← Back to 漢書

卷九十一 貨殖傳

Volume 91: Usurers

Chapter 103 of 漢書 ✓ Translated
← Previous Chapter
Chapter 103
Next Chapter →
1
Volume 91: Treatise on Money-Making (the sixty-first chapter).
2
祿
Under the institutions of the ancient kings, everyone from the Son of Heaven through the nobility and officials down to the meanest servants and watchmen had fixed grades of rank, income, housing, transport, burial, sacrifice, and every stage of life; the lowly could not encroach on the high, nor the humble pretend to the privileges of their betters. In that way superiors and inferiors kept their proper order, and the people's minds stayed fixed on their duties. They then sorted out which terrain—upland, marsh, hill, rich bottomland, or fen—suited which use, and taught people how to farm, forest, and herd. Grain and livestock, game and fish, plants for fiber and wood for tools—everything needed to live out one's years and bury one's dead was brought forth in abundance. Things were produced in season and consumed with measure. No one took an axe into the hills until the leaves had fallen. Fowlers did not set fine nets in the wetlands until the otters and wild dogs had finished their autumn hunts. No one loosed a fowler's bolt along the migration lanes until the hawks had begun their season. Even when harvests followed the calendar, the law still forbade stripping hills bare, cutting young growth in the fens, and taking spawn and fawns; fixed rules guarded every niche of the wild. That was how they let seasonal qi move freely, let every creature multiply, and stockpiled enough for every human need—nothing was left out. Then farmers, artisans, merchants, and laborers, each on ground that suited them, threw their wits and muscle into honest trades, swapped work and wares, and spread the gain until everyone was fed—without conscription rosters or forced musters, the realm stayed full from border to border. The Book of Changes praises the sage who marshals goods to harmonize heaven and earth for the people's sake, and who devises tools so the whole world may profit—no virtue ranks higher. That is the point the Guanzi makes when it says the four orders of society were never allowed to live jumbled together. Scholars debated virtue over quiet meals, craftsmen compared techniques in the state yards, traders talked price in the bazaars, and tillers swapped field lore on the furrows; each group kept to its own round from dawn to dusk and never wandered after alien pursuits. Elders could train the young without harshness, apprentices picked up a trade without strain; everyone stayed content with home, craft, plain food, and simple dress, and flashy novelty from another walk of life seemed as alien as a northern nomad trying on southern silks—it simply did not take. Want stayed small, work stayed steady, stores stayed full, and quarrels over goods rarely arose. Rulers who led by moral example and ritual propriety bred a people who blushed at wrongdoing, showed true respect, and honored duty ahead of cash. That, in broad strokes, is how the Xia, Shang, and Zhou kept to the high road and ruled without constant crackdowns.
3
As Zhou authority faded, sumptuary law collapsed: petty kings painted palace timbers like emperors, ministers staged royal music in their own halls, and hymns reserved for the Son of Heaven echoed in usurpers' dining rooms. The rot spread down to every rank: people shrugged off the old rules, deserted the plow for the counting-house, and left granaries thin while warehouses bulged with merchandise.
4
By the generations after Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin, decency had frayed beyond repair: rulers and subjects poached on one another's roles, every state wrote its own rules, every clan chased its own fashion, desire ran wild, and no one could remember his proper station. Merchants peddled luxuries, craftsmen turned out gewgaws, and even scholars peddled scandalous schemes—all scrambling after the latest fad and a share of the floating wealth. Hypocrites chased empty fame, thugs chased fat profits, regicides crowned themselves kings, and bandits who looted whole neighborhoods passed for bold captains. Courtesy could no longer shame the great families, and the executioner's axe no longer frightened the streets. Mansion beams wore brocade while curs feasted on grain, yet the poor shivered in rags and chewed raw beans for supper. Neighbors listed on the same tax roll let coin decide who bowed to whom, and men accepted servitude to the rich without a flicker of shame. So the trickster who lived by fraud could swagger through his whole career unmolested; while the man who kept faith with the old virtues still went to bed hungry. The rot started at the top, for the law no longer drew a hard line between what was allowed and what was not. I therefore set out these lives so later ages can read how the world turned.
