Explore Chapter 1 of '老张的哲学' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
Lao Zhang's philosophy is none other than the "Money-based Trinity Philosophy." He adheres to three religions: Islam, Christianity, and Buddhism. He pursues three professions: soldier, scholar, and merchant. He speaks three languages: Mandarin, the Fengtian dialect, and the Shandong dialect. He has... three of these; he has... three of those. Indeed, even his lifetime tally of baths amounts to a mere three. Though bathing might seem a trifling affair, it is indispensable for plumbing the depths of Lao Zhang's conduct and mindset.
In all his born days, Lao Zhang has bathed only three times. Two have already been dutifully performed; the fate of the third remains a matter upon which no one dares pronounce with certainty, though he was born in a China where everyone fancies himself a "prophet." The first ablution occurred on the third day after his birth, when the midwife scrubbed his then unknowing self like a little pink mouse in a copper basin. The second took place on the eve of his wedding, when he voluntarily plunged into a clear-water pond. The expense of two copper coins for this occasion is meticulously recorded in his ledger to this very day-an indisputable historical fact in the annals of Lao Zhang. As for the future bath, the consensus among most "prophets" is this: should it ever come to pass, it will be a passive affair. In a word, it would be the "washing of the corpse."
"Washing the corpse" is an Islamic custom. But does Lao Zhang truly revere the Prophet Muhammad? To answer that, one would do better to consult economic indicators, for they offer surer ground. Should the day arrive when Lao Zhang meets his maker and "passes beyond the veil of tears" coinciding with a slump in the price of mutton, one could reasonably infer a clause in his will favoring "Islamic funeral rites, complete with a halal feast of six side dishes and one tureen." (Naturally, kinsfolk and friends accustomed to drowning their sorrows in wine at funerals might thereby treat their palates to something different.) And thus the matter of the "corpse-washing" might be neatly settled as a mere addendum.
Alas, forecasting the precise fluctuations of meat prices ten, twenty, or thirty years hence is a notoriously tricky business. Moreover, Lao Zhang currently exhibits neither the mental resolve to die nor any physical signs of decline. Consequently, astrologers who predict he still has ten, twenty, or thirty years left to live find their task just as daunting as those who would foretell the price of mutton decades from now.
Christianity was imported into a China that knew only devils and nothing of Heaven by pastors claiming to act as Heaven's agents, who traversed myriad miles for the purpose. These venerable gentlemen sometimes saw fit to invite the faithful to their homes. Instead of saying "come for a meal," they would say "come for tea." To invite someone for tea is, of course, a mark of Western civility. In terms of solid sustenance, there is a world of difference between a meal and a cup of tea. Yet when a Chinese receives an invitation to take tea at a foreigner's home, the feeling of being "unduly honored and overwhelmed" effortlessly vanquishes any base calculation of material gain.
Lao Zhang, having mastered this clever stratagem, would on occasions of absolute necessity invite friends to his own abode for tea. This served to impress upon them that he was personally privy to foreign tutelage. The money saved was but a minor consideration. His pièce de résistance, however, was to parrot the old pastor's toneless rendition of Chinese: "Tomorrow afternoon at one quarter before five o'clock, please you walk from your house to my house to drink one bowl of tea."
Trade? For money. Soldiering? For money. Running a school? Also for money! And to teach, trade, and soldier all at once? That was to open the floodgates to wealth reaching the four seas and profit flowing through the three rivers! That is what he called the "Trinity." That is his "Money-based Trinity Philosophy."
Thus, his three languages, his three religions, his three baths... all were put into practice according to this philosophical ideal of the "Trinity."
