華彥鈞悲劇降生·不合傳統禮教出生的「野種」Hua Yanjun’s Tragic Birth · The “Bastard” Born Outside the Bounds of Traditional Morality
China’s Beethoven · Blind Musician AbingHua Yanjun’s Tragic Birth · The “Bastard” Born Outside the Bounds of Traditional Morality
China’s Beethoven · Blind Musician Abing華彥鈞悲劇降生·不合傳統禮教出生的「野種」
中國的貝多芬·瞎子阿炳

On August 17, 1893, the nineteenth year of the Guangxu Emperor’s reign, a boy was born. He would one day become the renowned master of Chinese folk music known as Blind Abing. Yet from the moment he fell from his mother’s womb into this world, he carried an original sin that could never be washed away: he was a “bastard,” born outside the bounds of traditional morality.

Abing’s biological mother was named Wu Afen. She had originally been the wife of the Qin family’s second young master, one of the most prominent and respected families in the city of Wuxi. The Qin family’s eldest son had died of tuberculosis, and the second son, possibly infected as well, was suffering from the same grave illness.

In the eighteenth year of the Guangxu Emperor’s reign, after every effort to find an effective doctor had failed, the Qin family resorted to an ancient custom in the hope of preventing the family line from dying out. They brought the young Wu Afen into the household as a bride for the second son, believing that the auspicious marriage might drive away his illness and bring about a miracle.

Regrettably, the marriage brought no miracle. Only six months after the wedding, the second young master suffered a violent relapse, coughed up blood, and died. Wu Afen, still so young, was left a pitiful little widow.

In that age, society lived by a cruel moral precept: “For a woman, starvation is a minor matter; the loss of chastity is a grave one.” It was therefore extraordinarily difficult for a young widow to remarry—especially one belonging to a wealthy and prestigious family such as the Qins.

It is not difficult to imagine what awaited Wu Afen. For the sake of the Qin family’s honor, she was expected to remain a living widow for the rest of her life. The horror of such an existence is almost beyond ordinary imagination.

According to one account passed down among the people of Wuxi, what followed unfolded roughly as described below.

On August 17, 1893, the nineteenth year of the Guangxu Emperor’s reign, a boy was born. He would one day become the renowned master of Chinese folk music known as Blind Abing. Yet from the moment he fell from his mother’s womb into this world, he carried an original sin that could never be washed away: he was a “bastard,” born outside the bounds of traditional morality.

Abing’s biological mother was named Wu Afen. She had originally been the wife of the Qin family’s second young master, one of the most prominent and respected families in the city of Wuxi. The Qin family’s eldest son had died of tuberculosis, and the second son, possibly infected as well, was suffering from the same grave illness.

In the eighteenth year of the Guangxu Emperor’s reign, after every effort to find an effective doctor had failed, the Qin family resorted to an ancient custom in the hope of preventing the family line from dying out. They brought the young Wu Afen into the household as a bride for the second son, believing that the auspicious marriage might drive away his illness and bring about a miracle.

Regrettably, the marriage brought no miracle. Only six months after the wedding, the second young master suffered a violent relapse, coughed up blood, and died. Wu Afen, still so young, was left a pitiful little widow.

In that age, society lived by a cruel moral precept: “For a woman, starvation is a minor matter; the loss of chastity is a grave one.” It was therefore extraordinarily difficult for a young widow to remarry—especially one belonging to a wealthy and prestigious family such as the Qins.

It is not difficult to imagine what awaited Wu Afen. For the sake of the Qin family’s honor, she was expected to remain a living widow for the rest of her life. The horror of such an existence is almost beyond ordinary imagination.

According to one account passed down among the people of Wuxi, what followed unfolded roughly as described below.

After the death of the Qin family’s second young master, funeral rites naturally had to be performed to guide the departed soul toward peace. The family therefore invited Hua Qinghe, the Daoist priest in charge of Leizun Hall in Wuxi, to conduct the chanting and rituals at the Qin residence.

Hua Qinghe was the presiding Daoist priest of Leizun Hall, a subsidiary hall of Wuxi’s Dongxu Temple. Deeply versed in Daoist culture, he was also a remarkably versatile musician who could play many kinds of folk instruments. He enjoyed considerable fame throughout Wuxi.

Though still young, Hua Qinghe had already mastered not only Daoist culture and ritual music, but also the extraordinary techniques of traditional Chinese music. His appearance was equally striking: tall and upright, with a handsome face. During religious ceremonies, he would speak and sing upon the platform while directing a company of Daoist priests in music, dance, and ritual performance. Graceful and commanding, like a magnificent tree standing proudly in the wind, he must have resembled a modern superstar performing before an adoring crowd. He drew the eyes of everyone present—especially young women awakening to love, and the wealthy but lonely women of prominent households.

During the funeral rites, Hua Qinghe’s brilliant performances deeply captivated Wu Afen, who was living in the extremity of grief and loneliness. She formed a profound and deeply favorable impression of him.

To Hua Qinghe, the sorrowful and vulnerable beauty of this young and unfortunate widow possessed an overwhelming power. It was a beauty that stirred pity and love, that made the heart ache, that left a man intoxicated.

At the time, Hua Qinghe was still unmarried. He fell in love with Wu Afen at first sight—fiercely and completely—with this ill-fated young widow who had lost her husband so early in life. During the several consecutive days of funeral ceremonies, he had many opportunities to speak with her. He sincerely asked after her well-being, offering her warmth, concern, and attentive care.

