizontal axis signifying her personal relationship with the social environment. Each axis contains five chapters, while family history

23 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou [Fact and Fiction] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1993), 203. 24 Huazhi Wang, Problematizing the Nation: The “Wang Shuo Phenomenon” and Contemporary Chinese Culture (Ph. D Dissertation, Cornell University, 1999). Becoming-minority 303 and personal experience alternate with each other, forming a disjunctive narrative roughly following a chronological order. Starting respectively from the origin of the mother’s family and the narrator’s childhood, the two storylines eventually intersect at the narrator’s current position, post-socialist Shanghai. In other words, the narrator is both the starting point and the ending point of the narrative. She remains an omniscient existence as a character, a narrator, and an analyst, even in the exploration of the ancient family myth. Throughout the novel, the narrator maintains a first-person voice, continually employing phrases like “my ancestors,” “my great grandfather,” etc., to bridge the temporal gaps between ancient history and contemporary events. It forms a continuum of narrative segments, each representing a temporal progression, and imbues the reader with a constant awareness that in the end the temporal and the spatial will intersect, yet the intersection is continually delayed. The recurring juxtapositions of the past and present thus at once sharpen the contrast and bridge the gap between the past and the present during the process of reiteration. The portrayal of the narrator’s personal experience differs dramatically from the construction of her family history. A sensitive and meditative look at her own past from the 1950s, the narrator’s account of her life appears trivial and ordinary, unfolded in children’s play, neighbor’s small talk, gossip, and everyday relationships. Steering away from official history, her personal experience as a child living in Shanghai and later an educated youth sent down to the countryside seems to be organized around a series of arbitrary events that she has no control over. These arbitrary events, including the Cultural Revolution, the “up to the mountains and down to the countryside movement,” were commonly perceived as the heroic, grand historical projects undertaken during the narrator’s adolescence and young adulthood. However, against this grand tapestry of history, her story unfolds quietly, unremarkably, and self-reflexively in the trivia of everyday life. The revolutionary discourse that once mobilized several generations and stirred young people at that time is submerged and subverted in the people’s non-meaningful socializing activities. For instance, she observes that the students’ parades during the Cultural Revolution resembled today’s ‘parties.’ They liked parading because they could gain freedom from school, present themselves on the street, and develop precocious romantic relationships. For the narrator, parades provide a temporary community, one that has little to do with the nominal meaning of the event—revolution, but that creates an atmosphere of collectivity and sociality. Yet such collectivity is transient and artificial, unable to create a fateful relationship. “Just like the modern ‘party,’ the parade in effect creates an illusion that people are 304 Chapter 10 mingled together and getting along well. It is a smoke ball.”25 A seemingly grand historical event is thus reduced to the children’s performative socializing activity and the narrator’s musing on personal relations. Similarly, the narrator’s account of her life as a zhiqing (educated youth) transported to an Anhui village also provides an unusual glimpse into that time period. She treats the experience just as another contingent event, enriching her life when growing up. With no apparent scar, no unforgivable regret, she deems this period of personal history an important stage of life toward mat- uration, which lends her an opportunity to reflect on “fateful relationships.” History is represented in such a way that the insignificant things such as her partying with other zhiqing, staying with the resentful Director Zhang’s family, having dinner with her mother’s comrade, her “Uncle,” her negotiation with the commune to get a room, and so forth, become the fateful events in her life. Otherwise put, for the narrator, it is not the grand historical event—the Cultural Revolution—that has determined her fate, but her relationship with the local people that has altered her life. Through her experience in the village, she realizes what a fateful relationship is: “Survival binds us together. For survival we must depend on others, and be depended on. This kind of codependent-otherwise-both-fall relationship is a fateful relationship. Yet this codependence tires us out. Since we know that it is very important, we feel it is even more unbearable. We yearn for freedom and lightheartedness one day when we can get rid of this relationship like taking off our clothes.”26 She continues, “Yet after I come back to Shanghai, walking on the crowded street where freedom is everywhere and everyone is independent, I nevertheless feel confused. I find that freedom is tied together with loneliness. They are together.”27 Her desire to find a fateful relationship yet maintain individual freedom ends in a paradox. The important historical event, the Cultural Revolution, thus becomes a focus for the narrator’s intellectual and philosophical speculation. Her emotional detachment offsets the heaviness of history imposed on her, turning the otherwise unbearable memory into material for thinking, not about history, but about human relations. “To some extent, the Cultural Revolution resembled a big game (大游戏) or major gossip (大闲话) among adults,” the narrator writes. “It gave us an opportunity to experience all kinds of

25 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 128. 26 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 226. 27 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 227. Becoming-minority 305 human relations and broaden our life experience. . . . When it ended, the world went back to its normal track. We felt it was like a dream.”28 This assertion opens two avenues for understanding. First, a significant historical event is relativized as such lighthearted socializing activities as a ‘game’ or ‘gossip,’ rather than the more commonly accepted notions as drama, com- edy, tragedy, or farce. It not only counteracts the grand revolutionary discourse during the Cultural Revolution, but also dissolves the heavy traumatic sentiment prevalent after the Cultural Revolution. The narrator’s personal experience, therefore, lays bare a peculiar account against the sublime, the dramatic, and the traumatic portrayals of the Cultural Revolution, and forms a singular temporality against official and mainstream histories. Such a distinctively individual perspective to formulate the everyday as the basis of experiencing history, needless to say, deconstructs the grand narrative of history in every sense. History has been hollowed out, de-centered, manifesting multiple temporalities instead of just one single historical time. The historian of modern Japan, Harry Harootunian, once discussed the dis- juncture between the empty, homogeneous, modern time and the individual, lived, observed, human time as something characterizing Japan’s modernity, the contemporaneousness of multiple temporalities with the coexistence of the lived individual time and a totalizing national time.29 In light of this, Wang Anyi’s Fact and Fiction gives a particular version of the Cultural Revolution that reminds one of the ‘doubleness’ of history—official, mainstream history and lived, individual history. Second, the narrator claims that she discovers the fateful relationship during the Cultural Revolution when people have to rely on each other for survival, yet she later negates this statement by stressing that the Cultural Revolution is an irrational, abnormal event and thus the relationship developed during that time is temporary, neither profound nor fateful enough. “The Cultural Revolution in our lives seems to lack a logical connection,” she says, “it appeared to be so sudden. It came without the inheritance of our previous connections, and did not bequeath us any connections to pass on. Of all the relationships we developed during this time almost all disappeared afterwards. We just attended a game of destroying the old parade and forming a new one. Now that the game is over, we have returned to our old position and old track, never to meet again.”30

28 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 227. 29 Harry Harootunain, History’s Disquiet: Modernity, Cultural Practice, and the Question of Everyday Life (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000). 30 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 227. 306 Chapter 10

The narrator’s frustrated desire to find a fateful relationship to conquer loneliness in reality is intertwined with the desire to find her origin to position the self in history. However, in contrast to the trifling, almost loquacious portrayal of personal experience, the family history is fraught with grandiose glory and heroic adventure. Enthusiastically and stubbornly, she makes sure that her family history is one that combines legendary heroes, mystical beauties, breathtaking landscapes, bloody battles, and fateful events. As mentioned above, the alternate narrative between the ‘trivial’ in the present and the ‘grand’ in history not only intensifies the ‘triviality’ and the ‘grandness’ simultaneously, but also subverts the myth of history writing. On the one hand, the lived history opens up a temporal gap with the official or mainstream histories (as in the ‘scar literature’ of the late 1970s) and thus undermines the official history; on the other hand, by creating a history of her family, the narrator demonstrates how history could be constructed in a self-serving way. In other words, both the official history and her own history—experienced or imagined—could be myths. This self-deconstructive approach renders fact and fiction indistinguishable in both her personal and family histories and as such, reveals the paradox of her wanting both to deconstruct the contemporary history and to create a grand ancient history. On the one hand, the narrator may intend, consciously or unconsciously, to demonstrate that no matter how ‘revolutionary’ the time period, people still live their ordinary daily lives, and the grand narrative or sublime discourse only proves to be a fiction. Conversely, there is this perpetu- ally unfulfilled desire for meaning and determinacy, so much so that the illusion of ideology is a necessity rather than an option. The attempt to unmask official discourse and deconstruct official history is thereby undercut. Moreover, considering the gender or minority consciousness, the self- deconstructive approach may suggest that as a woman she is able to provide an alternative account of revolutionary history as feminine and quotidian. But again, paradoxically, her construction of the family history does not fundamentally differ from a patriarchal family myth. She chooses the mother, instead of the father, as the starting point to forge her family lineage. Yet from the mother on, back to medieval times, her family tree is still following a patrilineal track. Huazhi Wang observantly suggests that maybe it is precisely the writer’s gender consciousness, to show that in a patriarchal society, it is impossible to create a matrilineal history since all the links are missing.31 What is at stake in this paradox is the construction of the family history, which is hero-centered, sweeping through time and space, very much like an

31 Huazhi Wang, Problematizing the Nation, 367. Becoming-minority 307 epitome of Chinese history condensed in a family. The past seems to serve as the wish-fulfillment of the present, and the search for self-identity is extended to the search for national identity. The question thus becomes: in what position is the contemporary time period in history? Or, how can we position contemporary China in history? If an orphan is lost in the modern city Shanghai without a family history, a nation is also lost without referring to its past. The narrator’s root-searching adventure starts from her mother’s family name: “Ru,” which is a rare name in China, prompts the narrator to believe that all “Ru” people are connected by kinship. The historical materials direct her ancestry search to a nomadic people, the Rouran in the Northern Wei period. Yet her mother’s hometown, Shaoxing in Zhejiang province, is in the south. How did the uncultured, nomadic people living in the northern steppe end up being mingled with the rice-growing southern folks? Her hunting for the missing links therefore is characterized by the ‘travel’ back and forth from the nomadic, minority culture in the north to the agricultural, Han- centered culture in the south. In a broader sense, it is the quintessence of Chinese civilization, featuring ethnic interactions and the combination of martial and civil achievements. It is a probing process of ‘choosing one’s ancestors.’ Since the historical materials are scarce and fragmentary, the narrator has to make deliberate choices to select the materials. She confesses that during her research historical heroes always reside in the center of her choice, for “only heroes have the active strength and energy [to create history], ordinary people can only follow the trend.”32 For instance, among several possibilities, she chooses to believe that after the Rouran kingdom fell and disappeared from history, the rest of the Rouran people were subdued by another nomadic people, the Tujue, and later conquered by Mongols. The rationale behind this choice is that she needs Genghis Khan to be her ancestor:

Sometimes I feel my creation of history has the tendency that subject matter dictates research. Long before I found any materials, I had already decided to find a hero to be my ancestor. I always want to associate myself with a strong bloodline, consciously or unconsciously. This feeling originates from a wish, that is, I wish that the life that has been passed on to me has been a necessity instead of by chance. I wanted this life to have swept away all obstacles and for nothing to have prevented it from being passed on. I wanted it to have thrived wherever it went, blossomed

32 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 137. 308 Chapter 10

whenever it was seeded and born fruit whenever it blossomed. I wanted it to have marched on with songs and joys, and, with the confidence of decisive triumph, to have been passed down from generation to generation, eventually to me. Only a hero can realize such a wish.33 I must have a great hero as my ancestor. I don’t believe there has been no hero at all in my history going back several thousand years. Even if there hasn’t, I want to create one myself. I want him so distinctively brave and successful that all people are willing to follow him. His glory will shine all through the tunnel of time and illuminate our ordinary lives.34

“Our ordinary lives” motivates the wish to find a great hero as her ancestor. The other reason she picks Genghis Khan is because: “The Mongols were brave and adept in battle. They united the steppe and dominated the world for a time. The great name of Genghis Khan was known in all central Asia.”35 Note here that in Chinese history, Genghis Khan was unquestionably celebrated as a great Chinese hero. The Yuan Dynasty established by his grandson was considered part of the unified Chinese empire. Therefore, the impetus for the narrator’s selection of Genghis Khan is her sense of nationalistic sentiment and an Orientalist consciousness in today’s world. The narrator nostalgically imagines the glory of Genghis Khan’s triumph and self-mockingly confesses:

The glorious name of “invader” has tempted my vanity. In modern times, which I know about well, there have been all sorts of records of how other people have bullied us. Such traces were left everywhere in the streets of the city where I live. It was out of the question for us to even think about bullying others. The world after I was born was already settled into a stable picture of assignment, and territories defined by international trea- ties. “Invading” is again out of the question. We missed the glorious times of seeking hegemony and our life is very dull and ordinary. I can only project my fantasy to root-searching.36

This is an ‘Ah-Q’ style self ridicule. Rather than advocating imperialist invasion, it suggests an imaginary ‘vengeance’ against the foreign (Japanese as well as Western) powers that have exercised their hegemonic power over China,37

