Chapter 98: Appendix - Two Miscellaneous Essays
One 【On Fùmǔ (Father-Mother) and Mǔfù (Mother-Father)】
A friend left a comment saying that since this is a novel about female authority and matriarchy, the term for parents, fùmǔ (父母, father-mother), should be changed to mǔfù (母父, mother-father). I have seen this viewpoint on Weibo and Jinjiang as well.
However, I believe that the usage of vocabulary should be related to the story's background. If this story were set in a society that had been matriarchal since ancient times, then the term mǔfù would naturally be fine, because in such a social context, the "father-first, mother-second" structure would have no fertile ground to grow in. But this leads to another problem: changing fùmǔ to mǔfù is easy enough, but what about official titles and noble ranks? What should "gōng, hóu, bó, zǐ, nán" (duke, marquis, count, viscount, baron) be changed to? Should certain idioms also be changed? And would readers understand the changes? The thought of it is a bit troublesome.
But in a setting like this novel's, which transitions from a patriarchal society to one of gender equality, it would be very difficult to shatter a linguistic system thousands of years old in an instant, regardless of whether the change is natural or forced. The evolution of language and writing should be a bottom-up process. Take, for example, the current changes in the usage of the "de" particles (的, 地, 得) in modern Chinese. The official change originated from the fact that many people were already using them in that way (I'm not judging the merits of this change here). If, however, a change were announced from the top down by officials without a large population already using it, it would be met with countless objections. The academic world would certainly protest, and even uneducated people would say the officials were meddling. By the same token, when everyone accepts that mothers are superior to fathers and that lineage depends on the matrilineal rather than the patrilineal line, "mother" will naturally precede "father." At that point, no reform is needed; language will change with the times. By then, there would also be many new noble ranks, official titles, colloquialisms, and poems based on a matrilineal system. This is the logic of natural evolution.
Of course, there is another kind of evolution: forced revolution. This is driven by a very strong sense of purpose, where the goal is not truly to change the language but to serve as a top-down deterrent and declaration. It is the ruler telling the world that this matter will be realized at any cost, and the interests and classes behind it must change as well. This is somewhat similar to the "keep your hair, lose your head" policy during the Qing dynasty's entry into the Central Plains. Was the hair really that important? No. What was important was the Han Chinese sovereignty, cultural heritage, and the interests of all levels of Han society that it represented. And what did the Qing dynasty use to guarantee the power of such a declaration? The army, and events like the Three Massacres of Jiading.
Words and language are the surface; the deeper substance is interests. For a ruler to reform language is to drag the war of interests from the shadows to the surface, a declaration of war that tears away all pretense. But this is not a worthwhile trade. Emperors who could kill wantonly based on their whims were, after all, a minority. A more rational logic is to hold the pot carefully and slowly pull out the firewood from underneath, one stick at a time. Without fuel, the fire cannot burn for long. This is preferable to stirring a boiling pot to stop it from bubbling over.
Furthermore, reform is complex, and the interests involved are multi-layered. Gender is one layer, the central versus local government is another, aristocratic families versus commoners is another, civil versus military officials is another, imperial power versus the chancellor's power is another, and the exploiters versus the exploited is yet another. And none of these layers are independent; they are intertwined and inseparable. A person cannot be simply classified as male or female, thereby placing them in opposition. A man might simultaneously be a commoner, an oppressed person, a member of a disadvantaged group. Another person, a woman, might simultaneously be a ruler, an aristocrat, a member of the exploiting class, a person in power. Is the conflict between these two a gender issue? Yes and no. The key is to grasp the primary contradiction, and this primary contradiction is fluid. When the primary contradiction between the two warring parties lies in gender interests, it is a gender issue. If the primary contradiction is the conflict between the ruler and the ruled, then gender is not the main issue at that time.
I believe the most interesting part of writing a novel about female-led reform is the "how." The most common method I've seen is violent revolution. This is indeed very satisfying—plowing everything clean and starting anew on fresh land. This is also a reasonable path. But there is another way: to unite all forces that can be united, to find points of leverage within the tangle of interests, and to fight for the interests of one side while provoking the primary contradiction. This is the path of political maneuvering. It is very difficult to write, but it is still very interesting, because interests are dynamic, and contradictions are dynamic. To capture the core pivot point amidst this change—if one could write that well, it would be truly cool. I am probably not yet capable of it.
Another point is that patriarchy, matriarchy, and feminism are not the same thing. The so-called mother-led power system described here is actually a variation of patriarchy, not matriarchy in the common academic sense. The characteristics and evolution of matriarchal and patriarchal societies are discussed very clearly in Engels' The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State, so I will not elaborate here. But at the very least, matriarchy is not simply replacing all male positions with female ones. And patriarchy is not just about men and fathers, but a vast system of power. In the setting of this novel, the male roles within this system have merely been replaced by female ones, while the fundamental relationship of exploitation and oppression remains unchanged. As satisfying as it may be, it is also an object of critique. I feel that the phrase "ruler, minister, father, son" (君臣父子) is an excellent summary of this power system. Changing "father" to "mother" would probably result in "ruler, minister, mother, daughter" (君臣母女), but even so, these four words still contain a natural class order. This is determined by the forces of social production, that is, the economic base. Only this class order is compatible with the underlying logic of a feudal society.
