SEPTEMBER 2021
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ur ongoing series, “Great Nanjingers”, this month profiles perhaps the greatest of them all, none other than the Yongle Emperor.
He commissioned the world’s largest encyclopaedia and longest maritime voyages of exploration, undertook to translate the foreign languages of the world as a means to strengthen friendly international exchanges and built nothing less than the Forbidden City. Impressive stuff, for 600 years ago. Read the full story on page 24. Elsewhere, our review section this month rests entirely on two wheels. Read about an incredible
bike journey from Shanghai to London and check out the new cycling group in Nanjing which is really going places! See pages 28-29. This month, we also welcome back Kamla Tung (out of lockdown) for the latest installment in our popular series, “The Musim Connection”. See pages 26-27. And so to our theme for this month. Jams on the streets, jams in our brains; the last year and a half has exacerbated both our sanity and the ability of our transport network to deliver. Welcome to “Congestion” from The Nanjinger. Ed.
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Vehicles roaring forth and back, the occupants of each hermetically separated, independently traversing time yet each essentially entwined in one unceasing route march. Motorways are arteries, roads veins, driveways capillaries. The town is a noisome organ of the country, of the world; becoming all too quickly clogged. Words, thrust forward, sometimes received. Each forming with an other in fragmented sentences which launch still more, barely landing before the next are taking wing. How many of these familiar flights can we hear? Migrating tongue to ear, to phone, to book, to website, sign boards? All becoming too quickly clogged. Thoughts churning, correcting, challenging… cogitating streams that eddy, curve, cut and turn, undermining, underscoring, rewriting what we thought before, what we saw, what we knew. So many fracturing, rippled reflections. So many voices, unceasing in our head, our minds, becoming all too quickly clogged. Where these days may we find the space from the road, from words, from thoughts? Where can we lay them down and in the quiet that follows find the unfamiliar peace to help reset such confused congestion, to reset balance? What space these days is left for us to silently sit, and, maybe, feel once more a breath of truth?
By M a it iu Bralligan ‘2 1
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Feel the “Qi” &
YIELD NOT TO TEMPATATION By Yixing Zheng
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The concept of “congestion” is referenced widely in modern Chinese culture. It is present in conversations whining about public transport, city traffic, lines at a tourist attraction, hospital or service desk; in fact, almost any public space. An “uncrowded” place carries a favourable connotation; it is free of the disturbance and turmoil of everywhere else. This phenomenon is hardly surprising, considering the ever-expanding Chinese megacities and population. Such contemporary congestion is all too familiar. But what about a much more traditional interpretation, as in traditional Chinese medicine (TCM)? Founded upon the principle that harmony in the body leads to long-term health and wellbeing, TCM assists with imbalances and disruptions in the body that lead to ailments, whether physical or psychological. TCM regards “Qi” as a fundamental concept. Representing vital universal energy, the force behind all organic activity in the universe, qi is in constant flux, manifested in material life as well as in movement, heat, thoughts and emotions. Qi can also be medically portrayed as vital fluids and energy flowing through the body. “Xue”, the blood, is another fluid, likewise circulating the body, literally to sustain life. So, you can imagine how congestion of Qi and Xue can upset the body and mind. According to small talk I have overheard between aunts and grandpas, along with cursory searches online, congestion in the Qi and Xue should be treated with more green tea, less greasy and spicy food, more exercise, regular sleep and more of an outdoors and social life. This all sounds like solid advice, paired with a set of composed, serene philosophical principles. In popular culture, this diet and lifestyle have been associated with “养生” (yangsheng); maintaining good health, and
in turn, with stereotypically, those advancing in years. While younger generations also aspire to longevity and health, their 养生” really isn’t pulled off with the same rigour, neither under the same circumstances. Specifically, their 养生 often accompanies situational irony; staying up all night while chugging down a concoction of health products, feasting on spicy hot pot before taking digestive tablets, adding goji to beer, dangshen to coca cola and perhaps most commonly, and perplexingly, intending to go for a 养生 night out. Some of these examples may be exaggerations, but there nonetheless exists a chasm between TCM’s teachings and the unescapable “temptations” of a modern lifestyle.
“Staying up all night” might have been for catching up on the latest TV show, or keeping up with the demands of an unpredictable, but steadily growing workload. “Having a carnivorous feast” might be a fantastic time with friends and family, or a sociocultural ritual between employees and clients in the business world. China’s rapid economic development has led to a tectonic shift in the expectations and prioritisation of work, leisure and health. The remark that, “Everything is so fast-paced”, has become a platitude. Congestion is arguably omnipresent. Traffic is congested on the city streets. Qi is congested when we occupy ourselves with work and life, and when we deceptively perform 养生.
