A Rabble: Street Hooligans in Troubled Times

In the early Qing dynasty, there was a secret organization opposed to Qing rule. As the years passed, it gradually forgot its original purpose and became a gang that ran gambling dens, controlled prostitution, fought over trades and markets, amassed wealth by every despicable means, and oppressed ordinary people.

Those who joined were invariably gluttonous, lazy youths or lawless rogues. Without exception, they did no productive labor. Relying on the strength of their arms and a streak of ruthlessness, they ran wild and established themselves in society.

In Tianjin, new and old members ate noodles from the same pot when someone joined, so these gangs were called “pot fellowships.”

The people who joined these fellowships resembled the ruffians and rogues of the south, but were not quite the same. They were also called “players” and “hooligans.”

Because the person they played with was themselves.

They dared risk having their bodies sliced apart, becoming tough, shameless pieces of “meat that rolls under the knife,” and treated themselves ruthlessly. At the lighter end, they endured beatings with clubs; at the heavier end, they dared cut their own flesh and bleed. The aim was to use that ferocity to cow, control, and frighten others. From then on, ordinary people would “respect and fear” them. They could ride roughshod over everyone as “big players,” powerful hooligans, clinging to the common people like maggots attached to bone and receiving long-term monetary “tributes.” Scraping cakes out of bare ground and catching fish with empty hands, they squeezed workers in every trade.

Old Tianjin had just such a group of hooligans. With a reckless fear-nothing attitude and vicious methods that stopped at nothing, they produced many “strange tales.”

This account takes the rise of one Tianjin hooligan in the late Qing as a miniature portrait, telling the stories of these rogues and that horrifying, dark history.

1. The Porters’ Guild War

Tianjin Garrison at the lower reaches of nine rivers; Three floating bridges and two customs barriers.

As the saying goes, those by mountains live off mountains; those by water live off water. Merchant ships hurried along the Hai River, and goods piled mountain-high at the docks. Porters’ guilds arose to move them.

…

A small dock on Tianjin’s Hai River, with rickshaws waiting for passengers and wheelbarrows for freight along the bank.

The powerful hooligans who had made names for themselves had long eyed this fat meat. They took control of the porters’ guilds and became bosses. Colluding with officials, bullying tradesmen, monopolizing markets, and exploiting porters, they even fought to the death over docks and freight yards.

Late Qing dynasty. Jijialou Village, Tianjin.

It was a day in the hottest stretch of summer. The sky should have been clear for ten thousand li, but instead it was dark as a sheet of lead. Black clouds hung so low they seemed about to crash into the ground, and the air was so oppressive that people could hardly breathe.

The night before, at the Guandi Temple at the village entrance, the Green Dragon Crescent Blade in Lord Zhou Cang’s hands had suddenly fallen, scattering the offerings from the altar all over the floor.

The elders regarded it as an ill omen. Seeing the strange weather as well, they drove the children playing outside back home. According to them, when the heavens showed strange signs, blades and spears would surely move.

Sure enough, a large group of burly men came roaring toward Jijialou Village, carrying clubs, axes, hooks, and forks.

The two men in front looked alike. Both wore white silk jackets and trousers, dressed smartly. Yet while they stood less than six chi tall, their faces were a whole chi long. Their sinister horse faces carried an evil air. Hurrying forward, they shouted, “Flatten Jijialou! Beat Li De to death!”

These two were the Ma brothers, bosses of the Ma porters’ guild that operated the eastern freight yard. Known in the jianghu as the “Two Mas of the Eastern Freight Yard,” they were notorious big hooligans and desperate outlaws, feared by everyone.

Some two hundred men followed them, dressed as coolies in clothes patched over patches. Every face was angry, darker even than the sky.

A few days earlier, Li De, boss of Jijialou’s porters’ guild at the western freight yard, had coveted the eastern yard’s thriving business and plotted against the Ma brothers. Someone tipped them off, and he failed.

How could the Ma brothers let that go? They gathered a large force of porters to settle accounts with Li De and avenge the humiliation. Their real aim, however, was to seize the western freight yard.

Guilds often used armed fights or internecine battles to seize territory and resources. It was customary.

Li De was no harmless fellow either. Warned in advance, he summoned two hundred porters to wait in battle formation. The sides faced each other on the open ground before Jijialou Village.

When enemies met, their eyes clouded with rage; to avenge a grudge, one swung a sword and cut down the enemy! At that moment, a single spark would ignite the flames of a vicious fight.

Just as conflict was about to erupt, a thin, shriveled old man walked between the two sides. Smiling, he cupped his hands to the Ma brothers and Li De.

“Guild bosses, could you hold off and let this fellow Hou say a few words?”

Old Hou was a respected veteran in Tianjin’s hooligan circles. Having made his name, he’d earned the title of “Robe and Sash.” In conflicts between hooligans, he could use his seniority and prestige to act as a “peacemaker.”