Returning to the beginning, I believe whether to change the vocabulary depends on the background and tone of the article. Changing a word is simple, but the logic behind it cannot be changed just by altering the word. Compared to actual gains in interests, language and writing are truly minor details. If women hold absolute authority from the imperial court down to the homes of the common people, then why care about the order of a single expression? As long as the underlying interests are leveraged and the cornerstone of the social structure is laid, all forms of discourse will naturally shift their focus. The new will always replace the old. In the long river of time, what is meant to change will naturally change.
Additionally, the setting of this novel is not a matriarchy or a world of female supremacy. Female rulers, female nobles, and female officials do not exist naturally. The setting is that the Yongchu Emperor unified the country through her own strength, following the path of a traditional violent revolution. The people under her command were both men and women. She needed to elevate the rights of women to consolidate the legitimacy of her rule, but she also had to balance the interests between the men and women under her. Therefore, it was impossible for the society to directly become a matriarchy or a female-supremacist one, because that would destabilize her throne, and the men who originally supported her would turn against her.
However, in the places she "plowed over," such as Hezhou, the status of women is equal to that of men. The conflict between genders is small, while other conflicts of interest still exist. And in the places she did not reach, such as Qinzhou, the old ecosystem was largely preserved without undergoing the step of "destruction before construction," thus becoming a lingering problem. The Yongchu Emperor, Wei Qi's mother, and Wei Qi, as rulers, always consider their own imperial power first and foremost. They support women's rights for this reason, not because they genuinely want to turn heaven and earth upside down. This is a limitation of their class, and a typical case of one's position determining one's perspective.
I am trying to write about this complex society and its diverse contradictions, to construct some themes that I find interesting, and to try to bury some deeper plotlines. The rise of female power and its impact on the diverse contradictions of a feudal dynasty is one such theme, and the issue of gender is just one small point within it. If readers are willing to dig deeper, you are welcome to discuss it with me. If you don't notice it, that's not a big deal either. It is likely due to my insufficient writing skills and my inability to control it properly. In that case, you can all just read it as an entertaining story. To be able to bring you all some joy is already very good.
Previous discussions and terminology regarding matriarchy were inappropriate or ambiguous and have been corrected. 2023.11.4
Two 【On the Capping Ceremony and the Hair-Pinning Ceremony】
I saw someone ask why I used the term for the capping ceremony, which was originally for men. I will explain briefly here.
To put it simply, I am just unwilling to use the female hair-pinning ceremony at fifteen years of age. First, fifteen is too young. Second, the capping ceremony (冠) and the hair-pinning ceremony (笄) have completely different meanings. I chose the one with more political significance.
Although both the capping and hair-pinning ceremonies are coming-of-age rituals, their meanings are vastly different and are not merely a distinction based on gender.
The Book of Rites (Yili) devotes an entire chapter, "The Capping Ceremony for a Scholar-Official," to detailing the procedures and etiquette of the capping ceremony. The Liji also has a section dedicated to "The Meaning of Capping," which states, "Capping is the beginning of rites. Therefore, the ancient sage kings valued capping." It says that the foundation of a person is propriety and righteousness, which must begin with one's bearing, attire, and conduct. The capping ceremony is the beginning of all rites, and is therefore very important.
The capping ceremony involves three cappings, each more honorable than the last. It is meant to inspire the youth to strive for higher goals. After the capping, the child becomes an adult, signifying that this person now possesses the rights and obligations of an adult. They also gain political and military rights, and can marry, have children, and form their own small family. Even if the Son of Heaven and the feudal lords were young, they would have their capping ceremonies held early so they could take charge of state affairs as soon as possible. This is because the capping ceremony carries such a political declaration. The cap is a tangible manifestation of this status and power. The saying, "A gentleman does not remove his cap even in death," is not about a pedantic attachment to clothing, but rather that the cap represents a gentleman's integrity and dignity. Therefore, the cap is bound to the concept of a gentleman, backed by an entire system of Confucian logic.
And what about the records of the hair-pinning ceremony? "When a girl is betrothed, she undergoes the hair-pinning ceremony and receives a courtesy name" (Liji, Quli). "At fifteen, she is pinned; at twenty, she is married" (Liji, Neize). The Liji discusses the education of children: after the age of ten, a boy resides outside the home, learns writing and arithmetic; at thirteen, he learns music; at twenty, he is capped and learns the rites; at thirty, he has a family; at forty, he enters official service. And for girls? After ten, they no longer go out. They are taught to be gentle and obedient, to learn women's work. At fifteen, they are pinned; at twenty, they are married.