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Even on a psycho-spiritual level, we are congested by an overabundance of thoughts and questions, without clear intent or answers. Everything going through all at once is bound to lead to congestion. As a response to this pervasive congestion, there are countless sources of advice, from, “lead a slow-paced life”, to “relax one’s body and mind”, to “enjoy the world around us”. The fantasy of “escaping the city”, of an idyllic or “olde worlde” life is growing, as indicated by trends in tourism. Rising incomes have enabled people to indulge in these fantasies temporarily. In 2019, the total instances of domestic tourism in China had reached more than six billion, an 8.4 percent increase from 2018. Current popular destinations are natural or historical sites, such as the Sanhuan pastureland in Dalian or Tai’erzhuang Ancient Town in Zaozhuang. Metropolitan centres, such as Hong Kong, are dwindling in their appeal, as people are generally accustomed to urbanity, no longer enthralled by skyscrapers. Common criticism of popular natural and historical sites are of overcrowding, excessive commercialisation, and degradation of the natural landscape and historical artefacts. While these points are certainly valid, they also reflect the fantasy of tourism. People spend money on tourism as a service, while expecting monetary aspects to be cleanly concealed. They should not be reminded of crowded city streets, ubiquitous billboard advertising, nor the grime and pollution left behind from the linear economy of production to consumption, and straight to waste. This same “fantasy” possibly fulfilled by tourism is also present in the stereotype of 养生; TCM-guided, middle-aged people, perhaps more accurately. Their WeChat profiles are caricatured as portraits of themselves in picturesque scenery, accompanied by a name such as (roughly translated) “Morning Sunlight”, “Life is but a Stage”, “Sound and Auspicious” or “Prosperity Yearlong”.
Despite the ridicule of this stereotype, I believe it powerfully characterises a certain Chinese lifestyle of minimalism. It represents a symbolic divide between generations. The youth coexist with congestion, while the middle-aged reject it. Initially, congestion is viewed as the “overwhelming number of possibilities and opportunities in the world”. Later, congestion becomes seen as a pathological symptom, obstructing Qi or life, from flowing and flourishing. Faith in nature, health, and traditional practices and beliefs substitute that placed in congested, modern life. Looking at the past few months, I have truly experienced both views of congestion. During the restrictions, I first adopted a stereotypically “middleaged” stance. “The streets and roads seemed free from their chronic ailment. Once in a while, a car would freely race through. These arteries were so painstakingly laid down and maintained as an essential component of our societal flesh and bones, so worn down with all the people going places, constantly pumping, that it had seemed to develop hypertension. It had time to rest. Anxious, and doubtful, the people had abandoned their four wheels.
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“My body healed during that time. Less greasy dinners outside, more time for afternoon exercise. More time to make an elaborate breakfast. More time to stop and listen to the cicadas outside. “Even the testing sites were just a manageable-sized line of people patiently scrolling through the news or Douyin or whatever. After hearing traumatic stories, everything was surprisingly ordered, tranquil, and free of confusion and turmoil.” However, quite soon later, I realised I could not adopt this stance forever. “Just staring out the window day in, day out. Afternoon exercise is great, fresh air from strolls outside is great, but everything still feels upside down. It would be great to just breathe and simply exist, among people. It doesn’t have to be social; just watching and appreciating all the people going their separate places at a busy intersection or a mall. Everywhere seems deserted. I’m tired of cereal for breakfast and salad for dinner. Time is relative. It’s like everything I’ve done is just being slowly erased and my life turning into a blank page. I just need to feel alive.” Later, as restrictions loosened and fears faded, I felt a lot better mentally. Reflecting, I understood more than just two stereotypical ways of viewing modern life. I do not need to buy into appreciating the congestion of modern life, nor absolutely reject it with ascetic minimalism.
People have complex and changing beliefs, which are not dictated by their age group. Perhaps the best approach is to reconsider our view of modern life, experiment, then decide, and remain flexible to change. Whether shoving our way through millions awaiting their bubble tea in Xinjiekou station or contemplating the yin and yang on a stone bench at Yangshan Park, or anything in between, in these congested times, feel the Qi coursing within, and have pace in life.
By Frank Hossack
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here are a lot of cars in Nanjing, getting on for three million now. That’s one for every three people, these days a small family. So with much of the city now on their own four wheels and more arriving on the streets every day, just how does a megalopolis such as Nanjing cope? It’s an argument as old as the concept of roads comprising multiple lanes itself. As more cars arrive on the roads, simply add more lanes to accommodate them. That’s the conventional wisdom, which these days seems actually far from wise. It’s also far from practical in the case of roads in a congested urban space such as Nanjing, especially in the downtown area. There is simply no space for any extra lanes. Hence other solutions need be sought. And this is one field in which Nanjing truly deserves the descriptor, “innovative”. But before we get to the good news, Nanjing first had to learn from its mistakes. And our city has made some whoppers in its time. Take Xuanwu Lake Tunnel as an example. At either end of the Tunnel, multiple roads converge, meaning that somehow or another, as many as eight lanes of traffic need to find their way into three. And that’s a piece of division which doesn’t work, especially in Nanjingers’ brains fried after a long day of work.
