Will the newest branch of a decaying house be bent or broken by these uncertain times?
It has been six years since China threw off imperial rule, yet Beijing seems largely unchanged. The city is a chaotic, roiling sea of humanity inhabited by merchants, hawkers and street urchins. In the midst of it all, Qi Yuexuan, the sole scion of a distinguished family, lives a life of indolence.
But change is coming. Forces from within and without are becoming increasingly influential, while the new ideas they bring are shaking the foundations of the nation. Reappraising his entrenched values, Qi is torn between tradition and the new order.
The Elm Tree paints an intimate, yet vivid picture of an extraordinary cast of characters associated with the Qi household. It documents a forgotten way of life before it was swept away by the turmoil of foreign occupation and civil war…
Will the newest branch of a decaying house be bent or broken by these uncertain times?
It has been six years since China threw off imperial rule, yet Beijing seems largely unchanged. The city is a chaotic, roiling sea of humanity inhabited by merchants, hawkers and street urchins. In the midst of it all, Qi Yuexuan, the sole scion of a distinguished family, lives a life of indolence.
But change is coming. Forces from within and without are becoming increasingly influential, while the new ideas they bring are shaking the foundations of the nation. Reappraising his entrenched values, Qi is torn between tradition and the new order.
The Elm Tree paints an intimate, yet vivid picture of an extraordinary cast of characters associated with the Qi household. It documents a forgotten way of life before it was swept away by the turmoil of foreign occupation and civil war…


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Overview
Will the newest branch of a decaying house be bent or broken by these uncertain times?
It has been six years since China threw off imperial rule, yet Beijing seems largely unchanged. The city is a chaotic, roiling sea of humanity inhabited by merchants, hawkers and street urchins. In the midst of it all, Qi Yuexuan, the sole scion of a distinguished family, lives a life of indolence.
But change is coming. Forces from within and without are becoming increasingly influential, while the new ideas they bring are shaking the foundations of the nation. Reappraising his entrenched values, Qi is torn between tradition and the new order.
The Elm Tree paints an intimate, yet vivid picture of an extraordinary cast of characters associated with the Qi household. It documents a forgotten way of life before it was swept away by the turmoil of foreign occupation and civil war…
Product Details
ISBN-13: | 9781910760406 |
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Publisher: | ACA Publishing Ltd |
Publication date: | 10/11/2018 |
Series: | Elm Tree Series , #1 |
Pages: | 730 |
Product dimensions: | 6.14(w) x 9.21(h) x 1.60(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
In the street, not far from the main gate of the residence, stands an old elm tree. Its trunk is so thick a single person can't embrace it and it is several zhang high. No one knows how old it is. But, on the wall of the entrance courtyard, there is a stone plaque dating from the time the residence was built, on which is recorded Emperor Qianlong's appreciation both of the building itself and the imperial service of the Qi family, and the contribution of the imperial concubine. On it is also recorded the fact that, at the time of construction, there was "an elm tree, standing with the courtyard wall to the north and the gateway four zhangto the west". By this reckoning, the tree is at least two or three hundred years old. Although old, the tree shows no signs of decline and still puts out new shoots and leaves according to the seasons. When the spring winds blow, its branches are garlanded with strings of seed cases.
A 12-year-old child is climbing the tree, sure-footed and nimble as a monkey. At the base of the trunk, several street urchins are gathering up the seeds he throws down, their shrill, childish voices chanting the old nursery rhyme: "Hot steamed elm-seed cakes, happy do the poor man make; the elm-tree coins won't fill our purse, but save our bellies from hunger and thirst."
The boy in the tree is called Wangtian, and he is the young son of another long-established banner family that lives in a narrow lane south of Xueshifu hutong. The houses there are in no way comparable to the residences that line the hutong, being much simpler, smaller and shabbier. In fact, they started life as shanties for the craftsmen building the residence and, over time, grew and multiplied and became the residential area for the workmen needed by the Ministry of Internal Affairs. These included Manchus, Mongols and Han Chinese, with trades as varied as carters, sedan-chair bearers and wet nurses. However, as soon as they entered the service of the ministry, in official eyes they became associated with one of the banners, and therefore became bannermen themselves. Once under the aegis of the banners, these people soon intermingled with other ranking families. In fact, fewer and fewer of the heads of households in the area were true bannermen, and the majority of them were banner servants to banner chiefs and army commanders. Once they had become banner servants, their descendants were automatically of the same status, and all took the family name of their master. Several generations later, with their overlord's permission, they were allowed to honour their own ancestors by taking a double-character family name.