5
Long ago, when King Goujian of Yue was besieged on Mount Kuaiji, he turned to Fan Li and the adviser Ji Ran. Ji Ran said, "Watch the granaries and you know what to stockpile; watch how demand shifts with the seasons and you know what to buy. Master those two lenses and the whole market opens to you." So hoard boats when the skies stay clear and carts when the rivers rise—that is simply how goods work. Acting on that principle for a decade, Yue grew rich, paid its soldiers handsomely, crushed powerful Wu, and washed away the humiliation of Kuaiji. Fan Li said with a sigh, "I deployed only half of Ji Ran's playbook and already won the kingdom. Now I mean to turn the rest on my private fortune." With that he boarded a light boat, vanished into the great rivers and lakes under an alias, appeared in Qi as Chiyi Zipi, and settled in Tao as the merchant Lord Zhu. He chose Tao because it sat at the hub where every road met, set up warehousing and timed every sale to the market's pulse, and never blamed partners when a deal soured. A master of estate-building picks the right agents and rides the market's seasons instead of fighting them. In nineteen years he built three fortunes of a thousand gold pieces and twice gave them away to kinsmen and friends in need. In old age he handed operations to his heirs, lived off the income, and still left an estate counted in the tens of millions. Henceforth, when people say "the very rich," they mean Tao Zhu.
6
退
After studying with Confucius, Zigong left to serve Wei and made a fortune buying cheap and selling dear between Cao and Lu. Of the Master's seventy followers, Zigong alone grew truly rich, while Yan Hui lived on a bowl of grain and a dipper of water down a shabby alley. Zigong rolled up to court in matched chariots, bearing silk gifts for every prince he called on, and each ruler stepped down to the courtyard to greet him as an equal. Yet the Master praised Yan Hui and chided Zigong: "Hui is nearly perfect—always broke, yet never sour." Zigong ignores what fate allots and chases profit—yet his market calls are uncannily right."
7
Bai Gui came from the Zhou heartland. Under Marquis Wen of Wei, Li Kui (the text reads Li Shi) worked every field for its utmost yield, while Bai Gui thrived on contrarian timing—buying what the market dumped and selling into every rush. He ate plainly, smothered appetite, dressed simply, sweated beside his foremen, and when a window opened he struck as fast as a hawk stooping on prey. He liked to say, "Building a fortune takes the cunning of Yi Yin or Lü Wang, the timing of Sun Wu's generals, and the ruthlessness of Shang Yang's code." If you lack wit to pivot, nerve to cut a loss, generosity to share the upside, and grit to hold a line, do not ask for my methods—I will not teach you. Small wonder later ages treated Bai Gui as the patron saint of every fortune-hunter.
8
Yi Dun built an empire on lake-bed salt; Guo Zong of Handan smelted his way to wealth that matched a king's treasury.
9
Luo of Wushi ran vast herds, sold them for cash, bought exotic silks, and smuggled the bundles to the barbarian king as tribute. The king paid him back tenfold in animals until Luo had to count his oxen and horses by the ravine-load. The First Emperor ranked Luo with titled nobles and summoned him to court on the same roster as great officials.
10
Widow Qing of Ba inherited a cinnabar mine that had made her clan rich for generations; no ledger could cap her fortune. She held the business with an iron grip, hired enough guards to buy safety, and no local bully dared touch her. The First Emperor honored her virtue, received her as an honored guest, and raised the Nü Huai Qing terrace in her name.
11
Qin and Han law let titled lords live off land tax, typically two hundred cash per registered household each year. A thousand-household fief yielded two hundred thousand a year—enough to cover audiences at court and diplomatic gifts. Farmers, craftsmen, and traders who kept a million in working capital cleared about two hundred thousand a year after corvée and taxes—enough for fine clothes and a rich table. The rule of thumb was: fifty horses, a hundred oxen, two hundred sheep, two hundred hogs wallowing in the fens, a thousand piculs of fish in managed pools, or a thousand lengths of mountain timber—each portfolio matched a thousand-household stipend. A thousand jujube trees around Anyi; a thousand chestnut groves in Yan and Qin; a thousand orange trees in Shu, Han, and Jiangling; a thousand qiu trees between the Huai, the Ying basin, the Yellow River, and the Ji; a thousand mu of lacquer trees in Chen and Xia; a thousand mu of mulberry and hemp in Qi and Lu; a thousand mu of bamboo along the Wei; Or take a great city of ten thousand hearths: a thousand mu of suburban land yielding a full measure per mu, a thousand mu of madder and lacquer plants, a thousand beds of ginger and chives—any of those estates pays like a thousand-household marquis.