Then there is the legend that is Kazi Men beside Ikea. The morning traffic jam going into town here is so well known in the local lexicon that when this correspondent made fun of it to the city’s then Party Secretary, video of the encounter went viral. Kazi Men’s problem stems from the fact that this is not just a part of the city where many roads converge. It’s that those same roads then diverge another hundred metres further on. The result? A morning rush hour with many drivers who have no other choice but to cross four or five lanes of traffic, in order to be in the right place just down the road. From left to right and right to left they come; in Kazi Men, there can hardly be a worse example of road layout anywhere. But that all said, even China was likely not prepared for the sheer number of cars headed its way, presenting us with the next problem, one largely peculiar to roads in China. Therein we find a strategy that has been surprisingly successful in addressing the problem of Chinese drivers refusing to “let them in”. Being the competitive bunch that they are, it’s quite the loss of face for another driver to get ahead. Don’t. Ever. Let. Them. In. Rolled out during the past year, many of the city’s key choke points now have large, numbered yellow squares painted in the lanes as they approach the 14
point where they merge. It’s a simple concept; vehicles “take a number” as they approach and merge into the single lane ahead, in their assigned order. The incredible thing is, the concept actually works (most of the time). Then there are they who must be Nanjing’s mostloved policemen. These are the cops charged with keeping the traffic flowing smoothly during rush hours. And they have a trick up their sleeves; the right to allow motorists to break the law. For when they deem that the queues of vehicles have snaked to unacceptable lengths, they will cheerfully wave on drivers through red lights. Allowing an extra 10 or 20 cars a left or a u-turn on a red makes quite the difference to Nanjing’s traffic jams. Elsewhere, analysts are more than aware that urban traffic often flows predominately in one direction at peak times. Out of the residential suburbs and into the city centre in the morning, and back again at night.
That they be automatic, however, is decidedly unusual. The nature of Nanjing’s automated tidal lane means that it need be solar powered. According to Nanjing Daily, the powered barrier can go for 15 days on a single charge. The system, however inspiring, is hardly foolproof. Traffic police officers are required to block the lane to traffic in the seconds prior to operation. Since its introduction in May, 2020, tidal lanes have appeared at several other points in the city which experience the same traffic phenomenon. For example, as the main artery into the part of Hexi’s fintech district where Xiao Mi and Alibaba’s Jiangsu headquarters are located, Yunlongshan Lu received a tidal lane earlier this year. In the morning, it’s three lanes going southward; in the evening, three lanes going northward. So next time you are stuck in traffic, it’s worth considering just how much worse it could be. After all, this is not Shanghai or Beijing, thankfully.
Hence, getting a bit of attention last year was the introduction of Nanjing’s first ever “tidal lane”, occupying just 60 metres of Jinsheng Lu between Bian’an Jie and Zhongshui Lu in Jiangning District.
The measures introduced in recent years, together with the more customary flow controls such as changing the timing of traffic lights and lane assignment, mean our city has one of the most efficient road networks in China.
The concept of tidal lanes is hardly new. Many cities all over the world have them in one form or another.
Sit back and be patient. Just. Don’t. Ever. Let. Them. In.
Big, easy-to-read numbers in the lanes have proved to be the only things which will pursuade Nanjing drivers to give way to others
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Locked in, Locked out
THE CONGESTION OF BESPOKE HEARTBREAK
“When I Find Myself in Times of Trouble…” By Triona Ryan
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eptember is always a funny month for me. The daylight begins to contract, school imposes routine on the wildness of the summer months, and for the last 27 years, the anniversary of the death of my mother. 7 September used to be my Grandmother’s wedding anniversary, and then, one day in 1994, it became a different anniversary, one that has shaded life ever since. Life, love, grief and death. The ingredients of every great story. Joan Didion writes about this in her tour de force memoir, “The Year of Magical Thinking”. In clear, crisp prose she dissects the grieving process, meandering through the stages of grief that span 1 year and 1 day exactly from the sudden death of her husband, John Gregory Dunne. It is an honest recount, flitting from mundane to magical moments, when grief baffled and bemused and battered her. Early on, she writes of how the need to keep her husband’s shoes made sense in those addled days. She kept them, because he would need them when he came back. Of course. Like not walking under a ladder, or knocking on wood, like wearing your lucky underwear or throwing a pinch of spilled salt over your left shoulder; some things make sense in the liminal spaces, and that is enough. Enough to create a stepping stone to the next day. This sense of sliding between shades of reality is reflected in the book title. “Magical Thinking” is the belief that thinking, willing or wishing for something to happen may cause it to manifest. It has been hailed as a benefit to mental health when it produces a sense of calm, control and a positive mental attitude. It can also be symptomatic of obsessive compulsive disorder or schizophrenia. As with all things in life, it does not lend itself to a simplistic, clear answer.
