I
EMPIRE 6s IDENTITY IN GUIZHOU
Local Resistance to Qing Expansion
JODI L. WEINSTEINSTUDIES ON ETHNIC GROUPS IN CHINA
Stevan Harrell, EditorSTUDIES ON ETHNIC GROUPS IN CHINA
Cultural Encounters on China’s Ethnic Frontiers,
edited by Stevan Harrell
Guest People: Hakka Identity in China and Abroad,
edited by Nicole Constable
Familiar Strangers: A History of Muslims in Northwest China,
by Jonathan N. Lipman
Lessons in Being Chinese: Minority Education
and Ethnic Identity in Southwest China,
by Mette Halskov Hansen
Manchus and Han: Ethnic Relations and Political Power
in Late Qing and Early Republican China, 1861-1928,
by Edward J. M. Rhoads
Ways of Being Ethnic in Southwest China,
by Stevan Harrell
Governing China’s Midtiethnic Frontiers,
edited by Morris Rossabi
On the Margins of Tibet: Cultural Survival on the Sino-Tibetan Frontier,
by Ashild Kolas and Monika P. Thowsen
The Art of Ethnography: A Chinese “Miao Album,”
translation by David M. Deal and Laura Hostetler
Doing Business in Rural China: Liangshan’s New Ethnic Entrepreneurs,
by Thomas Heberer
Communist Multiculturalism: Ethnic Revival in Southwest China,
by Susan K. McCarthy
Religious Revival in the Tibetan Borderlands: ThePremi of Southwest China,
by Koen Wellens
In the Land of the Eastern Queendom:
The Politics of Gender and Ethnicity on the Sino-Tibetan Border,
by Tenzin Jinba
Empire and Identity in Guizhou: Local Resistance to Qing Expansion,
by Jodi L. Weinstein
China’s New Socialist Countryside: Modernity Arrives in the Nil River Valley,
by Russell HarwoodEmpire and Identity in Guizhou
Local Resistance to Qing Expansion

JODI L. WEINSTEIN
UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON PRESS / SEATTLE AND LONDONPublication of this book was supported by a generous grant from
the Association for Asian Studies First Book Subvention Program.
© 2014 by the University of Washington Press
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Weinstein, Jodi L.
Empire and Identity in Guizhou: local resistance to Qing expansion /
Jodi L. Weinstein. — 1st edition
p. cm. — (Studies on Ethnic Groups in China)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
isbn 978-0-295-99326-3 (hardback: alk. paper);
978-0-295-99327-0 (paperback : alk. paper)
1. Bouyei (Chinese people)—China—Guizhou Sheng—History—18th century.
2. Guizhou Sheng (China)—Ethnic relations—History—18th century.
I. Title. II. Title: Local resistance to Qing expansion.
DS793.K8W444	2014
951.3400495919—dc23	2013020635
The paper used in this publication is acid-free and meets the minimum requirements
of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for
Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.00CONTENTS
Foreword by Stevan Harrell vii
Acknowledgments xi
Maps xiv
1	I Guizhou and the Livelihoods Approach to Zhongjia History 3
2	I Natural, Human, and Historical Landscapes 11
3	I The Consolidation of Qing Rule yj
4	I Livelihood Choices in the Mid-Eighteenth Century 59
5	I Lhe Nanlong Uprising of 1797 83
6	I A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony 119
Notes 135
Chinese Glossary 179
Bibliography 185
Index 201FOREWORD
An old Chinese saying goes, “Those on top have policies; those below
have counterstrategies” (Shang you zhengce, xia you duice). This adage
sums up several millennia of relationships between East Asian imperial
regimes, which ruled from the productive and powerful center in China,
and their poorer, less powerful subjects living in the borderlands. It is still
true in the twenty-first century: the People’s Republic tries to consoli-
date its control over its border regions and solidify the loyalty of border
peoples to the regime, while border peoples (now called shaoshu minzu, or
“minority nationalities”) deal with the state’s efforts in various ways. They
do not always resist or always accommodate, but they act strategically,
joining in when it appears advantageous or when they have no choice, but
resisting when it appears intolerable not to. Since the regime they deal
with assumes itself to be morally as well as economically and materially
stronger, peoples on the periphery face the prospect not just of being
ruled, but of being absorbed into the more “civilized” culture and polity
of the center.
This kind of relationship is not new. The last empire with an actual
emperor, the Qing (1644-1911), was not even ruled by ethnic Chinese, but
rather by Manchus, originally a peripheral people from the northeast. But
in its southwestern domains, the Qing, like its predecessors, assumed the
moral superiority of the center and attempted to balance the advantages
viiviii / Foreword
of letting peripheral peoples be, against the costs of trying to consolidate
their control and assure the peripheral people’s loyalties.
One of the peripheral peoples the Qing regime had considerable trou-
ble controlling were the Zhongjia, a Tai-speaking group of Guizhou, now
incorporated into the Buyi or Bouyei minzu, or “nationality.” Well before
the Qing, the Zhongjia were formulating counterstrategies as both Chi-
nese immigration and imperial policy impinged on their livelihoods and
social structures. By the time Jodi Weinstein’s narrative begins, in the
mid-Qing, the Zhongjia were practicing the familiar mix of going along
and joining the civilization with resisting and defending their local auton-
omy and their own livelihoods.
Weinstein tells the story of the counterstrategies of the Zhongjia in
the eighteenth century. She begins with the history of Qing attempts to
consolidate their rule, switching from indirect rule through native leaders
to direct rule by appointed magistrates. She then gives us a rich account
of how some Zhongjia resisted, indirectly through schemes of trickery
and evasion and more directly through rebellion, in the Nanlong area in
1797. Importantly, though, not all Zhongjia resisted, and not all resistance
was direct confrontation, let alone military confrontation.
This story points out to us, in clear and lively fashion, how little has
changed even as so much has changed. The People’s Republic is orders of
magnitude more powerful than the Qing state; it can deploy not only
force but also persuasion much more pervasively than could its Qing pre-
decessor. But it still faces the same problems, and peoples of the border-
lands buy in when they see it as advantageous or resist when they see it as
necessary.
This story is also important for another reason. The state narrative of
the People’s Republic stresses that the Qing was a Chinese regime, an
earlier version of themselves. That the rulers were Manchus is of little
import in this telling of history; Manchus were then and are now one of
the many groups that makes up the Chinese nation. This state narrative
has been strongly challenged by advocates of the “New Qing History,”
who are much more inclined to see the Qing as a multinational empire
than they are to see it as a Chinese nation that happened to be ruled by a
monarch in sumptuous robes instead of by a committee of bureaucrats in
dark, pinstriped suits and red neckties. But Weinstein’s book tells a more
complex story: the Qing emperor and the twenty-first-century bureau-Foreword / ix
crats were facing the same problems: ethnic and cultural difference com-
bined with unequal power leading to the disinclination of ruled people to
submit uncritically, but leaving open to them various strategies of accom-
modation and resistance.
Finally, the book is noteworthy because it introduces another historical
narrative alongside those coming from the center and from outside critics:
the narrative of the Zhongjia themselves. As Weinstein examines the dif-
ferent stories of the rebellion coming from the official Qing history and
the oral history collected from the rebels’ descendants, we see clearly that
not only are policies from above opposed by counterstrategies from below,
but also historical narratives from above are countered by different stories
from below. Weinstein’s sensitive and multifaceted account of one small
corner of Guizhou in the eighteenth century helps us, in the words of
Prasenjit Duara, rescue history from the nation.
STEVAN HARRELL
June 2013ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the many years since I started this project, I have benefited from the
advice, wisdom, and encouragement of many people, and it is now my
pleasure to acknowledge them. First, I must thank Beatrice S. Bartlett for
drawing me into the world of eighteenth-century China and inspiring me
to explore the uncharted landscapes of Guizhou. Thanks are also due to
Jonathan Spence, James C. Scott, John Faragher, Annping Chin, and Jona-
than Lipman, whose work inspired many of the theories examined here,
and to the late Hugh Stimson for his instruction in literary Chinese.
This book would not have been possible without support and encour-
agement from my students and colleagues in the Department of History
at the College of New Jersey. I wish to express my gratitude to the depart-
ment chair, Professor Celia Chazelle, for creating such a welcoming place
to teach. I also wish to thank the current and former students who have
contributed to this book in more ways than they can image. I hope they
will enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed crafting it. I am especially
grateful to Professor Daniel Crofts for his comments on successive drafts
of the manuscript, and for our many fruitful conversations about Gui-
zhou history. Professor Cynthia Paces also offered much encouragement
during the final weeks of revision and pointed me toward a fine cartogra-
pher in Bill Nelson. Special thanks must also go to Megan Tavares for her
assistance with the technical aspects of manuscript and CD preparation,
xixii / Acknowledgments
and to the staff at the TCNJ Library for accommodating my numerous
interlibrary loan requests.
My research received generous funding from a variety of sources. The
Yale Council on International Studies provided a grant to support research
in Yunnan and Guizhou. Grants from the Yale Council on East Asian
Studies and an Enders Grant from the Yale Graduate School of Arts and
Sciences financed my research in Taiwan’s Palace Museum. A Fulbright
Grant administered through the Institute of International Education sup-
ported eleven months of research in Beijing and Guizhou. In subsequent
years, I received support from the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation and
from an East Asian Studies Prize Fellowship provided by the Yale Council
on East Asian Studies. I wish to thank all those who reviewed my work
and awarded these grants. Special thanks must also go to James Millward
and Robert Jenks for commenting on my East Asian Studies Prize Fellow-
ship proposal, and to Abbey Newman for administering the grant. In
addition, I wish to record my gratitude to the Association for Asian Stud-
ies for providing a subvention to support the publication of this book.
I am also indebted to a number of people in China and Taiwan for their
assistance. In Kunming, I received a warm welcome and much support
from Professor Lin Chaomin of the Yunnan University History Depart-
ment and his students. My research at the Taipei Palace Museum was
greatly facilitated by museum director, Ch’in Hsiao-i, the library director
Wang Ching-hung, Chuang Chi-fa, and the entire library staff. In Beijing,
I received guidance from Professor Cheng Chongde of the Institute of
Qing Studies at People’s University. Also in Beijing, Zhu Shuyuan, Li Jing,
and other members of the staff at the Number One Historical Archives
offered advice and assistance. Professor Zhou Guoyan of the Central
Minorities University in Beijing provided many hard-to-find books and
journals on the Buyi ethnic group. I am also grateful to Dan St. Rossy,
formerly of the Education Section at the U.S. Embassy in Beijing, for his
logistical support and hospitality. In Guiyang, Professor Weng Jialie of the
Guizhou Minority Nationalities Research Institute supplied background
information on the history of that province and opened his home to me.
Invaluable help and support also came from Professor Yang Shaoxin of
the History Department at Guizhou Normal University, from his student
Li Yuanpeng, who served as my tireless guide on the long trip from Gui-Acknowledgments / xiii
yang to Xingyi and back, and from the staff of the rare books collection at
the Guizhou Provincial Library.
Over the years, Yong Xue, Shou-chih Yan, Jacob Whittaker, Charles
McKhann, James Z. Lee, John Herman, David Bello, C. Patterson Giersch,
David Atwill, Jean Michaud, Sarah Turner, Christine Bonnin, John Kelley,
Candice Cornet, and Kenneth Pomeranz have all offered suggestions on
the work in progress. Yu Luo’s many insights on Buyi history, culture, and
religion proved invaluable throughout the revision process, as did Bea-
trice Kwok’s comments on early drafts of Chapters 2 and 5. I am also
grateful to Alice Davenport for her careful copyediting and her many
helpful suggestions, and to Roberta Engleman for her expert work in com-
piling the index. Finally, I thank Lorri Hagman, Stevan Harrell, Marilyn
Trueblood, Jacqueline Volin, Beth Fuget, Rachael Levay, and Tim Zimmer-
mann of the University of Washington Press for their confidence in my
work and for their detailed feedback and patient guidance throughout the
review, revision, and production process.
This work would not have been possible without my family and friends.
My husband, Rob Barrish, has traveled this long journey alongside me with
patience, good humor, and kindness, cheering me on when I needed it
most. My parents, Stephen and Felice Weinstein, have also offered unflag-
ging support, and I am thankful to them for instilling in me a lifelong
desire to read, learn, and explore the world. Warm encouragement also
came from my in-laws, Gil and Lois Barrish, from my brothers and sisters-
in-law, from Dr. Eliana Perrin and her family, and from my training part-
ners on the Jersey Area and Princeton Area Masters swim teams. My cats,
Cougar and Ketzel, bemusedly observed the entire endeavor. To all, I am
grateful.map i. Guizhou’s location in China and eighteenth-century administrative
divisions within Guizhoumap 2. Guizhou’s location in the Southeast Asian MassifGUIZHOU
map 3. Distribution of the Zhongjia (Buyi) and Nong (Northern Zhuang)Empire and Identity in GuizhouChapter 1
GUIZHOU AND THE LIVELIHOODS
APPROACH TO ZHONGJIA HISTORY
*
China’s imperial officials seldom had anything positive to say about Gui-
zhou province. In his account from the mid-eighteenth century, Guizhou
governor Aibida offered this blunt analysis of the region’s harsh terrain,
limited economic prospects, and unruly non-Chinese inhabitants:
The [Guizhou] countryside is gloomy and impenetrable. Heavy rains are
frequent. The fields must be terraced [because] the soil is stony. Slash and
burn agriculture prevails. The paddies and marshes yield no abundance,
and the mulberry trees and hemp do not yield much profit. The annual tax
revenue does not equal that of a large county in China Proper (midi). .. .
Miao, Zhong, Ge, Luo, Yao, and Zhuang tribes swarm like bees and ants.
Many of them still believe in ghosts and spirits. They are addicted to vio-
lence, whether it be major retaliatory attacks or smaller acts of banditry
and plunder. They are easy to incite and difficult to pacify. As a result, it is
not easy for the imperial court to find steadfast and competent local offi-
cials. Those who are appointed place little importance on their positions.
They disdain and neglect Yi barbarians and Han alike. They are dissolute
and let matters drift; nothing is of consequence to them. In this way, poi-
son brews and becomes thick. Once released, it cannot be stopped. . . .
Thus it is that no benefit can be derived from Guizhou.1
34	/ Guizhou and Zhongjia History
Aibida’s pessimistic assessment obscured a fundamental reality. The
imperial ambitions of China’s last dynasty, the Qing (1644-1911) extended
to Guizhou and beyond. However much government officials disdained
this remote corner of southwestern China, they had to create some sem-
blance of order there. During the eighteenth century, the Qing drive for
expansion, centralization, and social stability encountered a tenacious
effort by Guizhou’s local residents to defend their autonomy and liveli-
hoods. This book investigates the resulting tensions in three contiguous
prefectures (fu), Guiyang, Nanlong, and Anshun, during the period from
1725 to 1797.
Although this study strives to create a panoramic view of all three pre-
fectures, its focus is most often limited to Zhongjia ethnic communities in
Nanlong and Guiyang. A Tai-speaking people concentrated in central and
southern Guizhou, the Zhongjia are now called the Buyi (also spelled
Bouyei in the People’s Republic of China) [PpfPc]).2 Today, the Buyi are one
of the lesser-known ethnic minorities (shaoshu minzu) in Guizhou, at
least relative to such groups as the Yi, the Miao, or the Dong, but this quiet
existence in contemporary China belies an eventful past. Throughout the
eighteenth century, Zhongjia communities and individuals challenged
the imperial enterprise in Guizhou with striking regularity and creativity.
Indeed, two major Zhongjia clashes with Qing authority provide both the
starting point and the endpoint for the narrative in this book, as well as
many of the intervening episodes. At one end of the time frame are the
reforms implemented in southwestern China during the reign of the third
Qing emperor, Yongzheng (r. 1723-35). In an effort to exert greater control
over non-Han communities in Guizhou, Yunnan, Guangxi, Hunan, and
Sichuan, the central government implemented a program known as
“reforming the native and returning to the regular” (gaitu guiiiu).' Under
this policy, Qing officials used a combination of moral suasion and mili-
tary force to depose hereditary native rulers (tusi) and incorporate their
domains into regular administrative units. The ultimate goal was to bring
hitherto autonomous communities under direct imperial rule and trans-
form non-Han peoples into law-abiding Qing subjects.
Long considered the most intractable of Guizhou’s non-Han popula-
tions, the Zhongjia became the first targets of this campaign. In 1725,
Zhongjia communities in the Guiyang region served as the proving
ground for the earliest prototypes of the Yongzheng-era initiatives.Guizhou and Zhongjia History /	5
Reforms in the Nanlong region followed two years later. Many Zhongjia
acquiesced to the new order and settled into quiet lives centering on agri-
culture, textile production, and small-scale commerce.4 More enterprising
individuals developed illicit business ventures that mixed local religious
beliefs with anti-dynastic slogans and millenarian rhetoric. These schemes
sent a clear signal that the state’s presence was not altogether welcome in
the Zhongjia heartland, and that Qing priorities were seldom compatible
with the needs and values of local residents. In 1797, a half-century of
sporadic unrest culminated in full-scale rebellion when Zhongjia insur-
gents from Nanlong laid siege to every major town in central and south-
western Guizhou. This book provides the first Western-language account
of this rebellion, which Chinese historians usually call the Nanlong
Uprising.
The purpose of this study, then, is twofold. One goal is to introduce the
Zhongjia to a wider readership and illuminate their role in the history of
late imperial China. A related goal is to show how members of this ethnic
group created viable livelihoods and maintained their identity while
negotiating the imperial state’s plans for standardization and centraliza-
tion. My understanding of livelihoods draws inspiration from Jean
Michaud and his colleagues in anthropology and human geography. It
encompasses not only the activities that people use to make a living, but
also the social, ethnic, and religious resources at their disposal, and the
decisions they make in view of local conditions and external forces.5 An
exploration of livelihoods can reveal “the unexpected ways in which peo-
ple on the margins do not just get onboard and accept... modernization
but, rather, use their agency to maintain direction over their lives and
livelihoods despite current and far-reaching changes to economic condi-
tions and political authority.”6
Thus far, the livelihoods approach has mostly been applied to twenty-
first-century communities in the Southeast Asian Massif, an area defined
as “the highlands of all the countries sharing a large chunk of the south-
east Asian portion of the Asian land mass. These lie roughly east of the
lower Brahmaptura River, in India and Bangladesh, and south of the
Yangzi River in China, all the way to the Isthmus of Kra at its south-
ernmost extension.”7 This is the same region that James Scott defines as
“Zomia,” a refuge for stateless people and populations seeking refuge from
surrounding “civilizations.”8 Michaud and other scholars engaged in live-6	/ Guizhou and Zhongjia History
lihoods research seek to expand on Scott’s analysis with a “more refined
reflection from the ground up and a more dynamic understanding of the
relationships between (marginal) local subjects, (global) market forces,
and (national) states.”9
Christine Bonnin and Sarah Turner have shown, for example, how
Hmong and Yao farmers in northern Vietnam resist or selectively imple-
ment Hanoi’s attempts to project modernity into their communities. In
recent years, the Vietnamese government has sought to increase grain
production by introducing hybrid rice and maize varieties to upland
areas. Although the new strains yield larger crops, Hmong and Yao villag-
ers often reject them in favor of indigenous varieties that produce superior
rice, both as a food product and as material for distilling alcohol. Villagers
acknowledge that the new seeds might be more profitable, but local tastes
and cultural preferences clearly outweigh economic considerations. More-
over, families with land to spare use it not to plant hybrid rice and sell the
surplus, but instead to continue planting the indigenous varieties. Less
well-off farmers purchase or barter small quantities of the traditional rice,
especially for ritual purposes. In this way, a lively informal trade in indig-
enous rice flourishes beyond the confines of the state-directed market
economy.10
In this book, I suggest that the livelihoods approach can be applied to
historical settings as well as modern ones. It offers a particularly fruitful
way to examine Zhongjia interactions with the Qing state. The Zhongjia
heartland is, after all, located on the northeastern edge of the Southeast
Asian Massif. Its eighteenth-century inhabitants confronted many of the
same ecological and economic challenges now facing modern-day inhab-
itants of China, Vietnam, and Laos, and they responded to these chal-
lenges in similar ways. Like the Hmong, the Yao, and many other com-
munities living in the Massif today, the Zhongjia did not submit
uncritically to state demands. They weighed all of their options and made
livelihood choices that best suited their immediate needs and accorded
with their understanding of the world.11
In order to provide a full understanding of Zhongjia livelihood choices,
I seek to give equal voice to imperial and indigenous perspectives on the
events described in this book. The Qing state’s perspective is easy to locate
and analyze, thanks to the abundance of archival sources and other offi-
cial and semi-official writings. It is more difficult to find indigenousGuizhou and Zhongjia History /	7
voices. Unlike other non-Han groups in southwestern China such as the
Nasu Yi and the Tai, the Zhongjia did not maintain written records of
their encounters with China’s rulers.12 They did, however, cultivate a rich
oral tradition to preserve and transmit memories of important events.
This study utilizes Chinese translations of Zhongjia poems and folk
songs, treating them less as accurate historical records than as selective
historical memories, or a way communities have chosen to perceive and
remember their past.13 Although the Zhongjia did not commit historical
events to writing, they did use modified Chinese characters to produce
religious texts such as creation stories, prayers for the souls of the dead,
entreaties to various spirits, and incantations to dispel evil and bring
good fortune.14 Many of these scriptures are available in Chinese trans-
lation, and a few have been published in English.15 Throughout this book,
I use some of these texts as a window on the beliefs and rituals that shaped
Zhongjia worldviews and informed their livelihood choices. When indig-
enous sources are unavailable, I follow the advice of James Scott and Peter
Perdue and read against the grain to glean local voices from official Qing
documents.16
The sources reveal a complex dynamic between state entities and local
residents. Despite its sophisticated bureaucracy and technologically
advanced armies, the Qing could never claim a total monopoly on politi-
cal or cultural space in the Zhongjia heartland. Even after the gaitu guiliu
reforms of the Yongzheng reign, regular administrative rule was largely
confined to prefectural seats and a few smaller administrative centers.
Much of the countryside remained under the control of indigenous land-
lords who, though nominally subordinate to the provincial bureaucracy,
nevertheless enjoyed considerable autonomy in day-to-day affairs. Equally
important, indigenous beliefs, customs, and priorities did not melt away
with the arrival of Qing officialdom. Imperial rule did not deprive the
Zhongjia of the capacity to think and act for themselves—that is, to
choose the livelihoods they considered optimal. Local residents accepted,
adapted, circumvented, or rejected state directives as they saw fit.17 Indi-
viduals could make risk-benefit analyses to determine when it made sense
to follow Qing legal and cultural norms, and when it made more sense to
bend or defy them. The decision to follow these norms had the advantage
of keeping the state at a safe distance, as Qing officials rarely intervened in
the affairs of law-abiding Zhongjia, but it could also mean passing up8	/ Guizhou and Zhongjia History
opportunities for social and economic mobility. Conversely, the decision
to pursue illicit activities might bring greater prosperity and an enhanced
sense of autonomy, but only if plans were executed well enough to elude
detection by local authorities. If plans failed, the masterminds and many
of their followers were likely to face imprisonment or even execution.
Local residents were fully cognizant of all choices and their possible con-
sequences.18 They exercised the sort of agency that Sherry Ortner describes
as “the forms of power people have at their disposal, their ability to act on
their own behalf, influence other people and events, and maintain some
kind of control in their own lives.”19
The livelihoods approach to Zhongjia history adds a new dimension
to the terrain charted by C. Patterson Giersch, John Herman, and Jacob
Whittaker. Giersch’s work on southern Yunnan demonstrates how eigh-
teenth-century Qing officials and Tai indigenous leaders established a
relationship based on mutual respect and common strategic concerns. The
Qing used the Tai polities as a buffer against potentially aggressive South-
east Asian kingdoms, while the Tai maintained some autonomy by play-
ing regional powers against one another. Herman’s work on the Mu’ege
kingdom of the Nasu Yi people in northwestern Guizhou illustrates how
indigenous rulers took advantage of the Ming dynasty’s (1368-1644) polit-
ical and economic institutions to enhance their own power. Whittaker
examines another Nasu Yi state, the Lu-ho polity in Yunnan, to show how
indigenous elites appropriated elements of Confucian culture for their
own purposes while preserving rituals and institutions that distinguished
them from the Chinese.20
The idea of indigenous agency is clearly at the heart of these stories, but
it resides primarily—though by no means exclusively—with indigenous
elites. The livelihoods approach in this book focuses on the agency of
commoners such as farmers, vagabonds, disgruntled intellectuals, and
self-styled magicians. These people all employed the resources at their
disposal to engage the state in a meaningful way and assert their own
sense of identity.
This book is organized chronologically, pursuing the twin trajectories
of Qing expansion into Guizhou and the ways in which Zhongjia liveli-
hoods adapted to changing political and economic circumstances. The
discussion begins with an overview of Guizhou’s natural environment,
followed by an introduction to Zhongjia history, culture, and socioeco-Guizhou and Zhongjia History /	9
nomic organization (chapter 2). The next chapter describes the Qing
state s gradual penetration into central and southwestern Guizhou during
the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. The Qing conquest
and reforms of the Kangxi period (1662-1722) mainly affected native elites
and did not have an immediate impact on local communities. The social
and political landscape of the region was forever altered with the ascen-
sion of the Yongzheng emperor in 1723. The new emperor took deep
offense at what he perceived as endemic lawlessness in Guizhou and else-
where in southwestern China. Together with a coterie of trusted officials,
he engineered a plan to make the region tractable by eliminating native
rulers and bringing local populations under direct Qing control. Among
his first targets were Zhongjia communities in the central Guizhou region
of Dingfan-Guangshun (Guiyang prefecture) and the Guizhou-Guangxi
borderlands (Nanlong prefecture). Chapter 3 suggests that Qing reforms
in these regions constituted an exercise in what James Scott calls “seeing
like a state”—an attempt to transform peripheral territories into more gov-
ernable spaces.21
Gaitu guiliu in southwestern Guizhou highlighted the imperial state’s
ability to create new administrative spaces and staff them with function-
aries, but it did not guarantee greater control over the human activities
within those spaces. During the mid-eighteenth century, Qing officials
found themselves confronting a series of criminal cases that underscored
the fundamental discrepancies between imperial visions for the region
and realities on the ground. These cases involved moneymaking schemes
masterminded by individuals whose livelihood choices made perfect
sense in the context of their own lives, but little sense from the perspective
of imperial authorities anxious to maintain the hard-won order in south-
western China. Although these cases never involved armed violence, they
did feature symbolic attacks on Qing authority that hinted at the potential
for more serious unrest (chapter 4). These latent tensions erupted in late
1796, when government troops stationed in southwestern Guizhou were
called away to quell rebellions in other provinces. Within weeks, a local
religious leader from Nanlong took advantage of the sudden power vac-
uum and organized a rebellion against the Qing. Spurred on by their
charismatic leaders and by supernatural beliefs, the rebels soon controlled
all of central and southwestern Guizhou. Qing troops eventually regained
control of the region, but sporadic unrest and illegal activities continuedio / Guizhou and Zhongjia History
into the nineteenth century, an indication that local residents persisted in
making livelihood choices that conflicted with state ideals (chapter 5).
The final chapter (chapter 6) situates Guizhou’s indigenes in the Qing
vision of multicultural empire. James Millward has proposed a model
called “Five Nations Under Heaven” in which the empire’s five major
ethnic groups—Han, Manchu, Tibetan, Mongol, and Muslim—occupy
parallel positions in relation to the Qing imperial house.22 Conspicuously
absent from this model are the indigenes of southwestern China and Tai-
wan. Emma Teng suggests that this omission signals that the native Tai-
wanese were superfluous to the Qing conception of “great unity.”23 Chap-
ter 6 will discuss whether or not this held true for the Zhongjia as well;
and will also examine the legacy of Qing ethnic policy in contemporary
China, with particular reference to the livelihood choices available to the
Buyi.Chapter 2
NATURAL, HUMAN, AND
HISTORICAL LANDSCAPES
*
No three days are clear, no three feet of land are level,
and no one has three ounces of silver.
Tian wu san ri qing, di wu san chi ping, ren wu san fen yin.
— Guizhou saying
In 1638, during the waning days of the Ming Dynasty and the twilight of
his own career, the famed explorer Xu Xiake (1587-1641) embarked on a
journey through the mountains, caverns, and forests of Guizhou. His
travels took him through many of the regions explored in this book. He
entered the province from its southeastern border with Guangxi, made
his way northwestward to the provincial seat of Guiyang, and then negoti-
ated a series of meandering paths into the little-known reaches of Gui-
zhou’s far southwest. After three weeks of arduous travel, he reached his
destination at the confluence of the North Pan (Beipan) and South Pan
Rivers (Nanpan) near Guizhou’s southwestern border with Guangxi.1
Xu considered the writing of travel diaries his most important respon-
sibility as an explorer, and each night he penned succinct yet vivid
accounts of that day’s experiences.2 These journal entries represent much
more than a traveler’s jottings. Xu’s adventures—and occasional misad-
1112 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
ventures—encapsulate the human and geographic features that made
Guizhou such a challenge for both its inhabitants and the imperial states
that sought to govern it. Although some of Xu’s entries from Guizhou
reflect genuine delight with the natural landscape, many more evince his
frustration with the region’s stony mountain paths, foul weather, and hos-
tile “Miao” natives.3
Frequent rains, heavy fog, and hilly terrain often led Xu to believe that
nature was conspiring against him. On several occasions, heavy down-
pours forced him to cancel or postpone planned expeditions. When he
hiked to high elevations to capture a panoramic view of the valley below,
he found the scenery enveloped in clouds and mist, but when he traveled
at low elevations, numerous hills and mountains blocked his view.4
Xu’s interactions with local residents did not improve his opinion of
the region. The prospect of violence threatened his journey as he traveled
into increasingly remote areas. On one occasion, he heeded the advice of
a friendly Buddhist monk and took a long detour to avoid “Miao” bandits
known to lie in wait for unsuspecting travelers.5 The indirect route pro-
vided safe passage, but Xu encountered new problems when he reached
his destination, a small “Miao” settlement. The villagers refused to accept
him as an overnight guest and sent him to another nearby hamlet, where
the residents hid in their houses and refused to open their doors when he
knocked. Xu proceeded to the next settlement, where he “forced himself
into [the villagers’] midst.” After much haggling, a farmer agreed to put
him up for the night, but the accommodations were rustic in the extreme.
Xu found himself bedding down for the night on a pile of filthy straw
amid the family’s livestock. The experience left him grumbling over the
crudeness of the “Miao.”6
The following morning brought further difficulties when Xu tried to
hire a porter to accompany him on the next leg of his journey. No one
wanted the job, even though Xu promised to pay well. After a full day of
bargaining, a “Miao” man finally agreed to make the journey for what
Xu considered an exorbitant fee. Night had already fallen by this time, so
they decided to set out the following morning. Xu awoke at daybreak to
discover that the porter had absconded with a large sum of money—the
promised wages for the journey and then some. He tried in vain to find
the miscreant and then spent the next day hunting for another porter. HeNatural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	13
resumed his journey several days behind schedule and with fewer coins in
his pocket, thanks to the thieving “Miao.”7
These episodes illustrate the relationship between the natural setting
and human behaviors in Guizhou. The rough terrain and dank weather
that occasionally foiled Xu’s plans had a much more profound impact on
the daily lives of Guizhou’s inhabitants. The chilly reception he received
in “Miao” hamlets stemmed from the residents’ poverty and their instinct
for self-preservation. The villagers probably viewed Xu as an extra mouth
to feed, a burden they could not bear. Perhaps they even feared that he
might pilfer from their meager grain supply or seize their livestock. Such
suspicions were not unwarranted in a land where banditry was a way of
life, and people were alternately victims and perpetrators of property
theft. It is not surprising that Xu himself fell prey to petty crime. Whereas
Xu viewed the event as one of the many insults he endured in Guizhou,
the porter probably saw an opportunity to take advantage of an unwary
stranger. Perhaps the money he stole amounted to more than he might
have otherwise earned in a year, or perhaps even a lifetime—enough to
feed and clothe his family, repay any debts, and cover other expendi-
tures. Such behavior made little sense to Xu Xiake, but it might have
provided the best solution for satisfying the porter’s immediate and
future needs.
The porter’s actions represent one small example of the livelihood
choices examined in this study. The remainder of this chapter examines
the ecological conditions that shaped these choices, looks at the people
who made the livelihood decisions, and analyzes the political arrange-
ments that helped sustain them. The first section provides a detailed inves-
tigation of Guizhou’s climate and topography, explaining how the scarcity
of fertile land forced people to find other ways to supplement their liveli-
hoods. The discussion then turns to the various peoples who shared this
fragile ecological space, namely the Zhongjia, Lolo, Miao, and Han.8 The
chapter concludes with an overview of Guizhou’s political history to 1659.
In view of the region’s challenging terrain and ethnic diversity, the impe-
rial governments of the Yuan (1279-1368) and Ming dynasties eschewed
direct governance in favor of indirect rule through hereditary native offi-
cials. This arrangement allowed the imperial court to exercise a modicum
of control over Guizhou at minimal expense. It also meant that state inter-14 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
vention at the local level was relatively infrequent, leaving people more or
less free to pursue a wide range of livelihood choices.
NATURAL LANDSCAPES: CLIMATE,
TOPOGRAPHY, AND AGRICULTURE
The mists and rains that annoyed Xu Xiake have always been a fact of life
in Guizhou. Annual rainfall does range from 850-1600 mm (33-63
inches), but other provinces (Fujian, Guangdong, Guangxi, and Hunan)
all report significantly more.9 However, although Guizhou is not China’s
wettest province, it is one of the cloudiest. In 2004, the provincial capital
of Guiyang, situated in central Guizhou, reported just 989 hours of sun-
shine, making it the third-most-overcast city in China behind the Sich-
uan cities of Wenjiang (984 hours of sunshine) and Chongqing (974.9
hours).10 Guiyang and nearby Anshun are mild year-round, with winter
temperatures that seldom drop below 5 degrees Celsius (41 degrees Fahr-
enheit) and summer temperatures that rarely exceed 27 degrees Celsius
(81 degrees Fahrenheit). Nanlong, situated in southwestern Guizhou, has
a similar range, with slightly warmer winter averages and extreme humid-
ity year-round.11
Although these temperatures look moderate, Guizhou’s unrelenting
humidity makes the colder months unpleasantly damp and the warmer
months uncomfortably sticky. It also produces the recurrent mists and
fog described in Xu Xiake’s diary. Xu considered these mists a mere
inconvenience, but many other Chinese intellectuals of the imperial era
viewed them as a serious health risk. It was widely believed that Gui-
zhou’s atmosphere produced miasmas (zhangqi), or noxious vapors
thought to cause disease. The miasmas of Nanlong were considered par-
ticularly insalubrious. In the words of one eighteenth-century official,
“Hot weather is common and cold days are rare. When spring changes to
summer, there are sudden, violent rainstorms, and the hills are shrouded
in a miasma of suffocating vapors. People suffer from headaches, pres-
sure in the chest, diarrhea, and other illnesses. Epidemics of malaria are
not infrequent.”12
Guizhou’s terrain created problems far more serious than the real or
imagined health risks posed by the weather. Modern estimates indicateNatural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	15
that 87 percent of the land in Guizhou is mountainous, and only 3 to 5 per-
cent is flat.13 The region occupies the eastern edge of the Yunnan-Guizhou
Plateau, a southeastern extension of the Tibetan Plateau, which slopes
southeastward from the Yunnan highlands through Guizhou and into
Guangxi. This plateau is composed primarily of Devonian limestone,
which, through a weathering process known as carbonation, has pro-
duced the landscapes of fancifully shaped karst mountains seen through-
out southwestern China and northern Vietnam.14
Guizhou’s combination of relative warmth, high humidity, and heavy
rainfall provides the ideal conditions for karst formation. The carbon
dioxide that occurs in both the soil and the atmosphere is highly soluble
in water. When carbon dioxide mixes with rainwater and groundwater, it
forms carbonic acid, which then forms hydrogen ions and bicarbonate
ions. The hydrogen ions wear away at the calcium carbonate of the lime-
stone. Over the millennia, as large quantities of solid rock are eaten away,
caves and sinkholes form underground, and then, as the land surface col-
lapses, the characteristic karst topography takes shape.
This landscape places severe constraints on Guizhou’s agriculture.
Farming is mostly confined to the small, isolated valleys produced by the
karst topography. Hillside cultivation is also carried out wherever possi-
ble, with terraces built all the way to the tops of the highest peaks. Infer-
tile soils further limit agricultural productivity. Much of the soil in west-
ern Guizhou is either red podzolic earth, which is too eroded and leached
to support good farming, or yellow podzolic earth, which is too acidic. To
make matters worse, karst topography has poor drainage and absorbs
water rapidly; thus, instead of draining away, the excess water from heavy
rains can build up and cause devastating floods.15
The peasants of Guizhou coaxed what foodstuffs they could from this
unforgiving terrain. The best land in the valleys of Guiyang, Anshun,
and Nanlong was reserved for paddy rice. Even with terracing, however,
the amount of land level enough for rice cultivation was very limited.
Winter wheat was also common in the valleys and on terraced hillsides.
Upland areas were given over to maize, often intercropped with sweet
potato, soybeans, or squash. Buckwheat, the hardiest of grains, also grew
well in the harsh, mountainous areas of Guizhou’s far northwest.16 Other
crops included green and yellow beans, sorghum, millet, barley, potatoes,
gourds, sesame, mushrooms, and various fruits. Important commercial16 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
crops included cotton, tea, indigo, sugar cane, tobacco, medicinal plants,
lacquer, and tung oil. Because the soil lacked nutrients, fertilizers (usually
in the form of night soil, animal manure, ashes from burned vegetation,
or plant oils) were required to produce adequate harvests.17
Population and Land Use
The increasing population pressed hard on Guizhou’s available land.18 It is
clear that the province experienced a demographic explosion between the
sixteenth and nineteenth centuries, although precise population figures
remain a matter of debate. Qing government enumerations suggest that
the registered population was approximately 528,000 in the mid-sixteenth
century; and that the population increased to 2.4 million by 1741, to 3 mil-
lion by 1746, to 3.3 million by 1756, to 3.4 million by 1765, and then jumped
to more than 5 million in 1778.19 However, as Ho Ping-ti explained in
his pioneering 1957 study, Qing population registers reflected not the
actual population, but rather, the fiscal population (the number of tax-
payers).20 James Lee’s careful demographic studies have shown that fis-
cal population figures grossly underestimate the actual population. In the
case of Guizhou, according to Lee, non-Han populations were usually not
included in census figures, nor were the large numbers of immigrants who
settled in Guizhou. After accounting for the people omitted from official
registers, Lee offers much higher population figures for the province-that
is, a population of approximately 1.5 million in the mid-sixteenth century,
a doubling to 3 million by 1733 and a doubling again to 6 million by 1775.21
Yang Bin’s more recent study offers slightly more conservative estimates,
suggesting that the population was around 2.06 million in 1661, and that
it increased to 4,574,900 in 1753, and to 5,410,035 in 1840.22
Calculating the amount of cultivated land in seventeenth- and eigh-
teenth-century Guizhou is equally problematic because land-use figures
were also underreported throughout the late imperial period.23 One recent
study estimates that the amount of registered land under cultivation was
around 654,120 hectares (1.6 million acres) in 1685, 991,420 (2.5 million
acres) hectares in 1724, and 1.4 million hectares (3.5 million acres) in
1784.24 Despite the steady increase in cultivated area, land use in Guizhou
remained significantly lower than in other provinces. NeighboringNatural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	17
Guangxi, for example, had approximately 2.6 million hectares under cul-
tivation in 1784 (6.4 million acres), while Jiangsu had 5.3 million (13.1 mil-
lion acres) of cultivated land.25 Guizhou’s hilly terrain and poor soils were
undoubtedly factors in this province’s low numbers—but so was the per-
sistent problem of underreporting. In any case, the scarcity of cultivable
and cultivated land gives credence to Aibida’s complaint, quoted on the
first page of this book, that the entire province could not produce as much
tax revenue as a single county in China Proper.
HUMAN LANDSCAPES: GUIZHOU’S ETHNIC MOSAIC
A variety of peoples vied for the resources of Guizhou’s ecologically pre-
carious space.26 Throughout history, the province has been an ethnic
mosaic. In northwestern Guizhou, the Lolo, known today as the Yi pre-
dominated, interspersed with small settlements of Han immigrants and
Miao. The southwest had a high concentration of Zhongjia (Buyi), but also
had small Miao settlements in the mountains and ever-increasing num-
bers of Han immigrants. As the ethnic crossroads of the province, the
areas around Guiyang and Anshun were home to all four groups.
Over the centuries, Chinese imperial officials attempted to classify the
peoples of Guizhou into clearly delineated groups. Every local gazetteer
from the sixteenth century onward included several chapters devoted to
the dress, customs, and languages of non-Han populations. The eigh-
teenth century saw the emergence of a genre of illustrated manuscripts
known as Miao albums (Miao tu), a collection of drawings and texts that
delineate and categorize the different groups in China’s southern prov-
inces. As Laura Hostetler explains, the genre originated as an administra-
tive document created by and for officials responsible for governing the
people represented therein. The albums generally classified ethnic groups
according to their geographic location, the color or appearance of their
clothing, physical attributes, distinctive features of their dwellings, and
other characteristics remarkable to their observers. The albums also com-
mented on the ethnic groups’ behavioral tendencies, and the extent to
which the groups had adopted Han cultural norms.27
Today, Guizhou’s non-Han populations count among the fifty-five18 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
ethnic minorities (shaoshu minzu) officially recognized in the People’s
Republic of China. Scholars in the fields of ethnology (minzu xue) and
ethnohistory (minzu shi) have written extensively on the history and
political economy of these groups. This body of work is structured around
a political agenda that portrays the history of China’s non-Han groups as
just one small chapter in the nation’s larger history. Pivotal events such as
rebellions are not examined in light of their significance to a given ethnic
group, but only as steps in that group’s inexorable progress toward “libera-
tion” by the Chinese Communist Party. This rhetoric constrains this type
of scholarship but does not necessarily compromise it. Despite its ideo-
logical overtones, research in minzuxue and minzushi does yield up some
valuable historical and ethnographic data; and recent work from younger
Chinese scholars also suggests a gradual movement away from the nation-
alistic paradigm. The following sections synthesize information from
these minzu studies with the findings of Western anthropologists and
historians in order to introduce the four main ethnic groups of central
and southwestern Guizhou.
The Zhongjia (Modern Name: Buyi, Bouyei)
The historical record from the eighteenth century finds this ethnic group
at the center of every major event in the region. The alleged misdeeds of
Zhongjia chieftains provided the pretext for Yongzheng-era officials to
implement the gaitu guiiiu reforms of the 1720s. Over the next few decades,
when instances of social unrest occurred, Zhongjia villagers were often
the instigators. At the peak of the unrest, in 1797, the masterminds behind
the Nanlong Uprising and the majority of their followers were all Zhong-
jia. Members of the region’s other ethnic groups, namely the Han, Miao,
and Yi, played much smaller roles in these events—sometimes as victims,
sometimes as antagonists, sometimes as bystanders. Who were the
Zhongjia, and why did they play such a pivotal role in the upheavals of the
eighteenth century? The following section seeks to answer these ques-
tions, at least in part, by providing an introduction to Zhongjia lan-
guage, history, and socioeconomic institutions.28 Although the discussion
focuses primarily on the imperial era, it also touches upon ethnic policy
in the People’s Republic of China.Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	19
Who Are the Zhongjia?
To begin answering the question “Who are the Zhongjia?” it will be useful
to first examine some modern demographic and ethnographic data. As
noted earlier, the Zhongjia have been called the Buyi since 1953. Number-
ing around 2.9 million, the Buyi today constitute the eleventh-largest
minority nationality in the People’s Republic of China. Approximately 2.5
million Buyi live in Guizhou, mainly in the two Buyi-Miao Autonomous
Prefectures of Qianxinan (Southwestern Guizhou) and Qiannan (South-
ern Guizhou), and in the regions of Anshun, Guiyang, and Liupanshui,
while the rest are scattered throughout southeastern Yunnan and south-
eastern Sichuan. Small numbers of Buyi also live in northeastern Viet-
nam, where they constitute two officially recognized ethnic groups, the Bo
Y and the Giay.29
The Buyi represent one of many Tai groups in southern China and
Southeast Asia. More precisely, their language is classified as a Northern
Tai language within the Kam-Tai branch of the Kadai (sometimes called
Tai-Kadai) language family. Their closest kin in both ethnolinguistic and
geographic terms are the Northern Zhuang, a subgroup within the much
larger Zhuang nationality that is found mostly in Guangxi. The present-
day Northern Zhuang correspond to an ethnic group called Nong in Qing
sources.30 The Buyi and Northern Zhuang share so many cultural and
linguistic similarities that it is impossible to study one group without ref-
erence to the other; indeed, for the purposes of this book, scholarship on
the history, political life, religious traditions, and oral literature of the
Northern Zhuang often proved as useful as similar research on the Buyi.
More distant relatives of the Buyi include the Southern Zhuang of
Guangxi and the Nung and Tay of Vietnam.31 The Buyi also share some
cultural and linguistic features with the Dai of southern Yunnan as well
as the Thai, Lao, and Shan populations of mainland Southeast Asia. Their
extended ethnic family also includes the Dong (Kam), Shui, and Maonan
ethnic groups dispersed throughout Guizhou, Guangxi, and Hunan, and
the Li of Hainan.32
Archeological findings, linguistic data, and DNA evidence suggest that
these Tai-speaking populations all descended from the Hundred Yue
(Baiyue) peoples who occupied a vast area of eastern, central, and south-
ern China as early as 2000 b.c.e. Two Baiyue civilizations in particular20 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
have been linked to the Buyi of Guizhou and their Zhuang neighbors. The
Buyi and Northern Zhuang seem to share ancestral ties to the Xi’ou peo-
ple who inhabited the West River basin along Guangxi’s present-day bor-
der with Guangdong. The Southern Zhuang, along with the closely related
Nung and Tay, may have descended from the Luoyue people who lived in
the area extending from Guangxi’s current provincial capital of Nanning
to the Red River basin of northern Vietnam. Like their contemporaries in
other Yue societies, the inhabitants of Xi’ou and Luoyue relied primarily
on rice farming and other agricultural activities for their livelihood.33
Contact between the Xi’ou peoples and the Han probably began during
the Qin Dynasty (221-206 b.c.e.), when China’s imperial government
began sending expeditionary forces into the southern realms.34 Interac-
tion, intermarriage, and mutual acculturation between indigenous com-
munities and various immigrant groups continued until the eighteenth or
nineteenth century c.e. as successive waves of Han soldiers and civilians
settled in the southwest.35 Thus, today’s Buyi population developed from
more than two millennia of cultural exchanges in the Guizhou-Guangxi
borderlands.36
These exchanges were multi-directional. Some Han colonists were
absorbed into local populations and effectively became Zhongjia.37 At the
same time, many Zhongjia internalized Chinese cultural norms and tried
to “pass” as Han. As the Zhongjia gained familiarity with Chinese culture,
they perceived that the Han enjoyed one particular advantage that they
did not, namely the opportunity to participate in the imperial examina-
tions. In order to enjoy the same privilege, many Zhongjia began identify-
ing themselves as immigrants from Shandong, from Huguang (a province
during the Yuan and Ming, comprising present-day Hubei and Hunan) or
from Jiangnan; and they produced Active genealogies to legitimize these
claims.38 To this day, many Buyi still maintain both the genealogies and
the claims to ancestral homes in eastern or central China.39 The Zhuang
often assert similar claims to Han ancestry, a phenomenon that ethnolo-
gist David Holm traces to prejudices against the indigenous peoples of
southern China that only began to fade after the Zhuang received official
recognition as an ethnic group. “Before . . . the 1950s, discrimination
against southern barbarians’ was such that many villagers tried to assimi-
late and ... fitted themselves up with Chinese-style genealogies that pur-
ported to prove that their remote ancestors came from northern ChineseNatural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	21
provinces ... and had been sent to Guangxi in order to garrison the fron-
tiers against the southern barbarians.”40
It is worth noting, however, that some Buyi may in fact descend from
so-called southern barbarians—namely the Zhuang of Guangxi who
tried so hard to hide their own “barbarian” origins. A number of histori-
cal writings from the Ming and Qing periods suggest that the Zhongjia
were the progeny of garrison troops sent from Guangxi to Guizhou dur-
ing the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms Period (906-960 c.e.). The
Official History of the Ming Dynasty (Ming shi) described the Zhongjia as
soldiers who had immigrated to Guizhou from Guangxi, an idea that
Tian Wen expounded in his 1690 A Book of Guizhou (Qian shu): “From
whence did the Zhongjia come? During the Five Dynasties Period, the
Chu king Ma Yin sent them from Yongguan [in present-day Guangxi] to
garrison [Guizhou].”41 The idea of Guangxi origins was reiterated in the
1751 Qing Imperial Illustration of Tributaries, and again in an early twen-
tieth-century account by the British missionary Samuel Clarke.42 Zhou
Guoyan finds an element of truth in such assertions, but cautions that the
entire Buyi population cannot possibly claim descent from this small
contingent of Guangxi soldiers. Although the troops’ ethnic origins have
not been firmly established, Zhou finds it reasonable to assume that they
were Zhuang. “According to textual research, Yongguan was in the cen-
tral part of Guangxi where its capital city—Nanning—is situated. It is
one of the areas inhabited mainly by Zhuang people today, and it was
also a Zhuang area during the Five Dynasties, according to historical
studies.”43
Changing Names: From ‘Buzhuang’ to ‘Zhongjia’ to ‘Buyi’
If some modern-day Buyi are indeed the descendants of Zhuang immi-
grants to Guizhou, these ancestral ties represent just one example of the
enduring historical, cultural, and linguistic linkages between the two eth-
nic groups. These Guangxi origins may also help explain the provenance
of the old ethnonym Zhongjia. Both Zhong (as in Zhongjia) and Zhuang
are short forms of the word Bouxcuengh (in Chinese: Buzhuang), a self-
appellation used by the ancient Tai-speaking inhabitants of northern
Guangxi and still heard in Zhuang-speaking communities today.44 Boux
(Bu) means “people,” and cuengh (zhuang) means “narrow, flat-bottomed
river valleys in the mountains.” Thus, Bouxcuengh signifies “people of the22	/ Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
river valleys,” an apt appellation for people who relied on agriculture for
their livelihood.45
According to Zhou Guoyan, the tenth-century settlers from Guangxi
probably imported the term Zhuang (variously written jjt, Ja or fa in
Chinese sources) to Guizhou.46 There, it acquired the variant pronun-
ciation “Zhong,” eventually giving rise to the terms Zhongjia
and Zhongmiao (Jtf’/f't’EH) found in Chinese documents from the Yuan
dynasty onward.47 These ethnonyms became common currency, broadly
applied by Han residents and government officials alike, and were gener-
ally accepted by the communities so named. For most Zhongjia, however,
the term was more of an exonym than an autonym—that is, it was a name
introduced by outsiders rather than one that people used to refer to them-
selves. The term Zhuang/Zhong apparently fell into disuse among local
residents after that initial influx of Guangxi immigrants.48 A more com-
mon autonym was Bouyeix, meaning “native people,” a term that local
residents used to distinguish themselves from the various Han groups in
the area, such as “recent immigrants” (bouxhek), “people of the army”
(bouxguri) or “officials” (bouxhak)/9 The Bouyeix further classified them-
selves according to the quality and elevation of the land they farmed.50
Lowland dwellers were often called “people of the rice paddies” (bouxnaz),
a name that differentiated them from “people beyond the rice paddies”
(bouxnongz) and “people of the hills” (bouxloeh).51 These autonyms were
relational terms that reflected the ways people thought of themselves in
contradistinction to other nearby groups. As such, the names probably
provided what David Holm calls “badges of self-identity,” but they did not
imply any real sense of primordial or monolithic ethnic solidarity.52
The name Zhongjia remained in use until the Nationalities Identifica-
tion Project was implemented during the early years of Communist rule
in China. Working at the behest of central and local government authori-
ties, researchers in Guizhou determined that the most common autonym
among the so-called Zhongjia was Buyi or some variant thereof.53 Thus,
the group was officially renamed Buyi in August 1953.54 The dialects spo-
ken in northern Guangxi also bore closer resemblance to Buyi dialects in
Guizhou than to the local languages of southern Guangxi. Nonetheless,
local and central authorities determined in the early 1950s that the Tai-
speaking populations of northern and southern Guangxi would all beNatural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	23
classified as Zhuang (now written }tfc) despite their linkages to the Buyi
and apparent lack of internal cohesion.55 These classifications supposedly
reflected popular sentiment on both sides of the Guizhou-Guangxi bor-
der. The Guizhou Buyi did not want to be classified under the same ethn-
onym as their Zhuang neighbors in Guangxi.56 The Zhuang, for their part,
had resisted the Buyi label because the term was a local pejorative “applied
by the more prosperous valley dwellers to the poor people who livejd] in
the hills, and never used by any group of themselves.”57
The purported opposition from both sides of the Guizhou/Buyi-
Guangxi/Zhuang dispute fit neatly into the agenda of local and central
authorities. Their goal all along, it seems, had been to establish two ethnic
groups conveniently divided by a provincial boundary. As Katherine
Kaup explains, “The division of nationalities, not surprisingly, often was
determined more by where they lived than by any ‘objective’ Stalinist cri-
teria. The division between the Zhuang and the Buyi nationality . . . was
largely determined by provincial boundaries.” Kaup also notes that many
of the people labeled “Buyi” in Guizhou had blood relatives among the
“Zhuang” across the border in Guangxi. In some cases, immediate family
members were identified as two separate nationalities if they straddled the
border.58 This division was not altogether agreeable to members of Gui-
zhou Nationalities Affairs Commission. Some of them reportedly told
their colleagues in Yunnan that they would have preferred to see Guangxi
reclassify its Zhuang population as Buyi “so that there might be a stan-
dardized understanding of ethnicity throughout the southwest. However,
because the classification took place in strict accordance with provincial
jurisdictions ... this daydream never came true.”59
This was not the first time central government authorities attempted to
divide and control the inhabitants of the Guangxi-Guizhou borderlands.
Eighteenth-century officials pursued a similar goal, but for different rea-
sons and with very different results. As will be explained in chapter 3, the
Yongzheng emperor’s representatives in southwest China tried to sub-
due the Zhongjia by deposing a native official and redrawing the border
between Guizhou and Guangxi. For the remainder of the Qing period,
this boundary only existed on paper and in the minds of imperial authori-
ties. It had little if any bearing on the lives of Zhongjia villagers, many of
whom had family in both Guizhou and Guangxi. Cultural and clan ties24	/ Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
remained strong within the communities straddling the two provinces, as
local residents frequently crossed back and forth to visit friends and rela-
tives, conduct business, study religion and magic, and, on occasion, par-
ticipate in illegal activities or rebellions.