His academy was located in a small town north of the Beijing city walls, closer to Desheng Gate than to Anding Gate. It consisted of a modest quadrangle facing south, enclosing a small courtyard that was longer east-west than north-south. The three street-facing rooms housed Lao Zhang's general store, stocked with everything from opium down to spring onions and garlic. The eastern and western wings served as bedrooms for himself and his wife: in summer they occupied the east wing in the morning and the west in the afternoon; in winter they reversed the order; in spring and autumn they migrated according to the whims of the weather. This thrifty practice saved on the cost of awnings and coal fires, and the constant moving about was supposedly good for the constitution. The three northern rooms had their partitions knocked through to accommodate over fifty pupils. Twenty-four earthen desks, higgledy-piggledy in three ranks of eight, were stained not with lime-wash but with ink, achieving a uniform, somber black. Between them stood low, rickety stools of locust-wood. The taller lads found squatting more comfortable than perching; the smaller ones sat as if they were dangling. On the center of the north wall hung a portrait of Confucius, flanked by color prints of scenes from the Russo-Japanese War. Two large iron-capped nails on the west wall supported a two-foot-square blackboard; from these same nails dangled Lao Zhang's military cap and a combined solar-lunar almanac. Above the entrance gate was a plaque with black characters on a white ground, which proclaimed: "Jingshi Deshengxun Public-Private Official-Business Primary School."
Lao Zhang's academy operated under three ironclad rules. First, no student was to open a classroom window, come spring, summer, autumn, winter, or even intercalary month. This was because the school was encircled, for a good half-li in every direction, by stagnant, fetid ditches. No matter which way the wind blew, a vile stench was guaranteed. Barring the windows against this external malodor meant that the collective exhalations of fifty-odd pupils created an atmosphere inside even more foul than that without. Second, students were forbidden to purchase any supplies or snacks from shops outside the school. Lao Zhang's stated aim was to foster in them a greater love for their alma mater. Third, students were absolutely forbidden to go about saying that Lao Zhang sold opium. He only engaged in the trade temporarily, as a stopgap whenever the authorities shut down the opium dens in the vicinity. This minimized risk while maximizing profit. As for his sense of propriety preventing him from selling opium permanently-while not the main reason, we must at least credit Lao Zhang with his zeal for education.
Lao Zhang's standing in the community was thus: the local poor addressed him as "Master." Some, having sent their offspring to his school, had no choice but to show him respect. Others, whenever they needed a death certificate written, a marriage match divined, or a plot of land assessed for geomantic properties, would seek his counsel, and thus felt obliged to maintain due deference in daily life. The better-off called him "Shopkeeper," for it was to him they turned for daily necessities like oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar, finding it inconvenient to trek into the city. As for the functionaries of the Deshengxun local office, some called him "Your Honor," others simply "Lao Zhang," depending on their own rank; for Lao Zhang was nominally on the rolls there as a patrol officer. Though the forms of address varied, Lao Zhang was undeniably a personage of consequence in the town-Erlang Town. Should misfortune befall and Lao Zhang depart this life, the loss would be greater than that of a sage. For what sage could boast equal prowess in letters and arms, and possess such profound knowledge of both the celestial and the terrestrial realms?
Lao Zhang's stature, measured by the standard construction chi, was five feet two inches-the very model of a soldier's build. Not only was his height ideal, but his back was ramrod straight. When he underwent certification as a teacher, the inspecting committee officially confirmed him to be a "vertebrate." He had a ruddy face peppered with a few black moles-a configuration that, according to the physiognomic treatise "The Hemp-robed Master's Art of Face Reading," betokened manifold talents. Two bushy eyebrows merged into a single dark line, casting a shadow over a pair of diminutive, piggish eyes. His nose was short and thick, the nostrils flaring slightly upwards like a cicada clinging upside-down to a willow twig. Thin lips were pursed, the lower one curled up as if to contain a pair of long-neglected, prominently protruding front teeth. A careless glance might easily mistake his mouth for a stuffed sesame cake. His head was tilted back, the left side held high, his right ear seemingly hoisted almost to his shoulder-a posture befitting the dignity of a pedagogue.
To judge a man's looks, one must consider the whole, not fixate on a single feature. Though I have compared Lao Zhang's nose to a cicada and his mouth to a cake, I would never dream of calling him ugly. Seen in his entirety, the more his mouth resembles a cake, the more indispensable that cicada-like nose becomes. From the side, the shadow in the hollow of his nose sometimes recalls, however faintly, the delicate wings of a tiny cicada. And when Lao Zhang himself gazes into the mirror, does he not beam with self-satisfaction and crow, "See how my nostrils flare? Hah! If they didn't, how could I make the ladies look twice!"