Lately, my mind has been congested. It began in lockdown, healthy summertime habits of daily constitutionals and food that is ripe for nurturing the body quickly gave way to the code yellow, self-isolation stint at home, the “oh well, maybe next time” cancellation of trips and the return to rigid routine. The CDC defines grief as a “response to loss of life, as well as to drastic changes to daily routines and ways of life that usually bring us comfort and a feeling of stability”. This we know. And we’ve all had our fair share of the latter recently, and some of us of the former. What grabbed my wily attention and dragged it face first into Didion’s book was her visceral laceration of a certain Dr. Volkan, and his technique of “regrief therapy, […] for the treatment of established and pathological mourners.” This technique allows the patient to review, redirect and ultimately “emotionally relive” the traumatic event. Whilst Didion assaults Volkan’s methods, ironically demonstrating the anger he predicts will appear if things are going well, she doesn’t dwell on the validity or value of the technique itself. As September waxes and wanes, it may be worthy of consideration in the present context. None of us are lucky enough to skip through this life without wrenching an ankle, losing a limb, or saying goodbye for the last time to a life-mate. This is the nature of living. Denmark has recently announced that COVID is done and dusted. The virus, being “under control” will no longer play a part in determining social and cultural norms. Ireland has rolled out similar plans to end all restrictions by October, 2021. Yet just recently, we have lived a resurgence that shows how quickly virus mutations and a loosening of restrictions can plunge us all back into a time warp of uncertainty.
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The pros and cons of every territorial response to the pandemic are a moot point. We all do the best we can. But regrief as a concept begins to take on a relevance that is undeniable. In each and every one of us, the past 1.5 years has not only dredged the bottom of the psyche, it has also created bespoke heartbreak for many. Being locked in, being locked out, old loss and new; all of these krakens reframed and reinforced by the need to stay upbeat, the desire to keep on keeping on. As year 27 dawns, I realise that I am no expert on grief, yet maybe I know a thing or two about regrief. This time 27 years ago, I stopped the kitchen clock, because its ticking reminded me of the clicking of bicycle spokes. I began my 1 year and 1 day oxtail-soup diet, because it was the only thing from a packet I could make that tasted like the past. The shoes were thrown out, but just like right now, they were too small for me anyway. Didion’s life mate did not return. The Year of Magical Thinking considers Emily Post’s 1922 book, “Etiquette in Society, in Business and in the Home”, and ponders the difference between then, almost 100 years ago, “a world where mourning was still recognised, allowed, and not hidden from view” and now, when an “ethical imperative to enjoy oneself ” demands that grief be hidden from view, lest it taint the enjoyment of others. The body is judicious in its use of fuel. The brain uses 20 percent of our daily allowance of resources. We rage, rage, rage against the uncertainty that is the daily fare, while another year dwindles into twilight.
“I look for resolution and find none”, writes Didion. Her grief, like that of those stranded in uncertainty, has no defined finish line. Perhaps all grief, in one way, is regrief; drawing up once more each time uncertainty, drastic change and lack of stability, manifest in daily life. Magical thinking may derail the pathological reactions to life changing gear suddenly. But as my grandma always said, better out than in. Regrieving is perhaps the kindest way to work through life events that are too hot to touch at the event horizon. And what’s more, it can help us to better understand what fuels our response to the new, unpredictably eccentric normal. Regrief is an acknowledgment that life experience accumulates, and colours our perception of current happenings. Congestion leads to build up. Build up leads to bursting. Emily Post recommends hot tea, broth or something that usually appeals to the taste. In other words, soul food, chicken soup and whatever gives you a warm fuzzy. Didion recommends it as “as prescriptive in […] treatment of grief as anything else I’ve read”.
September is a funny month for me, and this year, it’s a funny month for many of us here in The Southern Jing. We look for resolution, and we find none. But I know this. Grief does not diminish. We grow around it, we grow bigger than it, we grow with it. It’s the process that is this tick-tock business of life. Congestion is only a resting stage. Stop all the clocks you need, drink hot tea and broth. Comfort and stability will reassert.
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D’Andrea & Partners Legal Counsel
Legal notes from The Nanjinger in association with:
Congestion on the High Seas; Who’s Liable?