But this time, his face carried no weight. Hundreds of men took turns cursing, and blows were about to fall.

Suddenly, Old Hou dropped to his knees and began turning in a circle, kowtowing to both sides. Bang, bang, his forehead struck the earth. After only a few blows, his head resembled a blood-filled ladle. The frightening sight stunned everyone into silence.

This was his signature trick. He had a nickname: “Kowtowing Monkey.” Because he was a senior figure with considerable standing and kowtowed hard, this one move could often intimidate the other party.

Translator’s note: Hou, 侯 (hou2), sounds like 猴 (hou2), “monkey,” which helps make Old Hou’s nickname work. Chi is a traditional length unit, roughly a third of a meter; the horse-face description is exaggerated.

Why risk his old life on such a gamble? Money, of course. Whenever he successfully mediated, both sides gave him a share of the benefits.

But this time, it was a monkey entering an ice cellar—cold all through. The Two Mas and Li De had a life-and-death feud, with a conflict of interests behind it above all. How could “Kowtowing Monkey” settle that?

After a moment’s astonishment, everyone ignored him again, rubbing their fists, flexing their palms, and howling. Old Hou could only retreat in frustration.

The elder Ma stepped out and issued a challenge.

“You surnamed Li! Jijialou’s appetite is too big. You’ve set your sights on your old man here! You’re farting under the covers, trying to swallow it all yourself. Today, let’s go open blade against open spear and settle this!”

The younger Ma shouted after him, “If you win, both freight yards are yours. If you lose, get the hell out of Tianjin Garrison!”

“Yes! Yes! Get out of Tianjin Garrison!”

A roar rose from the Ma ranks.

Li De had weathered storms before. His fat, pockmarked face was filled with disdain, and his speech remained unhurried.

“You Mas! The capable deserve to eat more and take more. Since you brothers are here today, let’s see who’s better!”

“Good. Li-sanye speaks plainly. How shall we compete today?”

The Two Mas showed no fear.

Translator’s note: Sanye means “Third Master,” an honorific used for Li De. Below, daye and xiaoye mean “great master” and “young master”; the hooligans use them arrogantly for themselves or deferentially toward others. Sige means “Fourth Elder Brother.”

Li De sneered and waved a large hand. Someone brought over a great stove made from a kerosene drum, packed tightly with coal briquettes. Blue flames leaped upward. Even from several meters away, the heat scorched the face.

Once the stove was set down, a man sprang from Li De’s ranks and placed a branding iron a chi square in it. Soon, the iron glowed red.

Judging it hot enough, he pressed it to his chest without hesitation. A sizzling sound rang out, scorched smoke rose, and the smell of roasting human flesh spread.

Yet he clenched his teeth without a sound. Only bean-sized drops of sweat poured down!

When the iron turned from red to black, he threw it to the ground and fell backward, stiff as a board. Several men carried him away with practiced ease.

The Ma brothers snorted disdainfully and immediately summoned a man from their own ranks.

He had thick limbs and a dark face, the appearance of a laborer accustomed to heavy work. But once he stepped forward, he hesitated, shuffling along.

The elder Ma glared.

“Jiao Laosi, get on with it! Show them what you can do!”

Before the words faded, a thunderclap exploded in the eastern sky. Jiao Laosi’s legs went weak with fright. He edged toward the stove even more unwillingly, murmuring, “Amitabha, Guanyin, Great Sage, Crooked-Neck Mother, protect me!”

Feeling he’d lost face, the elder Ma simply sent two men to lift Jiao Laosi, set him on the stove without ceremony, and pin him down!

A terrible howl rang out. His buttocks caught fire, and he struggled and rolled off the stove. His trousers were burned away, his flesh mangled beyond looking at. He rolled onto the ground, and before long the pain had killed him outright.

The elder Ma seized the chance to shout:

“Li De killed Jiao Laosi! Brothers, avenge Jiao-sige!”

At his command, more than four hundred men plunged into a melee. At that moment, rain poured down in torrents.

Most knew no martial arts. Relying on strength and a moment’s courage, they swung axes, crowbars, and saw blades with all their might at opponents’ heads and bodies. Blood and severed limbs flew with the rain. Screams and curses never ceased.

Why fight so desperately? Because of the bosses’ control over them.

In the old days, most porters’ guilds were privately owned by their bosses, who controlled particular areas. Loaders, dockworkers, drivers, porters, and the like all had to surrender most of their earnings to the boss.

Beyond these closely intertwined interests, bosses used secret-society and clan ties, restricting workers’ freedom through gang and trade rules and creating personal dependency. In this way, workers’ lives and deaths lay in the bosses’ hands.

Bosses like the Two Mas and Li De were all former hooligans. Relying on vicious fighting or powerful backing, they constantly created trouble to expand their influence.