33 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 139. 34 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 137. 35 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 137. 36 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 172. 37 Huazhi Wang also made this point. See Huazhi Wang, Problematizing the Nation, 318. Becoming-minority 309 overcompensating for the uneasy feeling of national inferiority in today’s world order. As a result, Genghis Khan is not only a family hero for the narrator, but first and foremost a national hero, who embodies the great qualities that the narrator aspires to in order to define self- and national identity. If a hero symbolizes the lost unity for a community, a family or a nation, where everybody could identify with him to define one’s identity, the narrator nevertheless does not always stick to heroes to construct her family history. Instead, she intentionally moves her attention to the ‘losers’—the ‘untouchables’ (堕民). This was a group of Mongol nobles who were downgraded as people of low status and transported to the south without any official records of them. This is how the narrator links her nomadic origin with the southern hometown. For the narrator, the ‘untouchables’ are in effect also heroes because, during a dark age of unfair treatment, they survived and passed on a strong bloodline. They not only survived, they thrived. They were not tamed, but civilized. One of them, Ru Fen, even passed the imperial civil examination and became a Zhuangyuan (the highest ranked candidate in the civil service exam). Even though there are several possibilities to create a lineage, she insists on having all the ups and downs, triumphs and failures, in her family. For instance, when she discovers that Ru Fen might not belong to her immediate family, she ponders:

It is not a big problem to go back looking for new materials and imagine something different. But it is a big problem to experience a new psychological and emotional identification. My imagination has come such a turbulent, long way and established such a cherished bloodline. I love Mugulü. I love Cheluhui. I love Genghis Khan. From my whole heart I sympathize with and love the “untouchables.” I have also had feelings for Ru Fen. My musing has traveled through a dark, long tunnel of time. Mountains and rivers have experienced many ups and downs, and changed their lords many times. This several-thousand-year history has been flowing through my heart. . . . I don’t want give up any of them. I want every possibility. I cannot give up the Rouran. I cannot give up the Mongol Empire. I cannot give up the Naiyan. I cannot give up the Zhuangyuan, either. The Zhuangyuan embellishes our family history. He makes us close to the central authority. My ancestors have always been warriors carrying long blades battling on galloping horses; the Zhuangyuan adds a sense of grace and poetry to our family history.38

38 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 259–360. 310 Chapter 10

This combination of achievements and misfortunes, martial and civil, characterizes the narrator’s family history. It also suggests an allegory of Chinese history. What the narrator inherits from her ancestors is not just the blood, but also the vitality and vivacity (生命力). Even though her own grandfather was bankrupt and eventually abandoned his family, she considers him a lost child with abundant energy, writing: “A bankrupt family must be an energetic family. Destructive force and constructive force are two similarly strong forces, both originating from the billowy current of life.”39 Destructive and constructive forces have both been made explicit in the narrator’s family history, and the real subject of her root-searching project turns out to be “life.” “I think, this is the reason why I like the latter type of literature [family history fiction],” the narrator claims when self-consciously pondering family history fiction. “It makes such concepts as ‘life’ and ‘kinship’ more tangible and approachable. How wonderful it is to experience that!”40 However, for the narrator, “life force” or “spirit” has always been associated with “traveling” or “floating.” In addition to her ancestors’ journey from the steppe to the southern land, her imagination also ‘travels’ wildly through time and space. She enjoys using metaphors such as “river” for life, and “tunnel” for time, displaying her consciousness of the fluid relationship between past, present, and future. While she is determined to define her position in life and history, she finds it unstable and undeterminable, for life is forever flowing forward, just as the whole of humanity is floating on the ocean, and destiny is just an unknown realm: “Earthquakes make our continent a drifting island.” When she describes her experience of an earthquake in Shanghai, she discovers that “according to this observation [that our continent is a drifting island], there is no shore or destination any more. Everything is floating.”41 Ironically, such absolute insecurity and disorientation nevertheless lead to another discovery: this is the moment when she finds the fateful, “profound” relationship with her husband while the shadow of death unexpectedly befalls them. It seems to suggest that, when our common destiny is death, to love is the only “profound” relationship. In another novella by Wang Anyi, The Heartbreaking Pacific, the narrator makes a similar observation: “In the end I want to repeat what I have said before: ‘if we look at maps, continents appear to be floating islands as well.’ All

39 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 51. 40 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 408. 41 Wang Anyi, Jishi yu xugou, 314. Becoming-minority 311 lands on earth are rocks in the sea, on which humanity resides. Humanity is actually a drifting species, and drifting is our eternal destiny.”42 Perhaps, it is both the consciousness of, and the fear of, the eternal ‘floating’ and ‘drifting’ that motivate her to search her historical origin. As critics point out, Wang’s narratives of origin are motivated by “an anxiety of rootlessness.”43 The modern ethos, manifested as the powerful emotions of loneliness, sad- ness, and national shame, or what Xiaobing Tang characterized as a “subjective mood of sorrow” and “global expression of melancholy subjectivity,”44 encourage the narrator to travel to the past yet always return to home. “On the surface, family history fiction has a sense of returning home,” the narrator explains, “it seems that after it [family history fiction] is tired of traveling, it eventually goes home.”45 Where is the home for the narrator? It is the intersection of the past and the present, after discovering the fate and the force of ‘life,’ with the life force determining one’s fate. Yet this ‘life’ is still traveling, floating, with its forces, still passing on, to the future. Herein resides the novel’s last paradox: being aware of destiny as an unknown yet desiring to define a recognizable home to return to. This home, as discussed above, points to the unknown future that inherits the life force from the past. This life force, with its qualities of bravery, creativity, resilience, and persistence, has been passed on from her ancestors to the narrator, has determined her ancestors’ fate, and determines hers as well. Contingent historical events, such as the Cultural Revolution, could not alter the narrator’s fundamental fate as a writer, since she believes that she inherits the talent from her ancestor, the Zhuangyuan Ru Fen. Without the Cultural Revolution, she might have experienced something else to become a mature writer, since she also inherits an unrelenting spirit from her nomadic ancestors. It is the life force that designates a sense of determinacy and fatefulness, rather than any discursive historical events. This life force ultimately resembles the ‘national spirit’ or ‘national characteristics,’ which combine the characteristics of the nomadic hero and the characteristics of the Chinese intellectual. It is the life force that

42 Wang Anyi, “Shangxin Taipingyang [The Heartbreaking Pacific],” in Xianggang de qing yu ai [Sentiment and Love in Hong Kong], (Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1996), 383. 43 Wang Zheng and Xiao Hua, “Lun Wang Anyi, [On Wang Anyi],” Zhong shan, 2000, No. 4: 197. 44 Xiaobing Tang, “Melancholy against the Grain: Approaching Postmodernity in Wang Anyi’s Tales of Sorrow,” in his Chinese Modern: The Heroic and the Quotidian (Durham: Duke University Press, 2000), 328. 45 Wang Any, Jishi yu xugou, 408. 312 Chapter 10 has imparted glory to the Chinese civilization. It transcends the specificity of the narrator’s time and space, and during a period that lacks a sense of direction, provides reassurance of the continuity of Chinese civilization. In this light, the significance of minorities in this novel becomes more apparent. Minority here embodies double meanings: both as the ethnic minority in the narrator’s blood and as a woman who creates history. For the narrator, nomadic people have contributed productive, diligent, and competitive spirit and energy to Chinese civilization, just as women and men have constructed history together. It is through the interdependence, cross-fertilization between minority and majority, and the fateful, profound relationship between men and women that history has been made. Rather than regarding the ethnic minority people as culturally inferior to the Han majority, or taking women as marginal beings without authorial voice, Wang Anyi’s “migratory mythology,” as Howard Choy described it,46 pronounces the fateful significance of minority in the construction of self- and national identities.

Gao Jianqun’s The Last Xiongnu Hun: Foundational Myth of Chinese Culture

If Wang Anyi’s Fact and Fiction suggests the interdependent, mutually- reinforcing relationship between the Han Chinese and the ethnic minority in constructing Chinese history, Gao Jianqun’s The Last Xiongnu Hun (Zuihou yige Xiongnu 最后一个匈奴) makes it even more explicit that it is the synthesis of the nomadic and the sedentary spirits that has characterized the regional Shaanbei culture and Chinese civilization as a whole. Published in 1993, the same time when Fact and Fiction was published, The Last Xiongnu Hun follows the trend of family history fiction or new historical fiction for its emphasis on local history during the modern revolutionary period. Like Mo Yan’s Red Sorghum (红高粱) or Chen Zhongshi’s Bai Lu Yuan (白鹿原), it tells a story interweaving love and hate among several families for three generations. Yet, rather than constructing “an oppositional discourse that challenges both the outdated discourse of revolution and the now dominant discourse of ‘Chinese modernity,’”47 this novel enthusiastically celebrates the triumph of the communist revolution and its fateful relationship with the

46 Howard Y. F. Choy, Remapping the Past: Fictions of History in Deng’s China, 1979–1997 (Boston: Brill, 2008), 79. 47 Lin Qingxin, Brushing History Against the Grain (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2005), 3. Becoming-minority 313 region under question—the Shaanbei Plateau. The region, or more accurately, the regional characteristics, constitutes the subject matter of the novel. As the narrator unequivocally claims, the real subject of the novel is the “the phenomenon of the grand culture of Shaanbei” (the north of Shaanxi province) (陕北大文化现象).48 The novel vividly portrays several interrelated characters with complicated relationships: student-turned-communist revolutionary Yang Zuoxin, local bandit warrior Hei Datou, Hei Datou’s widowed wife and Yang Zuoxin’s lover Hei Baishi, Yang Zuoxin’s son—writer Yang Anxiang, Hei Datou and Hei Baishi’s son—Communist Party official Hei Shoushan, and Hei Shoushan’s illicit daughter, Dan Hua, who is the granddaughter of Miss Zhao, Yang Zuoxin’s former fiancée, and so on. Kinship, romance, local custom, and political beliefs are intertwined, complicating the relationships among people against the background of revolution. In addition to dramatizing the relationships among people, the writer particularly highlights a determinant relation between people and their origin. As the narrator explicitly explains, the primary characters of the novel “belong to four clans with distinctive backgrounds: the Yang clan, descended from an illicit relationship between a Xiongnu Hun and a Han girl in Wuerpu; the Hei clan, who are the descendants of the Hui ethnic minority that have immigrated to the Shaanbei plateau from Ningxia and Sichuan; the centuries-old Bai clan, who have been living here since the ancient, legendary Xuanyuan period; and the Zhao clan, who came to Fushi city by crossing the Yellow River from a point beneath a Chinese scholar tree in Shaanxi, yet later left Fushi city hurriedly.”49 Diversity characterizes this region. The Shaanbei Plateau and the ethnic complexity distinguish this area from other places in China. For the narrator, one’s origin—ethnic and cultural alike—seems to mold one’s character, and there is a fateful reason why the Shaanbei Plateau became the center of the communist revolution. This region embodies the characteristics that nourish revolution, positioned at the cultural margin of Chinese civilization. “The ambitious author wanted to write a chronicle for the twentieth century, so he chose the Shaanbei Plateau, the desolate village, the listless small town, the dusty spiral road, and the splendid city of Fushi, as the stage on which his characters could perform. He chose the phenomenon of the grand Shaanbei culture, which is deeply ingrained in every granule of the yellow earth and still

48 Gao Jianqun, Postscript to Zuihou yige xiongnu [The Last Xiongnu Hun], (Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1993), 580. 49 Gao Jianqun, Zuihou yige xiongnu, 293. 314 Chapter 10 prevalent in the modern time like a ‘living fossil,’ to provide the poetic atmosphere and the aesthetic background for the characters’ activity.”50 The nature of this ‘stage’ or ‘background,’ of course, cannot be reduced to a “granule of the yellow earth” or the “living fossil” such as the folk songs or the paper-cuts that the narrator fervently describes, but is carried in the characters—it is their inherited family traits that distinguish the culture of this locality. Specifically, the narrator makes the story revolve around the Yang family living in Wuerpu village, and at various places, deduces the family characteristic as the combination of the nomadic and sedentary spirits. This combination, manifested in several members in the Yang family, originated from a foundational myth that accounts for their behavior. The novel opens with an exciting ancient legend widely celebrated in Wuerpu village: By the end of the Han dynasty (202 BC–220 AD) when the Xiongnu Hun were finally driven out of the Han Empire and withdrew to central Asia, a young Xiongnu soldier fell in love with a Han girl as he retreated to Wuerpu village. Their love affair offended local custom, according to which they should be executed. In the end it is the girl’s pregnancy that rescues both of them, as the local clan would not kill an unborn baby. The couple survived and thus became the foundational parents of Wuerpu village. From the beginning, the myth already sets the tone that the people living in Wuerpu inherit similar qualities from their ancestors: brave, rebellious, freedom-loving, perseverant, and not necessarily obedient to the rules of authority. They are the descendants of, and therefore bear the traits of, both the Xiongnu Hun and the Han. These traits not only exist in physical features, as in their distinctive physique and toenails, but also in their character and behavior. “Half of the soul in this family belongs to the roamers on horseback, the other half of the soul belongs to the peasants who are intensely attached to the yellow earth until death.” The narrator writes:

[T]he roaming soul forever pursues places faraway, whereas the agricultural culture nurtures the perseverant protector of home. The magical combination of the two constructs the clan in Wuerpu. Two types of soul govern this clan alternately, and it is hard to achieve balance between them. Sometimes one type dominates and sometimes the other type dominates. Therefore there are realists and romanticists, timid peasants and restless rebels.51

50 Gao Jianqun, Zuihou yige xiongnu, 293. 51 Gao Jianqun, Zuihou yige xiongnu, 467. Becoming-minority 315

Not surprisingly, the ‘Xiongnu Hun’ in the title suggests not so much the exact ethnic background as the abstract and intangible nomadic, rebellious spirit, one that was not celebrated, or even approved of, by the official Confucian discourse in history. The narrator makes it explicit that the Shaanbei Plateau had been on the margin of the Confucian culture, “ignored by the Sage’s doctrines.” In a mockingly written report to the Guangxu Emperor, Qi bi gou (“Culturally Bankrupt: Seven Accounts”), the late Qing official Wang Peifen condescend- ingly described the Shaanbei Plateau as a place where no beautiful landscape, no habitable architecture, no decent clothing, no refined food, no knowledge and scholarship, no graceful woman, and no rituals and morality were to be found.52 In a word, this is a place where orthodox Confucianism has had limited impact. However, for the narrator, it is just this marginal place that is the origin of the Chinese civilization and has nourished the centrifugal, revolutionary forces to continue Chinese civilization. It is this place that has produced the peasant rebels such as Li Zicheng, Gao Yingxiang, and Zhang Xianzhong, and it is determined that it later became the cradle of the modern Chinese communist revolution. From the origin of civilization to the margin of Confucian culture, then to the revolutionary center, the narrator believes that the Shaanbei Plateau has constantly energized and rejuvenated the static Chinese culture. In his words:

The Shaanbei Plateau is, of course, the origin of the Xuanyuanshi. The tomb of the Huangdi Emperor [the legendary first emperor in Chinese civilization] on the south of the plateau is the evidence. . . . But because of the chronic wars among different ethnic groups, because for a long time this land had been ruled by nomadic peoples, also because of the ethnic interactions and inter-marriages among different ethnicities, the Confucian doctrine could only symbolically stay here for a while like water, only moistening the surface of the ground. The great contribution of Confucianism lies in that, during the long, two-thousand-year grand feudal unification, it produced the centripetal and cohesive forces that saved our old oriental empire, preventing it from falling apart like the other three old empires in the world, which have disappeared from the long current of history; yet its [Confucianism] failing resides in that it constrained the energetic national spirit, limiting the creativity of the people known for their intelligence and diligence. . . . Therefore, the desolate Shaanbei Plateau, . . . the Sage-forsaken wasteland . . . announced to

52 Gao Jianqun, Zuihou yige xiongnu, 491. 316 Chapter 10

the world, here, there was another fantastic group among the descendants of Emperors Yan and Huang. These born rebels, these uncivilized people, this untamed group, provided cardiac resuscitation for the dying national spirit.53

The narrator then goes on to suggest that, like Heaven’s intention, Mao Zedong chose Shaanbei as the cradle of modern Chinese revolution. The rebellious Mao entered Shaanbei, “like a dragon submerging in his old ocean” or “a tiger returning to the forest,” maturing quickly as a national leader. Even the American journalist Edgar Snow commented that, it is probably more than a coincidence that the origin of Chinese civilization became the bedrock of Mao’s revolution for him and his fellow men to save the nation and reform the national spirit.54 Regardless of the narrator’s grand analysis of Confucianism and Chinese civilization, his observation of the Shaanbei Plateau and its relationship with modern Chinese history nevertheless poses several questions about Chinese history in general: First, he deconstructs the homogeneous Confucian culture in the imperial period. Rather than a commonly believed agrarian, Confucian society, imperial China is more heterogeneous in terms of ethnicity and cultural activity. Second, he constructs continuity between imperial history and modern Chinese history. By linking the modern revolutionaries with the peasant rebels in the past, the narrator suggests that the modern revolutionaries in effect inherited the rebellious spirit from their ancestors. Moreover, by turning the Confucian margin into the revolutionary center, the narrator creates a centrifugal spiral and inserts the modern nation-state into the cyclical structure of Chinese empire. Third, again, after being transformed from the Confucian margin to the revolutionary center, the ‘grand culture of the Shaanbei Plateau’ has transcended the boundary of Shaanbei, and in effect embodies the Chinese national characteristic. In sum, like the minority heroes in Wang Anyi’s Fact and Fiction, the ‘Xiongnu Hun’ in this novel serves as the constitutive, productive, and creative force in Chinese history. Traveling between the marginal and the central, between the unofficial and the official, between the unorthodox and the mainstream, The Last Xiongnu Hun provides a distinctive account in the discussion of Chinese characteristics from a marginal perspective.

53 Gao Jianqun, Zuihou yige xiongnu, 275. 54 Gao Jianqun, Zuihou yige xiongnu, 275. Becoming-minority 317

Zhang Chengzhi’s Spiritual History: From Contradiction to Incorporation

Whereas Wang Anyi and Gao Jianqun’s minority historical fiction incorporates the nomadic spirit in Chinese national characteristics primarily from a mainstream Han writer’s perspective, Zhang Chengzhi’s Spiritual History suggests a paradoxical position of the narrator/writer as both a marginal Jahriyya and an elitist intellectual residing in the cultural center. In the contemporary literary landscape, Zhang Chengzhi presents an unusual case of searching for one’s self-identity. As a Beijing-based youth, Zhang was first a student Red Guard in the 1960s. Sent down to the countryside in Mongolia, Zhang devoted his early writing to his vision of being the adopted son of Mongolians. The son of ethnic Hui Chinese, he subsequently reclaimed his original Hui ethnic origin and Muslim identity in the novel Spiritual History in the early 1990s. Zhang’s search for self-identity goes hand in hand with the search for a mature national subject. No one is more radical than Zhang Chengzhi in identifying with the minority subaltern to criticize the cultural mainstream. As Yibing Huang pointed out, from the time he created the name ‘Red Guard’ (hongweibing, 红卫兵) for Maoist students, Zhang Chengzhi has always followed his revolutionary idealism and attempted to find the coming of age of his generation and their redemption in the representation of the subaltern people.55 Zhang Chengzhi’s reinvention of himself may seem abrupt to some critics, but for Huang, Zhang’s identity shift demonstrates his continuous pursuit of a romantic sublime rooted in the revolutionary tradition and his endeavor to find an alternative form to renew Chinese culture, which in Zhang’s eyes, has been contaminated by materialism, nihilism, cynicism, and spiritual void. Claiming to be “the son of the People,” he transformed himself from a former Red Guard into a cultural hero or heretic.56 Indeed, for Zhang, the geographic, linguistic, and religious specificity of the minority cultures appears to be a contrasting color on the cultural canvas, on which the mainstream cultural landscape appears dull and degenerate. Rather than politically, economically, and culturally underprivileged groups, minority serves to unmask the spiritual void of the Han and complements what the Han lacks. The marginal position Zhang Chengzhi takes therefore reflects a self-

55 Yibing Huang, “Zhang Chengzhi: Striving for Alternative National Forms, or, Old Red Guard and New Cultural Heretic,” in Yibing Huang, Contemporary Chinese Literature: From the Cultural Revolution to the Future (New York: Macmillan, 2007). 56 Ibid., 113. 318 Chapter 10 critical, Han-centered perspective and manifests the at once centripetal and centrifugal tendencies of becoming-minority. These tendencies, contradictory as they seem, are mostly laid bare in Spiritual History. Spiritual History was published in 1990, at a time when the market economy started encroaching on the intellectual, scholarly space. Zhang invented a new form, one that “molds history, religion, and literature into one” and made the Jahriyya, a Sufi Islamic Sect in northwestern China, the subject of his book. He identified with this religious group, intending “to be a pen of the Jahriyya, to write a book that they will use their lives to protect!”57 The book documents the silence and sacrifice of the Jahriyya during their more than two centuries’ struggle to preserve their history and belief. From the beginning, Zhang has already set up a series of binary oppositions between the Han cultural center and the Jahriyya: material abundance versus material scarcity; official written history versus orally transmitted history; hypocrisy versus faith; spiritual void versus religious purity, and so forth. And it is precisely against these binary oppositions that the portrayal of the Jahriyya seems significant. What Zhang seeks is not poverty and ignorance, nor religion in the narrow sense, but faith and humanism that he believes the Han Chinese lack:

No, you should not think that what I have described is just religion. What I have been describing has always been the ideals that you have been pursuing. Yes, ideals, hopes, and pursuits—all these that have been abandoned by the world yet loved by us. I will also formally describe the humanism that I have finally found; after reading the book you will find that this kind of humanism is much more authentic than the one sold cheaply by those from the Chinese intellectual class.58

Nevertheless, “ideals, hopes, and pursuits” are attached to the specific geography, and its material scarcity only evokes in Zhang the feelings of awe and the sublime:

You don’t need to go deeper inside. Unless you avoid staring at it, the red- dish brown cracked earth and bare mountains will burn your eyes. In the cruel, direct sunlight, your eyes will dry, crease, congest, and an unspeakable drought will penetrate into your heart and lungs, making you feel forever thirsty.59

57 Ibid., 124. 58 Zhang Chengzhi, Preface to Spiritual History, (Guangzhou: Huacheng chubanshe, 1991), 10. 59 Zhang Chengzhi, Preface to Spiritual History, 2. Becoming-minority 319

Here is a truly remote and backward place. The landscape is severe and miserable, and the people’s character is rigid and bold. Except for Sufism (mysticism), there is no force that fits here. The natural conditions and the social customs are unthinkable—I can only use prose or poetry to express my provoked imagination; I cannot comprehend it. The incapacity of the intellectuals [to understand it] is the reason why this kind of religious yellow plateau has not yet been understood. It is incomprehensible, you can only worship it—the region of drought can only survive the summer with melted snow preserved in the vault during the winter; yet the villages spread for three li, mules and cattle are plenty, and the big villages containing thousands of people adjoin each other. What do they drink? –the region of illiteracy lacks informed people; because of a far-sightedness as well as parochialism, the Hui people here don’t encourage children to learn Chinese script, but they are all versed in the history of the past two hundred years. Do you know the history during Emperor Qianlong’s reign, Jiaqing’s reign, Tongzhi’s reign, or the 28th year of the Republic?60

Incomprehension induces awe and the feeling of the sublime, which creates a sense of violent aesthetics that defies the natural instinct of survival. The land is inhospitable. It is their religion that helps the Jahriyya to survive the severe environment. Meanwhile, to preserve their religious belief and cultural integrity, they refuse to leave the barren land and to be assimilated. For an outsider, it is a circle of voluntary misery. Physical suffering is a necessity of daily life and spiritual accomplishment. Yet harsh nature is not the only hardship the Jahriyya have to endure. Political suppression from the imperial court and religious wars among different sects take turns tormenting the region, only to reinforce the internal determination of the Jahriyya to preserve their identity. As Howard Choy observed, the religious/secular tension can only be approached “from the standpoint of a hermeneutic circle rather than a linear causality. The pursuit of Islamic faith and political sufferings interact as both cause and effect in the textual process: the Jahriyya were chosen to suffer for their faith, because of which they were oppressed and driven further into their spiritual world; in the meantime, social injustice compelled them to believe in God, who manifested his might through his chosen people and their devotion.”61 Zhang finds in this unspeakable violence sublime spirituality with

60 Zhang Chengzhi, Preface to Spiritual History, 6–7. 61 Howard Y.F. Choy, Remapping the Past, 86. 320 Chapter 10 a rigidity that is beyond morality and rational choice, debunking the hypocrisy of all other beliefs—Confucian or otherwise. This awe-inspiring spirituality, for Zhang, has been detached from the material condition in Xihaigu and calls him—the long lost son of Jahriyya—to return home. However, distressed over losing his “mother tongue,” Zhang is conflicted over the idea of writing the Jahriyya history without its own language:

Losing a mother tongue—Chinese and the other minority groups that have been assimilated would never understand the pain of losing a mother tongue. I am a writer. I changed the form of my novel time and again, until it became poetry, then this Spiritual History—I only have one desire: to make my Chinese escape the limit of the square-shaped Chinese characters!62

By changing the form of the novel, Zhang attempts to find an alternative language to substitute for the lost “mother tongue.” Nevertheless, the experiment to create a language that goes beyond Chinese only results in expanding Chinese vocabulary and its cultural scope. “The Chinese Islamic vocabulary has created an idiolect, or what Ma Lirong calls a ‘social dialect, a kind of linguistic variation.’”63 The identification with the marginal Jahriyya is therefore ultimately offset by Zhang’s positioning in the cultural center. The writer’s spiritual exile then turns to be more humanistic than religious. Moreover, Zhang made it clear that even though the book was written for the Jahriyya people, the target readers were the majority Han Chinese.64 As the literary critic Zhou Zexiong sarcastically pointed out, some ethnic Hui people are actually unable to read the book they will “protect with their lives!”65 Despite the original opposition Zhang sets up between the Jahriyya and the Han, between the spiritual and the material, despite the tracing of the Hui history from the Middle East to China, where they lost their homeland and mother tongue, Zhang in the end turns the contradiction into incorporation, and accepts the Jahriyya as part of China:

62 Zhang Chengzhi, Spiritual History, 255–256. 63 Howard Choy, Remapping the Past, 100. 64 Zhang Chengzhi, Preface to Spiritual History. 65 Zhou Zexiong, “Zhang Chengzhi de jiexian” (The limits of Zhang Chengzhi), Shuwu (Study room), 1999, vol. 5. Zhou’s quotation is from Zhang Chengzhi’s preface to the novel Spiritual History. See shuku.net: http://www.shuku.net:8082/novels/chengzhi/ chengzhi04.html Becoming-minority 321

I want to tell friends, especially those youths in Shagou and Banqiao: Jahriyya is our own and China’s treasure. When the cyclical historical shi-trend turns to the point where reunion is the trend again, be sure to remember, after losing homeland and mother tongue, don’t lose Jahriyya.66

Here, “reunion” refers to the unification of different religious groups worldwide. However, here also lies Zhang’s deepest ambiguity. The desire to preserve Jahriyya is accompanied by the desire to fuse Jahriyya with China, to have Jahriyya recognized and adopted by the mainstream Chinese. Rather than advocating division and parochialism, Zhang borrows the notion of the shi-trend and takes religious unity as the normal and foreseeable historical trend. Ironically, Zhang never bothers to ask how to achieve cultural and religious unity without compromising the uniqueness of Jahriyya as a religion. Implicitly, Jahriyya here has been detached from its religious essence, and becomes a transcendent cultural value, one that ought to be embraced by all Chinese. In this regard, Jahriyya is not fundamentally different from the Mongolians on the grassland. It functions as the marginal, critical, yet supple- mental material of Chinese civilization. Shifting the focus from the material to the spiritual, from the religious to the cultural, and from the marginal to the central, Zhang Chengzhi not only incorporates Jahriyya into China, but also re-centers himself as a cultural hero.

Jiang Rong’s Wolf Totem: The Balance of Lupine and Sheep-like Character

In many ways, Jiang Rong shares a life experience similar to Zhang Chengzhi’s: both were born in Beijing; both were sent down to Inner Mongolia as educated youths during the Cultural Revolution; both finished advanced education later; both identify with minority people and write about minority culture; and both appear to be part of cultural elites attempting to discover the key to redeem- ing Chinese literature or history. Even the forms of their works look similar: neither Wolf Totem nor Spiritual History followed conventions of recent fiction; rather, they both appear hybrid, inserting historical commentaries and lengthy lectures into fictional narratives. The difference is that Jiang Rong did not announce his literary presence until much later, with the unprecedented success of Wolf Totem.

66 Zhang Chengzhi, Spiritual History, 256. 322 Chapter 10

Like Spiritual History, Wolf Totem attracted broad attention for various reasons, which stirred up heated discussion on different aspects of the book. Some regarded the book as a rare achievement of superb quality. For example, social celebrities from various fields articulated their admiration for the book from different perspectives: basketball star Yao Ming confessed that the collective and courageous spirit of the wolf inspired him.67 Business tycoon and CEO of Haier Group Zhang Ruimin said that the business world could benefit from the wolves’ military talent.68 Mongolian singer Tengger saw the spiritual connection between his music and the wolf’s howl to Heaven.69 Most significantly, literary critics promoted the book for its insightful reflection on Chinese national characteristics. They saw it as a self-reflexive dissection of the defect of Chinese Confucian culture in comparison with nomadic culture. Characterizing these as an agrarian culture of sheepishness and a nomadic lupine culture, supporters of the book considered Wolf Totem an epic cultural discovery that brings to life the suppressed wolf totem essential for the blossoming of Chinese civilization.70 For the same reasons, however, the success of the book and the articulation of the lupine spirit also pushed the warning buttons of the other critics. They saw it as a reactive book that promotes the law of the jungle, “confuses Chinese history, contradicts ethnic relations, and is anti-humanity.”71 Indeed, from its inception, the book was treated as more than a literary piece. Critics questioned the book both from the perspectives of literature (whether it is a novel), history (whether the nomadic people worshipped the wolf), and its socio-cultural aspects (whether it is appropriate to promote a lupine spirit),72 all of which ironically served to boost its unparalleled success. Between its publication in April 2004 and August 2005, its sales surpassed one million copies. Penguin Publishing House bought the copyright for the

67 Yao Ming: “We want to be a pack of wolves, and I will be the head. All the wolves need to move together— in formation, charging, and defending. The most impressive thing about reading Wolf Totem is the wolves’ collective and courageous spirit.” Interview with Yao Ming in Long Xingjian, Langtuteng pipan [The Critique of ‘Wolf Totem’], (Shanghai: Xuelin chubanshe, 2007), 13. 68 Zhang Ruimin’s comment on the book appears on the back cover of Lang tuteng [Wolf Totem], (Wuhan: Changjiang wenyi chubanshe, 2004). 69 Tengger. Ibid. 70 An Boshun, “Xiangyong Lang tuteng de jingshen shengyan [Enjoy a Spiritual Feast of Wolf Totem],” preface of the Chinese version Lang tuteng [Wolf Totem], 2. 71 Long Xingjian, Lang tuteng pipan [The Critique of ‘Wolf Totem’] (Shanghai: Xuelin chubanshe, 2007), 6. 72 See Ibid. Becoming-minority 323

English version.73 Furthermore, as Haiyan Lee observes, “It is perhaps one of very few bestselling Chinese novels that has genuinely stirred up some controversy among international critics and managed to split critical opinion (almost always strongly-worded) pretty much down the middle.”74 A vivid portrait of life on the grassland, the novel probes into seldom-seen aspects of Chinese culture through the eyes of Chen Zhen, an educated youth from Beijing sent down to Inner Mongolia during the Cultural Revolution. During his stay, Chen discovers that the wolf enjoys a godlike status on the grassland—the Mongolian people take the wolf as the messenger of Tenggri (Heaven) to keep the balance of animal life on the grassland. Moreover, there is an intriguing relationship between the people and the wolf—they hate the wolf, kill the wolf, yet also admire the wolf, and worship the wolf. Fascinated by all of this, Chen Zhen decides to raise a wolf cub to study the wolf’s behavior. Later he steals a pack of newborn wolf cubs and saves one to nurture with dog milk. He takes good care of the cub and keeps a keen eye on his development. However, the little wolf cub refuses to be domesticated. He gradually discovers his own wild nature and more and more resolutely attempts to escape the leash even at the risk of his own life. To avoid being hurt by the growing cub, Chen Zhen cuts the cub’s fangs, which eventually leads to serious inflamma- tion, only to be worsened by the cub’s constant attempts to flee. In the end Chen Zhen has to kill the cub after the cub’s illness has become incurable. In Chen Zhen’s understanding, wolf nature cannot be tamed, and to kill him as a warrior is to save his dignity as a wolf. The heartbreaking experience of raising the wolf cub enlightens Chen Zhen on two accounts. One is the wolf’s decisive importance to the grassland and the ‘heavenly principle’ underlying this relationship. With the project of socialist modernization encroaching, Chen Zhen painfully witnesses the disappearance of the wolf, the gradual loss of the grassland, and nature’s punishment of human beings. The other is the ‘wolf nature’ that he learns from the cub, which he believes is the key to understanding Chinese civilization as well as world history. Nostalgia abounds in this novel, not only about the educated youth’s lost life experience, but also about the fading of the natural landscape, which evoked many readers’ reminiscence. Much like early modernist literature that mourns the disappearance of the ‘pastoral beauty’ in nature during the process of industrialization, Wolf Totem reminds one of the retrogression of

73 Long Xingjian, Lang tuteng pipan, 2. 74 Haiyan Lee, “The Lord of the Wolves?” in the online source: The China Beat: Blogging How the East is Read, June 19, 2008. Electronic access: http://thechinabeat.blogspot .com/2008/06/lord-of-wolves.html 324 Chapter 10 civilization when ignorant human behavior continually destroys the grassland against ‘heavenly principle,’ something northern cities like Beijing have experienced in the form of severe dust storms and air pollution. On another level, however, the discovery of landscape leads to the discovery of nomadic subjectivity. The non-anthropocentric portrayal of the grassland ecology legitimizes human worship of the wolf, whose formidable spirit conversely mirrors the character of nomadic people. By linking the ‘heavenly principle’ with the ‘wolf totem,’ the novel shifts its focus from critiquing modernity in general to critiquing Chinese civilization and national characteristics, which understandably stirred up deep water. In addition to the seemingly objective, detailed portrayal of exotic life in the grassland, the struggle between man and nature, between man and wolf, between human principle and heavenly principle, the book offers a provocative grand thesis on Chinese civilization: that the wolf totem is the precedent of the dragon totem, that Chinese civilization originates from nomadic culture, that the lupine spirit in the nomadic culture offers constant, much-needed energy to the static, passive, Han agrarian culture and periodically revives Chinese civilization. In short, nomadic culture is not the lower stage of agrarian culture that represents material, technological inferiority, as imperial history or Marxist historical materialism interprets it; it is abstracted from its material basis and elevated to a transcendent, spiritual level. It is the lupine spirit in nomadic culture that constantly reinjects vitality, creativity, and perseverance into agrarian culture, thereby at various times over the centuries preserving Chinese civilization from decline. This grand thesis, no doubt, invited broad criticism for its ambition to rewrite Chinese history.75 Romanticizing and celebrating ‘lupine character’ (狼性性格), nonetheless, shed new light on the discussion of Chinese characteristics. The lupine character, subverting the normally accepted connotations associated with the wolf as cruel, selfish, and crafty, was now defined by qualities that are very positive: brave, motivated, determined, collective-minded, disci- plined, strategic, and free-spirited. It was detached from the animal wolf itself, and abstracted into a cultural symbol—wolf totem. The narrator suggests that

75 Lei Da, “Chongdu Lang tuteng de ruogan sikao [Some Thoughts on Rereading Wolf Totem],” originally in Guangming ribao [Guangming Daily]; retrieved from www.XINHUANET .com, August 15, 2005, “Lang tuteng zheshe Zhongguo dangdai wenxue que linghun [Wolf Totem Reflects that Contemporary Chinese Literature Lacks Soul].” Electronic access: http://news.xinhuanet.com/book/2005-08/15/content_3354950.htm.; also quoted in Long Xingjian, Lang tuteng pipan, 15. Becoming-minority 325 the wolf totem is the “elder brother” of the dragon totem. Insofar as Chinese civilization originated from the northwest where the nomads lived, Chinese people, majority Han and otherwise, are all descendants of the nomadic people from the steppe. It is the agricultural mode of production that gradually transformed the ‘lupine character’ into ‘sheepish character,’ which represents the weakness of the Chinese ‘national characteristic.’ Yet to define the Chinese ‘national characteristic’ solely as sheep-like is biased, for the lupine character has always existed in the Chinese blood, which only needs to be accentuated once in a while via nomadic transfusion. In history, whenever Chinese civilization entered an inert, stagnant stage, nomadic people would appear, transfus- ing their energy to help rejuvenate the civilization. The cyclical dynastic shifts were all owing to the nomadic transfusions to perpetuate the Chinese empire. On the other hand, the ‘lupine character,’ sometimes characterized as ‘the grand nomadic spirit,’ is also associated with the modern Western powers (including Japan). Therefore, it not only determines the fate of a civilization, but also shapes the modern world order. For instance, in the novel, right after the protagonist Chen Zhen starts raising the wolf cub, he has a conversation with his friend Yang Ke, when both of them are observing the newborn cub fighting with puppies for dog milk:

Chen, mesmerized by the sight, was deep in thought. “We’ll have to study him closely,” he said finally. “There’s a lot we can learn from this. Our dog pen is a microcosm of world history. I’m reminded of something Lu Xun once wrote. He said that Westerners are brutish, while we Chinese are domesticated.” Chen pointed to the cub. “There is your brute.” Then pointed to the pups. “And there’s your domestication. For the most part, Westerners are descendants of barbarian, nomadic tribes such as the Teutons and the Anglo-Saxons. They burst out of the primal forest like wild animals after a couple of thousand years of Greek and Roman civilization, and sacked ancient Rome. They eat steak, cheese and butter with knives and forks, which is how they’ve retained more primitive wildness than the traditional farming races. Over the past hundred years, domesticated China has been bullied by the brutish West. It’s not surprising that for thousands of years the Chinese colossus has been spectacularly pummeled by tiny nomadic peoples.”76

