Chapter 2784: The Capital (Part 140)

With the arrival of spring in the eleventh year of Chongzhen, the common folk of the Capital sensed something amiss in the heavenly seasons. Winter had yielded to spring, and the calendar had already turned to late March, yet the northwest wind that howled for days on end did not bring the familiar yellow sand and dust that usually blanketed heaven and earth. Instead, it drove countless snowflakes mingled with cold rain, pelting mercilessly upon the heads of pedestrians. Those poor souls who could not afford sedan chairs, nor the coin for mules or horses, trudged shivering through streets choked with slush and mud, their steps now sinking deep, now slipping shallow. Hunger and cold gnawed at them, and some stumbled into the pools of meltwater that had formed in the road. They struggled to rise but could not, and after a while, they moved no more.

This unseasonable spring chill brought unexpected fortune to the tea houses, whose business flourished. In this snowy March, one needed only to inquire about the rising prices at the firewood market and coal shops before most people would decisively choose to nest in a tea house and "incubate" for the entire day. Tables and chairs near the hot water stove filled early with crowds of patrons. Yet even in corners far from the stove's warmth, the steam spreading through the room bestowed a false sense of comfort. Beyond mere warmth, this dense white mist seemed to create a strange illusion—as though it might shield one from the eyes and ears of the Eastern Depot and Jinyiwei agents, rendering one invisible within its veil. Thus the noise of conversation inevitably grew louder and louder. Topics always began with the absurdity of the heavenly seasons, and with how many frozen bodies the street patrol soldiers had carted away that morning, before turning to complaints about the price of rice and the cost of firewood and coal. Amid sighs, discussions gradually drifted toward more dangerous ground: the Eastern Barbarians invading, the Roving Bandits rebelling, and the Kun carving out their own territory. The talk grew increasingly unrestrained. Only when tea guests argued loudly about which threat was most urgent—suppressing the bandits, resisting the barbarians, or defeating the Kun—or about which court minister or governor deserved to be bound and sent to the West Market for execution, or even ventured into such perilous speculation as the future fate of the Great Ming Dynasty, would the shopkeeper emerge to mediate, reminding them of the poster on the wall that read "Do Not Discuss State Affairs."

At this particular tea house near Chaoyang Gate, the owner always instructed the Tea Doctor to seal the windows tightly during rain and snow, keeping out the cold while also containing the guests' wild talk within the room. Cold air inevitably seeped through the cracks, however, so the tables by the windows remained largely unoccupied. Yet there was a young man who claimed to be a student of the Imperial Academy and who singularly favored this position. Each morning when the tea house opened, he would take his seat there, order a bowl of Yuanbao Tea and a few sesame cakes, sip a little, then open the bamboo book satchel he carried with him. He would produce paper, brush, ink box, and a thin booklet, and by the light filtering through the translucent shell panes, he would leaf through a few pages before bowing his head to begin copying.

Though it was called a tea house, no fragrance of tea graced the air within. In winter, with doors and windows sealed tight, the atmosphere grew foul, thick with an indescribable mixture of smells. Add to this the clamor of the patrons, and reading or writing with any peace of mind in this cramped world became a formidable task. Yet this young man focused his mind and spirit, his brush flying across the page as if possessed.

What the tea guests discussed most frequently of late was not state affairs, but rather a "strange case" that had recently occurred. This strange case was, naturally, the kidnapping of Shopkeeper Leng. Though the case had long been closed and the run on Delong it had caused had subsided for many days, too many details remained murky—enough to hook the boundless curiosity of the tea-drinking crowd.

For such a major case, there surely must have been detailed news at the Shuntian Prefecture Yamen. But the few yamen runners from Shuntian who frequented the tea house could offer nothing fresh. So far, everyone knew only two things: the Old Xi'er—the Shanxi merchants—had played dirty tricks behind the scenes, and He Lian Sheng had claimed the lion's share of credit.