Whenever territory was contested or bosses fought among themselves, both sides forced all their workers into armed clashes. Before fighting, they drew “life-and-death lots.” Whoever drew the death lot, the black lot, had terrible luck: he had to kill an opponent or kill himself to frame the other side.

Jiao Laosi had drawn the death lot. He had to die. Unwilling though he was, he still had to follow the rules. Even if he escaped, his entire family would be implicated.

If he died in the conflict according to the rules, however, the guild would support his dependents for life.

Thus, under the powerful hooligans’ direction, two groups of poor laborers could only charge forward desperately for a mouthful of food. Without the bosses’ orders, none could or dared retreat.

Soon, both sides were red-eyed with bloodlust. Seeing things turn against him, Li De actually ordered the village’s great fodder-chopping blade taken down and swung it as he joined the team fight! In a moment, two men were cut down, their flesh laid open and blood spraying several meters. Everyone who saw it backed away. The Ma side seemed about to lose.

Suddenly, a muffled boom sounded. Everyone looked up. From somewhere, the Ma brothers had obtained a small Ming-made bronze cannon marked with the character “Heaven.” Sheltered beneath a large oilcloth umbrella, it fired straight into the crowd.

Though this little bronze cannon was only about an arm’s length and thickness, human flesh against cannon shot meant certain disaster.

After that shot, men from both sides fell wounded.

In the pouring rain, the Ma brothers grinned savagely. What did they care who lived or died? Their own men or otherwise, workers’ lives were worthless. They wanted profit. In a blink, another shot rang out.

Li De’s men, terrorized by the brothers’ madness, scattered and fled.

The Ma brothers won a sweeping victory. They gained control of the western freight yard and also “made their names” throughout Tianjin.

…

Jijialou Village once stood near Laolongtou Railway Station. It later disappeared when the land was taken for a freight yard.

More than two hundred porters on the two sides were killed or injured.

The dead men’s families received only meager compensation. They had become sacrifices to the bosses’ interests.

During the battle, a teenage boy had stayed hidden behind the Two Mas, watching.

His name was Kang Shengzi, a “second-generation hooligan.” He had come to “watch the battle” purely to broaden his horizons. His father had some acquaintance with the younger Ma and had joined the attack on Jijialou, adding another head to the count.

The battle truly opened Kang Shengzi’s eyes!

Jiao Laosi and his burned buttocks filled him with contempt and disgust. The armed clash with blood and flesh flying made him tremble with excitement. But what impressed him most was the commanding presence of powerful hooligans like the Two Mas and Li De.

He’d never imagined they could be so lawless as to control everyone’s life and death. Stretching out a hand meant five fingers issuing orders; closing a fist meant taking lives. At one command, hundreds would risk their lives for them. Surely that was grander than the emperor himself.

“If I’m going to be a hooligan, I have to be a big one like the Two Mas. That’s what this xiaoye ought to do!”

The battle nourished endless evil thoughts in Kang Shengzi’s heart.

2. Winning an Old Establishment

Lei’s Restaurant, the old walled city of Tianjin.

At noon, a group of youths swaggered into the restaurant.

One glance showed that these weren’t children from respectable families, but thoroughly idle, lazy youngsters. All wore black padded jackets and trousers, their jackets open to expose their chests, blue cloth socks, and patterned shoes. Some had thick false-hair extensions in their queues; others had flowers tucked into their braids. Crooked brows, glaring eyes, twisted mouths, wicked grins.

The proprietor immediately knew hooligans had arrived. Unhurried, he cupped his hands and smiled.

“Oh, xiaoye, the usual rules?”

The youth at the head stiffened his neck and curled his lip.

“Your Kang-daye is here today to eat off your establishment!”

With that, he went to the entrance, stripped naked in the street, and lay down. Clasping both hands behind his head, protecting his temples with his elbows, and pressing his legs together over his groin, he lay sideways across the doorway.

Diners put down their chopsticks and leaned against the doorframe to watch.

Passersby whispered, “Hey, see that? He’s here to ‘eat off an old establishment.’”

“Sure is, plain as day. This kid’s not very old, but his guts sure are fat.”

Hooligans didn’t work. One way to make money was the no-capital business of “scraping cakes out of bare ground, catching fish with empty hands”: collecting “protection money” from flourishing rice shops, restaurants, and cloth stores. It was commonly called “eating off an old establishment.”

But this money wasn’t collected for nothing. First, they had to display their abilities. They had to act shamelessly in the shop and let the owner beat them. If they endured it, they had proved themselves capable of “eating” there and collecting a regular cut.

This was no task for an ordinary person. At best, one might be gravely injured, crippled, or have bones broken. At worst, one could be beaten to death.

The proprietor said no more. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a rolling pin, hurried back, and swung hard at the youth’s legs.

One blow, two. The crowd counted along. Twenty or thirty blows in succession! The proprietor’s arm grew numb and sore, sweat covering his face.