12
漿竿 鮿
The proverb runs: "To climb from poverty toward wealth, farming cannot match a trade, a trade cannot match commerce, and the finest embroidery never pays like a booth by the market gate." That is why petty commerce, despised though it is, remains the poor man's ladder. In a great market town a vintner who turns a thousand batches a year, a thousand jars of pickles and sauces, a thousand jars of drink, a thousand dressed hides, a thousand zhong of grain traded in, a thousand cartloads of fuel, a fleet a thousand zhang long, a thousand logs, ten thousand bamboo poles, a hundred light wagons, and a thousand oxcarts—all spell money. Add a thousand lacquered bowls, a thousand jun of bronze, plain ironware and dye crops by the thousand shi, herds counted by the thousand hoof, flocks by the thousand pair, a hundred house slaves, aromatics and hides by the ton, silk floss and fine cloth by the thousand jun, brocade by the bolt, rough cloth and leather by the stone, lacquer by the vat, pickles and bean paste by the thousand jar, smoked fish and dried shellfish by the hundredweight, jujubes and chestnuts three deep, furs and felt by the rack, every orchard crop you can name, and a thousand strings out on loan at brokered interest—triple the return for a sharp dealer, quintuple for an honest one—and you are looking at the income of a noble who fields a thousand chariots. Such is the rough reckoning.
13
The Shu magnates surnamed Zhuo began as Zhao ironmasters who smelted their way to a fortune. When Qin conquered Zhao, the Zhuos were marched west to Shu, husband and wife trudging behind a handcart with all they owned. Fellow exiles who still had a few coins bribed the escorts for the shortest march and ended up dumped at Jiameng. Only the Zhuos replied, "That strip of land is too thin to live on." Word is the Min basin holds fat soil and the tuber people call the crouching owl—live on that and you never go hungry. The locals weave for a living, so cloth always finds a buyer. With that argument they paid for the longer march inland. Dropped at Linqiong, they were delighted: they fired the iron hills, kept the ledgers themselves, retailed metalware across Dian and Shu, hired eight hundred hands, and hunted and feasted like petty kings.
14
Cheng Zheng, another Shandong exile, ran the same furnaces and retailed iron to the Dian tribes in their chignons until he stood level with the Zhuos.
15
Long after the Cheng and Zhuo fortunes faded, during Chengdi and Aidi a Chengdu broker named Luo Pou piled up tens of millions. Luo Pou opened shop in Chang'an with a few hundred thousand in his satchel and worked as cashier for the powerful Shi family of Pingling. He was a bruiser who brooked no nonsense. The Shis sent two trusted stewards, Ru and Ju, into Ba and Shu with a heavy stake, and inside a few years the pair had turned it into more than ten million cash. Luo Pou funneled half his profits as gifts to the Quyang and Dingling marquises, then used their protection to float loans across the empire—no debtor dared stiff him. He cornered the salt wells, doubled his stake in a single year, and kept compounding the hoard.
16
The Kongs of Nanyang began as Liang ironmasters. When Qin swallowed Wei, the Kongs were resettled at Nanyang, where they blasted furnaces, reclaimed polder, toured the lords in cavalcades, and traded their way into the reputation of polished playboys. Their margins beat the tightest miser, their vaults stacked up thousands of gold pieces, and every Nanyang trader copied the Kongs' unhurried polish.
17
Lu natives were born tight-fisted, yet the Bings out-misered them all, smelting iron until their fortune hit eight figures. Every male in the house swore the same rule—scavenge every coin that falls, grab every profit that hangs—and their pawnshops and caravans webbed the empire. Little wonder Zou and Lu scholars traded their classics for ledgers.
18
使 使
Qi folk scorned bondservants, yet Dao Jian alone prized them like talent. Everyone feared clever, vicious slaves; Dao Jian bought them up, set them to squeeze the fish-and-salt trade, even let them ride with magistrates—and the more rope he gave, the harder they worked until he sat on tens of millions. Hence the proverb, "Men would sooner give up a noble stipend than quit Dao Jian": his bondsmen grew rich on his errands yet still drove themselves to the bone for him. When Dao Jian's star faded, a Linzi magnate surnamed Wei, in the reigns of Cheng and Ai, sat on fifty million cash.