The decisions following the Nationalities Identification Project of the
1950s might be viewed as an attempt to replace this porous geographic
frontier with an impermeable ethnic boundary, much as Qing officials of
the eighteenth-century sought to impose order in the same region by creat-
ing a hard provincial boundary. The reforms of the Yongzheng period
established the Hongshui River that runs along Guangxi’s northwestern
frontier with Guizhou as the boundary between the two provinces. Since
the 1950s, this river has also marked the theoretical divide between the
Buyi and the Zhuang. David Holm suggests a different regional cartogra-
phy based on dialect distribution and river systems. He identifies the You
River in south-central Guangxi as the dividing line between the Northern
Zhuang/Buyi and Southern Zhuang dialects.60 Given that the Northern
Zhuang—that is, those living between the Hongshui and Youjiang Rivers—
share more traits with the Buyi than with the Southern Zhuang, it might
have made more sense to use the Youjiang as both a provincial and an eth-
nic boundary. In other words, the territory north of the river might have
been annexed to Guizhou and its inhabitants classified as Northern Zhuang
or Buyi (or as something else altogether), while the territory south of the
river might have remained part of Guangxi and its inhabitants classified
as Southern Zhuang or Zhuang (or again, as something else altogether).61
Of course, the matter is purely academic, for it is highly unlikely that
authorities in China will consider redrawing any ethnic or provincial
boundaries in the foreseeable future.62 More to the point, the ethnonyms
“Buyi” and “Zhuang” have become thoroughly reified in the six decades
since the Nationalities Identification Project.63 Although Buyi and Zhuang
intellectuals alike readily point to similarities in their languages and cul-
tures, they are equally quick to stress that their ethnic groups are separate
and distinct.64
‘The greatest evil in all Guizhou’: Portraits
from Chinese and Western Sources
Having examined the ethnic and historical origins of the Zhongjia, it now
remains for us to explore the reasons behind their role in Guizhou’s tumul-Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	25
tuous eighteenth century history. To begin, it will be useful to examine
some ethnographic descriptions from the late imperial period. In many
cases, these portraits are less than flattering and may even strike the
twenty-first-century reader as downright racist, but it is precisely this
negative viewpoint that makes these descriptions so useful. The accounts
provide a sampling of official and literati views on the Zhongjia—and,
even more importantly, shed light on the ways in which the Zhongjia
responded to their environment and to real or perceived threats from
their neighbors or from government authorities.
Ethnographic accounts from the late imperial era usually character-
ized the Zhongjia as “the fiercest of all the Miao,” if not “the greatest evil
in all Guizhou.”65 The Zhongjia earned this reputation as a consequence
of their alleged propensity for violence and deceit, vividly described in the
1673 Gazetteer of Guizhou province:“[7he Zhongjia are] dangerous and
wily . . . and fond of killing. When they go out they must carry a strong
crossbow and a sharp knife. If an enemy [so much as stares at them], they
must take revenge.”66 In addition to their reputed penchant for brutality,
the Zhongjia followed a lifestyle that Confucian scholar-officials found
contemptible, as suggested in this excerpt from the 1673 Gazetteer of
Xilong district: “[The Zhongjia] are completely lacking in courtesies. . . .
After marriage, women return to their natal homes for a number of years.
When ill, [the Zhongjia] do not consult with doctors but instead seek the
advice of shamans. [They] use chicken bones for divination.... They lack
metal tools, and salt is not part of their diet.”67 In these accounts and
many others like them, the character for Zhong was usually written ]■[',
using the “dog” character component (quan ff). This unsubtle pejorative
reflected Confucian scholar-officials’ attitudes about peoples they con-
sidered less than civilized—or even less than human. Zhong could be
written fcf1, using the “human” character component fen Jf), but this
variant appeared with far less frequency in government communiques,
local gazetteers, and travel chronicles.68
Attitudes toward the Zhongjia were not static, however. During the
eighteenth century, some imperial officials noted fractional advances
toward the Confucian ideal of civilization. For example, a 1750 handbook
reports: “The Zhongjia are the most clever and cunning of all the Miao.69
In the past, they carried swords at their waist and crossbows under their
arms. They would hide deep in the thickets or climb high into the hills [to26 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
launch surprise attacks and raids]; these were their finest tricks. Recently,
they have advanced toward culture (xianghua) and developed awe and
respect for the law. Their old customs have been eradicated.... Most men
have adopted Han clothing, and many can understand the Chinese
language.”70
These comments seem to embody the values of the Confucian civi-
lizing project undertaken during the Yongzheng and early Qianlong
reigns, when local officials sought to bring non-Han peoples “toward
culture’’(xianghua) through education and moral suasion. To be sure,
some Zhongjia villagers who lived near Han settlements did gain profi-
ciency in Mandarin and adopted Chinese attire. After the Yongzheng-era
reforms, many Zhongjia men also began to wear the queue, the distinctive
braided hairstyle that signaled loyalty to the Qing.71 But these outward
manifestations of acculturation did not necessarily signal a change of eth-
nic identification or political allegiance, let alone the “awe and respect for
the law” noted in the excerpt above.72
Accounts from the late Qing period portrayed the Zhongjia as both
Sinicized and intractable. This dichotomy is particularly apparent in the
1911 account by British missionary Samuel Clarke. He observed a high
degree of acculturation among the Zhongjia and, in some cases, even
total assimilation. “Some of them engage in trade and settle in the Chi-
nese cities and towns, and if they remain there, as many of them do, they
bind the feet of their girls and are reckoned as Chinese.”73 His comments
on Zhongjia bilingualism suggest a similar level of Sinicization: “Most
of the men . . . and many of the women can speak Chinese. . . . We have
heard them say, and we think the statement is true, that out of every
three words they utter when speaking their own language, one is Chi-
nese.”74 This portrait of acculturation receives further credence from
Clarke’s description of Zhongjia clothing and education: “The Chung-
chia [Zhongjia] men can hardly be distinguished from the Chinese. . ..
As most of them are agriculturists, the men dress exactly the same as
Chinese farmers and village folk. . . . Many of them compete at the civil
and military examinations and some of them have risen to high rank in
the imperial service.”75 Despite these outward displays of Sinicization,
Clarke noted that the Han still considered the Zhongjia an inferior race, a
view that he evidently shared:Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	27
The Chung-chia [Zhongjia] appear to have all the defects of the Chinese
and none of their better qualities. Among the Chinese are good, bad, and
indifferent; among the Chung-chia some are bad and some perhaps not so
bad. The Chinese generally describe the Miao as turbulent, simple, and
without proper notions of propriety; while they describe the Chung-chia
as crafty, lying, and dishonest.... The Chinese say that every Chung-chia
is a thief, and from what we know of them, we should not feel justified in
denying the charge. . . . The dishonest among the Chung-chia are sneak
thieves who prowl around at night, and pilfer from their friends and
neighbors.76
Clearly, the Zhongjia ran afoul of Confucian (and Western evangeli-
cal) sensibilities in myriad ways. With a century or two of historical hind-
sight and a greater understanding of the environmental conditions facing
the Zhongjia, it is possible to interpret their real or imagined transgres-
sions in a different light. Many of the behaviors depicted here—the sup-
posed proclivity for violence, cunning, and thievery, and even the varying
degrees of acculturation—exemplified different activities on a broad spec-
trum of livelihood choices. Thievery and pilfering were time-honored
redistributive techniques employed by those who needed (or simply
wanted) something their neighbors possessed. Acculturation, whether
partial or complete, real or feigned, reflected a great flexibility and prag-
matism in the Zhongjia approach to Chinese culture. Local residents
adopted and adapted whatever served their immediate needs and rejected
the rest. The Chinese language—or some local variant of it—was useful
because it served as the lingua franca for commercial exchanges and the
occasional encounter with imperial authorities. Chinese attire enabled
Zhongjia villagers to blend in with other local residents, though appar-
ently not enough if observers recognized them as non-Hans wearing Han
clothing! The imperial education system enabled some Zhongjia to gain a
modicum of literacy and at least a passing familiarity with the Confucian
classics. The Zhongjia tolerated and even respected Qing laws, but never
to the extent that these legal niceties impinged upon traditional liveli-
hoods. At times, the Zhongjia manipulated Chinese culture in ways that
enabled them to launch indirect attacks on Qing authority. On other
occasions, most notably during the Nanlong Uprising, they rejected the28 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
Confucian culture complex and mounted a direct assault on imperial
institutions.
Zhongjia Political and Economic Institutions
During the imperial era, Zhongjia society was organized around an insti-
tution known as the tingmu system. The term tingmu referred to heredi-
tary landowners who governed small fiefdoms along the Guizhou-
Guangxi border. The residents of tingmu domains were divided into units
known as jia (shields). Thejzfl were subdivided into smaller units called
ting (encampments). Each yza was composed of ten ting.77 The people liv-
ing in chieftain-controlled areas were divided into eight categories. The
four highest classes all participated in government and administration.
The chieftains occupied the highest rank. All the land and people
belonged to them, and their name was law within the areas they gov-
erned. Next in rank were the local headmen (tumu or toumu), who were
both the chieftains’ assistants and enfeoffed officials. The village heads
(bashi) were responsible for keeping the peace among local residents.
Next in rank were the horse platoons (mapai), the soldiers who served in
the chieftains’ personal armies. Equal in rank to these soldiers were ritual
specialists (mogong), who maintained the local shrines and organized
various ceremonies.78 Below these leaders and functionaries were the
ordinary people, who were further subdivided into eight groups. The rice
farmers, known as “grain-farming hundred names” (liangzhuang baixing)
were the highest-ranking commoners. Below the rice farmers were ser-
vants and laborers (/wyz), who were usually immigrants from other areas.
At first, these workers did not possess any land, but after a set period of
service, they could obtain some fields of their own. Next in rank were the
“privately-owned hundred names” (sizhuang baixing), immigrants and
refugees who were effectively the chieftains’ private property. These set-
tlers were allowed to till the chieftains’ poorest fields, but it was not a
secure life, for they could be bought and sold along with the land. Their
only protection was that the chieftains could not sell these cultivators
separately from the land they tilled. The members of this sizhuang baixing
class had no hope of upward social mobility; they could not become rice
farmers or even servants. However, even lower in rank were maidservants
(niipai), who performed domestic tasks in the chieftains’ households and
who could be sold or married off like slaves.79Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	29
Lands under the chieftains’ control were divided into public fields
(gongtian), and private fields (sitiari). Rice farmers rented parcels of the
public land from the chieftains. Annual rents varied from place to place
but usually ranged from 50 to 80 percent of the year’s harvest. Private
lands were the personal estates of the chieftains, local headmen, and vil-
lage heads. Rice farmers were required to work the private lands as well as
their allotment of public land.80 Most landlords also required their ten-
ants to provide set periods of labor, and to contribute food, money, or
manpower for religious holidays and other celebrations. The tenants’
quality of life ranged from miserable to tolerable, depending on the qual-
ity of the land they farmed, the size of the harvests in any given year, and
the disposition of their landlords.81 Some families supplemented their
livelihoods by raising additional income from cash crops such as tobacco
and indigo, or from the production and sale of textiles.82
The Lolo (Nasu Yi)
The Lolo, or Yi as they are known today, are Tibeto-Burman speakers
who traditionally occupied a wide area including northwestern Guizhou,
southwestern Sichuan, and northeastern Yunnan. Those living in north-
western Guizhou call themselves the Nasu (also known as the Nasu Yi).83
Although the Nasu Yi play a relatively minor role in this book, it will
be useful to take a general look at their political history and economic
institutions.
The Nasu Yi were the most powerful non-Han group in Guizhou—
perhaps in all of southwestern China—until the early years of the Qing
dynasty. The Mu’ege kingdom of the Nasu Yi gained control over much of
present-day Guizhou between about 300 and 1200 c.e. The kingdom’s
strength and its long-term survival stemmed from its geographic position
between China proper and the expansionist kingdoms along the south-
western periphery. The Tang (618-907) and Song (960-1279) imperial gov-
ernments both treated the Mu’ege realm as a buffer against rival states—
against Nanzhao in the Tang, and against Dali in the Song.84
In 1280, the patriarch of the ruling An clan received a hereditary title
from the government of the new Yuan dynasty 85 By the 1570s, the An
family controlled a vast area that extended from the northwestern tip of
Guizhou all the way to the Guiyang region, an area called Shuixi in Ming30 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
sources. This territorial expansion radically altered the kingdom’s social
and economic structure. When the An realm had been limited to the bar-
ren northwestern corner of Guizhou, the clan economy had centered on
slash-and-burn agriculture. After the An rulers annexed more fertile ter-
ritory to the south and east, they realized that paddy farming would yield
far more revenue than slash-and-burn and they adopted Han agricultural
techniques. This dramatic change to the region’s economy required a
skilled labor force, and in the minds of the kingdom’s officials, there was
no better source than the recent Han in-migrants to northwest Guizhou,
northeast Yunnan, and southern Sichuan. These in-migrants had, to a
great extent, been responsible for the introduction of Han agricultural
methods to the southwestern periphery of the Ming empire. Thus, the An
leaders considered it entirely logical to raid vulnerable Han settlements
for captives to farm reclaimed lands. By the beginning of the seventeenth
century, then, an extensive trade network stretched from northwest
Guangxi to central Sichuan to supply Shuixi’s expanding economy with
slaves.86 The slaves were a multi-ethnic group consisting of Lolo common-
ers, Chinese, Miao, and even Zhongjia. The An clan assigned certain tasks
to specific ethnic groups. The Zhongjia, for example, were considered
good farmers and were thus allocated the best land, while the Miao and
Han were often assigned less fertile lands.87
The Ming and Qing states steadily eroded Nasu Yi political autonomy.
The An family was deposed in the 1670s, but was restored to power after
twenty years. During the 1720s, the Yongzheng court terminated the An
family’s hereditary title and incorporated the domain into regular admin-
istrative units.88
The Miao
Although their origins and ancient history remain obscure, the current
scholarly consensus is that the earliest Miao moved southwestward from
central China, under pressure from Han expansion.89 They were usually
characterized as a mountain-dwelling people, although it is not certain
when or how willingly they became denizens of the uplands. The likeliest
scenario is that, in the face of increasing pressure from Han immigrants,
the Miao retreated into remote mountain regions of southwestern China,
Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam.90Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	31
Over the centuries, the name Miao has acquired two related meanings.
In its broadest sense, it is a generic term for the various non-Han groups
in Guizhou and neighboring provinces. As we have seen throughout this
chapter, Chinese literati and imperial officials sometimes used the term
“Miao” when they were actually referring to the Zhongjia. In the narrow-
est sense, “Miao” denotes a broader ethnic group (minzu) that includes
several subgroups in southwest China, as well as the Hmong of Vietnam,
Laos, and Thailand.91 Ming and Qing sources use the term Miao in the
broader sense to refer more generally to the non-Han peoples of southern
China. The sources often distinguished between Miao who were unas-
similated barbarians (“strangers,” or sheng) and those who had adapted
to Chinese civilization (“acquaintances,” or shu). The Miao who were
“acquaintances” lived close to centers of Han culture and were either
under direct state control or under the control of a state-appointed native
official. These Miao adopted Han clothing, became conversant in Manda-
rin, and learned to read and write. The Miao who remained “strangers”
were those who resisted assimilation, pacification, and state control.92
Ming and Qing sources also classified Miao populations according to the
color or appearance of their clothing, their physical attributes, distinctive
features of their dwellings, or other characteristics remarkable to their
observers. This practice gave rise to such names as the Flowery Miao, Red
Miao, Short-skirted Miao, Dog’s Ear Miao, and Pig-filth Miao.93
During the Ming and Qing periods, most Miao lived in hamlets (zhai)
of one hundred or so families. These settlements were usually located
high in the mountains and were often enclosed with heavy wooden
fences to discourage outsiders from entering. Defensibility was the main
consideration in choosing a place to settle. Even if a hamlet itself was not
readily defendable, the surrounding mountains provided sanctuary for
villagers in the event of an attack. The Miao depended primarily on agri-
culture for their livelihood. As mountain-dwellers, they relied on the slash-
and-burn farming of hardy dryland crops such as buckwheat, oats, corn,
and potatoes, often supplemented by hunting and gathering in the forest.
Like the Zhongjia, they participated in local market systems, often
exchanging forest products and handicrafts for sugar, salt, and metal
tools. Those living in northwestern Guizhou also raised sheep and goats
for sale at local markets.94
The Miao lacked the centralized political organization of the Zhongjia32 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
or the Nasu Yi and often occupied the lowest rungs of Guizhou’s socioeco-
nomic ladder.95 As noted earlier, some Miao in southwestern Guizhou
became the slaves of Zhongjia chieftains. The Miao living in northwestern
Guizhou were often the tenants of Nasu Yi aristocrats, or, less frequently,
of Han and Muslim (Hui) settlers.96 Their rental obligations included crop
payments, as well as labor service in forestry, agriculture, and transport.
As chapter 4 will explain, the Miao often found themselves caught up in
the schemes of their more resourceful neighbors, either as accomplices or
as victims.
The Han
Han settlers began arriving in Guizhou during the last years of the Spring
and Autumn Period (770-476 b.c.e.). From the Tang through the Ming
and Qing periods, wave after wave of Han immigrants entered Guizhou
from Shanxi, Jiangxi, Sichuan, Hunan, Anhui, and Jiangsu. The Ming
government had a policy of sending soldiers and their dependents to Gui-
zhou to establish military colonies (tuntiari). After each Ming military
campaign in the southwest, the state settled more Han in Guizhou. A
number of people also immigrated to Guizhou of their own volition. Each
new wave of immigrants placed increasing pressure on the area’s non-Han
inhabitants.97 The Han settlers usually claimed the most fertile lands and
applied their advanced farming techniques to their fields, thus giving a
welcome boost to a province’s tax base. In many areas, the Han gradually
became the dominant ethnic group, and displaced native peoples were
either forced into less desirable, hilly regions, or were driven to remote
border areas. Those natives who remained in their home regions suffered
a significant reduction in their social and economic standing. Many Han
regarded their non-Han neighbors with the contempt we saw reflected in
Xu Xiake’s diary.
THE HISTORICAL LANDSCAPE: GUIZHOU
DURING THE MING AND EARLY QING
During the Yuan dynasty, the lands constituting present-day Guizhou
were divided among the neighboring provinces of Huguang (present-dayNatural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	33
Hunan and Hubei), Yunnan, and Sichuan. Under the administration of
these provinces were six “routes” (lu) in the Guizhou region.98 Beneath the
route-level administration, prefectures, counties, and departments were
established wherever there were sufficient tax-paying populations. Where
direct administration was not possible, the Yuan appointed hereditary
native rulers (tusi) to administer local populations on behalf of the court.
The early Ming state oversaw a gradual administrative consolidation in
the Guizhou region, culminating with the creation of Guizhou province
in 1413. The process had begun in 1382, when the government established
the Guizhou regional military commissioner (duzhihui shi), the first offi-
cial devoted exclusively to the region. The commissioner was responsible
only for military matters; provincial officials in Yunnan, Sichuan, and the
Ming province of Huguang remained in charge of civil administration.
In 1413, two powerful native rulers in eastern Guizhou went to war over
a disputed piece of land. When the fighting threatened to engulf a wider
area, the Ming court sent troops to quell the violence. Eventually, the two
feuding rulers killed each other. The central government claimed their
lands and established regular administrative units—eight prefectures and
four districts in all. The court then established a provincial administra-
tion commissioner (buzheng shi) to coordinate the administration of
these new units.99 This was the first Chinese government organization
devoted entirely to the civil administration of the Guizhou region. In
order to generate enough tax revenue for this new administrative appara-
tus, the Ming government soon encouraged immigrants from other prov-
inces to settle in Guizhou.100
Native Officials in Ming Guizhou
Although the Ming established a provincial administrative apparatus
in Guizhou, it continued the Yuan practice of establishing sub-provin-
cial administrative units only where Chinese farming and taxpaying
communities were large enough to support them.101 In areas where non-
Chinese populations predominated, the Ming state appointed native rul-
ers to govern their own people according to local custom. When the court
conferred native chieftain status upon a tribal leader, it classified him (or
her, in rare instances) as either a civilian native official (tuguan) or a mili-
tary native official (tusi). The civilian officials were under the direct super-34 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
vision of the central government’s Board of Appointments (libu), while
their military counterparts came under the aegis of the Board of War
(bingbu). Generally speaking, the civilian officials controlled areas within
defined provincial boundaries, often where small numbers of Han had
settled among indigenous populations. These officials held titles analo-
gous to those in the Chinese administration system, with titles prefixed by
the word tu: native prefects (tufu), native department magistrates (tuzhou),
and native county magistrates (tuxian). Their staffs often included Chi-
nese officials who served as secretary-archivists, translators, or sheriffs,
and who helped mediate relations between the chieftains and the imperial
state. The military officials, on the other hand, enjoyed a greater degree of
institutional and territorial autonomy from China.
Regularly appointed imperial officials were seldom posted to areas con-
trolled by these native rulers. These domains were usually located along or
just beyond China’s political borders, typically in areas without signifi-
cant Han populations. Military officials were expected to command siz-
able armies to assist in the empire’s defense.102 Indigenous populations
living under native rule were not subject to the standard forms of Ming
and Qing taxation imposed on individuals and households. Native offices
were subject to levies of goods and labor, and of soldiers when military
emergencies arose. The Ming government took the collection of these lev-
ies very seriously, for, apart from their economic value, they signified the
continued compliance and subservience of the native peoples.103
James Lee estimates that native officials controlled at least one-half of
Guizhou during the Ming.104 The institution did not always function
effectively, however, as native officials often proved corrupt and unruly.
Some native rulers failed to maintain peace and stability in the regions
under their control, others threatened to rebel against the dynasty. Thus,
after establishing many native offices early in the dynasty, the Ming gov-
ernment concluded that it needed a new governing method and opted to
implement the policy known as “changing native officials to regularly
appointed officials” (gaitu guiliu). The process created at least as many
problems as the Ming hoped it would solve, as native populations did not
always accept centrally appointed officials and were not always readily
integrated into mainstream Chinese society.
By the seventeenth century, the administrative map of Guizhou resem-
bled a patchwork quilt. Areas controlled by native officials overlappedNatural, Human, Historical Landscapes /	35
with regular administrative units: in effect, everyone was in charge, and
no one was in charge. As John Herman notes, even after Guizhou was
organized as a province, Ming officials would continue to view it not so
much as a contiguous part of “China Proper” (neidi), but as an internal
frontier or semi-periphery defined roughly by provincial boundaries.105
The Qing Conquest of Guizhou
Although Qing armies captured Beijing in 1644, they did not gain control
over southwestern China for another fifteen years. In the interim, Gui-
zhou became a refuge for Ming loyalists. Following the suicide of the last
Ming emperor, ministers in the secondary capital at Nanjing scrambled to
piece together a resistance government. Several surviving members of the
Ming royal family were thus maneuvered into leading a movement to
overthrow the Qing. The restorationist government became known as the
Southern Ming.
The most effective Southern Ming leader was Zhu Youlang, the Prince
of Gui. In late 1646, he mounted a resistance campaign from the coastal
province of Guangdong. At this time, he crowned himself emperor and
assumed the reign title Yongli. Advancing Qing armies soon forced him
westward into Guangxi, where he maintained a capital at the provincial
seat of Guilin intermittently for three years. Qing incursions occasionally
forced Yongli to flee northward to Hunan or Jiangxi, or southward, toward
the border with Vietnam. With the help of skilled military leaders, he
eventually succeeded in expanding the Southern Ming territories to
include most of Guangxi, Guizhou, and Yunnan. The Qing court in Bei-
jing kept a wary eye on Yongli and launched several military campaigns
against him in the late 1640s and early 1650s. Qing advances forced the
Southern Ming deeper and deeper into southwest China. For a time,
Yongli governed his domain from Anlong, a remote town near Guizhou’s
border with Guangxi. In 1656, he fled to Yunnan, where he clung to power
for another eighteen months before Qing armies deposed him.106
Guizhou served as an important staging ground for Qing campaigns
against Yongli and his supporters. Qing armies invaded the province in
early 1658, and met in Guiyang six months later to plan a strategy for con-
solidating power over Yunnan. In order to traverse Guizhou, Qing com-
manders had to secure the cooperation of the native officials who con-36 I Natural, Human, Historical Landscapes
trolled the most strategic regions.107 Jobtei, the general in charge of
southwestern Guizhou, received military assistance from the native offi-
cial whose domain included key routes into Guangxi and Yunnan.108
Another Qing general, the infamous Wu Sangui, cooperated with the An
rulers of northwestern Guizhou. Their alliance was so strong that the
native official even led Wu’s troops into battle. Wu also used An territory
as a base for campaigns in nearby Sichuan.109
Once Guizhou was secured for the Qing, Wu Sangui led his troops into
Yunnan in pursuit of the Yongli emperor. Yongli escaped into Burma and
received asylum from the royal court at Ava. After lengthy negotiations
between the Qing and Burmese courts, Wu Sangui received permission
to cross into Burma. They arrested Yongli in Ava and escorted him back to
Yunnan, where he was executed in May, 1662.110 As a reward for the suc-
cessful capture of the last Ming pretender, Wu Sangui was granted life-
time control over Yunnan and Guizhou, although the governors-general
of both provinces remained in place.111 Wu’s new position gave him
extraordinary powers. An imperial edict of December 1659 had already
authorized him to appoint and dismiss officials and to handle all military,
financial, and civil affairs without the intervention of the Board of
Appointments or the Board of War.112
As Wu and other Qing generals moved across Guizhou, they accepted
the submission of numerous native officials and usually renewed the offi-
cials’ Ming titles and the terms of alliance. Almost immediately, however,
the Qing court diverged from Ming policy on the tusi. Even as command-
ers on the ground were extending official recognition to native officials,
policy makers in Beijing were planning a radical overhaul of the Qing
state’s relations with native communities. This restructuring and its effects
on Guizhou’s social and economic life will be the subject of chapter 3.Chapter 3
THE CONSOLIDATION OF QING RULE
*
When Qing armies completed the military conquest of southwestern
China in 1659, Guizhou was an unruly internal frontier. Although the
Ming government had organized the region as a province in 1413, Gui-
zhou still bore only the faintest imprints of imperial control. The province
was an ethnic patchwork, populated by a variety of indigenous non-Han
groups, each with its own languages and customs. Some of these groups
showed varying degrees of assimilation with mainstream Chinese cul-
ture, but many others remained fiercely independent. Sub-provincial
administrative units existed only where Han tax-paying populations were
large enough to support them. Hereditary native officials (tusf) controlled
most of the land within Guizhou and along its borders with other prov-
inces. Although these native officials received their titles and legitimacy
from the throne, most of them functioned beyond the reach of imperial
law. The central government had little sway over such matters as criminal
justice, or even over the rules governing inheritance of the titles it con-
ferred upon the native officials.
It was not until the reign of the third Qing emperor, Yongzheng, that
the imperial state took decisive steps to consolidate military, political, and
cultural control over frontier communities throughout southwestern
China. After consulting with officials in the region, Yongzheng endorsed
a plan to “reform the native and return to the regular” (gaitu guiliu).
3738	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
Under this policy, native rulers were deposed and their domains were
incorporated into regular administrative units. Indigenous populations
that had traditionally enjoyed relative autonomy were thus brought under
direct rule for the first time.1 Central and local authorities hoped that
imperial law and Confucian ethics would eventually displace local cus-
toms, transforming Guizhou’s indigenous peoples into civilized Qing
subjects.
Both the process and the short-term effects of the Yongzheng-era cam-
paigns in central and southwestern Guizhou are worth examination.
Relatively tolerant attitudes of the first two Qing emperors, Shunzhi
(1644-1661) and Kangxi (1662-1722), gave way to more confrontational
tactics during the Yongzheng period. These tactics unfolded in the Ding-
fan-Guangshun region of central Guizhou, and Nanlong, in the province’s
far southwest. Both areas were home to large communities of the Zhongjia
ethnic group whose penchant for banditry, raiding, and feuding had long
been a source of consternation for imperial authorities. In 1724, officials in
Dingfan-Guangshun started a campaign to bring order and civility to the
region. The enterprise met with fierce resistance from villagers who deeply
resented the state’s intrusion. After two years of battling local vigilantes,
provincial officials finally managed to lay the groundwork for a much
larger military and administrative presence. Shortly after the campaign in
Dingfan-Guangshun concluded, Qing authorities turned their attention
to Guizhou’s ill-defined boundary with Guangxi. For centuries, this
region had been a no-man’s-land rife with unresolved territorial disputes
and blood feuds. In an effort to create a new administrative and social
order, provincial officials deposed the inept native ruler whose family had
controlled the region since the last decades of the Yuan period. After
establishing a permanent boundary between Guizhou and Guangxi, the
provincial officials cobbled together the recently annexed lands into a new
prefecture, Nanlong.
This narrative covers both new and familiar terrain in the history of
the Qing southwest, offering a reinterpretation of the events in Dingfan-
Guangshun and providing the first English-language account of the cam-
paign in Nanlong.2 The reforms in southwestern China are most often
associated with the Yunnan-Guizhou governor-general (zongdu) Ortai.
Only after Ortai assumed his post in 1725 did Qing troops begin to gain
any traction against the local bandits who plagued the area. In a matterThe Consolidation of Qing Rule /	39
of months, Ortai secured the region and began taking steps to integrate
it into the Chinese world.3 Ortai’s efficient handling of the Dingfan-
Guangshun crisis convinced the emperor that the success here could be
replicated in other parts of Yunnan and Guizhou.4 This proved a grave
miscalculation, for subsequent campaigns proved far more complex and
far bloodier than the engagement at Dingfan-Guangshun. Qing incur-
sions into the Miao regions of southeastern Guizhou, the Lolo (Yi) heart-
land of northeastern Yunnan, and the Tai polities of southern Yunnan
provoked violent opposition from local populations.5
Qing expansion in these regions was both an imperial and colonial
phenomenon. The Yongzheng-era policies brought parts of southwestern
China under direct imperial rule for the first time, and Han settlers soon
displaced native populations. Some officials who advocated the overthrow
of the native rulers voiced “overtly colonial” arguments, stating that “nat-
ural resources could be more efficiently tapped if the areas in question
were brought under the direct control of the central government.”6 The
colonial and imperial nature of the Qing enterprise in Dingfan-Guang-
shun and Nanlong is most apparent in the state’s efforts to impose direct
rule. “Overtly colonial” arguments were far less important in these
regions than in other parts of the Qing southwest, particularly the copper-
rich lands of northeastern Yunnan.7 Dingfan-Guangshun had few natural
products to offer. Nanlong was more richly endowed, with reserves of
silver and other metals and an abundance of forest products, but eco-
nomic exploitation does not appear to have been a major impetus in deter-
mining policy for this region.8 Han settlement is a thornier issue. In the-
ory at least, the policy of eliminating indigenous rulers was intended to
protect Han Chinese living in or near native areas—not necessarily to
attract new settlement.9 Subsequent Han settlement of Dingfan-Guang-
shun and Nanlong appears to have been more of a by-product—albeit one
welcomed by imperial authorities—rather than an express aim of the
Yongzheng-era program.10
The correspondence between the emperor and his officials in the field
suggests that policy in Dingfan-Guangshun and Nanlong was motivated
above all by the desire to create order where none had existed before—or
at least no order existed that the Qing considered recognizable or usable.
In view of this, Yongzheng’s plans for Dingfan-Guangshun and Nanlong
appear to represent an exercise in what James Scott calls “seeing like a40	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
state.” Here and elsewhere in southwestern China, the state took steps to
rationalize and standardize “a social hieroglyph into a legible and admin-
istratively more convenient format. The social simplifications introduced
not only permitted a more finely tuned system of taxation and conscrip-
tion but also greatly enhanced state capacity.”11 Before the Yongzheng-era
reforms, large areas of Guizhou resembled social hieroglyphs, indecipher-
able to Qing authorities. Many indigenous communities lived beyond the
reach of direct administration, isolated by geography as well as their own
languages and customs. Officials of the Yongzheng era hoped to trans-
form these hieroglyphs into a legible form, enabling the state to better
understand and control the region’s population, land, and resources.
It may be useful to examine the matter in terms of state space and non-
state space.12 State spaces describe lowland areas where the ecology was
conducive to stable human settlements and surplus grain production, two
prerequisites for administrative oversight and revenue extraction. Non-
state spaces, by contrast, were upland areas where the ecology did not
support these preconditions, where inhabitants practiced slash-and-burn
or shifting agriculture, or engaged in other economic activities that pro-
duced little surplus. In the absence of stable populations or steady sources
of revenue, such areas remained largely impervious to state control and
taxation. The central government generally regarded these non-state
spaces as a source of violence and barbarism, and as places of sanctuary
for bandits, rebels, and other dangerous characters who posed an imme-
diate or potential threat to the state.13
With some refinement, these concepts carried deep resonance for Gui-
zhou on the eve of the Yongzheng-era reforms. State spaces, such as they
were, existed wherever the imperial government had managed to establish
regular administrative units. Non-state spaces characterized areas with-
out regular administrative units, native officials, or even centralized
indigenous polities. Such regions were most commonly found in the Miao
heartlands of southeastern Guizhou.14 Between the state and the non-state
spaces lay the Zhongjia regions of central and southwestern Guizhou—
areas perhaps best labeled “semi-state spaces.” These areas had both native
officials and a smattering of regular administrative units, but neither
functioned well enough to meet the government’s increasing demand for
standardization and centralization.15 Yongzheng and his officials recog-
nized that their capacity to “see like a state” would be severely constrainedThe Consolidation of Qing Rule /	41
unless they reorganized space into a format that could accommodate their
vision. One goal oigaitu guiliu, therefore, was to transform the semi-state
spaces of central and southwestern Guizhou into full-fledged state spaces.
QING POLICY IN SOUTHWEST CHINA
UNDER SHUNZHI AND KANGXI
During the Shunzhi and Kangxi reigns, the central government tried to
operate within the existing framework of the native official (tusi) system.
As noted in chapter 1, the military conquest of Guizhou in 1658 owed much
to the cooperation of native rulers. When Qing troops marched across
native domains, the local chieftains usually pledged loyalty to the new
dynasty, exchanged their Ming seals for Qing ones, and then offered mili-
tary assistance to the imperial armies. In this way, Beijing secured control
over the region while leaving the institution of native rule largely intact.16
Although the native officials remained in power, the central govern-
ment soon took steps to curb their traditional autonomy, beginning with
new regulations on the inheritance of official titles. In 1659, the Shunzhi
emperor moved to assert greater control over the succession process by
stipulating that only direct, patrilineal descendants could inherit the
Qing title. This marked a sharp departure from Ming precedents, which
allowed native officials to designate heirs according to local custom or
personal whim.17 Under the new Qing rules, the court refused to consider
a deceased leader’s brothers, sons by concubines, or daughters for the post.
In order to confirm the lines of descent, applicants for the titles were
required to submit their genealogies to local officials. In addition, poten-
tial successors to the title were encouraged, but not required, to attend the
nearest state-sponsored public school. These reforms affected the culture
of native elites in two crucial ways. First, by assuming a direct supervi-
sory role over the inheritance process, the Qing state greatly curtailed the
political independence of indigenous frontier societies. Second, the oppor-
tunity to receive a Confucian education encouraged the native rulers to
begin identifying more closely with Chinese culture.18
These reforms continued to evolve during the Kangxi reign as the court
extended more educational opportunities to native populations. In 1682,
the Guizhou public schools were opened to all male relatives of the native42	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
officials. Four years later, the schools were opened to all male children in
the native domains. In 1703, the regular examination system was opened
to students from native chieftain families, although their exams were
graded separately from those written by Han Chinese candidates. Two
years later, Beijing recommended that “charity schools” (yixue) be estab-
lished throughout Guizhou for the designated heirs—that is, sons, and
brothers—of the native officials. The court also stipulated that it would
assign official titles only to candidates who could prove they had attended
these state-sponsored schools.19
The purpose of these reforms was to tie the native rulers’ political for-
tunes even more firmly to the Qing court. Kangxi preferred this approach
to the more aggressive policies advocated by civil and military officials who
pressed for the abolition of native rule. The emperor’s attitude stemmed
not from any particular affection for the tusi, but from profound mistrust
of the provincial officials in southwest China, a product of his bitter expe-
rience with the traitor Wu Sangui.20 As explained in chapter 2, Wu won
hereditary control over Yunnan and Guizhou for his role in the Qing con-
quest of these provinces and the capture of the last Ming pretender. Bei-
jing had intended for him to govern on the court’s behalf, but he soon
came to view the region as his personal empire. He amassed a small for-
tune by increasing taxes and establishing monopolies on salt wells, gold
and copper mines, and trade in ginseng and rhubarb.21 Wu supplemented
the ill-gotten gains from his local enterprises with generous subsidies
from Beijing, ostensibly provided to quell local uprisings. His modus ope-
randi was to antagonize native officials until they took up arms, and then
petition the court for funds and munitions to put down the uprisings that
he himself had fomented.22
By the 1670s, the Kangxi emperor was convinced that Wu Sangui
posed a grave threat to the dynasty’s political and financial stability, but
he was not sure how to deal with the powerful general.23 An opportunity
for action arose in 1673, when Wu Sangui asked Beijing for permission
to retire to Manchuria. Wu’s intentions were anything but sincere. He
was simply trying to gauge the court’s reaction to his petition and fully
expected Beijing to reaffirm his authority over southwestern China.
Instead, the court turned the tables on Wu and ordered his immediate
transfer to Manchuria. Outraged, Wu decided to rebel against the dynasty,
sparking an eight-year war.24 In its aftermath, Kangxi remained wary ofThe Consolidation of Qing Rule /	43
the provincial officials in Yunnan and Guizhou, finding echoes of Wu
Sanguis treachery in every request for military action against the tusi.25
Faced with the real or imagined threat of another war in the southwest,
Kangxi preferred to forgive the native rulers’ occasional transgressions.
THE YONGZHENG REIGN: ABOLISHING
NATIVE RULE AND ‘SEEING LIKE A STATE’
The Yongzheng reign saw a decisive shift in both central government atti-
tude and policy toward southwest China. Whereas the Kangxi emperor
had steered away from aggressive change in southwest China, his son was
determined to transform the region’s political, administrative, and cul-
tural landscapes. Yongzheng’s campaign in southwestern China repre-
sented an integral part of his mission to extend the imperial writ to the
farthest-flung reaches of the Qing realm.26 Although some historians have
portrayed Yongzheng as an autocrat or a despot, he was above all commit-
ted to the pursuit of effective government.27 He restructured state institu-
tions and practices in ways that both increased his personal power and
also promoted more honest, efficient administration at every level.28
Yongzheng’s Mission in Southwest China:
Local Security and Broader Strategies
Soon after ascending the throne, Yongzheng turned his reformist zeal to
the chronic unrest and maladministration in southwestern China. His
initial attempts at reform were fairly conservative, demanding nothing
more than a stricter application of the existing laws on native rulers. In a
1724 edict, Yongzheng leveled a series of accusations at the native officials,
charging that they possessed “only scant knowledge of the laws of the
Empire” and governed their domains with cruelty and avarice. According
to the emperor, native officials thought nothing of stealing their subjects’
livestock, kidnapping women and children, and even murdering at will.
Even worse, they colluded with fugitives from other provinces, the so-
called “treacherous Han” (Han jian), to oppress and swindle the native
commoners. After enumerating the native officials’ many crimes, the
emperor ordered provincial authorities to keep a closer watch on the tusi44	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
under their jurisdiction and strictly punish those who broke the law.
Native officials who failed to mend their ways even after a reprimand were
subject to impeachment, dismissal, and punishment.29
After this tentative start, the emperor moved toward a more aggressive
policy. He began staffing key provincial posts in Guizhou and Yunnan
with “new men,” relatively young officials who shared his commitment to
reform.30 As disorders persisted throughout the region, these activists
became increasingly convinced that the native official system had ceased
to function as a viable means of governing non-Han areas. The chief-
tains continued to flout imperial law in numerous ways. Some were per-
sonally involved in banditry, while others provided sanctuary to crimi-
nals, Han and non-Han alike. The activists worried that if such infractions
went unpunished, then even the more law-abiding native rulers might be
emboldened to engage in illegal activities.31 Even worse, as Ortai cau-
tioned in a 1725 memorial, the continued presence of the tusi could under-
mine any chance for long-term stability in the region. “If we do not replace
all the native rulers with regularly appointed officials ... then even if the
land tax, military affairs, and legal matters are managed with the utmost
thoroughness, it will amount to nothing in the end. We dare not approach
this matter with anything less than the greatest care and vigilance.... In
my humble estimation, this is the first order of business in Yunnan and
Guizhou.”32 Warnings like these persuaded the Yongzheng emperor of the
need to overthrow native rulers and incorporate their domains into regu-
lar administrative units (gaitu guiliu).
It should be noted that broader strategic concerns also informed the
decision to take action against the native officials. Southwestern China
was vital to Qing interests in Inner Asia, and Yunnan occupied a key
position as the gateway to Tibet, where the Qing had recently gained a
foothold they could ill afford to lose. Tibet had become more and more
important to the imperial state. During the late Kangxi period, imperial
troops had engaged in fierce battles with the Western Mongols for domi-
nance in Inner Asia. Qing authorities gradually came to realize that in
order to contain this formidable adversary, it was essential to control the
Mongols’ religious leaders (who were loyal to the Yellow Hat school of
Buddhism in Tibet). In addition to its role as a gateway to Tibet, Yunnan
was also important in its own right, as the empire’s chief source of cop-
per, the primary ingredient in Qing coins. Qing policy in Guizhou was inThe Consolidation of Qing Rule /	45
some respects a by-product of Yunnan’s importance. Imperial authorities
hoped that pacifying Guizhou would ensure easier access to its neighbor
to the west.33
Imposing Order in Dingfan-Guangshun
Dingfan-Guangshun, often abbreviated Ding-Guang in Qing documents,
served as the laboratory for Yongzheng’s activist policies in southwestern
China. The transformation of this region occurred in four stages. The first
stage involved the long and frustrating struggle to subdue Zhongjia ban-
dits in the heart of Ding-Guang. The second stage entailed the abolition of
a native chieftain whose family had controlled the lands just west of Ding-
Guang. His surrender allowed provincial officials to consolidate and
expand their control in central Guizhou. During the third stage, Qing
authorities took armed action against local residents who obstructed the
erection of military compounds in Ding-Guang. In the fourth and final
stage, provincial officials enrolled residents of the newly annexed lands on
tax rolls and issued last names to those who had none.
The name Dingfan-Guangshun refers to two small administrative cen-
ters in central Guizhou. The Ming government established Dingfan and
Guangshun as departments (zhou) in 1587 and 1602, respectively. Both
were subordinate to Guiyang prefecture, located 64 kilometers (40 miles)
to the north.34 Until the reforms of the Yongzheng period, Dingfan and
Guangshun stood as tiny outposts of imperial rule in the heart of native
territory. The surrounding countryside remained in the hands of native
chieftains. In Ming and Qing sources, these chieftains were referred to by
their surnames followed by the suffix fan, or “barbarian.”35 Indeed, “Ding-
fan” means “pacified barbarians,” a name that reflected imperial ambitions
rather than realities on the ground. Like much of Guizhou, the region was
an ethnic mosaic. The Zhongjia were the predominant non-Han group, but
Miao and other indigenous populations lived in the area. Small numbers
of Han Chinese also began to settle in the region during the Ming period.36
As noted in chapter 2, imperial officials generally regarded the Zhongjia
as the scourge of Guizhou. Ethnographic accounts from the late Ming and
early Qing periods never failed to mention the ethnic group’s penchant for
banditry and violence. Like all stereotypes, these unflattering portrayals
carried a certain element of truth, but did not tell the entire story. The wan-46	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
ing years of the Kangxi period did see an increasing number of Zhongjia
raids on villages in the Ding-Guang region as more and more Han immi-
grants settled in their midst and seized what little good land existed.37
Although imperial officials could only see these predatory behaviors as
threats to social stability, banditry and violence provided an important
way for the impoverished Zhongjia to supplement their livelihoods. Not
surprisingly, the Han residents of Ding-Guang did not view Zhongjia
activities in such a compassionate light. Members of the local gentry
lodged numerous complaints with provincial authorities during the last
years of the Kangxi reign, but the apathetic officials usually ignored these
pleas for help. The officials posted to Guizhou at this time were a sorry lot,
so demoralized by the dank climate and lack of cultural amenities that
they were unwilling to exert themselves even when crises arose.38
However, the rise of the Yongzheng emperor infused the provincial
administration with new vigor. Soon after assuming the throne, the mon-
arch made it clear to Guizhou officials that he would not tolerate the las-
situde so prevalent during the last years of his father’s reign. In a 1724 edict
to Mao Wenquan, his first appointee as Guizhou governor (xunfu), Yong-
zheng blamed the previous administration for the recent spate of raids in
Ding-Guang and other areas. By failing to relieve the grinding poverty in
the Guizhou countryside, local officials had effectively driven people to
illegal pursuits like banditry and raiding. Yongzheng ordered Mao and his
colleagues to govern with more compassion and rigor than their predeces-
sors.39 The emperor’s decree showed that he understood why the Zhongjia
behaved as they did, but his insight did not mean he would allow this
behavior to continue. It was up to Governor Mao to alleviate the condi-
tions that spawned criminal behavior, and to end any illegal activities
already in progress.
Unbeknown to the emperor, Mao and his colleagues had already
launched a military campaign in central Guizhou with humiliating
results. Acting in concert with the Guizhou provincial commander-in-
chief (tidu) Zhao Kun and Yunnan-Guizhou governor-general Gao
Qizhuo, Governor Mao had targeted a gang of bandits who had been
terrorizing villages throughout the Ding-Guang region. The ringleader
was a Zhongjia strongman named A Jin who had proclaimed himself
“king of the Miao” (Miao wang). From his headquarters deep in theThe Consolidation of Qing Rule /	47
mountains near Dingfan, he commanded a network of kidnappers and
robbers who had forced many nearby villages into submission. In the
spring of 1724, A Jin’s band raided several market towns. Without first
seeking authorization from his superiors, Colonel Chen Yuanxun of the
Ding-Guang garrison had ordered a force of two hundred troops to
launch an attack on A Jin’s lair. Three Qing soldiers were injured in the
ensuing skirmish. A Jin escaped with all of his followers, and the imperial
troops were forced to retreat to their base without capturing a single ban-
dit.40 To make matters worse, one of Colonel Chen’s sublieutenants had
needlessly burned down a Zhongjia village that had never offered overt
assistance to A Jin’s band. In his analysis of the events, written several
months later, Governor-General Gao Qizhuo stated that Chen’s men
should have asked the villagers to help capture A Jin, offering assurances
of clemency to those who cooperated. Instead, the troops had resorted to
extreme measures that only provoked the Zhongjia to turn against the
Qing and join the bandits.41
Colonel Chen tried to redeem himself with another unauthorized
attack on A Jin, but further disaster ensued. Early in the autumn of 1724,
he set out with three hundred troops and marched toward A Jin’s base.
The Zhongjia shot arrows at the Qing soldiers, wounding several. Once
again, Colonel Chen was forced to beat a hasty retreat.42 His repeated
debacles called for a more aggressive plan to control the Zhongjia. If the
Qing were to have any credibility in the region, they would have to attack
the Zhongjia with more than two or three hundred troops. Accordingly,
Governor-general Gao authorized a 2,400-man expedition against A Jin’s
stronghold in November of 1724. Instead of relying solely on men from the
Ding-Guang garrison, the Qing force also included troops from units in
northwestern Guizhou.43
This time, the Qing expedition succeeded. The sheer size of the Qing
army made resistance impractical, and many Zhongjia collaborators
served as guides and translators. The imperial troops easily made their
way from Dingfan to A Jin’s base. A Jin set up a roadblock and fled into
the nearby forest, but Qing troops quickly rounded up all of his subordi-
nates. Within a week, they caught A Jin himself and delivered him to
Guiyang for trial and subsequent execution. Eventually, Qing troops with-
drew from the area, leaving behind small units to guard strategic points.4448	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
The Overthrow of the Kangzuo Chieftain
Several months after capturing A Jin, Qing officials in Guizhou scored
another modest victory. In early 1725, Governor Mao informed the
emperor that he had decided to depose the Kangzuo native chieftain, Xue
Shiqian. Xue’s family had controlled this small fiefdom just northeast of
Dingfan since the early years of the Ming dynasty.45 According to Mao,
Xue had long engaged in brigandage, eluding capture by slipping into his
mountain lair. In Mao’s estimation, Xue was more evil than the other
native chieftains. If the authorities allowed him to persist in his depreda-
tions, then other native chieftains in Guizhou might emulate his behav-
ior.46 Implicit in Mao’s report was the concern that Xue might threaten the
hard-won peace in nearby Ding-Guang.
Much wiser and warier after the long battle against A Jin, Mao felt it best
to avoid another large-scale military expedition. In the hopes that friendly
overtures would suffice, he sent a local magistrate to offer Xue life impris-
onment in another province rather than capital punishment if he went to
Guiyang without protest. Xue surrendered, and the government placed him
in jail, garrisoned Bailaohu, and in 1727 placed that area under the direct
jurisdiction of Zhenning department.47 Kent Smith suggests that Xue’s
easy capitulation was a direct response to the show of force in Ding-
Guang, which had begun to “lend new credibility to the power of provincial
officialdom.”48 Xue probably also calculated that exile to a faraway region
was preferable to certain death in battle or by execution if he resisted.
The Standoff at Changzhai
During the last year of his tenure as governor-general, Gao Qizhuo formu-
lated a program for the final consolidation of Qing rule in central Guizhou.
In the spring of 1725, he put forth a plan to greatly increase the military
presence in the Ding-Guang region. Rather than increase the province’s
troop quotas, Gao planned to redeploy some of the units already stationed
elsewhere in Guizhou.49 The plan encountered numerous obstacles along
the way, and it fell to Gao’s successor, Ortai, to bring it to completion. The
official with immediate responsibility for executing Gao’s plan was Shi
Liha, the newly appointed acting governor of Guizhou.50 After surveying
the Changzhai region in the autumn of 1725, Shi Liha voiced his intentionThe Consolidation of Qing Rule /	49
to establish a substantial military force in the area. He planned to increase
the number of troops in Dingfan by 340 men, and to add 431 troops to the
garrison in Guangshun. In addition, provincial authorities planned to
build seventeen guardhouses and stations in each of these departments,
and eventually to construct a grand total of 370 new offices and military
compounds. Workers would first build guard posts and stations near the
administrative centers at Guangshun and Dingfan and continue the con-
struction on a line gradually moving toward the interior of Zhongjia terri-
tory. Shi Liha hoped that this gradual penetration into the Zhongjia heart-
land would forestall any resistance from the local population.51
In spite of Shi Lihas precautions, Qing plans soon encountered a major
stumbling block. When the line of new military outposts approached the
Zhongjia stronghold near the hamlet of Changzhai, just south of Ding-
Guang, local residents blocked all entrances to the construction site, and
prevented workers from entering with building materials, thus halting
construction.52
The standoff at Changzhai persisted for the better part of 1725. In the
meantime, the Yongzheng emperor made a pivotal decision for the peo-
ple of Ding-Guang, and indeed for the whole of southwestern China. He
appointed Ortai as governor of Yunnan, charged concurrently with the
responsibilities of the governor-general of Yunnan and Guizhou. Imme-
diately after assuming office in February of 1726, Ortai turned his atten-
tion to the crisis in Changzhai. Other provincial officials were divided on
how best to deal with the Zhongjia. Some advocated a military strike,
while others were reluctant to pursue such an aggressive policy. Among
those clamoring for a military solution was the recently appointed pro-
vincial commander-in-chief Ma Huipo, but the Yongzheng emperor had
thus far refused permission for armed intervention. He urged Ma to con-
sult with Ortai before taking any action. Accordingly, soon after Ortai
assumed office, Ma Huipo reported to him that Changzhai residents were
burning the few structures the Qing workers had managed to build and
were frequently blocking access to the construction sites. He suggested
that troops from northwestern Guizhou already designated for perma-
nent transfer to Ding-Guang might be sent to guard the construction
work near Changzhai.53 Ortai readily accepted Ma’s suggestion, adding
that he was by no means averse to using military force to break the
stalemate.5450	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
Matters on the ground in Changzhai further convinced Ortai of the
need for an armed solution. During the first week of May, local officials
informed him that the local Zhongjia, having rejected numerous attempts
at negotiation and reconciliation, had set fire to Qing military buildings.
Adding insult to injury, the Zhongjia had also flogged and released naked
a Qing sublieutenant sent to remonstrate with them. Local officials also
reported that the Zhongjia had stationed 50 to 60 men at each of the
heavily barricaded passes leading to the Changzhai area. In addition, the
local rebels had also stockpiled a large cache of war materiel, including
poison arrows, spears, armor, and helmets. Shi Liha and Ma Huipo dis-
patched 2,700 troops to support those in the Ding-Guang battalion. Ma
also mobilized several units of non-Chinese auxiliary troops and ordered
the combined forces to assemble at a strategic point just south of Chang-
zhai. Shi Liha and Ma Huipo then asked Ortai for permission to attack the
Zhongjia and pacify the region before the hot, rainy season set in at the end
of May.55
In his reports to the emperor, Ortai made it clear that he wholeheart-
edly supported the military solution. He also hinted at his intention to use
Ding-Guang as a testing ground for policy in other non-Han regions of
the southwest. He declared that if the government did not suppress the
Zhongjia, “all the Miao will notice and become even more intractable.
This suppression is not just calculated to exterminate the [Zhongjia] ras-
cals. It is designed to pacify all of the Miao.”56
Ortai won approval for a military engagement, and in June of 1726, the
first skirmishes broke out between Qing troops and Zhongjia gangs. The
Qing army enjoyed overwhelming logistical superiority. Their army num-
bered between four and five thousand regulars, along with more than a
thousand native troops. The Zhongjia were at a distinct disadvantage.
They had no firearms and relied on an arsenal consisting chiefly of knives,
armor, helmets, and spears. Most villages fell within a few days, although
some held out for up to two weeks. In due course, however, Qing troops
were able to subdue the entire region.57
Consolidating the New Order
The military victory only marked the beginning of the government’s job.
Now it remained for Ortai to secure the region’s long-term stability andThe Consolidation of Qing Rule /	51
prosperity. To begin, he arranged for a larger permanent military presence
in the area, with new units stationed at both Changzhai and Zongjiao,
another strategic town. An additional 350 troops would be deployed in the
area, evenly distributed between the two new command posts.58
Ortai’s next order of business was to rebuild the local economy. Fol-
lowing a personal visit to the region in the autumn of 1726, he devised a
program to encourage the Zhongjia to resume normal agricultural activi-
ties, and to secure orderly conditions by imposing Chinese social, eco-
nomic, and cultural patterns. He extended tax amnesties and a monthly
grain allowance as incentives for Zhongjia to return to the area. Ortai’s
plan also called for the establishment of a new resident official, the subpre-
fectural magistrate (tongban) of Guiyang.59
Kent Smith notes that the physical presence of this official signified the
region’s formal entrance into the imperial orbit. The government took
additional steps to affirm this transition. Indigenes were urged to shave
their heads and wear the queue, the distinctive hairstyle that signaled
loyalty to the Qing. Local officials also prepared population registers,
issued surnames to those who had none, and arranged the villagers into
public security (baojia) units.60 By assigning surnames to local residents,
encouraging them to wear the queue, and enrolling them on tax registers,
the Qing state furnished itself with a means to identify its subjects, or, to
explain the project in Scott’s terms, “to create a legible people.”61
A NEW ORDER IN SOUTHWESTERN GUIZHOU:
THE CREATION OF NANLONG PREFECTURE
The land lay athwart the boundaries of Qian [Guizhou] and Yue
[Guangxi]. Disputes and murders were frequent, and they were most
difficult to adjudicate. When there was a crisis in Qian, the criminals
fled to Yue; when there was a crisis in Yue, the criminals fled to Qian.