Yet the youth on the ground clenched his teeth without a sound and never shifted position. This was called “showing one’s mettle.”

If he cried out in pain, or even let out an “aiya,” it would be disastrous. He’d have “fallen.” The owner would drive him away, his fellows would mock him, and he’d never eat from this rice bowl again.

Only after fifty blows did the youth slowly stand, coil his dry queue around his neck, and say through gritted teeth:

“I’ve claimed this establishment!”

The onlookers jeered and cheered.

Seeing the boy’s shamelessness and inability to be beaten away, the owner issued a threat.

“Greenhorn, don’t act like a rascal and a lump of knife-defying meat here. Haven’t you asked around? Someone protects this place! If you’re not afraid to die, come back in three days!”

This youth was Kang Shengzi. Since witnessing the guild battle at Jijialou, he’d become ever more convinced that becoming a great hooligan required courage and “lofty ambitions.” To make his name, he had to do something big and establish himself. He couldn’t be like his father, merely a “guard” at a theater.

Egged on by several little hooligans around him, Kang Shengzi decided to take Lei’s Restaurant first. Its business flourished, and its name carried great weight in the old city.

This was the site of Tianjin’s old walled city, once crowded with wealthy merchants. Lei’s frontage was modest, but the restaurant had passed through several generations.

…

The appearance of Tianjin’s old city gate.

Kang Shengzi had once eaten there without paying and been chased and beaten by the staff. He’d held a grudge ever since.

How could he have known that this beating would be a hen hatching duck eggs—wasted effort? Someone was already “eating” off Lei’s. Enduring the pain, he had no choice but to go home and discuss it with his father, Kang Erliang.

After hearing what had happened, Kang Erliang first laughed loudly, then slapped him.

“You little bastard, you’ve made something of yourself, huh? Why doesn’t anyone else seize Lei’s? Of course someone claimed it long ago! Can’t you use your damned brain? You’re embarrassing me!”

Seeing Kang Shengzi’s confusion, Kang Erliang explained:

“Lame Luo of the Hai River started ‘eating’ off that place more than twenty years ago. With him protecting it, no one dares cause trouble. Yet you had to poke that hornets’ nest!”

“But since they’ve laid out the terms, we’ll meet this Lame Luo in three days. Everyone takes a turn on the throne of rivers and mountains. It’s time for that Luo to be like a child taking a shit—shift his spot!”

3. Human Guozi

Three days later, people packed the entrance of Lei’s Restaurant. A “good show” was about to begin.

On one side were Kang Shengzi, his father, and the little hooligans. On the other stood Lame Luo with his two sons.

The sides cupped their hands in greeting, appearing quite courteous.

Kang Erliang smiled.

“Luo-ye, the child doesn’t know better. We’ve still troubled you to come.”

Translator’s note: Ye is a respectful “master” or “sir,” here attached to Luo’s surname. It does not indicate an official rank.

Lame Luo briefly cupped his hands.

“I’m old. My name has faded. The youngsters don’t recognize me. Today, I’ve brought my two worthless sons to see the world.”

The surface was polite, but dark currents surged beneath.

Lame Luo was a figure of some standing, over sixty, his beard and hair entirely white. His thin white queue had scarcely a few hairs left. He’d first made his way by “blocking the river to collect taxes,” stretching a great rope across a narrow part of the Hai River and guarding it with his men. Passing boats had to pay to get through, or suffer a beating. One of his legs had been crippled in an armed clash.

After the greeting, Kang Erliang said little. He had men pile firewood and charcoal on the ground, light it, and set a large iron plate above.

Amid thick smoke, the plate glowed red.

Smiling, Kang Erliang cupped his hands to Lame Luo and said, “Allow me.”

Then he rolled up his trouser legs, removed his shoes and socks, and stepped barefoot onto the iron plate!

“Good! Good!”

The spectators never feared too much trouble. The more thrilling, the better. Kang Erliang’s soles sizzled, leaving a black footprint with every step. Only then did Kang Shengzi understand that his father hadn’t spent all those years as a hooligan for nothing.

Lame Luo merely sat to one side, smoking and watching with a mocking smile, as if this were no more than a fly kicking its heels—a tiny little struggle.

Kang Erliang walked several circuits without changing expression before stepping down. Though pain had soaked his clothes with sweat, he still chatted and laughed naturally, sending Lame Luo a challenging look.

The young hooligans hurried to support him to one side, where a doctor hired by Lei’s applied medicine.

Thunderous applause erupted. Everyone knew what came next would be even more exciting.

Lame Luo stood unhurriedly and called to the restaurant staff:

“Bring out the great pot!”

Several staff members carried a huge pot from the kitchen. More than a meter across, broad and deep, it was filled with hot oil! Old Proprietor Lei had used it to entertain guests when the restaurant first opened. Since then, it had been carefully stored as the establishment’s treasure. No one expected to see it brought out today. Clearly, preparations had been made.