76 Jiang Rong, Wolf Totem, trans. Howard Goldblatt, (New York: The Penguin Press, 2008), 173. 326 Chapter 10

Chen Zhen then goes on to suggest that the other three of the world’s oldest civilizations (Ancient Egypt, Ancient India, and Ancient Babylon) all died out because they were agrarian empires lacking ‘lupine spirit;’ whereas China survived because of the ‘contributions of the nomadic peoples of the grassland.’77 There are, paradoxically, both nationalistic sentiment against Western imperialism in the modern world and nationalistic pride in the continuous Chinese civilization. By attributing both the modern shame and the pre-modern glory to the ‘lupine spirit,’ Chen Zhen establishes his argument on a morally neutral ground while maintaining the Chinese national boundary. In the meantime, rather than simply characterize Chinese culture as a sheepish culture against the Western lupine culture, as some critics mistakenly understand, Chen Zhen incorporates the ‘“nomadic spirit’ into ‘Chinese characteristics,’ suggesting that Chinese civilization comprises both agrarian and nomadic cultures. Whenever the lupine character and the sheep-like attributes were in balance, or the lupine quality slightly overtook the sheep-like quality, the Chinese empire was prosperous; whenever the lupine quality was completely suppressed by Confucian doctrines, Chinese character was reduced to the sheep-like quality and the empire fell into decline. It is not hard to see Jiang Rong’s ambiguity and ambivalence concerning the relationship between mode of production and relation of production, between the material and the spiritual, and between the spatial and the temporal. He seems to believe that the ‘nomadic spirit’ is determined by the geographically specific nomadic mode of production. Once the mode of production changes, the relation of production also changes and the ‘nomadic spirit’ withers, as in the agrarian Confucian culture. Yet on the other hand, he also suggests that the ‘nomadic spirit’ can be detached from the specific material condition—the grassland, and be preserved and perpetuated on a transcendent level, as is the case with modern Western powers. Without solving this paradox, Jiang Rong is obviously more interested in a temporal analysis of Chinese history and world civilization than a spatial narrative of minority culture, thus what appears to be a ‘man and his pet’ story is turned into an updated version of national allegory. Implicitly, Jiang’s argument continues Lu Xun’s discussion of national characteristics in the early twentieth century, and echoes as well the controversial documentary film He shang (River Elegy by Su Xiaokang) made in the 1980s. Assuming a binary opposition of China and the West, of the sheep-like Chinese characteristic based in agrarian culture and the lupine Western characteristic based in nomadic and maritime cultures, this argument carries on the intel-

77 Jiang Rong, Wolf Totem, 174. Becoming-minority 327 lectual legacy that has been inexhaustibly searching for reasons for China’s modern lag since the last century. The difference, however, resides in the cure. Instead of looking for the national cure from outside, Wolf Totem suggests that the fundamental remedy that feudal despotism has suppressed, the Chinese nomadic spirit (Zhongguo youmu jingshen, 中国游牧精神), has always been deeply rooted within China. The shift of attention from the West to minorities to seek a remedy for national character signifies a shift in the national imagination. On the one hand, Wolf Totem incorporates a minority group into China, not as the subaltern or the supplement, but as the origin and the savior of the Chinese civilization; not only as the source of material diversity, but also as the source of spiritual inspiration. It celebrates the minority position, and deconstructs the domination or totalization of the mainstream Han culture. On the other hand, however, it is both critical and constitutive of the totality of the Chinese culture, which is not defined by Confucianism, but determined by the connection between wolf and dragon, by the common worship of Heaven, and by the balance between lupine and sheep-like qualities.

Lu Xun’s Legacy: Dialectical Return to Imperial History

This chapter has examined minority historical fiction, which more or less reflects on, rather than faithfully represents, imperial Chinese history. Despite their diversity, in one way or another, the narratives all revolve around the questions of Confucianism-dominated imperial culture, minority contribution, and Chinese characteristics. Implicitly or explicitly, they have carried on Lu Xun’s legacy to investigate the influence of Confucianism on Chinese society and dissect Chinese characteristics as derived from the agrarian culture. Yet, rather than being overtly iconoclastic toward imperial culture and ashamed of Chinese characteristics from a self-Orientalizing view, minority historical fiction manifests a more dialectical, self-reflexive, and deconstructive nature. On one level, these works do not simply deny or abandon imperial culture as a whole. For instance, Su Tong’s My Life as Emperor presents a more ambivalent, agnostic attitude toward Confucianism. Wang Anyi celebrates both the martial and civil achievements of the Chinese empire in Fact and Fiction. On another level, they deconstruct the homogeneous portrayal of the civility-oriented Confucian culture. They reinterpret the imperial past by incorporating minority culture into Chinese culture, and re-define Chinese characteristics as the blend of the nomadic and spiritual qualities with the sedentary and the pragmatic. For example, the narrator in Fact and Fiction and the protagonists in 328 Chapter 10

The Last Xiongnu Hun inherit both the nomadic and Han blood; the Jahriyya represent minority Chinese who embody pure spirituality; and the Mongolian grassland nourishes the ‘Chinese nomadic spirit’ crucial for Chinese civilization. Indeed, these works at once echo and negate the iconoclasm toward history prevalent during the May Fourth period, and more self-reflexively and dialecti- cally re-examine the imperial culture. They do not simply oppose iconoclasm or wholeheartedly embrace imperial culture. Rather, it is a dialectical return, a repetition with a difference. Contrary to what Gilles Deleuze has discussed in the critiquing of theater by subtraction and amputation, e.g. Carmelo Bene subtracts some elements from Shakespeare’s play to make a critical statement about Shakespeare and the power of theater,78 minority historical fiction adds and elevates minority to the totality of the imperial culture. It starts from the consciousness of the ‘lack’ in the cultural center, and finds a cure from the margin to compensate for this ‘lack’ by addition. If contemporary ‘empire fever’ in mass culture manifests the dialectical return to the Chinese empire by re-articulating the universalistic discourse Tianxia, minority historical fiction implies the same dialectical return by becoming-minority. In this light, minority historical fiction creates alternative histories that reflect the other sides of the Chinese empire directed by the imperial- time-order in contemporary ethnic-national-global encounters. As a result, becoming-minority signifies the consciousness of becoming-empire, the empire that returns with continuous variations, the empire that is still becoming.

78 Gilles Deleuze, “One Less Manifesto,” in Mimesis, Masochism, and Mime, ed. Timothy Murray, (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997), 239. Conclusion

Walter Benjamin once described an automaton chess game to explore his political theology. The automaton is designed to win all the games of chess, answer- ing each move of an opponent with a countermove. A puppet sits before a chessboard placed on a large table with a system of mirrors creating the illusion that the table is transparent. However, inside the table sits a hunchbacked dwarf who guides the puppet’s hands by means of strings. Benjamin mockingly suggested that the puppet is called “historical materialism,” and the hidden expert “theology.” When combined, historical materialism and theology win in all circumstances.1 Reflecting on the collapse of the European Left in the face of fascism, Benjamin made this analogy to open up his discussion on the philosophy of history. For him, without the help of theology, the materialist notion of progress and social democratic reform in the name of progress can only exacerbate the catastrophic condition of capitalism. The catastrophe confronting the angel of history can only be overcome by a revolutionary, messianic break.2 Benjamin’s aspiration for socialism thus exhibits a religious overtone, intimately connected to messianism. The moral, spiritual import in Benjamin’s calling for socialism, to some extent, resembles the non-territorial return of empire. For this reason, I would like to invoke this analogy to conclude the investigation of an enduring historical way of thinking in twentieth-century China. Philosophically and symbolically, the puppet could be called the ‘Chinese empire’ and the expert the ‘imperial-time-order.’ Moreover, in addition to making the table look transparent, the mirrors reflect all the moves between the puppet and the opponents. The opponents bring various strategies in modern times that suggest superior advantages in global competition, containing such discourses as linear historical development, social Darwinism, nationalism, capitalism, Marxism, liberalism, and individualism, and the puppet seems to have lost the battles and has to surrender. However, the expert remains calm and composed, directing the puppet to channel, resist, and subsume the opponent’s moves and come up with strategic countermoves. In fact, this is an ongoing contest, and the outcome still remains to be seen.

1 Walter Benjamin, “Theses on the Philosophy of History,” in Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, ed. Hannah Arendt, trans. Harry Zohn, (New York: Schocken Books, 1968), 253. 2 Howard Gaygill, “Non-messianic Political Theology in Benjamin’s ‘On the Concept of History,’” in Andrew Benjamin, ed., Walter Benjamin and History, (London and New York: Continuum, 2005), 216.

Throughout this book, I have attempted to reveal the ghostly existence of the expert—the imperial-time-order—that has hidden inside the table guiding China’s moves. The invention of the term allows me to venture into the complex fabric of intellectual history, literature, and social transformation to capture a deeply rooted historical way of thinking that is capable of directing the morphing of political entities. In the seemingly discursive field of modern Chinese history, the imperial-time-order has operated like an invisible hand, discreetly sorting out, working through, and packaging up various discourses, insinuating its way into deciding which discourses to accept and which to reject, which need to be reformulated in order to fit into China’s contexts, and which could be taken at face value to China’s advantage. As a way of thinking ingrained in the cultural bedrock, the imperial-time- order has acknowledged both historical discontinuity and continuity, both contingency and a transcendent value, both discursive events, divergences, and a unifying, moralizing tendency. The term itself is also designed to capture all these characteristics. First, whereas ‘empire’ as a self-proclaimed political entity gradually faded out during the twentieth century, suggesting discontinuity, ‘imperial’ as an enduring quality has survived in the back of intellectual minds. Similarly, time contains a double structure as well. Whereas ‘lived time’ denotes fissures, ruptures, and fractures of history spaced out by discursive events, a ‘transcendent time’ imbued with cultural legacy cannot be reduced to historical contingency, but rather, projects a sense of eternality. A composite concept as such, indexing both quantitative and qualitative changes yet at the same time implying a transcendent, all-encompassing value, the ‘imperial- time’ then must suggest an ‘order’ or ordering of history-making divergent from what has been termed universal, Western history. In the case of China, this has had a propensity for empire building, manifesting itself as the normalization of unification and moralization of political regimes.

Multiple Chinas under a Unifying Paradigm

Thus far, I hope I have effectively demonstrated the relationship between continuity and discontinuity in modern Chinese history. On the surface, there are multiple Chinas in the turbulent twentieth century: the defeated late Qing Empire, the liberal, fragmented republican China, the communist Maoist China, and the market-economy post-socialist China. Each one of them seems radically different from the previous one, and negates the previous one by carrying out violent revolutions or unprecedented reforms. Conclusion 331

The constant debunking of the immediately preceding period testifies to the deterministic intention to correct historical mistakes and failures, resulting in different characteristics of temporality in these periods. Consequently, we have the suspended time of the late Qing, the split time in the May Fourth period, the continuous time during the War of Resistance to Japan, the transitional time in Mao’s China, and the resurgent time in the post-socialist period. Needless to say, these qualifying terms in no way capture the complexity and diversity of these temporalities, which in reality overlap a great deal. The fact that I characterize them this way should not blind us to the simplistic view of historical discontinuity. Instead, these characteristics—suspended, split, continuous, transitional, and resurgent—ought to illuminate a sense of proceed- ing and becoming that points to the future. By identifying their singularity in the discursive moment of history, indexing the qualitative change of society, I wish to show the transcendent, continuous quality of time irreducible to the narrations of the said time period. To further examine these flexible temporalities in flux, I have employed a triad of temporal modalities to describe the expressions of the present, the past, and the future in some periods. Since the visions of these modalities are directly related to people’s experience of time and history, they are instrumental in helping us understand the general mentality regarding the inevitable social transformations. Indeed, the discussion of these modalities manifests the centrality of temporal-spatial, China-West interactions in which intellectuals attempted to respond to their social surroundings, wrestling with the struggle between lived time and transcendent time. From ostensibly diverse opinions, debates, and arguments, we continually see evidence of conscious efforts to negate the previous periods and define the current time. Yet there has always been a common tendency among intellectuals, who were active in debates on history. They constantly adjusted their positions, corrected their opinions with regard to their characterization of the lived time, and yielded their agency to the future governed by transcendent time, to seek solutions for current problems. The discrepancy between their narrated lived time and transcendent time results in a surplus of history not contained within lived time, or in Deleuze’s term, a virtuality, of history, which can only reveal its pattern over a long term, registered in the cultural unconscious that values collectivity, unity, and morality more than individuality, liberty, and independence. This surplus of history, or the imperial-time-order, is best embedded in historical representations that embody the unifying paradigm encompassing multiple Chinas as such. In this book, the historical representations are both the starting point that inspires me to pursue the afterimage of empire and the 332 Conclusion testimony to argue my observations. It is the historical representations that bridge the gap between the past and the present, keeping tradition alive and rejuvenated to serve the present, yet meanwhile, drive home the idea of the present just being part of a continuous time, incorporated into a transcendent paradigm of history. Generally speaking, historical representations, especially historical novels, serve many purposes. “A historical novel might consider the articulation of nationhood via the past, highlight the subjectivism of narratives of History, underline the importance of the realist mode of writing to notions of authenticity, question writing itself, and attack historiographical convention.”3 The works we have examined in this book certainly fit this observation of historical novels. In particular, the novels of minority historical fiction analyzed in Chapter Ten are meant to create alternative histories that challenge the official history. However, most historical representations we have dealt with in this book exhibit a centripetal character, by taking national, ethnic unification as a given and being prone to moralize archetypal characters’ behavior. Needless to say, unlike other, more individualized forms of presentations, born of autobiographical, personal, or revelatory narratives, historical representations always have a ‘collective’ capacity. They usually create a collective subject—a nation, a people, or a community. Through exemplary personalities or crucial historical events, historical representations perform both hermeneutic and rhetorical functions. They aim to arouse in their audiences identification, imitation, and action. In our case, historical representations of imperial China construct a ‘nation’ born out of the image of the traditional empire, and a ‘people’ that uphold the idea of morality and unity. The ‘nation’ and the ‘people’ both require active participation of individual agency and subsume that agency, which reveals the temporal consciousness of imperial thinking. The perpetuated values normalizing unification and moralizing a political regime register in these representations, the afterimages of empire.