When a crisis arose in the territories that belonged to neither Qian
nor Yue, this created profound difficulties.
—Xingyi fuzhi (Gazetteer of Xingyi prefecture), 1851, 46:10b
The next major undertaking in Guizhou involved the annexation of the
Sicheng native prefecture (Sicheng tufu).62 This area, which extended from
the northern banks of the Hongshui River in southwestern Guizhou to the52	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
You River in central Guangxi, had long been ruled by native officials of
the Cen, a lineage with deep but obscure roots in southwestern China.63
Ethnohistorians usually classify the Cens as Zhuang, but it is unclear
when and how they became Zhuang, and whether or not they were ethnic
Han at some point in the distant past. The matter is complicated by the
need to rely on genealogies designed to enhance the clan’s prestige and
legitimacy by creating ancestral ties to Han Chinese personages from the
central and eastern provinces.64 Some genealogies establish descent from
the Han dynasty (206 B.C.E.-220 c.e.) general Cen Peng.65 Genealogies from
the Ming and Qing periods list the family’s founding ancestor as Cen
Zhongshu, a Song dynasty hero from Zhejiang who supposedly helped
the general Di Qing quell a mid-eleventh century rebellion in Guangxi.66
The Song court rewarded Cen Zhongshu for his services by granting his
family hereditary control over several native districts in northern
Guangxi. In the centuries that followed, a succession of native officials
surnamed Cen—who may or may not have been Cen Zhongshu’s direct
descendants—expanded the clan’s domains through military conquests
and rewards from the Song and Yuan governments.67 In 1340, the Yuan
granted an official named Cen Shumuhan hereditary control over the
Sicheng region. The Ming government renewed his charter soon after the
Ming assumed power in 1368.68 By the fifteenth century, Cen rulers had
conquered lands north of the Hongshui River, including a number of
communities in present-day Guizhou. Territories south of the river in
present-day Guangxi were known as inner dependencies (nei shao), while
those north of the river were called outer dependencies (wai shad). Wher-
ever the Cen acquired new lands, the original rulers became their vassals.
Local rulers who already held titles as native officials were required to pay
tribute to both the Ming court and to the Cen ruler.69
The Cens maintained cordial relations with the imperial government
throughout the Ming period. The government periodically asked Cen
native officials for military support in campaigns against non-Han rebels
in the southwest. In return, the Cen rulers could rely upon imperial troops
for assistance when they were harassed by other native officials, or when
renegade vassals within their own domain needed a firm hand.70 When
the Qing troops entered southwestern China in pursuit of the Southern
Ming, the Cen rulers transferred their loyalty to the new dynasty.71 The
Qing throne subsequently reaffirmed the Cens’ hereditary claim to theThe Consolidation of Qing Rule /	53
title of Sicheng native prefect and allowed them to retain control over
their territories on both sides of the Hongshui River.72
After this auspicious beginning, the Cens’ relations with the Qing
court gradually soured. Eighteenth-century writers often depicted
Sicheng as a bumptious region of fuzzy boundaries, ambiguous jurisdic-
tion, and frequent bloodshed. Numerous chieftains (tingmu), the land-
owning elite described in chapter 2, controlled small fiefdoms within the
Cen domain. They were notoriously warlike, frequently engaging in land
disputes and blood feuds. To make matters worse, these chieftains oper-
ated in a jurisdictional no-man’s-land, answerable to neither the provin-
cial officials in Guangxi nor those in Guizhou. The Sicheng native prefect
was responsible for disciplining wayward vassals and sending the more
recalcitrant ones to provincial authorities, but he seldom did so. However,
even if he had been more proactive in handling these disputes, he would
have been hard-pressed to find an imperial official to help resolve them.
Government offices in and near the Cen domains were widely scattered
and poorly staffed. Magistrates assigned to the region often chose to live
elsewhere for at least six months out of the year because northwestern
Guangxi was a breeding ground for malaria and other tropical maladies.
Officials decamped to healthier climes during the warmer months and
returned to their posts only when cooler temperatures reduced the pos-
sibility of disease.73
The administrative presence was equally thin in Guizhou. The Ming
government had established a department (zhou) at Pu’an; and in 1687, the
Qing court had created a subprefecture (ting) at Nanlong in southwestern
Guizhou, near the northern edge of Cen territory. These administrative
units had little influence over affairs within the native prefect’s domain,
and they were too remote from Qing political centers to function effec-
tively. Both were jurisdictional subunits of Anshun prefecture, which lay
120 kilometers (75 miles) east of Pu’an and 160 kilometers (100 miles)
northeast of Nanlong. Poor roads and rough terrain made it difficult for
the local officials in either town to communicate with their superiors in
the prefectural seat, or in the provincial capital at Guiyang.74 If a real crisis
erupted, local officials could not depend on military assistance. During
the Kangxi period, only 1,500 troops were stationed at the garrison in
Huangcaoba, a small town in the southwestern corner of Guizhou.75
In the mid-i72os, Yongzheng’s reform-minded officials in southwest54	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
China resolved to impose order on the chaotic landscape of the Guizhou-
Guangxi borderlands. The catalyst for this decision was a longstanding
feud between two chieftains, one in northern Guangxi and the other in
Guizhou, with contesting claims to a group of hamlets on both banks of
the Hongshui River.76 Cai Chenggui, the highest-ranking military official
in the region, reported the matter to Gao Qizhuo, who was then governor-
general of Yunnan and Guizhou. Gao ordered the magistrates of Pu’an
and Sicheng to conduct a joint investigation to determine the rightful
owner of the disputed hamlets. When more than a year passed with no
action on the magistrates’ part, Cai sent the emperor a lengthy memorial
describing the sorry state of affairs in southwestern Guizhou. He
explained that although he had some troops at his disposal, he was reluc-
tant to use military force until he determined whether the hamlets in
question belonged to Guizhou or Guangxi. He suggested that provincial
officials jointly investigate the region to ascertain which chieftain gov-
erned the villagers, and to which province the chieftains paid taxes. Cai
went on to decry the lack of civilian administration in the region. (The
highest-ranking civil officials were the subprefect of Nanlong and the dis-
trict magistrate in Pu’an; and although there was a small military pres-
ence in the area, army figures like Cai himself generally preferred not to
get involved in civilian matters.)77 Cai ended by imploring the emperor to
appoint more regular officials in southwestern Guizhou. The Yongzheng
emperor responded by ordering the other high-ranking officials in Gui-
zhou and Guangxi to assess the situation.78
The first report on the matter came from Ortai, who had by now
assumed office as governor-general of Yunnan and Guizhou. In his view,
the solution to the problem lay in the establishment of a clear boundary
between Guizhou and Guangxi. As he wrote:
The Miao fight and plunder endlessly, and the local officials are lax, letting
matters drift until they ferment into severe upheaval. . . . Only because
[the provinces] adjoin each other along a jagged line do these disputes
reach such an extreme. Now if we use the river to create order, with terri-
tory south of the river belonging to Guangxi and that north of the river
going to Guizhou, then the boundary will be orderly and natural, military
defense and criminal investigations will be greatly expedited, and
clashes .. . between the two provinces will be forever resolved.79The Consolidation of Qing Rule /	55
Several days later, Guangxi governor Han Liangfu weighed in on the
crisis. He opined that the two warring chieftains were not the real source
of trouble in the Guangxi-Guizhou borderlands. The worst culprit by far
was the native prefect, Cen Yingchen, Governor Han charged that Cen
had repeatedly failed to deliver criminals to local officials, and that he was
generally incapable of governing his people. Despite Cen’s many trans-
gressions, Governor Han was reluctant to depose him, stating, “Only if
this native official [Cen] acts in an outrageous and brutal manner . . .
should we consider enacting gaitu guiliu.’’ The governor contended that
the changes wrought by the sudden introduction of direct imperial rule
might be too extreme for indigenous peoples who could not read or speak
Chinese. To ease the transition, he suggested that the Qing court establish
a subprefect for managing the “Miao” (li Miao tongban) at Sicheng. With
the guidance of this new official, Han argued, native populations would
“have the imperial way bestowed upon them and slowly reform their
hearts and minds.”80 However, Han’s proposal was completely out of step
with the activist policies that now carried the day. In his responding edict,
the Yongzheng emperor approved Ortai’s proposal to use the Hongshui
River as a natural boundary between the two provinces and summarily
rejected Governor Han’s proposal to install a new subprefect at Sicheng.
He also warned Han that military action might well be necessary if Cen
resorted to rebellion. He ordered Governor Han and Ortai to proceed to
Yunnan for a meeting with other high-ranking officials in the region.81
The conference in Yunnan ended with a resolution that all parties found
reasonable. Because Cen Yingchen had never shown any inclination to
mount an armed insurrection, military action would be premature at this
stage. Everyone agreed, however, that Cen could not remain in power
because he controlled both the northern and southern banks of the Hong-
shui. Ortai’s plan to use the river as a hard boundary between Guizhou and
Guangxi could be implemented only if Qing authorities deposed Cen and
annexed his territories. The officials at the Yunnan conference decided to
give Cen the opportunity to surrender peacefully. Governor Han agreed
to visit him in Sicheng and to extend a personal invitation to a meeting
with Ortai at the Huangcaoba garrison in the summer of 1727. Han would
travel to Sicheng with an entourage of no more than fifty soldiers in order
to avoid arousing Cen’s suspicions. If Cen showed signs of resistance, Han
would summon troops from nearby battalions in Guangxi. Once Cen56	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
reached the garrison in Guizhou, Ortai would invite him to resign from
office. If Cen accepted, the boundary setting would proceed smoothly; if
he resisted, Ortai would order military action.82
Although Governor Han remained skeptical about gaitu guiliu, this
was a plan he could live with. He also agreed wholeheartedly with the
decision to establish a firm boundary between Guizhou and Guangxi. As
he told the emperor in a memorial from the spring of 1727:
As for using the river to delineate the Qian-Yue border, I think this is not
only natural for [Guizhou] but also what ought to be for [Guangxi]. When
Sicheng’s land is registered [as Guizhou’s], it will create more tax revenue
for Guizhou. . . . Once we set Guangxi’s border according to the natural
boundaries . . . these regions will no longer be beyond the reach of
Guangxi soldiers when disturbances occur. .. . No more will there be the
calamity of the strong bullying the weak. The winds of enmity, murder,
and feuding may cease. Great indeed will be the benefits to the two
provinces.83
The plans eventually came to fruition, but only after a few twists and
turns. Upon receiving Governor Han’s invitation to Huangcaoba, Cen
Yingchen sent out spies to determine the provincial officials’ true inten-
tions. His informants came back with the news that Ortai and his col-
leagues planned to attack Cen in the hopes of forcing him to surrender his
official title. Upon learning this, Cen sent three thousand of his personal
troops across the river to Guizhou in advance of his visit to Huangcaoba.
After Cen himself had crossed the river into Guizhou, he once again dis-
patched spies to investigate the situation in Huangcaoba. This time, his
spies returned with the news that the Qing officials had no intention of
taking military action against Cen unless he attacked first. Cen hastened
to send a petition to the officials assembled in Huangcaoba, begging for
clemency. He then ordered his troops to return to Sicheng. Once the sol-
diers had retreated, he prostrated himself before the provincial officials
and relinquished his seal of office. Cen and his family were subsequently
exiled to Zhejiang.84 Although puzzled by Cen’s actions, Ortai and his
cohorts were pleased with the results, for the Guizhou-Guangxi border-
lands were now under direct imperial rule.85
Over the next several months, Ortai carried out his plan to establish aThe Consolidation of Qing Rule /	57
new administrative order in the region. He suggested that the court create
a new prefecture to consolidate control over the lands newly annexed to
Guizhou. On Ortai’s recommendation, the old subprefecture of Nanlong
was elevated to a prefecture, with jurisdiction over the Guizhou territories
of Pu’an department and Annan county (Annan xian). Nanlong also gov-
erned two additional subunits that consolidated the newly acquired lands
from Guangxi: Yongfeng department (Yongfeng zhou), and Ceheng sub-
prefecture (Ceheng).86 The localities south of the Hongshui River were
placed under the jurisdiction of Sicheng prefecture, which was now fully
incorporated into the regular imperial administrative system. For better
or worse, the Qing had asserted sovereignty over a land that had been part
of China’s territory for centuries, but where no previous dynasty had ever
successfully asserted direct political control.
CONCLUSION
When Qing officials decided to depose Cen Yingchen, they risked pro-
voking an armed conflict much larger than the one in Ding-Guang. The
native prefect commanded a sizable personal army, and other tusi were sure
to offer assistance in the event of a Qing attack. The worst-case scenario
could have involved a coordinated revolt by all of Cen’s allies in Guangxi,
plus, perhaps, a few in neighboring areas of Guizhou and Yunnan—in
other words, this could have been a regional war only slightly smaller in
scale than the Southern Ming insurrection or Wu Sanguis rebellion.
However, this did not come to pass. Neither the Qing troops nor the native
officials’ soldiers fired a single shot. Sicheng stands out as one of the few
regions in southwest China where gaitu guiliu was achieved through a
bloodless coup d’etat rather than a protracted military struggle. Kangzuo
was another region where gaitu guiliu involved a peaceful transfer of
power, but there the stakes were lower because Xue Shiqian was less pow-
erful and his domain was much smaller.
It is also worth noting that resistance to gaitu guiliu came not from the
native officials, but from the commoners in Ding-Guang. Xue Shiqian and
Cen Yingchen both capitulated readily because they stood to lose too
much if they did not. The terms of surrender were favorable; the Qing
would resettle the native rulers elsewhere in the empire, in areas where58	/ The Consolidation of Qing Rule
they could continue to enjoy lives of privilege. Resistance, on the other
hand, meant certain death for the native rulers, if not in battle, then by
execution at the hands of imperial officials who would surely judge them
guilty of treason. Villagers in Ding-Guang, however, saw no such benefits
in surrendering to the Qing. The arrival of direct rule threatened to con-
strain their livelihood choices. The increased administrative oversight
meant that the raiding and banditry they relied upon to supplement their
family incomes would now be criminalized. Faced with this knowledge,
many local residents recognized that they could either submit meekly to
the new order, which guaranteed only a life of continued hardship, or they
could die fighting the Qing authorities. Thus, when local officials began
erecting administrative buildings and army garrisons in Dingfan-
Guangshun, these physical symbols of the imperial presence became easy
targets for the people’s outrage.
Commoners in the newly constituted Nanlong prefecture did not ini-
tially protest the arrival of direct imperial rule because it had little imme-
diate impact on their daily lives. Indeed, the changes might have been too
subtle for them to notice. Even after additional Qing functionaries were
installed throughout the region, indigenous social and economic struc-
tures remained largely intact. Most Zhongjia villagers continued to live
as tenant farmers on the estates of tingmu87 The main difference was
that the tingmu were now answerable to Qing authorities rather than the
do-nothing Cen Yingchen. If disputes or feuds erupted, local officials
could put a stop to them before they escalated into drawn-out conflicts. In
theory at least, all of the mechanisms were in place for Nanlong to become
a full-fledged state space. The Qing government had succeeded in increas-
ing its capacity to “see like a state”—to carve out new administrative units
and project legibility into them. As chapters 4 and 5 will illustrate, how-
ever, local residents soon exhibited an equal capacity for perseverance,
adaptability, subversion, and sometimes outright resistance. Their liveli-
hood choices transformed the Yongzheng-era templates for standardiza-
tion and centralization into a shifting matrix of conflict and compromise.Chapter 4
LIVELIHOOD CHOICES IN THE
MID-EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
*
Imperial authorities hoped that the reforms of the Yongzheng reign would
transform the Zhongjia into compliant subjects. Instead, local residents
continued to make decisions based on the flexibility and pragmatism that
had sustained them for centuries. Rather than submit uncritically to the
state’s demands, the Zhongjia made livelihood choices that best suited
their needs. This chapter explores the nature and consequences of these
choices by examining three money-making schemes recounted in palace
memorials (zhupi zouzhe) from the mid-eighteenth century. These
schemes typically revolved around the sale and purchase of good-luck
charms, sometimes embossed with slogans like “the Qing will fall next
year,” or “a new king will rise up in northern Guangxi.” Itinerant sales-
men traveled from village to village, spreading prophesies of natural
disasters and plagues, or even predictions of the end of the world. These
vendors promised salvation and eternal prosperity for those who bought
the charms, and certain death for those who did not.
Qing officials generally viewed these schemes as precursors to rebellion
and thus acted with all possible speed to prevent local unrest from escalat-
ing into widespread insurrection. The government’s response followed a
template with slight variations according to the timing and location of an
incident. As soon as local authorities caught wind of suspicious activities,
they launched an investigation and rounded up participants and wit-
596o / Livelihood Choices
nesses. The resulting testimony would eventually point to the ringleaders.
After further inquiries, the authorities would distinguish the guilty from
the innocent, punish the former, and allow the latter to go free. Once the
local officials had neutralized the most recent threat, they would express
dismay over the frequency of such events in their region. But their reports
usually concluded that such incidents could be expected in a place like
Guizhou, given the province’s large population of indigenes mired in pov-
erty, ignorance, and superstition.1
As far as Qing authorities were concerned, the participants in these
schemes were foolish rustics who had failed to embrace the benefits of
Confucian culture. Zhongjia participants, however, were more likely to
see themselves as creative and flexible individuals who seized opportuni-
ties as they arose and made the best possible use of all the religious, social,
and economic resources at their disposal. In other words, they opted for
livelihood choices that made perfect sense to them, even if imperial
authorities considered these choices to be wrong-headed.
To review the definition set forth in chapter 1, livelihoods encompass
not just the activities that people use to make a living, but also the social,
ethnic, and religious resources available to them, and the ways livelihood
decisions relate to local conditions and external forces. These decisions
entail “a range of reactions from acceptance, reluctant compliance, to
diverse forms of everyday resistance.”2 Although the discussion in this
chapter focuses primarily on individuals whose activities fell into the cat-
egory of everyday resistance, it also turns an occasional spotlight on local
residents who accepted—or who at least reluctantly complied with—Qing
legal norms. Law-abiding peasants make less colorful research subjects
than their more daring counterparts, but their actions must be given due
attention in any discussion of livelihood choices. It seems reasonable to
assume that the overwhelming majority of Zhongjia behaved within legal
bounds. Indeed, the cases discussed in this chapter found their way into
the historical record thanks in large part to the villagers who first observed
and reported suspicious doings.3 Illicit activity in remote corners of Gui-
zhou often came to light only when and if local residents alerted commu-
nity leaders, such as chieftains or Han local elites, who then notified the
nearest provincial authorities. What impelled these men to report the ille-
gal doings instead of turning a blind eye or even joining in? The palace
memorials do not include direct testimony from the informants, but weLivelihood Choices /	61
can hazard some educated guesses about their motivations. Perhaps they
acted out a genuine sense of civic duty, or even out of loyalty to the
dynasty. Perhaps it was a simple instinct for self-preservation. Failure to
report questionable activities was tantamount to aiding and abetting the
perpetrators; and if someone else notified the authorities of such activi-
ties, the consequences could be deadly for a person who had turned a
blind eye. In other words, it was safer to stay on the side of the law than to
appear complicit with criminal elements. Perhaps, as Jean Michaud says,
they were “keen to give the appearance of conformity simply to avoid
problems.”4 Whatever the case, the decision to follow the law was as much
a livelihood choice as the decision to break the law.
Why, then, might someone decide to break the law? In the estimation
of Qing officials, many criminals were drawn to illegal activity because
they lived in “abject poverty with no source of income” (chipin wulai).
However, this was little more than a “documentary signpost” meant to
assure higher officials that a crime was economic rather than political in
nature.5 It also failed to account for the range of livelihood choices that
might or might not have been available to the criminal. In central and
southwestern Guizhou, these choices were quite limited. Farming was
the predominant economic activity, but as noted in chapter 2, unfavorable
environmental conditions made agriculture a precarious livelihood choice
at best. Mining offered another possibility, although Guizhou’s metal and
mineral reserves could not compare to those in neighboring Yunnan.
Moreover, many of the jobs in mines went to immigrants from other prov-
inces rather than to local Han or indigenes.6 It is true that small pockets of
commercial activity flourished throughout central and southwestern Guiz-
hou. Salt was probably the most important commodity, as the province
lacked reserves of its own and relied on imports from Yunnan, Sichuan,
or Guangdong.7 Small markets were held at regular intervals throughout
the region—here, indigenes could barter forest products, medicinal
plants, and livestock for salt, fish, cloth, and tools from Han merchants.8
For most local residents, commercial activities provided little more than
a means to supplement household incomes and acquire necessary goods;
but the markets themselves did not constitute a viable livelihood.9
Returning to the notion of chipin wulai, many Zhongjia criminals did
live in poverty, though not necessarily in abject poverty, and many did
have sources of income, though perhaps not enough for all their needs.62	/ Livelihood Choices
Farming and commercial activities most likely provided only a bare sub-
sistence, with few opportunities for social or economic mobility. Zhongjia
who wanted more from their lives had to use a little ingenuity to carve out
their own niches. The three cases examined in this chapter revolve around
individuals who did precisely this. The first case, recorded in two sets of
palace memorials dating from 1743, centered on an intricate transprovin-
cial network of religious practitioners and self-styled magicians who
devised an assortment of schemes to extract silver from caves or to trans-
form base metals into precious ones.10 The second case occurred near the
central Guizhou town of Langdai in 1766 and centered on a Daoist monk
who swindled money from Miao and Zhongjia villagers by purporting to
ensure aid from the spiritual realm and protection from harm.11 While
local authorities were investigating this case, another plot came to light in
Guiding, just south of the provincial capital of Guiyang. In this third case,
an educated Zhongjia villager extorted money from his illiterate neigh-
bors by enticing them to attend an audience with a man posing as the Son
of Heaven.12
THE HUANG SAN CASE (1743)
The first case is the most complex of the three, and arguably the most
interesting from an ethnohistorical standpoint.13 This study refers to it as
the “Huang San case,” after the man whose arrest alerted provincial offi-
cials to an intricate web of plots involving vague millenarian notions and
a variety of schemes to find or fabricate silver. More than the other two
cases, it illustrates how Zhongjia culture and religion shaped local liveli-
hoods and responses to Qing rule. It is also the only instance of cross-
border crime examined in this chapter. Whereas the other two cases
were mostly confined to small areas within Guizhou, this one spilled into
Guangxi and Yunnan, thus highlighting the free flow of people and ideas
across a permeable tri-provincial frontier.14 Not coincidentally, perhaps,
the criminal activities originated in the newly constituted prefectures of
Nanlong and Sicheng, a sign that ethnic and religious networks were far
more important to local residents than administrative boundaries.
The story began in the winter of 1743, when a Zhongjia farmer named
Lu Quan provided lodging to five peddlers passing through his hamletLivelihood Choices /	63
near the southwestern Guizhou town of Yongfeng. The leader of this small
gang was Huang San, a Nong from Xilong, in northern Guangxi.15 Two of
Huang San’s companions were also Nong and the other two were
Zhongjia.16 In today’s ethnic terminology, Lu Quan and the other
Zhongjia would most likely be classified as Buyi, and Huang San and the
other Nong would probably be considered Zhuang. As noted in chapter 1,
the Buyi of southwestern Guizhou share many linguistic and cultural
traits with the Zhuang of northwestern Guangxi. Huang San and his fel-
low Nong would have fit easily into a Zhongjia community where the dia-
lect, customs, and religious beliefs were similar to their own.17 Before
long, the quintet was conducting a brisk trade in good-luck charms. As a
self-proclaimed master of the magical form known as duangong, Huang
San personally guaranteed the efficacy of every amulet he sold. For the
right price, he would also chant spells and perform rituals that were sup-
posed to provide additional good fortune or further protection against
disease or natural disaster.18
If his guests’ activities had stopped here, Lu Quan might have been
content to let them stay with him indefinitely. Many of his neighbors put
great faith in good-luck charms, spells, and incantations, so it seemed
natural for Huang San to tap into this ready market. Lu Quan became con-
cerned only when he learned of a mysterious new twist in Huang’s sales
pitch. Huang San began telling customers that he knew where to find sil-
ver in the nearby forest. When Lu Quan pressed for an explanation,
Huang San gave a cryptic reply: “I pasted a sign on the entrance of an old
cave so that I’ll know where to look. When I find the silver, I’ll share it
with whoever supplies the new king with weapons and money. Everyone
who helps will enjoy good fortune in the end.”19 The reference to a “new
king” led Lu Quan to the unsettling realization that he might be harbor-
ing a criminal gang, or, even worse, members of an incipient rebel move-
ment. He decided to report his suspicions to the nearest local authority, a
Zhongjia chieftain (tingmu) named Wang Ling. For good measure, Lu
Quan brought along one of the good-luck charms.20
At first, Wang Ling did not consider the charm anything out of the
ordinary. The front was printed with the modified Chinese characters that
practitioners of the Mo religion used to write prayers and poems.21
Although Wang Ling could not decipher the texts—only Mo priests and
their disciples could—he assumed that they were the usual prayers for64	/ Livelihood Choices
good fortune.22 However, when he turned over the charm to inspect the
reverse side, he found an unwelcome surprise. There, written in a bold
hand, were the unmistakable ideographs for “son of heaven” (tianzi), one
of the Qing emperor’s many titles. Wang Ling’s suspicions deepened as Lu
Quan described Huang San’s talk of a “new king.” He agreed that the visi-
tors might be engaged in criminal activities, perhaps even a plot to chal-
lenge the dynasty and proclaim their own “son of heaven” or “new king.”
He urged local residents to use all means necessary to capture Huang San
and his gang. Wang Ling also reported his concerns to a member of the
Han local gentry named Wang Li, who duly notified the Yongfeng depart-
ment magistrate.23 Several weeks later, villagers waylaid the gang and
staged a citizens’ arrest. Two suspects were beaten to death when they
tried to escape; but Huang San and the other two were captured alive, and
were escorted first to the Yongfeng prison, and then to the prefectural seat
at Nanlong.24
Lu Quan, Wang Ling, and Wang Li all exit the story at this point, but
it is worth pausing to discuss their roles in the capture of Huang San. As
noted above, all three men were alert to the possibility that Huang San
might be involved in anti-Qing activities. Even so, notifying imperial
authorities was not their only option. They could have aided or abetted
Huang San, or simply turned a blind eye to Huang’s activities. When Lu
Quan heard of Huang San’s plans to prospect for silver in the forest and
wait for a “new king,” Lu might have decided to join in the scheme.
Instead, Lu Quan went to the tingmu, Wang Ling. When Wang Ling
learned of Huang San’s peculiar doings, he might have looked the other
way—or even joined the scheme himself—but instead, he reported the
matter up the chain of command to Wang Li. For his part, Wang Li, a
member of the Han local elite, could have dismissed the whole affair as
foolishness typical of the Zhongjia “barbarians,” but instead, he notified
district officials in Yongfeng.
What, then, impelled Lu Quan, Wang Ling, and Wang Li to report the
suspicious activities instead of turning a blind eye or even joining in?
The answer may lie in the positions the three men occupied within their
respective communities and their desire to preserve a status quo that
worked to their advantage. Although Yongfeng district was administered
by regularly appointed Qing officials, governance at the village level
remained in the hands of indigenous elites like the tingmu, Wang Ling.Livelihood Choices /	65
Although they enjoyed some degree of autonomy, they were also expected
to function as adjuncts of the Qing state and thus bore responsibility for
maintaining stability in their communities. If Wang Ling had failed to
report Huang San to higher authorities at the first sign of trouble, he would
have been held responsible for any ensuing unrest and would have been
punished accordingly. The tingmu also commanded great respect and loy-
alty within their fiefdoms. Lu Quan was probably a farmer, or sizhuang
baixing, on Wang Ling’s estate.25 In exchange for his fealty to Wang Ling,
he received a small parcel of land to farm. Any transgression on Lu Quan’s
part would have threatened this arrangement. It is possible that he flirted
with the idea of joining Huang San’s scheme, but decided against it. His
livelihood, although hardly luxurious, was at least stable, and perhaps,
in his eyes, preferable to the life of a vagabond like Huang San. Equally
important, Lu Quan did not want to risk punishment for harboring a
criminal. Wang Li represented a liaison between rural residents—Han
and non-Han alike—and the imperial state. Therefore, Wang Li found
common cause with the tingmu, Wang Ling. The desire to preserve stabil-
ity took precedence over ethnic distinctions. Wang Li also had to consider
his own reputation and status. The palace memorials identify him as a
student-by-purchase fourth class (jiansheng). This title was reserved for
men who contributed grain or money to gain admission to the National
University (Guozijan) and who became eligible for low-ranking govern-
ment positions without passing any level of the civil service exams.26 It
was in Wang Li’s best interests to support the state that had awarded him
a degree and the commensurate prestige. Thus, for Lu Quan, Wang Ling,
and Wang Li, anything less than cooperation would have undermined
their entrenched livelihoods.
A closer look at the actions taken by the three Zhongjia men, Lu Quan,
Wang Ling, and Huang San, also yields further insights into Qing-era por-
trayals of this ethnic group. Taken as a whole, the activities of this trio
support the contradictory portrayals of the Zhongjia found in Qing-era
ethnographic writings. That is, contemporary observers characterized the
Zhongjia both as sinicized and as intractable, depending on the circum-
stances. Huang San and his gang embodied the notion that the Zhongia
(and the Nong, their ethnolinguistic kin) were rotten to the core. Lu Quan
and Wang Ling, by contrast, lent credence to the idea that some Zhongjia
had “advanced toward culture” (xianghua) and had “developed awe and66	/ Livelihood Choices
respect for the law.” However, compliance with Qing legal norms should
not be mistaken for acculturation, let alone uncritical or reflexive obe-
dience to the imperial state.27 The decision to cooperate was a rational
and conscious one for these Zhongjia men. It was a livelihood strategy
in its own right, founded in the understanding that each action carried
consequences.28
The narrative returns to the prison in Nanlong, where Huang San now
faced the consequences of his actions. Prefectural officials in Nanlong
interrogated him for several days until his story came together in a series
of rambling confessions. Huang San’s adventures had begun five years
earlier, when he began hearing rumors of “spirit silver” (guiyiri) buried in
caves and disused mines. Everyone he encountered near his Guangxi
hometown seemed to know about the silver, but no one knew exactly
where it was, or how to get it. After several months of fruitless searching,
Huang San met a man called Wang Zuxian, who boasted of great exper-
tise in finding spirit silver. Wang Zuxian claimed to know of a vast silver
reserve in a defunct mine in Guizhou, and he invited Huang San to join
him on an expedition there. Huang San urged him to go ahead and prom-
ised to catch up later.29
By the time Huang San arrived in Guizhou several months later, Wang
Zuxian was nowhere to be found. Huang San hunted for the silver on his
own, only to meet with the same frustrations he had experienced in
Guangxi. Once again, he encountered many local residents who knew
about the “spirit silver,” but had no idea how or where to find it. He finally
enjoyed a minor breakthrough when he met a Zhongjia ritual specialist
(bumo) named Baomu Bai, who boasted of exceptional skill in duan-
gong magic.30 Huang San visited Baomu Bai’s home to watch the magic in
action, and he was impressed enough to ask if he could stay on as a disci-
ple. Baomu Bai readily agreed.31
At this point, it is helpful to supplement the Qing sources with more
recent work on Zhongjia religion. The palace memorials offer little infor-
mation on the role of the bumo in Zhongjia society, or how the Daoist-
inflected practices of duangong fit into Mo beliefs and rituals. To begin
with, the bumo generally fell into two categories: those who acted on
behalf of the dead, and those who acted on behalf of the living. Bumo in
the former category performed ceremonies at funerals to expiate the sins
of the deceased, while those in the latter category prayed for good fortuneLivelihood Choices /	67
or conducted rituals to stave off natural disasters and drive away evil
spirits and pestilence.32 Duangong, with its emphasis on prayers to dispel
evil and bring good fortune, seems to fit comfortably into the second cat-
egory. But to complicate matters slightly, duangong has often been associ-
ated with Maoshan Daoism, a sect that entered Guizhou from Sichuan at
least a thousand years ago.33 Maoshan Daoist priests have traditionally
worked alongside the bumo, and although some of their functions overlap,
they play distinct roles in their communities.
In light of this, it is not clear if Baomu Bai was a bumo whose repertoire
included Daoist rituals, or if he was a Daoist priest who embraced Mo
practices. Perhaps he was both, or perhaps such distinctions were not
finely drawn in his community.34 Even more to the point, it appears that
Baomu Bai walked a thin line between legitimate religion and chicanery.
He was one of many bumo involved in the region-wide quest for “spirit
silver.” Some bumo, like Baomu Bai himself, relied exclusively on prayers
and incantations to lead them to the right spot, while others dabbled in
alchemy and crude forms of cupellation in their attempts to transform
base metals into precious ones.35 Huang San was eager to learn all the
tricks of the trade. If any of the magico-religious methods proved effec-
tive, he might find the silver, or even learn how to conjure it up from a
long-abandoned pit or lonely forest cavern.36 If the magic failed, he would
at least acquire the textual knowledge and persuasive powers needed to
convince others of the same rumors that had enticed him.
After several disappointing attempts to find silver, Baomu Bai and
Huang San received some exciting news. A man in Luoping, just over the
border in Yunnan, had discovered a way to transform copper into silver.
His alias was Huang Zuxian, and he had recently established a smelter at
the home of a bumo named Baomu Lun.37 Huang San and Baomu Bai
pooled their resources with three friends, Wang Bujiang, Wang Bujiang’s
son Wang A Jiang, and Bao Changding, and the group set out for Yun-
nan.38 When they arrived, local residents pointed them to Baomu Lun’s
house, where they awaited instructions. Eventually, two assistants named
Yi Gen and Yi Bao came to collect copper from Huang San and his friends
for Huang Zuxian’s alchemy.39 Huang San and his companions were
invited to watch as the purported alchemist poured the coins into a char-
coal-fired brazier. After some time, Huang Zuxian reached into the bra-
zier and came up empty-handed. The copper had disappeared into the68	/ Livelihood Choices
brazier without producing a trace of silver. Huang Zuxian explained that
the unusually large audience had rendered his magic ineffective. He
offered to try again if Huang San and his friends had more copper. The
visitors arranged to borrow some copper from a local resident on the con-
dition that they would share some of the resulting silver.40
By this time, however, Wang A Jiang and Baomu Bai had had already
begun to doubt Huang Zuxian’s abilities. They consulted with his assis-
tant Yi Bao, who confirmed that his boss had never once succeeded in
transforming copper into silver. Huang Zuxian relied upon sleight of
hand for the ruse. On previous occasions, Yi Bao had watched Huang
Zuxian place fake silver—probably chunks of lead alloy—into a cup,
which Huang hid in a corner of the brazier until after the copper had been
added. After a suitable interval, he withdrew the fake silver from the fur-
nace and presented it to his customers.41
Wang Bujiang, Wang A Jiang, and Baomu Bai did not want to be
cheated again, so they asked Yi Bao to help them spy on Huang Zuxian. Yi
Bao agreed, and the four of them stood outside the smelter and watched
through a window as Huang Zuxian buried silvery nuggets under a pile
of charcoal in the brazier. Yi Bao whispered to his companions that the
hidden pieces were made of the same lead alloy Huang Zuxian had used
before. Soon afterward, Huang San and Bao Changding arrived with
their newly acquired copper, which they handed over to Baomu Lun and
Yi Gen. The two assistants passed the coins to Huang Zuxian, who
dropped them into the brazier with a great flourish. After some time,
Huang Zuxian dug out the concealed decoy silver and presented it to
Huang San. A Jiang and Yi Bao stormed into the room and announced
that Huang Zuxian was a fraud. Moments later, they were joined by Wang
Bujiang, who demanded that Huang Zuxian repay him for the copper
already lost in the brazier. Bao Changding soon added his voice to the
chorus. Huang Zuxian responded to the attacks on his credibility by
punching Wang Bujiang. A Jiang rushed to his father’s aid, and Baomu
Bai and Bao Changding quickly joined the fray. Huang San, Yi Gen, and
Baomu Lun all stood aloof from the melee. Huang San and Yi Gen had not
witnessed the deception firsthand and may have preferred to go on believ-
ing in Huang Zuxian’s abilities. As Huang Zuxian’s host, Baomu Lun was
probably well aware of the scam, but he was sharing in the profits and had
a vested interest in keeping mum.42Livelihood Choices /	69
Soon, the ruckus in the smelter attracted the attention of passers-by.
One of them happened to be the villager who had loaned Huang San and
his friends the copper coins. He demanded immediate compensation, and
another fracas ensued. This time, Wang Bujiang, A Jiang, Bao Changding,
and Baomu Bai took advantage of the chaos and slipped away, eventually
making their way back to Guizhou. Huang Zuxian disappeared, seem-
ingly without a trace. Huang San stayed at the home of Baomu Lun,
scratching out a meager existence as a farm worker (bang gong du ri)43
Huang San remained in Yunnan until late 1742, when he decided to
take to the road again. His wanderings landed him in Ceheng, a town
near the Guizhou-Guangxi border. There, he had a chance reunion with
his old friend Wang Zuxian, who had never given up his own quest for
spirit silver. Wang Zuxian told Huang San that he knew of a promising
cave near Yongfeng, a few days’ walk to the north. He also had new pre-
dictions for Huang San: Not only did the cave contain silver, but it was
also where a new king would emerge. Wang Zuxian also told Huang San
that on the fifteenth day of the seventh month of 1743, the skies would turn
black for seven days and seven nights, everyone would fall ill, and a new
king would rise up. Wang then gave Huang San several yellow paper
charms inscribed with the characters “Son of Heaven.”44
After this encounter with Wang Zuxian, Huang San befriended four
other men who were interested in prospecting for silver near Yongfeng.
The group set out shortly before the Chinese New Year in 1743. Huang San
began making good-luck charms to sell along the way. On the front, he
inscribed the prayers that he had learned from Baomu Bai. Taking inspi-
ration from Wang Zuxian, he added the characters “Son of Heaven” on
the back. The good-luck charms provided a viable livelihood while he and
his friends searched for silver. It was thus that the quintet landed on Lu
Quan’s doorstep.45
After listening to Huang San’s confession, the authorities were satisfied
that his only aims had been to find silver and sell good-luck charms. His
ramblings about a “new king” were nothing more than a garbled and
diluted version of Wang Zuxian’s ideas. He had been drawn to crime
because he lived in “abject poverty with no source of income” (chipin
wulai). Any wrongdoing had been an unintended consequence of his
greed and ignorance. His worst offenses had been spreading false rumors
and cheating a few dozen villagers in southwestern Guizhou.4670	/ Livelihood Choices
Although Huang San himself was relatively harmless, it appeared that
he might have brushed shoulders with more dangerous criminals, espe-
cially Wang Zuxian. Provincial officials throughout the southwest
launched a manhunt for Wang and eventually captured him in a town
along the Guizhou-Guangxi border. After several days of questioning, the
authorities determined that he had no more intention of challenging the
Qing dynasty than Huang San did. His millenarian ideas were a product
of an encounter many years earlier with two long-dead criminals.47 Like
Huang San, Wang was motivated primarily by a desire to find easy riches.
The case might have ended right here, but officials continued to receive
disturbing reports about further attempts to find “spirit silver.” It appeared
that Huang San and Wang Zuxian had inspired many imitators through-
out the Zhongjia and Nong regions of Guizhou, Guangxi, and Yunnan.
The net result was not one, but several overlapping schemes that criss-
crossed Guizhou’s borders with Yunnan and Guangxi. One scheme cen-
tered on rumors that it was possible to extract silver from disused mines
or ordinary caves. An ancillary scheme involved the sale and distribution
of good-luck charms embossed with anti-Qing propaganda, millenarian
messages, and magical spells. These talismans not only protected their
owners against misfortune, but also served as entrance tickets to ceremo-
nies in caves or mines where self-proclaimed alchemists would attempt to
transform various substances into precious metals. The ceremonies them-
selves represented another business venture, for the attendees were
expected to provide either a financial contribution or some of the raw
materials deemed necessary for the production of gold or silver. These
materials ranged from the relatively mundane, like copper coins, to the
more exotic, like semi-precious stones or the dried saliva and excrement
of the Himalayan blue sheep, also known as the bharal.48 Because some of
these items were not readily obtainable in southwestern Guizhou, a lively
traffic in counterfeit goods also developed.
In short, Qing officials in three provinces had their hands full with this
case. False leads and red herrings further complicated the investigation.
In the summer of 1743, Guizhou officials arrested a Nong wanderer found
carrying charms printed with anti-Qing slogans. When questioned, the
man insisted that he was distributing the charms on orders from his land-
lord, who was organizing an armed insurrection in northern Guangxi.
This accusation prompted Guangxi officials to raid the landlord’s home,Livelihood Choices /	71
where they found not a single weapon. Subsequent interrogations con-
firmed that the landlord had never asked anyone to sell charms, anti-Qing
or otherwise, and that he had no plans to rebel. The focus of the investiga-
tion shifted back to the vagabond, who confessed that he had run away
from the landlord several months earlier. The two men had a long history
of animosity, culminating in the vagabond’s attempt to impersonate his
landlord in an important commercial transaction. When the landlord
threatened to hand him over to the authorities, he slipped over the border
into Guizhou, where he eked out a hand-to-mouth existence. At some
point, the vagabond acquired the anti-Qing charms, and he planned to
resell them for some extra cash. When arrested, he made a desperate
attempt to take revenge on his landlord by laying false charges against
him. The attempt backfired, and he was imprisoned for slander and a host
of other charges.49
The Huang San investigation concluded after six months with the
arrest and imprisonment of several dozen criminals found guilty of
“concocting fallacies with intent to instigate trouble” (yaoyan xitu shan-
huo). The official verdict categorized the affair as a case of “mutual bully-
ing and deception (huxiang qikuang), nothing more than a plot to earn
money through unlawful means (wufei piancai zhiyi). There was no sedi-
tious intent (bingwu mouni zhixin)” Huang San and Wang Zuxian
remained in jail. Huang Zuxian, the man who tried to turn copper into
silver, was eventually captured in Yunnan.
Even after declaring the case closed, Qing authorities were unsatisfied
with the outcome and its broader implications for imperial ambitions in
the region. They remained unconvinced that they had caught all of the
miscreants, or even the right ones. When interrogated, witnesses often
claimed affiliation with criminals from much older cases. Sometimes they
mentioned individuals who had died or gone to prison years earlier, and
sometimes they identified men whose names matched those of long
sought-after fugitives. It was rarely clear if the informants had in fact
brushed shoulders with these criminals, if they had encountered men who
had assumed the criminals’ aliases, or if they had simply heard the crimi-
nals’ names through local rumor mills and offered them up under inter-
rogation. To further complicate matters, witnesses and suspects alike had
multiple nicknames that varied with local dialects. As one Guangxi offi-
cial wrote, “It is difficult to distinguish truth from falsehood, or to deter-72	/ Livelihood Choices
mine the names and hometowns of the criminals. . . . Even when [wit-
nesses] recognize a face, the names and hometowns do not match.”50 More
discouraging still was the knowledge that the Huang San case was not an
isolated occurrence. Officials in the region had seen many cases like it
before, and they could expect to see many more in the future.51 Even Yun-
nan governor Zhang Yunsui, a veteran of southwest China affairs, seemed
to concede defeat when he wrote, “The Miao are poor and foolish, and
easy to lure from the correct path. Each criminal starts rumors. . . . The
disorder arising from the sale and distribution of charms began years ago,
and we continue to deal with it today. It is like a wind that never stops, but
lingers and spreads ... [and] the Yao and Zhong suffer its ill effects.”52
Although the Huang San case stopped short of rebellion, local resi-
dents did not have to take up arms to tell Zhang and his cohorts what
they already knew: The Nong and Zhongjia residents of this region had
their own social, economic, and cultural priorities, cemented by linguistic
and religious ties that transcended provincial boundaries. There was little
the Qing could do to reorient these priorities.
LANGDAI, 1766
Langdai, a subprefecture attached to Anshun prefecture, occupied a key
strategic position in central Guizhou. Situated only about 80 kilometers
(50 miles) from the provincial capital of Guiyang, Anshun was the head-
quarters of the Guizhou provincial military commander (tidu) and home
to five military units. Anyone who stirred up trouble in this area would
have to confront one of the highest concentrations of Qing civil and mili-
tary authority in Guizhou. The ethnic composition of Langdai’s popula-
tion represented a microcosm of the entire province, with Han living
interspersed among the Miao, the Lolo, and the Zhongjia. Each group
tended to live in segregated, compact communities, but members of the
different ethnic groups did mingle freely in public places, especially in the
region’s many periodic markets.
In May of 1766, Guizhou Governor Fang Shijun learned of suspicious
doings in the countryside around Langdai.53 Villagers had informed local
authorities that five non-Han men54 were going from hamlet to hamlet
ordering people to give them money. Some households gave only a fewLivelihood Choices /	73
coins, but others gave up to three or four ounces, or taels, of silver. Those
who did not pay were warned that they would face mortal injury in a
deadly hailstorm. Officials quickly tracked down the men and found a
variety of mysterious items in their possession, including small red flags,
a bolt of fabric, turbans, a woman’s scarf, a red gown, a flowered skirt, and
fifty multi-colored flags. When interrogated, two of the co-conspirators55
averred that a Daoist priest named Dong Zhengyuan and his disciples,
Ran Jing, Ran Hua, and Ran Lang had conspired to spread falsehoods and
swindle the guileless Miao. Officials hastened to the Daoist temple, where
they arrested Dong Zhengyuan and confiscated twenty-eight taels from
him. A thorough search of the temple revealed no traces of unlawful
activity, and the three disciples were nowhere to be found. When authori-
ties interrogated Dong Zhengyuan, he confessed that poverty had driven
him to hatch a scheme with Ran Jing (one of his disciples) some months
earlier.56 In desperation, he had asked Ran Jing to spread the word from
hamlet to hamlet that a terrible hailstorm would strike the region the fol-
lowing summer. If people were willing to donate money for a sacrifice,
they would be spared from harm. Ran Jing was the ideal person to carry
out this scheme because he was well known to villagers as an itinerant
medicine man, and he spoke several Miao dialects. After agreeing to Dong
Zhengyuan’s scheme, Ran Jing bought a piece of red cloth and had eighty
triangular flags made from it. He set out for the Yongning area, southwest
of Langdai, and began to spread rumors of the disaster to come. Ran Jing
had recruited two Zhongjia villagers to collect money for him.57 These two
then recruited three more Zhongjia men.58 Eventually, the five men col-
lected ninety-nine taels on Ran Jing’s behalf. Ran Jing then gave his first
two recruits twenty-five taels to share.
Asked about the flags and articles of clothing, the suspects stated that
these belonged to Ran Jing. He had given the red flags to each of his money
collectors as protection against the calamity. The bolt of fabric would be
made into talismans for the people who had paid protection money. With
the proper spells and incantations, the suspects had claimed, these talis-
mans would ward off disaster. As for the turbans, scarves, and skirts, the
suspects stated that a tailor from Jiangxi had made them for Ran Jing.
Authorities then hastened to interrogate the tailor, who confessed that
Ran Jing had planned to use the skirts and turban when he impersonated
Nacha, a mountain-dwelling immortal. Thus disguised, Ran Jing intended74	/ Livelihood Choices
to extract more money from people who asked him to chant incantations
on their behalf. The tailor also stated that Ran Jing had promised him a
ten percent cut of the profits, but he had yet to receive any money.
Governor Fang next sent urgent messages to provincial authorities
in Sichuan and Yunnan encouraging them to find the three chief male-
factors—the disciples Ran Jing, Ran Lang, and Ran Hua. Soon thereafter,
the governor received word that the three Daoists had escaped to Sichuan.59
In a separate memorial, Sichuan governor Aertai reported on the three-
some’s capture and interrogation. One of the miscreants was discovered
with 184 taels of silver and two horses, and his personal effects included a
variety of clothing, turbans, silver-plated hairpins, and paper charms.
When questioned, the three criminals confirmed that they were all dis-
ciples of the impoverished Daoist, Dong Zhengyuan, who frequently
sent the trio to Miao and Zhongjia hamlets to sell medicines that Dong
had concocted. As a result of their travels, the three disciples were well
acquainted with all the headmen in the area. About four months earlier,
Ran Jing had fallen into a casual conversation with two Zhongjia head-
men, who remarked that the area was in the midst of a drought. Poverty
had driven many villagers to raid and plunder households in neighbor-
ing villages. One headman reasoned that after all, death was probably
inevitable, so why not die trying to better one’s circumstances rather than
die of starvation? He confided that he planned to gather a crowd of two
hundred men for a massive raid on the prefectural seat of Anshun. Ran
Jing warned the headman that he could not hope to get away with this, for
Anshun had five military battalions (ying) and four guard posts (shad).
The two headmen asked Ran Jing for suggestions, and it was thus that he
began to spread fantasies of invincibility. He said that he belonged to a
blood brotherhood of two or three hundred men in the large town of
Zhaotong, several hundred miles away in Yunnan province. He also said
that he knew of a spirit named Siniang, whose magical powers could be
invoked to help the raiders. To bolster his own credentials, Ran Jing also
boasted that he had studied magic. The two headmen invited him to visit
their hamlet for a demonstration. Ran Jing accepted the invitation and
apparently gave a satisfactory performance, for the headmen and the vil-
lagers accepted the veracity of his claims. They asked him to call upon the
spirit and the blood brotherhood to come forward and protect them dur-
ing the raid. Ran Jing agreed, but said that he would need four or fiveLivelihood Choices /	75
hundred taels of silver to complete the deal. The two gullible headmen
talked him down to two or three hundred taels, and they arranged to meet
a few weeks later.
When the rendezvous took place, the headmen gave Ran Jing 140 taels
of silver, 60 of which Ran Jing turned over to Dong Zhengyuan. Within a
few days, Ran Jing collected another 110 taels and acquired two horses. On
the twenty-fourth day of the second month, as previously arranged, Ran
Jing, Ran Lang, and Ran Hua set out for Yunnan and then fled to Sichuan,
where patrolling troops captured them and extradited them to Guizhou.
After faithfully recording the confessions in his memorial, Governor
Aertai wondered if the raid on Anshun had truly been the headmen’s idea,
or if Ran Jing had given a false confession.
The Qianlong emperor and his grand councilors wondered, too, and
they expressed their thoughts in an edict to Governor Fang:
If Ran Jing and the others have fabricated evidence and laid a charge in a
false confession, it should not be difficult to get the truth from them in a
thorough investigation. If it was really the Miao headmen’s idea, he will
be prosecuted according to the laws of the empire. . . . This may not
amount to more than an ordinary case of raid and plunder, but we must
raise our voices and assume a stern expression (dong shen se). Failure to
make an exhaustive investigation, and to punish the criminals to the full-
est extent of the law, may give rise to widespread and serious unrest.60
With these words in mind, Governor Fang interrogated Ran Jing upon
Ran’s return to Guizhou in June of 176 6.61 The story that emerged was
slightly different from the confession extracted in Sichuan. In this version,
Ran Jing admitted that he had used the headmen as scapegoats. Ran said
the raid had been his idea, but he had planned to target the small market
town of Dayanjiao, not the prefectural seat of Anshun. He explained that
villagers around Langdai had believed his weather predictions and had
spread his warnings far and wide to collect money on his behalf. House-
holds that paid were given talismans for protection against the coming
disaster. After about a month, Ran Jing returned to the temple with his
earnings. He went to a tailor and asked for a padded coat, a robe, and a
flowered skirt. These garments were to provide his costume for his rein-
carnation of the Nacha Immortal, who would save everyone from disaster.76	/ Livelihood Choices
Ran Jing made the rounds of several other villages near Langdai and con-
tinued spreading rumors about the hailstorm. Wherever he went, people
took him at his word and agreed to collect money on his behalf. As before,
whenever the collectors turned in their money, Ran Jing gave them small
red flags to protect their homes from harm.
One day, a Zhongjia villager visited Ran Jing’s temple seeking medical
treatment for his son. After providing the requested treatment, Ran Jing
tried to entice the man to join his scheme. The other two monks, Ran Hua
and Ran Lang, happened to overhear, and, when they saw how easily Ran
Jing deceived the visitor, they went to Dong Zhengyuan. It is not clear
whether they wanted Dong Zhengyuan to stop Ran Jing, or if they wanted
to share in the profits. In any event, several days later, the threesome paid
a visit to the Zhongjia petitioner at home. After listening to the man
lament his poverty, Ran Jing suggested that the villager gather a mob to
raid a local periodic market to be held on the third day of the third month.
When the man expressed concerns about local authorities, Ran Jing
assured him that spiritual protection and aid from a blood brotherhood in
Zhaotong could be arranged. The men then set a day to go to Yunnan to
make a personal request for the brotherhood’s help. Ran Jing also
announced that everyone who desired the brotherhood’s services would
have to pay for them. Once again, his followers went from village to village
collecting money on his behalf. In due course, Ran Jing had amassed
slightly more than 228 taels.
Determined to give everyone a good show for their money, Ran Jing
presided over an initiation ceremony for the prospective raiders about ten
days before the planned event. He ordered someone to slaughter a chicken
and mix the blood with wine. One by one, the raiders drank while Ran
Jing murmured incantations. He promised everyone that the blood wine
and the spells would protect them during the raid. When the ceremony
ended, Ran Jing announced that he would go ahead to Zhaotong to
arrange everything with the blood brotherhood. He told the crowd: “You
go on to Dayanjiao and raid the market. Divide the cloth and rice among
yourselves. In this way, you can all avoid poverty. Everyone must stand
ready to do this.” Because the men had all taken the blood oath, no one
uttered a word to prevent him from leaving. After borrowing two horses,
Ran Jing and his two fellow monks slipped away and dallied in Yunnan
for several days before they were finally apprehended in Sichuan.Livelihood Choices /	77
In sum, Ran Jing capitalized on the villagers’ fear and desperation. For
their part, the villagers probably felt they had nothing to lose. The raid
represented their last, best hope. Ran Jing’s ceremony allowed them to
nurse the fantasy that they could elude the authorities entirely, or, if pur-
sued, that they would be invulnerable to the bullets and arrows of govern-
ment troops. Perhaps Ran Jing nursed his own fantasies of invincibility.
After learning of the case from subordinate officials, Governors Fang and
Aertai maintained a steady correspondence with Beijing on the progress
of the investigation. Every civil and military official in Guizhou, Sichuan,
and Yunnan was on the alert. To put it simply, Ran Jing’s fantasies were no
match for the eyes, ears, and brushes of officialdom.
Nor, in the end, were fantasies a match for the penal code. Ran Jing,
along with Dong Zhengyuan, Ran Hua, most of the money collectors,
and even the tailor, were all found guilty of “concocting books or sayings
of sorcery involving prophecies” (yaoyan yaoshu), “with the intention of
plotting rebellion” (moufari).62 The penalty was immediate decapitation.63
Governor Fang also ruled that the heads of Ran Jing and Dong Zhengyuan
should be transported from hamlet to hamlet and displayed on city walls.