The crowd stared, holding its breath. Everyone guessed at what Lame Luo intended…

The pot was set on a stand. The staff added several handfuls of firewood. The flames grew stronger, the heat oppressive.

Seeing the oil was hot, Lame Luo removed his upper garment, revealing a scar-covered torso. He bowed with cupped hands all around and shouted:

“Proprietor Lei, I entrust these two sons to you! Gentlemen, old and young, today this fellow Luo will try this pot of oil!”

Then, dragging his lame leg, he climbed onto a stool. Before everyone’s eyes, he calmly stepped into the oil, closed his eyes, and curled up in the pot without a sound!

Under the blazing sun, everyone felt enveloped by cold. Their scalps went numb with terror, and they were silent as cicadas in winter. Only the sizzling of frying human flesh reminded them that this wasn’t an illusion. It was real!

Several seconds later, a tremendous cry burst from the crowd. Some covered their eyes, some turned away retching, and some bowed toward the pot.

Luo’s two sons dropped to their knees and kowtowed to it. They neither stopped him nor cried out.

Proprietor Lei shouted, “Old Master Luo, travel safely! I’ll take care of your family!”

Before long, Lame Luo had been fried into a “human guozi”—a human-shaped fried dough stick.

Proprietor Lei ordered the staff to lift out the body, place it on a white cloth, wrap it securely, and carry it to Luo’s sons.

The two blinked without shedding a tear. They lifted the bundle, still seeping oil, and walked away without looking back.

Kang Erliang was dumbfounded. Never in his dreams had he imagined Lame Luo could be this ruthless and absolute, risking his life in the contest and jumping into boiling oil to die. That leap extinguished anyone’s desire to compete and established a foundation of food and clothing for his descendants forever.

At this point, to recover the round, Kang Erliang would have to jump into the oil himself. If he didn’t dare follow, he’d lost today. After weighing it over, he could only tell Kang Shengzi to bring everyone home.

Not only had he failed to win the establishment, but he now carried a human life on his back. Although his own life wasn’t in danger, he was badly injured. Most crucially, he could no longer operate in Tianjin. He had to move his entire family to the capital’s outskirts.

Though far from Tianjin, Kang Shengzi could not erase Lame Luo from his mind. He often thought privately that he, too, would one day perform a “heroic feat” praised by everyone. But he couldn’t be stupid enough to actually jump into hot oil. If he was to learn, he had to learn from the Two Mas!

4. Robbing the Treasury Guards

After arriving in the capital, Kang Erliang recovered from his injuries but lost his drive. He settled down as an honest commoner. Kang Shengzi, however, grew ever more active.

In Tianjin, they were called hooligans; in the capital, rogues. Kang Shengzi inherited the Tianjin hooligans’ dogged pestering and ruthless methods. With a quick mind as well, it took him only days to become leader of the young rogues in several nearby streets, leading them in troublemaking and lawlessness.

Ordinary people didn’t dare provoke them and avoided them on sight. Even the area’s major rogues wanted nothing to do with these unripe melons, afraid of falling into their hands.

The young rogues used a ruined temple at the village entrance as their base, gathering to discuss how to make their names and get big money.

During one conversation, a bad youngster mentioned a special group of people in the capital.

They were neither officials nor merchants, neither landlords nor local gentry. Yet they always carried silver, were rich pickings, and enjoyed fine food and drink every day, making others envious.

He meant the guards of the Ministry of Revenue’s silver treasury.

At the emperor’s feet, in the imperial capital, the Great Qing’s treasury held years of tax silver from across the country. Security was exceptionally strict.

Below the treasury officials, the lowest personnel were the treasury guards. They took turns moving the silver, entering and leaving the vault four or five times each month.

Every time they entered, they had to remove all their clothes and change into special treasury garments. After work, they came out naked again and underwent another inspection, to prevent theft and smuggling.

Yet under such strict supervision, they still succeeded.

They developed bizarre methods of hiding silver beyond an ordinary person’s imagination. Nostrils, mouths, earholes—all became hiding places for small pieces of silver.

…

A silver ingot from the fifth year of the Guangxu reign.

Kang Shengzi’s eyes lit up. Since arriving in the capital, he’d been worrying about how to get money. These treasury guards were such fat meat that not robbing them would be a waste. Their money was ill-gotten anyway. If he took it, they could do nothing.

Under his leadership, the young rogues spent some time watching and scouting, learning one fat treasury guard’s route to and from work.

One evening, they lay in ambush in an alley he had to pass on his way home. Before long, they saw him approaching from a distance, swaying his bulky body and carrying a lantern.

Seeing no one nearby, Kang Shengzi whistled. The young rogues swarmed him, some gagging, some blindfolding, others tying him up. With little effort, they brought him bound to a secluded house nearby. Without a word, they first beat him savagely.

