CH 1

Xie Yilu woke with a start. He felt like someone had stomped on him in the darkness, or perhaps a gulp of air had lodged in his chest and was preventing him from breathing evenly. Whatever it was only added to the fiery sting of alcohol in his throat. He opened his eyes to a scene of disordered revelry; the bowl of shuihua noodles1 he had ordered before passing out drunk was now cold to the touch. He covered his mouth and retched a few times — crack — a crisp sound travelled from his right hand side — crack — and another soon after. Someone was cracking sunflower seeds.

“Aiyah, Your Excellency Liu…” Diagonally across from him came the pinched laughter of a boy, lazy and affected. His tone was now hurried, now languid, and imbued with an air of wantoness.

Shifting his gaze to the right, Xie Yilu caught a glimpse of dying candlelight in the murky grey dawn. There was an arm like a lotus root wearing a golden bangle and a pink face that seemed no larger than his palm on a head topped by an ostentatious coiffure that tilted under the weight of a great white peony.

He looked at the boy, and the boy looked back with his wide eyes that resembled water ripples, his long brows like slender willow branches. Those thin lips, coated in rouge, moved to reveal a hint of a smile. “Awake now?”

His tone was not too respectful, but carried the traces of intimacy that came with familiarity. Xie Yilu nodded and asked, “What time is it now?”

“It should be the Fifth Watch2 soon.” The boy dressed as a woman spoke unhurriedly in a half-southern, half-northern Nanjing dialect. His speech was punctuated by the loud cracking of sunflower seeds. “The Lord Minister3 has already gone home.”

Fourteen or fifteen? Xie Yilu guessed. The boy was right in the height of his youth, yet here he was, dressed gaudily in reds and greens, enticing men to drink. “It should be breaking up soon.”

“Breaking up?” the boy’s brows arched to the roof as if he had heard a joke. “I know these men from the Ministry of War. It’ll count as ‘soon’ if they call it quits by this time tomorrow.”

Xie Yilu followed the slight tilt of his dainty finger to take in the sight of the feast around him. Everywhere men sat slumped or collapsed; the few who were still conscious fawned over singing-boys4 in their arms with their clothes untied. They puckered their lips and pressed their faces close, calls of “sweetheart” tumbling from their mouths.

“Do you have water?” Xie Yilu turned his face away.

The boy relaxed his grip and let a handful of black sunflower seeds tumble onto the table. “Look, you’re out here to play. There’s wine, but no water.” He turned to face Xie Yilu, sizing him up curiously. “They say you were demoted here from Beijing.”

Xie Yilu disdained to converse with him, so he replied, “Wine is alright.”

“You offended someone?” The boy lifted the wine jug, pouring two shallow cups and placing them a little distance away. “Play a round with me. If you win, I’ll feed you.”

Xie Yilu felt his anger stirring and stood to knock the wine over, but the boy seized the opportunity to lean into his arms, dragging him to a standstill. This was the love debt spoken of in crude conversation — something Xie Yilu failed to enjoy. Having just arrived in Nanjing, he had no wish to start trouble in the amorous realm. As such, he asked mildly, “A round of what?”

“A round the Nanjing way5, you don’t know how.” The boy had sensed his displeasure but pretended not to notice it as he draped himself bonelessly against Xie Yilu. Afraid to let him slip, Xie Yilu flipped his hand over. Yet, as soon as he did, the boy brazenly pillowed his head in his palm and rubbed back and forth with his feathery hair and soft cheek. “But a round the Beijing way, I don’t know how…”

He fixed Xie Yilu with a pair of fiery eyes, their intensity making him feel a little helpless. “Xie-mou6 is only a sixth-ranked Secretary7. What do you gain from… dallying with me?”

The boy replied softly, “Is it not enough that I find you handsome?”

Xie Yilu’s face reddened immediately. While the Beijing officialdom also held such social gatherings and hired such singing-boys to their banquets, no one from the lotus hutongs8 there would be so fearless. To say he was unbridled, it would be truer to call him impudent. But to call him impudent, one could not say he was displeasing. “You’ve crossed the line!”

The boy burst into laughter. “Dear gege9,” he said, as he trailed up Xie Yilu’s stiff arm, “Nanjing is a gold squanderers’ den. There are no principles here, no rules.” He drew closer and closer until he was almost touching the corner of Xie Yilu’s mouth. “Only four words are recognised here.” He paused, his voice hushed, and blew hot air between Xie Yilu’s lips. “Wine, sex, money, power…”

His face was graceful and bright, no less so than that of any beautiful young woman. Xie Yilu stared for a moment, then awkwardly pulled back his hand. Standing up unsteadily, he knocked the chair aside as he made for the doorway. The flower-carved door was tightly shut, but he pushed it open and felt the cool breeze of early spring blow into his face.

