Chapter 82: One Year Later

Golden Touch of the Flourishing Tang Dynasty The Little Straw Man of Steel City 3156 words 2026-04-11 08:59:14

Holding a crab claw in one hand and a wine cup in the other, floating in the wine pool—such is a life well lived.

The measure of a year is in what one eats, and if asked what delicacy Zhen Qian loves most, it would be none other than the lively river crab with its waving pincers.

River crab, the finest cuisine under heaven. The ancients said: river crab “is as beautiful as the columns of jade scallop, as fresh as the chambers of oyster, as crisp as Xi Shi’s tongue, as rich as the fat of Right General.” Lu Xun remarked: The first to eat a crab is truly admirable—not even the bravest would dare try it. Who was the first crab eater in the world? According to Suzhou folklore, in the era of Yu the Great, river crab was called “Pincher Insect.” When Yu was taming the waters, a supervisor named Ba Jie, to prevent the invasion of “Pincher Insects,” dug deep trenches at the camp. When a mass of them gathered in the trenches, he scalded them with boiling water. The cooked “Pincher Insects” gave off a unique aroma. Ba Jie tasted one and found it delicious. That first bite led to millions more, and from then on, the “Pincher Insect” became a delicacy. Eating them became an unstoppable trend. Yet to call this delicacy “Pincher Insect” seemed inappropriate; a better name was needed. Since Ba Jie subdued them, their name became: crab.

China’s three renowned crab-producing regions: first, the ancient Danyang marsh crabs—Huajin Crabs—between Jiangsu and Anhui; second, Baiyangdian river crabs—Shengfang Crabs—in Hebei; third, the Yangcheng Lake crabs from Jiangsu’s Yangcheng Lake.

Shengfang Crabs from Baiyangdian are near Beijing, which was the capital of the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties. Thus, Shengfang Crabs became famous starting from the Yuan Dynasty.

How many poets and scholars have bowed before the “Gutless Gentleman”: from Pi Rixiu and Huang Tingjian’s “Ode to Crab” in the Tang and Song; Su Shi’s “One Crab Not as Good as Another” in Song; Li Qi’s “Treatise on Crab” in Yuan; Wang Shizhen’s “On Crab” in Ming; Li Yu’s “Crab Rhapsody” in Qing; and Cao Xueqin’s “Ode to Crab”—all praised the crab’s flavor from various angles.

Xu Zidao, Grand Commander of Wujiang in the Song, wrote in “Visiting Lushan and Finding Crabs”: “To not visit Lushan is to fail the eyes; to not eat crab is to fail the stomach.” This line has become famous in crab culture, widely circulated.

Some likened crabs to power and privilege, a social phenomenon, satirizing evil: “Let’s see how long you swagger!” As Wang Shizhen wrote in Ming: “Gnawing at red smartweed roots, two claws sharp as hands. How long can you walk sideways? In the end, you will fall into someone’s mouth.”

Tasting crab and drinking wine are inseparable; crab culture and wine culture blend, complement, and enhance each other. This enjoyment, as culture, began in the Wei and Jin periods. “Shishuo Xinyu: Carefree” records: Jin Bi Zhuo loved wine and said at a banquet, “Cup in the right hand, crab in the left; floating in the wine boat—this is enough for a lifetime.”

Zhen Qian, an expert in gastronomy, wished to tell those who traverse time: crossing over is a technical endeavor, but one also needs a healthy appetite—especially when transported to the Tang Dynasty, whose dietary habits differ greatly from later ages. Without a good stomach, one would be at a loss, not knowing what to eat.

Little Bamboo and Little Plum, the two young maids, followed Zhen Qian to Luquan County. Their current status outwardly remained as maidservants, but they had an important role: bed-warming maids. In the blink of an eye, the three had spent nearly a year together. Living side by side day in and day out, if there were no physical intimacy, it would not be normal for a man.

Food is nature; the seven emotions and six desires are part of human nature. Now that conditions and opportunity exist, not seizing them would not be manly.

In Han and Tang times, ordinary people’s literacy rates were shockingly low. Only in Song and Ming did things improve, especially by late Ming, when many women could read.

The two girls were not entirely illiterate. For noble families, reading was both privilege and capital. Ordinary folk, even if they wished to attend school, could not afford the teacher’s fee.

Shuxiu—traditionally explained in various ways—can be understood as “ten strips of cured meat.”