As you can see, the capping ceremony is tied to politics, ambition, and all things grand and lofty, while the hair-pinning ceremony is tied to marriage. The difference in importance is self-evident. For males, they are required to have lofty ambitions, to become resolute, mature, and responsible individuals; marrying and starting a family is just one part of their lives. But for females, getting married is their entire life. Men and women are inherently without superior or inferior rank, but this is where the distinction began. So, for personal emotional reasons, I am not very fond of the hair-pinning ceremony.
Although it is filled with male superiority and female inferiority, everything in classical literature carries the marks and flaws of its era. The attitude towards it should be to separate the wheat from the chaff. For example, male superiority is certainly unacceptable, but the idea that a person, upon reaching adulthood, needs to bear obligations, to shoulder the responsibilities of family and country, and must demand of themselves to be a person of wisdom, faith, benevolence, courage, and strictness—is there anything wrong with that? Of course not. This is also consistent with modern civic values. So why must these good, grand, lofty, and valuable things be labeled as "male"?
The same goes for "junzi" (gentleman) and "shi" (scholar-official). In ancient times, junzi and shi were male, but can't modern women hold themselves to the standards of a junzi? It is like how in ancient Greece, "citizen" only referred to adult men, but what about now? "Junzi" and "shi" are the pinnacles of Chinese aesthetics and philosophy, indispensable nouns in Chinese thought. If they are bound to "male" and abandoned, then no Chinese stories can be written, and the very foundation under our feet would also crumble. But if the scope of "junzi" is extended to "person"—how to be a good person—doesn't the logic become sound? This "person" should have been without gendered connotations from the start.
I encountered many similar contradictions while writing, for example, with adjectives. Words like jùn (handsome), shuài (dashing), qìyǔxuān'áng (dignified and high-spirited), yùshùlínfēng (like a jade tree in the wind)... are usually used more for men, but why can't they be used for women? Can't a woman be handsome (英俊)? Can't a woman be dashing (帥氣)? Can't a woman be dashingly handsome and dignified (豐神俊朗器宇軒昂)? Must they be described with phrases like "sinking fish, dropping geese, hiding the moon, shaming flowers" (沉魚落雁閉月羞花)? The vocabulary I choose may not always be reasonable, but if you search for idioms describing men and those describing women, you will clearly perceive the kind of distinction I am talking about. This is also caused by the different roles assigned to men and women in Chinese tradition.
When writing about the women in the imperial court, I deliberately avoided those so-called feminine adjectives that carry some inherent attributes of weakness. Some people might feel that it is a bit masculine. This is because I believe that if there were no deliberately constructed system of male superiority and female inferiority, the world's expectations for men and women should be the same: to be resolute, responsible, brave, upright, intelligent, learned, open-minded, and magnanimous. Their beauty is a healthy, upward-striving beauty. It is vitality, vigor, a rooted tree, a mighty wind. It is about being a better person, not a better woman or man.
Why should we avoid those things that carry a male label? "This thing is labeled 'male,' so we must reject it; it should not appear in a woman's world. Using it is demeaning to women, it's like writing about men..." I have seen some of these arguments recently, and to this, I only want to ask, why? If we must abandon all traditional things because they carry a "male" label, then what is left? I'm afraid only the parts about female inferiority would remain. Should we cater to the tradition of female inferiority? Why can't we generalize those valuable things that originally carried a "male" label and change their label from "male" to "person"?
There are many such things in this novel, such as etiquette, the official system, and official robes. For these, I have generally adopted the traditional "male" parts. Is this because I want my characters to become men? It is not. First, because history offers no purely female systems for me to reference. Second, like the capping and hair-pinning ceremonies, the male system carries a stronger political significance, and I choose the more weighty one. Third, it is not that my characters are like men because I used these forms, but rather that because women can also use these things and can also enjoy the power behind them, these things will no longer be bound to men. It is the same principle as pants and short hair today. They can wear ruqun skirts and hairpins, and they can also wear greatcloaks, zhiduo robes, and Daoist robes. It is just a set of clothes, why can't they?
Feminine traits are not in the appearance, but in the inner self. As for what constitutes feminine traits, I cannot say for sure, and I am still exploring. Even as I write, I sometimes wonder what distinguishes my female characters from other male characters. It's hard to articulate, but I agree with one principle: women, too, come in all kinds—good and bad, kind and malicious. This is all very normal. They should not be simply divided by being "like men." Using certain descriptions to define women is also a form of limitation on women.
Returning to the issue of the capping and hair-pinning ceremonies, some authors have chosen to use the female hair-pinning ritual while eliminating its connection to marriage, and have endowed the hair-pinning ceremony with the same weight as the capping ceremony. This approach is, of course, also perfectly fine. The underlying meaning is the same. Which one to choose is just a matter of personal preference, as long as it is well-reasoned. Form is just the surface, so why get caught up in the details? As long as the core is positive and uplifting, then it is a good story about women.
Our path of self-improvement is not about how to be a better woman, nor how to avoid becoming a man, but how to be a better person.
Some humble opinions, for discussion with you all.
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