World of Scattered Endings (A Fragmented Interpretation of the Late Qing History)

Author: Tan Boniu
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2006-06-01
Features: Not really. If someone were to say how great a Hanlin was or how great the Hanlin Academy was, Gong Zizhen would show a disdainful face and proudly say: What's so great about a Hanlin? What's so great about the Hanlin Academy? All the women in my family are Hanlins, and my home is a Hanlin Academy! Hanlin? Hanlin Academy? What nonsense! Hmph! Listening to the jokes of the great figures has always been a tough job. The general procedure is: After the great figure finishes telling a joke, they burst into laughter themselves, then look around, and the onlookers, understanding the situation, burst into laughter as well. From this exchange between Li Hongzhang and Zeng Guofan, one can see that Zeng Guofan was not bound by conventions and was clearly a master of humor. The fiery Peng Yulin didn’t hesitate and immediately “used old fists,” but Peng Yulin was short, less than 1.7 meters tall, and Li Hongzhang, who was nearly 1.8 meters tall, wouldn’t be afraid of him. Li Hongzhang “also used dirty tricks.” As a result, the Chief of the General Staff and the Commander of the Navy “tumbled to the ground,” losing all their dignity. As for who won the fight, there is no historical record to prove it. According to my analysis: Li Hongzhang had the advantage in terms of physique, while Peng Yulin was skilled in combat techniques. In the initial confrontation, it would likely have been a tie, and others would surely rush in to break up the fight. In the end, it should be considered a draw. According to Qing-era notes, the “current emperor” Tongzhi appeared publicly at least three times outside the Forbidden City and in Beijing. He once sang loudly in a tavern, earning loud cheers from the crowd; he went to Liulichang to buy Xuan paper in bulk, asking the shop assistant to collect the money at the Meridian Gate, but the shop assistant dared not enter the gate and returned the money with an eunuch; he even posed as a Jiangxi scholar and mingled with other scholars heading to the capital for the imperial examinations. Of course, the place where he appeared most often was a brothel.
This book is a collection of miscellaneous pieces. The “” (zhu, meaning miscellaneous) in its title refers first to the variety of genres, including column articles, book reviews, lengthy historical narratives, and essays that combine research with (shūqíng de, meaning lyrical). Second, it refers to the variety of writing styles, which include colloquial language as well as simple classical Chinese. Third, it refers to the mix of text and illustrations. While there is some suspicion of following trends, each color illustration is carefully annotated. Beyond the captions, the annotations may explain the content of the artwork, provide insights into the artist’s story, or offer some reflections on the subject matter. The hope is to make this book slightly distinctive among others that focus on “talking about pictures” and to avoid being too tedious.
The title “” (cánjú tiānxià) is explained as follows. “” (cánjú) naturally refers to the late Qing era. Although there was a decade of “rejuvenation” (as defined by the American sinologist Ramon Myers, referring to 1860-1870), it ultimately disintegrated and collapsed overnight. “” (tiānxià) is larger than a country. According to the saying of Huang Zongxi, it is not as frightening to lose a country as it is to lose the “” (the world). Thus, the combination of “” and “” carries both a historical judgment and an expectation for the future. Life and death are ever-changing, love and hatred, emotions and conflicts—everything is mixed in chaos, like a pot of boiling soup.
I say this is all nonsense, and I won’t do it again. That’s why I came up with this title. But I still felt (bù gānxīn, meaning unwilling), so I added a subtitle: “” (duàn zhāng qǔ yì qīngdāng shǐ, meaning “Taking things out of context—A Fragmented History of the Late Qing”). I thought the main title was a bit too grand, so adding a small, humble subtitle might help balance things out, like harmonizing yin and yang or regulating the stomach. To be honest, it was out of fear and insecurity—I didn’t dare to be overly boastful or delude myself with grand talk. If the readers can understand this, I will be very grateful.