Hua Qinghe was not taking advantage of a vulnerable woman, nor was he a wicked man. He had truly been captivated by this beautiful and kind young widow upon whom misfortune had fallen so cruelly. His feelings for her were sincere.

After those funeral rites, the two began to see one another. In Hua Qinghe’s concern and tenderness, Wu Afen, who had lost her husband, felt the presence of genuine affection. Gradually, she began to emerge from her grief, and genuine feelings for Hua Qinghe took root in her heart.

As they continued to meet, they soon fell in love and tasted the forbidden fruit. Wu Afen became pregnant with Hua Yanjun. What precisely happened between them has long since become an enduring historical mystery. Later generations have no way of knowing the details.

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In all fairness, Hua Qinghe belonged to the Zhengyi tradition and was what was commonly known as a household-dwelling Daoist priest. In principle, he was permitted to marry. And after losing her husband, Hua Yanjun’s mother, Wu Afen, naturally had every right to marry again.

The problem was that, under the crushing pressure of traditional morality and social convention, their relationship could only continue in secret. When the belly of a young and beautiful widow suddenly began to swell, people were certain to point at her behind her back and curse her.

Such an affair would have become a sensational scandal even today—to say nothing of the final years of the Qing dynasty, when customs were deeply conservative and society remained bound by unenlightened ideas.

The Qin family was shocked by the young widow’s sudden pregnancy. To avoid embarrassment and silence the rumors spreading outside the household, they publicly declared that Wu Afen was carrying the posthumous child of the second young master. Moreover, as the Qin family faced the prospect of having no heir, they sincerely hoped that the child truly carried Qin blood.

One year after Hua Yanjun was born, the truth was exposed. Not the faintest trace of the Qin family’s second young master could be seen in little Abing’s face. Instead, he looked exactly like a tiny replica of the Daoist priest Hua Qinghe.

The Qin family was enraged and expelled Wu Afen from the household. Hua Qinghe secretly rented a home for her elsewhere.

Later, however, the Qin family proved unwilling to endure what it considered an intolerable humiliation. Wu Afen was forcibly taken back to the family residence and confined there. Under the family’s merciless condemnation, the malicious abuse of the outside world, the agony of being torn from her child, and every other form of mental torment, she found no path of escape. When Abing was only four years old, she could no longer endure the immense burden of prejudice and discrimination. In despair, she threw herself into a well, bringing her troubled life to an end.

That, of course, was merely the Qin family’s version of events. No one knows how Wu Afen actually died. The truth has become a mystery for all time.

By every principle of reason and justice, Wu Afen, widowed at such a young age, had the right to choose love for herself again. She should never have been treated as a tool in an auspicious marriage intended to save a dying man. But in that age, reason and justice had no voice.

Under the power of feudal morality and the patriarchal clan, the Qin family could never have permitted its second daughter-in-law to remarry a Daoist priest openly—even if Hua Qinghe was a priest of status and standing. This was more than a matter of saving face. In those days, it would have been regarded as an unspeakable disgrace that “corrupted human morality and defiled the ancestors.”

Abing’s father, Hua Qinghe, belonged to Daoism’s Zhengyi tradition and was commonly described as a household-dwelling priest. Zhengyi priests were permitted to marry and have children, but in practice this generally applied only to ordinary priests of humble position.

For those who stood high in the Daoist hierarchy, the situation was altogether different. Hua Qinghe was no ordinary priest. He was the presiding master of Leizun Hall, part of Dongxu Temple, one of Wuxi’s most important Daoist institutions. As the head of an entire hall, he enjoyed exceptional social standing as well as substantial income from offerings and temple lands.

Maintaining an image of moral respectability was a fundamental condition of preserving his position. An “illicit affair with a widow” would undoubtedly have become an enormous scandal within the Daoist community. Given the social attitudes of the time, if the presiding master of a Daoist hall had openly admitted that he was in love with the widowed daughter-in-law of a prominent local family—and intended to marry her with all the proper rites—it would have unleashed a tremendous storm throughout Wuxi.

Hua Qinghe would have been ruined overnight. The Daoist establishment, the religious community, and Wuxi’s local gentry would all have utterly rejected him. His position as master of Leizun Hall, together with all its wealth and property, would have been seized by rival factions in an instant.

And so, although Wu Afen and Hua Qinghe genuinely loved one another—and although their love had already borne fruit in the form of little Hua Yanjun—neither dared to cross the forbidden boundary and take the final step toward a true marriage.

It was precisely their shared weakness and their surrender to the traditional morality of the secular world that ultimately brought tragedy upon two generations.

Before the mountain of traditional morality and social convention, they were powerless to resist. Hua Qinghe and Wu Afen both chose concealment and retreat, while the price was paid by Abing’s biological mother, Wu Afen, and by Abing himself, still only a child.

Whenever little Hua Yanjun went outside, people pointed at him, humiliated him, and even called him a “little bastard” to his face. This was the original sin forced upon him from the moment he was born.

Hua Yanjun was still too young to understand fully what any of it meant. He knew nothing yet of the cruelty and treachery of the world. But in the malice filling the eyes of those around him, he understood that whatever they saw in him could not be anything good.

Thus, a vast shadow fell across his young heart at an early age—and that shadow would ultimately shape the course of his entire life.

(To be continued)