The Zhongjia villagers who had willingly paid Ran Jing were treated with
leniency, for, as Governor Fang pointed out, they did not know they were
being cheated. It should be noted that although several money collectors
are identified as Zhongjia, they were all prosecuted according to the Qing
penal code rather than native laws because they resided in areas long sub-
ject to regular administration.64
GUIDING, 1766
In 1740, the Qianlong emperor ordered the establishment of charitable
schools (shexue) throughout Guizhou to provide non-Han students with
a basic education in the Confucian classics. The schools quickly foun-
dered, however, as provincial officials were hard pressed to find scholars
and teachers willing to live and work in Miao territory. After only eleven
years, the emperor ordered the closure of the shexue, convinced that their
influence had been more harmful than beneficial. In a 1751 edict, Qianlong
proclaimed that the few teachers who were willing to venture into Gui-
zhou’s minority areas were “not only unable to lead [the Miao] toward78	/ Livelihood Choices
good, but tended ... to entice them into evil.” In the emperor’s view, the
“Miao” were moreover stupid by nature and thus incapable of compre-
hending the Confucian classics. Even worse, after learning to read, many
students perused novels and other “vile books,” which merely led them to
depravity and villainy. Transformation through education was thus a
practical impossibility, and the emperor thought it prudent to dismiss all
shexue instructors and gradually disband the schools.65
It is difficult to say whether or not the teachers truly enticed Guizhou’s
non-Han residents into evil, or if those who acquired literacy did indeed
end up reading so-called vile books. The final criminal case to be exam-
ined in this chapter does indicate, however, that traditional Chinese edu-
cation for non-Chinese populations had some unintended consequences.
In 1766, Wei Xuewen, a Zhongjia man with some education, induced illit-
erate villagers to participate in a moneymaking scheme with a strong
anti-Qing flavor. Although his scheme never escalated into an armed
insurrection, Wei Xuewen did speak of overthrowing the Qing, and the
idea seemed to hold considerable appeal for the Zhongjia in his home-
town of Guiding. Equally important, he encouraged his adherents to
participate in rituals which effectively—if only temporarily—negated
state authority.
As a child, Wei Xuewen had learned to read and work an abacus. In
spite of his education, he had few employment opportunities. During the
fall of 1765, he met up with two of his friends, and they sat around lament-
ing their poverty.66 One of the friends asked Wei Xuewen to come up with
a moneymaking scheme, but Wei was unable to think of anything. After
mulling over the problem for several months, Wei Xuewen realized that
he and his friends could capitalize on the Miao fear of future disasters and
their reluctance to pay taxes. He gathered his friends again and suggested
they make talismans to sell in Miao villages.67 He proposed they tell vil-
lagers that the “son of heaven” himself had commissioned the charms to
bring the Miao peace and prosperity. Wei Xuewen’s friends liked the plan
and asked him to make a prototype of the talisman. By the beginning of
1766, Wei Xuewen had produced several rough drafts, all of them inscribed
with characters prophesying the fall of the Qing.
Wei Xuewen showed the talismans to his friends, and they were
pleased. The group decided to test their scheme on a local villager, a young
man named Luo Shirong, who had recently profited from the sale of hisLivelihood Choices /	79
deceased father’s land. Wei Xuewen approached the youth and identified
himself as a provincial examination candidate, thereby bolstering his
credibility in the eyes of the illiterate young villager. He said that Luo
Shirong had been chosen to overthrow the Qing dynasty and become the
next “son of heaven.” When Luo Shirong demanded proof, Wei Xuewen
told him to listen at his father’s grave. He would hear a tremendous roar-
ing sound, evidence that a dragon had taken up residence there. This, Wei
Xuewen averred, would offer conclusive proof that Luo Shirong was a
member of the imperial lineage. Wei also sold him a bronze seal and a
wooden seal to use in his new capacity as the ruler. Luo Shirong was
immeasurably happy with his new prospects for wealth.68
But when Luo Shirong went to the grave and tried to listen for the
dragon’s roar, he heard nothing. Realizing he had been cheated, he went
back to Wei Xuewen and demanded his money back. Wei Xuewen then
told Luo Shirong that they wanted him to impersonate the Son of Heaven
in a ceremony to swindle money from the local Miao. They also explained
the scheme to sell talismans to Miao villagers. After being promised a
share of the profits, Luo Shirong agreed to join the scam. One of Wei Xue-
wen’s co-conspirators ordered his son and a friend to play the “heavenly
spirit” (tianshen) and the “general” (jiangjuri), respectively. Wei Xuewen
dubbed himself “heavenly generalissimo” (tianshuai xiangzhu).69
Wei Xuewen commissioned a carver to produce enough talismans to
sell to villages in a wide area near Guiding. When the work proceeded too
slowly, he pitched in and made some himself. Once the talismans were
completed, Wei Xuewen instructed two of his friends to recruit people to
sell the charms. Wei’s two friends convinced three other people to assist
them, saying: “The son of heaven will emerge into the world through a
cave.... He will be accompanied by his protector, the heavenly spirit. The
[son of heaven] has sent forth these charms. Miao who buy them and keep
them in a safe place will enjoy peace and prosperity. A charm costs but
one tael. Those Miao who wish to see the heavenly spirit in person must
pay us four or six taels.”70
During the winter and early spring of 1766, Wei Xuewen and his assis-
tants earned eighty-one taels from the sale of eighty-seven charms. Some
of the profits were used to buy ceremonial garb for the upcoming pag-
eantry in the cave. After a dress rehearsal, Wei Xuewen pronounced the
performance ready for general audiences. Late one night, one of his assis-8o / Livelihood Choices
tants led a group of eight Miao men into the cave for their audience with
the “son of heaven” and his attendants. Four nights later, another five men
attended, and nine nights later, another ten. The audiences were short
affairs, during which Luo Shirong and the others would utter incantations
promising the fall of the Qing dynasty and lifelong prosperity for all those
in attendance. The miscreants earned one hundred and fifteen taels from
the pageantry.
The audiences continued for about a month before a local resident real-
ized that something illegal was afoot. This man went to Luo Shirong’s
home and tried to blackmail him for information. Luo Shirong gave him
a small amount of hush money and then, fearing that the entire scheme
would be revealed, burned all the paraphernalia from the audiences in the
cave. Wei Xuewen and all of his conspirators soon agreed to cancel any
further appearances in the cave.
But some of the talismans, inscribed with anti-Qing slogans, were still
circulating in the villages near Guiding. An illiterate villager named A Ji,
curious about the writing on his talisman, showed it to a literate friend
named Pan Youlin, who immediately recognized the words “heavenly
commander” (tianshuai), “emperor” (huangdi), and “jade son of heaven”
(yw tianzi). Pan realized that they had stumbled upon a case of lese-
majeste and warned A Ji that this was a very serious matter. They hastened
to turn in the talismans to the local headman, who reported the matter to
the district magistrate. Following a comprehensive investigation, Wei
Xuewen and his conspirators were apprehended and brought before Gov-
ernor Fang.71
In one of his reports on the case, Fang noted in despair that Zhongjia
were often identical to Han in their clothing and eating habits, and many
could speak, read, and write Chinese. In extreme cases, he wrote, Zhongjia
even behaved like wicked Han (Han jian).72 In a responding edict, the
emperor indicated that any Zhongjia who behaved like a wicked Han was
to be punished like a wicked Han: “The Miao are simple-minded and
childish. If not for the wicked Han inciting and deceiving (people), mat-
ters would not reach the point of such disorder. The case of Wei Xuewen
ranks among the crimes of wicked Han. It must be treated as a heavy
crime.”73 Literacy had, in effect, transformed a Zhongjia into a wicked
Han. Wei Xuewen’s education, however rudimentary, had equipped him
with the cultural and cognitive tools to resist the Qing state.Livelihood Choices /	81
Governor Fang meted out punishments accordingly. In his estimation,
the statute on disloyalty (moupari) was too light for Wei Xuewen and Luo
Shirong.74 He ordered them punished under the statute on high treason
(mou dani).75 Fang ordered that Wei Xuewen and Luo Shirong be decapi-
tated, and that their heads be displayed in every hamlet. Other conspira-
tors were prosecuted under the statute on rebellion, the punishment for
which was also decapitation with the heads to be displayed in every ham-
let.76 Lesser participants faced one hundred lashes and exile.
As for the Miao villagers involved in the case, Governor Fang ruled
that those who purchased talismans were unaware of their seditious con-
tent. Because they were illiterate, they had been unwittingly duped. Most
Miao involved in the case were ordered to wear the cangue for a month
and received forty lashes on the day of their release from this yoke. A Ji,
the illiterate man who had taken the suspicious charms to his literate
friend, Pan Youlin, was exempted from punishment. For his part, Pan
Youlin received all the major criminals’ property as a reward for bringing
the case to light.77
CONCLUSION
The masterminds behind these three cases had no pretensions to power,
no plans to mount armed insurrections, and no intention of challeng-
ing Qing rule in Guizhou. Their goals were expressly economic rather
than consciously political. Yet many of their actions carried political
import in their flagrant disregard for Qing authority. Moreover, if anti-
Qing sentiments were indeed brewing in the region, then these swin-
dlers might have inadvertently spurred them on. Men like Huang San,
Wang Zuxian, and Wei Xuewen—all of whom possessed varying degrees
of literacy in Chinese and at least a passing familiarity with imperial
institutions—represented a unique threat to the Qing state. They had
“advanced toward [Chinese] culture,” only to seize upon elements that
best served their interests and to twist these elements into a mockery of
the Qing state. The Wei Xuewen case in particular suggests that literacy
and education carried a certain economic value, although hardly the sort
envisioned by Qing authorities.
Zhongjia individuals like Wei Xuewen viewed Confucian schooling as82	/ Livelihood Choices
a strategy to protect and promote their own economic interests, and not
as a means to advance toward the state-imposed ideal of civilization.78
Wei capitalized on his literacy in order to take advantage of his illiterate
neighbors. By posing as a provincial examination candidate, he gained the
trust of Luo Shirong and other uneducated members of his community.
He also appropriated symbols and rituals of imperial authority in such a
way that suggested a lack of respect for—if not an outright rejection of—
Qing rule. In this way, he engaged in a variation of what James Scott calls
“state mimicry.”79
The Huang San case also carried an insidious message for Qing author-
ities. Until his arrest, Huang operated within a sphere of autonomy
defined by his own interests and needs, bounded not by Qing provincial
borders, but by the fluid, transregional matrix of his master-disciple net-
work. In many respects, Wei Xuewen and Huang San prefigured leaders
of the Nanlong Uprising, who built their rebel movement on a similar
foundation of religious networks and indigenous traditions shot through
with reinterpretations of Chinese culture. This rebellion will be the sub-
ject of chapter 5.Chapter 5
THE NANLONG UPRISING OF 1797
*
In February 1797, members of the Zhongjia ethnic group launched an
uprising against the Qing state. Rallying under the battle cry, “Heaven
will exterminate the Han Chinese, native headmen, and imperial troops”
(Tianjiang mie Hanren, bing mie Miaomu bingyi), the rebels laid siege to
the prefectural seat of Nanlong and sacked neighboring villages. Provin-
cial and central government officials initially dismissed the Zhongjia as
undisciplined bandits incapable of sustaining a coordinated rebellion.1
This proved a grave miscalculation. Within weeks of the first assault on
Nanlong, as provincial officials scrambled to shore up defenses, the Zhong-
jia attacked every major town in southwestern Guizhou and seemed
poised to strike the provincial capital of Guiyang.
Far from being undisciplined bandits, the Zhongjia were well-trained
guerilla fighters who drew strength from a potent combination of charis-
matic leadership and magical beliefs. Their movement had evolved from a
cult surrounding two Zhongjia religious leaders, a young woman called
Wang Niangxian, “Immortal Lady Wang” and a man nicknamed Wei
Qiluoxu, or “Seven-whisker Wei.”2 Wang Niangxian, a mysterious person-
age known to all but seen by few, was the spiritual head of the rebellion,
while Wei Qiluoxu, a magician and martial arts expert, was the self-
appointed political and military leader. Aware that the Qing armies pos-
sessed superior weaponry, he instructed his followers to use magical
8384	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
charms and rituals to neutralize their adversaries’ technological advan-
tages.3 Rebel troops advanced into battle “with a white fan in one hand
and a white scarf in the other, dancing and bobbing atop their horses,” or
beating on bronze drums as they chanted “Stop the bullets! Stop the
arrows!”4
The rebels’ success was short-lived. After a sluggish start, the Qing sup-
pression campaign rapidly gained momentum in April of 1797. Although
the Zhongjia continued to frustrate imperial troops with surprise maneu-
vers and delaying tactics, they could only hope to postpone their eventual
defeat. Rebel morale and popular support declined as scores of Zhongjia
soldiers suffered mortal wounds at the hands of the imperial troops, dem-
onstrating to even the most fervent believers that their charms and incan-
tations were no match for Qing armaments. During the spring and sum-
mer of 1797, Qing armies secured a series of important victories. By early
autumn, they had captured both Wei Qiluoxu and Wang Niangxian; and
Qing forces reestablished control throughout southwestern Guizhou
before the end of the year.
This chapter presents the first Western-language analysis of this rebel-
lion, which is usually called the “Nanlong Uprising” (Nanlong qiyi} in
post-1949 Chinese historiography. By utilizing both Qing archival materi-
als and Buyi (Zhongjia) folk literature, the analysis gives equal voice to the
imperial officials who sought to contain the rebellion and to the indige-
nous men and women who faced an enemy they knew to be much stron-
ger. The Qing government materials—namely, correspondence between
provincial officials and the imperial court in Beijing—provide a chrono-
logical account of the major battles in the rebellion and reveal the mis-
steps that nearly undermined the early phases of the Qing campaign
against the Zhongjia.5 These documents are treated as more or less histori-
cal fact, or at least the version of events that imperial officials wanted to
preserve. On the other hand, the Zhongjia folk narratives, “Immortal
Maiden Wang” (Wang Xiangu) and “Song of the Nanlong Resistance”
(Nanlong fanbing ge), represent not historical facts, but rather selective
historical memory, or the way Zhongjia chose to perceive and remember
the rebellion. The events depicted in these accounts run the gamut from
slightly exaggerated to categorically implausible, all with an eye to casting
the rebels in a heroic light and softening the psychological blow of their
ultimate defeat.6The Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	85
“Immortal Maiden Wang” is a narrative poem (changshi) from the
southwest Guizhou town of Anlong.7 In 1958, Buyi ethnographers
recorded a folk tale about Wang Niangxian, the young Zhongjia woman
commonly regarded as the rebellion’s spiritual leader. Researchers who
returned to the area twenty years later learned that the tale was based on
a folk song. Further inquiries led to three elderly Buyi men, who per-
formed the version featured in the collection used in this chapter. The
song recounts the life and heroic deeds of Wang Niangxian, who uses her
supernatural abilities to relieve Zhongjia poverty. Greedy officials thwart
her at every turn until she becomes enraged and mounts a popular upris-
ing. Throughout the rebellion, she performs a number of miracles to assist
her troops in battle against the Qing. Ultimately, however, her magical
skills prove insufficient; imperial armies invade her hometown and whisk
her off to Beijing for execution.
“Song of the Nanlong Resistance” strikes a different tone.8 Throughout
the narrative, oratorical talent—particularly the ability to give Qing offi-
cials a sound tongue-lashing—seems to take precedence over magical
powers or even martial skills. Once again, Qing armies eventually quell
the uprising, but this narrative casts the rebels’ final defeat in a less tragic
light than does “Immortal Maiden Wang.” The message is that the Qing
defeated the Zhongjia on the battlefield, but could not quash their sharp
wit or defiant spirit.
Although the two narratives are more fanciful than factual, they play
an important role in this analysis of the Nanlong Uprising. The Buyi
rarely, if ever, have had the opportunity to speak for themselves about the
Nanlong Uprising or other pivotal events in their past. Their history has
largely been controlled by Qing officials and, more recently, by commu-
nist scholars.9 It is a history that reflects the goals and priorities of the
dominant political group, not those of the Buyi themselves. When subor-
dinate groups appear in the official record, their presence, behavior, and
motives are mediated by the interpretation of dominant elites.10 The anal-
ysis in chapters 3 and 4 “read against the grain” of the official record to
find the voices and motivations of participants in anti-government move-
ments or illegal schemes. In this chapter, the indigenous narratives pro-
vide rare glimpses of Buyi views on their own history—albeit with the
occasional imprint of PRC ethnohistorians and editors bound to the Chi-
nese Communist Party’s political agenda.86	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
PREVIOUS SCHOLARSHIP ON THE NANLONG UPRISING
No scholar outside China has examined the Nanlong Uprising in any
detail.11 However, the rebellion has garnered far more attention in China.
General histories of Guizhou province or the Buyi ethnic group all include
brief discussions of the rebellion. More detailed analyses may be found
in a 1991 issue of the journal Research in Buyi Studies (Buyi xueyanjiu)
devoted to the Nanlong Uprising. This volume includes articles on such
topics as the causes of the rebellion, the role of folk religion, and the rea-
sons for the rebels’ defeat. These articles provide important background
on the Nanlong Uprising, and also reveal much about the principles guid-
ing Chinese scholarship on ethnic minorities. Most of the scholarly con-
tributors are themselves members of the Buyi minority nationality: at
once representatives of their own nationality and participants in a hege-
monic state project. Their primary responsibility is to write the history of
their own ethnic group in a way that glorifies and legitimizes the People’s
Republic of China.12 Buyi scholars are therefore obligated to depict the
Nanlong Uprising not as a pivotal event in the history of their own ethnic
group, but rather, as an episode in the larger history of the People’s Repub-
lic of China.
Accordingly, some Buyi writers take pains to point out that “the Han”
targeted in the rebels’ battle cry—“Heaven will exterminate the Han”
(Tian jiang mie Hanren)—signified only Han landlords (Hanzu dizhu).13
(This is somewhat misleading, for although the rebels did target Han local
gentry and landlords, their animosity extended to ordinary Han peasants
as well.)14 The Buyi scholars who make these claims undoubtedly consider
it prudent to qualify any suggestion that their ancestors wanted to exter-
minate the Han—by far the largest and most powerful ethnic group in
China. More importantly, if Qing landlords can be seen as the primary
Buyi enemy, then the Nanlong Uprising must be a peasant rebellion, a
product of “class contradictions” (jieji maodun) rather than ethnic ten-
sions.15 In this respect, the Nanlong Uprising can be seen as virtually the
same as every other peasant rebellion in Qing China: in other words,
the Uprising becomes nothing more and nothing less than a small step
in the country’s march toward socialism.
Several articles by modern Buyi scholars elaborate on the notion that
Han landlords were the primary enemy, and these articles all follow aThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	87
similar thread: After the reforms of 1727, when Yongzheng-era officials
deposed the native ruler and Nanlong became a regular administrative
unit, Zhongjia peasants endured more oppression than ever before. Han
immigrants from China’s central provinces purchased native lands and
then rented these lands back to the original owners at exorbitant rates, forc-
ing the Zhongjia to become tenants on their own ancestral fields. Han land-
lords also demanded occasional payments of rice, wine, or meat, euphe-
mistically termed “gifts,” and ordered their Zhongjia tenants to perform
unpaid manual labor. At the same time, the Zhongjia also had to pay taxes
to the central government and were subject to corvee and military service.
In these narratives, after decades of oppression, the Zhongjia people took
up arms in 1797, thus becoming one of the many peasant groups to wage
war against the landlords. They fought valiantly, but it was not until the
rise of the Chinese Communist Party that feudal oppression ended, and
peasants of all ethnicities came to enjoy peace and prosperity.16
This rhetoric also informs the scholarship on “Immortal Maiden
Wang” and “Song of the Nanlong Resistance,” scant though it is. A lone
journal article and a few scattered references in other works comprise the
entire body of PRC writing on the indigenous narratives.17 Tian Yuan’s
brief article applauds the two poems for expressing the “beautiful hopes”
of the Buyi people in their struggle against feudal oppressors, namely Han
landlords and Qing officials.18 And in a chapter on Buyi literature, Huang
Yiren cites the two narratives as examples of folk stories that arose from
“the exacerbation of class contradictions and ethnic contradictions” and
the Buyi people’s “nonstop struggle against the feudal system and class
oppression.”19
Another scholar, Jin Anjiang, singles out one verse from “Immortal
Maiden Wang” as a paean to pan-ethnic unity, and he uses this verse to
support his assertion that the Nanlong Uprising marked a step forward
in strengthening solidarity and cooperation among the many ethnicities
cohabiting in Buyi regions. Jin Anjing’s argument relies on the lines,
“Tens of thousands of Buyi, along with [their] Miao, Yao, and Zhuang
brothers . . . joined Wang Xiangu [Wang Niangxian] to single-mindedly
exterminate the imperial troops.”20 Jin concludes that the harmonious
ethnic relations in Guizhou today are a legacy of shared historical experi-
ences like the Nanlong Uprising. He is quick to add, however, that the
Qing government’s “cruel suppression” of the Nanlong Uprising militated88	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
against pan-ethnic unity by exacerbating inequalities among the different
ethnic groups. This in turn gave rise to “estrangement and enmity among
the ethnic groups.” It was only after the rise of the People’s Republic of
China that Guizhou’s minority nationalities began to enjoy true equality
and unity: “Only by upholding the leadership of the Chinese Communist
Party and upholding the socialist road, can the universal development
and prosperity of the minority nationalities be realized.”21
Clearly, authors like Jin Anjiang, Huang Yiren, and Tian Yuan zero in
on aspects of the indigenous accounts that can be used to glorify the Chi-
nese Communist Party and ignore the rest. Issues such as the narratives’
actual content, literary merit, and possible significance for today’s Buyi
populations remain unexplored. Perhaps these scholars feel that the nar-
ratives rely too heavily on primitive religion and superstition to be of any
historical value—or perhaps these magico-religious components simply
make the narratives too sensitive for deeper examination.22 Indeed, folk
religion and magic are delicate topics for Buyi scholars of the Nanlong
Uprising. Most authors seem inclined to ignore them altogether, or else to
roundly denounce the rebels’ reliance on charms and incantations. Leng
Tianfang, for example, acknowledges that folk religion played an impor-
tant role in mobilizing the Zhongjia masses to rise against their oppres-
sors. However, Leng states that during the later stages of the rebellion, the
deleterious effects of the rebels’ blind reliance on charms and incanta-
tions became more and more apparent and that this ultimately hastened
the rebels’ defeat. In a final rebuke, Leng calls the rebels’ practices “truly
stupid and primitive.”23 The message is clear: Unscientific beliefs and
unsound tactics undermined the Nanlong Uprising and prevented the
Buyi peasants from triumphing over their class enemies. Only by elimi-
nating superstition can the Buyi and other minority nationalities move
forward.
This chapter, unfettered by a political agenda, offers a very different
interpretation of the Nanlong Uprising. It views the rebellion as the most
elaborate and fully articulated expression of the livelihood choices
described throughout this book. As demonstrated in chapter 4, local resi-
dents developed sophisticated money-making ventures that combined
local superstition and anti-Qing slogans to gain popular support. The
masterminds behind these schemes enticed impoverished villagers with
promises of instant wealth, lifelong immunity from taxes, and protectionThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	89
from natural disasters. That such promises never came to fruition was of
little consequence. It was the hope of overcoming Guizhou’s ecological
and economic constraints that repeatedly impelled local residents to put
their faith in charlatans whose promises, however far-fetched, were still
much more enticing than what local officials either offered or delivered. In
short, by the end of the eighteenth century, many villagers of southwest-
ern Guizhou exhibited a clear propensity to reject imperial authority in
favor of charismatic figures who extended the slightest hope for a better
life. The Nanlong Uprising marked the first time this propensity found
expression in armed rebellion.24
THE NANLONG UPRISING
AS RECOUNTED IN QING DOCUMENTS
Wang Niangxian, nee Wang Acong, hailed from Dongsa, a hamlet near
the prefectural seat of Nanlong.25 She was born into a family of Mo ritual
specialists who began teaching her spells and incantations as soon as she
could talk.26 Wang Niangxian specialized in a ritual called “crossing the
darkness” (guoyiri) that enabled her to serve as a mediator between the spir-
itual and terrestrial realms.27 Her most prized possession was a set of five-
colored stones that she believed to represent her covenant with heaven.
She traveled from village to village telling people that the stones endowed
her with a magic so potent that a mere moment in her presence could cure
any ailment. She also announced that heaven had sent down an order
forbidding every type of magic but her own.
Wang Niangxian was not above using trickery to attract followers. On
one occasion, she secretly planted rice in a grotto. She told villagers to
pray to the rice spirit for food, and then led them to the grotto. When they
saw rice shoots flourishing there, they believed that she must be an
immortal (xian). It was thus that the common people began to call her
Wang Niangxian, or Immortal Lady Wang. Day after day, they asked her
to cure their illnesses and predict the future. Many gave her money, wine,
pigs, and rice in exchange for her services, although she never asked for
payment.28
As a local cult grew around Wang Niangxian, her half-brother Wang
Huaming and his friends began to see the potential for a lucrative venture.90	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
They persuaded her to cease all public audiences; and they built her a
temple at a location where they promised she would enjoy even better
communication with the spirits. Wang Huaming and his friends invited
villagers to visit the temple but would allow the villagers only to stand
outside the building, where they could call up to Wang Nianxian, burn
incense, and kowtow. Worshippers were required to bring contributions
of food and wine, which Wang Huaming and his friends collected.29
In late 1795, some villagers grew concerned that Wang Niangxian and
her followers might be planning a rebellion. They filed a complaint with
the acting prefect of Nanlong, Zeng Tingkui, who authorized an investi-
gation that resulted in the arrest of several cult members. After several
days of interrogation, local officials determined that fears of rebellion
were unwarranted. Wang Niangxian’s followers were not distributing
suspicious seals or woodcuts, or spreading anti-Qing slogans. As a pre-
caution, however, Prefect Zeng decided to keep the cult members in jail.
Several months later, a local headman, He Zhanbie, voiced fresh com-
plaints about the Dongsa cult. Prefect Zeng dismissed the complaints as
nonsense, but to be on the safe side, he did file a report with provincial
authorities. His superiors in Guiyang supported his initial conclusion that
the Zhongjia were merely practicing their traditional form of magic, not
plotting rebellion. They also ordered Prefect Zeng to release the prisoners
detained after the first investigation.30
This decision was a sound one. Nothing in this account suggests that
Wang Niangxian or her handlers had any intention of mounting a rebel-
lion. Most likely, they were engaged in a scheme similar to the ones
described in chapter 4. Wang Niangxian’s activities did not seem to have a
seditious component, and Wang Huaming and his friends seemed inter-
ested only in the booty they could gain by taking advantage of Wang
Niangxian’s devoted followers. All in all, the Dongsa cult was a self-
contained organization that posed no real threat to social stability. It
might have remained so if not for Wei Qiluoxu.
Wei Qiluoxu lived in the nearby hamlet of Dangzhan. Like Wang
Niangxian, he seems to have been a Mo practitioner who frequently
“crossed the darkness” on behalf of his fellow villagers.31 People who ben-
efited from his services often tried to reward him with cattle, wine, and
other goods, but he never accepted their gifts. Because of his generosity in
providing free spiritual services, Zhongjia villagers called him “GreatThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	91
Master Wei” (Wei Da Xiansheng) and many became his followers. Wei
also claimed to possess a strong social conscience. As a local healer, he
observed firsthand the poverty and despair of his fellow Zhongjia, and
he took it upon himself to help them. As he explained in his confession:
Throughout history, we ... have been oppressed by the Han. They cheated
us out of our land and then rented it to us. They made us slaves. It was
unbearable. Every Miao had a mind to kill the Han, but no one dared raise
a hand. When the Miao in eastern Guizhou and Hunan rebelled [in 1795],
all of the soldiers near us were transferred out. At that point, I decided to
gather the Miao to rise up against the Han, to burn and kill them. My will
was strong, and people knew I was also skilled in the martial arts. I went
everywhere in search of followers, and I found many willing to join me.32
It appears, then, that Wei Qiluoxu’s organization began as a magico-
religious group with a mandate that soon extended to social banditry.33
He began to build a small army in 1796, using simple recruiting tactics:
that is, he sent some of his adherents into the countryside to invite Zhong-
jia peasants to burn and loot Han villages. For many Zhongjia, this was
enticement enough to join up. It was an easy way to obtain money, grain,
and other goods, and offered an exciting alternative to growing rice and
tending cattle. As one Zhongjia man said later, “If we could raid Han
houses, we could leave the bitterness of farming behind.” But many Zhong-
jia joined only reluctantly, after Wei Qiluoxu’s henchmen warned that
anyone who refused to participate would face certain death.34
Wei’s initial battle strategy was as simple as his recruiting strategy. He
planned to invade a Han village and seize all the grain and guns he could
find, killing anyone who dared to resist. He would also gather new Zhong-
jia recruits from villages throughout southwestern Guizhou, using coer-
cive means if necessary, and then he would move on to the next town to
repeat the process. In this way, his army would increase in size and strength
with each successive raid. He targeted Puping, a relatively prosperous
town in the northern part of Nanlong, for the first attack. From there, his
men would fight their way to the prefectural seat and beyond. He com-
posed a slogan to sum up his ambitions: “When the clouds rise, we will
burn Puping, eat breakfast in Nanlong, and kill our way to Kunming” (Yun
tengteng, shao Puping, Nanlong chi zaofan, sha shang Yunnan cheng).'392	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
The Social Bandit Becomes Emperor
On January 31,1797, Wei Qiluoxu’s army attacked Puping and rampaged
through neighboring villages. When they reached Dongsa, Wei Qiluoxu’s
ambitions took a new turn. After surveying the area, one of his men
reported that many local residents were adherents of the young priestess
Wang Niangxian. Wei Qiluoxu realized that a strategic alliance with
Wang Niangxian would enhance his appeal and credibility among
Zhongjia peasants. He sought out Wang Huaming, her brother and public
representative, and tried to strike a deal, saying, “I, too, can ‘cross the
darkness.’ During my last crossing, I saw the great jade emperor (da huang
yudi'). He told me, ‘The Miao [Zhongjia] will conquer all under heaven.’
Wang Niangxian is to be the immortal empress (huangxian niangniang),
and I am to be her husband.” Wang Huaming agreed that he and his sister
would cooperate, although it is not clear if he did so willingly, or if Wei
Qiluoxu threatened to kill him if he refused. Wang Niangxian was not
consulted.36
On February 1, Wei Qiluoxu ordered Wang Niangxian’s followers to
join his men in an assault on the prefectural seat of Nanlong. The rebels
entered the city with no resistance and proceeded to burn and pillage as
they moved through the streets. No longer just bandits, the rebels now
believed they were on a mission sanctioned by Heaven. The terrified resi-
dents of Nanlong tried to defend themselves with whatever came to
hand—kitchen utensils, hunting knives, or sticks. Several hundred rebels
encircled the city walls to prevent anyone from leaving or entering. Nan-
long now belonged to the Zhongjia, and they would use its riches to
finance their next conquest.37
In the afterglow of this first victory, Wei Qiluoxu moved to consolidate
his authority. He proclaimed himself emperor and assumed the reign title
“Heavenly Compliance” (tianshun), and he bestowed the reign title “Real-
ized Immortal” (xianda) on Wang Niangxian. This act of proclaiming a
reign title was significant in at least three ways. First, it undoubtedly satis-
fied Wei Qiluoxu’s own delusions of grandeur. Second, as a public rela-
tions tactic, it may have increased his legitimacy in the eyes of the Zhongjia.
And third, as a political symbol, it represented an act of lese-majeste and
a declaration of independence from the dynasty, because only the emperor
himself could take a reign title. By claiming his own reign title, WeiThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	93
Qiluoxu put himself on equal footing with the monarch. Now it remained
to capitalize on this new title and build his own empire in Guizhou.
The Qing Response: A Desultory Counteroffensive
While Wei Qiluoxu and his followers celebrated his victory at Nanlong,
the town’s prefect, Zeng Tingkui, was plunged into despair. He died two
days after the attack on Nanlong, although it is not clear whether he com-
mitted suicide or succumbed to illness. Before Zeng’s death, he relayed a
hasty communique to Guizhou governor Feng Guangxiong, who at this
point was overseeing troops on the Hunan-Guizhou border. Zeng’s mes-
sage was terse, indicating only that one thousand Zhongjia bandits had
laid siege to Nanlong.38
The news must have filled Feng Guangxiong with alarm. The Zhong-
jia attacks coincided with the two major rebellions of the late eighteenth
century—the White Lotus uprisings in Hubei, Sichuan, Shaanxi, and
Gansu, and the Miao Rebellion in western Hunan. With its military and
financial resources already stretched to the limits, the embattled dynasty
could ill afford another crisis.39 Indeed, the White Lotus and Miao Rebel-
lions had already siphoned so many provincial troops from Guizhou itself
that only a few thousand men were available to respond to the violence in
Nanlong.40 Even worse, just weeks before the Zhongjia insurrection,
southwest China’s highest-ranking civil and military official, Yunnan-
Guizhou governor-general Le Bao, had been ordered to Hubei to assist
with the ongoing campaign against White Lotus rebels.41 With so few
troops in the Nanlong region, the chaos could easily spread throughout
southwestern Guizhou and into neighboring Yunnan and Guangxi. A few
thousand soldiers were available in Anshun, one hundred miles northeast
of Nanlong, and Feng hurried to arrange their transfer to the new battle-
front. He then contacted the Guizhou provincial military commander
Zhulonga and the Nanlong regional military commander (zongbin)
Zhang Yulong, both of whom were on the front lines in Hunan, and
ordered them to proceed to Nanlong without delay. Finally, Feng sent Bei-
jing an urgent request for permission to follow Zhang and Zhulonga to
Nanlong as soon as possible. As he pointed out, hostilities on the Hunan
border were drawing to a close, and reconstruction (shanhou) was already
under way in some areas.4294	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
The emperor’s responding edict approved Feng’s request and ordered
Le Bao to leave Hubei for Nanlong as soon as he could. The court also
instructed Feng to diagnose the nature of the disturbances in Nanlong.
Were the instigators merely bandits whose only goal was to burn and
plunder, or were they bona fide rebels, cut from the same cloth as the Miao
in Hunan?43
Feng replied to this edict before he set out for Nanlong. Based on the
original communique from Zeng Tingkui, he wrote, he did not think the
disorder in southwestern Guizhou would reach the scale of the Miao
Rebellion. Only one thousand or so Zhongjia had attacked Nanlong, little
more than an angry mob. Feng reasoned, moreover, that it was not in the
Zhongjia character to rebel:
Although the Zhongmiao possess a fierce nature, their clothing and cus-
toms are no different from those of ordinary people (yw cjimin wu yi).
Their perversity cannot be compared to that of the Hunan Miao. It was
only because the military presence [in Nanlong] was weak that they dared
to create a disturbance. They amount to little more than an unruly and
undisciplined mob. They assemble like crows, gathering suddenly and
then dispersing just as suddenly. . . . They specialize in burning and loot-
ing, and lack cunning and astuteness. I fear that these Miao bandits will
assemble over and over again, spreading trouble to surrounding areas.
Thus, I have ordered the officials in nearby towns to determine how many
“village braves” (xiangyong) are available, and encourage the local militia
to shore up their strength and defend crucial areas.44
Feng acknowledged that the Zhongjia posed a potential threat to social
order, but he did not believe that additional Qing troops were needed in
the Nanlong region because xiangyong local militia, who were recruited
and organized by Han villagers, would be able to contain the threat. Also
striking is Feng’s assertion that the Zhongjia were, in appearance at least,
“no different from ordinary people”—that is, they were no different from
the Han.45 In this case, acculturation did not signify any degree of identi-
fication with the Han or loyalty to the Qing Dynasty. But at this early
juncture, Feng lacked adequate information about the rebels and could
assess the situation based on only received wisdom about the Zhongjia.
Also noteworthy is Feng’s characterization of the rebels as “an unrulyThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	95
and undisciplined mob.” Only much later would he realize how badly he
had underestimated the rebels’ organizational capabilities. The move-
ment continued to grow in strength and number after the attack on Nan-
long, as Wei Qiluoxu continued to consolidate his small empire. Shortly
after declaring himself emperor, Wei set up his own state with two capital
cities. His hometown of Dangzhan became the administrative and mili-
tary seat, and Dongsa became the ceremonial capital. Each capital had a
government that included generals, ambassadors, generalissimos, and
prime ministers. Wei Qiluoxu personally oversaw the officials in Dang-
zhan, while those in Dongsa governed in Wang Nangxian’s name. Wei
Qiluoxu’s second-in-command was a Zhongjia man known by the nick-
name Da Wang Gong, who assisted with military recruiting, troop mobi-
lization, and local administration. Also among Wei Qiluoxu’s most
trusted officials was a Han renegade named Sang Hongsheng who was
responsible for managing the rebels’ treasury, granary, and weapons sup-
ply, and who also advised Wei Qiluoxu on military strategy.46
Wei Qiluoxu’s recruiting techniques also became more elaborate. With
Wang Niangxian on his side, he could now tap more fully into local super-
stition and magico-religious inclinations. Male warriors called “realized
immortals” (xianda) and women called “immortal maidens” (xiangu)
enticed villagers to join the rebellion with promises that Heaven would
reward the rebels with a lifetime supply of rice.47 On occasion, recruiters
also invoked Wang Niangxian’s name to attract new recruits. As one rebel
recalled:
After the attacks on Nanlong, two men came to my village and told me
that Wang Xiangu [Wang Niangxian], the priestess from Dongsa, had
conferred upon me the title of “brilliant immortal” (guangxian). They
said this was a higher rank than Xianda. I could transmit the ‘ways of the
immortals’ (xianfa), distribute grain, and command troops. I subse-
quently gathered more than two thousand Miao from nearby hamlets to
resist the imperial troops.”48
When such inducements failed, Wei Qiluoxu’s followers resorted to coer-
cive measures. The message was simple: Join the rebellion or die as an
enemy of the Zhongjia.
Whether recruited voluntarily or under duress, the rebels soon num-96	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
bered far more than Zeng Tingkui’s original estimate of one thousand.
Within six weeks of the attack on Nanlong, they laid siege to every major
town near Nanlong: Xincheng and Yongfeng to the northeast; Ceheng to
the southeast; Pu’an and Annan to the northwest; and Huangcaoba and
Bangzha to the southwest. Wei Qiluoxu’s followers also rebelled in Yongn-
ing and Zhenning on the southwestern edge of Anshun prefecture.49 In
short, by the time Feng Guangxiong, Zhulonga, and Zhang Yulong
arrived on the scene in mid-February, the rebels already controlled the
entire southwestern quarter of Guizhou.
The three Qing commanders first proceeded to Anshun, where they
tried to determine the quickest path to Nanlong.50 It was decided that Feng
would station himself at Guanling, strategically located between Anshun
and Annan, to oversee the campaigns and to wait for Le Bao. Feng also
planned to set up a granary in Guanling to provision troops in the field.
Feng Guangxiong ordered Zhulonga to take a westerly route through
Yongning and Annan. Zhang Yulong was to travel due south through
Angu, Yongfeng, and Xincheng. Zhulonga and Zhang Yulong would
receive support from the Weining regional military commander Qi Ge
and the Changzhai assistant brigade commander (shoubei) Cui Lin.51
Conditions were far from ideal when the four field commanders (Zhu-
longa, Zhang Yulong, Qi Ge, and Cui Lin) struck out for Nanlong in early
March. It was raining, and the slick, muddy roads slowed troop move-
ments to a cautious crawl. To make matters worse, the Zhongjia had set up
roadblocks everywhere. Only Zhang Yulong made any headway against
the rebels during the first month of the suppression campaign. On March
n, his troops captured Angu, a small but strategic town on the way to
Nanlong. Even this marked only a minor victory, for countless rebels
escaped into the nearby mountains, and constant fog made it impossible
for the Qing troops to give chase. The one bright spot was that a number
of loyal villagers had assisted Zhang in the attack on Angu, which sug-
gested that not all Zhongjia in the region had sworn allegiance to the
rebels.52
The other three commanders also met with numerous difficulties.
When Zhulonga and his men reached Annan on March 14, they managed
to break through the roadblocks and chase Zhongjia rebels into the moun-
tains. Zhulonga’s forces held the town briefly before the Zhongjia returned
and encircled the city again, trapping the Qing troops inside for severalThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	97
days. Qi Ge and his men had planned to meet up with Zhang Yulong at
Angu, but after several unsuccessful attempts to break through the road-
blocks, they were forced to retreat into the surrounding mountains.
Unluckiest of all was Cui Lin, who stopped in Yongning on March 16 to
help local officials shore up the town’s defenses. He suffered fatal wounds
when some old ordinance exploded as he moved it to a storehouse.53
The Qing court was understandably displeased with these early ven-
tures. Feng and Zhulonga soon received an imperial reprimand for taking
too long to bring the situation under control. Nanlong remained under
siege, yet none of the Qing commanders seemed to be within striking
distance of that town. True, Zhang Yulong had secured Angu, but he
had allowed too many rebels to escape. If, as Feng had insisted, the Zhong-
jia bandits were nothing more than an unruly mob, why were they so
difficult to suppress? The court noted with obvious relief that Le Bao
would soon reach Guizhou with additional troops. The Yunnan-Guizhou
governor-general was a much better tactician than Feng Guangxiong, and
campaigns would surely gain momentum under his command.54
Le Bao was still miles from Guizhou, however, and in the weeks before
he arrived, the situation continued to deteriorate. In mid-March, Yunnan
governor Jiang Lan reported that the rebels had made numerous incur-
sions into the eastern part of his province, where they were likely to
receive aid and comfort from Zhongjia and other non-Han villagers. He
also feared for the safety of Han Chinese living in the border area. The
rebels had already raided several Han settlements on the Yunnan side. On
one occasion, after seizing all the money, guns, and grain they could find,
they tied up Han men, women, and children, and carried them off into
the mountains. Provincial soldiers pursued them and eventually appre-
hended the rebels and freed the captives. In a separate incident, a gang of
Zhongjia bandits had forced their way into another Han village, although
local militia had chased the rebels out of town before anything untoward
happened. The local braves even managed to capture and decapitate one
of the invaders. These incidents had worried Jiang Lan so much that he
ordered an expeditionary force of five hundred provincial soldiers to enter
Guizhou and investigate. The report of the expedition leader described an
encounter with two columns of Zhongjia cavalry. Two women warriors
rode near the front, both of them dancing and bobbing in their saddles.
The rebels were clad entirely in white, and most of them clutched a white98	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
scarf in one hand and a white fan in the other. They had no firearms, only
heavy sticks and hunting knives. Two Zhongjia men shouted a command
to attack, and the mounted rebels rushed forward. The Yunnan soldiers
promptly opened fire. The rebels chanted “Stop the bullets! Stop the bul-
lets!” But the incantation failed to deliver the desired effect. Qing bullets
struck first one of the female warriors, and then the other, killing them
instantly. Before the battle ended, Yunnan forces had killed several hun-
dred rebels and captured more than a dozen alive.55
Beijing’s response to Jiang Lan suggests that the court took heart from
the rebels’ apparent stupidity:
According to the confessions [of the ringleaders], the Miao bandits wear
white turbans around their heads, and carry white scarves and fans to
deceive the stupid Miao into believing that knives and bullets could not
harm them. In view of this, the Miao criminals do nothing more than stir
up trouble and deceive people. They lack cunning and ability. ... As for
the “immortal maidens” and “realized immortals” [that is, rebel soldiers]
who say it is possible to use turbans and fans to shield themselves from
harm, many [of them] were shot and killed in battle. Certainly this proves
that their words cannot be trusted. This is obvious and simple to under-
stand. It will make it easier to admonish and disband the rebel gangs.
Those who call themselves “realized immortals” and “immortal maidens”
to deceive the foolish Miao are truly despicable and must be captured....
Moreover, there must be leaders above these “Immortals.” Once these
leaders are caught, it will be even easier to capture the followers.56
The optimism in this court letter masked Beijing’s mounting impatience
with the officials in Guizhou. Once again, if the Zhongjia rebels were so
foolish and superstitious, so lacking in cunning and ability, why were they
so difficult to contain?
Indeed, the court’s frustration increased as the Guizhou troops contin-
ued to lose ground in a series of bloody but inconclusive battles. After
capturing Angu, Zhang Yulong learned that the rebels had taken Pai-
shakou, another strategic point on the road to Nanlong. Zhang and his
men climbed a steep, heavily forested path to reach the rebels’ mountain
lair. When they arrived, they found close to a thousand angry Zhongjia
with guns.57 Qing soldiers fatally wounded several rebels and burned theirThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	99
huts to the ground. The rebels fled, but imperial troops gave chase and
killed them by the score. Two days later, Qing troops used cannons to
bombard the rebels, killing several hundred. When several Zhongjia tried
to flee, Zhang Yulong’s men chased after them and hacked them to death.
The Qing troops also set fire to trees and houses, leaving a burned land-
scape behind. The surviving rebels fled into the mountains, and the fol-
lowing day, close to two thousand rebels attacked the imperial army. Qing
troops fired on the rebels with cannons and did not count the number
killed. Zhang’s men managed to capture a few rebels, but none of them
could provide any useful information. For all the destruction, this battle
brought few tangible results. The roads to Nanlong remained blocked, and
Zhang Yulong could not see a way forward.58
As the imperial troops’ southward progress slowed, the rebels’ north-
ward march proceeded apace. On March 22, rebels attacked and occupied
Guansuling, an important mountain pass between Yongning and Guan-
ling, thereby gaining control of the main westward route to Yunnan. A
day later, they laid siege to Guanling and killed the officials whom Feng
Guangxiong had placed in charge of the granary there. At this point, Feng
was on his way to meet Le Bao in Anshun, or else he too might have per-
ished in the fighting.
The disorder soon spread into three other towns—Guangshun, Ding-
fan, and Changzhai— all of which were dangerously close to the provin-
cial capital of Guiyang. The rebels in Guangshun barricaded themselves
in two walled villages, Bachang and Jichang. On March 23, local officials
urged Zhongjia living near these two rebel encampments not to join the
insurgency. Evidently, his admonitions had some effect, for these Zhongjia
villagers agreed to remain loyal to the Qing state.
Feng Guangxiong, who was still en route to Anshun, apparently
received faulty or incomplete information about Guangshun. He learned
only that the rebels had taken Guangshun, but somehow did not find out
that many local Zhongjia still remained loyal to the Qing. At any rate,
when provincial troops marched into Guangshun, they did not attempt to
distinguish the loyal Zhongjia from the rebels. They torched numerous
hamlets where the residents had already promised not to join the insur-
rection. The needless slaughter undoubtedly pushed many surviving
Zhongjia into the rebel ranks.59
By the end of March, after a series of increasingly dire reports from theioo / The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
field, Beijing was thoroughly disgusted with Feng Guangxiong and deliv-
ered this stinging rebuke in a court letter:
Earlier, [Feng] reported that the Zhongjia bandits numbered no more
than a thousand. How is it, then, that large bands of rebels now occupy
every town and road in southwestern Guizhou? Recent communiques
would suggest that the rebels number in the tens of thousands, not [in the]
thousands! It is plain to see that Feng’s reports were not reliable. It is
equally plain that the disorder in Guizhou is indeed comparable to the
Miao Rebellion in Hunan. Thousands of soldiers will be needed to eradi-
cate the [Zhongjia] rebels.
The court letter went on to note that Feng was a scholar, not a soldier, and
that he was perhaps too advanced in age to take on heavy responsibilities.
Once Le Bao arrived, Feng was to resume his civilian duties in Guiyang.
He would manage administrative matters relating to the suppression cam-
paign but take no further part in military strategy.60
Le Bao arrived in Anshun on March 31 for a debriefing from Feng
Guangxiong. On his way to Anshun, Le Bao passed through the Guiyang
region, where the rebels were using coercive tactics to gain new recruits.
Le made personal visits to several Zhongjia hamlets to convince the vil-
lagers not to join the resistance. He told them that Qing armies had sum-
marily crushed the Miao rebels in Hunan, and warned that the Zhongjia
upstarts in Guizhou would soon face a similar fate. Le Bao also urged the
villagers to stay on the lookout for anyone engaged in suspicious activi-
ties. Anyone who arrested such troublemakers, he said, could expect rich
rewards.
Le Bao was confident that he had persuaded the Zhongjia of Gui-
yang to remain loyal to the Qing. But any good feelings that Le may have
obtained from his success in this small mission probably evaporated dur-
ing his meeting with Feng Guangxiong. Feng had just completed a tour of
the Anshun region, where conditions were much bleaker than in Guiyang.
The rebels had already taken many towns in the Anshun area, and the
people were panicked. Feng was deeply apprehensive. If the rebels seized
Anshun and Guiyang, what would stop them from pressing eastward or
southward to other strategic points in Guizhou?61
Clearly, the rebels had to be stopped, and soon. Qing troops had madeThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	101
no real progress up to that point. In Le Bao’s estimation, Zhang Yulong’s
assaults on Angu and Paishakou did not constitute real victories. They
were a success only in terms of the number of rebels killed. But they were
not successful from a tactical standpoint because the road to Nanlong
remained blocked. Guanling, Yongning, Yongfeng, Xincheng, Huang-
caoba, and of course Nanlong all remained under siege. Now the main
road from Zhenning to Yunnan was also blocked, making it difficult to
transport firearms, grain, and other supplies to the troops. Le Bao decided
that he would mount an offensive on Guanling as soon as additional
troops arrived from Hunan. Once Guanling was secure, he would go on
to liberate Yongning and finally Nanlong. He also ordered Yunnan troops
to mount an attack on Huangcaoba from the west.62
Le Bao set out for Guanling when the reinforcements arrived on April 8.
The combined forces advanced about twenty miles to Huangguoshu, only
to discover that the rebels controlled the road all the way to Guanling. Le
Bao’s soldiers pressed ahead toward Huangguoshu, although the rebels
continuously harassed the troops along the way. Shouting and waving
their flags, the rebels swarmed like bees around the Qing troops. As Le
Bao’s forces moved forward, more Zhongjia emerged from their hiding
places in the stone caves of Huangguoshu and fired on the Qing troops.
Undaunted, the troops advanced, capturing and killing many rebels.
Late that night, the government troops scaled Dapoling, a mountain
peak opposite Guanling. Le Bao surveyed Guanling from atop the sum-
mit and noted that the surrounding terrain included a thick forest, with
a wide gully traversed by a stone bridge. There were Miao settlements on
either side of the forest, and Le Bao estimated that at least one thousand
rebels were hiding there. The Zhongjia had also set up numerous sentry
posts on the road to Guanling. Le Bao recognized that a direct attack on
Guanling would be impossible. He found a circuitous route using moun-
tain paths that the rebels did not yet occupy, and two days later, he
launched a three-pronged attack on Guanling. The rebels put up stiff
resistance, but Le Bao’s men killed scores of them and seized the rebels’
grain and gunpowder to redistribute among themselves. More impor-
tantly, through these successful attacks, Le Bao had reopened the main
artery from Guizhou to Yunnan.63
Le Bao next set his sights on Balongtun, a strategic town between
Guanling and Yongning. After a full week of fighting, Le Bao and his102	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
troops subdued the rebels in a series of coordinated attacks. Soon, some
two thousand Zhongjia from neighboring villages went to the Qing
encampment to surrender in person. Le Bao then ordered his men to
charge into Yongning while he brought up the rear. After a few skirmishes,
Le Bao and his forces arrived in Yongning. There, Le Bao met up with
Zhulonga, who had finally managed to extricate himself from Annan. On
April 16, Le Bao summoned all the Qing troops in the area and staged a
massive attack on Yongning. When the Yongning magistrate heard the
gunfire and saw explosions outside the city wall, he knew that imperial
troops had arrived to end the month-long siege and he sent local militia
members to help. Realizing they were outnumbered by government
troops, the rebels surrendered by the score.
With Guanling, Yongning, and Annan under Qing control again, Le
Bao and other Qing military leaders could begin planning the next cam-
paigns. They decided that Zhulonga would proceed to Yongfeng, and after
liberating the siege of that town, Zhulonga would continue to Nanlong. At
Nanlong, he would meet up with Le Bao, who intended to go by way of
Angu, Paishakou, and Xincheng. In that way, the Qing forces would
approach Nanlong along two routes, liberate the city, and quickly exter-
minate the rebels.64
On April 26, Le Bao’s men did break the siege of Xincheng, but in the
weeks that followed, nothing else went according to plan. Once Xincheng
was under Qing control, Le Bao ordered brigade commander (youji)
Chang Shan to lead a few hundred men to Huangcaoba, where Yunnan
troops had been mired for several weeks. The plan was for Chang Shan to
relieve the Yunnan troops, recapture Huangcaoba, and then push his way
eastward to Nanlong. There, he would meet up with Le Bao and Zhulonga,
who would arrive by way of their planned itineraries through rebel terri-
tory.65 However, both Zhulonga and Le Bao ran into immediate difficul-
ties. Zhulonga and his troops made only limited progress before heavy
rebel attacks prevented them from going any farther. Le Bao eventually
ordered Zhulonga to abandon Yongfeng for the time being and to find an
alternate route to Nanlong.
Pockets of rebel resistance also slowed Le Bao’s progress from Xincheng.
The rebels in the area all knew that Le Bao had recently captured Xincheng,
and they were determined to prevent further Qing advances. They set up
numerous roadblocks and erected high wooden barriers on the road lead-The Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	103
ing to Wangchengpo, a key mountain pass on the way to Nanlong. Le Bao
searched for alternate routes, and, finding none, hatched a strategy to
destroy all of the rebels’ roadblocks on the way to the pass. On the night
of May 9, he ordered his troops to march toward Wangchengpo and throw
torches at the wooden barriers. When the Qing troops did so, the barriers
promptly ignited. The rebels scattered in panic as Qing troops fired on
them. Many Zhongjia died, and others fled under cover of darkness. The
Qing troops then took control of the Wangchengpo pass.
Even after this victory, Le Bao could only make slow progress toward
Nanlong. The morning after the midnight capture of Wangchengpo, he
surveyed the landscape and saw that the rebels had regrouped at a moun-
tain several kilometers away. There was no effective way to attack these
rebels, for they had set up encampments on the mountain at many eleva-
tions. Le Bao ordered his men to ascend this neighboring peak and to
burn as many encampments as they could. Hundreds of rebels died in the
fires, but countless others simply escaped by climbing to a higher eleva-
tion. It was a maddening impasse for Le Bao, but after nine days, Qing
troops lured the remaining rebels into an ambush, vanquished them, and
seized control of the mountain.66
While Le Bao was fighting for Wangchengpo, Chang Shan met his
demise near Huangcaoba. The rebels apparently found out that Guizhou
troops were on their way and laid an ambush. In order to reach Huang-
caoba from the east, Chang Shan’s troops had to cross the Mabie River.67
Wei Qiluoxu personally led his rebel troops to the river’s edge and
destroyed the sole wooden bridge spanning the water. The rebels then
jumped into waiting boats and sailed to the opposite bank to set booby
traps on the road to Huangcaoba. When Chang Shan and his Qing troops
arrived, they could not cross the river and were forced to set up camp,
opposite Huangcaoba. The rebels sailed across the river and attacked the
Qing troops in the dead of night, killing the entire battalion. Wei Qiluoxu
heralded the massacre as “The Great Victory at Mabie,” and it became one
of the most celebrated pieces of Zhongjia lore.68
A Change in Momentum: Qing Armies Seize the Upper Hand
After so many campaign setbacks, Le Bao finally had a breakthrough in
early June. He planned to press to Yangchang, the next important town on104	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
his slow march to Nanlong. For days, heavy rains and rough terrain con-
spired against him, and as usual, the rebels had erected roadblocks at
many points along the road. As Le Bao and his men inched forward, he
began to consider the possibility of taking an alternate route to Nanlong.