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he shipping industry in China has faced extreme congestion levels of late, the effect of which came to a head in May with authorities in Guangdong cancelling flights, locking down the city and suspending trade in order to rein in a COVID-19 spike in the region. Likewise, the Meishan terminal in Ningbo port (world’s thirdbusiest container port and the busiest in the world in terms of cargo tonnage) was also shut in August, after a COVID Delta variant outbreak. As a result, further exacerbation of the crisis across supply chains after the previous closure in the South of China surely affected nearby ports as well as those further afield. Therefore, as constraints on the global supply chain are unlikely to go away soon, perhaps it is important to outline exactly how legal liability is governed regarding the carriage of goods by sea in China.
International Conventions China has not ratified or acceded to the Hague Rules (minimum standards upon commercial carriers of goods by sea), the Hague-Visby Rules (which apply to Bills of Lading) or the Hamburg Rules (which apply to any contract of carriage by sea against payment of freight). However, several provisions of the Hague-Visby Rules regarding carriers’ responsibilities, exemptions and limitation of liability, and those of the Hamburg Rules, are adopted into the Chinese Maritime Code, which governs contracts of carriage in the Peoples Republic of China. Under the Maritime Code, the responsibilities of the carrier concerning goods which have been placed within a container start from the time the goods are taken over at the port of loading and end when the goods have been delivered at the port of discharge.
Deviation from Route In relation as to whether a carrier, considering the congestion at numerous ports, as well as the aforementioned port shutdowns, may deviate from their originally predestinated route, according to Article 49 of the Maritime Code, unless the carriers have some justified reasons for saving or attempting to save life or property
at sea or any other reasonable deviation which is in keeping with the appropriate standard of care for the goods carried, the goods shall be transported to the discharge port on the agreed or customary or geographically direct route. Therefore, in instances in which carriers during the current port congestion crisis are required to deviate from their route, such may be considered reasonable under the Chinese Maritime Code, as long as the carrier ensures a proper level of care the goods.
Delay in Delivery No doubt at the forefront in the minds of many parties shipping goods, Article 50 of the Maritime Code strictly defines delay in terms of carriage contracts as “when the goods have not been delivered at the designated port of discharge within the time expressly agreed upon”. However, although the carrier would be liable for economic losses caused by the delay in delivery of the goods (liability for the carrier is limited to an amount equivalent to the freight payable for the delayed goods), unless such economic losses had occurred from causes for which the carrier is liable, there will be no liability placed on the carrier for the delay in delivery. Instances regarding delay in delivery of the goods relevant to the current port congestion crisis include an act of government or other competent authorities, quarantine restrictions or any other cause not the fault of the carrier, e.g. a congested port. However, it is worth bearing in mind, that in such circumstances, the carrier bears the bear the burden of proof in showcasing that the carrier was not at fault for the delay.
Conclusion The Chinese Maritime Code sets out various parameters regarding the delay of the delivery of goods and deviations from routes which are issues facing parties transporting goods by sea. The current port congestion crisis amidst a global pandemic has produced a unique and unprecedented scenario regarding global trade and it is therefore imperative that parties adhere to their obligations to the best of their abilities at such a difficult time.
DISCLAIMER This article is intended solely for informational purposes and does not constitute legal advice. Although the information in this article was obtained from reliable official sources, no guarantee is made with regard to its accuracy and completeness. For more information please visit dandreapartners.com or WeChat: dandreapartners
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“Inhale. … Exhale.” These are the most said words in a yoga class. And if you have ever taken one, you have probably heard these words spoken to you by a yoga instructor who is oblivious to the fact that attempting to maintain your body in the instructed pose is, kind of, impeding your ability to inhale and exhale. Your legs are shaking, your arms feel tired and you begin to question why you started doing this to begin with. But when it is time for “savasana” (a yoga pose that requires complete mental and physical relaxation), you lay down and let yourself melt away into your mat. Then you sit up, bow and say, “Namaste”. As you leave, you feel accomplished, content, relaxed and you say, “Gosh, I love yoga”. If you are a yogi, this may be close to something you have experienced before, or maybe not. There is, after all, more than one style of yoga class. Each style provides different benefits; some are more meditative and others more physical. Some help with stress relief, others help improve energy levels, focus on building endurance, strength or flexibility, and while some styles are inspired by others, no two are exactly the same. Yoga goes back a long time, so long so that no one can be sure when it originated. As a Sanskrit word which means “to create a union”, in yoga, this bond is between mind, body and soul.