A Different Ordering of History-Making

I started this book by invoking Gilles Deleuze’s discussion of time and history, for the purpose of leading to a Chinese historical way of thinking, so that it is more approachable to Western scholarship. Deleuze’s philosophy, given its multifaceted coverage and complexity, has generated broad implications for

3 Jerome de Groot, The Historical Novel (London and New York: Routledge, 2010), 2. Conclusion 333 various areas, ranging from history to new media. Although his thought mostly stems from the Western philosophical tradition, it nevertheless exhibits striking commonality or compatibility with traditional Chinese thinking. Simply put, Deleuze’s historical thesis emphasizes both contingency and agency, aiming to uncover the virtual, the untimely, against an established grand narrative of history. He might be placed within the milieu of the post- 1968 counter-historicism, insisting on the aleatory and rupturing nature of historical events.4 Yet what distinguishes him from other post-structuralist scholars is that he also posits a human history beyond humanity, in which humanity, or the subject of history, before actively being involved in history- making, is already a product of history. For Deleuze, on the one hand, “universal history is the history of contingencies” that humanity has no control over; yet on the other hand, one should seize “upon a truth or essence that cannot be reduced to its occurrence within chronological time. . . . [and] transcend lived time to grasp that which has a radically eternal reality.” 5 This ‘“virtual’ or ‘eternal’ reality resides in intensities of matter, in heterogeneous time, for time has different directionalities and speeds that could lead to different potentialities. “Time in its pure state is intuited, and becomes revolutionary, when intensities are experienced as having their own duration.”6 By granting time the ultimate subjectivity beyond human beings, Deleuze postulates different orderings of history-making, which human agency appears to have only a limited capacity to grasp, narrate, and manage. This theory simultaneously serves two functions in understanding history: one is to demonstrate the restrictive value of history in representation, which always invites discrepancies, competing narratives, and alternative explanations to contingent events; the other is to reveal the power of falsity by unfolding the virtual, potential, and heterogeneous qualities of time. In other words, the ‘history’ we observe, understand, and represent is not just flawed, but ‘false.’ The ‘reality’ of the represented history is but a fantasy or illusion that we need to banish, while ‘truth’ resides in the virtuality of time, in the becoming of things. The power of falsity is thus what “makes truth undecidable,” and what “turns the absurd into the highest power of thought.”7

4 Claire Colebrook, Introduction to Deleuze and History, eds., Jeffrey A. Bell and Claire Colebrook, (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2009), 5. 5 Ibid., 7–8. 6 Ibid., 1. 7 See Deleuze, Negotiations, trans. M. Joughin (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), 66. Also Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, What is philosophy? Trans. H. Tomlinson and G. Burchell (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), 62. 334 Conclusion

The heterogeneous time and the power of falsity then pave the way for Deleuze’s non-linear, non-dialectical model of history, which, in Deleuze’s words, has multiple speeds, intensities, capacities, and tendencies to develop differential histories not reducible to a grand narrative of history. And by implication, any single narrated history could contain its share of falsity that generates more corrective potentialities of histories. Deleuze’s theory, evolving from the post-1968 French philosophical circle to respond to the intrinsic problems in capitalism, resists any sense of historical totality and linearity. Yet unlike other post-structuralist understandings of time as primarily discontinuous,8 his concept of becoming nonetheless betrays potentialities that could point to continuity. His reference to Nietzsche’s “eternal return” suggests repetition with difference, a return signifying both aspiration for a common origin and desire for an unknown future. And the subject, being enabled and disabled by time as such, is also divided internally, and “thus becomes open to change, multiplicity, and is marked as much by chance or contingency as by necessity and determination.”9 This understanding of time and history, despite its utter distaste for unity and homogeneity, is at its core congruous with the Chinese conception of time and history. Insofar as the relations between time and humanity are both mechanical and social, that time is both outside and inside humanity as we experience its intensities and directionalities and make (ir)rational decisions, individual agency is bound to be subsumed in time, in collective agency, and represented history will always present a dynamic capacity mutable to another direction. The temporal differential such as intensities and potentialities thus resembles the Chinese notion of “shi 势”—historical trend or contingent force that at once inspires and paralyzes human agency. And the power of falsity in previous periods will certainly give rise to the alternative forms of history. Nevertheless, unlike what Deleuze implies are multiple orderings of history- making, the imperial-time-order, with its pronounced ethical and moral undertone, suggests an overall dialectic tendency that normalizes unification and moralizes the ruling regime. Of course, by proposing such a ‘grand’ thesis about Chinese history, my argument risks being mistaken for a totalizing or culturally essentialist vision, against the grain of intellectual thinking in the contemporary world. Therefore, I would like to reassert that my use of dialectics is not the Hegelian dialectic that affirms binary oppositions and the centrality of Reason, and that

8 D. N. Rodowick, Reading the Figural, or Philosophy after the New Media, (Durham & London: Duke University Press, 2001), 190. 9 Ibid., 202. Conclusion 335 precludes any sense of irrationality and differences not reducible to historical totality. The dialectic for which Chinese writers have shown such a procliv- ity, as I have discussed in Chapter One and again in Chapter Five on Mao Zedong’s thought, derives from the Book of Changes and emphasizes the antithetical complement instead of a third dimension of synthesis. In as much as the human subject appears as a complex site crossed by discursive, libidinal, and social forces that both constrained and enabled the possibilities of agency, the Chinese notion of dialectics embraces the idea of differences, heterogeneity, and multiplicity. The Deleuzian interpretation of Nietzsche’s concept ‘eternal return’ characterizes such transformations and mutations. Moreover, rather than an ‘essentialist’ theory about Chinese historical development, this book in effect maps out a ‘different’ mode of historical thinking that joins the trend of constructing counter-history in Western scholarship. In fact, would this thesis on China not imply a different ordering of history-making divergent from the universal history that scholars have so eagerly attacked? And would this discussion of an imperial thinking not contribute to the current debate on empire that by and large deconstructs the binary opposition between empire and nation-state? If we believe that the new world order is still in the process of becoming, and the emergence of global empires is already on the horizon, ‘the Chinese model’ might suggest an alternative way to look at empire as such.

Becoming Empire: The Postscript

When I visited China in summer 2013, not surprisingly, a number of books with diguo (‘empire’) in their titles were still on display in prominent areas of bookstores in Beijing. While it seems that the popular representations of past Chinese empires and emperors (especially TV series) have faded thanks to government regulation, the concept of ‘empire’ continues to claim an important position on the bestseller’s list. Whereas the term diguo now denotes various things in their respective contexts, ranging from pre-modern traditional empires, modern national empires, the emerging global empires, to business empires and media empires, it still remains an influential organizing principle that suggests either a dominant political entity or a form of governance, ema- nating a sense of power, unity, continuity, and connectivity. The fact that the term is currently stripped of its negative connotation and has instead regained positive status is evidence of its returning popularity on the public stage, which is reflective of China’s rise in the last few decades. Indeed, in the new millennium, the imagination of China as a continuing empire gradually arises from the undercurrent of cultural unconscious 336 Conclusion to become visible in popular media. Despite the official reassertion of China as a modern socialist nation, the unofficial discussion on the Internet shows alternative observations. In the widespread microblogs or online chatrooms, netizens often mockingly comment on the central government as tian chao (天朝, ‘heavenly dynasty’) and the children of influential PRC leaders as tai zi (太子, ‘princelings’). Such linguistic constructions not only exhibit continuity in the use of terminology,10 but also manifest a commonality of political manners shared by the imperial past and the present in people’s observation. Although these terms are often associated with cynical attitudes toward authority, the imagination of China leans more toward its imperial past than its Western counterparts. In the academic world, scholars are also engaged in the ‘empire fever’ with their serious or non-serious works. Besides Wang Hui’s Xiandai Zhongguo sixiang de xingqi (现代中国思想的兴起, “The Rise of Modern Chinese Thought”), there are Zhao Tingyang’s Tianxia tixi (天下体系, “The Tianxia System”), and Han Yuhai’s Tianxia—jiangshan zoubi (天下－江山走笔, “All-under-Heaven—Discursive Writings on Rivers and Mountains”), which also offer valuable insights into China’s present and future.11 While Zhao discusses Tianxia as a guiding principle for China’s unique development and a better model for the future world order from a philosopher’s perspective, Han as a literary professor maps out his imagination of empire in his geopolitical travelogue. Investing their scholarly insights in the discussion of connections between Chinese intellectual history, or general, imperial history, and the contemporary domestic and global atmosphere, these authors start to reflect on China’s present position in the world. They all suggest that on the foundation of the rich yet complex imperial history, modern China cannot be constrained within the boundary of a nation-state defined by its national borders, or a sovereign country defined by the global market and international law. All these phenomena, albeit diverse and carrying multiple potentialities, nonetheless testify to the underlying influence of the imperial-time-order. The re-articulation of Tianxia, the re-imagination of the Chinese empire, all

10 But such terms were never openly heard during the Maoist period. 11 Wang Hui, Xiandai Zhongguo sixiangde xingqi [The Rise of Modern Chinese Thought], (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 2004); Han Yuhai, Tianxia-jiangshan zoubi [All-under-Heaven— Discursive Writings on Rivers and Mountains], (Beijing: Zhonguo haiguan chubanshe, 2006); Zhao Tingyang, Tianxia tixi—shijie zhidu zhexue daolun [The Tianxia System: An Introduction to the Philosophy of a World Institution], (Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu chubanshe, 2005). Conclusion 337 point to the shi-trend that encompasses modern China, revisiting modern and imperial histories, and redefining China in the contemporary world. Even though the future does not appear as a clearly defined telos with a linear direction, we still see the tendency of becoming empire with its capacity for welcoming diversities, pluralities, and heterogeneities. Selected Bibliography

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A Cheng 200 Chen Motao, Hai shang hun (Spirits Over the A Lai 200 Sea) 71, 79 Analects (Confucius) 296, 300 Chen Rui 98 Anderson, Benedict 33, 123 Chen Shou 167 Ang Lee 233–234, 236 Chen Yi 156 Anthropology of Time (Gell) 9–10 Chen Yunshang 140 Aristotle 103 Chen Zhongshi, Bai Lu Yuan 312 A Ying 16, 64, 73, 85, 143–147 Chi’ang Kai-shek. See Jiang Jeshi (Chi’ang Kai-shek) Bailian nujuie (Women Warriors of the White Chinese Communist Party (CCP). See also Lotus Rebellion) (Jiang Weiming) 183 Cultural Revolution; Maoism Bai nian hui huang (One Hundred Years of censorship 186 Resplendence) (Ling Li) 197–199, 205, and civil war 47 241–250 founding 41 Ba Ren (Wang Renshu) 120 Great Leap Forward 3n7, 48, 155–157, Bellamy, Edward 66 179 Benjamin, Walter 28, 33, 84, 89, 329 Hundred Flowers policy 155 Bergson, Henri 39n40, 41, 115 Lu Xun in 93 Bhabha, Homi 203–204, 212 post-Mao 285–288 Bo Gu (Qin Bangxian) 118 during War of Resistance to Bolshevism. See Russian Revolution Japan 116–119 Book of Changes (Yijing) 33, 58, 74, 152, 270, Chongzhen (Emperor) 172, 174, 241 335 Choushi (History of Hatred) (Tongkusheng Bourdieu, Pierre 287 di’er) 71–72 Boxer Rebellion 183 Christianity 247–248 Braun, Otto. See Li De (Otto Braun) Cixi (Empress Dowager) 192–193 Britain. See United Kingdom Confucianism. See also Neo-Confucianism; Buddhism 243–244, 248, 252 New Confucianism Bu Wancang 140 durability of 24 and the family 95–99 Cai Wenji 12, 94, 162–171 in Hanwu da di 275, 285–287 Cai Wenji (Guo Moruo) 162–171 and imperial-time-order 11, 28–33, 50, Canada 267n2 199 Cannes International Film Festival 236 influence on adjacent cultures 32 Cao Cao 162–171, 179 and Kang Youwei 60 Cao Yu 154–156 and Marxism 11, 34–51 CCTV (China Central TV) 17, 191–192, 285 and masculinity 104–105 Chan Juan 134, 147 morality in 24, 80–81, 235 Chen Duxiu 82, 90–93 versus nomadic culture 322 Cheng Fangwu 83–84 in post-Mao period 285–286 Chen Kaige 17, 228 in Song Dynasty 7 Emperor and the Assassin, The 209–210, unification in 24 213–215 in works of Eryuehe 252–255 Yellow Earth 236 in works of Mao 117–119 Chen Mofeng 71 Confucius 25, 110, 285–286, 296, 300 Imperial-time Index 361