Several days later, a solution emerged when two brothers69 appeared at
Le Bao’s headquarters and presented themselves as “loyal Miao” (shun
Miao). The brothers complained that the rebels had seized their farm-
land and implored the Qing general to help them recover it. After listen-
ing with great interest, Le Bao invited the men to serve as spies for the
imperial army, promising large rewards if they could provide good intel-
ligence on rebel movements in Yangchang. Not only would they regain
their own lands, they would also receive the lands now claimed by the
rebels in Yangchang.
The men readily agreed and hurried to Yangchang. Two days later, the
elder returned to report that he and his brother had feigned surrender to
the rebel commander of Yangchang.70 The commander had initially
rejected them because he suspected they were already sworn allies of the
Qing. When he threatened to kill the brothers, they hastily explained that
their surrender to Qing troops had only been a ruse to keep their farm-
land. The rebel commander seemed to accept this and ordered the two
men to seal their loyalty by drinking the blood of a freshly slain chicken.
He then asked them to stand guard by the village gate. The elder brother
had managed to sneak away just long enough to inform Le Bao of the
progress of the plan.
Le Bao stated his intention to attack Yangchang that night, and ordered
the two brothers to continue acting as spies throughout the assault. The
ensuing battle ended in a decisive victory for Qing troops, with countless
rebels killed and thirty-eight rebels captured alive. Le Bao directed the
brothers to identify each captive; and then Le Bao personally interrogated
them one by one. In this way, Le Bao learned about the cult that had taken
hold in Nanlong the previous year, and also gained some understanding
of the rebels’ organizational structure. The rebel commander at Yangchang
held the title “realized immortal” and oversaw local administration and
troop mobilization. Every area under rebel control was placed under the
jurisdiction of a different “realized immortal.” A shadowy figure by the
name of Da Wang Gong selected the “realized immortals,” but the cap-
tives could not say with certainty who this man was, or where he might be.The Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	105
They were also not sure if Da Wang Gong was the primary leader of the
rebellion, or if he was subordinate to a higher authority figure. Neverthe-
less, Le Bao was satisfied to have even these small kernels of information.
As he pressed on toward Nanlong, he believed he could continue to gather
intelligence on this Da Wang Gong.71
Le Bao’s success at Yangchang was the first of several important victo-
ries that summer. In late July, Yunnan governor Jiang Lan reported his
province’s troops had finally broken the siege at Huangcaoba, thus clear-
ing the western approach to Nanlong.72 Guizhou troops met up with the
Yunnan armies outside Huangcaoba and launched a coordinated attack
on Bangzha. The combined forces captured and interrogated numerous
rebels, who revealed that Wang Niangxian of Dongsa and Wei Qiluoxu of
Dangzhan were the true leaders of the rebellion.73
Armed with this knowledge, Le Bao decided to capture the two leaders
before launching the final assault on Nanlong. On October 5, he sent five
columns of troops into Dongsa and another three into Dangzhan. Thou-
sands of Zhongjia had assembled in Dongsa to protect Wang Niangxian.
When the rebels saw the imperial troops approaching, they felled trees to
block the roads. However, Le Bao’s men pressed on, burning everything in
their path, killing anyone who dared resist.
At last, the Qing troops reached Wang Niangxian’s fortress, a multi-
storied tower encircled by two stone walls. Rebels fired at the soldiers and
hurled stones from the fortress windows, so the imperial troops could not
go forward. Several men attempted to scale the wall, but the rebels stoned
them to death. Another group of soldiers tried to set fire to the gate, but
the rebels promptly extinguished the flames with water. Le Bao finally hit
upon the idea of digging tunnels underneath the wall to move his soldiers
behind enemy lines. Soon after Le Bao’s troops began digging, a large sec-
tion of the wall collapsed, allowing the men to rush into the enemy rebel
stronghold. The rebels sprinkled gunpowder throughout their fortress
and ignited it, apparently preferring self-immolation to capture. The Qing
troops rushed into the town and pulled Wang Niangxian from the flames.
A similar scenario unfolded in Dangzhan. When the Qing troops
approached, Wei Qiluoxu and his followers barricaded themselves in a
building and set themselves on fire. Imperial troops arrived just in time to
pluck them from the fire. Wei Qiluoxu’s hands were severely burned, but
he was still able to speak and move about.74 After the attacks on Dongsaio 6	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
and Dangzhan, Qing troops recaptured Nanlong and Yongfeng with little
resistance. Beijing subsequently changed the names of both towns to
honor the citizens who had survived the long sieges. Nanlong became
Xingyi, meaning “flourishing virtue,” and Yongfeng was renamed Zhen-
feng, meaning “loyal and prosperous.”75 Wei Qiluoxu and Wang Niang-
xian were escorted to Beijing and summarily executed.76
THE NANLONG UPRISING AS RECOUNTED
IN BUYI (ZHONGJIA) NARRATIVES
‘Immortal Maiden Wang’
“Immortal Maiden Wang” is the more fanciful of the two indigenous
accounts.77 It portrays Wang Niangxian, not Wei Qiluoxu, as the master-
mind behind the uprising. The first few stanzas establish her credentials
as a priestess and rebel leader by recounting her remarkable childhood.
She could climb and crawl as soon as she emerged from her mother’s
womb, and learned to speak before she was a month old. When she and
her mother went out on sunny days, the spirits provided a red parasol to
shield them from the heat; when she and her father went out on rainy
days, the spirits provided a green umbrella to keep them dry. People took
these unusual occurrences as signs that the young girl enjoyed protection
from the spirits, and possessed strong magical powers.78
Soon, her abilities became manifest in even the most mundane tasks.
Like all Zhongjia girls, she tended her family’s cattle and horses and col-
lected firewood in the forest. While her friends struggled to control their
animals, hers were unfailingly placid and obedient. When she went into
the forests, the wood chopped itself and piled into a heap at her side, while
she sat under a tree and worked on her embroidery. Soon, her unique pow-
ers became apparent to others. When she was walking home from the
forest, onlookers noticed that she was being carried on a sedan chair of
flowers. From that point forward, everyone believed she was an immortal
who enjoyed protection from the spirits, and they began calling her
“Immortal Maiden Wang.”79
As she grew older, Wang Niangxian became aware of the poverty and
oppression around her, and she used her magical powers to improve the
lives of her fellow Zhongjia. While grazing her cows one day, she remarkedThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	107
to a friend, “The officials are truly despotic and hateful! They occupy the
mountains, the forests, and all the land. They will not even relinquish the
most barren rocks. We have no fields to till, and every year we suffer fam-
ine. We have no land to plant. Season after season, we have not been able
to cultivate cotton.... I demand lands for the poor people to till! Everyone
must have food and clothing.” So saying, she turned clumps of dirt into
cultivable land. Thereafter, people called these lands “immortal dry land”
(shenxian di) and “immortal paddies” (shenxian tian). It is interesting to
note that Wei Qiluoxu’s concerns for the public welfare are here attributed
to Wang Niangxian, but instead of resorting to social banditry, she used
her conjuring powers to create new farmland.80
Before long, however, imperial officials and native officials seized the
fields Wang Niangxian had just created. “Outrageously wicked and cor-
rupt were the officials. People were dying of hunger and could not tend
the lands. The officials came and took them [the lands] by force.” When
Zhongjia villagers expressed their despair, Wang Niangxian announced
her intention to fight the imperial officials and local despots to the death.
The people rallied around her and said, “The officials have crowds of
soldiers and horses. . . . You alone cannot accomplish much. We have
deliberated and decided to fight.”81 Wang Niangxian also confronted offi-
cials about one of the Zhongjia people’s most serious grievances against
the Qing authorities. Like many other non-Chinese residents of Guizhou,
the Zhongjia tried to earn money by selling firewood to Qing officials.
More often than not, the officials would refuse to pay. Wang Niangxian
spoke out against this injustice:
The officials are wealthy, with storehouses full of grain. The common folk
starve to death on the side of the road. Officials and gentry have meat and
wine every day while the poor people subsist on chaff and bran. Officials
occupy the fields; native officials seize the land. The common people have
nothing to eat and must sell firewood in order to buy rice. In the forest,
there are white birds and black, none blacker than the crow. In the human
race, there are good people and evil, none more evil than the officials!
When they come to procure firewood, they offer no money!82
At first, Wang tried to reason with the officials, but they beat her with
heavy sticks. Enraged, she threw herself into hand-to-hand combat withio8 / The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
Qing troops for three days and three nights. She seemed invincible, even
though she was just one small woman, single-handedly fighting thou-
sands of men. After she killed scores of imperial soldiers, they retreated to
their garrisons, and she returned to her home village. Her martial skill
and ruthlessness struck fear into the hearts of the local officials. They
pasted up announcements proclaiming her a “devil” (yaoguat) who was
protected by evil spirits. Wang Niangxian responded with harsh words
about the officials’ behavior: “In daylight and in darkness, they harm peo-
ple. When they buy firewood, they do not pay for it. Then they return to
beat people. How can such injustice exist in the world? Everything must
be set right!”83
In order to set things right, Wang Niangxian now determined to orga-
nize a rebel movement. She gathered followers by reminding them of her
magical ability to “cross the darkness” and to communicate directly with
the spirits. Wang Niangxian told the villagers,“The spirits have ordered
me to transmit the following message to you: Why do we suffer? Only
because of the officials and the gentry.... If we want food, we must rise up
and resist the officials and gentry. If we want peace, we must rise up with
our knives and axes and kill the officials of Nanlong. . . . Only after we
bring oppression to an end will the people have security. Only when
extortion is wiped away will the hamlets and mountains know peace.”84
Wang Niangxian’s words inspired people to take action. Tens of thou-
sands of Zhongjia joined her cause and resolved to exterminate the offi-
cials and the gentry. Although it is difficult to determine whether Wang
Niangxian actually uttered these words, in all likelihood, the creators and
transmitters of this narrative used her character as a mouthpiece for the
injustices endured by the Zhongjia. Once again, in this narrative it is
Wang Niangxian and not Wei Qiluoxu who mobilizes the masses. Her
rebellion is divinely inspired from the start and skips the social banditry
phase described in the Qing accounts.
Wei Qiluoxu does enter the story soon, but in a subordinate role. Dur-
ing the planning phases of the rebellion, Wang Niangxian joined forces
with Wei and two other local men, Da Wang Gong and Sang Hongsheng.
Da Wang Gong and Wei Qiluoxu both wanted to rise up against corrupt
officials and greedy landowners. Sang Hongsheng, a Han Chinese man
identified as a “guest” (kejia),85 also wanted to lead a rebellion. Once theThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	109
four established an alliance, they began planning their first major attack.
Wei Qiluoxu was to attack the north gate of Nanlong, Da Wang Gong the
south gate, and Wang Niangxian the west gate.
On the day of the attack, Wang Niangxian and her troops laid siege
to Nanlong. The officials and citizens could only look on in horror, and
the imperial troops stationed in the city realized they were no match for
the rebels:
Although the soldiers were numerous, they could not defeat Wang
Xiangu [Wang Niangxian]. The soldiers who died were many. Their blood
flowed like a river. They fought for seven days and seven nights, until their
corpses were numerous enough to fill a dike. The soldiers closed the [Nan-
long] city gates. Xiangu [Wang Niangxian], closed in tight. Her troops
besieged the city for three days and three nights. The magistrate was ter-
rified. He notified the capital, and the emperor, too, was frightened . . .
and sent a panicked edict ordering the transfer of troops from Yunnan
and Guangxi. Soon, the dirty hound of a Governor-general Le Bao led ten
thousand troops toward Nanlong. He burned villages to the ground as he
rampaged through Guizhou like a rabid dog.86
The rebels went on to seize the Guizhou towns of Xincheng, Yongfeng,
and Huangcaoba in rapid succession.87 Soon, the rebels seemed poised for
a direct attack on Guiyang and the emperor became nervous and fearful.
“By day, he [the emperor] dispatched soldiers (to Guizhou), and by night
he panicked. The dog of a Yunnan-Guizhou governor-general, Le Bao,
received an edict ordering him to proceed directly to Nanlong. The sol-
diers were like jackals and wolves, rampaging along the roads.”88 They
burned and pillaged every town and hamlet in their path. It is interesting
to see Le Bao referred to as a hound or a rabid dog, given the Qing propen-
sity to label non-Chinese peoples with pejoratives using the dog character
component. Here, the creators and transmitters of “Immortal Maiden
Wang” turned the linguistic table on the Qing.
After sketchy descriptions of some battles with the Qing armies, the
narrative turns to a vivid account of the greatest rebel victory, the ambush
at the Mabie River. Upon learning of Le Bao’s plans to cross the river, Wei
Qiluoxu led his troops to the Mabie and ordered them to destroy theno / The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
bridges spanning the waterway. Next, Wei’s men seized every boat in the
vicinity and moved the vessels to the opposite bank, where Le Bao’s men
could not reach them.89 When Le Bao and his men reached the riverbank,
they were furious to see the ruined bridge and the boats on the far bank.
To make matters worse, a violent thunderstorm struck. Lightning split the
sky, and huge waves roiled the water’s surface. Le Bao sought out some
local craftsmen and ordered them to build rafts for his troops. This proved
a foolish move on his part. Unbeknown to him, the tribesmen were loyal
to the rebels and seized the opportunity to sabotage the vessels. Normally,
when the craftsmen made rafts, they lashed wooden planks together with
thick rope, but this time, they used thin vines to bind rough-hewn logs.
When the rafts were finished, the unsuspecting Le Bao ordered his sol-
diers to pole the rafts across the river. The watercraft broke apart immedi-
ately, leaving hundreds of Qing troops spluttering and thrashing about in
the water—including Le Bao, who could not swim. A soldier saved him
from drowning and carried him to shore. Many others were not as fortu-
nate and lost their lives in the turbulent Mabie.
After this debacle, yet another ambush lay in store for the Qing troops.
While Le Bao tried to gather his wits, Wei Qiluoxu prepared an ingenious
attack. He set up camp on a mountain, where he stockpiled logs and large
stones in preparation for his next assault on imperial troops. At this point,
Le Bao’s foremost concern was self-preservation. Two important generals
had lost their lives in the ill-fated attempt to cross the Mabie. After losing
so many of his crack troops, Le Bao needed reinforcements. He retreated
several miles to join forces with Guizhou governor Feng Guangxiong and
his troops. After conferring, the two generals agreed to try crossing the
Mabie once again. This time, they would descend from a nearby mountain
and make their way across the river with each soldier holding fast to the
shoulders of the man in front of him. Feng would lead the charge, and Le
Bao would bring up the rear.
The path at the foot of the mountain was extremely narrow. As the
Qing troops squeezed through, they heard a deafening noise. The entire
mountain seemed to shake. Suddenly, giant objects rained down on them
like hail. Wei Qiluoxu and his men stood at the top of the mountain,
showering the Qing troops with rocks and logs. As in the ill-fated attempt
to cross the Mabie River, many Qing troops were killed or injured. Many
lost their legs or were smashed to death. Those whose legs remained intactThe Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	111
retreated to safety.90 Le Bao once again managed to avoid death or injury,
but Feng Guangxiong was slightly wounded. Wei Qiluoxu hurried to tell
Wang Niangxian about his victories, and Wang spread the news to Zhong-
jia throughout Guizhou.91
This episode of “Wang Xiangu” contains a healthy dose of poetic
license and exaggeration. In fact, neither Le Bao nor Feng Guangxiong
was anywhere near Mabie. Le Bao, of course, was fighting at Bifengshan,
and Feng Guangxiong was overseeing administrative work in Anshun. By
incorporating these high-ranking Qing officials into the poem, the origi-
nal creators and transmitters of the narrative probably hoped to heighten
the importance of this final rebel victory. They may have also wanted to
soften the blow of later episodes, which had to recount Wang Niangxian’s
final defeat. Lingering images of Le Bao’s near-drowning might have pro-
vided some comfort as, later in the poem, listeners learned of the young
heroine’s capture by Qing forces. At the same time, this Mabie episode
represents a sharp departure from the rest of “Wang Xiangu.” The events
arise from the application of human ingenuity, not of magic, which sug-
gests the influence of PRC compilers and editors. In other words, to attri-
bute the Zhongjia triumph at the Mabie River to spiritual intervention
might give credence to the religious beliefs that Communist officials
sought to discredit.
The narrative continues by describing the Qing officials’ panic in the
wake of the Zhongjia victories. Le Bao and his colleagues sent numerous,
frantic reports to the emperor, who also grew alarmed. He ordered soldiers
to be transferred to Guizhou from other provinces (Yunnan, Guangxi,
Guangdong, and Hunan). Soon, these imperial troops overran Guizhou
“like packs of wolves” and marched toward Nanlong. Wherever they went,
they behaved “like wild animals,” killing people on sight.92 As soon as the
Qing forces came upon a house, they would burn it to the ground.
At the same time, the rebels also incurred serious losses. They were
greatly outnumbered, and knew they could not defeat the imperial troops.
Once again, Wang Niangxian used her magic to help the rebels. Chanting
a spell, she “sprinkled beans on the ground to produce soldiers” (sadou
chengbing).93 One bean became one thousand soldiers; ten beans became
ten thousand. The “bean soldiers” (daubing) took up weapons and battled
with the imperial troops. Wang Niangxian also provided food for the
troops. She uttered a spell, and rice poured down from heaven. The grains112	/ The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
of rice formed a small mountain, more food than the thousands of troops
could ever finish. The rebel soldiers called it “spirit rice” (shenfan). It was
infused with magic, so that whenever a soldier ate it, he became even
braver. After fighting with the “bean soldiers,” the imperial troops were
even more frightened of Wang Niangxian.94
Before long, however, thousands of Qing troops descended on Nanlong
in search of Wang Niangxian, whom the emperor had branded “a demon”
(yaojing) and “the root of the trouble” (huogen)95 The emperor dispatched
still more soldiers to Nanlong, whereupon Wang Niangxian led the rebel
army to Dangzhan and set up an encampment. Everywhere, towns and
hamlets in this area were surrounded by rebel soldiers. For many days,
Qing troops could not break through the rebel lines, but at last they over-
whelmed the rebels and stormed Nanlong. Once inside the city, Le Bao
captured and interrogated dozens of people, including Wang Niangxian’s
mother and sister. Le Bao tortured these Zhongjia to extract information.
When Wang Niangxian learned of her family’s fate, it “pained her like a
crown of thorns.”96 In the dead of night, she led three armies into Nan-
long, determined to rescue her mother and sister. She entered the gates
unaware that the city was full of Qing soldiers. As soon as they spotted
Wang Niangxian, they opened fire, wounding her in seven places. She
crumpled to the ground. Evidently, the “Immortal Maiden” was not
immortal after all, and the narrative does not explain why her magical
powers did not protect her from the Qing bullets. In any event, imperial
soldiers tied her up and carted her off to Beijing in a heavy wooden
basket.
The narrative concludes on a mournful note: “Today the sky is a slice
of blackness. The sun sets early. Our Immortal Maiden was captured by
imperial troops and sent to the capital. The river grows murky and the
sparrows cease their song. Our Immortal Maiden was killed by the immea-
surably evil emperor.” After her death, a five-colored cloud appeared in the
sky. There, Wang Niangxian continues to live on as a spirit who watches
over the terrestrial realm. The last few lines of the poem urge the listeners
not to despair, for the Immortal Maiden never really died: “She will for-
ever live on by our side.... She remains in the sky, preparing for war. She
still intends to kill the officials and the gentry [in order] to wipe every-
thing clean and help the impoverished.”97The Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	113
‘Song of the Nanlong Resistance (Nanlong fan bingge)’
In many respects, “Song of the Nanlong Resistance” hews closely to Qing
accounts of the rebellion, though it exaggerates Zhongjia victories. This
poem also seeks to turn the rebels’ battlefield defeats into moral victories.
In this version of events, Wei Qiluoxu and Wang Niangxian emerge as
equal partners in the planning and execution of the rebellion. This creates
an interesting middle ground between the Qing accounts, which find
Wang Niangxian playing a passive and not altogether voluntary role in
the actual rebellion, and “Immortal Maiden Wang,” which portrays her as
both mastermind and martyr.
“Song of the Nanlong Resistance” does not provide detailed accounts
of major battles, and even glosses over the victory at the Mabie River.
Instead, it relies on a series of dialogues between the rebel leaders and
Qing officials, which highlight Zhongjia defiance in the face of defeat.98 In
this account, when imperial troops descended on Dangzhan and captured
Wei Qiluoxu, they took the rebel to see Le Bao. The Qing general swore at
him: “Damn you, Wei Qiluoxu! You incited the people to rebel and killed
my general, Chang Shan. Today, I captured you. Do you have anything to
say for yourself?”
Wei Qiluoxu replied, “The officials of Nanlong oppressed the common
people, pushing them to the point of rebellion. When I led the people to
rise up, I complied with Heaven’s will and the people’s sentiment. Today I
was captured. If you want to kill me, then kill me. If you want to hack me
to pieces, then hack me to pieces. What more need I say?!”
Le Bao retorted, “Your crimes are as high as a mountain! You incited
the people to rise up and attack a prefecture. You killed an imperial gen-
eral [Chang Shan]. Even to skin you like a slaughtered animal would not
lessen your crimes. I will have you escorted to the capital, where the
emperor himself will decide your fate!”99
After capturing Wei Qiluoxu, Le Bao set his sights on catching Wang
Niangxian. He ordered his troops to block access to Dongsa hamlet on
three sides, leaving only one road clear for Wang Niangxian when she
descended from her mountain stronghold to return to Dongsa. He made
an announcement: “Barbarian soldiers who are willing to die should
come out and fight! Those unwilling to die should come down the moun-ii4 / The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
tain and surrender!” Le Bao stationed himself at the foot of the moun-
tain and kept watch. Wang Niangxian hid in a fortress, readying her
soldiers for battle. Eventually, she spied Le Bao and his men preparing to
attack, and she was infuriated. After ordering her troops into battle for-
mation, she taunted Le Bao: “Today the shields and daggers move. So
you have more soldiers than I do. I am not frightened! I will send you to
see the king of Hell (yanluo)\ I will peel off your skin and use it for a
drum, and gouge out your eyeballs to use as lanterns! I will knock out
your teeth and use them as nails for the drum, and cut off your hands to
use as hammers!”
Le Bao interpreted Wang Niangxian’s song as a declaration of war, and
he responded with the following challenge: “I am leading an expedition to
Nanlong to slaughter the barbarian troops. . . . Your corpses and skulls
will be reduced to ash! Quickly! Quickly! Come down the mountain and
submit to our knives. Do not use clever words. Come fight!”
Wang Niangxian then led her troops down the mountain and fought
three battles with the imperial troops. Her men were “as fierce as wolves
and tigers,” but they were unable to ward off Le Bao’s soldiers. They fought
“knife to knife, gun to gun, soldier to soldier, general to general” (dao dui
dao lai qiang dui qiang, bing dui bing lai jiang dui jiang).100 In the end,
however, the imperial troops were too numerous for the rebels, and Wang
Niangxian’s troops were forced to retreat. She took advantage of the chaos
and hid herself among the local population.
By this time, Le Bao had also lost five of his battalions in the fighting,
and he, too, was forced to retreat.101 The Qing general returned to his
headquarters to regroup, but the following day, his troops stormed Wang
Niangxian’s headquarters with flaming arrows in readiness. When Le Bao
gave the command, each soldier shot his arrow into the compound, and
fire engulfed the building. Satisfied that he had exterminated his enemies
at last, Le Bao led his troops to Nanlong.
But Le Bao had not seen the last of Wang Niangxian, for she was still
very much alive. The narrative does not make it clear whether she actually
perished in the fire and came back to life—rising from the ashes, as it
were—or if her supernatural powers enabled her to escape injury. What-
ever the case, she cut her hair and disguised herself in men’s clothes in
order to hide among the Zhongjia peasants of Nanlong. For several days,
she wandered around, lamenting the recent turn of events:The Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	115
I weep for my soldiers who died in battle. I weep for my father and elder
brother. I weep for the soldiers who died in the fire. The villages and ham-
lets are deserted, empty of people. Qing soldiers gored my parents to
death and plunged knives through my sisters’ hearts. Detestable are the
imperial troops—criminals, every one of them! They destroyed my home
and murdered my kinfolk and friends.102
Wang Niangxian’s disguise was not fail-safe, however. A sharp-eyed
farmer recognized her and reported her to members of the village asso-
ciation, who then made a citizen’s arrest and began dragging her off to
Governor-General Le Bao. En route, they met another Qing general. We are
told that this General Jia was on his way to Nanlong when he encountered
five men escorting a sixth person.103 The general asked the men to identify
their companion, and they replied: “She is none other than the rebel
leader, Wang Niangxian. She . .. plans to raise another army and engage
in mortal combat with the emperor’s troops yet again. Fortunately, some-
one came and secretly reported on her. We saw her without a guard and
arrested her. Now we will turn her in to Governor-General Le Bao.” Gen-
eral Jia took a look, and at first, he could only see a handsome young man.
On closer inspection, he realized that it was indeed Wang Niangxian,
disguised in male clothing. The general said with a smile, “At Nanlong,
you killed many of the emperor’s soldiers.... You are truly formidable! I
never thought that capturing you would be so effortless!”104
Jia and Le Bao sent gleeful reports to the emperor recounting the cap-
ture of Wang Niangxian. The two generals then had a great celebration,
and spoke of Wang in admiring terms, calling her “a heroine, the likes of
whom we rarely see.”105 In all likelihood, this conversation between the
Qing generals never occurred, but perhaps it eased the sting of defeat for
the original Zhongjia composers of this narrative and their descendants.
Le Bao and Jia escorted Wang Niangxian and Wei Qiluoxu to Beijing
and presented the two prisoners to the emperor.106 All of the civil and mili-
tary officials at court were in attendance. They saw a handsome, dignified
couple with a regal bearing. The Jiaqing emperor asked if the prisoners were
husband and wife. Le Bao replied that they were not, and added:
This woman is Wang Niangxian. The man is Wei Chaoyuan, nicknamed
Wei Qiluoxu. The barbarian masses took the woman to be their supremen6 / The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
leader. The man was their main military leader. These two could be called
heroes. Their troops besieged Nanlong for three months, killing countless
imperial soldiers. They also attacked Puping and Yongfeng, and in those
battles, they slaughtered three thousand of our troops. Thereafter, they
fought several more battles in which they killed [the soldiers of] five of
our companies altogether. General Chang Shan was also killed at their
hands. I have therefore brought them before Your Majesty and await your
verdict.107
The emperor ordered that the two prisoners be immediately executed.
As soon as he delivered the verdict, a huge group of soldiers and palace
officials pushed Wei Qiluoxu and Wang Niangxian to an execution
ground outside the Forbidden City. Undaunted, Wei Qiluoxu and Wang
Niangxian lifted their chests, their eyes bright and sharp as arrows, fiery
anger gushing forth. With fierce scowls, they said, “After death, we shall
return! You may expect us to attack you at any time.” The soldiers charged
with the execution dared not raise their swords and retreated in terror.
Only after the commanding officers barked stern orders did the soldiers
take courage and move forward again. They killed Wei Qiluoxu using a
rack of fine iron teeth. They cut Wang Niangxian into five parts. No one
could bear to watch.108
conclusion: the enduring culture of resistance
Ultimately, the Zhongjia rebels achieved only a temporary disruption of
the existing order, not the total destruction they desired. In this respect,
the uprising can be seen as a “historical achievement of popular imagina-
tion.”109 That is, local malcontents envisioned an end to their impoverish-
ment and domination by overlords, and acted upon this vision when the
opportunity arose. In the end, these rebels suffered defeat because they
overestimated their own abilities and underestimated the might of the
Qing state.
The three accounts discussed in this chapter illuminate different facets
of the Zhongjia defeat. Interestingly, both the Qing sources and “Immor-
tal Maiden Wang” point to a similar triumph of technology over popular
imagination. To be sure, both accounts reflect realities on the ground dur-The Nanlong Uprising of 1797	/	117
ing the rebellion, but certain aspects of the indigenous narrative seem
tailor-made to fit the PRC’s political agenda, particularly its emphasis on
the primacy of science and reason over religion and superstition. In both
versions, the rebels prove an unexpectedly formidable enemy, but the
imperial troops’ superior weapons and military capabilities ultimately
give them the edge. In both versions, the final battle for Nanlong finds the
rebels utterly without resources when Wang Niangxian’s magical powers
betray her during those last crucial hours—the triumph of science over
superstition championed by PRC policy-makers.
In contrast, “Song of the Nanlong Resistance” appears to present the
Zhongjia—and subaltern groups in general—as possessed with greater
agency. In the final verses of the song, Wang Niangxian and Wei Qiluoxu
literally have the last word, signaling the Zhongjia intent to rise up again at
the next opportunity. Just because the Zhongjia had failed in this instance
to overthrow the existing order, there was nothing to stop them—or
another equally disenfranchised community—from trying again.
Leaving aside the modern-day political overtones, the final implied
message of “Song of the Nanlong Uprising,” became abundantly clear to
Qing authorities after the Zhongjia uprising, and in the aftermath of the
much larger Miao Rebellion in western Hunan (1795-1806). The final years
of the eighteenth century found provincial and central governments actively
seeking measures to alleviate the causes of possible unrest in southwestern
China.110 For example, in early 1798, the new Yunnan-Guizhou governor-
general E’hui and Feng Guangxiong put forth elaborate new proposals to
ease the poverty that had underlain the Nanlong Uprising. Han Chinese
and Zhongjia were to live in segregated villages. Careful land surveys
would be carried out to determine which fields belonged to Zhongjia
farmers, and which fields belonged to the Han. Local officials were to
mark boundaries with stones and strictly prohibit any encroachments by
the Han. E’hui and Feng also wanted to provide the Zhongjia with occu-
pations that might provide an alternative to crime, such as raising horses
for postal station relays.111
However, such measures proved too little, too late. Local officials did
not make much of an effort to enforce the new land regulations. There is
no further information on the horse-raising scheme, but if the plan was
implemented, few people took advantage of it. Thus, by 1801, trouble was
brewing again in Guangshun, one of the many areas that had been affectedn8 / The Nanlong Uprising of 1797
by rebellion. In this case, yet another individual emerged with a money-
making scheme that took advantage of the people’s superstitious bent. A
man claimed that after a fourteen-month pregnancy, his wife was about to
give birth to the new Miao king.112 This man attracted a small following
before the officials could put a stop to his activities. Although Qing
authorities managed to nip trouble in the bud this time, the potential for
unrest remained undiminished.Chapter 6
A LEGACY OF FRAGILE HEGEMONY
*
Qing China’s Manchu rulers faced special challenges in legitimizing
and consolidating their rule over Guizhou. In other newly acquired ter-
ritories such as Mongolia, Tibet, Xinjiang, and even southern Yunnan, the
foreign origins of the Qing ruling house offered certain advantages. The
Manchus could adopt Ming institutions and bureaucratic procedures
for ruling the Han population, and could employ a variety of techniques,
inherent in their own tradition, to rule the vast amounts of territory and
the non-Han populations that had been incorporated into the Qing
empire.
The heritage of the Manchus, especially their practice of Tibetan Bud-
dhism and their martial and nomadic tradition, opened many avenues for
legitimizing the extension of Qing rule. The Qianlong emperor even had
himself portrayed in artwork as a bodhisattva in order to improve rela-
tions with Tibetan and Mongolian Buddhists. Strategic marriages with
rival royal families in the north and northwest helped to secure alliances
on those frontiers.1 In southern Yunnan, officials made an effort to under-
stand and accommodate the traditions and institutions of the native Tai
population. From the Qing perspective, the relationship of the Tai’s Thera-
vada Buddhism to their own school of Buddhism—as well as the Tai’s
sophisticated political organizations—made it possible to categorize the
these southern people as “acceptable barbarians.”For their part, Tai aris-
119120	/ A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony
tocrats could downplay their subservience while emphasizing the benefits
of mutual accommodation.2
In Central Asia and southern Yunnan, common points of reference not
only legitimized Qing territorial claims, but also served as the foundation
for what has been termed the Qianlong emperor’s “pluralist configuration
of empire.” That is, the Qing reached a kind of mutual accommodation
with local populations by appropriating indigenous beliefs, symbols, and
writing systems. The Manchus, Han, Mongolians, Muslims, and Tibetans
constituted five culture blocs that comprised the principal domains of the
Qing realm. Each enjoyed an equivalent position in the Qing imperial
polity under a “universal Heaven” represented by the emperor himself.
The equal status of the five groups was symbolized by multilingual inscrip-
tions in Chinese, Manchu, Mongolian, Tibetan, and Uighur, which were
found on steles, gates, and public edifices throughout the Qing realm.3
Also symbolic were two major multilingual publications of the eighteenth
century, the Imperially Authorized Mirror of the Five Scripts of Qing Let-
ters (Wuti Qingwen jian) and the Imperially Commissioned Unified-lan-
guage Gazetteer of the Western Regions (Qinding xiyu tongwen zhi). The
latter, completed in 1763, is a geographical and genealogical dictionary of
western-region place names and personal names (in Manchu, Chinese,
two Mongolian languages, Tibetan, and Uighur). The work was intended
primarily as an aid in the compilation of military histories and imperial
gazetteers. It also helped standardize Chinese transliterations of these
non-Chinese names, thus avoiding confusion in field reports to the court
as well as in historiography. Even more importantly, this dictionary rep-
resented what Millward calls “an exercise in imperial scholarship and
scholarly imperialism, a linguistic conquest to consolidate both practi-
cally and symbolically the military victories already achieved.”4
In Guizhou, however, Qing rulers and officials confronted what must
have seemed like a mind-boggling array of languages and traditions.
Here, the Manchu heritage did not afford any particular advantage or
status, and common points of cultural and religious reference were virtu-
ally nonexistent. Qing officials were unable to grasp any institutions or
symbols upon which to build the relationships of mutual accommodation
found in other frontier regions. Multilingual inscriptions and dictionaries
were a practical impossibility, for most Guizhou ethnic groups lacked
writing systems. So unfamiliar and so apparently uncivilized were theA Legacy of Fragile Hegemony /	121
Guizhou indigenes that most literati simply derided them as barbarians.
However, barbarians or not, Guizhou indigenes had come under Qing
jurisdiction, and officials needed a way to understand and control them.
In this context, the production of knowledge about frontier areas and the
peoples who inhabited them gained increasing importance.5
One product of the demand for information on Guizhou was Aibida’s
Handbook of Guizhou (Qiannan shilue). Aibida compiled this book for his
own reference and for the benefit of future administrators while serving
as Guizhou governor in the early 1750s. He condensed information from
local gazetteers and other contemporary geographic writings into a single,
handy volume, organizing his material according to geographic region.
Each of the thirty-two chapters is devoted to the political history, econ-
omy, climate, and population of a single administrative unit.6 Aside from
its practical function, the handbook carried considerable symbolic value.
To refer to the concepts introduced in chapter 3, the volume functioned as
a catalogue of the state spaces the Qing had delineated within Guizhou.
The very act of committing geographic information to paper signaled that
these sections of Guizhou had become part of the world known to—and
under the jurisdiction of—the Qing state.
Ethnographic accounts found in local gazetteers, the Qing Imperial
Illustration of Tributaries, and especially the Miao albums, also became
crucial administrative tools during the Qianlong reign. The Miao albums
were illustrated manuscripts that described non-Han populations in the
southern Chinese provinces. Each manuscript featured illustrations and
texts that defined and categorized the different groups that inhabited a
given province. The genre began as an administrative document designed
by, and intended for the use of, officials responsible for governing the
peoples therein. Each album entry featured a detailed illustration of a par-
ticular non-Han population with a caption noting the group’s geographic
location, economic activities, physical attributes, clothing and hairstyle,
religious practices and festivals, and marriage and funeral customs. Some
captions also described the dietary habits of a given group, commented on
the extent of Chinese proficiency among its members, and even made
pronouncements on the general “nature” of the population.7 An entry on
the Bulong Zhongjia, for example, highlights not only the group’s funeral
customs, but also points to a potential for unruliness: “At funerals, cattle
are butchered and dressed, and relatives and friends are invited. Drinking122	/ A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony
from the ‘ox-horn of happiness, the guests often get drunk and sometimes
even wind up killing each other. ... By nature, the Bulong are alert and
fierce. When coming and going, they carry sharp knives. They will avenge
even an angry look.”8 Such descriptions served a dual purpose. On a prac-
tical and administrative level, they provided valuable information to local
officials dealing with non-Han populations.9 On a cultural and ideological
level, they helped establish where a given group fell on a continuum from
“like the Han” (yu Hanren tong) to savage or in some way “other.” How-
ever, this rubric went beyond a simple dualistic conception of barbarian
versus civilized. It measured a group’s distance from Sinocentric ideals by
considering a variety of different criteria.10 As a result, a group might be
drawing closer to certain ideals even as it lagged behind on certain others.
This complex formulary might help to account for the contradictory and
ever-changing portrayals of the Zhongjia noted in chapter 2. At the same
time, the depiction of various non-Han groups enabled the Qing to exalt
the ethnic diversity within their realm.11 In this respect, the Miao albums
roughly paralleled the multilingual inscriptions and dictionaries
employed in Central Asia. The albums also represented an exercise in
imperial scholarship and scholarly imperialism, in this case an attempt at
artistic conquest designed to consolidate both practically and symboli-
cally the military and administrative goals achieved in Guizhou.
There was, however, a crucial distinction between the multilingual
works and the Miao albums. Whereas the inclusion of a given Central
Asian language in a gate inscription or dictionary affirmed that the ethnic
group now ranked among equals with the other cultural blocs of China,
representation in the Miao albums signaled that a given ethnic group
was, in theory at least, subordinate to the Qing. The very act of ethno-
graphic depiction signifies an unequal power dynamic. Those who do the
depicting—writers and illustrators working at the behest of a colonial or
imperial authority—control the process of defining or constructing the
identity of the ethnic groups described. Those who are depicted—members
of the ethnic groups described—do not have the chance to participate in
this process, or to ensure that their own opinions and self-perceptions are
incorporated into official depictions.12 The governing logic, it seemed, was
that even if the peoples described in the Miao albums had opinions about
those who depicted them, they had only limited power to convey their
views in ways persuasive to those in power.13A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony /	123
However, this logic suggests a hard binary of dominance and subjuga-
tion that did not exist in southwestern Guizhou. This book has explored
the other side of the story—that of a people who refused to accept the
subordinate status assigned to them and who found ways to communicate
their resentment to those in power. The Miao albums codified the indi-
genes’ inferior status for Qing authorities, but not for the indigenes them-
selves. As previous chapters have shown, many local residents found cre-
ative ways to circumvent Qing laws and norms, and thus preserve their
own identities. The perseverance of local residents prevented the Qing
from achieving a total monopolization of cultural, political, and economic
space in Guizhou, and limited the imperial enterprise to what Peter Per-
due terms a “hegemonic project with incomplete results.”14
Qing domination, at least in the military, administrative, and geo-
political sense, was more or less a given: the Zhongjia were too small in
number for real resistance, and they had only existed as semi-autonomous
entities within the Chinese imperium, never as independent kingdoms.
The Zhongjia never harbored illusions of breaking free and establishing
an independent state.15 The trick was to maintain as much room to maneu-
ver as possible and, if possible, negotiate a little more.
LIVELIHOOD STRATEGIES
This book has explored the ways that the Zhongjia of Qing-dominated
eighteenth-century Guizhou maintained—and sometimes expanded—
their room to maneuver through their livelihood choices. Many Zhongjia
faced poverty and a dearth of economic opportunities. However, a few
Zhongjia with creative resources—that is, those who possessed literacy,
religious training, martial arts skills, or supposed supernatural powers—
found ways to make their own economic opportunities. Such individuals
sometimes attracted the less fortunate (and more easily duped) and
enticed credulous followers to participate in illicit activities with a strong
anti-Qing flavor. This produced a temporary and fragile new social order,
in which a few poor but resourceful indigenes gained some power, thanks
to support from their poorer and less resourceful brethren. This new order
pivoted on a relationship that was exploitative in the sense that the leaders
preyed on their followers’ desperation by manipulating their superstitious124	/ A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony
beliefs. At the same time, the relationship between leader and followers
was also symbiotic because all parties benefited in one way or another. For
example, ringleaders like Wei Qiluoxu and Ran Jing, described in chapter
4, were able to realize their own fantasies of wealth and power; at the same
time, their followers also gained new wealth while imagining themselves
as participants in an important social movement that would create a
world free of oppression. Most important of all, ringleaders and followers
alike shared the desire to negate the existing order.16
To be sure, there was an element of coercion in these movements, and
many followers only joined under threat of death. Still others joined out
of sheer gullibility. But for many followers, taking part in illegal schemes
or rebellions represented a rational choice. The impoverished residents of
central and southwestern Guizhou understood that they could either
passively accept their straitened circumstances or pursue extralegal live-
lihood choices.17 After weighing their limited options, many chose the
extralegal route. This calculated disregard for the law persisted well into
the nineteenth century in Guizhou, when residents persisted in growing
and selling opium despite government prohibitions. Even after Qing offi-
cials tried to substitute other cash crops for poppy, peasants continued to
grow opium because it was more profitable than other crops.18
The local Guizhou ethos that favored local livelihoods over imperial
fiat undermined Qing plans in the region. As discussed in chapter 2, gov-
ernment officials of the Yongzheng period went to great lengths to impose
order on Guizhou and its people. Qing policy showcased the Qing govern-
ment’s newfound ability to “see like a state,” that is, to implement schemes
of legibility and standardization that would enable the central govern-
ment to extend its reach into the remotest areas.19 Such policies gave the
Qing state a firmer foothold in some areas of central and southwestern
Guizhou, but instead of making the region more tractable overall, these
policies only generated resentment and resistance from the local popula-
tion. Even as the government showed an increasing capacity to “see like a
state,” the people of Guizhou exhibited an equal talent for throwing sand
in the state’s eyes.20
Clearly, then, Qing rule did not deprive indigenous communities of
their voice or their agency. Frequent, creative resistance enabled local
residents to maintain a continual dialogue with imperial authorities—
an unceasing argument about power, authority, and legitimacy.21 TheA Legacy of Fragile Hegemony /	125
instances of unrest examined in this book were, in essence, episodes in an
ongoing dialogue between the Qing state and the people of Guizhou. On
numerous occasions, the Qing state tried to end the argument by silencing
local voices through punitive measures or military suppression. But new
sets of local speakers continually emerged to resume the discussion, pre-
venting the Qing state from ever gaining full control over cultural and
political space. Qing rule was therefore not hegemonic, but rather a hege-
monic project with incomplete results.22
The remainder of this chapter explores the unfulfilled hegemonic
enterprise in Guizhou by returning to three larger issues raised through-
out the book. First, I examine the nature of Qing colonialism and imperi-
alism in Guizhou. As suggested in chapter 3, the attitudes and policies of
Qing officials indicate that the imperial government viewed the Dingfan-
Guangshun and Nanlong regions as something akin to colonial space—
specifically as internal frontiers to pacify, civilize, and domesticate. Next,
I locate a place for Guizhou’s indigenes, particularly the Zhongjia, in the
Qing vision of multicultural empire, elaborating upon Emma Teng’s asser-
tion that ethnic groups in Taiwan and southwestern China were superflu-
ous to this vision. I suggest that this superfluity—that is, a position on the
margins of empire—could confer a great degree of power and autonomy
to an ethnic group, particularly in the case of the Zhongjia. Finally, I
briefly discuss the legacy of Qing rule in Guizhou today. As in imperial
times, local communities still manage to resist (or negotiate their way
around) state directives to preserve indigenous livelihoods, and in some
cases create new ones. State hegemony in Guizhou, therefore, remains at
best incomplete.
THE COLONIAL CONCEPT IN GUIZHOU
Qing expansion in the regions of Dingfan-Guangshun and Nanlong had
little to do with the resource extraction usually associated with colonial-
ism. Instead, the annexation of indigenous lands was above all an attempt
to ensure that the emperor’s writ extended to all corners of the realm, and
to create administrative order where none had existed before. Yongzheng-
era policy envisioned the pacification of indigenous populations, rein-
forced by administrative, moral, and cultural transformations. Such mea-126 I A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony
sures amounted to what Stevan Harrell has called a “Confucian civilizing
project.”23 That is, Qing authorities attempted to bring indigenous popula-
tions to heel by introducing the presumed benefits of Chinese moral and
cultural standards.24 In contrast, James Scott prefers to view civilizing
projects as attempts at domestication, that is, “a kind of social gardening
devised to make the countryside, its products, and its inhabitants more
readily identifiable and accessible to the center.”251 would argue that the
Qing enterprise in Guizhou involved both civilizing and domestication.
The aims of the Qing government included the moral transformations
Harrell describes, as well as the social and administrative changes that
concern Scott. Qing authorities believed that the twin processes of civiliz-
ing and domestication would reinforce each other, ultimately transform-
ing the region’s geopolitical and human landscapes.
Few if any of these transformations came to fruition. The Qing venture
in central and southwestern Guizhou stands out as a project of civilizing
and domestication with less than satisfactory results. In this context, a
project refers to a set of objectives that may never be realized, with out-
comes that may deviate wildly from the anticipated. When Peter Perdue
and Stevan Harrell write of hegemonic and civilizing projects, we can
infer that they mean goals articulated but incomplete in the face of resis-
tance from targeted populations. Nicholas Thomas promotes a similar
idea when he defines a project as a transformative endeavor that involves
“ .. . a particular imagination of the social situation, with its history and
projected future, and a diagnosis of what is lacking, that can be rectified
by intervention, by conservation, by bullets, or by welfare.” Thomas also
stresses that “ . . . projects are of course often projected rather than real-
ized; because of their confrontation with indigenous interests . . . [they
are] frequently deflected or enacted farcically or incompletely.”26 The idea
of goals projected but largely unfulfilled aptly describes the Qing attempts
at civilizing and domesticating central and southwestern Guizhou.
THE ZHONGJIA IN THE MULTICULTURAL QING EMPIRE:
TOWARD A HIERARCHY OF PERIPHERAL PEOPLES
The Qianlong emperor envisioned the Qing Empire as a “great unity”
(datong) of five domains: Manchu, Mongol, Han, Tibetan, and Muslim.A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony /	127
The status of these five “culture blocs,” was signified through the use of
Manchu, Mongolian, Chinese, Tibetan, and Turki/Arabic for multilingual
imperial inscriptions on gates, stelae, and monuments. In this imperial
ideology, which James Millward calls “Five Nations, Under Heaven,”
the emperor claimed to rule impartially over his diverse subjects. Mill-
ward provides a diagram for this model in which the five major culture
blocs occupy parallel positions centered on the Qing imperial house. At
the center of Millward’s model is not an abstract “Chinese civilization,”
but the Qing emperor himself, who showed a different face to each of the
five blocs, yet did not favor one above the other—at least not in the ideal
system.27
Notably absent from the five blocs are the Guizhou indigenes—or
indeed any of southwest China’s non-Han populations. Far from enjoying
the emperor’s impartial benevolence, it appears that they were targets of
official chauvinism. Although Qing authorities stopped using derogatory
language to describe Mongols and Uighurs after their homelands were
incorporated into the empire, derogatory terms continued to appear in
government communications about Guizhou’s ethnic groups. As noted in
chapter 2, Qing officials made particularly liberal use of the “dog” charac-
ter component when writing about the Zhongjia.
If the Qing emperor claimed to be an impartial ruler over diverse peo-
ples, then why accord different status to different ethnic groups? Quite
simply, it was because the Tibetans, Mongols, Manchus, Turks, and Chi-
nese were, in fact, national political entities, at least in the pre-modern
mode of being national. In contrast, most southwestern peoples were not
such political entities, with the possible exception of some Tai polities,
which were treated administratively like the Inner and Central Asian
groups—although these Tai groups never reached the theoretical political
level of the five nations under Heaven.28 Given the limited role in the
national polity available to these Guizhou outlier groups, was there a place
in the Qing vision of multicultural empire for peoples who did not consti-
tute national political entities? Some answers may lie in Emma Teng’s
work on Taiwan. She explains that a combination of cultural and political
factors excluded the island’s indigenes from the Qing concept of “great
unity.” Unlike the Manchus, Mongols, Tibetans, and Chinese, the Taiwan
indigenes did not contribute to the creation and development of the Qing
state.29 Moreover, the Qing did not view Taiwan indigenes as a “nation”128	/ A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony
because they lacked centralized leadership. Without a king, a khan, or
prince, these Taiwan residents appeared to be no more than a collection
of primitive tribes. Teng also notes a vast difference in the cultural status
the Qing accorded the Taiwan indigenes and the Five Nations. The indi-
genes had no written language, no genealogies, no history, no recogniz-
able religion, and above all, no recognizable state. Without these key ele-
ments, Taiwan’s indigenes could never rise to the level of the five culture
blocs. Thus, the Qing made no effort to codify their language and culture
in imperially sponsored dictionaries, or in vast multilingual gazetteers
such as the Imperially Commissioned Unified Language Gazetteer of the
Western Regions. Instead, Taiwan’s indigenous people became the subjects
of ethnographic writings on “savage customs.”30
In every respect, then, the Taiwan indigenes were peripheral to Qing
interests and occupied at best a secondary status in the multicultural
realm. Accordingly, Teng creates a place for them in Millward’s schemata
by adding a second tier beyond the five major cultural blocs.311 would also
place the Guizhou indigenes on this second tier, although the Zhongjia
might be a fraction closer to the five major blocs than the various ethnic
groups on Taiwan. I limit my comments here to the Zhongjia because they
have received the most attention in this book.
If we look again at the political and cultural criteria Teng lists as pre-
requisites for inclusion in the “Great Unity,” it appears that the Zhongjia
came marginally closer to meeting them than did the Taiwan indigenes.
First, as noted in chapter 3, the Sicheng native official played an important
role in helping Qing generals defeat the Southern Ming remnants in Gui-
zhou. In this way, the Zhongjia made a small contribution to the develop-
ment and consolidation of the Qing Empire—a contribution that was cer-
tainly smaller than the Mongols or the Manchus but greater than the
Taiwan indigenes. Secondly, although the Zhongjia did not constitute
what the Qing viewed as a “nation,” they did have readily recognizable
leaders in their native officials, at least until the native official system was
mostly dismantled in the 1720s. Moreover, native officials’ families main-
tained genealogies to facilitate the succession process. This gave the
Zhongjia a history of sorts, although the Qing would never grant this his-
tory the same legitimacy they gave the history of the Mongols, Manchus,
or Tibetans. In addition, most Zhongjia communities maintained a clear
political structure with easily identifiable leaders. These were usually vil-A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony /	129
lage headmen who, in theory at least, were directly answerable to Qing
authorities. Finally and most fundamentally, gaitu guiliu made the Zhong-
jia full subjects of the Qing Empire by bringing them under the emperor’s
direct authority. The Taiwan indigenes, by contrast, did not gain recogni-
tion as full subjects until late in the nineteenth century.32
These political and cultural factors combined to give the Zhongjia a
slightly higher status than the Taiwan indigenes. This marginally higher
position did not, of course, give the Zhongjia any special privileges. They
would never be partners in empire, nor could they even attain the level of
the Tai in southern Yunnan, whom the Qing accorded a special status for
their role as a buffer between China and the powerful kingdoms of main-
land Southeast Asia. These distinctions suggest that there was a hierarchy
of peripheral peoples on Teng’s proposed second tier, with the Tai on top,
the Zhongjia somewhere in the middle, and the Taiwan indigenes and the
Miao (Hmong) close to the bottom.
That such a hierarchy existed gives lie to the notion of the emperor’s
impartial love. Only those groups with a sufficiently high cultural and
political level—the Han, Manchu, Muslims, Tibetans, and Mongolians—
received imperial favor.33 Those deemed culturally inferior—the Taiwan-
ese aborigines and most southwestern indigenes—became the targets of
Qing civilizing projects. However, participation in these projects was no
guarantee of acceptance in the eyes of imperial authorities. Guizhou pro-
vincial officials occasionally remarked that some Zhongjia were “no dif-
ferent from the Han” because they had adopted Chinese clothing, spoke
reasonable Mandarin, and had learned to read and write. But the simple
fact that officials made such observations suggests that the Zhongjia
were indeed still different from the Han in the eyes of Qing officialdom. If
the Zhongjia were truly indistinguishable from the Han, then not even the
most acute observer would have been able to differentiate between an
acculturated Zhongjia and a true Han.
Moreover, being “no different from the Han” did not confer the same
status as being Han. For a Zhongjia to be “no different from the Han”
simply meant that he had assumed the trappings of Han culture, not that
he had actually become Han.34 In terms of Millward and Teng’s schemata
of the Qing multicultural world, this meant that a Zhongjia could not
move from the second tier of peripheral peoples to the primary tier of the
five culture blocs. The Qing world, then, appears not as a broadly inclusive130	/ A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony
multicultural realm, but rather a rigid two-tiered society. On the first tier
were the partners in empire. On the second tier were the peripheral peo-
ples of southwestern China and Taiwan. The peripheral peoples were
encouraged and sometimes even forced to change, but not even total con-
formity to Han cultural norms would elevate them to the status of part-
ners in empire.
The findings in this book suggest that the Zhongjia and other ethnic
groups in Guizhou recognized and even embraced their marginal status.
Unlike the Han, Manchu, Mongols, Tibetans, and Muslims, the Zhongjia
had only a conditional stake in the Qing Empire. They could only become
partners in empire if they advanced toward culture (xianghua) and effec-
tively ceased to be Zhongjia. Faced with such a dilemma, many chose not
to advance toward mainstream Chinese culture and instead to advance in
their own way, by making the livelihood choices that best suited their
economic and cultural needs. Their peripheral status gave the Zhongjia
license to pursue their livelihood choices—and, when the state interfered,
gave them more opportunities to rebel. By relegating these Guizhou indi-
genes to a marginal position, the Qing government effectively rendered
them ungovernable—a great irony in view of the various Qing efforts to
make the region more tractable. In the end, this peripheral status may
have been the indigenes’ greatest asset in their quest for cultural and eco-
nomic autonomy.
GUIZHOU TODAY
It now remains to take a brief look at contemporary Guizhou. The prov-
ince is still one of China’s poorest, and for many of its inhabitants, living
conditions have not improved appreciably since the eighteenth century.