For some, however, who consider yoga to be more than an exercise, the word yoga can be a paradox, since yoga creates a union between two things that were never separate. But what yoga means to a person, I believe, is individually unique. To some, it’s a way of life; to others, a way to relax and detach. Some use it as stress management, others for the physical benefits or rehabilitation. Everyone has a different reason for practicing yoga, and a preferred style. Yoga is not something you need to go to a class to learn. There are now many channels on YouTube, Apps and accounts on social media, that post free content and tips for how to begin a yoga journey. But if you are feeling discouraged with your practice, just remember that, while some yoga focuses on the physical, the goal of yoga is to help your mind and your body become one. The real mission of yoga is to open up your heart and your mind. Personally, I started yoga because of my mom. Maybe not the best or most exciting original story, but it is the truth. She was practicing yoga to recover from a shoulder injury and always told me to practice as well, sharing with me how it benefited her and what it could do for me. By Nohemí Gutierrez
In classic teenager style, I didn’t pay much attention. That was until this year, when I joined her in some of her yoga classes. Then, I had a wonderful opportunity to participate in a yoga course and to ultimately receive yoga certification.
This course included learning some of the basic poses in Vinyasa or Ashtanga yoga, as well as how to assist a student to accomplish such. Though I had attended some classes before and tried practicing on my own with YouTube videos, I was somewhat unprepared for the intensity of the course. Previously, I had thought of yoga as a slow-paced, relatively-simple exercise. I was so, very far from being right. There is a certain intensity in yoga that I never experienced with any other type of exercise. It is that need to have strength and self-awareness in everything, all the way down to your fingertips and toes, which makes yoga a unique activity. Though I am not far into my yoga journey, from the time I started to right now, I feel a real passion for yoga and motivated to continue improving. For me, right now yoga is about the physical and mental benefits it can bring to my life, but this this path is not predetermined. As time goes on and my practice develops, it will perhaps lead me in directions I do not yet know.
Great Nanjingers (15)
By Frank Hossack
Gatherer of the Entirety of Chinese Knowledge; Zhu Di
Zhu Di (朱棣), the third to be top dog in the Ming Dynasty and often referred to as the Yongle Emperor, brought much that is great to the world, including the Forbidden City. He also remained relevant until very recently, as commissioner of that which remained world’s largest encyclopaedia for 600 years. Born on 2 May, 1360 CE, in Nanjing (then Yingtian), Zhu was the fourth of seven sons for Zhu Yuanzhang, founder of the Ming Dynasty in Nanjing in 1368. A 7-year-old Zhu and his brothers received a rigorous military training, and as they grew older, also practiced martial arts from time to time. With their father attaching great importance to culture and education, Zhu and his brothers were enrolled in school at an early age, where they received an orthodox Confucian classic education. Zhu’s rise began in 1370, when awarded the title, Prince of Yan (燕王), with his capital in Beijing (then Beiping). While engaged in an ongoing fight against the Mongols of the North, Zhu’s nephew, Yunwen, took the nation’s throne as the Jianwen Emperor. Initially accepting off such, Zhu was to rise against his nephew in rebellion at the execution and demoting of Zhu’s contemporaries. Successful in 1402, Zhu overthrew his nephew to occupy the imperial capital, Nanjing. Proclamation as emperor followed, as well as announcement of the era’s name; “Yongle” or “perpetual happiness”. Politically, Zhu continued the policies began by his father; efforts to rebuild a country ravaged by war. With tolerance for minorities and religions, many a mosque in Nanjing and Xi’an was built or renovated. Together with unprecedented political reform, the era also saw reduced taxes and laws established that protected peasants' property. For the new Zhu, that aforementioned encyclopaedia was top of his to-do list. Commissioned in 1403, the Yongle Encyclopaedia (永乐大典) was a mammoth project that
gathered together the entirety of Chinese knowledge, from ancient times up until the early Ming Dynasty. Incorporated into the book by over two thousand scholars at the Imperial University of Nanjing were texts covering subjects ranging from science and art to religion. After 5 years in the making, when it was finally published, the Yongle Encyclopaedia comprised 22,877 manuscripts in 11,095 volumes; a total of approximately 370 million Chinese characters. Sadly, the original Encyclopaedia is now missing. Today, there are only 823 volumes in existence, scattered worldwide in 34 public and private collections, about 4 percent of the original book. In other spheres, over the course of his reign, in terms of military affairs, Zhu conquered Mongolia five times, better managed the frontier, strengthened control of the north and moved the capital to Beijing. Stretching his fingers further afield, Zhu brought about unity in administration and education in Tibet and sent Zheng He over the western oceans to establish diplomatic ties as means for foreign trade. Key to such was the establishing of the Siyi Pavilion (四夷馆), set up to translate the languages of various countries and enable stronger friendly international exchanges. Physical power in the Yongle era was manifest through the dredging of the Grand Canal and the building of the Forbidden City. With such feats and a prosperous economy, it is little wonder the era is regarded as a heyday in China’s history. Having reigned for 22 years (1402-1424), Zhu died in Yumuchuan in the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region at the age of 64. Posthumously, Zhu gave up his title of commissioner of the world’s largest encyclopaedia in 2007. The Yongle Encyclopaedia had been replaced, by… Wikipedia. 24
Sucking on Notes of Jasmine & Souchong By Matthew Stedman
Des Esseintes is a man with sick fancies. He is the dissipated aristocrat at the centre of Joris-Karl Huysmans’ novel, “À Rebours” [Against Nature]. He is the collector of house plants which somehow look fake but aren’t. He owns a tortoise shell encrusted with gem stones. He didn’t want the tortoise to die from contamination. But so be it. Together with figures like Oscar Wilde and Aubrey Beardsley, he represents the Fin-de-Siecle End-of-19th-Century spirit of jaded pleasure seeking. Something of this appealed to me as a young man confronting a new century of my own. Walking self consciously through the supermarket (remember supermarkets?) I liked to think of myself as one such “aesthete”, buying veal or eel not entirely in spite of the cruelty.