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As early as Confucius’s time, this custom was practiced. Tuition meant “several strips of shuxiu”—shuxiu was salted pork, later essentially a master’s fee, synonymous with tuition. In Tang-era schools, the shuxiu ritual remained and was explicitly regulated by the state, though the value of the gift varied according to the school’s nature. Teachers, upon accepting such gifts, had to observe proper etiquette. Giving shuxiu signified respect for the teacher, regarding them as a second parent.

With two young maids to add fragrance and warmth, Little Bamboo and Little Plum and Zhen Qian could be considered childhood companions. At eight, they were sold into the Zhen household to serve the young Zhen Qian, and nearly ten years had passed—they had grown into lovely young women.

Besides his late mother and the yet-unseen elder sister, Little Bamboo and Little Plum were Zhen Qian’s closest women.

Now, one handled household affairs, the other personal ones. Little Bamboo, lively in character, helped Zhen Qian manage the family’s matters. Little Plum, much more reserved, oversaw his study and personal life. Their bond was already beyond words.

They had long forgotten their original surnames, adopting Zhen’s—thus, Zhen Bamboo and Zhen Plum.

In these times, many servants took their master’s surname. But not every servant could do so; bearing the master’s name was akin to receiving an imperial surname—a high honor. The Tang dynasty often bestowed the Li surname on meritorious officials or surrendered foreigners.

Little Bamboo and Little Plum, sold to the Zhen household, belonged to the Zhen family in life and death, as would their descendants.

Moreover, the status of retainers was hereditary, just like slaves; a retainer’s children and spouse were also retainers, low-born.

Though the law distinguished retainers from slaves, forbidding open trade, it allowed transfer with a compensation under the pretense of food and clothing—a disguised sale. Retainers could marry free people, but their daughters could not.

Even more crucial: if a master violated the wife or daughter of another’s retainer, he’d be punished with a hundred strokes; if he violated his own retainer’s wife or daughter, he faced no penalty.

The law even stipulated that unless the master committed treason, retainers could not report their master.

Retainers were less privileged than tenant farmers.

The Zhen family had many retainers, guest girls, and slaves. Guest girls were daughters of retainers, essentially the same.

The Tang’s slave system was a unique feature, unprecedented and unrepeated in other dynasties. Even if a Tang slave met a good master and was freed, they could not instantly become free citizens—they remained outcasts.

A privately owned slave, after being freed, became a retainer or guest girl—their status improved but remained baseborn. An official slave, after being freed, became an “official household” or “barbarian household.” Not officials, but state-owned outcasts, unable to marry freely, even lower than retainers.

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Official slaves, when freed again, became “miscellaneous households,” a bit higher but still baseborn.

Official slaves: first freed as barbarian households, then as miscellaneous households, third as free people. To go from slave to free citizen, three emancipations were required. As barbarian or miscellaneous households, they paid no taxes but had to serve conscripted labor.

Barbarian households served three times a year; miscellaneous households, five times every two years. Each service lasted a month: miscellaneous households served seventy-five days a year, barbarian households ninety. Those sixteen and older had to serve; if unwilling, they could pay to be excused.

Retainers, guest girls, and miscellaneous households could become commoners only after further emancipation. Without it, their children inherited their status.

If a retainer married a free woman, his wife’s status would change to retainer’s wife, equal to his.

Retainers could not be freed at will; complex procedures and many restrictions applied. Once entered into the baseborn register, returning to free status could take generations—and a benevolent master.

Tang law stipulated: if a free man made his household slave his lawful wife, the authorities intervened, sentencing the man to two years of hard labor, and returning the woman to her former status as a maid, denying her the rights of a legitimate wife. Even if the maid bore the master’s son? No, not allowed. If a maid bore a child, or if the master favored her, the authorities required a “freeing” procedure to remove her from the baseborn register, allowing her to become a concubine—a step above maid. If made a concubine without emancipation, it was illegal, and the master faced eighteen months’ imprisonment.

Thus, Tang-era slaves held extremely low legal status. Later, Tang tombs have been found with slaves buried as sacrifices—clear evidence that slaves were treated as livestock.

Zhen Qian was no god, nor did he like treating people as livestock, but reality was as cruel as ever, and nothing was missing from its harshness. Someone once said, if one laid out any cross-section of history, one would find an undeniable logic to everything within; but if one stitched history together and viewed it from another angle, one would see the progress of social forces.

Though Zhen Qian could foresee all that was to come, he could not know the future.

Perhaps the future was already fixed, perhaps he lived on another timeline. No one liked the county magistrate who ruined families, or the governor who exterminated clans, but reality was reality, proven time and again.

Zhen Qian calmly accepted reality. For his second life, he felt nothing but gratitude—even the once skeptical Zhen Qian went to temples to offer incense. Perhaps that was a change.

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