The crescent moon still hung at the corner of the eaves, and the chirping of birds could be heard from the branches of a wutong tree. Xie Yilu closed the door firmly behind him. When he looked to his left, he saw the silhouette of a man sitting alone on the corridor balustrade. He took a moment to recognise the gaunt, upright figure. “Your Excellency Qu?”

The figure stood, and his round-collared dashan10 waved a little in the wind. “Your Excellency Xie.”

The other man slowly walked out from the dim corridor holding a fan. The moonlight first lit up the brand new silver belt at his waist, then the richly embroidered sixth-ranked egret buzi11 at his chest and finally his youthful and spirited face.

This was Qu Feng, courtesy name Simu. He had been transferred to the Nanjing Ministry of War alongside Xie Yilu and was also a sixth-ranked Secretary. “Just woke up?”

The two of them were really not close, having spoken for the first time during the earlier banquet. As such, Xie Yilu was a little surprised to hear Qu Feng strike up a conversation with him in vernacular speech12, but he did not bother with formalities either. “I don’t hold my wine well.”

Qu Feng smiled broadly, revealing two little canine teeth that lent him a childish appearance. “Time to improve. Nanjing is unlike Beijing. Here, your tolerance for wine is the first skill you have to master to keep up appearances.”

A gust of wind blew dense clouds over the moon and rustled the pine branches. Perhaps because of the wine he had downed earlier, Xie Yilu felt so casual as to border on being impetuous. “Why aren’t you sitting inside?”

Yet Qu Feng did not mind and curled his lips in frank contempt. “That place,” he rolled his eyes, “isn’t somewhere I can stand to stay.”

So it seemed they were cut from the same cloth. Xie Yilu stepped closer to stand by his side. “From your accent, you sound like a local?”

“I’m from Yingtian Prefecture13. I used to be a Secretary of the Bureau of Sacrifices14 in the Ministry of Rites. This transfer is more or less an equal one.”

There was an air of bad habits surrounding him, something that took Xie Yilu only a few exchanges to identify — the stench of a naturally unconstrained dandy. “Moving from the Ministry of Rites to the Ministry of War should count as a step upwards.”

Qu Feng’s eyes were very beautiful, slender and long, slanting upwards at their corners. He used them to glance mildly at Xie Yilu. “From the Censorate15 in Beijing to the Nanjing Ministry of War… Xie-xiong16, you’ve taken a step downwards.”

Xie Yilu was silent.

“I heard it’s because you offended a powerful chamberlain17?”

Xie Yilu extended his left index finger to point towards the sky. “I offended the ‘Great Ancestor’, the Seal-holding Director of the Directorate of Ceremonial18.”

Qu Feng, his interest piqued, shook his folding fan open with a swish in that early spring weather. “What happened?”

“I received my degree in the jiashen year class19, which was handpicked by him. Everyone else went to thank him personally, but I didn’t.”

Qu Feng raised an eyebrow in great admiration, his gaze as bright as stars. “Brazen indeed.”

Xie Yilu rushed to wave him off. “I’m nothing compared to you Nanjingers. Even the singing-boys hired to entice people to drink are bold to the extreme.”

“Inside there?” Dubious, Qu Feng pointed to the flower-carved door with his fan. “Which one?” He thought for a moment, then came to a sudden realisation — “Please don’t tell me it’s the one wearing a peony?”

Xie Yilu had not expected for him to guess right on his first try; as for Qu Feng, he had shed his easy manner of the minute before and now whispered cautiously, “He’s no ordinary singing-boy. He’s got the one surnamed Zheng behind him.”

Xie Yilu leaned in close: “Which one surnamed Zheng?”

Qu Feng grabbed his hand, his five icy fingers seeming to claw into Xie Yilu’s heart. “Beijing and Nanjing have the most castrati20 under Heaven. I don’t need to tell you about Beijing, but in Nanjing…” he pulled Xie Yilu away from the building as he spoke. “There are two grand chamberlains21. One is the fourth-ranked Eunuch Superintendent of the Imperial Weaving Bureau22, Liao Jixiang. The other is the sky over Nanjing itself, the Eunuch Grand Defender23, Zheng Xian.”

