Essay

By Noam Backner

The Book of Swindles

Deception, commerce, and the erosion of social trust in late Ming China.

Detail of an urban commercial scene from the Chinese painting 'Along the River During the Qingming Festival'.
Detail of an urban commercial scene from the Chinese painting 'Along the River During the Qingming Festival'.

A merchant arrives in a distant prefecture and meets a man who seems to know everything about his hometown, his family, and his relatives. Hospitality is offered, food and drink are shared, and deep connections, business plans, and trust are quickly forged. But the moment the silver ingots arrive, the local expert vanishes into the horizon.

The *Book of Swindles* (*Kui che yuan* or *Huaping jing*) was compiled by a man of obscure origins named Zhang Yingyu during the late Ming period. It remains a fascinating window into the daily life of late imperial China.

This popular work emerged from a period of profound transformation. The silver economy had permeated the empire, and economic growth was being sustained by the integration of distant markets. An increasing number of Chinese citizens were finding their livelihoods in trade, services, transport, and specialized crafts, often at the expense of the traditional agricultural sector.

While these processes had begun centuries earlier, the developments of the Ming era represent an early form of commercial modernity. In this world, market forces, social mobility, consumer culture, and constant encounters between total strangers began to shape daily life on an unprecedented scale.

The uniqueness of the work lies in its focus on ordinary people rather than the elite strata typical of the era's literature. Its pages are populated by merchants, brokers, itinerant scholars, monks, fortune-tellers, servants, and professional scoundrels, all moving through a world that had become more mobile and interconnected than ever before.

The book’s chapters are organized by the types of scams available to the public: forged family ties, commercial fraud, counterfeit money, religious deceptions, sexual entrapment, impersonating officials, and schemes related to the high-stakes world of the imperial examinations—the most effective gateway into the Chinese elite.

In this sense, the book functions as a risk-management manual for travelers navigating the *Jianghu* (“rivers and lakes”)—that vast, dangerous social universe extending beyond the safety of home and community, swarming with shady characters “like bamboo on the southern slopes.”

A fundamental question recurs throughout the work: how can one distinguish a genuine human being from an impostor, a lamb from a wolf, when social status, titles, reputation, and even personal identity can be forged to empty another’s pockets?

The book’s moral framework is distinctly Chinese. The recurring vices are greed, lust, arrogance, naivety, and a lack of seasoned judgment. Zhang generally avoids portraying victims as entirely innocent; a successful scam almost always occurs when the swindler’s cunning meets a familiar human weakness, such as a desire for quick wealth or social status. Thus, these tales serve not only as a warning against cheats but as a lesson in self-cultivation and moral discipline.

The worthy person is expected to be more than just decent and honest; they must also exercise intelligence, keen observation, and sound judgment. In this sense, the *Book of Swindles* is as much a guide for defending against fraud as it is—perhaps unintentionally—an excellent manual for executing it. Zhang’s vivid descriptions reveal both the swindlers’ methods and the soft psychology that leads seemingly sensible people into the trap.

Unlike parallel moral literatures, the *Book of Swindles* rarely presents deception as a metaphysical injury or a violation of divine law. Instead, it focuses on the damage done to the social fabric. The problem with a scam is not that it is a sin in the theological sense, but that it undermines the foundations of trust upon which commerce, family, and public order depend. Daoist priests (the serial villains of Chinese literature), officials, scholars, and merchants are all measured by their ability to maintain these networks of trust—or their willingness to exploit them.

In many ways, the world described here feels remarkably familiar to anyone observing contemporary China or the reality of globalization: accelerated commercialization, mass migration, and an unprecedented proliferation of encounters between strangers. The Ming-era swindler impersonating an exam proctor or an honest official is a clear ancestor to today’s internet impostors, TikTok investment gurus, and digital sting agents.

For this reason, the *Book of Swindles* is more than just a collection of rogue tales. It is an illuminating document of a fast-paced, visceral society where economic growth and information gaps are fundamental. It records how ordinary people experienced the promises and perils of the most interconnected and wealthy culture of its time.

Beneath these tales, the book hints at the skill required to maintain a moral, functioning society in a world that is unpredictable, occasionally cruel, and full of upheaval. But, of course, this is merely a yellowed, outdated curiosity from 17th-century China—and nothing more.

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