The purpose of the Hunanese movement to oust Zhang was explained in detail one day by “a Hunanese man.” But as far as I know, there were two additional factors: First, Zhang intended to cultivate opium; he could have simply imposed a tax on such cultivation, which would not have been considered a crime. Instead, he went about hanging up signs proclaiming a ban on opium while secretly permitting its production. In July of last year, Yu Zhaotong, the magistrate of Changsha County, convened more than a hundred village headmen from across the county for a secret meeting at the county government office. There, he announced the generalissimo’s instructions, distributing forty thousand packets of opium seeds. After the meeting, the headmen divulged this secret plan. Second, teachers were paid only seventy percent of their salaries, yet they were required to sign receipts acknowledging that they had received the full amount. Filled with indignation, the teachers elected a representative, who set out for Beijing with documentary evidence to lodge a formal complaint. However, when they reached Xinyang Prefecture, plainclothes detectives arrived overnight and confiscated the evidence. These two incidents were enough to stir up intense resentment among the people of Hunan. To be sure, acts of murder and arson might be regarded as relatively minor offenses, but such blatant deception and abuse of power were simply intolerable. Consequently, the campaign to drive out Zhang attracted participants from all walks of life—elders, young men, and even the very young—united in their cause. It was precisely these profound provocations that ignited the Hunanese resistance; the movement to oust Zhang was, in essence, a struggle for dignity. It was, in every sense, a “fight for one’s integrity,” much like Cai E’s oath-taking in Yunnan, when he declared that he was fighting for the sake of principle.