Xie Yilu could not say why, but his back was suddenly drenched in cold sweat.

“The singing-boy that you mentioned is surnamed Guo, named Xiaozhuo. He’s Zheng Xian’s…” Qu Feng shook back his sleeves and raised a single pinkie, waving it meaningfully in the air, “favoured one!”

It was not unheard of in Beijing for a eunuch to toy with a singing-boy, but under the Son of Heaven’s foot, few men of influence dared to take such a risk. Xie Yilu asked confusedly, “If he’s favoured by a eunuch, then why is he still out here…”

Though it was clearly dark outside, Qu Feng still scanned their surroundings anxiously. “Take everything I say from now on as drunken talk.” He leaned in and clung to Xie Yilu’s ear as he whispered, “Guo Xiaozhuo keeps an eye on things for Zheng Xian. His specialty is listening in at officials’ banquets!”

The cloying scent of anxi incense24 on Qu Feng’s clothing had not dissipated, even after an entire night. Now that he was pressed so close, Xie Yilu felt a little queasy. “No wonder…”

He thought back to Guo Xiaozhuo’s “I know these men from the Ministry of War”. It was evident he had no respect for men of rank, so what does that make of the almost explicit sexual invitation? Xie Yilu wondered if the boy had really found him “handsome”.

Qu Feng was about to speak again when the side door not far ahead began to rattle, its bar25 shifting a few times from left to right. With a creak, it was pushed open from the inside. A monk wearing a kasaya26 exited first, followed by a line of men decked in gongfu27. The pair in the lead each held one white lantern inscribed with a massive 织 character28.

Xie Yilu immediately recognised them as eunuchs29. Walking amongst them was someone dressed in a dark green yisan without a buzi, a long and worn sabre hanging from his waist.

The other party had spotted them too, for they kept looking over repeatedly. The one in the dark green yisan bowed a very respectful farewell to the monk, then led his subordinates out onto the main road. As he walked, the jade pendants hanging from his golden belt clinked noisily.

“Who are they?” Xie Yilu asked in a small voice.

“They’re from the Imperial Weaving Bureau.”  Qu Feng turned his body halfway, looking rather deflated. “ The one in the lead is called Zhang Cai.”

Only when they walked closer did Xie Yilu realise that this Zhang Cai, dressed in his green yisan, was truly still a child. He had phoenix eyes and a little mouth, appearing to be close in age to Guo Xiaozhuo. His chin was still rounded, giving him a chubby sort of cuteness.

Under the light of the moon, one could see that his yisan was made from gold-brocaded damask silk. His head was raised in quite a haughty manner, giving him the air of a real court-appointed official. He breezed past them without once looking to the side, the clinking of his jade pendants slowly fading away with the golden-red lantern light.

“One of Liao Jixiang’s underlings.” Qu Feng folded his fan, meaning that he intended to walk back. “He’s from Gaoli.”

There were many castrati in Beijing who had been imported as tributes from Chaoxian, so this did not come as a surprise to Xie Yilu. On the other hand, he was curious about the monk: “Why would a monk show up at a place like this?”

“This courtyard belongs to Lingfu Temple. The front rooms have been tidied up to host parties and guests. Past that door,” Qu Feng pointed to the side door from which Zhang Cai had just exited, “are the monks’ quarters.”

Xie Yilu did not know whether to laugh or cry. “This temple really knows how to run a business.”

“All that wine we drank and those dishes we ordered were prepared by men the monks hired.” Qu Feng laughed heartily, then seized affectionately on Xie Yilu’s sleeve. “Come, let’s get back to drinking.”

As soon as he heard ‘drinking’, Xie Yilu’s head began to pound. “I can’t drink anymore.” He sidestepped Qu Feng’s hand, twisting around and darting back several steps as if to flee. “I’ll leave first. Just tell them I passed out drunk.”

“Did you bring a palanquin?” Qu Feng found him funny to look at, and when he smiled, those two little canines that appeared gave him quite the air of mischief. “Take mine. Turn left once you exit the main gate. It’s the one hung with blue curtains!”

Xie Yilu cupped his fists as he retreated. “No need, I’ll walk awhile in the wind to sober up!”

The night was fine, and the moonlight too. Combined with the elegance of the garden — the strangely shaped rocks surrounding its path, its ponds and carved windows30, the rustling pines that those calm of mind could hear — his first day taking office in Nanjing faded into a dream. Under the influence of wine, moreover, the people he had met throughout the day — Qu Feng, Guo Xiaozhuo, Zhang Cai — seemed no more than characters within that dream.