The guard rolled on the ground under the blows, but with his mouth blocked, could only make muffled cries.

At a glance from Kang Shengzi, they stopped and removed the gag, leaving the blindfold in place.

Feeling his mouth free, the guard was about to shout. Before a sound escaped, Kang Shengzi kicked him hard in the belly. Grimacing in pain, he could only plead:

“Hero, spare my life! Hero, spare my life!”

Kang Shengzi lowered his voice.

“I know what you do, you brat. Hand over the hidden silver, or your old man here will stab you!”

Hearing a young voice, the fat guard tried to be slippery and repeatedly claimed he had no money.

Kang Shengzi ignored him. Several rogues stripped him bare as a cleaned white pig. Hands searched his ears, nose, and elsewhere. They actually dug a foul-smelling little piece of silver from his navel.

The young rogues rejoiced at the money, but Kang Shengzi remained unmoved. Drawing a dagger, he pressed it to the guard’s belly.

“Didn’t you say you had no silver? Take it all out now, or I’ll drain some grease from this fat belly!”

As he spoke, he lightly drew the blade across it twice.

That frightened the guard. He hurriedly confessed that he had hidden silver in his anus. The others laughed quietly.

Kang Shengzi had intended to untie him and let him retrieve it himself, but feared he’d try to escape. Instead, he ordered his followers to remove it, promising an extra share to whoever succeeded.

With silver at stake, how could they hold back? They pinned the guard down, spread his buttocks, and dug.

To steal silver, treasury guards trained their anuses beyond the ordinary. The young rogues actually extracted three or four pieces of various sizes. The fat guard stiffened with pain, sweat rolling down, but didn’t dare scream because Kang Shengzi held the dagger to his throat.

With the silver in hand, Kang Shengzi and the others scattered with a whoop, leaving the guard where he lay.

From then on, they periodically robbed treasury guards. Their victims didn’t dare speak up. Criminals preyed on criminals, and the guards could only swallow their knocked-out front teeth.

After several successes, their courage grew. They began kidnapping guards outright and releasing them only after receiving ransom.

One evening, Kang Shengzi’s group calculated the timing and planned to repeat the trick.

But this time, they met a hard opponent. When they attacked two treasury guards, they discovered one was a trained fighter!

Although Kang Shengzi and his men carried knives and daggers, their skills were only flowery fists and embroidered legs. Against a real fighter, they were eggs striking stone. In moments, they were crying for their fathers and mothers and fleeing in every direction.

Soon, only Kang Shengzi remained. Dagger in hand, he fought while retreating, showing no fear and displaying the authentic heritage of a Tianjin hooligan.

Unfortunately, courage and strength only let him cut the man’s arm. He didn’t last long before being seized and taken straight to the nearby Daxing county yamen.

It turned out that one of them truly was a treasury guard, but the one who knew kung fu was an escort the guard had paid to hire. Having suffered losses, the guard had devised this method and handed Kang Shengzi to the authorities as a captured thief. Naturally, he wasn’t smuggling treasury silver that day.

Who could have expected that after hearing the case, Clerk Li of the Daxing county yamen would actually admire Kang Shengzi? His jurisdiction was disorderly, with so many cases they gave him headaches. Most of his runners merely ate their rice; few put in real effort.

A fearless young rogue like Kang Shengzi, particularly one black-hearted, ruthless, and quick-witted, could be useful. So he told him:

“Kang Shengzi, I’ve long known your usual conduct. But I think you’re promising material. If you’re willing, how about serving under me?”

This clerk was an unranked subordinate official in the yamen, responsible for arrests, inspecting prisoners, public order, and similar matters. Though lowly in status, he handled practical local affairs and held some power. As the saying went, the county magistrate mattered less than whoever controlled the matter at hand.

How could Kang Shengzi fail to see the advantages? His eyes turned, and he agreed.

5. Rising in the World

With someone in the yamen behind him, Kang Shengzi no longer pursued the petty street rogue’s livelihood. Under Clerk Li’s instructions, he organized his former followers and, in a blink, became an official enforcer.

After Kang Shengzi took up the role, Clerk Li’s jurisdiction indeed became much quieter. This wasn’t because his gang genuinely helped public order. Rather, this “officially appointed rogue” subdued every major and minor thug in the area. Whatever crime they committed, as long as they paid him properly, he would bring men to suppress the neighborhood and frighten victims out of reporting it.

By then, the Great Qing was terminally ill, giving off the scent of poverty, backwardness, and ignorance everywhere. The alliance of officials and rogues really meant the Qing government had lost control over society and could only use hooligans as intermediary agents.

He also visited the gambling dens, brothels, and other shady businesses under Clerk Li’s jurisdiction, forming connections, shielding them, getting them out of trouble, and collecting benefits.