According to the law of the Great Qing dynasty, the seat of justice for commoners was the yamen, where they were subject to the law of the land. The banner chiefs' court was the ancestral banner court, and they were subject to banner law. But for banner servants, all they had was their own household law, and no matter how big or small the offence, their fate was settled by a single word from their master. After the fall of the Qing and the abdication of the young emperor, reliance on funding from the Republican government has meant that these old hierarchies can no longer be maintained. The old Ministry of Internal Affairs has been effectively disbanded, and the people in the area are mostly reliant on whatever work they can find themselves for their monthly income. It is hardest of all for people like Gao Guigeng, born to military service, who cannot now earn enough to maintain a family, and is forced to make a living collecting night soil. Even now, this hutong has two distinct social strata: living on the main hutong are all the grandees, while in the small lanes are their servants and their impoverished relations. Comparisons are odious and should be avoided as they only breed discontent. The rich have their worries, and the poor their pleasures. Take young Wangtian, up in the elm tree, and see how happy he is. Not only does he have the joy of the harvest, he also has the pleasure of giving. Happiness comes much easier to the poor than to the rich.
Yue E is standing in the courtyard of the residence when she hears the shouts of the children outside. Unable to restrain herself, she snatches up a small wicker tray and runs out of the gate. She is Manager Yang Zhixing's eight-year-old daughter. Although she is not an actual member of the Qi family, and lost her mother when she was very little, she has made her mark even in such a large place as the Minister's residence, and is so bright and lively that she has become the darling of the household. The Young Master is particularly fond of her, and he has made it a daily ritual to bring her toys and play with her. The padded satin jacket she is wearing, and the white jade gourd that hangs from her belt, are gifts from him. According to the rules, the children of the household are confined to the residence, and certainly shouldn't be consorting with the urchins outside in the hutong. But it's only natural that children are drawn to each other's company. There have been several attempts
to control her, but a whole day of tears and tantrums always ensures that she gets her own way.
Yue E comes running up to the tree, holds up a wicker tray and calls out: "Wangtian, I want some! I want some!" Up in the branches, Wangtian looks down, sees who it is and shakes down a small branch-full of seed cases. When he sees her eying a child next to her, and scooping up a handful of seeds towards her mouth, he hurriedly shouts: "Yue E, don't eat them raw. Take them home, wash them and steam them into a cake."
Yue E takes no notice, and smacking her lips at the taste, mumbles to herself: "Mmm! Delicious – so sweet."
Without waiting to hear anything else Wangtian has to say, a tiny child next to her butts in: "Hah! I wondered if the money-bags in the big houses ate these too! I'm telling you, we poor people are born with grass-lined stomachs and can eat them any old how, but you've got a meat stomach, and you'll get the runs if you eat them raw."
"It's you who'll get the runs!"
"If you don't believe me, ask the others."
The other urchins all joined in, laughing: "He's right! He's right! You're going to get the runs!"
Yue E is not amused, in fact is rather annoyed, and lashes out with her hand. The little urchin dodges the blow, and in the same movement tugs Yue E's pigtail. This annoys her even more, and she goes after him. But the lad slips like an eel in and out of the crowd of children, who shelter him, laughing as they do, so she has no chance of catching him. Frustrated, she stops and bursts into tears.
Looking down from the tree, Wangtian calls out: "Can't you give her a break? She's only little. Yue E, don't cry – take these."
Another small branch-full of seed-cases tumbles down into Yue E's basket, and she finally stops crying and breaks into a smile.
At this moment, a group of people turn into the east end of the hutong. There are two middle-aged men in country garb in front, followed by a strapping young man of 17 or 18 lending his arm to an old man in a long gown. He is indeed a very old man, his long sparse goatee beard totally white, his face like a wind-dried tangerine, so wizened he looks as though he has just a single layer of skin left. Only a pair of deep-set eyes, darting hither and thither, show that he actually is still alive.
