Chapter 922 – Fanning the Flames
"This won't do." Zhao Yingong immediately objected. "The Jesuits know perfectly well that we're the only ones with a Chinese-language edition of the Old and New Testaments. Many of the passages Bo Yang quoted in this essay haven't even been translated in this timeline. The Jesuits aren't stupid—they'll definitely make the connection."
Zhang Yingchen tossed aside the cherry stem in his hand and wiped his mouth with a towel. "I'm planning to use the Studium Biblicum version..."
"What difference does that make? None." Zhao Yingong shook his head. "Regardless of which version you use, we're currently the only ones with a Chinese Bible. So Bo Yang's essay can't be used—I absolutely won't agree to it."
Zhang Yingchen thought it over. "What if I rewrite it?"
His idea was to compile material attacking the Church based on the existing Chinese Bible stories the Church had already produced. Of course, the effect wouldn't be as powerful as Bo Yang's essay.
"Such a pity." He sighed with apparent regret. Then he asked: "Have you finished the pamphlets I asked you to prepare?"
"They're done." Zhao Yingong unclipped a ring of keys from his waist, opened a padlock on a small cabinet in his study, and took out a tightly sealed book parcel, handing it to Zhang Yingchen. These were samples of anti-religious pamphlets printed at Wanbi Bookshop's printing plant. There were two types: one discrediting Catholicism and one discrediting Buddhism—both masterworks of the Grand Library's Truth Office. Zhang Yingchen was preparing to take advantage of this Hangzhou Religious Case to distribute them widely throughout the area and damage both religions' reputations.
"Take them back and look them over for anything problematic. Once it's finalized, bring them back quickly so I can organize mass printing," Zhao Yingong instructed.
"Are the printing workers reliable?"
"No problem. They can't set foot outside Phoenix Mountain Estate now, and their families have all been sent to Lingao." Zhao Yingong smiled. "Unless they've gone mad and don't care about their wives' and children's lives. Once the Religious Case is over, I'll send this batch of craftsmen back to Lingao for Zhou Dongtian to use and recruit a new batch of workers."
Zhang Yingchen slipped out of the city just before the gates closed and quietly returned to Qingyun Temple. He was being very careful now whenever entering or leaving Wanbi Bookshop, lest anyone detect his unusual friendship with this Master Zhao.
Mingqing was waiting for him. Tea and food had been left on the table. He also reported that the gentleman who wanted "to compound the Great Elixir" had sent someone to invite him again today.
"What did you tell him?"
"I said that you, Daoist Master, had gone wandering and no one knew when you'd return. I'd let you know as soon as you came back." Mingqing was a very sharp young man.
"Heh, well said." Zhang Yingchen lightly patted the little Daoist acolyte's shoulder. The boy was indeed quite handsome... He recalled an amusing incident from a few days ago when he'd accepted an invitation to the house of that gentry member seeking "to compound the Great Elixir," and a faint smile crossed his lips.
"Go to bed first. I still have some things to do. No need to wait on me here." The Daoist spoke as he gently kneaded the young acolyte's tender shoulder.
After Mingqing left, the Daoist trimmed the wick of the candle the young acolyte had left in the room and lit a second candle—the illumination from tallow candles was pitifully poor; with just one candle, reading and writing were nearly impossible.
Zhang Yingchen ate a few bites of the food, pushed the plates aside, and opened a locked small box by his pillow. Inside was his codebook—the Religious Affairs Office had its own independent codebook. He had no radio of his own and had to maintain contact with the Religious Affairs Office and the New Daoism headquarters at Yunji Temple through the Hangzhou Station's radio.
He wrote a letter to Dai E:
Friend Dai,
The book from the Truth Office has been received and delivered to its intended recipient. Watching the old Buddhist monk put on his Vajra face was entertaining.
The anti-religious pamphlets have been polished by the Truth Office—Zhang Haogu says they were written by naturalized citizens on his staff. I think I underestimated the standards of these literary degenerates. With the Old Testament as a foundation, the fanfiction they've written is actually good enough for the web. Though they can hardly rival the author of Golden Lotus, crushing trash like "Lampwick Monk" is child's play.
Entertainers were classified as base-born by Zhu Yuanzhang, yet these lovely performing artists are indispensable to this academic debate—if "Four Scholars" had no Song Shixiong, what would be the point of the story? Starting tomorrow, various scandalous tales will be whispered mouth to ear across this earthly paradise.
Digression: I really can't stand these bored literati and their effeminate tastes. A few days ago, I was actually confessed to by a boy who plays young female roles. Laying hands on a shota is criminal; loli-shota stuff is even more depraved. Can you raise a healthy young man from a cross-dresser? I doubt it. Perhaps we should establish a rule that Daoist novices must participate in militia training every year, with drill practice...
...
After finishing the letter, he encoded it using his codebook—the day after tomorrow, a courier from Hangzhou Station would come to collect his encrypted message.
Tomorrow, the storm of the Hangzhou Religious Case would blow even harder. Zhang Yingchen went to bed with a satisfied smile.