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon 233–234, Eryuehe 17, 240 236 Kangxi da di (The Great Kangxi Emperor) Cultural Revolution 250, 253–257, 264 historical allusions in literature of Luo xia san bu qu (Trilogy of the Evening 168–171, 211–212 Glow) 197, 199, 205, 250–266 intellectuals in 154–157 Qianlong huandi (The Qianlong Emperor) literary representations 183–184, 250, 255–265 303–306, 311 Yongzheng huangdi (TheYongzheng and Mao 1–4 Emperor) 250, 255–265 Mongolia during 323 and ‘the People’ 154–157, 179 Fabian, Johannes 58 Fang La qiyi (The Uprising of Fang La) Daguo jueqi (The Rise of the Great Powers) (Li Yuewu) 183 (TV series) 185–186, 191 Fenghuang niepan (Guo Moruo) 133 Dan Jian Pian (The Gall and the Sword) Feng Jicai 183 (Cao Yu) 156 First Emperor, The (Tan Dun) 209, Daoism 25–26, 28, 49, 110–114, 252, 275, 237–238 286 Foucault, Michel 8, 102, 295 Darwinism. See social Darwinism France 35, 191 Deleuze, Gilles complexity systems 50 Gao Jianli 211–213, 216–228, 232, 237 “fold” 32n18 Gao Jianli (Guo Moruo) 211n7 on “minority” 202–203 Gao Jianqun 17, 200, 201, 207, 312–316 and Nietzsche 33, 119, 335 Gao Yingxiang 315 and nonlinear history 8–9, 27, 294, Gaozong (Emperor) 80 332–335 Gell, Alfred 9 and theater 328 Genghis Khan 176, 307–309 and virtuality of time 166, 331 Germany 191 Deng Xiaoping 48, 192, 196, 286–287 Great Harmony (datong) 36, 41, 44 Descartes, Rene 27 Great Leap Forward 3n7, 48, 155–157, 179 Deyou (Emperor) 77 Greek philosophy 28–29 Diao Chan 135 Guanchang xianxing ji (The Bureaucrats: Dirlik, Arif 34, 37 A Revelation) (Li Boyuan) 64 Discourse about Heaven (Xunzi) 25 Guangxu Emperor 57 Doll’s House, A (Ibsen) 102–103 Guan Hanqing 154, 157–162 Dong Zhongshu 26 Gui opera 135 Dou E Yuan (Injustice Done to Tou Ngo) Guo Candong 183 158–159 Guo Moruo 16, 36n30, 41–42, 44, 82, 96–97, Dream of the Red Chamber 246, 251, 255 129–130, 133, 138, 168, 171, 173 Cai Wenji 162–171 Emperor and the Assassin, The 209–210 Fenghuang niepan 133 Emperor and the Assassin, The (film) Gao Jianli 211n7 213–215, 222–228, 236–237 “National Form Negotiation” 121–122 Emperor’s Shadow, The (film) 209–210, Nie Ying 94 213–228, 236–238 “Ode to Thunder and Lightning” 124–125 Emperor Yongzheng (Yongzheng wangchao) Qu Yuan 115, 124–134, 138, 143 (TV series) 255–256, 259, 260n25, 276n9, Tangdi zhi hua (Twin Flowers) 168 289 Three Rebellious Women 94, 105 Empire (Hardt and Negri) 212, 238 Wang Zhaojun 94, 102 362 Imperial-time index

Wu Zetian 168, 177n70 Hua Mulan (Zhou Yibai) 142–143 Zhu 177n70, 211, 213 Huang, Chun-chieh 29 Zhuo Wenjun 94–99, 102 Huang Sheng 119–120 Hui Chinese people 317 Haeckel, Ernst 151 Hu Jintao 268, 285, 290 Haijiao yibian (Records of the Cape) 71 Hu Mei 289 Hai Rui 154, 169n49 Hundred Days Reform 60 Hai Rui ba guan (Hai Rui Dismissed from Hundred Flowers policy 155 Office) (Wu Han) 157, 169n49, 170n51 Hu Shi 64, 90–91 Hai shang hun (Spirits Over the Sea) (Chen Huters, Theodore 89n24 Motao) 71, 79 Huxley, Aldous 58 Haiwai fu yu (Perseverance from Overseas) Hu Xueyan 199 (Chen Mofeng) 71 Han Chinese people 32, 71, 162–171 Ibsen, Henrik 102–103 Han Dynasty Indonesia 267n2 concepts of Heaven 26 Ireland 35 emperors 2 Islam 317–321 literary representations 95, 162–171, 185, 241–243 Jahriyya Islam 317–321 and minorities 203–207 Jameson, Fredric 45–46, 205n45 morality in 24 Japan and Shu state 167 censorship of Chinese literature 123 television representations 267, 272–293 as empire 191 Western Zhou period 24 encounters with China during Qing and Xiongnu Huns 314–316 dynasty 56 and Yuan Dynasty 71, 161 Liang Qichao’s exile in 105, 138 Han Shaogong 200 and modernity 233 Hanshu 272 War of Resistance to Japan 115–147 Hanwu da di (Great Emperor Wu of Han) in works of Li Boyuan 64 (TV series) 268, 272–293 in works of Mao 116–117 Han Wudi (Emperor) 16, 59, 169, 176, 270, Jiang Jeshi (Chi’ang Kai-shek) 91, 116, 272–293 174–175, 177n70, 211, 286n13. Han Yuhai 336 See also Kuomintang (KMT, Harootunian, Harry 233–234, 305 Nationalist Party) Heartbreaking Pacific, The (Wang Anyi) Jiang Qing 1 310–312 Jiang Rong 17, 202, 208, 294, 321–327 Heaven 79–80, 281, 284. See also tianli Jiang Weiming 183 (‘heavenly principle’) Jia Sidao 74–75, 75n43, 77 Hegel, W.F. 58, 151, 188 Jiayin group 85, 90 Heidegger, Martin 8 Jin Dynasty 2, 71, 80 Hero (film) 209–210, 214–215, 228–238 Jing (Emperor) 273–275, 286 He shang (River Elegy) (TV series) 185–192, Jing Ke 223, 232 250, 326 Jin Guantao 186, 271 Hong Kong 156n17, 267n2 Jing Wang 189–190 Hong Xiuquan 146 Jin Ping Mei (The Plum in the Golden Vase) Hong Xuanjiao 135 99 Hou Chaozong 135–140 Jishi yu xugou (Fact and Fiction) (Wang Anyi) Hua Mulan 135, 140–143, 147 201, 302–310, 316, 327–328 Imperial-time Index 363

Jones, Andrew 122 Li Dingxing 183 Jurchen Jin people 80–81 Li Hongzhang 192–193, 196 Lin Biao 1–2, 3n7 Kangxi (Emperor) 16 Ling Li 17, 240 television representations 270, 272, 289 Bai nian hui huang (One Hundred Years in works of Eryuehe 250, 253–257 of Resplendence) 197–199, 205, in works of Liang Qichao 59 241–250 in works of Ling Li 242–243, 246–247 Luo xia san bu qu (Trilogy of the Evening Kangxi da di (The Great Kangxi Emperor) Glow) 265–266 (Eryuehe) 250, 253–257, 264 Mu gu chen zhong (Evening Drum and Kangxi wangchao (TV series) 272n6 Morning Bell) 241–243, 246–250 Kang Youwei 57, 60, 193 Qing cheng qing guo (Toppling the City Katzenstein, Peter 238 and Overthrowing the Kingdom) Kong Shangren 135–140 241–245 Kublai Khan (Emperor) 74, 76, 168 Shaonian tianzi (Young Son of Kuomintang (KMT, Nationalist Party) 47, Heaven) 184, 241–242, 249 91–93, 116–119, 123, 124, 145 Xing xing cao (Alkali Grass) 183–184 Lin Shu 85 Lang tuteng (Wolf Totem) Li Qingzhao 94 book 202, 321–327 Li Shimin (Prince) 176–180 TV series 192, 199 Liu Bang (Emperor) 2 Lao Zi 110 Liu Bingzhong 74 Lee, Leo Ou-fan 60, 84, 108 Liu Mengyan 75 Legalism 215, 286, 287 Liu Xiaobo 190 Lenin, V.I. 37 Liu Xiaofeng 190 Levenson, Joseph 21, 35, 46, 49, 89n24 Liu Yazhou 183 Liang Hongyu 135 Liu Yazi 61, 145–146 Liang Jin yanyi (The Romance of Western Liu Zaifu 190 and Eastern Jin Dynasties) (Wu Jianren) Li Xiangjun 135–140 71 Li Yuewu 183 Liang Qichao 16, 90, 105, 138 Li Zehou 190–191 “On the Relationship between Fiction and Li Zicheng 171–177, 315 Mass Governance” 70 Li Zicheng 171–177 “Song of the Twentieth-Century Long March 118 Pacific” 55–57, 59, 62, 292n27 Longwu (Emperor) 144–145 “On the Transitional Era” 68–69 Luo xia san bu qu (Trilogy of the Evening Glow) Xin Zhongguo weilai ji (The Future of New (Eryuehe) 197, 199, 205, 250–266 China) 66–68 Luo xia san bu qu (Trilogy of the Evening Glow) “On the Young China” 59–61, 82 (Ling Li) 265–266 liberalism 12, 23, 187, 288, 329 Lu Xun 64, 88, 89, 93, 120, 292, 302, 326 Li Boyuan 16 Cai Wei 132 Guanchang xianxing ji (The Bureaucrats: and Confucianism 82, 110–114, 208, 327 A Revelation) 64 Gushi xinbian (Old Tales Retold) 16, Wenming xiaoshi (A Short History of 105–114 Civilization) 63–66 Qiejieting zawen (“Demi-Concession Li Chuangwang (A Ying) 144, 173 Studio Essays”) 113 Li Dazhao 40–41, 87 “What Happens after Nora Leaves Home?” Li De (Otto Braun) 118 102 364 Imperial-time index