They stop a passer-by, seemingly to ask the way, and then proceed straight to the main gate of the residence. The old man looks up at the plaque over the gate, smiles faintly and nods his head: "Yes, this is it."
As he speaks, and without assistance, he steps over the threshold.
Hearing the old man's voice, the porter comes hurrying out. He sees that the group are making to come inside, and bars their way.
"Hey! Who are you looking for?"
The young man hurries to reply: "We're looking for the Minister's residence."
"There are lots of people in the residence," the porter replies with a sneer. "Who in particular?"
The old man edges forward: "This young lad and myself are called Zhang. We're from Dezhou. We are quite closely related to this noble house – country cousins, you might say." He indicates the young man: "This is my grandson, Zhang Zhicheng, and the other two are relatives from the same village. We want to see the master of the household, so please let him know we are here."
"The master is not at home."
"The household manager then ..."
"Manager Yang is not at home either. You had better go home and come back another time." The porter's reply is as cold as an unlit kang.
Old Zhang seems to be about to say something more, but remains silent. His grandson, however, can't hold back. He sticks out his lips and breaks in: "It's not so easy to get rid of us. How many times do you think we'll let you lot here fob us off? If you think you can send us away without seeing the master of the house, after my grandfather has hurried all the way to Beijing, then you can think again!"
"Eh? This young lad of yours needs to learn some manners." The porter is getting annoyed. "This is the first time you have come here, so what's this nonsense about fobbing you off? I tell you, you're lucky we are in the Republic now. Do you think you would have got across this threshold under the emperor? You would have got a beating if you had tried."
"Do you want to try?" Zhang Zhicheng squares up to the porter.
At the sight of him, the porter hurriedly calls back into the courtyard: "Lao Litou, come here quick!"
Scarcely has he spoken, when Lao Litou, the bodyguard stationed in the courtyard, comes swaggering out, with two of his men.
"What's up here? Are you lot looking for trouble?"
Not the slightest afraid, Zhang Zhicheng knits his brows and is about to speak. But the old man restrains him and steps forward with a conciliatory smile: "We are just simple countryfolk. There's no need for confrontation. We aren't out to cause any trouble. We just want a word with the head of our family. If you're not going to let us in, so be it, we'll wait."
So saying, he takes his grandson's arm and turns and sits down on the threshold. His two middle-aged companions follow suit.
The porter, whose expression had just relented a little, turns stern again: "Hey! Hey! Are you blind or something? What makes you think you can sit there?"
"Get up! And be quick about it," Lao Litou joins in loudly.
Old Zhang shoots them a look, and then says with a rueful smile: "Well, brothers, if you are not going to let us into the residence, and will not allow us to sit here, surely that doesn't mean you expect a man of my years to stand while I wait?"
The porter chokes back his first response, and says with a cold smile: "Very well, old man. I'm not lying to you. If this is how you want to play it, sit there. But I'm telling you, you won't see anyone for the next three days and nights."
This just serves to enrage Zhang Zhicheng, but his grandfather again restrains him.
The porter laughs and continues: "If you lot don't go now, the street patrol will be along shortly, so you'd better give that some thought ... Hah! If the Great Qing were still in control, you would all be grovelling on your knees, grovelling into the ground under this threshold."
These words make Old Zhang shake with rage. He stares at the porter and surges to his feet, staff in hand, straightening his puny frame.
The porter involuntarily retreats a pace, for, although the old man is smiling, there is something threatening in his manner.
"I haven't come here to beg for food, but to get what I'm owed. I have every respect for this household, and have nothing against it, but you have kept on asking me to leave. I had thought this was a scholarly family of high repute and would always be scrupulously fair, so it is a shame ..."
As Old Zhang is speaking, he lets out a laugh, which startles the porter and makes Lao Litou and his men exchange looks. Doesn't every residence of this size have some countryfolk it is indebted to? Looking at the old man, the residence's servants find it hard to believe he could be such a creditor, but listening to him, he doesn't seem to be trying it on.
"What were you saying about kneeling?"