One mitigating factor is that current inhabitants now enjoy a wider range
of economic opportunities and livelihood choices than did their ances-
tors during the imperial period. Instead of resorting to banditry and rebel-
lion, young people in search of better prospects can leave Guizhou for the
booming coastal province of Guangdong, where they can find work in
manufacturing or construction.35 Nevertheless, at the beginning of the
twenty-first century, social discontent is not uncommon in Guizhou. In
2002, for example, retired workers from the state-owned Guiyang SteelA Legacy of Fragile Hegemony /	131
Factory blocked two major highways to protest their low pensions.36 Six
years later, during the summer of 2008, residents of the southern Guizhou
town of Weng’an set fire to government buildings to protest an alleged
police cover-up in the rape and murder of a teenage girl.37
It is true that such incidents are not unique to Guizhou and increasing
numbers of people throughout China have taken to the streets to protest
a variety of economic grievances and abuses of power. But some instances
of Guizhou social unrest do carry echoes of the past. For example, the
story of the Caohai Nature Reserve in northwestern Guizhou demon-
strates that local residents still mount a vigorous response when the state
interferes with indigenous livelihood strategies.38 In 1972, Guizhou pro-
vincial officials drained Caohai Lake in order to create more productive
farmland. Ten years later, these officials restored the lake after neighbor-
ing counties voiced concerns about microclimate changes. Farmers living
nearby were never informed that officials planned to refill the lake; one
day the farmers found their lands inundated. They assumed that the water
would recede, but it never did. Left with only minuscule plots of arable
land, many farmers could not grow enough to feed their families; they
thus resorted to fishing and trapping waterfowl in the lake. In 1985, to
protect the region’s population of migratory birds and other wildlife,
the Guizhou provincial government declared Caohai a national nature
reserve. With the establishment of this reserve, the farmers’ supplemen-
tary activities became illegal. Nonetheless, many farmers continued to
fish and hunt waterfowl well into the late 1990s. Reserve managers
enforced the prohibitions only intermittently, but when they did, they met
with stiff resistance. On several occasions, reserve authorities destroyed
fishing huts, burned nets, and confiscated poached fish. Villagers vehe-
mently protested these actions, sometimes even physically attacking the
reserve staff.39 The Caohai farmers viewed the state’s interdictions on fish-
ing and trapping as a violation of their right to maintain a basic level of
subsistence, and responded with violence.40
Other problems may arise from the increasingly large gap between rich
and poor residents of Guizhou. When I visited the Xingyi region in May
2001,1 had the opportunity to interview a rural Buyi family—the modern-
day descendants of the Zhongjia. Eight people lived in a single-room stone
house without running water or electricity. The youngest members of the
family, two small girls, showed signs of undernourishment; I guessed132	/ A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony
their ages to be six and nine, but their father told me they were nine and
thirteen. Everyone spoke the southwest variant of Mandarin, and the two
girls proudly showed me their schoolbooks. No one in the family showed
much interest in the history of their own ethnic group, although an elderly
man did tell me that they maintained a genealogy dating back to the early
Ming period.
The contrasts between this family’s village and the city of Xingyi, only
fifteen minutes away by car, were striking. Xingyi has a thriving down-
town area with enticing restaurants and bright shops selling the latest in
Western music and fashion. One evening, I had dinner with a family
whose three-bedroom apartment would have been the envy of any Chi-
nese city-dweller—and perhaps of many American urbanites, as well. The
apartment was spacious, airy, and tastefully decorated, with a fully
appointed kitchen, satellite television service, and a digital video disc
player. The family, not surprisingly, was Han. Asked about the rural
minority areas just outside Xingyi, they remarked only that the people
there were extremely poor. Such socioeconomic disparities indicate that
the Buyi and many of Guizhou’s other ethnic groups are still largely
peripheral to the Chinese world.
In more recent years, however, there have been signs of change, with new
initiatives to bring tourist revenue into Buyi areas. This will present local
populations with new challenges, as they seek to preserve their culture in
the face of an increasingly market-oriented economy.41 Ethnic minority cul-
ture has become a fundamental aspect of promotional activities. Officials
actually consider tourism itself to be ideally suited for these regions
because it capitalizes on the very conditions which make Guizhou so poor:
the harsh but picturesque mountain landscapes, and the social and cul-
tural distance from China proper. As geographer Timothy Oakes explains:
The representations of minority culture which became ubiquitous fea-
tures of promoting the province would not only make Guizhou more
interesting to outsiders, but were meant to establish a model for the “cul-
tural development” of minority groups themselves, conditioning them to
articulate symbolic cultural practices with commercial projects. Tourism
was thus seen not simply as a propaganda and marketing tool for Gui-
zhou, but also as a process of development and integration encouraging
minority regions to become more modern.42A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony /	133
During the first decade of the twenty-first century, this enterprise was
producing uneven results. Some areas have benefited from it, while others,
including the Buyi village I visited, have been bypassed altogether. Per-
haps authorities simply do not see any commercial potential in the Xingyi
region. If so, their reasoning is difficult to understand because the area’s
landscape of limestone hills and green fields rivals anything in Guilin or
Shilin’s Stone Forest in Yunnan.
Regions that have been targeted for modernization and development
include Buyi areas near the famous waterfalls at Huangguoshu, Miao
and Dong (Kam) villages in southeastern Guizhou, and, most recently,
so-called Tunpu villages near Anshun. The Tunpu claim descent from
the first Han settlers in Guizhou and trace their ancestry to thirteenth-
century Jiangsu. Visitors to Tunpu villages apparently get a taste of old and
“original” thirteenth-century Han culture in the form of rustic-looking
buildings and an archaic-sounding dialect. The authenticity of this cul-
ture is questionable, but domestic tourists seem drawn to the region.43
Ethnic groups engaged in the tourism trade typically sell handicrafts
such as batik and embroidery and participate in an assortment of per-
formances and festivals. Crafts, songs, and dances are all carefully pack-
aged for predominantly Han tourist-consumers. Ethnicity has, in effect,
become a mass-produced commodity. Oakes has expressed concern that
the standardization and commercialization of ethnicities may dilute the
original cultures and ultimately result in a form of internal colonialism.
As he explains:
Cultural development and the preservation of “authentic minzu culture”
legitimize a division of labor in which rural labor remains subordinated
to urban modes of production. . . . The ideology of preservation, in this
case, colludes with capital to fossilize rural modes of crafts production as
a national cultural resource, and as a reservoir of skilled yet cheap exploit-
able labor.44
In view of the state-society relations explored in this book, I look at the
matter from a different point of view. The ongoing effort to develop tour-
ism is in many respects similar to the Confucian civilizing project of the
Qing period. It is above all a state-sponsored attempt to impose order and
orthodoxy on Guizhou’s indigenous populations. However, unlike the134	/ A Legacy of Fragile Hegemony
civilizing and domestication projects of eighteenth century Qing authori-
ties, PRC efforts promise immediate and tangible benefits—namely cash
infusions for poverty-stricken communities. From the standpoint of these
communities, producing commodities for the state tourism enterprise
represents a new type of livelihood strategy. In contrast to the illegal and
extralegal strategies used during Qing times, these are state-sanctioned.
But a common theme still unites present-day Guizhou with its past: Peo-
ple adopt only those strategies that serve their own interests. Moreover,
minorities who participate in the tourism trade do not sacrifice their own
agency. They find ample room to negotiate with the state and with tour-
ists, and sometimes even gain control of the commodification process.45
Thus, as in imperial times, local communities still manage to resist (or to
bargain their way around) state directives, in order to preserve indigenous
livelihood strategies. If these strategies do not work, Guizhou indigenous
communities adopt new ones that suit their needs.
As I suggested earlier, Qing-era Guizhou was an arena for an ongoing
argument between rulers and the ruled about power and legitimacy. In
recent times, this argument has become a relatively civil conversation, but
state hegemony in Guizhou still remains fragile and incomplete. During
the Qing period, local resistance undermined imperial efforts to assert
hegemony. Today, the quieter, but still persistent, voices of indigenous
self-interest still prevent the central Chinese government from gaining
full control over Guizhou’s cultural and political space. The state is omni-
present but not omnipotent, and there are still myriad ways for the indi-
genes of Guizhou to resist and circumvent it.NOTES
GZDJQ
GZDYZ
JBD
jclz mzl
JQ
KX
NQX
ABBREVIATIONS
Gongzhong Dang Jiaqing chao zouzhe
(Secret palace memorials of the Jiaqing reign). Unpublished
memorials compiled by and held at the National Palace
Museum, Taipei.
Gongzhong Dang Yongzheng chao zouzhe	[hJUYUU
(Secret palace memorials of the Yongzheng reign). Compiled
by the National Palace Museum. 32 volumes. Taipei: National
Palace Museum Press, 1977-1980.
Jiaobu Dang	(Record of pursuit and arrest). National
Palace Museum, Taipei.
Junji chu lufu zouzhe, minzu shiwu lei	bcf);
(Grand Council reference copies of palace memorials,
minority affairs category). Number One Historical Archives,
Beijing.
Jiaqing reign period (1796-1820), used in dates.
Kangxi reign period (1662-1722), used in dates.
Qingdai Jiaqing nianjian Guizhou Buyizu “Nanlong qiyi” ziliao
xuanbian	WWSSI
(Collected materials on the “Nanlong Uprising” of the Buyi
135136	/ Notes
QL
QSL-GZ
YZ
YZHZZ
YZZPYZ
zpzz mzl
people during the Jiaqing Reign). Jointly compiled by the
China Number One Historical Archives, the Southwest Gui-
zhou People’s Committee, and the Guizhou Buyi Studies
Committee. Guiyang: Guizhou minzu chubanshe, 1989.
Qianlong reign period (1736-1795), used in dates.
Qing Shilu Guizhou ziliao jiyao	(A col-
lection of materials on Guizhou from the Qing Veritable
Records). Guiyang: Guizhou renmin chubanshe, 1962).
Yongzheng reign period (1723-1735), used in dates.
Yongzheng chao Hanwen zhupi zouzhe huibian
fttvT-fS'MtSra (Collection of Chinese-language palace memori-
als from the Yongzheng reign), ed. China Number One Histori-
cal Archives, 40 volumes. Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe,
1989.
Yongzheng Zhupi Yuzhi	(The Vermillion
rescripts and edicts of the Yongzheng reign),10 volumes. Tai-
pei: Wenyuan shuju, 1965 (reprint).
Zhupi zouzhe, minzu shiwu lei	(Palace
memorials, minority affairs category). Number One Histori-
cal Archives, Beijing.
1 I GUIZHOU AND THE LIVELIHOODS APPROACH
TO ZHONGJIA HISTORY
1	Aibida, Qiannan shilue (A handbook of Guizhou) (1750; reprint, Guiyang:
Guizhou Renmin Chubanshe, 1992), 15.
2	In this book, the term Zhongjia will be used in reference to the late imperial
period, and Buyi will be used when discussing the ethnic group in the People’s
Republic of China. The name Buyi and the Chinese characters used to repre-
sent it were approved by the Guizhou Nationalities Affairs Commission in
August 1953, and “Bouyei” was the transcription adopted for foreign publica-
tions in 1991. See Wang Huiliang, “Lun Buyizu mingcheng ji jiancheng” (A
discussion ofthe Buyi name and its short forms), Buyi xueyanjiu 1 (1989): 49-58.
3	Here, I use Jacob Whittaker’s nuanced interpretation ofthe term gaitu guiliu.
As he explains, the wordgwz implies “both a return to former conditions and
the reestablishment of proper loyalty to the ruler.” See his “Yi Identity and
Confucian Empire: Indigenous Local Elites, Cultural Brokerage, and the
Colonization ofthe Lu-ho Tribal Polity of Yunnan, 1174-1745” (PhD disserta-
tion: University of California-Davis, 2008), 338.Notes /	137
4	Li Qingfu and Xu Xianlong, eds. Buyijianshi (A concise history of the Buyi)
(Beijing: Minzu chubanshe, 2008), 88-91.
5	Tim Forsyth and Jean Michaud, “Rethinking the Relationships between
Livelihoods and Ethnicity in Highland China, Vietnam, and Laos,” in Mov-
ing Mountains: Ethnicity and Livelihoods in Highland China, Vietnam, and
Laos, eds. Jean Michaud and Tim Forsyth (Vancouver: University of British
Columbia Press, 2011), 13. See also Terry McGee, “Foreword,” in the same
volume.
6	Forsyth and Michaud, “Rethinking the Relationships,” 3.
7	Ibid.
8	James C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of
Upland Southeast Asia. (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009).
9	Forsyth and Jean Michaud, “Rethinking the Relationships,” 13.
10	Christine Bonnin and Sarah Turner, “At what price rice? Food security, liveli-
hoods, and state interventions in upland northern Vietnam,” Geoforum 43
(2012): 95-105. See also Jean Michaud, “Hmong infrapolitics: A view from
Vietnam.” Ethnic and Racial Studies; Vol. 35, no. 11 (2012): 1853-73; and Sarah
Turner, “Making a Living the Hmong Way: An Actor-Oriented Livelihoods
Approach to Everyday Politics and Resistance in Upland Vietnam,” Annals
of the Association of American Geographers 102 (2012): 1-22.
11	The same can be said of the Khmu (of Laos), the Tai Lue and Hani (both of
Yunnan), and the Tay and Tai (both of Vietnam), as well as of many other
communities in the Massif. See, for example, Janet C. Sturgeon, “Rubber
Transformations: Post-Socialist Livelihoods and Identities for Akha and Tai
Lue Farmers in Xishuangbanna, China” in Michaud and Forsyth, Moving
Mountains, 193-214. The Buyi—the direct descendants ofthe Zhongjia—have
also developed strategies to preserve their identity in the face of challenges
from China’s increasingly market-oriented economy. As this volume was
being written, Yu Luo, a PhD student in anthropology at Yale University, was
conducting fieldwork that examines how the Buyi use ethnotourism, reli-
gion, and local festivals to negotiate state development programs.
12	See C. Patterson Giersch, Asian Borderlands: The Transformation of Qing
China’s Yunnan Frontier (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006);
JohnE. Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou,
1200-1700 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007); and Whittaker,
“Yi Identity and Confucian Empire.”
13	When using these sources, I keep a wary eye out for the political agenda
imposed by China’s nationalistic ethnographers and historians, apparent in
ideological flourishes and politically inspired turns of phrase. For example,138	/ Notes
the editors of a folk narrative might put words like “oppression of the com-
mon people” into the mouth of an eighteenth-century Zhongjia teenager
unlikely to have this Marxist terminology in her vocabulary. In other
instances, modern-day editors might refer to the Nanlong Uprising as an
example of “multinationality unity” when all historical evidence indicates
that the overwhelming majority of participants were Zhongjia. The insur-
gents did include a handful of Han mercenaries and a few “Miao” (that is,
neither Han nor Zhongjia) who were press-ganged into the rebel army.
14	Because these texts use Chinese characters to represent the sounds rather
than the meanings of Zhongjia words, they are often incomprehensible to
historians literate in Chinese (and even to those conversant in Buyi). The
script was never standardized and often varies from locality to locality. See
David Holm, Killing a Buffalo for the Ancestors: A Zhuang Cosmological Text
from Southwest China (DeKalb, IL: Southeast Asia Publications, 2003), 45-48.
15	See, for example, Zhou Guomao, Wei Xingru, and Wu Wenyi, eds. Buyizu
Mojingwenxue (Mojing religious literature of the Buyi) (Guiyang: Guizhou
renmin chubanshe, 1996). David Holm’s Killing a Buffalo for the Ancestors
provides an annotated translation of two texts commonly used in sacrifices.
Holm’s companion book, Recalling Lost Souls: The Baeu Rodo Tai Cosmo-
gonic Texts from Guangxi in Southern China (Bangkok: White Lotus, 2004),
explores the myths and rituals surrounding Baeu Rodo and Mo Loekgyap,
two personages often revered as the founding ancestors of the Zhuang and
Buyi. Although Holm conducted his fieldwork in northern Guangxi com-
munities officially identified as Zhuang, he discovered that the local dialect
and religious practices closely resembled those of the Buyi in Guizhou. He
thus refers to his research subjects as “Guangxi Bouyei.” See Holm, Killing a
Buffalo, 12-13.
16	On reading against the grain, see James Scott, Domination and the Arts of
Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press 1990),
87. See also Peter C. Perdue, “Military Mobilization in Eighteenth-Century
China, Russia, and Mongolia,” Modern Asian Studies 30, no. 4 (1996): 783-87.
17	As Jean Michaud notes, economically and politically weak societies facing
strong outside pressures are changed by those pressures, but also “actively
and creatively use what power they have to interpret, adapt, and even subvert
these pressures.” See Michaud, “Hmong infrapolitics,” 1856.
18	I would suggest that the Zhongjia possessed what Jean Michaud calls a “percep-
tive resilience... founded on an understanding that domination is a fact of life,
that the stakes include cultural as much as physical survival, and that with
each action come consequences.” See Michaud, “Hmong infrapolitics,” 1869.Notes /	139
19	Sherry Ortner, Anthropology and Social Theory: Culture, Power, and the Act-
ing Subject (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), 143-44.
20	See Giersch, Asian Borderlands; Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist; and
Whittaker, “Yi Identity and Confucian Empire.”
21	James C. Scott, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the
Human Condition Have Failed (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press,
1998), 3-
22	James A. Millward, Beyond the Pass: Economy, Ethnicity, and Empire in Qing
Central Asia, 1759-1864 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 239.
23	Emma Jinhua Teng, Taiwan’s Imagined Geography: Chinese Colonial Travel
Writing and Pictures, 1685-1895 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
2004), 239-43.
2 / NATURAL, HUMAN, AND HISTORICAL LANDSCAPES
1	Xu Xiake, “Qianri youji” (A diary of travels in Guizhou) in Xu Xiake youji
(The travel diaries of Xu Xiake), 2 volumes (Shanghai: Shanghai Antiquities
Publishing House, 1991 reprint) I: 621-77. For his exploration of the Beipan
and Nanpan Rivers, see “Panjiang Kao” in Xu Xiake youji II: 1123-28. For a
summary of Xu’s travels in Yunnan, see Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 17-20.
For more general information on Xu Xiake’s career and writings, see Li Chi,
The Travel Diaries of Hsu Hsia-k’e (Hong Kong: The Chinese University of
Hong Kong, 1974); see also Julian Ward, Xu Xiake (1587-1641): The Art of
Travel Writing (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 2001).
2	Xu died before he could edit the diaries, and they were published in their
original form. See Richard Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes: Travel Writing
from Imperial China (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California
Press, 1991), 319.
3	Like many of his contemporaries in late imperial China, Xu used the term
“Miao” indiscriminately to describe the non-Han peoples he encountered in
Guizhou. For some of Xu’s more upbeat observations about the region’s natu-
ral beauty, see his description of the mountain landscapes outside Guiyang
in Xu Xiake youji II: 636-37, translated in Ward, 105. See also Xu’s description
of the Baishui waterfalls in Xu Xiake youji I: 651-52. The Baishui waterfalls
are located at modern-day Huangguoshu, approximately 322 kilometers (200
miles) southwest of Guiyang, and today they are one of Guizhou’s main tour-
ist attractions.
4	During his investigation of the Pan Rivers, for instance, Xu discovered that
he could not see the river source because a mountain always stood in his way.
See Xu Xiake youji I: 660, cited in Ward, Xu Xiake, 109.140	/ Notes
5	Based on modern ethnic patterns of the Dingfan region the people he
encountered were probably ancestors of today’s Buyi.
6	Xu Xiakeyouji I: 639-42.
7	Xu Xiake youji I: 642-45.
8	The Lolo were most likely the ancestors of the people today known as the Yi.
9	He Weifu, Qingdai Guizhou shangpin jingjishi yanjiu (Research on the eco-
nomic history of commodities in Qing dynasty Guizhou) (Beijing: Zhongguo
jingji chubanshe, 2007), 3. Guangdong receives 1500-2000 mm of rain per year,
Fujian 800-1900 mm, Hunan 1250-1750 mm, and Guangxi 1000-2000 mm.
See http://www.chinamaps.org/china/china-map-of-precipitation-annual
.html.
10	http://www.allcountries.org/china_statistics/1_18_monthly_sunshine_hours
_of_major.html. Both Wenjiang and Chongqing are located in Sichuan.
11	Modern precipitation and temperature statistics are taken from Chai Xingyi,
et al. Zhonghua renmin gongheguo diming cidian: Guizhou sheng (A dic-
tionary of place names in the People’s Republic of China: Guizhou province)
(Beijing: Shangwuyin shuguan, 1994), 2-4. See also Robert Jenks, Insurgency
and Social Disorder in Guizhou (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1994),
11-12.
12	Aibida, Qiannan shilue, 200, 222.
13	George Babcock Cressey, Land of the 500 Million: A Geography of China
(New York: McGraw Hill, 1955), 223-26. See also Caihua He, Ranging Xiong,
Xiaoling Li, and Xing Cheng, “Karst Geomorphology and its Agricultural
Implications in Guizhou, China,” Suppl. Geogr. Fis. Dinam. Qi/afTII, T. 4
(1998), 121.
14	Although Yangshuo in Guangxi, and Yunnan’s Stone Forest (Shilin) claim
China’s finest karst topography, southwestern Guizhou also has its share of
striking landscapes. The rural areas outside the city of Xingyi (Nanlong)
offer some of the most stunning vistas anywhere in China.
15	T. R. Tregear, A Geography of China (Chicago: Adline Publishing Company,
1965), 265. See also Jenks, Insurgency and Social Disorder in Guizhou, 13-14.
For a detailed look at karst soils and their impact on Guizhou’s agriculture,
see He, et al., “Karst Geomorphology,” 123-25.
16	Buckwheat and millet are still common foods in Guizhou. During my 2001
visit, I dined with a Xingyi family who enjoyed their rice mixed with steamed
buckwheat and millet. Another interesting feature of Guizhou cuisine is that
nearly every meal includes at least one boiled vegetable, typically squash or
green beans. The vegetables are flavored with chili pepper mixed in to some
of the vegetables’ cooking liquid. One professor at Guizhou Normal Univer-Notes /	141
sity explained that this is a legacy of leaner times, when people boiled their
vegetables because they could not afford cooking oil.
17	See Tregear, 266-67; Guizhou tongzhi (Gazetteer of Guizhou province),
1741,15: 3b, 4a-4b; Aibida, Qiannan shilue, 49. See also Claudine Lombard-
Salmon, Un Exemple d’acculturation Chinoise, Guizhou au XVIIIeme siecle
(An example of Chinese acculturation: Guizhou in the eighteenth century)
(Paris: Ecole Francais d’Extreme-Orient, 1972), 168.
18	This section is inspired by a similar discussion in Jenks’ Insurgency and Popu-
lar Disorder in Guzhou, 18-20. Jenks uses population and cultivated acreage
data to establish a quantitative basis for the subsistence crisis in nineteenth-
century Guizhou. My aim here is to do the same for eighteenth-century
Guizhou.
19	James Lee, “Food Supply and Population Growth in Southwest China, 1250-
1850,” The Journal of Asian Studies 41, no. 4 (August 1982): 723-24.
20	Ho Ping-ti, Studies on the Population of China, 1368-1953 (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1959), chapters 2 and 3.
21	Lee, “Food Supply and Population Growth,” 723-29. It should be noted that
in 1775, the Qianlong emperor declared a new commitment to maintaining
an accurate registration, and he ordered provincial officials to make sure that
everyone was counted. This initiative, rather than true demographic expan-
sion, accounts for the increase of one million persons between 1765 and 1775.
Lee notes that in spite of this effort, up to one-quarter of southwest China’s
population remained unregistered after 1775.
22	Yang Bin, “Differentiation and analysis of the population documents in the
early Qing dynasty” Chinese Journal of Population Science 1997, 9 (I): 1-8.
James Lee suggests that the mid-nineteenth century population was around
7 million. See his “Food Supply and Population Growth in Southwest China,”
729.
23	Wang Yeh-chien, Land Taxation in Imperial China (Cambridge, MA: Har-
vard University Press, 1973), 29.
24	Ge Quansheng, Junhu Dai, Fanneng He, Jingyun Zheng, Zhimin Man, and
Yun Zhao, “Spatiotemporal dynamics of reclamation and cultivation and
its driving factors in parts of China during the last three centuries,” Progress
in Natural Science 14, no. 7 (July 2004): 608. These figures roughly square
with Dwight Perkins’ estimate of 17 million mu (1.1 ha) by the late eighteenth
century. See Dwight Perkins, Agricultural Development in China, 1368-1968
(Chicago: Aldine, 1969), 234. According to Robert Jenks’ calculations, Per-
kins’ estimate equaled about 6.5 percent of Guizhou’s total land surface. Most
likely, peasants learned to make better use of marginal lands and hillsides,142	/ Notes
and terracing became more common. See Jenks, Insurgency and Social Dis-
order in Guizhou, 19.
25	Ge, et al., “Spatiotemporal dynamics,” 608.
26	Lombard-Salmon estimates that more than 56 percent of Guizhou’s eigh-
teenth-century population was non-Han. See Lombard-Salmon, Un Exemple
d’acculturation Chinoise, 170.
27	See David M. Deal and Laura Hostetler, trans., The Art of Ethnography: A
Chinese Miao Album (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006). See
also Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise: Ethnography and Cartography in
Early Modern China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 5-6.
28	Chapter 4 also includes a discussion of Zhongjia religion and its influence on
local livelihood choices.
29	Both the Bo Y and the Giay reside in the northeastern provinces of Ha Giang
and Lao Cai, andthey are probably the descendants of Zhongjia refugees who
fled Guizhou during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Numbering
only 1,450 persons, the Bo Y rank 46th in population among Vietnam’s 54
officially recognized ethnic groups, while the Giay, rank 25th with 38,000
people. See http://www.vietnamembassy.org.uk/population.html for these
2007 population estimates. Although the Vietnamese government classifies
these groups as two distinct nationalities, linguists generally agree that both
are subgroups of the Buyi. See, for example, Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 9; Wil-
liam J. Gedney, “Yay, a Northern Tai Language in North Vietnam,” Lingua
14 (1965): 180-93; and Jerold A. Edmondson, “Change and Variation in
Zhuang,” in Papers from the Second Annual Meeting of the Southeast Asian
Linguistics Society, ed. Karen L. Adams and Thomas John Hudak (Arizona
State University: Program for Southeast Asian Studies, 1994), 149.
30	One of the criminal cases examined in chapter 4 highlights the close ties
between the Zhongjia and the Nong. Imperial officials usually wrote charac-
ter Aony with the character component meaning “dog” (jH). This study com-
bines the “dog” radical iff) with the homophonous character nong (Jg^,
meaning farmer or peasant). Ina few Qing sources, Nong is written with the
“human” character component (ff|).
31	Northern Zhuang and Southern Zhuang are informal designations used
by linguists and anthropologists. They are not official ethnic classifications.
The Zhuang language encompasses two major dialect groups, Northern and
Southern. David Holm suggests that these two dialects might be more accu-
rately classified as separate languages, for there is greater linguistic difference
between them than there is between Northern Zhuang and Buyi, or between
Southern Zhuang and the Nung and Tay languages of northern Vietnam.Notes /	143
Furthermore, although the Nung and Tay are recognized as separate ethnic
groups in Vietnam, in China, they are all classified as Zhuang. See Holm,
Killing a Buffalo, 7-8. See also Snyder, “Bouyei Phonology,” 378.
32	Wil C. Snyder and David Holm have suggested that the languages within the
Northern and Central groups form a linguistic continuum extending from
Guizhou into Vietnam. See Snyder, “Bouyei Phonology,” 378; see also Holm,
Killing a Buffalo, 7-8. For a more in-depth discussion ofthe taxonomy of Kadai
languages, see Jerold A. Edmondson and David B. Solnit, eds., Comparative
Kadai: The Tai Branch (Arlington TX: University of Texas at Arlington Sum-
mer Institute of Linguistics, 1997), 2. See also Anthony Diller, “Introduction,”
in The Tai-Kadai Languages, ed. Anthony V. N. Diller, Jerold A. Edmonson,
and Luo Yingxian (London and New York: Routledge, 2008), 3-8.
33	For a historical overview of the Hundred Yue, see Zhou Guoyan, “An Intro-
duction to the Kam-Tai (Zhuang-Dong) Group of Languages in China” in
Languages and Cultures ofthe Kam-Tai (Zhuang Dong) Group: A Word List
(English-Thai version), edited by Zhou Guoyan and Somsonge Burusphat
(Bangkok: Sahadhammika Co. Ltd, 1996), 4-7. For a discussion ofthe DNA
and linguistic evidence linking today’s Kadai populations to the Baiyue, see
Jerold A. Edmondson, “The power of language over the past: Tai settlement
and Tai linguistics in southern China and northern Vietnam” in Studies in
Southeast Asian languages and linguistics, ed. Jimmy G. Harris, Somsonge
Burusphat and James E. Harris (Bangkok: Ek Phim Tai Co. Ltd., 2007), 39-64.
34	Edmondson, “The power of language over the past,” 48. See also Zhou Guo-
yan, “Linguistic and Historical Explanations of the Names for the Buyi, a
Group of Tai People in Southwestern China,” Proceedings of the Fourth Inter-
national Symposium on Languages and Linguistics, Pan-Asiatic Linguistics
(January 8-10,1996), 970.
35	Zhou Guoyan, “An Introduction to the Kam-Tai (Zhuang-Dong) Group of
Languages in China,”4.
36	Zhou Guoyan, “Linguistic and Historical Explanations,” 970.
37	Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 12.
38	As Patricia Ebrey writes, “We have to infer that . . . [non-Han in southern
China] claimed descent from Chinese migrants either because they wanted
to believe it (looking down on non-Han themselves), or because it was in
their best interest to do so (for local politics, social prestige, or whatever).”
See Patricia Ebrey, “Surnames and Han Chinese Identity,” in Negotiating
Ethnicities in China and Taiwan, edited by Melissa J. Brown (Berkeley: Insti-
tute for East Asian Studies, University of California, 1996), 23.
39	When I interviewed a Buyi family near Xingyi in 2001, they claimed to be144	/ Notes
the descendants of settlers who had arrived in Guizhou from Jiangsu during
the Ming period. Buyi scholar Yu Luo (see chapter 1) has also reported many
claims of Jiangsu descent. Personal e-mail correspondences, June 8,2010 and
June 14, 2010. For further discussion of these avowed Jiangnan origins and
the accompanying genealogies, see “Tantao Ceheng Buyizu yuan” (Investi-
gating the origins of the Buyi nationality in Ceheng), Ceheng wenshi ziliao
(Literary and historical materials from Ceheng) 3 (1985): 74-75. This anony-
mous article hereafter cited as “Tantao Ceheng.”
40	Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 11. Katherine Kaup suggests that Zhuang genealo-
gies showing Jiangnan or Huguang origins may also be falsified for similar
reasons. See her Creating the Zhuang: Ethnic Politics in China (London:
Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., 2000), 90. Jeffrey Barlow also notes that
many Zhuang, “[who] lived sufficiently close to Han Chinese to learn their
language and cultural practices... would later claim that their ancestors had
been Han Chinese and that living in isolated districts, they had early received
local influences which had rusticated them.” See Barlow’s online manuscript,
“The Zhuang,” http://mcel.pacificu.edu/as/res0urces/zhuang/zhuang9.htm
#_edni5, Chapter 9.
41	Gu Yin, “Buyizu zuyuan yanjiu zongshu” (A summary of research on the
origins of the Buyi nationality), Buyi xue yanjiu 6 (1998): 23. Chu was a pow-
erful kingdom based in present-day Hunan. Its territory extended into
northern Guangxi. Gu notes, however, that some Qing-era local gazetteers
disputed the idea that the Zhongjia descended from Ma Yan’s troops. A Miao
album entry on the “Kayou Zhongjia” of southwestern Guizhou also hints at
Yongguan origins. See Deal and Hostetler, The Art of Ethnography, 13
42	Samuel R. Clarke, Among the Tribes in Southwest China (London: Morgan
and Scott, Ltd., 1911), 95.
43	Zhou Guoyan, “Linguistic and Historical Explanations,” 980.
44	The final “x” in Boux indicates the fourth tone in both Buyi and Zhuang. It
is not pronounced as a consonant. See Holm, Killing a Buffalo for the Ances-
tors, 8.
45	Holm, Recalling Lost Souls, 6.
46	For a discussion of the various characters used to write the name “Zhuang,”
see Huang Jiaxin, Zhuangzu diqu tusi zhidu yu gaitu guiliu yanjiu (Research
on the tusi system and gaitu guilu in Zhuang nationality regions) (Hefei:
Hefei gongye daxue chubanshe, 2007), 30.
47	Zhou Guoyan, “Linguistic and Historical Explanations,” 980. See also his
“An Introduction to the Kam-Tai Group of Languages in China,” 6. In both
pieces, Zhou offers and then rejects alternate hypotheses for the origins ofNotes /	145
the term Zhongjia. One theory suggests that the word Zhongjia derived from
homophonic words meaning “heavy armor,” a reference to the armor worn
during wars of the Song, Yuan, and Ming periods. Another explanation sug-
gests that the name derives from the character meaning “to cultivate” (zhong
3), a reference to the Zhongjia’s rice-farming livelihood.
48	According to Zhou Guoyan, the modern Buyi never refer to themselves as
“Buzhong” or “Zhong.” See his “An Introduction to the Kam-Tai Group of
Languages in China,” 6.
49	Wang Huiliang, “Lun Buyizu mingcheng ji jiancheng,” 50-51. The final “k”
in bouxhek and bouxhak indicates the seventh tone in Buyi and Zhuang. See
Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 224.
50	In some respects, the nomenclature in Guizhou parallels the ecological and
ethnic stratifications described in Leach’s classic study of mainland South-
east Asia. See Edmund. R. Leach, “The Frontiers of ‘Burma,” Comparative
Studies in History and Society Vol. 3, no. 1 October i960): 49-68.
51	Wang Huiliang, “Lun Buyizu mingcheng ji jiancheng,” 50-51 and Holm, Kill-
ing a Buffalo, 9. The final “z” in bouxnongz indicates the second tone in Buyi
and Zhuang, and the final “h” in bouxloeh indicates the sixth tone.
52	Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 9.
53	Interestingly, many residents of northern Guangxi also identify themselves
as Bouyeix. In southern Guangxi, by contrast, many local residents use the
self-appellations Bouxnungz and Bouxdoj. See Zhou Guoyan, “An Intro-
duction to the Kam-Tai Group of Languages in China,” 2. See also “Tantao
Ceheng,” 75. (The final “z” in Bouxnungz indicates the fourth tone in Zhuang,
and the final “j” in Bouxdoj indicates the third tone. See Holm, Killing a Buf-
falo, 8-9, 223).
54	This decision, which was made at a special meeting convened by the Guizhou
Nationalities Affairs Commission, was not taken lightly. There were at least
twenty other names in the running, including “Buyueyi,” and “Buyue.” Some
delegates at the meeting argued that “Buyueyi” was the closest approxima-
tion of the group’s autonym, but others objected to the idea of creating a
three-character name because other ethnic groups employed one- or two-
character names. Still others were uncomfortable about using the character
yue, perhaps because of its connections to the Yue peoples of Chinese antiq-
uity. See Thomas S. Mullaney, Coming to Terms with the Nation: Ethnic Clas-
sification in Modern China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011),
111-12.
55	The character used to write the name Zhuang was officially changed from fit
to jjzh in 1965. See Huang Jiaxin, Zhuangzu diqu tusi zhidu, 30.146	/ Notes
56	According to Katherine Palmer Kaup, Guizhou Nationality Affairs officials
insisted that the Buyi in that province did not want to be labeled Zhuang. See
Creating the Zhuang, 88.
57	Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 7-8.
58	Kaup, Creating the Zhuang, 89.
59	Mullaney, Coming to Terms with the Nation, 88. A similar issue arose along
the Yunnan-Sichuan border. The Pumi ethnic group was divided into two
separate categories, according to provincial boundaries; those in Yunnan
were classified as Pumi, while those in Sichuan were classified as Zang. See
Stevan Harrell, “The Nationalities Question and the Prmi Problem,” in Nego-
tiating Ethnicities in China and Taiwan, ed. Melissa J. Brown (Berkeley: Insti-
tute for East Asian Studies, University of California, 1996), 274-96.
60	Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 8-10.
61	Duringthe 1950s, Chinese officials considered dividing Guangxi into Eastern
(predominantly Han) and Western (predominantly Zhuang) administrative
areas that would better reflect ethnic distribution throughout the province.
The idea was abandoned in favor of unifying the province into the Guangxi
Zhuang Autonomous Region, one of five provincial-level autonomous
regions in China. See Kaup, Creating the Zhuang, 92-96. For problems aris-
ing from the classification of the Zhuang in Yunnan, see Kaup, “Regionalism
Versus Ethnic Nationalism in the People’s Republic of China,” The China
Quarterly, 172 (2002): 863-84.
62	Changing provincial boundaries is difficult, although not impossible.
Another solution might be to maintain the Guangxi-Guizhou border but
allow the Buyi category to cross it.
63	Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 11.
64	According to Yu Luo, however, there seems to be a growing recognition,
particularly among members of the communities along the Guizhou-
Guangxi border, that the Buyi and Zhuang share more similarities than dif-
ferences. It seems unlikely that anyone from either side of the Buyi -Zhuang
divide will mount a campaign to change the official nomenclature, but mem-
bers of both ethnic groups will continue to explore their shared heritage in
an informal way. E-mail correspondence and conversations, June-August
2011 and March 2012.
65	Guizhou tongzhi (Gazetteer of Guizhou province) 1697,30: 21b; Nanlongfuzhi
(Gazetteer of Nanlong prefecture) 1765, 2:18.
66	Quoted in Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 151.
67	Xilongzhouzhi (Gazetteer of Xilong department), 1673, 6: 2a.
68	The dog character component was also used to represent the ethnonyms ofNotes /	147
other non-Han groups, including the Zhuang, the Miao, and the Yao. It could
even be appended to the character for Hui ([HJ), the name for Chinese Mus-
lims. David Holm notes that the dog component originally referred to the
classical Chinese myth of Panhu, the legendary canine revered as the ances-
tor of many non-Han peoples in southern China. Over time, this ortho-
graphic convention increasingly “reflected and contributed to a view,
common in Chinese society at the time, that the southern non-Han peoples
were sub-human.” See Holm, Recalling Lost Souls, 5. On the application of
the dog radical to Muslim populations, see Atwill, The Chinese Sultanate:
Islam, Ethnicity, and the Panthay Rebellion in Southwest China, 1856-1873
(Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2005), 25-26 and Jonathan N. Lipman,
Familiar Strangers: A History of Muslims in Northwest China (Seattle: Uni-
versity of Washington Press, 1997), 41, note 54.
69	Here, as in Xu Xiake’s account, “Miao” is a generic term for non-Han ethnic
groups.
70	Aibida, Qiannan shilue, 223.
71	For more on this, see chapter 3.
72	As Donald Sutton observes in his study of the Miao in Hunan Province,
“Acculturation does not mean assimilation, that is, a change of identifica-
tion.” See his “Ethnicity and the Miao Frontier,” in Empire at the Margins: Cul-
ture, Ethnicity, and Frontier in Early Modern China, ed. Pamela Kyle Crossley,
Helen F. Siu, and Donald S. Sutton (Berkeley: University of California Press,
2006), 220. For more on this, see chapter 4.
73	Clarke, Among the Tribes, 97.
74	Ibid., 98.
75	Ibid., too. Clarke noted, however, that unlike their Han counterparts,
Zhongjia women in rural areas generally did not bind their feet and often
worked alongside men in the rice fields.
76	Ibid., 107-8.
77	Shi Jizhong “Qian Gui bianjiang Zhuangzu Buyizude tingmu zhidu” (The
tingmu system of the Zhuang and Buyi nationalities in the Qian-Gui
[Guizhou-Guangxi] borderlands) in Xinan minzu shehui xingtai yu jingji
wenhua leixing (The social formations and cultural and economic types of
the ethnic minorities in southwest China) (Kunming: Yunnan Educational
Publishing House, 1997), 292.
78	For more on the mogong (called bumo in the Buyi dialects of northwestern
Guangxi and southwestern Guizhou), see David Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 21-
24 and chapter 4 of this book.
79	Shi Jizhong, “Qian Gui bianjiang,” 298-99.148	/ Notes
80	Ibid., 300.
81	Nanlong fuzhi 1765, 2: 2oa-b. See also Li Qingfu and Xu Xianlong, Buyizu
jianshi, 78-79.
82	Li Qingfu and Xu Xianlong, Buyizu jianshi, 88-89. See also He Weifu, Qing-
dai Guizhou shangpin jingjishiyanjiu, 117-19, 238-42.
83	Stevan Harrell, “The History ofthe History ofthe Yi,” in Cultural Encounters
on China’s Ethnic Frontiers, ed. Stevan Harrell (Seattle: University of Wash-
ington Press, 1995), 85.
84	Both the Nanzhao and the Dali controlled territory in present-day Yunnan.
See Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, chapter 1.
85	John Herman, “The Mu’ege Kingdom: a brief history of a frontier empire in
Southwest China” in Political Frontiers, Ethnic Boundaries, and Human
Geographies in Chinese History, ed. Nicola Di Cosmo and Don J. Wyatt (Lon-
don: Routledge Curzon, 2003), 245-85.
86	John Herman, “The Cant of Conquest: Tusi Offices and China’s Political
Incorporation ofthe Southwest Frontier” in Empire at the Margins: Culture,
Ethnicity, and Frontier in Early Modern China, ed. Pamela Kyle Crossley,
Helen F. Siu, and Donald S. Sutton (Berkeley: University of California Press,
2006), 151.
87	Herman, “The Mu’ege Kingdom,” 265.
88	Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, chapters 5-6.
89	The names San Miao, You-Miao, and Miao-Min appear in the Chinese clas-
sics and some early historical writings, but it is doubtful that these groups
were Miao in the modern sense ofthe word. Jenks posits that in these earliest
sources, “Miao” was simply used as a generic for the non-Han peoples of
southern China. References to the Miao continue through the Qin and early
Han but disappear from the historical record until the Song dynasty. There-
after, and especially from the Ming dynasty onward, the name “Miao”
appears in historical writing with increasing frequency, often in a compound
such as “Miaoren” or “Miaoman.” See Jenks, Insurgency and Social Disorder
in Guizhou, 32.
90	Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, 140-41.
91	During the 1970 s and 1980 s, many Hmong fled Laos for the temporary shelter
of refugee camps in Thailand. Some were resettled in third countries such as
the United States, Canada, Australia, France, and even Sweden. Some Hmong
refugees made permanent homes in Thailand, and some were eventually
repatriated to Laos. Today, the Miao of China number around 7.5 million.
Their classification as a single nationality remains problematic. As Norma
Diamond explains, it is difficult to see how the Stalinist criteria for nationali-Notes /	149
ties apply to the Miao, given that many subgroups speak mutually unintel-
ligible dialects, and do not share a common territory, scattered as they are
over several different provinces. See her “Defining the Miao: Ming, Qing, and
Contemporary Views,” in Cultural Encounters on China’s Ethnic Frontiers,
ed. Stevan Harrell (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1995), 92.
92	Diamond, 99-100.
93	Jenks, Insurgency and Social Disorder in Guizhou, 31-32; Hostetler, Qing
Colonial Enterprise, 106-7. For a complete list of these names, see Hostetler,
“Chinese Ethnography in the Eighteenth Century: Miao Albums of Guizhou
Province” (PhD dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 1995), 159-204.
94	Diamond, “Defining the Miao,” 95-96: Jenks, Insurgency and Social Disorder
in Guizhou, 33.
95	Jenks, Insurgency and Social Disorder in Guizhou, 33-35.
96	Diamond, “Defining the Miao,” 95.
97	To the extent that Ming population statistics can be trusted, it appears that
the registered Han population of Guizhou at least doubled between 1502 and
1602. According to James Lee’s estimates, there were around 265,000 regis-
tered Han in Guizhou in the former year and approximately 530,000 a cen-
tury later. These figures include military populations as well as civilian
households. See his “Food Supply and Population Growth in Southwest
China, 1250-1850,” 715.
98	The six “routes” were Yuanshun (modern-day Guiyang), Bozhou (modern-
day Zunyi), Xintai (modern-day Guiding), Puding (modern-day Anshun),
Puan, and Wusa (modern-day Weining).
99	Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 101. The provincial administration com-
missioner was the early Ming version of a provincial governor. R. Kent Guy
translates this term “commissioner for the promulgation and dissemination
of government policies.” See his Qing Governors and their Provinces: The
Evolution of Territorial Administration in China, 1644-1796 (Seattle: Univer-
sity of Washington Press, 2010), 34.
too For more on the establishment of Guizhou province, see Herman, “The
Muege Kingdom,” 6-21. See also his “The Cant of Conquest,”136-39 and Amid
the Clouds and Mist, 94-102.
101	The Yuan and Ming also instituted the tusi system in Guangxi, Yunnan,
Guangdong, and Sichuan, in the westernmost regions of Huguang (Hubei and
Hunan), and in several other provinces with large non-Han populations.
102	For a list of the names for all the civil and military native offices in use during
the Ming and Qing periods, see John Herman, “National Integration and
Regional Hegemony: The Political and Cultural Dynamics of Qing State150	/ Notes
Expansion, 1650-1750” (PhD dissertation, University of Washington, 1993),
24-27. For a succinct discussion of the tusi system, see also John Herman,
“Empire in the Southwest: Early Qing Reforms to the Native Chieftain Sys-
tem,” Journal of Asian Studies 56, no. 1 (February 1997): 50.
103	F. W. Mote, Imperial China, 900-1800 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1999), 704-5.
104	James Lee, “Food Supply and Population Growth,” 715.
105	Herman, “The Mu’ege Kingdom,” 260.
106	For a detailed account of Yongli’s peripatetic reign, see Lynn Struve, The South-
ern Ming, 1644-1662 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), chapter 5.
107	Jobtei (in Chinese Zhaobutai), the Manchu general in charge of southwestern
Guizhou, received military assistance from the Cen native officials who con-
trolled the Guangxi-Guizhou borderlands. See Dading fuzhi (Gazetteer of
Dadingprefecture) 1850, 48: 3a.
108	Jobtei received assistance from Cen Jilu, the native prefect of Sicheng in
Guangxi. Until this point in his career, Wu Sangui was best known as the
erstwhile Ming general who in 1644 allowed Qing forces to enter China at the
Shanhai Pass, the easternmost gate of the Great Wall. As chapter 3 explains,
Wu Sangui soon fell out of favor with Qing authorities, and so, in due course,
did Cen Jilu’s successors.
109	Dading fuzhi, 48: 3a.
110	See Struve, The Southern Ming, 169-78.
111	Kai-fu Tsao, “The Rebellion of the Three Feudatories Against the Manchu
Throne in China, 1673-1681: Its Setting and Significance” (PhD diss., Colum-
bia University), 1965, 52-53.
112	Ibid., 60.
3 / THE CONSOLIDATION OF QING RULE
1	The largest sub-provincial unit was the prefecture ffu). The department
(zhou) was subordinate to the prefecture and usually had jurisdiction over at
least one county (xian).
2	In a richly detailed chapter, Kent Smith describes the two-year campaign to
pacify this small corner of Guizhou and its impact on subsequent policy in
southwestern China. See Kent Clarke Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the Develop-
ment of Southwest China: Aspects of Ortai’s Governor-Generalship, 1726-
1731” (PhD diss., Yale University, 1971), 26-39. For brief accounts of the
campaign in Dingfan-Guangshun, see also Lombard-Salmon, Un exemple
d’acculturation Chinoise, 231-32, and Guy, Qing Governors and Their Prov-
inces, 340 -43-Notes /	151
3	Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the Development of Southwest China,” 26-39. See
also Guy, Qing Governors and their Provinces, 334-48. Both Smith and Guy
spell Ortai based on a romanization of the Manchu name. In the old Wade-
Giles system it is spelled O-erh-tai. Other scholars spell it Eertai, using the
pinyin romanization system.
4	Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the Development of Southwest China,” 97-100.
5	For detailed accounts of the violence in northeastern Yunnan and southeast-
ern Guizhou, see Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the Development of Southwest
China,” 157-71 and 256-89, respectively. For southeastern Guizhou, see also
Herman, “National Integration and Regional Hegemony,” chapters 4 and 6.
For a discussion ofthe violence in southern Yunnan, see Giersch, Asian Bor-
derlands, 43-63.
6	Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 30,119.
7	Copper was a key component of Qing coins. F or more on the Yunnan copper
industry, see Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the Development of Southwest
China,” chapter 4.
8	Aibida, Qiannan shilue, 229.
9	Yongzheng Zhupi Yuzhi (The Vermillion rescripts and edicts of the Yong-
zheng reign) (Taipei: Wenyuan shuju, 1965), 5: 2603. Ortai memorial YZ
4/9/19. Hereafter cited as YZZPYZ. Dates are rendered according to the Chi-
nese lunar calendar, using the Chinese order: year/month/day.
10	Kent Smith asserts that Han colonization and settlement were unintended
effects of Qing policy rather than an underlying motive. At one point, Ortai
had suggested dispossessing the Zhongjia altogether and turning their land
over to soldiers under the military colony (tuntian) system. Ortai proposed
to settle Chinese farmers on any land not allocated to the military, with the
express purpose ofpreventing Zhongjia from reoccupying the area. He aban-
doned this scheme, although he did insist that Zhongjia land ownership be
regulated according to Chinese patterns, using deeds and official seals. As
Smith writes, “The Zhongjia were efficient farmers upon whom officials
now had the necessary leverage to exact payment of taxes. The introduction
of Chinese officialdom... may have put Zhongjia at a disadvantage vis-a-vis
land-hungry Chinese, but this was a by-product rather than a purpose of
imperial policy for the region.” See “Ch’ing Policy and the Development of
Southwest China,” 98.
11	Scott, Seeing Like a State, 3,186-87,190. Susan Mann has also noted that, like
early modern European states, the Qing showed an “increasing capacity for
seeing like a state.” See her “Mann on Hostetler,” in Journal of Colonialism
and Colonial History vol. 2, no. 3 (Winter 2001).152	/ Notes
12	These concepts were originally put forth by the anthropologist E. R. Leach
in his work on pre-colonial Burma and later amplified by James Scott. See
Leach, “The Frontiers of‘Burma,’” 185-87; see also Scott, Seeing Like a State,
186-87.
13	Leach, “The Frontiers of‘Burma,’”185-87. As James Scott notes, “Such spaces,
it goes without saying, have served as refuges for fleeing peasants, bandits,
rebels, bandits, and the pretenders who have often threatened kingdoms.” See
Scott, Seeing Like a State, 187. It could be argued that the Prince of Gui, the
self-styled Southern Ming emperor, took advantage of the non-state spaces
in southwestern China to mount his resistance against the Qing.
14	Daniel McMahon suggests that gaitu guiliu in the Miao regions of western
Hunan illustrated the Qing state’s desire to transform non-state spaces into
state spaces. He suggests that “non-state spaces” are analogous to the remote
mountainous regions known as aoqu. See his “Restoring the Garden: Yan
Ruyi and the Civilizing of China’s Internal Frontiers, 1795-1805” (PhD diss.,
University of California-Davis, 1998), 333-34. Although he does not use the
precise terminology, John Herman makes a similar case for the Guzhou
region of southeastern Guizhou. See his “National Integration and Regional
Hegemony,” chapter 4.
15	A fourth category could be used to describe indigenous polities that were
largely independent of the imperial state, such as the Nasu Yi states of north-
western Guizhou and Yunnan. And a fifth category might describe the Tai
polities of southern Yunnan that paid dual fealty to China’s imperial state
and the kingdoms ofmainland Southeast Asia. See Herman, Amid the Clouds
and Mist, Whittaker, “Yi Identity and Confucian Empire,” and Giersch,
Asian Borderlands.
16	During the spring and summer of 1659, Beijing renewed the investiture of
more than forty tusi throughout Guizhou. See He Renzhong, et al., Guizhou
tongshi. Di sanjuan, Qingdai de Guizhou (A comprehensive history of Gui-
zhou, part 3, Qing dynasty Guizhou) (Beijing: Dangdai Zhongguo chuban-
she, 2002), 223.
17	This measure was originally proposed by Guizhou Governor Zhao Tingchen.
See Herman, “Empire in the Southwest,” 48-49.
18	Herman, “National Integration and Regional Hegemony,” 54-55.
19	Herman, “Empire in the Southwest,” 60-66.
20	Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 44. See also Yingcong Dai, The Sichuan Frontier
and Tibet: Imperial Strategy in the Early Qing (Seattle: University of Wash-
ington Press, 2009), 28-29.
21	After Wu captured and executed the last Ming pretender (the Prince of Gui,Notes /	153
whom Wu pursued into Burma) in 1662, he was named a Prince of the Blood
and subsequently gained control over all the provincial officials in Yunnan
and Guizhou. Wu claimed that tax revenues and profits from his monopolies
would be used for public works. See Tsao, “The Rebellion of the Three Feu-
datories,” 58-60, 68.
22	In particular, Wu Sangui targeted the Shuixi region, the traditional strong-
hold of the powerful An family. The Qing court authorized Wu to depose An
Kun, the Nasu Yi native official, on grounds that An had collaborated with
Ming loyalists who had straggled into Shuixi. To be sure, the native ruler had
taken up arms, but only as a result of Wu’s repeated provocations. The Shuixi
region was subsequently divided into four prefectures, all of them under
Wu’s personal supervision. In 1683, the Kangxi Emperor restored the Shuixi
ruling clan’s official titles, and this clan remained in power until 1727. See
Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 201-15.
23	Kai-fu Tsao estimates that Wu commanded 64,000 troops by 1665, costing
the Qing more than nine million taels annually. See his “The Rebellion of the
Three Feudatories,” 65-68. For more on Wu’s self-aggrandizing schemes, see
YingcongDai, “The Rise of the Southwestern Frontier under the Qing, 1640-
1800” (PhD diss., University of Washington, 1996), 86-93.
24	This rebellion, the so-called War of the Three Feudatories, began when the
Kangxi emperor ordered Wu Sangui and two other feudatories, Geng Jing-
zhong, and Shang Kexi, to resign their hereditary governorships. Wu then
killed the regularly appointed governor of Yunnan and proclaimed a new
dynasty, the Zhou. By 1674, he had occupied six provinces in southern and
southwestern China, and had set up a new capital in Hunan. Later that year,
the other two feudatories joined Wu’s cause, bringing Fujian and Guang-
dong under the rebel banner. In 1678, Wu Sangui died in Hunan, leaving his
throne to his grandson, who later retreated to Yunnan. The rebellion dragged
on for another two years (until the younger Wu committed suicide in late
1681) and Qing armies quickly reestablished imperial control over the south-
west. For a detailed account of the rebellion, see Tsao, “The Rebellion of the
Three Feudatories,” chapters 2 and 3. See also Herman, Amid the Clouds and
Mist, 216-18.
25	One official who fell under the emperor’s suspicion was Cai Yurong, governor-
general of Yunnan and Guizhou from 1682 to 1686. At one time an imperial
favorite for his role in suppressing Wu Sangui, Cai was eventually dismissed
from office after he pushed for an aggressive policy against the native offi-
cials. See Dai, The Sichuan Frontier and Tibet, 28-29.
26	Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the Development of Southwest China,” 44.154	/ Notes
27	For a comprehensive discussion of Yongzheng’s reforms, see Pei Huang,
Autocracy at Work: A Study of the Yung-cheng Period, 1723-35 (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1975). See also see Mote, Imperial China, 900-1800,
887-911.