tortoise thing, but never the organ. Personally, I have doubts about the long-term replayability of the toy. And, after the first note, it’s going to sound very sticky and bubbly. Submarine Homesick Blues. Huysman’s liqueur organ can exist only as a novelistic conceit. And I can’t reasonably claim that this new tea box gifted to me is any kind of realisation, but I’ll try to anyway. Lift the cardboard lid and ten different varieties of tea feature in little round tins, sunk into a felt-lined foam insert. There’s an attempt at colour-coding, but it’s hardly synaesthesia. Pulling one tin out inevitably pulls the foam up with it. Unmusical. The lids of each tin are stubbornly stiff for items so leaky of air. 小罐茶 [Xiao Guan Cha] does this so much better, and there are lots of other copycats at price levels in between.
I don’t see things in quite the same terms now. I have a family. Though I still don’t feel an omniscient arbiter hovering over me, morality no longer seems like just an ugly irrelevance. Nonetheless, as someone not even queuing for a ticket to an afterlife, I cling in the primacy of these terrestrial senses of ours. That’s why I write about tea.
All the usual suspects are here. Green is represented by 碧螺春 [Biluochun], 龙井 [Long Jing], 信阳毛尖 [Mao Jian] and 茉莉花茶 [Jasmine]. There’s 普洱 [Pu Er] and 福鼎白茶 [Fuding White Tea], both packed as bullets in paper. There’s 铁观音 [Tie Guan Yin], of course, and then there are three reds; 大红袍 [Da Hong Pao], 金君眉 [Jin Jun Mei] and 正山小钟 [Zhengshan Souchong]. On paper, that’s a nice selection, representative of current Chinese tastes.
Anyway, one of Des Esseinte’s other projects is his organ. He loves the stops on the console of cathedral organs, the grand pipes’ failed mimicry of musical instruments and achievement of something even more evocative.
My only objection would be the relatively similar origin of the three Fujian Wuyi Mountain teas; we need to shout from the roof-tops about reds from provinces like Anhui and Yunnan.
And Des Esseintes’ organ invention goes further, forming a synaesthetic kinship system between musical sounds and alcoholic experiences. After blowing through a mouthorgan receptacle, emitting a real sound, the user then reverses the pressure, sucking in the liquid-equivalent of “horn”, “flute” or “celestial voice”.
I’ve loved the idea of sampler selections since taking Kellogg’s Variety Packs on childhood holidays. The tea in this pack is almost good enough to introduce these varieties to newcomers. And boxes like this one can be great gifts when we start flying regularly again.
Of course, this contraption cannot be built. Don’t take out a patent for it. Artists the world over have recreated the
As for musical applications, I can imagine our baby using these tins as a kind of impromptu drum kit. She’ll break it all, of course. Sick fancies. Never mind. 25
ONNECTION With Kamla Tung
5. Muslim Literati of Nanjing (Part II) Neo-Confucianism Interwoven with Chinese Islam in Nanjing
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oday, if one was to introduce the three Abrahamic faiths systematically to a crowd of people unfamiliar to their beliefs, one might begin by listing their key religious texts (i.e. the Torah, the Bible, the Quran), important figures (prophets, etc.), central tenets of belief, before possibly delving into the list of prohibited actions, legalistic elements or dietary restrictions. In Ming/Qing Nanjing, however, the Confucian Muslim scholars (Huiru; 回儒) clearly did not embody this approach. They didn’t bother translating the Quran, which at that point, still had no existing Chinese translation after 900-plus years of Muslim presence in China. Instead, they chose to focus on explaining, as Sachiko Murata notes in her book, “Chinese Gleams of Sufi Light”; “The Islamic perception of God, the universe and the soul”. Or, the core principles of what they believed. Such an undertaking to describe Islamic concepts and terms using another language with its own preexisting intellectual tradition has no real comparison in Muslim history. Murata argues that the Muslims never encountered this issue elsewhere. In her words, “The Muslims took their own languages with them, first Arabic, then Persian”, later using Turkish and Urdu, which were, “in effect new creations of Islamic civilization itself”. That’s what makes the Huiru scholars arguably the first case of Muslims writing on Islam in the language of a pre-existing intellectual tradition all the more impressive. There was great context to this phenomenon, however. This Nanjing Islamic “renaissance”, occurred on the backdrop of the Jesuit China mission.