That wasn’t all. Kang Shengzi privately committed still more crimes: beating people to death, raping women, forcing decent women into prostitution. Whatever he wanted, he dared do. Yet with Clerk Li supporting him, he had never faced a legal case in all those years.

Over time, Clerk Li became enormously wealthy, while Kang Shengzi secretly took even more. Transformed into the head of a great household and a wealthy man, he became the local tyrant, known as the “Little Overlord.”

But after making his fortune, Kang Shengzi immediately changed his heart. He wanted Clerk Li gone.

First, the clerk was insatiably greedy and demanded without limit. Second, he held many of Kang’s weaknesses in his hands and was a danger. Third, he’d already left office and no longer possessed real power.

Kang Shengzi secretly summoned several brothers. First they kidnapped Clerk Li’s younger son, then notified the clerk to bring the ransom personally. Once he arrived, they dug a pit and buried father and son alive.

His disappearance threw the Li household into turmoil for a while. Kang Shengzi went to offer false sympathy. Since he’d always worked for the family, no one suspected him. Before long, he seized the clerk’s property as well.

6. Disrupting a Gambling Den

Through ruthlessness and cunning, Kang Shengzi amassed a substantial estate by middle age and transformed himself into local gentry.

He also abandoned his old hooligan outfit and began dressing in long robes, short jackets, and layers of silk and satin. On the surface, he spoke elegantly and treated people kindly and courteously. He even repaired temples, built monasteries, and opened gruel kitchens, appearing to be a great philanthropist devoted to charity.

In reality, he secretly operated gambling dens and brothels in Beijing and Tianjin, kept hired thugs, and lent money at usurious rates. Above, he colluded with officials; below, with the underworld. He lived most smugly.

When idle, he sat in his businesses drinking tea, enjoying the pleasures of a successful man.

One day, a youth suddenly entered his Tianjin gambling den. The boy wore a little hat askew, no shirt, and ragged trousers.

…

People gambling during the Qing dynasty.

Seeing an unfamiliar customer, the gambling boss was about to greet him. But the youth had already approached the gaming table. Without a word, he drew a dagger, cut a strip of flesh from his own leg, and threw it onto the table.

Blood instantly stained the whole leg. Yet the youth didn’t even frown, merely casting a sidelong look at the dealer who handled wagers.

The gambling boss immediately understood. This was a hooligan here to disrupt the game. Either he wanted to make a name or he wanted a regular payment.

Smiling broadly, the boss said:

“This xiaoye has heroic spirit! We understand the rules. But this is a gambling den, where harmony brings wealth. Fighting and killing all day isn’t much fun. Why not come to the counter with me? We’ll cover your medical expenses. How about it?”

Seeing a spectacle, the gamblers stopped playing and looked over.

Under everyone’s gaze, the young hooligan seemed nervous. His face reddened, and his injured leg trembled slightly. But his words remained tough.

“Trying to send off a stinking beggar? This xiaoye has claimed this place today! I’m asking whether you can afford to play!”

The gambling boss and dealer exchanged a glance. The boss’s face fell.

“Fine. Since xiaoye has spoken, we’ll play along.”

A hooligan who kept order in the den answered the call and came over, his face dark. With three swift cuts of his dagger, he sliced three equally sized strips of flesh from his own leg and threw them onto the table. This followed the established three-to-one payout rule: cutting flesh to match the wager!

The gamblers cheered, then all fixed their eyes on the dice cup in the dealer’s hands.

The den fell utterly silent. Only the cup moved in his hands. The clear rattle of dice inside seemed to strike every spectator’s heart.

Smack! The dealer slammed the cup onto the table and gently lifted it. The crowd roared. The youth had lost! Gathering the boy’s strip of flesh to his side, the dealer looked at him challengingly.

“Xiaoye, still betting?”

The youth’s face was ashen, his lips trembling. Clearly, he hadn’t worked out what to do next.

At that crucial moment, a loud laugh sounded behind the crowd.

“My young friend, let’s stop playing this!”

Everyone turned. Kang Shengzi had arrived.

Wrapped in silk and satin, with seven or eight gold rings on his fingers, he had begun to grow fat. His youthful defiance was long gone. Without the viciousness in his eyes, he would have looked like an ordinary rich man.

He’d actually been sitting in the back drinking tea that day. Hearing someone had come to disrupt the den felt novel. His name was so imposing that few dared make trouble here.

Such disruptions weren’t unusual in Tianjin. Either the den beat the hooligan away, or it paid him a regular allowance.

Kang wanted to see which reckless fool dared disturb his territory.

Finding a green young boy, he somehow remembered his own days on the streets and sneered inwardly.

“The rivers and mountains do produce talented men in every generation.”

He parted the crowd and first settled the scene with his words. Once everyone looked at him, he ordered men to help the den’s hooligan away for medicine, then smiled at the youth.