28	For example, Yongzheng legalized the tax surcharges that local officials tra-
ditionally assessed to augment their meager salaries and used the surcharges
to subsidize merit increases for all officials. See Madeline Zelin, The Magis-
trate’s Tael: Rationalizing Fiscal Reform in Eighteenth-Century China (Berke-
ley: University of California Press, 1984). The Yongzheng emperor also
created an inner court haven where he could discuss policy with small, infor-
mal committees made up of his most trusted officials, and made expanded
use of palace memorials (zouzhe), confidential reports submitted directly to
the throne by a select group of officials. He adopted the use of palace memori-
als from the Kangxi Emperor, who had originally employed the secret com-
muniques to establish a private channel of communication with officials in
the Imperial Household Department (neiwu fu). From there, the practice
spread to other government organs in the capital and then to provincial offi-
cials. Whereas Kangxi had allowed only a few favored individuals to submit
memorials, Yongzheng extended the privilege to a much larger number of
men. This ensured a steady flow of information from all over the realm, and
also enabled the emperor to cultivate close relationships with the memori-
alists by writing detailed responses in vermilion ink, known as vermilion
rescripts (zhupi) on the original documents. As Smith explains, Ortai’s rela-
tionship with Yongzheng flourished in large part as a result of their corre-
spondence through memorials and rescripts. See his “Ch’ing Policy and the
Development of Southwest China.” For more detailed discussions on the
inner court and palace memorial system, see Beatrice S. Bartlett, Monarchs
and Ministers: The Grand Council in Mid-Ch’ing China 1723-1830 (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1991). See also Mark C. Elliot, “The Manchu-
language Archives of the Qing Dynasty and the Origins of the Palace Memo-
rial System,” Late Imperial China 22:1 (June 2001): 48-55.
29	Edict ofYZ 2/5/17, reprinted in QingShilu Guizhou ziliaojiyao (A collection
of materials on Guizhou from the Qing Veritable Records) (Guiyang: Gui-
zhou renmin chubanshe, 1962), 305. This collection hereafter cited as QSL-GZ.
Also cited in Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the Development of Southwest
China,” 45.
30	The transition from a conservative policy to a more aggressive one is sum-
marized in Smith, 44-46. Ortai was a prime example of Yongzheng’s “new
men”—officials whose loyalty and talent compensated for a lack of familyNotes /	155
connections and scholarly credentials. The Emperor preferred such officials
to men of letters, whom he considered less likely to be his willing tools. “New
men” owed their career success almost entirely to Yongzheng and thus
became, in Smith’s words, “eager instruments of [the emperor’s] assault
against the status quo in the empire.” See Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the
Development of Southwest China,” 14-16. For more on Yongzheng’s “new
men,” see William T. Rowe, Saving the World: Chen Hongmou and Elite Con-
sciousness in Eighteenth-Century China (Stanford: Stanford University Press,
2001), esp. 45-85.
31	The Guizhou governor expressed concern that the unlawful native officials
in Dingfan-Guangshun would have a bad influence on the more quiescent
ones. See YZZPYZ 1:580-81, Mao Wenquan memorial YZ 2/10/24. Provincial
officials dealing with the unrest in Nanlong also complained that the native
rulers failed to hand criminals over to Qing authorities. See, for example,
Yongzheng chao Hanwen zhupi zouzhe huibian (Collection of Chinese-
language palace memorials from the Yongzheng reign), compiled by the
Zhongguo di yi lishi dang’an guan. (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 1989)
9: 8-10, YZ 5/2/2, Han Liangfu memorial. This collection hereafter cited as
YZHZZ.
32	YZZPYZ 5: 2603, Ortai memorial, YZ 4/9/19.
33	Dai, The Sichuan Frontier and Tibet, 107-8. See also Giersch, Asian Border-
lands, 44-45.
34	Aibida, Qiannan shilue, 43.
35	Most ofthe tusi in this region were Zhongjia, but a few were Miao. See Aibida,
Qiannan shilue, 43, for a comprehensive list ofthe fan.
36	Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the Development of Southwest China,” 49.
37	Guangshun zhouzhi (Gazetteer of Guangshun department) 1846, 5: 14a and
i7a-b, also cited in Smith, 54-55.
38	YZZPYZ 1: 574-75, Mao Wenquan memorial, YZ 2/5/14.
39	YZZPYZ 1: 575, imperial rescript on Mao Wenquan memorial, YZ 2/5/14.
40	YZZPYZ 1:580-581, Mao Wenquan, 2/10/24. See also GongzhongDangYong-
zheng Chao (Secret palace memorials of the Yongzheng reign) (Taipei:
National Palace Museum, 1978), 4:372-73, YZ 2/10/25, Gao Qizhuo memorial.
This collection hereafter cited as GZDYZ. (Note: YZZPYZ is organized by
memorialist, while GZDYZ is organized by date. References in this chapter
are written to reflect the internal organization of each collection.) Mao Wen-
quan tried to hide Qing failures from the emperor for as long as possible. The
true course of events came to light in Gao Qizhuo’s memorials. See Smith,
“Ch’ing Policy and the Development of Southwest China,” 60-66.156	/ Notes
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
GZDYZ 5: 773-76, YZ 3/1/26, Gao Qizhuo memorial.
Ibid.
YZZPYZ1: 580, Mao Wenquan memorial, YZ 2/8/28. See also YZZPYZ1: 581,
Mao Wenquan memorial, YZ 2/10/24.
There was, however, one minor setback at the very beginning of the cam-
paign. Before the Qing expeditionary force set out from Dingfan, five hun-
dred Qing soldiers arrived in a village inhabited by members of the Qing
Miao ethnic group, not Zhongjia. The inhabitants had already fled into a
nearby grove, and the troops set up camp in the village. The troops burned
down this and four other friendly Miao villages. The villagers, understand-
ably enraged by the wanton destruction, surrounded and attacked the
troops, wounding several. See YZZPYZ 1: 580-81, Mao Wenquan memorial,
YZ 2/10/24, and GZDYZ 774, 3/1/26, Gao Qizhuo memorial.
Gong Yin, Zhongguo tusi zhidu [The tusi system in China] (Kunming: Yun-
nan minzu chubanshe, 1992), 840-41.
YZZPYZ 1: 582, Mao Wenquan memorial, YZ 2/11/17.
Ibid.
Smith, “Ch’ing Policy and the Development of Southwest China,” 67.
Edict of YZ 3/4/13, reprinted in QSL-GZ, 497.
Shi Liha assumed this position in the spring of 1725, taking over from Mao
Wenquan.
YZZPYZ 1: 322-23, Shi Liha memorial, YZ 3/10/13.
YZZPYZ 1: 327, Shi Liha memorial, YZ 4/3/20.
Gao Qizhuo’s original plan called for the transfer of troops from Dading in
northwestern Guizhou to Ding-Guang.
YZZPYZ 5: 2581, Ortai memorial, YZ 4/4/9.
YZZPYZ 5: 2581-82, Ortai memorial, YZ 4/4/9.
Ibid. Kent Smith notes that other provincial officials had lobbied for a non-
violent solution in Changzhai, but they did not have enough influence with
the emperor to give their views force. See his “Ch’ing Policy and the Develop-
ment of Southwest China,” 77-80.
YZZPYZ 5: 2591, Ortai memorial, YZ 4/6/20.
YZZPYZ 5: 2593-94, Ortai memorial, YZ 4/7/9.
YZZPYZ 5: 2602, Ortai memorial YZ 4/8/19.
YZZPYZ 5: 2612-14, Ortai memorial, YZ 4/11/15.
Scott, Seeing Like a State, 65.
Sicheng was a native district (fuzhou) during the Ming dynasty, and was later
elevated to a native prefecture during the early days of Qing rule.Notes /	157
63	By the late Ming period, the Cen clan controlled seven domains in central
and northwestern Guangxi, making them the province’s second-largest lin-
eage group of native officials. The Huang lineage was the largest, with eleven
domains. See Leo K, Shin, The Making of the Chinese State: Ethnicity and
Expansion on the Ming Borderlands (New York: Cambridge University Press,
2006), 75, 82-90.
64	Claims to Han Chinese descent probably gave the Cens some leverage over
the non-Han peoples they governed (many of whom made their own claims
to Chinese ancestry, as noted in chapter 2), and enhanced their legitimacy in
the eyes of Ming officialdom. See Ebrey, “Surnames and Han Chinese Iden-
tity,” 23.
65	Shin, The Making of the Chinese State, 70; Huang Jiaxin, Zhuangzu diqu tusi
zhidu, 228.
66	Shi Jizhong,“Qza« Gui bianjiang,” 292-93. The uprising was led by Nong
Zhigao, who is still revered as a folk hero in many Zhuang regions. For a
discussion of Zhuang relations with the Song state, see Jeffrey G. Barlow,
“The Zhuang Minority of the Sino-Vietnamese Frontier in the Song Period,”
Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, 18, no. 2 (September 1987): 250-69. See
also Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority in the Ming Era,” Ming Studies, No. 28
(Fall 1989): 15-41.
67	Shi Jizhong, “Qian Gui bianjiang,” 292-93. In recent years, scholars have
questioned both the Cens’ ancestral links to Cen Zhongshu and their pur-
ported Zhejiang roots. Although some historians still contend that the Cens
moved to Guangxi from Zhejiang during the Song period, others have sug-
gested that the family originated in Guangxi and belonged to the indigenous
Zhuang elite. Still others argue for a middle ground in which the Cen family
was originally Han Chinese but lived among the indigenous populations of
Guangxi for so long that they internalized local culture and effectively
became Zhuang. See Barlow, “The Zhuang,” chapter 9, note 15. See also Huang
Jiaxin, Zhuangzu diqu tusi zhidu, 228-31.
68	Huang Jiaxin, 230-31; Gong Yin, Zhongguo tusi zhidu, 1107. See also Shi
Jizhong, “Qian Gui bianjiang,” 292.
69	Shi Jizhong, “Qian Gui bianjiang,” 292-93; Huang Yiren, Buyizu shi (A his-
tory of the Buyi nationality) (Guiyang: Guizhou renmin chubanshe, 1992),
147-49.
70	Nanlong fuzhi 2: 2a-2b.
71	It is not clear if the Cens had any dealings with the Southern Ming leaders
based in southwestern China during the 1650s.158	/ Notes
72	The first Cen native official to receive this title from the Qing was Cen Jilu.
73	YZZPYZ 5: 2627, Ortai memorial, YZ 5/1/25.
74	In 1667, Nanlong was made subordinate to Guiyang prefecture, even farther
away. Twenty years later, it was placed under the jurisdiction of Anshun. See
Xingyi fuzhi, 46: 9a. See also Aibida, Qiannan shilue, 219 and 227.
75	Xingyi fuzhi 46:9a; see also edict of KX 50/8/13, reprinted in QSL-GZ, 496-97
and Aibida, Qiannan shilue, 222.
76	The Guangxi chieftain’s name was Wang Shangyi. His adversary in Guizhou
was A Jiu.
77	As noted earlier, the Huangcaoba garrison had only 1,500 troops, which may
explain Cai’s reluctance to use military force against the warring chieftains.
Although Cai does not say as much in his memorial, it is possible that his
colleagues’ repeated humiliations in Dingfan-Guangshun two years earlier
had taught him that Qing commanders could not afford to underestimate the
Zhongjia.
78	Yongzheng chao Hanwen zhupi zouzhe huibian (Collection of Chinese-
language palace memorials from the Yongzheng reign), ed. China Number
One Historical Archives (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 1989) 7: 896-97,
YZ 4/8/16, Cai Chenggui memorial. This collection hereafter cited as YZHZZ.
79	YZZPYZ 5: 2627, Ortai memorial, YZ 5/1/25.
80	YZHZZ 9: 8-10, YZ 5/2/2, Han Liangfu memorial.
81	Edict of YZ 5/2/29, reprinted in Qingshilu Guangxi ziliao huibian (A collec-
tion of materials on Guangxi from the Qing shilu) (Nanning: Guangxi
renmin chubanshe, 1982), Vol. 1: 245.
82	YZZPYZ 5: 2649, Ortai memorial, YZ YZ 5/13/26.26.
83	YZHZZ 9: 601-2, YZ 5/4/8, Han Liangfu memorial.
84	As noted earlier, Zhejiang was supposed to be the Cen family’s ancestral
home, but much evidence suggests that the clan originated in Guangxi.
85	YZZPYZ 5:2663, Ortai memorial, 5/6/6. See also YZHZZ 10: 197-98, YZ
5/7/10, Cai Chenggui memorial.
86	YZHZZ 10: 81-84, Ortai memorial, YZ 5/6/27. See edict of YZ 5/8/20,
reprinted in QSL-GZ, 258-59 and Xingyi fuzhi 46: I3a-i5b. The former
Guangxi territory of Luoke was originally placed under the jurisdiction of
Yongfeng department, but in 1749, it was transferred to the jurisdiction of
Dingfan department. Evidently, local officials determined that the transpor-
tation and communication routes between Luoke and Dingfan were better
than those linking Luoke to Yongfeng.
87	Xingyi fuzhi, 9: ia-10. See also Li Qingfu and Xu Xianlong, Buyizu jianshi,
76-77-Notes /	159
4 I LIVELIHOOD CHOICES IN THE MID-EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
1	See, for example, Zhupi zouzhe, minzu shiwu lei (Palace memorials, minority
affairs category), 2074-15, QL 8/6/10, Guizhou surveillance commissioner
Song Hou. These documents hereafter cited as ZPZZ mzl.
2	Michaud, “Hmong infrapolitics,” 1862.
3	This chapter only includes cases on the Zhongjia found in the minzu shiwu
lei category of the Palace Memorials (zhupi zouzhe) housed at the First His-
torical Archives in Beijing. I have also examined twenty-five murder cases
from the collection of Xingke tiben, tudizhaiwu lei (Board of Punishments
Office of Scrutiny, Routine Memorials, homicide cases related to disputes
overland and debt). Interestingly, most of these cases involved Han-on-Han
violence ratherthan violence within non-Han communities, or between Han
and non-Han residents. Based on this small sampling, it appears that inter-
ethnic aggression was rare on a day-to-day basis. This is in keeping with
William T. Rowe’s observation about violence in southwestern China. As he
notes, “Aggrieved parties resorted to arms to defend highly complex and
specific local interests, and not necessarily along strict ethnic lines.” See his
China’s Last Empire: The Great Qing (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 2009),
79-
4	Michaud, “Hmong infrapolitics,” 1857.
5	See, for example, ZPZZ mzl 2074-15. Chipin wulai is a set phrase often found
in Qing criminal investigations. Mark McNicholas calls this a “documentary
signpost.” See Mark McNicholas, “Poverty Tales and Statutory Politics in
Mid-Qing Fraud Cases,” in Writing and Law in Late Imperial China: Crime,
Conflict, and Judgment, eds. Robert E. Hegel and Katherine Carlitz (Seattle:
University of Washington Press, 2007), 155-56.
6	Lombard-Salmon, Un Exemple d’acculturation Chinose, 182-97. See also He
Weifu, Qingdai Guizhou shangpin, 166-71 and 174-77.
7	Lombard-Salmon, Un Exempled’acculturation Chinose, 199-203.
8	Ibid, 202. See also He Weifu, Qingdai Guizhou shangpin, 178-83 and
238-45-
9	Lombard-Salmon, Un Exemple d’acculturation Chinose, 205-6. See also He
Weifu, Qingdai Guizhou shangpin, 224-33.
10	ZPZZ mzl 2074:1-14 and 2075:1-5.
11	ZPZZ mzl 1853:1-7 and 1854:1-2.
12	ZPZZ mzl 1963:1-6.
13	The Qing sources cited throughout this chapter do not allow the participants
in the criminal cases much room to speak. Qing officials either spoke for thei6o / Notes
accused and the witnesses, or else the court reports heavily edited and fil-
tered the voices of the participants. In order to understand the perceptions
and motivations of the participants in each criminal case, the discussion
compares the official record of each case, wherever possible, with sources
relating to the indigenous Zhongjia religion known as Mo.
14	As we shall see, the ringleaders of the Ran Jing case of 1766 were captured in
Sichuan, but perpetrated most of their criminal activities in Guizhou.
15	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1, QL 8/3/21, Guizhou governor Zhang Guangsi. Huang San
hailed from a hamlet near Xilong, subordinate to Sicheng prefecture.
16	Ibid. The other men were named Wang Ali, Bu Xiujia, Wei Asan, Luo Long,
and Luo Awei.
17	Even if they encountered someone who could not speak Nong or Zhongjia,
they could always fall back on the local variant of Chinese.
18	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1. Duangong is a Daoist-influenced form of magic practiced
by several ethnic groups in southwestern China, notably the Qiang of west-
ern Sichuan. See Wang Mingke, Qiangzai Han Zangzhijian (The Qiang:
between Han and Tibetans) (Liaojing chubanshe, 2003), 253.
19	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1, QL 8/3/2, Guizhou governor Zhang Guangsi. See also
ZPZZ mzl 2074-2, QL 8/3/26, Anlong regional commander Song Ai; and
ZPZZ mzl 2074-15, QL 8/6/10, Guizhou surveillance commissioner (ancha-
shi) Song Hou.
20	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1. As noted in chapter 3, even after gaitu guiliu in this
region, many rural areas remained under the control of indigenous elites like
Wang Li.
21	It is not clear when the Zhuang and Buyi began using modified Chinese
characters to write their religious texts. Scholars in Guangxi cite a seventh-
century stone inscription as evidence that it could have been as early as the
Tang dynasty. Some Guizhou scholars, however, insist that the Zhongjia did
not begin using Chinese characters until after the gaitu guiliu reforms of the
Yongzheng reign, for it was only then that the Confucian education system
took root in southwestern Guizhou. This Sinocentric argument runs counter
to historical evidence. Confucian schools were established in Guizhou well
before the Yongzheng-era reforms. Moreover, these schools were not the only
vehicle for teaching Chinese literacy, for the Zhongjia had been interacting
with Han Chinese settlers and imperial officials for centuries before the Qing
period. See Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 46-51. The Mo texts bear striking paral-
lels to the Vietnamese chtf-ndm script, which also used Chinese characters
to represent the local language. Whereas Mo script was used exclusively for
religious purposes, chtf-ndm was used to record vernacular literature. DuringNotes /	161
French colonial rule, chtf-ndm was replaced by Quoc-ngu, the Romanized
script still used in Vietnam today.
22	As Holm explains, Mo authors sometimes used standard characters for pho-
netic and semantic readings; sometimes they created entirely new characters
to represent words in their native tongue. The texts were incomprehensible
to outsiders—and deliberately so. See Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 47-49.
23	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1.
24	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1 and ZPZZ mzl 2074-15. Wang Ali and Bu Xiujia were the
two men who died resisting arrest. The Yongfeng department magistrate’s
name was Wang Yunhao, and the Nanlong prefectural magistrate was Yang
Hui.
25	See chapter 2.
26	The sale of these positions provided the Qing government with an important
source of revenue and also created a class of bureaucrats who helped link
local communities to state entities. See Charles O. Hucker, A Dictionary of
Official Titles in Imperial China (Reprint; Taipei: SMC Publishing Inc, 1995),
150,303. See also Chung-li Chang, The Chinese Gentry: Studies on their Role
in Nineteenth-Century Chinese Society (Seattle: University of Washington
Press, 1955), 5, 7-8, 29-30; and Rowe, China’s Last Empire, 50-54,114.
27	See Donald Sutton, “Ethnicity and the Miao Frontier,” 220.
28	Michaud, “Hmong infrapolitics,” 1868-69.
29	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1 and ZPZZ mzl 2074-15 .Wang Zuxian claimed that the mine
was in Bengjia, a hamlet under the jurisdiction of Nanlong prefecture.
30	In the Buyi dialects of southwestern Guizhou, the term bumo (spelled boumo
in some English publications) is written while in the Zhuang dialects
of northwestern Guangxi, it is written	In Qing sources, bumo is written
baomu (?Of=/J6S) or sometimes baomo (fSM)- See Holm, Killing a Buffalo,
21-23.
31	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1. Unfortunately, the sources do not describe the magical
acts or rituals that Baomu Bai performed, but the repertoire of duangong
specialists typically included spells, chants, and dances to ward off evil and
cure disease, and sometimes exorcisms.
32	Zhou Guomao, “Mojing wenxue: yizhong qite de wenxue leixing” (Mojing
literature: a singular type of literature) in Buyizu Mojing wenxue (Mojing
religious literature of the Buyi ethnic group) ed. Zhou Guomao, et al. (Gui-
yang: Guizhou renmin chubanshe, 1997), 1. For more on the role of the bumo
in contemporary Zhuang and Buyi communities, see Holm, Killing a Buffalo,
21-22.
33	For more on Maoshan Daoism, see Isabelle Robinet, “Shangqing,” in The162	/ Notes
Encyclopedia of Taoism, Volume 2, ed. Fabrizio Pregadio (London: Rout-
ledge, 2008), 858-66. See also Anna Seidel, “Taoist Messianism,” Numen, 31,
no. 2 (December 1984): 171-72. Meishan, another school of Daoism, is also
widely practiced in Buyi and Zhuang communities. Meishan Daoism is espe-
cially prevalent among the Yao of southwestern China, Vietnam, and Thai-
land. The origins of this form of Daoism remain a subject of much debate,
but some scholars postulate that it developed in Yao regions of western
Hunan. When the Yao moved south into Guangxi and Guizhou, their reli-
gious practices took root in Buyi and Zhuang communities. See Eli Alberts,
A History of Daoism and the Yao People of South China (New York: Cambria
Press, 2006).
34	Functional specification between the bumo and Daoist priests seems to vary
across time and space. The distinction is clear in the old Buyi/Zhuang text,
“Recitation on the Search for Water.” When confronted with an epidemic, an
ancient Zhuang king was advised to consult both bumo and Daoist priests:
“In the middle of the night recite your prayer/Have a Taoist come and con-
duct [the proceedingsj/Invite a boumo to come and plead your case.” The
bumo, it seems, was entrusted with communications with the spiritual realm,
while the Daoist priest was asked to carry out certain rituals. See Holm,
Recalling Lost Souls, 106-8. In some communities, however, the same person
might serve as either a bumo or a Daoist priest, as the occasion warranted.
See Holm, Killing a Buffalo, 172. When I asked Buyi scholar Yu Luo about the
distinction in Buyi communities today, she said that the bumo appear to be
most actively involved in life cycle rituals such as births, funerals, and ances-
tral worship. She added that many Buyi villagers are quick to say that the
bumo is “not the same person” as the Daoist priest, but they cannot explain
the different roles of these religious practitioners. E-mail correspondence,
June 16, 2012 and July 2, 2012.
35	Cupellation is the process of applying extreme heat to ores or alloyed metals
to separate noble metals like gold and silver from base metals like lead copper
and zinc.
36	Huang San’s testimony, at least as it is recorded in the Palace Memorials,
evinces his unwavering faith in the existence of the “spirit silver.” However,
we should take this with a grain of salt. Qing officials, stymied as they were
by this case, had a vested interest in portraying Huang San and other partici-
pants as foolish rustics, mired in superstition and ignorance.
37	Wang Bujiang told officials that the hamlet was called Dongmajia, but this
later proved to be a memory lapse or an outright lie. Subsequent testimony
from other witnesses indicated that the hamlet’s real name was Mumajia.Notes /	163
Huang Zuxian’s real name was Huang Yilao, sometimes written Huang A
Lao. In the Zhongjia dialects of eastern Yunnan, the diminutive “Yi” was
sometimes used instead of the more commonplace “A.” See ZPZZ mzl 2074-1
and ZPZZ mzl 2074-7.
38	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1.
39	Ibid.
40	Ibid. See also ZPZZ mzl 2074-7.
41	ZPZZ mzl 2074-7.
42	Ibid.
43	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1 and ZPZZ mzl 2074-7.
44	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1.
45	ZPZZ mzl 2074-1 and ZPZZ mzl 2074-15.
46	Ibid.
47	These two men, Huang San and Wang Zuxian, were accessories to a crime
that officials had resolved to their satisfaction during the Yongzheng reign.
See ZPZZ mzl 2075-1.
48	According to Brent Huffman, curator of www.ultimateungulate.com,
“Guizhou province is just outside of the current range of the bharal, so the
species—if present—would likely be quite rare.” E-mail correspondence,
March 7, 2012.
49	The wanderer was named Wang A’er, and his landlord was Wang Wenjia. See
ZPZZ mzl 2074-5, QL 8/4/26, Guangxi governor Yang Xifu; and ZPZZ mzl
2074-6, QL 8/4/30, Guizhou governor Zhang Guangsi and Guizhou provin-
cial military commissioner Han Dong. See also ZPZZ mzl 2074-15.
50	ZPZZ mzl 2075-3, QL 8^4/27, Zuojiang regional military commander Bi
Ying.
51	ZPZZ mzl 2074-15.
52	ZPZZ mzl 2075-4, QL 8/8/6, Yunnan governor Zhang Yunsui.
53	The next six paragraphs are based on Zhupi zouzhe, minzu shiwu lei (Palace
memorials, minority affairs category), 1853-1, QL 31/3/28, Fang Shijun.
54	Zhe Ruo, Li Bao, Luo Puti, and A Liu.
55	Zhu Bao and A Liu.
56	Dong Zhengyuan was probably not exaggerating his poverty. Daoists were
marginalized in Qing China, for the Qing rulers practiced Tibetan Bud-
dhism and promoted neo-Confucianism as the state doctrine. The govern-
ment also tended to regard Daoism as a source of potential heterodoxy and
social unrest, since its clergy tended to live in isolated monasteries, lacked a
strong religious structure, and had inadequate financial support. The eco-
nomic and social constraints must have been particularly acute for Daoists164	/ Notes
living in one of China’s poorest provinces. See Monica Esposito, “Daoism
in the Qing,” in Daoism Handbook, ed. Livia Kohn (Leiden: Brill, 2000),
623-24.
57	Again, Zhu Bao and A Liu.
58	Zhe Ruo , Li Bao , and Luo Puti.
59	The next four paragraphs are based on ZPZZ mzl 1853-2, QL 31/4/1, Aertai.
Aertai should not be confused with the similarly named Ortai, who had
served as Yunnan-Guizhou Governor-General forty years earlier.
60	Qianlong chao shangyu dang (Imperial edicts of the Qianlong reign), Com-
piled by the Number One Historical Archives, (Beijing: Dang’an chubanshe,
1991), 4: 870, item 2452, Court letter (ziji) to Fang Shijun, QL 31/4/21.
61	Ran Lang was also interrogated, but Ran Jing’s confession provides the fullest
account. Ran Hua had died of an illness en route. See ZPZZ mzl 1854-2, QL
31/5/12, Fang Shijun.
62	Ibid.
63	Da Qingluli (Great Qing code) (1740) (Reprint, Tianjin: Tianjin guji chuban-
she, 1991), 22:10-11. These crimes were regarded as much more serious than
those committed in the homicide cases discussed earlier because they posed
a potential threat to the dynasty. Plotting rebellion counted among the Ten
Abominations (Shi E)—the most abhorrent offenses against persons or the
state—enumerated in the preamble to the Qing Code. Plotting rebellion was
one of the three capital crimes listed among the Ten Abominations, the other
two being disloyalty (moupan) and treason (mou dani). Sorcery involving
prophecies was also a capital offense, punishable by immediate decapitation;
and the same penalty applied to treason. See Philip A. Kuhn, Soulstealers:
The Chinese Sorcery Scare of 1768 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1991), 87-88.
64	ZPZZ mzl 1854-2.
65	William T. Rowe, “Education and Empire in Southwest China: Ch’en Hung-
mou in Yunnan, 1733-1738,” in Education and Society in Late Imperial China,
ed. Benjamin A. Elman and Alexander Woodside (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1994), 417-57.
66	ZPZZ mzl 1963-1, QL 31/4/7, Fang Shijun. Wei Xuewen’s friends were A Shou
and Chen Ziyu.
67	Once again, “Miao” serves in these records as a generic term for the non-
Chinese. Most likely, it refers to the Zhongjia and perhaps other smaller
groups living in the Guiding region.
68	ZPZZ mzl 1963-3, QL 31/5/4, Fang Shijun.
69	Wei Xuewen’s friend, Chen Ziyu, organized these activities.Notes /	165
70	ZPZZ mzl 1963-3.
71	ZPZZ mzl 1963-2.
72	ZPZZ mzl 1963-2 and 1963-3.
73	Edict of QL 31/5/13, reprinted in QSL-GZ, 1168-69.
74	ZPZZ mzl 1963-6, QL 31/6/6, Fang Shijun.
75	Da Qing luli, 23:254. As noted earlier, treason counted among the Ten
Abominations.
76	The other conspirators included Yang Guochen, Chen Ziyu, A Shou, and
three others.
77	ZPZZ mzl 1963-5, QL 31/6/6, Fang Shijun.
78	Today, it appears that some Hmong villagers in Vietnam have adopted a
similar stance on state-mandated education. As Michaud writes, “I suspect
many Hmong are not unhappy to limit . . . cultural dilution among their
youth. They stick to what really matters: passing on ancestral knowledge
through customary education, and limiting formal schooling to what is
needed to learn some accountancy and become proficient enough in the
national language to ensure good dealings.” See “Hmong infrapolitics,” 13.
79	Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, yj.
5 / THE NANLONG UPRISING OF 1797
1	See, for example, Gongzhong Dang Jia qing chao zouzhe (Secret palace memo-
rials of the Jiaqing reign), compiled by and held at the National Palace
Museum, Taipei, 3:2, 648, JQ 2/1/27, Feng Guangxiong memorial. This col-
lection hereafter cited as GZDJQ.
2	Wei Qiluoxu’s real name was Wei Chaoyuan. His nickname, “Seven-whisker
Wei” was a reference to his wispy beard. Wang Niangxian’s real name was
Wang Acong. She is sometimes called “Immortal Maiden Wang” (Wang
Xiangu). For consistency’s sake, I will refer to them as Wei Qiluoxu and
Wang Niangxian.
3	The Zhongjia had few guns during the early weeks of the rebellion; their
arsenal consisted mainly of hunting knives. They acquired firearms later,
after raiding Guizhou’s towns and cities. This point will be considered later
in the chapter. On the use of magic to neutralize an enemy’s technological
advantages, see Michael Adas, Prophets of Rebellion: Millenarian Protest Move-
ments against the European Colonial Order (Chapel Hill: The University of
North Carolina Press, 1979), 151.
4	Qingdai Jiaqing nianjian Guizhou Buyizu “Nanlong qiyi” ziliao xuanbian
(Collected materials on the “Nanlong Uprising” of the Buyi people during
the Jiaqing reign), comp, by China Number One Historical Archives, the166	/ Notes
Southwest Guizhou People’s Committee, and the Guizhou Buyi Studies
Committee (Guiyang: Guizhou minzu chubanshe, 1989), 52-55. This collec-
tion hereafter cited as NQX.
5	The following collections of archival materials were used in this chapter: (1.)
Secret palace memorials of the Jiaqing Reign (GZDJQ); (2.) Jiaobu Dang
(Record of pursuit and arrest), hereafter cited as JBD; and (3.) Palace Memo-
rial reference copies in the minority affairs category (Junji chu lufu zouzhe
minzu shiwu lei) from the Number One Historical Archives in Beijing,
reprinted in NQX. A comparison of the published NQX collection against
the microfilmed versions at the archives revealed no discrepancies. The NQX
references each lufu it reprints. In this chapter, the lufu citations will be pro-
vided in parentheses after each NQX entry; Junji chu lufu zouzhe minzu
shiwu lei (Grand Council reference copies of palace memorials, minority
affairs category) will hereafter be cited as JCLZ mzl.
6	These two Zhongjia narratives, “Wang Xiangu” and “Nanlong fanbing ge,”
are also included in NQX. Citations for these narratives will follow this for-
mat: NQX, page number, “Wang Xiangu” (or “Nanlong fanbing ge”).
7	In Buyi oral tradition, narrative poems are epic tales that developed from
folksongs. For descriptions of various forms of Buyi folk literature, see Zhou
Guoyan et al., eds.,Languages and Cultures of the Kam-Tai (Zhuang-Dong)
Group: A Word List, 24-32; and Huang Yiren, Buyizu shi, 187-88.
8	This indigenous account is a narrative poem in eighteen stanzas, recorded by
Buyi ethnographers when they collected “Wang Xiangu.” Sung verses alter-
nate with spoken-word explanations, a typical pattern for this genre. See
Zhou, Languages and Cultures of the Kam-Tai, 24-32.
9	For reasons that will be explored in the next section, PRC historians have
mostly ignored the Buyi narratives.
10	James Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 87.
11	Claudine Lombard-Salmon’s study of eighteenth-century Guizhou only
mentions the rebellion in passing. See Un exemple d’acculturation Chinoise,
passim. In his essay on the Liu military family of Xingyi (formerly Nanlong),
Edward McCord makes a brief reference to the uprising. See Edward A. McCord,
“Local Military Power and Elite Formation: The Liu Family of Xingyi County,
Guizhou,” in Chinese Local Elites and Patterns of Dominance, ed. Joseph W.
Esherick and Mary B. Rankin (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993),
162-90. Wang Niangxian also merits a short entry in a collection of eminent
Chinese women. See “Wang Niangxian,” in Lily Xiao Hong Lee, A. D. Stefanow-
ska, and Clara Wing Chung-ho, eds. Biographical dictionary of Chinese
women: The Qing Dynasty (Armonk: M. E. Sharpe, 1998).Notes /	167
12	As Stevan Harrell writes, “As representatives of their own minzu, and at the
same time participants in this hegemonic state project, [scholars] participate
in the two-way process of co-optation; their story gets told, and it is a glorious
one, but it is told as apart of the larger story of the Chinese nation as a whole.”
Harrell also remarks that in recent years, the strictures on minzu scholarship
have loosened somewhat. Although ethnography, ethnology, and linguistics
are still devoted to the state projects of nation-building and development,
these disciplines are no longer held to such a rigid, normalizing paradigm.
See Harrell, Ways of Being Ethnic in Southwest China (Seattle: University of
Washington Press, 2001), 45, 55.
13	The preface to NQX states that Han ren signifies Han landlords. See NQX, 4.
The authors of Guizhou tongshi (A comprehensive history of Guizhou), how-
ever, allowthe original phrase tian jiang mie Han ren to stand without quali-
fication, leaving open the possibility that the rebels attacked Han residents
without regard to their class background. It is worth noting that Guizhou
tongshi is a more recent book (published 2002), and its authors are not Buyi.
See He Renzhong, ed., Guizhou tongshi. Di sanjuan, Qingdai de Guizhou (A
comprehensive history of Guizhou, part 3, Qing dynasty Guizhou). (Beijing:
Dangdai Zhongguo chubanshe, 2002), 300.
14	The rebels typically attacked villages inhabited by ordinary Han peasants. Sev-
eral rebel confessions indicate that the Zhongjia were enticed to join the insur-
rection with promises that they could get rich by plundering Han villages.
15	For many years, after Mao Zedong himself decreed that class struggle was
the motive force of history, Chinese scholars had to treat “ethnic contradic-
tions” as a sub-type of class contradictions. One scholar of the Nanlong
Uprising allows that the rebellion arose from ethnic contradictions (minzu
maodun) as well as class contradictions, but “ethnic contradictions” are never
clearly defined. See, for example, Wu Changxing, “Qianxi Nanlong Buyizu
qiyi baofa yuanyin” (A brief analysis of the reasons for the outbreak of the
Nanlong Buyi Uprising), Buyi xue yanjiu 3 (1991): 71-78. See also Yan Yong
and Fan Lixia, “Lun Nanlong qiyi shehui beijing, jingyan jiaoxun jilishiyiyi”
(Discussing the social background, experience, lessons, and historical sig-
nificance of the “Nanlong Uprising”), Buyi xue yanjiu 3 (1991): 229-39.
16	See Chen Dingxiu, “Nanlong qiyi yuanyin” (A brief analysis of the origins of
the Nanlong Uprising), Buyi xue yanjiu 3 (1991): 58-65, and Wu Changxing,
71-78. Several scholars refer to the Nanlong Uprising as a peasant rebellion
(nongmin qiyi). See, for example, Huang Yiren, Buyizu jianshi. Interestingly,
Huang Yiren simply calls it “the Buyi people’s rebellion and struggle” (Buyizu
de qiyi douzheng). See his Buyizu shi, 198.168	/ Notes
17	Not even the Buyi scholars who collected and edited the indigenous narra-
tives have much to say. They note that many events described in the narra-
tives diverge from “historical facts” (that is, the events presented in the
archival record and local gazetteers) but these scholars neglect to explain
where and why these divergences occur.
18	Tian Yuan, ‘“Wang Xiangu,’ ‘Nanlong fanbing ge,’ qianxi” (A brief analysis
of “WangXiangu” and “Song ofthe Nanlong Resistance”), Buyi xueyanjiu 3
(1991): 286-90.
19	Huang, Buyizu shi, 188.
20	Jin may be on shaky historical ground here. The editors of NQX probably
added these references to multi-ethnic participation to serve the same politi-
cal aims expressed in Jin’s article. There is no evidence to suggest that the
Nanlong Uprising was a pan-ethnic rebellion. The Qing documents and the
two indigenous narratives all indicate that the overwhelming majority of
rebels were Zhongjia. As we shall see later in this chapter, the rebel leaders
did enlist the help of a local Han outlaw, but he was one of just a few docu-
mented participants from outside the Zhongjia ethnic group.
21	Jin Anjiang, “Cong Nanlong qiyi kan jindai Buyizu diqu de minzu guanxi”
(Looking at modern ethnic relations in Buyi regions since the Nanlong
Uprising), Buyi xueyanjiu 3 (1991): 115-16,119.
22	Perhaps these scholars were also reluctant to delve too deeply into the folk
traditions of their own ethnic group, lest they betray support (real or per-
ceived) for indigenous beliefs deemed inimical to socialism.
23	Leng Tianfang, “Zongjiao yu ‘Nanlong qiyi’” (Religion in the ‘Nanlong
Uprising’),” Buyi xueyanjiu 3 (1991): 130-38.
24	As David Atwill suggests in his work on nineteenth-century Yunnan, local
resistance viewed over a long period of time reveals a sustained, logical
response to external pressures. In the case of Yunnan, these pressures were
“state and new-Han power groups that threatened Yunnanese cultural soli-
darity and economic livelihood.” See Atwill, “Trading Places: Resistance,
Ethnicity, and Governance in Nineteenth-Century Yunnan,” in Dragons,
Tigers, and Dogs: Qing Crisis Management and the Boundaries of State Power
in Late Imperial China, Robert J. Antony and Jane Kate Leonard, eds. (Ithaca:
Cornell University Press, 2002), 242.
25	Communities within Nanlong were divided into hamlets (xiang), each
named after the four cardinal directions. These districts were further subdi-
vided into hamlets. Dongsa was part of the “Northern District,” or Beixiang.
The headmen in charge of these districts were directly responsible to imperi-
ally appointed local officials.Notes /	169
26	Mo priestesses were renowned for their ability to predict the future and dis-
pel evil spirits. According to one scholar, they did not always require the
special training required of their male counterparts. Some of the priestesses
acquired their powers after long illnesses. Also, they usually did not learn the
scriptures used by the bumo. See Zhou Guomao, ed. Yizhongteshu de wenhua
dianji: Buyizu Mojingyanjiu (A unique type of ancient texts: research on the
Mojing religious literature of the Buyi ethnic group) (Guiyang: Guizhou ren-
min chubanshe, 2006), 3.
27	Some sources refer to “crossing the darkness” as zouyin. The terminology
suggests Daoist influences in Zhongjia popular religion, as does the use of
terms such as “immortal.” See Li Rubiao, “‘Nanlong qiyi’ de zongjiao wenti”
(The question of religion in the ‘Nanlong Uprising’), Buyi xueyanjiu 3 (1991):
142. See also Wang Fangheng, “Nanlong qiyi zhong de wushu wenti” (The
question of sorcery in the Nanlong Uprising), Buyi xue yanjiu 3 (1991): 147.
The Northern Zhuang of Guangxi employ similar rituals called “crossing the
passes” (guoguan) to cure children’s illnesses. See Holm, RecallingLost Souls,
14-
28	Xingyi fuzhi, 46:19a-i9b.
29	NQX, 143, Document #129 (JCLZ mzl JQ 2/8/24, Confession of Wang
Niangxian).
30	Xingyi fuzhi, 46:19b.
31	Based on David Holm’s description, it seems that Wei Qiluoxu was a “ritual
master” or shigong (i5j52f), a broad descriptor for shamans, sorcerers, and
exorcists who used a repertoire of magical and theatrical practices to drive
away evil spirits. See Killing a Buffalo, 22-23.
32	NQX, 143, Document #129 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/8/24, Confession ofWei Qiluoxu).
Here, the Zhongjia are referred to as “Miao,” a generic term Qing officials
often used for non-Han residents of southwestern China, without regard to
their actual ethnicity.
33	Wei Qiluoxu was a social bandit in the most basic sense of the term; his aim
was to steal from the relatively wealthy and redistribute among the very poor.
For a discussion of social banditry in early twentieth-century Hunan, see
Elizabeth Perry’s essay, “Predatory Rebellion: Bai Lang and Social Banditry,”
in her Challenging the Mandate of Heaven: Social Protest and State Power in
China (Armonk: M. E. Sharpe, 2002), 108-33.
34	NQX, 43-44, Document #58 (JCLZ mzl JQ 2/2/17), joint confession from
Wang Asan, He Jima, Wei Aza, and Wang Jibao, four rebels captured during
the early days of the suppression campaign. See also GZDJQ, 3:2, 7138-714,
JQ 2/2/6, Feng Guangxiong memorial.170	/ Notes
35	NQX, 143, Document #129 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/8/24, Confession ofWei Qiluoxu).
See also Xingyi fuzhi, 46:17b. I have translated “Yunnan cheng” as Kunming,
the Yunnan provincial capital.
36	Wei Qiluoxu and Wang Niangxian never actually married; Wang Niangxian
was already betrothed to a man in her village. According to Zhongjia custom,
she and her husband lived separately for the first three years of their mar-
riage. In any case, Wei Qiluoxu’s allegiance was instrumental to his larger
ambitions. As Elizabeth Perry notes, the scope of a bandit leader’s control
depended upon the kinds of outside coalitions he was able to forge. Such
coalitions furnished protection for plundering purposes, and also served as
“as stepping stones to a wider world of power and fame.” See Perry’s chapter,
“Predators and Protectors: Strategies of Peasant Survival,” in her Challenging
the Mandate of Heaven, 21.
37	GZDJQ, 3:2, JQ 2/1/27, Feng Guangxiong memorial.
38	One account suggests that Zeng Tingkui committed suicide by stabbing him-
self in the abdomen. See Xingyi fuzhi 46: i9a-2oa. According to Feng Guang-
xiong, however, Zeng fell ill during the Lunar New Year and was bedridden
when the rebels attacked. When Zeng learned that Nanlong was under siege,
he immediately ordered local military personnel to protect the city. Several
days later, just before Zeng died, he again ordered civil officials, local gentry,
and local militia to protect the city. Feng was quick to assure the court that
Zeng had not been negligent or careless in any way. One wonders, however,
if Feng was trying to cover for his subordinate’s failure to take firmer action
against Wang Niangxian’s followers-or his own (Feng’s) failure to report
early activities to Beijing. See GZDJQ 3:2, 7i4b-7i7a, JQ 2/2/6, Feng Guang-
xiong memorial.
39	In this regard, the Nanlong Uprising might be considered a consequence of
what William Rowe calls “governance on the cheap.” At its peak, the Qing
standing army, including both banner troops and the Chinese Green Stan-
dard Army, employed fewer than a million men to defend China’s territory,
and to protect and pacify a population of four to five hundred million. See
Rowe, China’s Last Empire, 32. The small size of the armed forces army kept
military expenditures to a minimum, but it also created the potential for
simultaneous rebellions in different parts of the empire.
40	More than thirty-one thousand troops from Yunnan and Guizhou had been
transferred to the Hunan front, leaving only a few thousand to deal with the
Zhongjia. See NQX, 59. For an analysis of the Hunan Miao Uprising, see
Donald Sutton, “Ethnic Revolt in the Qing Empire: The ‘Miao Uprising’ of
1795-1796 Reexamined,” Asia Major 3rd series, vol. 17, 1 (2003): 105-51. SeeNotes /	171
also Daniel McMahon, “Identity and Conflict on a Chinese Borderland: Yan
Ruyi and the Recruitment of the Gelao During the 1795-97 Miao Revolt,”
Late Imperial China Vol. 23, No. 2 (December 2002): 53-86.
41	Le Bao’s tenure in Yunnan and Guizhou was peripatetic, to say the least. Soon
after his appointment to the governor-generalship in 1795, he was ordered to
coordinate the Miao suppression on the Hunan-Guizhou border. He briefly
returned to Yunnan in 1796, only to be ordered back to the Miao front when
Hubei-Hunan governor-general Fukang’an died. After Le Bao secured a
major victory in Hubei, the court ordered him to fight the Zhongjia in south-
western Guizhou. Shortly after the Zhongjia campaign ended in November
1797, Le Bao was appointed governor-general of Hubei and Hunan and con-
tinued to lead armies against the White Lotus rebels. See Arthur W. Hum-
mel, ed., Eminent Chinese ofthe Ch’ing Period (Washington, D.C.: United
States Government Printing Office, 1943), I: 444.
42	GZDJQ 3:2, 610, JQ 2/1/18, Feng Guangxiong memorial.
43	JBD, JQ 2/1/26.
44	GZDJQ 3:2, 648, JQ 2/1/27, Feng Guangxiong memorial.
45	As Donald Sutton rightly observes, “... acculturation does not mean assimi-
lation, that is, a change of identification. See his “Ethnicity and the Miao
Frontier,” 220. David Atwill has also suggested that comments like “yu cpmin
wuyi” represented “the highest possible compliment” from Chinese intel-
lectuals or Qing officials. See his The Chinese Sultanate, 32
46	Sang’s motivations for joining the rebellion are not entirely clear. When Qing
armies recaptured Nanlong in August 1797, he was too injured to make a
confession. In any case, Le Bao labeled him a “treacherous Han” (Han jian)
for aiding and abetting Wei Qiluoxu. GZDJQ 5:1, 269-72, JQ 2/8/23, Feng
Guangxiong memorial.
47	NQX, 53 Document #63 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/3/2, Jiang Lan memorial).
48	GZDJQ 4:2, 832a-833b, JQ 2/7/2, Jiang Lan memorial.
49	GZDJQ 3:2, 7i4b-7i7a, JQ 2/2/6, Feng Guangxiong memorial.
50	During the Qing Dynasty, Anshun served as Guizhou’s military nerve center;
the provincial military commander was normally stationed there.
51	GZDJQ 3:2, 7i4b-7i7a, JQ 2/2/6, Feng Guangxiong memorial.
52	NQX, 49-51, Document #62 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/2/27, Feng Guangxiong).
53	Ibid. For the death of Cui Lin, see Anshun fuzhi (Gazetteer of Anshun pre-
fecture) 1851,44:18a.
54	JBD JQ 2/2/27.
55	NQX, 52-55, Document #63 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/3/2, Jiang Lan memorial).
56	JBD, JQ 2/3/2.172 I Notes
57	The rebels had probably seized these guns from a Han village. Their weap-
onry varied from battle to battle, depending on what they had been able to
steal in recent raids.
58	GZDJQ 3:2, 839-40, JQ 2/2/23, Feng Guangxiong and Zhulonga memorial.
59	GZDJQ 3:2, 838, JQ 2/2/23, Feng Guangxiong and Zhulonga memorial.
60	JBD, JQ 2/3/5.
61	NQX, 61-62, Document #70. Feng was especially concerned about Weiyuan
(a key point on the eastward road to Hunan), and about Guzhou in south-
eastern Guizhou, which had been the locus of a major Miao uprising during
the 1730s.
62	Ibid.
63	GZDJQ 4:2, 99-100, JQ 2/3/16, Le Bao and Feng Guangxiong memorial.
64	NQX 72-75, Document #75 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/4/8, Le Bao memorial).
65	NQX, 80-82, Document # 78 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/4/18, Le Bao memorial).
66	NQX, 86-88, Document # 81 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/5/1, Le Bao memorial).
67	The Mabie is a small tributary of the Hongshui River.
68	NQX, 99-100, Document # 89 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/5/11, Le Bao memorial). As
discussed below, a highly exaggerated account of the rebels’ victory at Mabie
appears in the indigenous narrative “Wang Xiangu.”
69	Wang Dengrong and Wang Tianlan.
70	The rebel commander at Yangchang was Wang Azhan.
71	NQX, 106-108, Document #94 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/5/23, Le Bao memorial). As
noted earlier, Da Wang Gong was Wei Qiluoxu’s second-in-command.
72	GZDJQ 4b: 642-645, JQ 2/6/18, Jiang Lan memorial and GZDJQ 4b: 688-90,
JQ 2/6/29, Jiang Lan memorial.
73	NQX, 119-121, Document # 102 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/7/9, Le Bao memorial).
74	NQX, 141-144, Document #112 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 2/9/2, Le Bao memorial).
75	For Xingyi, see JBD, JQ 2/8/20. For Zhenfeng, see JBD, JQ 2/10/20.
76	JBD, JQ 2/10/6.
77	In Buyi oral tradition, narrative poems are epic tales that developed from folk
songs. For descriptions of various forms of Buyi folk literature, see Zhou
Guoyan, “An Introduction to the Kam-Tai (Zhuang-Dong) Group of Lan-
guages in China,” 29.
78	NQX, 255-56, “Wang Xiangu.”
79	Ibid., 257-58.
80	Ibid., 258-59. Here, the hands of PRC scholars may be at work. A discussion
of social banditry, which reflects a lack of class consciousness, is omitted in
favor of magic, thereby demonstrating that the Zhongjia needed the guiding
hand of the Communists to lead them to scientific modernity.Notes /	173
81	Ibid., 260.
82	Ibid., 260-61. Here, Wang Niangxian speaks out against a longstanding
grievance in Guizhou. The provincial treasury provided money for the req-
uisition (caimai) of grain, firewood, and other raw materials from Zhongjia
and Miao producers, but the local officials responsible for procuring these
goods rarely paid for them. See Jenks, Insurgency and Social Disorder in Gui-
zhou, 52.
83	NQX, 261-62, “Wang Xiangu.”
84	Ibid., 264.
85	The term kejia here should not be confused with the Kejia (“Guest people” or
Hakka) of southeastern China. The Zhongjia often referred to Han Chinese
as “kejia” or guests. Indeed, migrants throughout China were often called
“kejia.” See NQX, 265, “WangXiangu.”
86	NQX, 266, “Wang Xiangu.”
87	Ibid., 267-68.
88	Ibid., 268.
89	Ibid., 269.
90	Ibid., 270.
91	Ibid., 270.
92	Ibid., 270-71.
93	Faith in this type of magic was common in other rebel movements. During
the Saya San Rebellion of 1930-32, for example, Burman monks told recruits
that they knew magical formulas that would turn twigs into war horses. See
Adas, Prophets of Rebellion, 153.
94	NQX, 272, “Wang Xiangu.”
95	Ibid., 272.
96	Ibid., 273.
97	Ibid., 273-74.
98	“Song ofthe Nanlong Resistance” appears to be an antiphonal song, or a song
in which two performers (or groups of performers) sing alternately, one
answering the other. Antiphonal singing is common among many Tai groups
of southwestern China and Southeast Asia, often featured in festivals and
courtship rituals. See Holm, Recalling Lost Souls, 14.
99	NQX, 294, “Nanlong fanbing ge.”
too The rhyme and symmetry of these Chinese verses suggests the hand of a
post-1949 editor. NQX, 293, “Nanlong fanbing ge.”
101	Ibid., 293-95.
102	Ibid., 296.
103	This general is identified in the narrative as Jia Jiangjun. The compilers of174	/ Notes
NQX suggest that this was a local nickname for either Chang Shan or
Zhulonga.
104	NQX, 296-97.
105	Ibid., 299, “Nanlong fanbing ge.”
106	Before this point, the poem includes an episode describing the imperial
rewards bestowed upon Le Bao and Jia Jiangjun, as well as the posthumous
awards for the Qing officials killed in battle. This scene serves as an indirect
way of boasting about the prowess ofthe Zhongjia rebels. That is, the Zhongjia
rebels were worthy foes who exacted a heavy toll on the Qing troops.
107	NQX, 300, “Nanlong fanbing ge.”
108	Ibid., 303.
109	Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 81.
110	For the reforms in western Hunan, see Daniel McMahon, “New Order in
Hunan’s Miao Frontier,” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History, 9:1
(Spring 2008).
111	NQX 195-99, Document #139 (JCLZ mzl, JQ 3/3/23, Feng Guangxiong and
E’hui).
112	ZPZZ mzl 1916-1, JQ 5/6/27, Jueluo Langgan (ffiSUMEf*).
6 / A LEGACY OF FRAGILE HEGEMONY
1	For a discussion of one such strategic marriage, see James Millward, “A
Uyghur Muslim in Qianlong’s Court: The Meanings of the Fragrant Concu-
bine,” The Journal of Asian Studies 53, no. 2 (May 1994): 427-58.
2	See Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 3-5, 91-96.
3	Millward, Beyond the Pass, 197. See also Hostetler, “Qing Connections to the
Early Modern World: Ethnography and Cartography in Eighteenth-Century
China.” Modern Asian Studies 34, no. 3 (2000): 630-31; and Perdue, “Military
Mobilization,” 785, 788.
4	Millward, Beyond the Pass, 199. Evelyn S. Rawski has also demonstrated that
Qing court culture incorporated many traditions from the Manchus, Mon-
gols, Uighurs, and Tibetans. See her The Last Emperors: A Social History of
Qing Imperial Institutions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998).
5	One product of the demand for information on Guizhou was Aibida’s Hand-
book of Guizhou (Qiannan shilue). Aibida compiled this book for his own
reference and for the benefit of future administrators while serving as Gui-
zhou’s governor in the early 1750s. He condensed information from local
gazetteers and other contemporary geographic writings into a single, handy
volume, organizing his material according to geographic region. Each ofthe
thirty-two chapters is devoted to the political history, economy, climate, andNotes /	175
population of a single administrative unit. Aside from its practical function,
the handbook carried considerable symbolic value. To refer to the concepts
introduced in chapter 3, the volume functioned as a catalogue of the state
spaces the Qing had delineated within Guizhou. The very act of committing
geographic information to paper signaled that these sections of Guizhou had
become part of the world known to — and under the jurisdiction of—the
Qing state. In 1847, Guizhou Governor Luo Raodian revised the book and
published it as Qiannan zhifangshilue. Interestingly, the handbook saw little
use during the eighteenth century. The original copy was misplaced some-
time after Aibida’s tenure and only rediscovered in the 1820s.
6	Information in local gazetteers was organized topically, with each chapter
subdivided according to geographic region. A chapter on local products, for
example, would list all the crops grown in each geographic region. Likewise,
a chapter on administrative history would list the information region by
region. The disadvantage of this system was that one had to consult several
chapters to find all the necessary information about a given place. Aibida
simplified matters by organizing all the information on a given region into
single chapters.
7	See Laura Hostetler, “Introduction: Early Modern Ethnography in Compara-
tive Historical Perspective” in Deal and Hostetler, The Art of Ethnography,
159-60,166-67.
8	Deal and Hostetler, The Art of Ethnography, 15.
9	Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 159-60,166-67.
10	Hostetler, “Introduction: Early Modern Ethnography,” xli.
11	Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 206.
12	As Laura Hostetler writes, “In essence, those who do the depicting define the
peoples described. . . . [The] goal of the colonizer, or imperial authority, is
precisely and unabashedly to learn about, or rather construct, the identity of
those to be ruled. Such knowledge simplifies the task of governance.” See
Hostetler, “Qing Connections to the Early Modern World,” 649-50.