Malaysia 267n2 and “Oriental despotism” 45 Manchus. See also Qing Dynasty periodization of Chinese history 23, and Confucianism 32 39 as ethnic group 61–63, 175–176 as substitute for Confucianism 11, sentiment against 62–63, 72, 81, 146 34–51, 204 in works of Yao Xueyin 172 May Fourth period Mandate of Heaven 24–27, 30–32, 39, 81 appropriation of Western ideals 23n2, Mao Dun Literature Prize 172 88 Maoism. See also Marxism and free love 244 in Chinese literature 12 and Guo Moruo 129 and nationalism 37–38, 148–153 and imperial-time-order 82–114, 328 and ‘the People’ 154–157, 176–180 and individuality 46 and ‘transitional period’ 148–153, literature of 16, 120 148n1 and newness 83, 187 Mao Zedong. See also Maoism and women’s liberation 102–103, 141 comparisons with historical figures Ma Yuancai 211 168 Mehnert, Klaus 151 On Contradiction (Maodun lun) 47, Meisner, Maurice 41, 87 150 Mencius (Mengzi) 42, 45, 291 and Cultural Revolution 1 Meng Chao 157, 170n51 on Hai Rui 169n49 Mengzi. See Mencius (Mengzi) and Hegel 151 Metzger, Thomas 36, 41, 92, 189 interview with Anna Louise Strong 47 Millar, John 104 Little Red Book 1–2 Ming Dynasty on peasant rebellions 184, 184n3 class structure 174 poetry 176 literary representations 71–73, 75, protection of authors 171–172 135–140, 143–147, 157, 173, 185 On Protracted Warfare 116–117 versus Manchu/Qing 11, 71, 139–140, 172, on Qin Shihuang 212 241–243 and Shaanbei 316 television representations 267 during War of Resistance to Japan Mongolia 321–327 116–119 Mongols Marx, Karl 35, 148 assimilation 71–72, 206 Marxism and Confucianism 32 with Chinese characteristics 1–5, 34, conquest of Song Dynasty 71–81 37–42, 115, 118–122, 148–157, 195, 285 and nomadic peoples 307–309 in Chinese literature 12 sentiment against 161 and class analysis 174 and tianxia 78 dominance in China 8, 87–88 Mo Yan 201, 312 and imperial-time-order 23, 50, 116–117, Mozi 86 134, 174–175, 329 Mu gu chen zhong (Evening Drum and and internationalism 35, 116–117 Morning Bell) (Ling Li) 241–243, and Li Zehou 190–191 246–250 and May Fourth period 85–87 Mulan. See Hua Mulan and nationalism 37–38 Mulan Joins the Army (Ouyang Yuqian) 135, and New Literature movement 85–87 140–142 and nomadic culture 324 Mummy, The (film) 209 optimism of 134 Murthy, Viren 43 Imperial-time Index 365 nationalism bombing of Belgrade embassy 194 in historical novels 71–81 encounter with the West 5–6, 187–188, and imperial-time-order 329 331 in late Qing Dynasty 62–63, 71–81 and modernization 5–9, 43, 187–188 under Mao 148–153 as nation-state 4–5, 43 and Marxism 35 relations with USSR 156 neonationalism/postnationalism 194 secularism of 15 in post-Mao period 188–189 and unification 13, 150–153, 203–205, and Qin Shihuang 212 211–213 as response to Western imperialism 89 Portugal 191 Nationalist Party. See Kuomintang Prince of Qin Li Shimin, The (Yan Haiping) (KMT, Nationalist Party) 16 Nativism 288 Neo-authoritarianism 287 Qianlong (Emperor) 16 Neo-Confucianism 30–31, 41, 50 comparisons with Mao 168 Netherlands, the 191 literary representations 59, 169n50, New Confucianism 50, 187, 288 255–265 New Conservatism 287 Qianlong huandi (The Qianlong Emperor) New Culture movement 90–91 (Eryuehe) 250, 255–265 New Fourth Army 124 Qian Xingcun. See A Ying New Fourth Armyu 124 Qin Bangxian. See Bo Gu (Qin Bangxian) New Left 287–288 Qin Dynasty New Literature movement 85–87, 121–122 film representations 209–238 Nietzsche, Friedrich 33, 39n40, 119, 334–335 literary representations 183, 185 Nie Ying (Guo Moruo) 94 television representations 267 Ningzong (Emperor) 80 Qin Empire 129 Not One Less (film) 236 Qing cheng qing guo (Toppling the City and Overthrowing the Kingdom) (Ling Li) Old Tales Retold (Lu Xun) 16 241–245 Olympic Games 194 Qing Dynasty Oscars (Academy Awards) 214, 234n27 class structure 174 Outline of Ancient Chinese History (Lu Jixiang) construction of ethnicity in 61–63, 72 21, 22 ideology of 11–12 Ouyang Yuqian 16 individualism in 69–70, 93–106 Mulan Joins the Army 135, 140–142 intellectuals in 12 Pan Jinlian 95, 98–106 and Japan 56 Peach Blossom Fan 135–140 literary representations 61, 172, 185 Ozaki Yukio 138 literature of 16, 55–81. See also Liang Qichao; Li Boyuan; Wu Jianren Palme d’Or Award 236 militarism 154 Pan Jinlian (Ouyang Yuqian) 95, 98–106 nationalism in 72 Peach Blossom Fan Pan Jinlian (Ouyang peasant revolts 183 Yuqian) 135–140 television representations 192–196, 240, Peking opera 135–140, 157, 169n50. 267 See also Peach Blossom Fan and women’s liberation 98 Penguin Publishing 322 Qinghai earthquake 290–291 People’s Republic of China. See also Chinese Qingqi (Wang Weifu) 70 Communist Party (CCP); Cultural Qing Xingcun. See A Ying Revolution; Maoism Qin Kuai 80–81 366 Imperial-time index

Qin Shihuang (Emperor) 16. See also Ying in works of Liang Qichao 55–57, 68–69 Zheng (Emperor) in works of Li Boyuan 64 film representations 17, 209–238 in works of Lu Xun 113–114 literary representations 12–14, 59, Shui hu zhuan (Water Margin) 99 177n70 Shunzi (Emperor) 184, 242, 244–245 opera representations 209 Sichuan earthquake 290–291 television representations 289 Sima Guang 167, 211n3 in works of Mao 149, 176 Sima Qian Qinwang Li Shimin (Li Shimin, Prince of Qin) Shiji 111, 211n3, 232, 272 (Yan Haiping) 16, 176–180 television representations 283–284 Qu Yuan 133 and Zhuo Wenjun 98 Qu Yuan (Guo Moruo) 115 Singapore 267n2 Qu Yuan (Guo Moruo) 115, 124–134, 138, 143 Snow, Edgar 316 social Darwinism 56, 59–60, 84, 88, 329 Republican Revolution 21, 23, 62–63 Song Dynasty Rise of Modern Chinese Thought, The class structure 174 (Wang) 7 defeat by Jurchen Jin 80 Romance of Three Kingdoms 3, 28, 164, 167 literary representations 71–81, 157 Rouran people 307–308 peasant revolts 183 Ruan Ji 2 philosophy 7, 30 Ru Fen 309, 311 “Song of the Twentieth-Century Pacific” Russia (Liang Quichao) 55–57, 59, 62, alternative model to Mao’s 118 292n27 Chinese relations with USSR 63, 156 Songstan Gampo (King) 162 as empire 191 Spain 236 Russian Revolution 37–38, 40, 87 Spiritual History. See Xinling shi (Spiritual History) San Sebastian Film Festival 236 Strong, Anna Louise 47 Scholars, The (Wu Jingzi) 64 Sun Yat-sen. See Sun Zhongshan (Sun Shaanbei 312–316 Yat-sen) Shakespeare, William 103 Sun Yuanhua 241, 244 Shanghai Sun Zhongshan (Sun Yat-sen) 42, 63, 118, historical dramas in 135 145–146, 193, 196 Japanese occupation of 140–142, 143, Su Tong 17, 200, 201, 207, 294–302 145 My Life as Emperor 295–296, 327 in works of Wang Anyi 302 Wu Zetian 295–302 Shaonian tianzi (Young Son of Heaven) Su Xiaokang 188–189, 326 (Ling Li) 184, 241–242, 249 Shen Yanbing (Mao Dun) 83 Taiping rebellion 144–146 Shi Cuntong 39n40 Taiwan 145, 156n17 Shih, Shu-mei 109, 129 Taizong (Emperor) 12, 162, 169, 218, 264 Shiji (Records of the Grand Historian) literary representations 169n50, (Sima Qian) 111, 211n3, 232, 272. 176–177 See also Sima Qian television representations 289 shi-trend 27–33, 38–42, 48, 58 Taizu (Emperor) 176, 264 and Deleuzian theory 334–335 Tan Dun 209, 237–238 in May Fourth period 82–86 Tangdi zhi hua (Twin Flowers) (Guo Moruo) in Warring States period 129 168 Imperial-time Index 367

Tang Dynasty Virgil 14 emperors. See also Taizong (Emperor) literary representations 157, 162, 185, Wang Anyi 17, 200–203, 207 244 Heartbreaking Pacific, The 310–312 peasant revolts 183 Jishi yu xugou (Fact and Fiction) 201, television representations 267 302–310, 316, 327–328 Taoism. See Daoism Wang Hui 7, 30, 43–44, 149, 149n2, 336 Tengger 322 Wang Kaiyun 98 Three Kingdoms period 162–171 Wang Ming 118 Three Rebellious Women (Guo Moruo) 94, Wang Peifen 315 105 Wang Renshu. See Ba Ren (Wang Renshu) Tiandi Hui (Heaven and Earth Society) 145 Wang Shifu 159 Tianenmen Incident 185–186, 188 Wang Weifu. See Qingqi (Wang Weifu) Tian Han 16, 161, 171 Wang Xiangqi 98 Guan Hanqing 157–162, 168 Wang Zhaojun (Guo Moruo) 94, 102 Wencheng gongzhu (Princess Wencheng) Wanli (Emperor) 168 162 Wannan Incident 124 Xie Yaohuan 157, 168 War of Resistance to Japan 16, 114, 115–147, tianxia (empire, all-under-heaven) 331 film representations 210, 213–215, Warring States period 29, 124–134, 198 222–228, 232–233, 235, 237 Wei Ruhui. See A Ying and government 21 Weiwu Cao Cao (Emperor) 149 in late Qing Dynasty 197–198 Wencheng (Princess) 162 and minority dynasties 32 Wen Jiabao 268, 285, 290 in post-Mao period 185, 336 Wenming xiaoshi (A Short History of and renmin 46 Civilization) (Li Boyuan) 63–66 television representations 49, 267–293 Wen Tianxiang 12, 71, 76–77, 79–81 in works of Eryuehe 252 Wolf Totem. See Lang tuteng (Wolf Totem) in works of Wu Jianren 78 World Trade Organization (WTO) 194 Tibet 162 World War II 123, 233 Tongkusheng di’er 71–72 Wu Han 157, 169n49, 170n51 Tongmeng Hui 145 Wu Jianren 16, 146, 239 Tongshi (Painful History) (Wu Jianren) Liang Jin yanyi (The Romance of Western 71–81, 144 and Eastern Jin Dynasties) 71 Tosaka Jun 39n40 Tongshi (Painful History) 71–81, 144 Toward the Republic (Mao). See Zouxiang Wu Jingzi, Scholars, The 64 gonghe (Toward the Republic) Wu Sidao 257–259 Tujue people 307 Wu Zetian (Empress) 94, 149, 168, 179, 295–302 United Front of Resistance to Japan 124 Wu Zetian (Guo Moruo) 168, 177n70 United Kingdom 35, 63, 191 Wu Zhihui 90–93, 113 United States Chinese television in 267n2 Xianbei people 71–72 as empire 191 Xiaobing Tang 56, 60 global domination of 194 Xiaomei Chen 23n2, 88 Mao on atomic bomb 47–48 Xiaoming Chen 129–130 in works of Li Boyuan 64 Xiaozong (Emperor) 80 in World War II 123 Xie Junzhi 76 368 Imperial-time index

Xie Yaohuan 154, 157 Yue Fei 80–81 Xingshi (Awakening Lion) magazine 72 Yu Hua 201 Xing xing cao (Alkali Grass) (Ling Li) 183–184 Zeng Guofan 199 Xinhai Revolution 91–92 Zhang Chengzi 17, 200–203, 207–208 Xinling shi (Spiritual History) (Zhang Chengzi) Xinling shi (Spiritual History) 202, 317–321 317–321 Zhang Gui 75 Xiongnu Huns 162–171, 275–276, 281, Zhang Hongfan 75 283–285, 312–316 Zhang Ruimin 322 Xuanzong (Emperor) 244 Zhang Ruoying. See A Ying Xudong Zhang 194–195, 239 Zhang Shijie 76 Xueheng group 85 Zhang Shizhao 90–91 Xueping Zhong 291–292 Zhang Taiyan 63 Xunzi 25–26, 29 Zhang Xianzhong 315 Xu Shen 45 Zhang Yimou 17 Hero 209–210, 228–238 Yan Fu 57–60 Not One Less 236 Yang Guifei 244 Zhang Yiwu 291–292 Yan Haiping 16, 176–180 Zhao Kuangyin (Emperor) 78 Yao Ming 322 Zhao Tingyang 49, 336 Yao Xueyin 16, 171–172, 264 Zhao Ziyang (General Secretary) 186 Li Zicheng 171–177, 183 Zhaxi Dawa 200 Yellow Earth (Chen Kaige) 236 Zheng Chenggong Yellow River 186–187 literary representations 12, 71, 144–147 Ye Shi 30–31 as predecessor of KMT 145–147 Yibing Huang 317 Zheng Huchen 74, 75n43 Yi he quan (Boxer Rebellion) 183 Zheng Yu 146–147, 146n59 Yijing. See Book of Changes (Yijing) Zhong Kui 2–3 Ying Zheng (Emperor). See Qin Shihuang Zhou Enlai 156, 156n19 (Emperor) Zhou Xiaowen 17, 209–210, 213–228 Ying Zhu 267, 287, 292 Zhou Yibai 142–143 Yongzheng (Emperor) 16, 198–199 Zhou Zuoren 83, 86 in works of Eryuehe 250, 255–265 Zhu (Guo Moruo) 177n70, 211, 213 Yongzheng huangdi (TheYongzheng Emperor) Zhuang Zi 110 (Eryuehe) 250, 255–265 Zhuo Wenjun (Guo Moruo) 94–99, 102 Yuan Dynasty. See also Kublai Khan Zhu Rongji 290 and Genghis Khan 308–309 Zhu Xi 30–31, 167 literary representations 73–81, 144, Zizek, Slavoj 37–38, 47, 119, 151 157–162, 185 Zouxiang gonghe (Toward the Republic) Mongol conquest 71 185–186, 192–196, 198 television representations 267 Zuihou yige Xiongnu (The Last Xiongnu Hun) Yuan Shikai 192–193 (Gao Jianqun) 201, 312–316 Yu Dan 286 Zuoxian (Prince) 162–171