The Origins of China’s Legal Advocates
The profession of litigation masters, known as songshi (讼师), traces its roots to the Spring and Autumn Period (770–476 BCE), long before the formalization of legal systems in imperial China. The philosophical founder of this tradition was Deng Xi, a logician and rhetorician celebrated for his mastery of legal argumentation. Records in The Annals of Lü Buwei describe how Deng Xi assisted commoners in drafting legal petitions—charging a robe for major cases and trousers for minor ones—so successfully that his wardrobe could have stocked a clothing shop.
Though Deng Xi’s work resembled modern legal advocacy, the term songshi only emerged during the Song Dynasty (960–1279 CE), when urbanization and a rising merchant class fueled a “litigation craze” (haosong zhi feng). As disputes over contracts and property surged, educated men—often those who failed the imperial exams—turned to legal counseling, filling a gap in a system that lacked professional attorneys.
The Art of Legal Craft in Imperial China
### Secret Manuals and Forbidden Knowledge
Unlike modern law schools, Song Dynasty litigation masters learned their trade through clandestine handbooks called songshi miben (讼师秘本), or “litigation master secret manuals.” These texts, like the Ming-era Xiao Cao’s Surviving Brushstrokes, taught legal drafting, rhetorical strategies, and loopholes in the Qing legal code. Their underground circulation reflected the state’s hostility toward litigation; Confucian ideals emphasized social harmony (xiusong), and rulers believed opaque laws amplified their authority (“If penalties are unknowable, their威慑 power is immeasurable”).
### The Power of the Written Word
Since advocates were barred from courtrooms, their influence hinged on crafting persuasive petitions. A well-written zhuangci (状词) blended legal reasoning, classical allusions, and emotional appeal. One legendary case involved “Geda Laoniang” (疙瘩老娘), a female litigation master in Zhejiang, who defended Jiangbei rice merchants against local protectionism by invoking the unity of the empire: “Even warring states relocated grain for the needy; how can a unified dynasty divide Jiangbei and Jiangnan?” Her argument, framed as a patriotic imperative, forced the magistrate to rule impartially.
Other petitions displayed wit, like a debt-recovery case that skewered a deadbeat borrower: “When borrowing, he pleaded like the Buddha; when repaying, he fled like the Monkey King.” Such creativity highlights how litigation masters balanced legal rigor with cultural fluency.
The Paradox of Prestige and Prejudice
### High Income, Low Status
Despite their elite education and earnings—3–5 taels per petition, nearly half a commoner’s annual income—litigation masters were scorned as songgun (讼棍, “litigation rogues”). Three factors explain this paradox:
1. State Distrust: Officials viewed frequent lawsuits as destabilizing. Litigation masters empowered citizens to challenge authority, even enabling jingkong (京控, appeals to the emperor), which burdened local bureaucracies.
2. Ethical Scandals: Unscrupulous practitioners fabricated evidence or instigated frivolous suits, tarnishing the profession’s reputation.
3. Social Jealousy: Their wealth bred resentment in a society that idealized scholarly poverty.
### A Clash with Confucian Values
In a Confucian framework, litigation masters disrupted the ideal of wuwei (无为, non-contentious governance). Their very existence exposed tensions between legalism and paternalistic rule. As one Qing official lamented, “The best subjects are those who obey without knowing their rights.”
Legacy: From “Litigation Rogues” to Legal Reformers
The decline of litigation masters mirrored China’s transition toward Western-style legal systems in the late 19th century. Yet their legacy endures:
– Cultural Memory: Figures like Fang Tangjing—the taunting lawyer in Stephen Chow’s Hail the Judge—reflect enduring stereotypes, blending admiration for their wit with distrust of their ethics.
– Modern Parallels: Contemporary China’s struggle to balance legal professionalism with state control echoes imperial debates. The 2017 film Extraordinary Mission even features a litigation master as an anti-corruption hero, signaling reevaluation of their role.
Ultimately, China’s litigation masters were both products and victims of their system—brilliant navigators of a legal landscape designed to keep citizens in the dark. Their story is a testament to the timeless tension between justice and power.