Leaving the courtyard led him to a long street, where early-rising hawkers were already setting up their wonton booths at the intersection. Looking back at the garden door, he really did see a stone stele with the words “Lingfu Temple” carved faintly on its surface. It was no wonder that a small temple situated in such a bustling city would embroil itself in a few worldly trades.

He strolled leisurely along the moss-covered courtyard wall. It was only by accident that he turned his head to see a narrow alley branching off from the foot of the wall, inside which a stone lantern stand had fallen into disuse. In the hollow where a lantern used to be, something waved in the wind and caught his eye with its faint white glow.

Edging closer to investigate, he found what appeared to be paper stuffing the hollow full. He pulled a sheet out at random and gave it only a careless glance, yet was instantly rooted in place as if struck by lightning. The paper was marked in an exquisitely beautiful hand of calligraphy, the curves powerful as ancient and stoic pines, the downstrokes lithe as wild cranes soaring through the clouds. When the tip of the writing brush was hidden31, the lines were forceful and rhythmic. When revealed32, they became like mist and clouds — unrestrained, yet suffused with vigour at every flourish.

Xie Yilu, awestruck, pulled every piece of paper out at once and unfurled them one by one to look over their contents. Most of them featured verses like “plum blossoms are guests from a country gentle, pines keep faith beside me as a steadfast presence33” and “the wind and clouds above are real as a dream, while the years on earth flow past like a stream34“. However, there was one piece that bore only two broad characters written with indignation and anger: 难鸣.

Nan ming! Something that cannot be given voice… How that one flimsy piece of paper was soaked through with the bitterness of scholars. Tears rose to Xie Yilu’s eyes in an instant and threatened to spill over. And just like that, a feeling of mutual understanding bloomed in his heart, and his love was set alight.

He hugged the heap of papers to his chest and paced in circles like an idiot. Finally, with a stamp of his foot, he lowered his head and ran homeward. His house was situated on Santiao Alley near Xi’an Gate; he had hired only one personal attendant, and Xie Yilu did not call for him as he dashed straight for his study to lay out paper and grind ink. It was only after burning through ten or twenty pages in a single breath that he finally was satisfied. On the sheet were written two characters in semi-cursive script: 谛听.

Someone is listening carefully…

Setting his brush down, he folded the paper and tucked it with care, then ran out once again.

This chapter does an amazing job establishing what Nanjing was like during mid to late Ming. As the ‘spare capital’ to Beijing, it kept the cultural and economic wealth that came with its illustrious history, but politically speaking, was relegated to a ‘stagnant backwater’. Corruption was rife, and without any real career prospects, many officials had no choice but to ally themselves with powerful eunuchs like Zheng Xian and Liao Jixiang.

Similarly, this chapter showcases the popularity of male prostitution during Ming, especially in the rich southern cities. This was in many ways caused by the rise of Neo-Confucianism, which heavily criticised female prostitution but more or less remained silent on similar goings-on with men. In fact, Ming officials were forbidden by law to hire female prostitutes, but male prostitutes were a legal loophole. This led to male prostitutes having a near monopoly on providing entertainment to the officialdom. For anyone interested in further reading about this topic, the short story《情奇纪》in the late Ming homoerotic anthology《弁而釵》provides great insight that is as close to ‘first-hand’ as possible.

Lastly, I will attempt a brief overview of Ming eunuchs. Contrary to popular belief, Ming eunuchs never achieved the monarch-deposing power that their Han predecessors did. Sure, many powerful ones were extremely corrupt and wielded considerable influence at court, but overall, they were still servants directly answerable to the Emperor rather than to the civil officialdom. It was this distinction that resulted in eunuchs becoming the eyes and ears of the Emperor, tasked with supervising the civil government. There was considerable animosity between the civil officials and eunuchs, in which the former saw the latter as corrupt lap dogs, and the latter saw the former as pedantic and conceited.

The Directorate of Ceremonial (DoC) mentioned in this chapter is the most powerful of all the eunuch agencies. Its original role was directing all Palace etiquette, but it quickly grew to become something more akin to the Emperor’s personal secretaries. For example, certain eunuchs in the DoC could respond to memorials in red ink on behalf of the Emperor. This led to the leader of the DoC gaining immense political power.