During the Ming Dynasty, Italian Jesuit missionary, Matteo Ricci (1552 – 1610 CE), worked on converging Confucian terms into the explanation of the Catholic faith. And it is very likely that these were the seeds that influenced how Wang Daiyu, Liu Zhi and their peers, eventually presented Islam to their contemporaries. Ricci and his disciples established themselves as “West Confucians” (西儒) and studied the classics in order to draw comparisons and describe Catholicism using Confucian terminology to convert locals. Though the Sino-Muslims had apparently no interest in conversion, they very clearly thought this method of adapting principles, ideals and most importantly; terminology, was key to making Islam accessible to their own communities. And as native learners of the language, they had a leg up over the West Confucians in integrating those principles more seamlessly. Just 2-3 years after Wang’s passing in 1657-1659, Liu, often considered the top Huiru scholar, was born in the rich intellectual climate of Qing Dynasty Nanjing. Compared to Wang, Liu had the good fortune to first be educated by his well-read father, Liu Sanjie, before continuing religious studies at a nownonexistent mosque in the city. At 15 years old, he pursued a study of Confucianism, Buddhism and Daoism, and incorporated “Western studies”, at some point learning Arabic as well. Liu eventually set up residence on today’s Qingliang Mountain (清凉山), at the age of 30. And it was here that he spent the next 20 years researching and writing what would become some of the cornerstone books on Huiru thought.
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His most well-known work, “Tianfang Xingli” (天方性 理; The Rites of Islam), focused on offering an expansive overview of Islam as told through adapted Confucian terms and principles. So well received was the text that it was republished 25 times over a period of 179 years. Liu went on to complete four more books, some of which contained very, very loose translations of Persian and Arabic texts into Chinese, including a biography of the Islamic prophet, Muhammad (by modern standards, it could only be understood as loose paraphrasing and even explicit interpretation). Throughout adulthood, Liu traveled through multiple provinces to seek critique on his work. In his later years, he became the only Muslim to successfully submit his book, Tianfang Dianli, into Emperor Qianlong’s, “Siku Quanshu” (四库全书); the largest collection of books in Chinese history. Liu, for his part, was more integrative and accepting of neo-Confucian ideals than even Wang. He established a cross comparison of the Sufi approach to pushing the self to become closer to God, with the Confucian idea of “self-cultivation”. Liu further compared concepts of the idea of a “sage” in Confucianism to the idea of the “prophets" in Islam and the “perfect man” in Sufi understandings, concluding they were one and the same, with Muhammad being the “Ultimate Sage” (parallel to what is often referred to as the “Seal/Final of the Prophets” in translations of the Arabic phrase). That of course, in his reading, meant that Confucius and Mencius were by extension, prophets, just like Muhammad, Jesus and Moses. Liu and Wang’s works are testament to a unique religious revival local to the Nanjing Muslim scene. And it could only have happened here, built upon years of rich dialogue in convergence, with a native understanding of the Chinese classics. Though their legacies did not ultimately translate into practice in the modern-day due to global interaction with more orthodox practices of Islam, Wang and Liu’s efforts continue to affect academics today as they re-examine how the Islamic tradition is presented and explained through Huiru scholars’ eyes.
Under clear blue skies, students entered the campus at the British School of Nanjing ready to continue the learning and meet the friends theyhad made online during the Virtual School Experience of the first fewweeks of this term. Teachers were delighted to greet so many new faces, alongside returning students, displaying positive energy for their amazing educational journey.
13 September, 2021
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When St Johns threw open its gates for the new term, delighted children (and parents) flooded the classrooms and cheers of joy once again filled the hallways. To mark the occasion, three rockets were launched under the supervision of a local pilot, Mr. Xue, from Nanjing's Aviation Industry Corporation of China. Off, off and away!
St Jo hn s Co lle ge Scho o l Nan jin g 13 September, 2021
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It was the day that the entire Nanjing International School community had been waiting for since starting school online in August. After 3 weeks of online learning, Secondary School students from Grade 6 to 12 safely reunited with their classmates and teachers. Thanks to all the hard work of faculty, staff and parents, all at NIS are well on the way to returning to the life they know and love.
9 September, 2021
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Download this map to your smartphone via The Nanjinger’s official WeChat account
The Nanjinger’s Metro Map is the only map of the city’s metro system to include first and last times for every station, perfect for planning a late night out or an adventure to somewhere new with an early start.