Chapter Six: Traces in the Snow, Startled Swans

Following the ancient waterways of Jiangnan, their light boat traveled dozens of miles each day. Soon they passed Jiaxing, and ahead lay the entrance to the Grand River. After consulting with Xu You, Ding Ji decided they would press on through the night, hoping to reach Qiantang by the following day.

Night sailing had always been a test of skill and fortune. Yet the stretch of waterway from Suzhou to Qiantang was gentle, with neither treacherous shoals nor violent waves. The thriving commerce meant the river bustled with vessels of all kinds, their high-hanging wind lanterns illuminating the night until it was bright as day. Over time, night passages had become the norm here, and danger was rare.

Xu You had only just fallen asleep when the commotion outside roused him. Rising, he stepped out onto the deck and discovered they had arrived at a river checkpoint. Since the Wei dynasty, to collect the customs tax—known as the river toll—eleven posts had been established along the golden waterway linking the Three Wu regions to the imperial capital of Jinling. The first seven were west of Danyang County, while the remaining four lay between Wu and Kuaiji counties. Each was staffed with a superintendent, a security officer, and five river inspectors, whose duties included searching for contraband and fugitives. “For goods such as firewood, charcoal, fish, and timber passing through, a tenth was taxed for the state.” This commercial levy was the backbone of government revenue; even the smallest checkpoint brought in a million a year, the largest nearly four million.

Over a hundred boats of every description were moored before and after the checkpoint, each crowded with people—some conversing in low voices, others craning their necks to observe, or calling across the water for news. Some, realizing they would be delayed, had spread several meters of fine reed mats upon the upper decks of their grand ships, covered them with sumptuous silks, set out tables and incense burners, and lit candles as thick as a child’s arm. Attentive maids in ornate dress served up platters of delicacies whose aroma wafted for miles. Reclining on a brocade cushion was a rotund, middle-aged man, not leaning on a tripod table, but comfortably nestled between two lovely maids, head adorned with a noble’s cap, robe loosely tied to reveal an undergarment of silk—a picture of aristocratic indulgence.

“Who is that, with such ostentation?”

“You don’t know Lord Guo of Qiantang?”

“Guo? The great merchant Guo Mian of Qiantang?”

“Who else would have the splendor to use twenty catties of gold for a sail but him?”

“A golden sail? The wind can barely move it. What’s the use besides flaunting his wealth?”

“It’s useless, indeed. But in Qiantang and even all Wu, do you know how many yearn to set foot on this ship, to taste the legendary Snowmud Wine served only in winter, or to hear the famed courtesan Sun Shenfei play her ‘Swan’s Flight’ melody?”

“What? So this is the so-called ‘Snowmud Swan’ Guo the Dog? I thought—”

“You thought what? That it would be one of those coy, bashful beauties from Drunken Moon Pavilion? Ha!”

“Watch what you say! Lord Guo despises any mention of that nickname. If he hears it, you’d best fear for your life!”

At these words, the crowd instantly fell silent, granting Xu You some peace. He followed their gaze and saw, sure enough, a grand ship easily three or four times the size of the surrounding vessels. At its prow stood a dazzling golden sail, three feet tall, with the character “Guo” engraved upon it, illuminated by hundreds of lanterns and the bright moonlight, so that the name shone like a beacon of gold.

Twenty catties of gold—perhaps not immense wealth in later ages, but in this era, gold was the highest currency, prized for collection. Such a quantity marked him as a tycoon of the region.

Zuo Wen, also watching the spectacle from the prow, turned to Xu You and hurried over. “My lord, you’ve come out as well? Was the noise disturbing your sleep?”

Xu You’s eyes remained on the golden-sailed ship. “Who is that man?”

“That must be Guo Mian of Qiantang. In all Wu, only he possesses such a ship with a golden sail.”

Those who had heard the tales of Shi Chong and Wang Kai outshining each other in extravagance during the Western Jin knew that, in any age, the contest of status among the wealthy never ceased. If Guo Mian’s golden sail was so conspicuous, surely other rich merchants would imitate it. Yet Zuo Wen insisted there was only one such vessel. This could mean only one thing: Guo Mian’s background was anything but simple; he was more than a mere merchant, and none dared even to copy him.

Xu You recalled reading Professor Tang Changru’s “Sequel to Essays on the History of the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern Dynasties,” which described how merchants, seeking protection, often attached themselves to nobles and officials—even the emperor had his favored traders. Leveraging these connections, they amassed fortunes beyond the reach of commoners, and in turn used their wealth to influence those in power, sometimes even gaining entry into political circles and bringing the customs of the lower classes into high society.

By the time of Northern Qi, the tables had turned, and merchants became a political force, rising from the most humble origins to grasp the levers of imperial power. In the end, it was not wisdom or cunning alone that determined victory, but the enduring magic of wealth.

“Guo Mian... is his childhood name really ‘Dog Slave’?”

“Yes, and it’s said he hates to hear it. If he does, he’ll kill.”

Xu You smiled. “One’s body and name both come from one’s parents. For someone so quick to anger about such things to rise so high is remarkable indeed.”

Lowering his voice, Zuo Wen said, “I’ve heard Guo Mian is close with the Prince of Jiangxia…”

Professor Tang divided merchants into three types: the first were favored by the central court, the second, by regional lords and commanders, and the third were petty traders and vagabonds.

Guo Mian clearly belonged to the second rank.

Elsewhere, a mere county merchant would never dream of consorting with imperial nobility. But Qiantang was different—a jewel of the Three Wu, the economic heart of the state of Chu, with fertile rivers and abundant land, riches from land and sea, and rare treasures from every corner. “Tribute, taxes, and commerce all flow from this land,” so said the chroniclers. With such resources, it was only natural for Guo Mian to have both the means and the connections to reach the Prince of Jiangxia. Xu You sensed that, upon arriving in Qiantang, he would find himself dealing with this Guo Mian—“Dog Slave”—more than once.

Xu You nodded. “What’s happening up ahead?”

“Ding Ji went to inquire; he should be back soon…”

No sooner were the words spoken than Ding Ji, agile as a monkey, leapt back aboard from a plank stretched to the next boat. Ding Ku’er quickly withdrew the plank and handed him a bowl of ginger soup to ward off the chill. Ding Ji drained it, saw Xu You, and hurried over with a smile. “My lord, you’re awake?”

“Just now. Uncle Ding, is the river blocked again?”

“No, no, the waterway is clear. It seems the superintendent received urgent orders from the prefect, demanding a full closure and strict inspection of all passing vessels—especially the larger ones. Every checkpoint is to be thoroughly searched, and every person must present their travel pass for comparison of stature, appearance, accent, and other details.”

The travel pass was akin to a permit for passage through land or water checkpoints, required for all travelers. It recorded every detail: name, origin, destination, height, beard or no beard, facial features, and more. In an age without photography, it was a remarkably practical document. By the Tang dynasty, the system had become even stricter; indeed, the monk Xuanzang of “Journey to the West” fame had to sneak out of the country, a fact the novel hints at.

Zuo Wen mused, “This sounds like a manhunt…”

“Indeed, Master Zuo. I’m acquainted with the security officer here at the Grand River post and asked him privately. It seems they’re searching for a pirate from the sea…”

A pirate—what kind of criminal could so alarm the authorities that they would rather seal off the principal waterway linking all of Jiangnan than allow him to escape among these hundreds of vessels?

(Happy New Year)