Gradually, more patrons filled the shop. Amid the Tea Doctor's greetings and the guests' chatter and sighs, a middle-aged man lifted the door curtain and entered. He shook the snowflakes from his fine velvet dahu, then removed his green felt cap to reveal a gray and thinning hair bun. He too carried a book satchel in hand. The tea guests paid no mind to this down-and-out scholar, a common sight in the Capital. The Tea Doctor made no effort to greet him either. The middle-aged scholar wandered slowly to the table by the window. Seeing that the young Tribute Student still had his head bowed over his copying—and that the green olive from his Yuanbao Tea had been picked out and placed upon the bowl lid—he narrowed his eyes to peer at the work, then seated himself unbidden. "Might I ask, young gentleman, are you copying the Peking Gazette?"

"Indeed I am." The young man raised his head, speaking Mandarin with a heavy Min accent. "My hometown lies far away in the remote reaches. The elders there wish to hear the Jade Voice from the Imperial Palace, yet lament how difficult it is to reach them. This Peking Gazette contains detailed news, but the price is exorbitant. Borrowing the gazette to copy is simply making the best of a difficult situation. I trust the old gentleman will forgive my humble efforts."

The so-called Peking Gazette was itself a product of Australian cultural influence touching the remote and torpid nerves of the Ming Empire. Since the Australians had partitioned Lingnan, the Emperor had personally issued an edict banning "Kun books and obscene paintings," with all Australian newspapers included in the prohibition. Moreover, it was repeatedly emphasized that "memorials are for Imperial review; reporting houses are not permitted to copy and circulate them without authorization," lest news reach Kun spies. "Violators will be punished." Unexpectedly, wealthy establishments in the Copying Gazette Guild in the Capital had spotted commercial opportunities in the Australian newspapers and magazines. They pooled their resources to open reporting houses, bribed the Titang Officials of the various provincial governors stationed in Beijing to copy the residence gazette, printed them into booklets using wooden movable type, and even added simple woodblock news illustrations, issuing one edition every ten days. Though the selling price of thirty wen of Beijing cash per booklet was hardly cheap, bureaucrats and scholars in the Capital still flocked to purchase them. Even illiterate commoners took pleasure in having someone read the gazette aloud to them.

At the words "Peking Gazette," several sharp-eared tea guests gathered round, requesting that the gazette be read aloud. The young man did not decline. However, his thick Min accent proved genuine torture to the ears of the Capital's commoners. And so the middle-aged scholar seated across the table, having just finished a bowl of tea soup, found himself beseeched by the crowd to continue the reading. His authentic Beijing dialect rose and fell in measured cadence, though it seemed to lack vital energy. The tea guests listening to the gazette gradually began murmuring among themselves:

"Why does the gazette make no mention of border affairs?"

"Early this month, at the Xuan-Da garrison, the Chahar vassals knocked at the pass requesting to open markets. Old Minister Lu determined that they must be either Eastern Barbarians or the Kun in disguise, and firmly refused. I heard he even had a fierce quarrel with Minister of War Grand Secretary Yang. How is there no follow-up?"

"You people are too ignorant of such matters!" An old man wearing a flat square scarf spoke up in a sharp tone. "The Court has not only banned the Kun newspapers but also forbidden the reporting houses from privately copying memorials and imperial endorsements that mention border affairs or military matters. Why do you think that is? Consider this: if the Kun learned that the Eastern Barbarians enter our borders as easily as visiting the Capital for a spring outing, and if they went to swear a blood alliance with that barbarian chieftain Hong Taiji, what would become of our Dynasty? The Emperor is truly sagacious!"

The whole shop roared with laughter. Some shook their heads and sighed, "Old Minister Lu has probably grown confused. Never mind the Eastern Barbarians—if the Kun wished to open markets, they would simply sail in from the sea. Why bother detouring beyond the border to knock at Xuan-Da?"

"Old Zhang, what nonsense are you spouting?" A burly man slammed his tea bowl on the table and bellowed. "Are you speaking for the Eastern Barbarians or for the Kun? Didn't you hear what the gazette said in the first ten days? The Roving Bandit Li Zicheng has collapsed, and the Eighth Great King, that bandit Zhang, has been slain in battle by the Heavenly Troops—his head about to be displayed for all the world to see. These are all Master Lu's achievements from years past. What manner of creature are you, to dare slander Grand Master Lu in this place!"