13	Hostetler, “Chinese Ethnography in the Eighteenth Century: The Miao
Albums of Guizhou Province” (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1995),
218, 222.
14	Perdue, “Military Mobilization,” 788.
15	In other words, they had no “emancipatory visions,” as Jean Michaud might
call them. See Michaud, “Hmong infrapolitics,” 1866.
16	This is in keeping with James Scott’s comments on the hidden transcript: “By
definition, the hidden transcript represents discourse—gesture, speech,
practices—that is ordinarily excluded from the public transcript of subordi-176	/ Notes
nates by the exercise of power. The practice of domination, then, creates the
hidden transcript. If the domination is particularly severe, it is likely to pro-
duce a hidden transcript of corresponding richness. The hidden transcript of
subordinate groups, in turn, reacts back on the public transcript by engen-
dering a subculture and by opposing its own variant form of social domina-
tion against that of the dominant elite. Both are realms of power and
interests.” See Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 27.
17	As James Scott explains, “To continue the same routine means to go under
in any case and it once again makes sense to take risks; such risks are in the
interest of subsistence.” See James C. Scott, The Moral Economy ofthe Peas-
ant: Rebellion and Subsistence in Southeast Asia (New Haven, CT: Yale Uni-
versity Press, 1976, 26.
18	David A. Bello, Opium and the Limits of Empire: Drug Prohibition in the
Chinese Interior, 1729-1850 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
2005), 240, 255, 257, 279.
19	Scott, Seeing Like a State, 3, 343.
20	Or, as Scott puts it, “The progenitors of such plans [for simplification]
regarded themselves as far smarter and [more] farseeing than they really
were, and at the same time, regarded their subjects as far more stupid and
incompetent than they really were.” Seeing Like a State, 343.
21	Clifton Crais calls this “a historical conversation between the rulers and the
ruled.” See Crais, “Chiefs and Bureaucrats in the Making of Empire: A Drama
from the Transkei, South Africa, October 1880,” American Historical Review
vol. 108, no. 4 (October 2003): 1037.
22	Perdue, “Military Mobilization,” 788.
23	Here, I understand a civilizing project in terms of Stevan Harrell’s definition—
an inherently unequal interaction in which one group, the civilizing center,
claims a superior degree of civilization and undertakes to elevate the civiliza-
tion of a peripheral group. See his “Civilizing Projects and the Reaction to
Them,” in Cultural Encounters on China’s Ethnic Frontiers, ed. Stevan Harrell
(Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1995), 3.
24	Harrell, “Civilizing Projects and the Reaction to Them,” 36; see also McMa-
hon, “Restoring the Garden,” 335-36.
25	Scott, Seeing Like a State, 184.
26	Nicholas Thomas, Colonialism’s Culture: Anthropology, Travel, and Govern-
ment (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 105-6.
27	Millward, Beyond the Pass, 199-201; Teng, Taiwan’s Imagined Geography,
239-40.
28	The distinction here is between nation and ethnic group. It carries very impor-Notes /	177
tant implications for politics in China today because Tibet and Xinjiang will
likely never be pacified unless the CCP recognizes that the PRC is multina-
tional and not just multicultural.
29	According to Pamela Kyle Crossley, the Manchus, Mongols, Han, Tibetans,
and East Turkestanis earned their status by virtue of their contributions to
the creation and development of the Qing state. See her “Manzhou yuanliu
kao and the Formalization ofthe Manchu Heritage,” Journal of Asian Studies
vol. 46, no. 4 (November 1987): 780. See also Teng, Taiwan’s Imagined Geog-
raphy, 242.
30	Teng, Taiwan’s Imagined Geography, 242-43.
31	Ibid., 245, figure 34.
32	Ibid., 246.
33	Beatrice S. Bartlett, Review of The Last Emperors: A Social History of Qing
Imperial Institutions, in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, Vol. 61, no. 1 (June
2001): 176-78.
34	Sutton, “Ethnicity and the Miao Frontier,” 229.
35	Daniel B. Wright, The Promise of the Revolution: Stories of Fulfillment and
Struggle in China’s Hinterland (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2003),
51-60.
36	BBC News Online, Monday 26 March 2001 (http://www.hartford-hwp.com/
archives/55/7i9.html).
37	The New York Times, June 30, 2008 (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/30/
world/asia/3oiht-3oriot.i4o863oo.html?_r=i).
38	Caohai’s winter wetland is a gathering ground for several species of endan-
gered migratory birds, including the black crane.
39	Melinda Herrold, “The Cranes of Caohai and Other Incidents of Field-
work in Southwest China,” Geographical Review, Vol. 89, No. 3 (July 1999):
440-48.
40	Scott, The Moral Economy ofthe Peasant, 32-34.
41	As noted earlier, this is one of the central concerns in Yu Luo’s PhD research
at Yale University.
42	Timothy Oakes, “Selling Guizhou: Cultural Development in an era of Mar-
ketization,” In The Political Economy of China’s Provinces, eds. H. Hen-
drischke and C. Y. Feng, (London and New York: Routledge, 1999), 65.
43	Tim Oakes, “Cultural Strategies of Development: Implications for Village
Governance in China,” The Pacific Reviewv), No. 1 (March 2006): 23-28.
44	Oakes, “Selling Guizhou,” 65.
45	See Louisa Schein, Minority Rules: The Miao and the Feminine in China’s
Cultural Politics. (Durham NC: Duke University Press, 2000), 8.CHINESE GLOSSARY
Aertai Philip
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minzuxue KJ
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nongmin qiyi
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sitian fAEB
sizhuang baixing
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Song Hou 5(5)?
Tian jiang mie Hanren, bing mie
Miaomu bingyi AftAS/JI A,
tianshen AW
tianshuai AW
tianshuai xiangzhu AWtHA
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tidu
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tingmu AS
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tufu AW
tuguan A A
tumu A g
tuntian AH
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tuxian A^
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Wang A Jiang AAJJIA
Wang Acong AHfffc
Wang A’er AH A-
Wang Azhan AHA
Wang Bujiang AHA
Wang Dengrong AfaWt
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Wang Li AjU
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zouyin AIWBIBLIOGRAPHY
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Xingyi fuzhi MJSJLJK (Gazetteer of Xingyi prefecture), 1851.
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Yan Yong Iglit and Fan Lixia KM ‘ ‘Lun Nanlong qiyi shehui beijing, jingyan
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the social background, experience, lessons, and historical significance of the
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mika Co., Ltd., 1996.INDEX
acculturation, versus assimilation,
I47n72,1711145
Aertai (governor of Sichuan), 164059;
investigation of crime, 74, 75
agency, indigenous, 8,134; of margin-
alized peoples, 5; under Qing,
124-25
agriculture: Han, 30, 32; slash-and-
burn, 30, 40; Zhongjia, 28-29, 30,
51, 58, i5inio
Aibida (governor of Guizhou), 17;
Handbook of Guizhou, 121,174115,
I75n6
A Ji, talisman of, 80
A Jin (Zhongjia strongman), 46-47
A Jiu, I58n76
alchemy: ceremonies of, 70; in Huang
San case, 66, 67, 68, 70
A Liu, i63n54
An clan, 29-30; trade network of, 30;
and Wu Sangui, 36
Angu, in Nanlong Uprising, 96
An Kun (Nasi Yi official), 153022
Anlong (Guizhou province), 35, 85
Annan, in Nanlong Uprising, 96
Anshun prefecture (Guizhou), 4, 53;
climate of, 14; military presence
in, 72, 74; in Nanlong Uprising, 96,
100; provincial military command
at, 1711150; Tunpu villages near, 133;
Zhongjia raid on, 74, 75
A Shou (swindler), 1651176
Atwill, David, 1681124
Baeu Rodo (Zhuang ancestor), 1381115
Baishui waterfalls (Guizhou), 139113
Balongtun, in Nanlong Uprising, 101
banditry: in Guizhou province, 12,13,
38, 44, 45-47; social, 91,107,1691133
Bangzha, Qing attack on, 105
Bao Changding (Huang San case), 67,
68, 69
Baomu Bai (bumo), 67, 68, 69; practice
of duangong magic, 66,1611131
Baomu Lun (bumo), 68
Beixiang (Nanlong hamlet), 1681125
201202	/ Index
Bengjia (Nanlong prefecture), i6in29
bharal (Himalayan blue sheep), 70,
163048
Bifengshan, in Nanlong Uprising, 111
Bonnin, Christine, 6
Bouxcuengh (Tai speakers), 21-22
bouxhak (term), 22,1441149
bouxhek (term), 22, i44n49
bouxloeh (term), 22, i45n49
bouxnongz (term), 22,145049
Bouxnungz (term), 145053
Bouyeix (autonym), 22
Bouyeix people, 145053
Bo Y people (Vietnam), 19, 1421129
Buddhism: Theravada, 119; Tibetan,
119, i63n56; Yellow Hat School
of, 44
bumo (ritual specialists), 66-67,
i6in3o; in Buyi communities,
i6in32, i62n34; communication
with spirit realm, i62n34; in con-
temporary communities, i6in32;
practice of alchemy, 67; relation-
ship to Daoist priests, 162034.
See also mogong
Bu Xiujia (swindler), i6in24
Buyi people: ancestors of, 20,138015;
bumo of, 161032,162034; Chinese
genealogies of, 20,1430038-39;
cultural influences on, 20; ethnic
family of, 19-20; ethnonyms of,
24; feudal oppressors of, 87; of Gui-
zhou, 23; of Guizhou-Guangxi bor-
derlands, 24,146nn6i,64; language
of, 19,144044; livelihood choices
of, 10; Meishan Daoism of, 162033;
modern, 19,144048; negotiation of
state development, 137ml; nomen-
clature for, 24,13602,146056; pres-
ervation of identity, 137ml; of
Qiannan prefecture, 19; relation-
ship with Zhuang, 21, 23, 24, 63,
146064; religious texts of, i6on2i;
tingmu system of, 147077; written
language of, i6on2i. See also folk
literature, Buyi; Zhongjia people
Cai Chenggui (military official), 54,
158077
Cai Yurong (governor-general of
Yunnan and Guizhou), 1531125
Caohai Nature Reserve (Guizhou),
177038; protests over, 131
Ceheng, annexation to Guizhou, 57
Cen clan: ancestral home of, 158084;
Chinese genealogy of, 157064;
control of Sicheng region, 52-53;
ethnicity of, 52; Guangxi domains
of, 157063; Huang lineage group,
157063; inner/outer dependencies
of, 52; relations with Ming court,
52; relations with Qing court,
52-53; Zhejiang roots of, I57n67
Cen Jilu (native prefect of Sicheng),
I5omo8, 1581172
Cen Peng (Han dynasty general), 52
Cen Shumuhan (Yuan dynasty native
official), 52
Cen Yingchen (native prefect of
Sicheng): overthrow of, 55-56, 57;
personal army of, 57
Cen Zhongshu (hero), 52,157n67
Chang Shan (brigade commander),
102,103
Changzhai (Guizhou province):
in Nanlong Uprising, 99; Qing
military presence in, 51, 1561156;
standoff at, 48-50
Chen Yuanxun, Colonel: attack on
A Jin, 47Index /	203
Chen Ziyu (swindler), 1642269, 1651176
chieftains (tingmu): respect for, 65;
of Sicheng prefecture, 53; tenant
farmers of, 58; of Yongfeng, 64
Chinese Communist Party: end of
feudalism under, 87; non-Han
groups and, 18; political agenda
of, 85
Chu kingdom, 1441141
chtf-ndm script (Vietnam), i6on2i
Clarke, Samuel, 21; on Zhongjia,
26-27, i47n75
colonialism: construction of identity
under, 175012; twenty-first century,
133
colonialism, Qing: in Dingfan-
Guangshun region, 39; in Guizhou,
125-26
Confucian culture: education in, 41,
77-78, 81-82, i6on2i; indigenous
appropriations of, 8; Nanlong
Uprising’s rejection of, 27-28;
state-imposed, 82; Zhongjia adap-
tations of, 25-26, 65
copper: in Qing coins, I5in7; of
Yunnan, 39,15in7
Crais, Clifton, I76n2i
crime, 9; anti-Qing, 64, 69, 88; cross-
border, 62; in Guiding, 77-81; in
Guizhou province, 60-81; Han-
on-Han, 15903; Huang San case,
60-72; informants, 61, 64-65; in
Langdai subprefecture, 72-77;
motives for, 81-82, i6oni3; in Nan-
long, 62; palace memorials on,
159113; Qing sources for, 159013;
in Sicheng, 62
“crossing the darkness” (ritual), 89,
169027
Crossley, Pamela Kyle, 177029
Cui Lin (Changzhai assistant brigade
commander), 96, 97; death of,
i7in53
cupellation, 67,162035
Dali (kingdom), 29,148084
Dangzhan (Nanlong hamlet): Qing
assault on, 105; as Wei Qiluoxu’s
hometown, 90; Wei Qiluoxu’s
control of, 95
Daoism: influence on Zhongjia reli-
gion, 169027; Maoshan, 67,161033;
marginalization of, 163056; Meis-
han, 162033; Qing view of, 163056
Dapoling, Qing capture of, 101
Da Wang Gong, 104-5; aid to Wei
Qiluoxu, 95; in “Immortal Maiden
Wang,” 108-9
Dayanjiao (Guizhou), criminals’
targeting of, 75, 76
Diamond, Norma, 148091
Dingfan-Guangshun region: banditry
in, 45-47; colonial space of, 125;
ethnic groups of, 45; Han residents
of, 46; imposition of order in, 45-
47, 58; military presence in, 58;
Ming government of, 45; in Nan-
long Uprising, 99; native officials
of, 155031; pacification of, 15002;
Qing colonialism in, 39; Qing
reforms in, 9; resistance to Qing
in, 38-39; troop strength in, 49;
tusi system in, 1551135; Yongzheng’s
reforms in, 45, 46; Zhongjia of, 45
Di Qing (Song dynasty general), 52
Dongmajia (hamlet), 162037
Dongsa (Nanlong hamlet), 168025;
Qing attack on, 105; Wang Nang-
xian’s cult in, 89-90; Wei Qiluoxu’s
control of, 95204	/ Index
Dong Zhengyuan (Daoist priest),
73. 74-75. 76; poverty of, 163046;
punishment of, 77
duangong (magic), 63; Daoist influ-
ence in, i6oni8; in Huang San case,
66, i6in3i; and Maoshan Daoism,
67; and Mo rituals, 66. See also
magic
Ebrey, Patricia, 143038
education, Confucian, 77-78, i6on2i;
for native officials, 41; unintended
consequences of, 78, 80, 81-82
E’hui (governor-general of Yunnan-
Guizhou ), 117
elites, indigenous: agency of, 8; con-
trol of rural areas, i6on2o. See also
indigenes
ethnicities: commodification of, 133,
134; of Guizhou, 13,16,17-32,133,
134; versus nations, I76n28; PRC
classifications of, 18, 22-23; Qing
reforms concerning, 4, 7,10, 37-41.
See also indigenes
ethnography: in Miao albums, 121-23;
nationalistic, 1371113,148^1; Qing,
65,121-23,128; of Taiwanese, 128;
of Zhongjia people, 19-21, 65
ethnology, Chinese, 18
Fang Shijun (governor of Guizhou):
interrogation of Ran Jing, 75;
investigation of Langdai crime, 72,
77; investigation ofWei Xuewen,
80, 81
Feng Guangxiong (governor of Gui-
zhou), 93, 96, 99,170038,172n6i;
anti-poverty measures, 117; in
“Immortal Maiden Wang,” 109,
110; imperial instructions to, 94,
100; meeting with Le Bao, 100; on
Zhongjia rebels, 94
“Five Nations Under Heaven,” 10,127
folk literature, Buyi: magico-religious
components of, 88; Nanlong Upris-
ing in, 84, 85, 87-88,106-16,
i68ni7; oral tradition of, i66n7,
172077; PRC historians and, i66n9
Fukang’an (governor general of
Hubei-Hunan), I7in4i
gaitu guiliu, 129,136n3; in Guizhou
province, 9, 34; in Sicheng prefec-
ture, 55, 56, 57; in western Hunan,
I52ni4; Yongzheng’s implementa-
tion of, 4, 7, 37-51
Gao Qizhuo (governor general of
Yunnan-Guizhou), 46, 47; and
Guizhou-Guangxi dispute, 54;
memorials of, 155040
Gazetteer of Guizhou province (1673),
25
Gazetteer of Xilong district (1673), 25
gazetteers, local, 121, 144041,175n6
Geng Jingzhong (hereditary governor)
153024
Giay people (Vietnam), 19, 142029
Giersch, C. Patterson, 8
good-luck charms: anti-Qing slogans
on, 59, 70-71, 80, 81; format of,
63-64; sale of, 59, 63, 69, 79-80
Guangshun (Guizhou province): anti-
Qing unrest in, 117-18; slaughter of
Zhongjia in, 99
Guangxi province: administrative
districts of, I46n6i; Cen clan in,
157063; eleventh-century rebellion
in, 52,157066; land use in, 17;
malaria in, 53; settlers from, 21-
22; Tai speakers of, 22-23; tusiIndex /	205
system in, 33, i49moi; Zhuang of,
19. 23
Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region,
I46n6i
Guanling, in Nanlong Uprising, 101
Guansuling, Zhongjia capture of, 99
Gui, Prince of. See Yongli
Guiding, crime in, 77-81
Guiyang prefecture (Guizhou), 4, 45;
climate of, 14; in Nanlong Upris-
ing, 100; subprefectural magistrate
(tongban') of, 51; Xu Xiake in, 11-13
Guiyang Steel Factory, protests at,
130-31
Guizhou-Guangxi borderlands: Buyi
in, 24,146nn6i,64; cultural ties of,
23-24; Hongshui River in, 55-56;
Qing control of, 56; Qing creation of,
23, 24; Qing reforms in, 9; resistance
to Qing in, 38; territorial dispute
in, 54-55; tingmu system of, 147077;
Yongzheng’s redrawing of, 23
Guizhou province, xii (map), xiii
(map); agriculture of, 15-16, 40;
An clan in, 30, 36; autonyms of,
22; banditry in, 12,13, 38, 45-47;
Board of Appointments, 34; Board
of War, 34; Buyi of, 19, 23; censuses
of, 16,14in2i; charitable schools
of, 77-78; Chinese officials on, 3-4;
civilian officials of, 33-34; climate
of, 13,14, 46,140ml; Confucian
education in, 41, i6on2i; cuisine of,
I4om6; ecology of, 8, 89; economy
of, 89; ethnicities of, 13,16,17-32;
ethnonyms of, 21; exonyms of, 22;
geology of, 15; grain crops of, 15-
16,14om6; Han of, 30, 32, 39, 87;
immigrants into, 21-22, 30, 32, 33,
39, 87; karst topography of, 15,
I4onni4-i5; land use in, 16-17,
141024; literacy in, 78, 80; local
officials of, 3; Miao of, 13, 40; Miao
rebellions in, 91,172n6i; military
native officials (tusi) of, 33, 34; min-
eral resources of, 61; Nasu Yi con-
trol of, 29; Nationalities Affairs
Commission, 23,136n2, 145054,
146056; nomenclature in, 21-24,
145050; outsiders’ accounts of, 24-
28; population size of, 16,14inn2i-
22; poverty of, 46,117,131-32; Qing
colonialism in, 125-26; Qing con-
quest of, 35-36; rainfall of, 14;
regional military commissioner
(duzhihui shi) of, 33; routes (lu) in,
33,149n9 8; salt imports, 61; settlers
from Guangxi, 21-22; soil condi-
tions of, 15-16,17; taxation of, 34;
terrain of, 11-12,13,14-15,132,
I39n3; Xu Xiake’s exploration of,
11-13; of Yuan dynasty, 13; Zhongjia
people of, 13, 24-28, 40
Guizhou province, Ming-era, 13,
32-35; administrative units of, 33,
34-35, 53! civil officials of, 1490102;
establishment of, 33, i49moo; Han
population of, 149097; military
officials of, 1490102; native officials
of, 34, 41; population statistics of,
149097; provincial administration
commissioner, 33, 149099
Guizhou province, Qing-era: admin-
istrative units of, 40,121; agricul-
ture in, 61, 62; annexation of
Sicheng, 51-52; autonomy of, 4, 41;
banditry in, 12,13, 38, 44, 45-47;
charity schools (yixue) of, 42; Chi-
nese state in, 39-41; civil officials
of, I49mo2; conscription in, 40;20 6	/ Index
Guizhou province, Qing-era
(continued)
consolidation of rule in, 37-58,
119; crime in, 60-62; departments
annexed to, 57; early years of, 35-
36; extortion cases in, 62; gaitu
guiiiu in, 9, 34; gang activities
in, 62; Han settlers in, 39; under
Kangxi emperor, 38, 41-43, 46, 53;
knowledge production concerning,
121,17405; livelihoods in, 4, 59-62;
military officials of, 1490102; Ming
loyalists in, 35,128; multicultural-
ism of, 120-21; native officials of,
37, 41, 42; native-state relations in,
36; non-state spaces of, 40; prefec-
tures of, 4; public schools of, 41-
42; Qing civilizing projects in, 126;
Qing colonialism in, 125-26; resis-
tance in, 25,124-25,134; under
Shunzhi emperor, 41; Sinicization
in, 37; state penetration into, 9;
state spaces of, 40,121,17505; taxa-
tion in, 40; tusi system of, 37, 41,
42,152ni6; violence in, I5in5; Wu
Sangui’s control of, 36; Yongli’s
resistance in, 35; Yongzheng’s
officials in, 44; Zhongjia of, 40;
Zhongjia rebels in, 83, 94, 99,
101-2
Guizhou province, twenty-first cen-
tury, 130-34; development projects
of, 131,133-34; migration from,
130; poverty in, 130,131-32,134;
Qing legacy in, 125; social unrest
in, 130-31; socioeconomic dispari-
ties in, 132; tourism in, 132-34,
i39n3
Guizhou tongshi (history), 167013
Guy, R. Kent, I5in3
Guzhou (Guizhou province), Miao
rebellion in, I72n6i
Han Chinese: agriculture of, 30, 32;
contributions to Qing state,
I77n28; cultural norms of, 130;
of Dingfan-Guangshun, 46; of
Guizhou, 13; interactions with
Zhongjia, 20, i6on2i; migration
to Guizhou, 30, 32, 39, 87; of Ming
Guizhou, 149097; in Nanlong
Uprising, 18, 86-87, 97.138ni3,
167014; in Qing culture, 120,126,
129; tourists, 133; Zhongjia names
for, 173085
Hani people (Yunnan), 137ml
Han Liangfu (governor of Guangxi),
55-56
Harrell, Stevan, i66ni2; on civilizing
projects, 126,176023
Herman, John, 8,152014
He Zhanbie (Zhongjia headman), 90
Hmong people, 31; flight from Laos,
148091; state-mandated education
for in modern Vietnam, 165078
Holm, David, 22, 24; on dialects,
142031,143032; on Mo texts, i6in22;
on Panhu, I47n68; Recalling Lost
Souls, 138015
Hongshui River, 172067
Ho Ping-ti, 16
Hostetler, Laura, 17,175012
Huangcaoba garrison, 158077; Cen
Yingchen at, 55, 56; during Kangxi
period, 53; in Nanlong Uprising,
102,105
Huangguoshu, waterfalls at, 133
Huang San, 163047; birthplace of,
i6oni5; capture of, 64; in Ceheng,
69; imprisonment of, 66, 71; liter-Index /	207
acy of, 81; master-disciple network
of, 82; practice of magic, 63, 67; sale
of good-luck charms, 69; search for
spirit silver, 63, 66, 67-68; testi-
mony of, 69,162036
Huang San case (1743), 60-72; alchemy
in, 66, 67, 68, 70; conspirators in,
63, i6om6; investigation into, 70-
72; magic in, 66, i6in3i; message
for Qing authorities, 82; witnesses
in, 71
Huang Yiren, 87, i67ni6
Huang Zuxian (alchemist): in Huang
San case, 66, 67, 68, 70; imprison-
ment of, 71; real name of, 163037
Hubei, White Lotus rebels in, 93
Huffman, Brent, 163048
Hunan province: gaitu guiliu in,
152014; Miao rebellion (1795), 91,
93,117; Qing troops in, 170040;
reforms in, 1740110; social banditry
in, 169033
Hundred Yue (Baiyue) people, 19-20;
ties with Kadai, 143033
“Immortal Maiden Wang” (folk nar-
rative), 84, 85,106-12; injustice
in, 107,108; Mabie River episode
in, 109-10,111; scholarship on,
87,172080; technology in, 116-17.
See also Wang Niangxian
immortals: impersonation of, 73,
75-76; maidens, 98; “realized,” 92,
98,104
Imperially Authorized Mirror ofthe
Five Scripts of Letters, 120
Imperially Commissioned Unified-
language Gazetteer ofthe Western
Regions, 120,128
indigenes, 17-18,119; appropriation of
Confucian culture, 8; autonomy of,
130; Chinese officials and, 17; edu-
cation for, 77-78; of Guizhou, 3, 4,
10, 38,124-27,134,142026; ortho-
graphic conventions for, 25, 147069;
poverty of, 60, 61-62, 85,159ns;
Qing accommodations to, 119-20;
relationship with Qing officials,
8, 36; in Qing empire, 10,127; self-
interest of, 134; Sinicization in, 51;
in state tourism, 132-34; Taiwan-
ese, 128,129; use of dog character
for, 109,142030,146n68; under
Yongzheng emperor, 38,124,125-
26. See also ethnicities; marginal-
ized peoples
informants, motives of, 61, 64-65
Jenks, Robert, I4inni8,24
Jia Jiangjun, General, 1730103
Jiang Lan (governor of Yunnan), 97-
98; in Huangcaoba siege, 105
Jiaqing emperor, in “Song ofthe Nan-
long Resistance,” 115,116
Jin Anjiang, 87-88, i68n20
Jobtei (Qing general), 36, i5onnio7-8
Kadai people: language of, 19, 143032;
ties with Baiyue, 143033
Kangxi emperor: Guizhou policy of,
38, 41-43, 46, 53; palace memorials
of, 154028; policy in southwest
China, 41-43; restoration of Shuixi
clan, 153022; and Wu Sangui, 42
Kaup, Katherine, 23, 144040
Khmu people (Laos), 137ml
Langdai subprefecture (Anshun):
ethnic composition of, 72; extor-
tion in,72-77208	/ Index
Leach, Edmund R., 1451150, 152012
Le Bao (governor-general of Yunnan-
Guizhou), 93, 94, 97; advance to
Nanlong, 103-4; in Anshun, 100;
assault on Dongsa, 105; assault
on Yangchang, 104-5; capture
of Xincheng, 102; capture of
Yongning, 102; career of, 171041;
contact with Zhongjia villagers,
100; engagement with Zhongjia
rebels, 101-2; in “Immortal Maiden
Wang,” 109,110,111,112; march
toward Wangchengpo, 103; meet-
ing with Feng Guangxiong, 100; in
“Song of the Nanlong Resistance,”
113-16,1740106; victory in Hubei,
171041
Lee, James, 16; on Guizhou popula-
tion, 141022; on native officials, 34
legal norms, Qing: circumvention of,
123; Zhongjia compliance with,
60-61, 66
Leng Tianfang, 88
Li Bao, 163054,164058
Liu military family (Xingyi), 166ml
livelihoods, 107; anthropological
study of, 5-6; Buyi, 10; conflict
with state ideals, 10; ecological fac-
tors in, 13; extralegal, 134; under
PRC, 125; twenty-first century, 130
livelihoods, Zhongjia, 6, 7, 58,123-25,
130; coercion in, 124; exploitative,
62,123-24; extralegal, 5, 8, 60,123,
124; following Nanlong Uprising,
117; in Nanlong Uprising, 88; pal-
ace memorials on, 59, 60-61, 62;
Qing responses to, 59-60; religious
aspects of, 60, 62; resistance in, 60;
social aspects of, 60; strategies of,
123-25
Lolo people, 29-30,14on8; of Gui-
zhou, 13,17. See also Nasu Yi
people; Yi people
Lombard-Salmon, Claudine, 142026,
i66nn
Lu-ho polity (Yunnan), 8
Luoke (Guangxi territory), I58n86
Luo Puti, 163054,164058
Luo Shirong: execution of, 81; swin-
dling of, 78-79, 82
Luoyue people, 20
Lu Quan (informant), 62-63, 69;
livelihood of, 65
Mabie River, 172067; in “Immortal
Maiden Wang,” 109-10,111; in
Nanlong Uprising, 103,172068; in
“Song of the Nanlong Resistance,”
113
magic: role in Nanlong Uprising, 88,
98,16503; in Saya San Rebellion,
i73n93; Wang Niangxian’s use of,
89,106-7,111-12,117; Wei Qiluoxu’s
practice of, 83-84,169031; Zhongjia
belief in, 83-84,123-24. See also
duangong
magicians, networks of, 62
Ma Huipo (commander-in-chief),
in Changzhai standoff, 49-50
Manchus: influence on Qing culture,
120,126,128,130,177029; Ming
institutions of, 119; Tibetan Bud-
dhism of, 119
Mann, Susan, 151ml
Mao Wenquan (governor of Guizhou),
46,155040,156050; overthrow of
Xue Shiqian, 48
Mao Zedong, 167014
marginalized peoples: agency of, 5;
forms of power, 8; and nationalIndex /	209
states, 6; power strategies of, I38m6.
See also indigenes
Ma Yin (Chu king), 21
McCord, Edward, i66nn
McMahon, Daniel, 152014
McNicholas, Mark, 15905
Miao albums, ethnographic depictions
in, 17,121-23
Miao people, 30-32; agriculture of, 31;
Chinese descriptions of, 27; ethnic-
ity of, 31; ethnonyms of, I47n68;
fear of disaster, 66; as generic term,
31,147069; of Guizhou, 13, 40; and
the Hmong of Vietnam, Laos, and
Thailand, 30-31,148nn9o-9i; Ming
sources on, 31; in Nanlong upris-
ing, 18; under Nasu Yi, 32; nation-
alist criteria for, 149091; population
size of, 148091; Qing expedition
against, 156044; Qing sources on,
31; rebellion (1795), 91, 93,117; reluc-
tance to pay taxes, 66; Sinicization
of, 31; slaves, 32; swindling of, 72,
79-80
miasmas (zhangqi), of Nanlong, 14
Michaud, Jean, I38nni7-i8,175015;
on Hmong education, 165078; on
informants, 61
Millward, James, 10,127,128; on schol-
arly imperialism, 120
Ming dynasty: Dingfan-Guangshun
region under, 45; indigenous rulers
of, 8; relations with Cen clan, 52;
Sicheng prefecture during, 52,
156062. See also Guizhou province,
Ming-era
mining, in Guizhou province, 61
mogong (ritual specialists), 28,147078.
See also bumo
Mo Loekgyap (Buyi ancestor), 138015
Mongolia: influence on Qing culture,
120,126,128,129,130,177029; Qing
rule over, 119
Mo religion, i6oni3; duangong and,
66; good-luck charms of, 63-64;
priestesses of, 169026; texts of,
i6on2i, i6in22; Wei Qiluoxu’s
practice of, 90-91
Mumajia (hamlet), 162037
Muslims, influence in Qing culture,
120,126,129,130
Nacha (immortal), impersonation of,
73.75-76
Nanlong prefecture (Guizhou), 4; cli-
mate of, 14; colonial space of, 125;
creation of, 38, 51-57; crime in, 62;
criminal justice in, 155031; districts
of, 168025; Han immigrants in, 87;
imperial rule in, 58; jurisdictions
under, 57; miasmas of, 14; Qing
defense of, 83; Qing recapture of,
106; Qing reforms in, 5; renaming
of, 106; state space in, 58; subordi-
nation to Guiyang, 158074; troop
strength in, 93; xianyongmilitia
of, 94; under Yongzheng emperor,
38; Zhongjia attack on, 94
Nanlong Uprising (1797), 9, 83-118;
Anshun prefecture in, 96,100;
Balongtun in, 101; Bangzha in,
105; Bifengshan in, 111; Buyi folk
narratives on, 84, 85, 87-88,106-
16, i68ni7; Buyi scholarship on,
86-87, 88, i68n22; causes of, 86,117,
170039; charismatic leadership of,
89; ethnic unity following, 87; folk
religion in, 86, 88; Guanling in,
101; Guiyang prefecture in, 100; in
Guzhou, 172061; Han in, 18, 86-87,210	/ Index
Nanlong Uprising (1797) (continued)
97,138ni3,167014; Han soldiers
in, 94,138013; Han technology in,
84,116-17; Huangcaoba garrison
during, 102,105; Mabie River
engagement in, 103,109-10,172n68;
masterminds behind, 18; as peas-
ant rebellion, i67ni6; in popular
imagination, 116; in PRC ethno-
history, 84, 85, 88,117, i67ni5; pro-
vincial officials on, 84; Qing field
commanders in, 96-97; Qing land-
lords in, 86-87; Qing-rebel engage-
ments in, 98-99,101-6; Qing
response to, 93-103; Qing sources
for, 84, 89-106,116, i68n2o; raids
on Han during, 97; rejection of
Confucianism, 27-28; religious
networks in, 82; role of livelihood
choices in, 88; role of magic in, 88,
98, i65n3; slaughter of Zhongjia
in, 99; spiritual leadership of, 83;
towns besieged during, 101; use of
indigenous tradition, 82; Wang-
chengpo in, 103; Weiyuan in,
I72n6i; Yongfeng during, 102;
Zhongjia livelihoods following,
117; Zhongjia loyalists in, 99,104;
Zhongjia spies in, 104. See also
Zhongjia rebels
Nanzhao (kingdom), 29, 1481184
Nasu Yi people, 29-30; independence
from imperial state, 152015; Miao
under, 32; Mu’ege kingdom of,
8, 29; political autonomy of, 30;
written records of, 7. See also Lolo
people; Yi people
Nationalities Identification Project,
22, 24
native officials, Guizhou, 34-35; capit-
ulation to Qing, 57-58; collusion
with Han, 43; Confucian educa-
tion for, 41; corruption among,
35; crimes of, 43-44; of Dingfan-
Guangshun region, I55n3i; genea-
logical requirements for, 41-42;
military, 33, 34; Qing-era, 37, 41,
42. See also tusi system
Nong people: distribution of, xiv
(map); socioeconomic priorities
of, 72; ties with Zhongjia, 1421130
Nong Zhigao, I57n66
Nung people (Vietnam), 19,142n3i
Oakes, Timothy, 132
Official History ofthe Ming Dynasty
(Ming shi), 21
opium, Zhongjia cultivation of, 124
Ortai (governor-general of Yunnan-
Guizhou): in Changzhai standoff,
48-50; consolidation under, 50-51;
establishment of Nanlong prefec-
ture, 56-57; in Guizhou-Guangxi
territorial dispute, 54, 55; as new
man, 1541130; reforms under, 38-
39; relationship with Yongzheng,
I54n28; on settlement of Han,
i5inio; spelling of name, I5in3
Ortner, Sherry, 8
Paishakou, Zhongjia capture of, 98
palace memorials (zhupi zouzhe):
on crime, 159113; minzu shiwu lei
category of, 159113; of Yongzheng,
I54n28; on Zhongjia livelihoods,
59, 60-61, 62
Panhu, myth of, I47n68
Pan Rivers: North (Beipan), 11; South
(Nanpan), 11; Xu Xiake’s explora-
tion of, 13903Index /	211
Pan Youlin, 80, 81
penal code, Qing, 77, 81,164063,
165075
People’s Republic of China (PRC):
ending of feudalism, 87; ethnic
classifications of, 22-23; ethnic
minorities of, 18, 86; ethnic unity
narratives of, 87, 88; ethnohistory
of Nanlong Uprising, 84, 85, 88,
117,167015; livelihoods of, 125;
market economy of, 137ml;
Perdue, Peter, 7,123,126
Perkins, Dwight, 1411124
Perry, Elizabeth, 1701136
poverty: abject (chipin wulai), 61-62,
15905; in Guizhou province, 46,117,
131-32,134; of indigenes, 60, 61-62,
85,15905; in Xingyi region, 131-32;
of Zhongjia people, 85, 91
Pu’an, district magistrate of, 54
Pumi ethnic group, 1461159
Puping, Wei Qiluoxu’s attack on, 91,92
Qianlong emperor: administrative
tools of, 121; census of Guizhou,
I4in2i; charitable schools of, 77-78;
edict on crime, 75; “Great Unity”
under, 126,128; pluralism of, 120;
Tibetan Buddhism of, 119; use of
strategic marriages, 119,174m
Qianxinan prefecture (Guizhou), Buyi
of, 19
Qi Ge (Weining regional military
commander), 96, 97
Qing dynasty: administrative units of,
150m; Anshun prefecture during,
53; attacks on authority of, 9, 81, 82,
89; Changzhai resistance to, 48-50;
civilizing projects of, 126,129,133;
coins of, 44,15in7; conception of
barbarianism, 122; conquest of
Kangxi, 9; consolidation of Gui-
zhou rule, 37-58,119; control of
Guizhou-Guangxi borderlands, 56;
creation of legible people, 51; cul-
tural hierarchy of, 126-30; culture
of, 120,122,125-26,128,174n4;
ethnic reforms of, 4, 7,10, 37-41;
Han cultural bloc of, 120,126,129;
imperial ambitions of, 4; land sur-
veys by, 117; linguistic practices
of, 120; Manchu cultural bloc of,
120,126,128,130; Mongolian cul-
tural bloc of, 120,126,128,129,130;
multiculturalism of, 122,125,127,
129-30; multilingual inscriptions
of, 120,122,127; Muslim cultural
bloc of, 120,126,129,130; native
rulers’ capitulation to, 57-58; neo-
Confucianism of, 163056; penal
code of, 77, 81,164063, 1651175;
rebellions against, 93; resistance
in Dingfan-Guangshun region,
38-39; response to Zhongjia liveli-
hoods, 59-60; sale of positions in,
65, i6in26; scholarly imperialism
of, 122; Sinocentric ideals of, 122;
southwest China policy of, 41-43;
statecraft of, 39-40,124,151ml;
Tibetan Buddhism of, 1631156;
Tibetan cultural bloc of, 120,126,
128,129,130; universal Heaven
of, 120; Xi’ou people during, 20
Qing Imperial Illustration of Tributar-
ies (1751), 21,121
Quoc-ngu script (Vietnam), i6in2i
Ran Hua (swindler), 73, 74, 75, 76;
death of, i64n6i; punishment of,
77212	/ Index
Ran Jing (swindler), 73-77; apprehen-
sion of, 76; benefits for followers
of, 124; capitalization on fear, 77;
co-conspirators of, i6oni4; imper-
sonation of Nacha, 73, 75-76; inter-
rogation of, 75; practice of magic,
76, 77; punishment of, 77
Ran Lang (swindler), 73, 74, 75, 76;
interrogation of, 164061
Rawski, Evelyn S., I74n4
rebellion, penalty for, 77, 1641163
Research in Buyi Studies (journal), 86
rice, “spirit,” 112
rice cultivation: traditional versus
modern, 6; Zhongjia, 28
rituals: Mo, 66; negation of state
authority, 78; Zhongjia, 28, 66-67.
See also bumo; mogong
Rowe, William T., 15903, 1701139
salesmen, itinerant, 59
Sang Hongsheng, 95,17in46; in
“Immortal Maiden Wang,” 108-9
Saya San Rebellion (1930-32), magic
in, 1731193
scholarship, Buyi: co-optation of,
167012; on Nanlong Uprising,
86-87, 88, i68n22
schools, charitable (shexue), 77-78
Scott, James, 7,152ni2,176020; on
Chinese statecraft, 39-40; on civi-
lizing projects, 126; on hidden
transcripts, I75m6; on non-state
spaces, I52ni3; on risk-taking,
I76ni7; on Zomia, 5
Shang Kexi (hereditary governor),
153024
Shi Liha (governor of Guizhou),
48-49, 50,156050
Shuixi clan, I53n22
Shuixi region, Wu Sangui’s pacifica-
tion of, 153022
Shunzhi emperor: Guizhou policy
of, 38; policy in southwest China,
41
Sicheng prefecture: annexation into
Guizhou, 51-52; Cen control of,
52-53; chieftains of, 53; creation of,
55; crime in, 62; gaitu guiiiu in, 55,
56, 57; jurisdiction of, 57; during
Ming dynasty, 52,156n62; Native
Prefect of, 53; taxation of, 56
silver, spirit (guiyin), 63, 66, 67-68,
i6in29,162036
Siniang (spirit), criminals’ invocation
of, 74
Smith, Kent, 48,15on2; on Changzhai
I56n56; on Han colonization,
i5inio; on new men, 1551130; on
Ortai, 151113,154n28
Snyder, Wil C., 1431132
Song dynasty, Nasu Yi and, 29
“Song of the Nanlong Resistance”
(folk narrative), 84, 85; format
of, i66n8,173098; Jiaqing emperor
in, 115,116; Le Bao in, 113-16,
I74mo6; Mabie River episode in,
113; PRC editing of, i73nioo; schol-
arship on, 87; Wang Niangxian
in, 113-16,117; Wei Qiluoxu in,
113-16,117; Zhongjia agency in,
117
sorcery, punishment for, 1641163
Southeast Asian Massif, xiii (map);
eighteenth-century inhabitants
of, 6; livelihoods of, 5
spaces, non-state, 40,152nni3-i4
spaces, state, 40; governable, 9; ofIndex /	213
Guizhou province, 121, 17505;
in Nanlong, 58
Sutton, Donald, 147072,171045
Tai Lue people (Yunnan), 137ml,
152015
Tai people: antiphonal singing of,
173098; language of, 19, 22-23;
leaders, 8; relationship with Qing,
8,119-20; Theravada Buddhism
of, 119; of Vietnam, 137ml; written
records of, 7; Yunnan polities of,
152015
Taiwan: under Qing, 125,127-28; sta-
tus of indigenes, 128,129
talismans. See good-luck charms
Tang dynasty, Nasu Yi and, 29
Tay people (Vietnam), 137ml; lan-
guage of, 142031
Ten Abominations (criminal offenses),
164063,165075
Teng, Emma, 125,127-28,129
Thomas, Nicholas, 126
Tian Wen, A Book of Guizhou, 21
Tian Yuan, 87
Tibet: influence on Qing culture, 120,
126,128,129,130,177029; Qing rule
over, 119; resistance to China in,
177028
tingmu system, 28,147077. See also
chieftains
treason, Qing punishment for, 81
Tunpu people, tourist visits to, 133
Turner, Sarah, 6
tusi system, in Guangxi, 33,1490101.
See also native officials
tusi system (Guizhou province), 33,
34, 37, 41, 42,152016; in Dingfan-
Guangshun, 155035; under Qing,
37, 41, 42; Yongzheng emperor
and, 43-44
Wang Acong. See Wang Niangxian
Wang A’er, 163049
Wang A Jiang (Huang San case), 67,
68, 69
Wang Ali (swindler), 161024
Wang Azhan (Zhongjia commander),
172070
Wang Bujiang (Huang San case), 68,
69; testimony of, 162037
Wangchengpo, in Nanlong Uprising, 103
Wang Dengrong, 172069
Wang Huaming, 89-90
Wang Li: liaison with imperial state,
65; role in Huang San case, 64
Wang Ling (tingmu), investigation of
Huang San, 63-65
Wang Niangxian (“Immortal Lady
Wang”): Buyi narratives of, 87;
capture of, 84,105,111,112,115;
complaints against, 90; “crossing
the darkness” ritual of, 89,169027;
cult surrounding, 83, 89; execution
of, 106,116; followers of, 89-90; as
guardian spirit, 112; in “Immortal
Maiden Wang,” 106-12,173082;
leadership of, 108,112; marriage
of, 170036; on Qing injustice, 107;
Qing intelligence concerning, 105;
as Realized Immortal, 92; real
name of, 16502; in “Song ofthe
Nanlong Resistance,” 113-16,117;
spiritual leadership of, 85; temple
of, 90; use of magic, 89,106-7, m-
12,117; Wei’s exploitation of, 95.
See also “Immortal Maiden Wang”
(folk narrative)214	/ Index
Wang Shangyi (Guangxi chieftan),
I58n76
Wang Tianlan, I72n69
Wang Wenjia, i63n49
“Wang Xiangu” (indigenous narra-
tive), I72n68
Wang Yunhao (magistrate), i6in24
Wang Zuxian (criminal), 66, i6in29,
163047; anti-Qing activities, 69;
capture of, 70; literacy of, 81
War ofthe Three Feudatories, 153024
Wei Qiluoxu (Wei Chaoyuan): attack
on Puping, 91; battle strategy of,
91; capture of, 84,105; coalitions
of, 170036; coercive measures of,
95; concerns for public welfare, 107;
confession of, 91; consolidation of
authority, 92, 95; execution of, 106,
116; exploitation of superstition, 95;
followers of, 91,124; in “Immortal
Maiden Wang,” 108-11; leadership
qualities of, 83; Mo practices of,
90-91; nickname of, 16502; prac-
tice of magic, 83-84,169031; Qing
intelligence concerning, 105; real
name of, 165m; recruits of, 91; self-
proclamation as emperor, 92-93;
social banditry of, 91,107,169033;
in “Song of the Nanlong Resis-
tance,” 113-16,117; towns attacked
by, 96; troop strength of, 95-96
Wei Xuewen (swindler): apprehension
of, 80; co-conspirators of, 79-80,
165076; education of, 78, 81, 82; exe-
cution of, 81; sedition by, 78-80
Weiyuan, in Nanlong Uprising,
172061
White Lotus uprisings, 93, 1711141
Whittaker, Jacob, 8, 136113
Wu Sangui (Qing general), 36,
I5onio8; death of, 1531124; execu-
tion of Prince of Gui, 152021;
Kangxi emperor and, 42; pacifi-
cation of Shuixi, 153022; rebellion
of (War of the Three Feudatories),
42, 57,153024; territories con-
trolled by, 153021; troop strength
of, 1531123
Xincheng, Le Bao’s capture of, 102
Xingyi (Nanlong), 106; in twenty-first
century, 132
Xingyi region: commercial potential
of, 133; poverty in, 131-32
Xinjiang: Qing rule over, 119; resis-
tance in, 177028
Xi’ou people, contact with Han, 20
Xue Shiqian (Kangzuo chieftain), 48
Xu Xiake, 139m; exploration of Gui-
zhou, 11-13; exploration of Pan Riv
ers, 13903; interaction with Miao,
12-13,139n3; peoples encountered
by, I4onn5,8; theft from, 12-13;
travel diaries of, 11-12, 32
Yangchang, Le Bao’s assault on, 104-5
Yang Guochen (swindler), 1651176
Yang Hui (magistrate), i6in24
Yao people: ethnonyms of, I47n68;
Meishan Daoism of, 1621133
Yi Bao (Huang San case), 67, 68
Yi Gen (Huang San case), 67, 68
Yi people, 17; in Nanlong uprising,
18. See also Lolo people; Nasu Yi
people
Yongfeng: annexation to Guizhou, 57;
in Nanlong Uprising, 102; Qing
recapture of, 106; tingmu of, 64
Yongguan (Guangxi), Zhuang people
of, 21Index /	215
Yongli (reign title of Southern Ming
leader, a.k.a. the prince of Gui
or Zhu Youlang), I5onio6; exe-
cution of, 36,152n2i; leadership
of Southern Ming resistance, 35,
36,1521113
Yongning (Anshun prefecture): Le
Bao’s capture of, 102; Zhongjia
rebels in, 96
Yongzheng emperor: accusation of
native officials, 43; An clan under,
30; appointment of Ortai, 49; chief-
tans’ resistance to, 44; control of
frontier communities, 37; gaitu
guiliu reforms of, 4, 7, 37-51; Gui-
zhou indigenes under, 38,124,125-
26; new men of, 154030; palace
memorials of, 154028; redrawing
of Guizhou-Guangxi border, 23;
reforms in Dingfan-Guangshun,
45, 46; reforms of, 4, 87,154027;
relationship with Ortai, 154028;
restructuring of state institutions,
43; southwest China under, 43-51;
taxation policies of, 154028; and
tusi system, 43-44
You River (Northern-Southern
Zhuang border), 24
Yuan dynasty, Guizhou under, 13
Yu Luo, 146064, 177041
Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau, terrain of,
15
Yunnan province: copper of, 39, 15107;
cultural solidarity in, 168024;
Qing-era violence in, 15105; Qing-
indigene accommodations in, 119-
20; resistance to Han in, 168024;
strategic importance of, 44-45; Tai
polities of, 152015; Yongzheng’s offi-
cials in, 44
Zang ethnic group, 146059
Zeng Tingkui (prefect of Nanlong),
90, 94, 96; death of, 93, 170038
Zhang Yulong (Nanlong regional mil-
itary commander), 93, 96, 97;
engagement with rebels, 98-99,
101
Zhang Yunsui (governor of Yunnan),
in Huang San case, 72
Zhao Kun (Guizhou commander-in-
chief), 46
Zhao Tingchen (governor of Gui-
zhou), 152017
Zhaotong (Yunnan province), crime
in, 74, 76
Zhejiang, Cen clan’s home in, 158084
Zhenfeng. See Yongfeng
Zhenning (Anshun prefecture),
Zhongjia rebels in, 96
Zhe Ruo, 163054,164058
Zhong, character for, 25
Zhongjia people, 18-29; adaptation
to Qing, 8; adoption of Confucian
culture, 25-26, 65; agriculture of,
28-29, 30,51, i5inio; ancestry of, 21,
1440040-41; autonomy of, 8,125,
130; autonyms of, 22; bilingualism
of, 26, 27; Bulong, 121-22; Chen
Yuanxun’s attacks on, 46; clothing
of, 26, 27; compliance with Qing
legal norms, 60-61, 66; conflict
with Qing, 4, 83, 94, 99,101-2;
cultivation of opium, 124; culture
of, 8; culture of resistance, 116-
18; Daoist influences on, 169027;
demographic data concerning, 19-
21; of Dingfan-Guangshun, 45; dis-
tribution of, xiv (map); education
of, 26, 27; encampments (ting) of,
28; ethnographic data concerning,216	/ Index
Zhongjia people (continued)
19-21; ethnonyms of, 21-24; etymol-
ogy of, 22,144047; exonyms of, 22;
extortion from, 74-75, 76, 77; dur-
ing Five Dynasties, 21; funerals of,
121-22; of Guiyang, 4; of Guizhou,
13, 24-28, 40; headmen (tutnu)
of, 28; history of, 8; horse platoons
(mapai) of, 28; illicit activities of,
5, 8, 60,123,124; immigrants, 28;
institutions of, 28-29; interactions
with Han, 20, i6on2i; interactions
with Qing state, 6, 7-8; itinerant
salesmen, 59; jia (domains) of, 28;
land ownership among, 28-29,
117, i5inio; lifestyle of, 25; literacy
among, 123,129; magical beliefs
of, 83-84,123-24; maidservants
(niipai), 28; maintenance of iden-
tity, 5,123; manipulation of Chi-
nese culture, 27; marginalized
status of, 130; military ancestry
of, 21; money-making schemes
of, 59-62; names for Han, 173085;
of Nanlong, 4; oral traditions of,
7; in People’s Republic of China,
18; political structure of, 128-29;
poverty of, 85, 91; PRC accounts of,
I72n8o; Qing appropriations from,
107,173082; in Qing cultural hier-
archy, 126-30; Qing defeat of, 50;
Qing descriptions of, 122,127; Qing
documents on, 6, 7, 8; Qing eth-
nography of, 65; Qing military
presence among, 49; Qing oppres-
sion of, 87; Qing reforms for, 4-5;
relationship with imperial China,
25, 27; religion of, 88; religious
practitioners, 62, 66-67; reputation
for thievery, 27; reputation for
violence, 25-26; resilience of,
I38m8; resistance at Changzhai,
49-50; response to environment,
25; rice farmers (liangzhuang bai-
xing), 28; ritual specialists, 28,
66-67; role in Guizhou history,
24-25; role in late imperial China,
5; Sinicization of, 26, 27, 80, 94,
129; social unrest of, among; socio-
economic organization of, 8-9;
socioeconomic priorities of, 72;
sources for, 6-7; tax amnesties
of, 51; taxation of, 87; tenant farm-
ers, 58; terminology for, I36n2,
145047; ties with Nong, 142030;
tingmu system of, 28, 147077; tusi
of, 155035; use of dog character
for, 25,127; village heads (bashi),
28; Western descriptions of, 26-
27; women, 147075; written lan-
guage of, 7,138014, i6on2i, i6in22.
See also Buyi people; livelihoods,
Zhongjia
Zhongjia poetry, Chinese translations
of, 7
Zhongjia rebels (Nanlong Uprising),
5, 83; agency of, 117; attack on
Han, 167014; attack on Nanlong,
94; charismatic leaders of, 83; cos-
tumes of, 97-98; firearms of, i65n2,
172057; guerilla tactics of, 83;
“immortal maidens,” 98; mountain
strongholds of, 98-99; organiza-
tional capabilities of, 95,104-5;
Qing defeat of, 84,102; “realized
immortals,” 92, 98,104; reasons
for defeat, 86; in “Song of the
Nanlong Resistance,” 113; troopIndex /	217
strength of, 100,101; women, 97.
See also Nanlong Uprising
Zhou Guoyan, 21, 22, 1441147
“Zhuang,” characters used for,
144046,145055
Zhuang people: ancestors of, 138015;
bumo of, i6in32; Chinese genealo-
gies of, 20-21,144040; dialect
of, 138015; ethnonyms of, 23, 24,
I47n68; of Guangxi, 23; language
of, 142031,144044; Meishan Dao-
ism of, 162033; Northern, 19, 24,
I42n3i, i69n27; relationships with
Buyi, 21, 23, 24, 63,146n64; reli-
gious texts of, i6on2i; rituals of,
169027; Southern, 19, 20, 24,142^1;
written language of, i6on2i; of
Yongguan, 21
Zhu Bao, 164057
Zhulonga (Guizhou provincial mili-
tary commander), 94, 96; engage-
ment with Zhongjia rebels, 102
Zhu Youlang. See Yongli
Zongjiao, Qing military presence in, 51his historical investigation describes the Qing
imperial authorities’ attempts to consolidate
control over the Zhongjia, a non-Han popu-
lation in eighteenth-century Guizhou, a poor, re-
mote, environmentally harsh province in southwest
China. Far from submitting peaceably to the state’s
quest for hegemony, the locals clung steadfastly to
livelihood choices—chiefly illegal activities such as
robbery, raiding, and banditry—that had played
an integral role in their cultural and economic
survival. Using archival materials, indigenous folk
narratives, and ethnographic research, Jodi L.
Weinstein shows how these seemingly subordinate
populations challenged state power.
JODI L. WEINSTEIN teaches history at the College of
New Jersey.
Cover photo: Zhongjia villagers in Pingyi, along the Y unnan-
Guizhou border: Irom a Oing dvnastv ‘Miao album” collected
bv Joseph Rock (1884—1962), now in the collection ofthe
East Asia Library of the University of Washington Libraries
STUDIES ON ETHNIC GROUPS IN CHINA
UNIVERSITY 0/ WASHINGTON PRESS
SEATTLE AND LONDON
www. wash ington. ed u/uwpress
ISBN 978-0-295-99327-0
9