19
Zhou folk were tight by nature, yet the broker Shi Shi outdid them all: he ran hundreds of wagons and peddled into every province on the map. Luoyang sat where four great regions met, so merchant clans bragged of caravans that rolled past walled towns without stopping for a night's rest. That kind of operation let Shi Shi pile up a nine-figure fortune.
20
When Shi's house waned, Luoyang partners Zhang Changshu and Xue Zicu—through Cheng, Ai, and into Wang Mang's day—matched his nine-figure hoard. Wang Mang named them court remonstrance officers and tried to copy Emperor Wu's patronage of merchants, but the treasury never saw a copper of their skill.
21
The Ren family of Xuancu began as lowly clerks who kept the imperial granaries along the supply routes. When Qin collapsed, every warlord grabbed bullion, yet the Rens quietly walled up wagonloads of millet. While Chu and Han locked horns at Xingyang and fields lay idle, grain soared to ten thousand cash a shi; desperate lords traded heirlooms to the Rens for food, and that is how the family bought its first fortune. Other magnates flaunted silk while the Rens swallowed pride and plowed like yeomen. When neighbors panic-sold at giveaway prices, the Rens paid top coin for prime stock and stayed rich for generations. Patriarch Ren ruled the clan: spend only what the farm earned, and skip wine and meat until every corvée duty was done. Their village took them as the standard of thrift, so they stayed flush while the throne singled them out for praise.
22
When the northern marches were opened to settlers, only Qiao Tao—as the received text spells the name—mobilized a thousand horses, twice as many oxen, ten thousand sheep, and grain counted in myriad zhong.
23
When the Rebellion of Seven States erupted, Chang'an nobles marching east kept pledging their credit to pawnbrokers, who refused every note while the outcome beyond the pass still hung in doubt. Only the Wuyan house floated a thousand gold at ruinous interest—ten parts on the principal. By the third month the Wu and Chu armies had been crushed. Inside a single year the Wuyans collected tenfold on the loan and bought their way into the first rank of Guanzhong magnates.
24
Guanzhong's merchant princes were almost all members of the Tian clan—Tian Qiang and Tian Lan chief among them. The Lis of Weijia and the Dus of Anling stacked up comparable eight-figure fortunes. Once the old houses faded, from Yuandi through Chengdi into Wang Mang's coup, Chang'an's wealthiest were Fan Jia of Duling, Zhi Gang of Maoling, the Ru and Ju families of Pingling, the cinnabar magnate Wang Junfang, the pickle king Fan Shaoweng, and Wangsun Daqing—each counted among the empire's heaviest purses. Fan Jia alone was worth fifty million cash; every other name on the list still cleared eight figures. Wangsun Qing bankrolled swordsmen and courted bold spirits until Wang Mang named him chief of the capital markets—the old Han post that oversaw Chang'an's eastern bazaar.
25
Those are the names history remembers in boldest ink. Beyond them stretch legions of provincial plutocrats who diversified trades, cornered margins, bought influence, and bullied their townships—too many to tally. Think of Qin Yang, who farmed his way to the top tax bracket in the province; Weng Bo, who greased every county seat; the Zhangs, who sold soy paste into a fortune; the Zhis, who sharpened blades for clients who feasted them; the Zhuos, who peddled dried tripe from chariot trains; Zhang Li, who started as a farrier yet tolled a mansion bell—each climbed by trades the statutes never meant to crown kings. Still, they mostly stuck to one line of work, compounded the margin, and inched upward year by year. But houses like the Zhuos of Shu, the Kongs of Nanyang, or Qi Dao Jian seized rivers, mines, salt flats, and city tolls, spun private cartels that rivaled royal monopolies, and squeezed ordinary trades flat—open rebellion against both law and sumptuary decency. Far worse were tomb-robbers and street-corner sharpers—Qushu, Jifa, Yong Lecheng—who built fortunes on crime yet still bought a place in polite company; they poisoned public morals and pointed straight toward anarchy.
← Previous Chapter
Back to Chapters
Next Chapter →