“Come. Apply some medicine for our young friend, too.”

The gambling boss immediately brought something. Seeing it, everyone sucked in a cold breath!

It wasn’t medicine at all, but a bowl of coarse salt, each grain as large as half a mung bean.

This was sea salt, normally ground fine for cooking. Grains this large were used only for pickling vegetables.

Kang Shengzi sat boldly before the youth, grabbed a handful, and smiled with narrowed eyes.

“Young friend, let me treat your wound!”

Then he scattered the salt onto the injury and rubbed hard! Blood mixed with yellow fluid dripped continuously beneath his hand.

What ordinary person could endure such torture? Yet this was the inevitable process for a hooligan who disrupted a gambling den!

The youth’s face twisted with pain. He opened his mouth, managed only a couple of curses, then screamed uncontrollably. He rolled to the floor, shrieking like pigs and cattle being slaughtered.

With contempt all over his face, Kang Shengzi shook blood and salt from his hand, stood, and bowed to the crowd.

“My apologies. A small matter disturbed your enjoyment. Please continue playing.”

Then he coldly told the youth howling on the ground:

“Young friend, the hooligan trade isn’t fun!”

With a wave, he had the boss and staff throw the boy into the street.

For hooligans, crying out under a beating meant defeat, just like Kang Shengzi’s father against Lame Luo. If someone laid down a challenge and you couldn’t play, you could forget remaining in the trade.

To Kang Shengzi, this was merely a small incident in his career. In a blink, he’d forgotten it completely.

7. Death

One evening, Kang Shengzi headed home from the gambling den. He’d had some wine and brought no followers. He planned to soak at Xinyuan Bathhouse, have his head shaved and face scraped clean, and get a head massage. This had become one of his great pleasures as he aged.

Suddenly, he felt something sharp press against his lower back.

…

A pedicure at Tianjin’s Xinyuan Bathhouse during the Qing dynasty.

Kang Shengzi’s heart jumped. He knew it was a dagger. He hurriedly offered a few practiced words.

“Friend, whatever it is, we can talk. I have silver notes in my pocket.”

Speaking, he slowly turned. In the bright moonlight, the person seemed familiar. Looking closely, he saw that the dagger belonged to the youth who’d disrupted his gambling den.

Much of his drunkenness vanished. He immediately smiled ingratiatingly.

“I wondered who it was. An acquaintance! Xiaoye, what can I do for you?”

The youth had a slight limp, but his eyes were cold as the dagger.

“Kang Shengzi, that day this xiaoye fell into your hands, and I wimped out. But don’t get too pleased. Today, I’m going to stab you.”

As he aged, Kang Shengzi always dressed like a member of the gentry. His sleeves, however, were longer than most people’s, because he hid a dagger inside.

He’d committed many crimes in his youth and still guarded constantly against revenge.

Now, while talking to the youth, he slowly worked the dagger from his sleeve toward his hand.

But after two movements, sweat broke out. He’d forgotten his weapon today. The heavy object in his sleeve was his folding fan!

He reacted quickly, suddenly flinging the fan at the youth’s face, turning, and running.

The youth reacted faster. He blocked the object with one hand, caught up in a few strides, and stabbed Kang Shengzi in the shoulder.

Pain broke Kang’s stride, and he fell immediately. A chill rose from deep within him.

Caring about nothing else, he pleaded repeatedly.

“Xiaoye, spare me! I’ll give you my gambling den. Please don’t kill me!”

The youth wouldn’t listen. He stabbed Kang Shengzi madly more than twenty times, almost every thrust passing through his body.

Kang Shengzi seemed drowned in blood. He tried to speak, but opening his mouth only released more blood. He tried to reach out and grab something, but his weak hand caught nothing.

In that instant, he seemed to see Lame Luo, fried into a human dough stick years earlier, standing before him. Many others he’d killed gathered around as well.

Kang Shengzi struggled twice more and died.

The youth put away the dagger and disappeared into the night, limping.

8. Conclusion

Rogues like Kang Shengzi weren’t unusual in the old society. They were the dregs deposited by that era’s many social ills.

In youth, they competed in courage and viciousness; in middle age, they amassed fortunes madly; in old age, they hid their heads.

As part of society’s violent forces, they followed their own principles.

They openly harassed society and caused suffering to ordinary people. Yet they themselves were swept along by the identity and conduct of rogues, setting off down a road of no return.

Only after Liberation were the porters’ guilds, casinos, brothels, and opium dens controlled by hooligans truly abolished. The evil soil that bred them was cleared away as well.

References:

A History of Chinese Rogues

The History of Rogues

Old Tianjin’s New Life

Uncovering Old China’s Three Teachings and Nine Streams

Modern Freight Handling Seen Through Tianjin’s Porters’ Guild System

A Brief Account of the Qing State Treasury System