The old man in the flat square scarf coughed twice and laughed. "Calm yourself, Sixth Brother Wang. You keep invoking Master Lu—but do you know of that other Master Lu from the Six Offices of Scrutiny? Lu Beike?"

"You mean the 'Eating Kun Flesh Raw' Lu Beike?" A clerk drinking tea chimed in, prompting a burst of raucous laughter from the patrons. The commoners of the Capital all knew that Lu Zhaolong—courtesy name Benqian, pseudonym Beike—Supervising Secretary of the Office of Scrutiny for Personnel and a native of Guangdong, had harbored the deepest hatred for the Kun and the Macau Portuguese barbarians throughout his life. Whenever he submitted memorials criticizing Minister of War Zhang Fengyi for neglecting to suppress the Kun, he would make savage pronouncements: "The hearts of all the people in Guangdong are in turmoil, yearning to eat Fengyi's flesh." Yet Vice Minister of War Yang Sichang had mocked him in return: "Since such sentiments exist in Guangdong, presumably the flesh of the Kun is all consumed by now." Lu Zhaolong had become so enraged that he lost his composure, transgressing proper etiquette before the Emperor, and from then on could not shake this derisive nickname.

"Speaking of the mine workers' rebellion in Yongzhou, Chenzhou, and elsewhere the year before last—this Master Lu petitioned the Emperor for permission to go and pacify the region, planning to imitate Qi Nantang's established method of training mine workers as soldiers in preparation for attacking the Kun. The Emperor granted his request, issuing a decree appointing him Governor of Pian-Yuan. Alas, no one was willing to follow his orders. Within a few months of taking office, he died tragically amid the chaos—his head severed by the mine bandits. This old man may indeed be no person of consequence, but Sixth Brother Wang, if you truly are one, why didn't you serve under Lu Beike's command back then? Wouldn't that have been better than grinding your lips with us old folk in this tea house?"

The burly man called Sixth Brother Wang felt his face swell purple with rage, yet he could not manage a single word in reply.

"I heard that group of mine bandits were pursued by the Heavenly Troops until they had nowhere left to hide. Most scattered and were killed; the remainder finally went to join the Kun. Truly, bandits do flock together. But it shows the Kun do possess some capability."

"The Kun have more than just some capability. Take this Imperial Edict's so-called ban on Kun goods and suspension of markets—which provision has actually landed a blow where it hurts?" The clerk who had spoken earlier picked at the tea leaves floating on his bowl lid, affecting an air of deliberate mystification. "Do you know that the southern fresh fruits purchased by the Directorate for Imperial Food for the Great Within in recent years are actually all Australian canned goods that violate the ban? Whatever goes unused in the Palace is taken out for sale. A small can of syrup lychees fetches eight or nine taels of silver—equal to our food stipend for an entire year—and supply still falls short of demand. The immense profits are all carved up between the Kun and the eunuchs in the palace. The outside world knows nothing of this, but who within the Palace doesn't? Except... the Holy Son of Heaven's heart is devoted to all under heaven; presumably he cannot attend to such trivial matters."

The discussion in the tea house grew ever more heated; the shopkeeper emerged several times to dissuade them, to no avail. Seeing that no one was listening to the reading anymore, and having grown weary of reading himself, the middle-aged scholar returned the gazette booklet to the young man. He fished a small tin flask from within his robes, poured some wine into his tea soup bowl, drained it in one gulp, and sighed with satisfaction: "Exquisite!" Then he called the Tea Doctor to settle his bill. The peculiar sweet fragrance of the wine caught the attention of the young Tribute Student. He strained to recall this once-familiar scent, but the arguing voices of the middle-aged scholar and the Tea Doctor rang in his ears.

"...How can you accuse us of being greedy? You, old gentleman, can read the newspapers—surely you must know current market prices? Ever since the Court ordered the ban on selling Kun goods, prices of everything in the Capital have soared. Never mind the other fruit pastries used in this tea soup—just consider the brown sugar and white sugar we use. Each jin has risen by three to five cents of silver..."

(End of Chapter)