Old Zhang has stopped laughing now, and his expression is deadly serious.
"I was a successful candidate in the imperial examinations, and in the time of the Great Qing, I didn't kneel when an official passed my house. And now I am going to let the whole neighbourhood see me kneel to you, just because of what this young lad has said."
So saying, he falls to his knees with a thud. Zhang Zhicheng and the two others hurry over to lift him back to his feet, but he calls out: "Come on, kneel down. Let everyone see how we observe the proper behaviour of clients of this great household. This is the path of integrity, and the custom of an honest family!"
His loud voice stops the passers-by in their tracks. Even the urchins round the elm tree come running over, exchanging views on what might be going on. The porter is getting agitated, as he tries to lift Old Zhang to his feet while telling him: "Honoured Grandfather, I'm really not lying to you. The Young Master and Manager Yang truly aren't here. Please get up, and come and wait inside. Alright?"
Old Zhang just smiles faintly and stays kneeling, as the hubbub of speculation grows around him.
"Ai-yo, Honoured Grandfather!" The porter is almost in tears. "I beg you. Otherwise, I will be kneeling in front of you!"
He is, indeed, on the point of kneeling, when Old Zhang gets up, as do his grandson and the two others, and they all follow the porter into the courtyard.
The porter has been telling the truth – neither the Young Master nor Manager Yang are at home. In fact, Yang Zhixing is at Moxiangzhai. Although each of the family businesses has its own management, he goes at the start of every month to audit the accounts, and usually can't resist making a full inspection.
When Moxiangzhai was first established, its main business was chop carving, specialising in all kinds of personal chops, artists' chops and business chops. Printing was a subsidiary enterprise producing a small quantity of cards and invitations and such like. But when it purchased a set of German machinery, it was able to produce all manner of proclamations, posters and playbills. The print runs for many of the first newspaper offices and press houses of Beijing were produced here. Later, by exploiting the burgeoning interest in geography and human relations, and accepting a significant number of government commissions from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, Moxiangzhai became the leading people's printing house in Beijing.
Moxiangzhai is a two-storey wood-framed building that runs east to west, with its retail outlet on the busiest section of Houmen Avenue. At its rear, there is a connecting door with the Minister's residence. The gilded plaque over the lintel of the main gate is in Old Man Qi's own calligraphy. The building also has high thresholds, high walls decorated with vermillion lacquer and grey-tiled rooves with flying eaves. All in all, it is the very image of an important business.
There are only two people inside the accounts office: Yang Zhixing and the office manager, Dong Fuxing, with the accounts ledger open in front of them. Yang is sitting at the desk, leafing through the accounts, occasionally flicking at an abacus and saying nothing. Standing beside him, Dong Fuxing keeps glancing at his expression. He seems a little apprehensive.
Yang is wearing a well-worn long gown, patched at both elbows. He has just turned 50, but his hair is already more white than black. He is habitually very reserved and his brows are often furrowed, producing deep creases. His pigtail is gone, and his shoulder-length hair is tucked behind his ears, but the front half of his head is still shaved as was compulsory under Qing law. Looking at him, people might imagine he was over sixty.
Dong Fuxing is the complete opposite. He is a naturally baby-faced man in his late thirties, married with children, but at first glance, his big round apple face and smiling eyes make him look like an 18- or 19-year-old undergraduate. He entered the household when he was eight, and grew into an honest and quick-witted individual. As a lad, he worked as a servant in the Young Master's study. On reaching his majority, he became a senior servant and has been manager at Moxiangzhai for three years now. He is not a man to be easily overlooked, and good judges of character say he has an old head on young shoulders: outwardly he might seem the kind of man to enjoy Hongloumeng, but inwardly he is much more a student of Sanguo Yanyi.
With a sudden thud, Yang Zhixing slaps the ledger down on the desk, and fixes Dong Fuxing with a hard stare. Dong looks at the page at which the ledger is open and hurriedly says: "Manager Yang, this month's expenditures are a little higher than usual, but they are all on essentials."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Elm Tree"
by .
Copyright © 2018 People's Literature Publishing House, Beijing, China.
Excerpted by permission of ACA Publishing Ltd..
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