1. 水滑面, literally “water sliding noodles”. A type of noodles made with water and oil.

2. 五更, the 5th watch of the 5 night watches. 03:00 – 05:00. 

3. 部堂, another term for the Minister of a Ministry. 

4. 小唱, literally “little song”. Not sure if it also refers to women but I’ve always associated it with boys. 

5. 南京拳, literally “Nanjing fist/boxing”. 

6. 某, literally “someone”. Calling yourself ‘surname + mou‘ is a self-depreciating address. 

7. 主事, a lower level post found in various agencies. 

8. 胡同, an alley or small, narrow street. A distinct feature of Beijing. 

9. 哥哥, literally “elder brother”. Can also be used in a seductive or teasing manner. 

10. 大衫, literally “large shirt”. A broad term that refers to any upper body garment that reached knee-length. A round-collared (圆领) dashan is likely synonymous with the round-collared robe (圆领袍), a mainstay of Ming men’s clothing. Visual reference and here. 

11. 鹭鸶补子, the egret was the bird on the buzi of sixth-ranked civil officials. Visual reference. 

12. 白话, vernacular Chinese that is spoken today, as opposed to 文言 (literary Chinese) that was used for writing and sophisticated/formal conversations. 

13. 应天府, another name for Nanjing. Also refers to the administrative region around Nanjing. 应天 means “to answer to Heaven”, compared to Beijing’s equivalent, 顺天府, where 顺天 means “to follow/submit to Heaven”. 

14. 祠祭主事, also known as 祠祭清吏司主事. 

15. 督察员, a central supervisory agency that was tasked with inspecting, supervising and censuring officials, imperial kinsmen and, on paper at least, the Emperor himself. 

16. 兄, literally “elder brother”. ‘Surname + xiong’ is an intimate form of address between men. 

17. 权珰, literally “powerful pendant”. 珰 was originally a word for women’s earrings and the pendants hanging from the hats of eunuchs during the Han Dynasty. It later evolved to refer to eunuchs as a whole. I elected to translate 珰 as “chamberlain” to separate it from other names for eunuchs. 

18.  司礼监掌印[太监, head of the Directorate of Ceremonial. In charge of stamping imperial edicts with the imperial seal. 

19. 甲申, the 21st year of the traditional 60-year cycle. 榜, means “rank” or “class” and refers to the 3 ranks of jinshi graduates when used in this context. Combining the two, we see that Xie Yilu received his jinshi degree in the year of jiashen. There is a famous group portrait of 10 Ming officials who were jinshi co-graduates in the year 1464 which was a jiashen year. 

20. 阉人, literally “castrated person”. A term somewhat crude and often disdainful. 

21. 大珰, literally “big pendant”. A powerful eunuch. Translated as “grand chamberlain”, also the novel’s title. 

22. 提督织造太监, oversees the vast state-owned silk manufacturing industry. 

23. 镇守太监, part of Nanjing’s military structure. Many cities had their own Grand Defenders. 

24. 安息香, literally “incense of rest”. 

25. 门闩, a bar placed behind a door to lock it. Visual reference. 

26. 袈裟, a patchwork outer vest worn by a Buddhist monk. A loan word from Sanskrit. 

27. 公服, a system of Ming official’s wear that is often confused with the similar sounding and looking 常服 (changfu). However, the author seems to have made a mistake by having eunuchs wear gongfu since it was only worn by court-appointed officials. 

28. 织 (zhī), literally “weave”. A shorthand for the Imperial Weaving Bureau. The traditional character that would have actually been written is 織. 

29. 宦官, literally “eunuch official”. A formal and more neutral way to refer to eunuchs in Imperial service. 

30. 花窗, decorative windows that are carved from wood or stone. Visual reference. 

31. 藏锋, a technique in calligraphy. 

32. 露锋, opposite technique to 藏锋. 

33. 梅作熏乡客，松为伴作人: from 《冬日即事》by Gong Nian (龚辇). Note that the “country” here doesn’t mean a nation but rather a specific place that was likely the author’s homeland. I haven’t been able to confirm this poem for myself but I know one with the same name and by the same poet was collected in the《盛明百家诗》anthology. Gong Nian was the 内侍监左丞 during the Honzhi era, but this position doesn’t match with my dictionary which has a similar 内侍监左监丞 position that only existed during the early Hongwu era… 

34. 天上风云真似梦，人间岁月竟如流: from《赠顾潘》by Gong Nian, collected in volume 23 of 《静志居诗话》.