In the old timeline, the Hangzhou Religious Case had been merely a minor religious dispute. Apart from the Hangzhou Catholic parish's believers and the Buddhists who challenged them, it hadn't stirred up much of a fuss in the city. Overall, it had never exceeded the scope of theological debate between the two sides.
But this Religious Case, instigated and triggered ahead of schedule by the Daoist, had taken a different direction. The waves it raised far exceeded the expectations of Huang Zhen and the others.
As usual, Gao Xuan came to Wanbi Bookshop to read that day—reading the Complete Collection of Illustrations and Writings as always. Just as he sat down and took a sip of hot tea, quietly waiting for his sweat to dry a bit, he suddenly heard several scholars in the outer parlor of Wenxi Hall engaged in animated discussion, saliva flying. Gao Xuan initially paid them no mind—these men often argued there, spouting all sorts of nonsense. Gao Xuan knew they were mostly followers of the Wang Yangming school.
But today their topic was different from usual—they seemed to be talking about the Western Cross Religion. The Cross Religion had a temple locally, with several big-bearded Western monks. Quite a few local gentry and scholars followed it. Gao Xuan had heard bits and pieces but had never been particularly interested.
What he heard now, however, was all "colorful" material—quite "salacious and violent," one might say. He couldn't help pricking up his ears. Someone was recounting various scandalous practices within the Cross Religion, the speaker relishing every detail, the listeners hanging on every word, occasionally cheering him on.
Gao Xuan had originally wanted to read quietly, but their chatter had stirred an itch in him. He couldn't even focus on his book anymore. Involuntarily, he set it down and strolled over to the side hall.
The animated discussion in the side hall had already attracted most of the scholars and candidates from Wenxi Hall. They crowded around outside, listening to the speakers inside.
The man speaking most enthusiastically was a fellow with a round, flat face and a jujube-pit-shaped head—tall, with a pair of keen small eyes, a pencil mustache, a thin neck on a large head, and ruddy complexion. He looked like a troublemaker. Though he wore a tattered zhishu robe, he didn't look at all like a scholar.
Gao Xuan, however, knew who he was—a man named Zhuang Haoren. He'd been born into a local prominent family, had read quite a few books in his youth, and after the family fortune declined, had drifted around the city as a "loafer." Allegedly he had tried alchemy to transmute gold and silver—failing to produce any, he'd only managed to singe off part of his whiskers. Later he'd hung around the pleasure quarters, teaching meter and lyrics to the "thin horses," even drawn erotic illustrations for novels sold by bookshops, and of course engaged in the usual gang-fighting and the like. In short, he was a typical "literary degenerate."
Although Zhuang Haoren's conduct was improper, his eclectic knowledge was extensive; he even knew some medicine. He also had insights into Wang Shouren's "School of Mind" and would hold forth when the mood struck him. After Wanbi Bookshop opened, Zhuang Haoren would sometimes come to read and chat. Zhao Yingong treated all readers equally—as long as they observed the bookshop's rules, they were welcome.
"...Come on, let's go see what ox gallstones and dog treasures this Cross Religion has to show!" Seeing the atmosphere was ripe, Zhuang Haoren raised his arm and called out. In a flash, he'd swept the audience along with him. He'd already taken money a few days ago, under instructions to bring some scholars and students to the church at Tianshui Bridge and make trouble, amplifying the commotion.
Zhuang Haoren bore no ill will toward the Western monks and had no grievances with the religious believers. But since he'd taken the silver, he had to do the work. In no time at all, he'd riled up the scholars at Wanbi Bookshop—more than half were actually just following along to watch the excitement. Everyone wanted to see whether the Chan Buddhist monks or the Western missionaries were more formidable.
Gao Xuan couldn't help but be swept along with the crowd toward Tianshui Bridge.
At Tianshui Bridge, a large crowd had already gathered. Besides ordinary citizens and idlers, many were dressed as scholars, along with some monks and Daoists. Everyone was pushing forward, trying to squeeze to the front of the church to get a good look at the spectacle.
From a distance, Gao Xuan could already hear the clamor. From time to time, laughter and shouting erupted. Involuntarily, he quickened his pace toward the sound.
After finally pushing his way to the front, he saw a group of Confucian scholars in square caps and Daoist robes, along with several monks—about a dozen or more people—crowded before the church, creating a noisy scene of pointing and arguing. Several broadsheets were pasted on the spirit wall of the church. Gao Xuan strained to read them and could just make out the titles: A Preliminary Critique of Heaven, A Second Critique of Heaven, and Exposing Falsehoods.
Gao Xuan hadn't read these three essays. However, under Daoist Zhang's covert manipulation, they had long since been printed as handbills and distributed throughout the city's streets and alleys to build momentum. Huang Zhen, Zhang Tian, and the others, unaware of the backstory, assumed that justice had attracted popular support. Their spirits rose even higher, and they came to the church gates every day to challenge the Church to debate.
But the Hangzhou Church, as in the historical account, adopted the same policy: no matter how much shouting and cursing went on outside, they remained as immovable as Mount Tai, completely ignoring it. Masses continued as usual, rituals proceeded as normal, as if they saw nothing at all.