The Ten Forbidden Books of the Ming and Qing Dynasties - A Collection of Flower Images (Part 2)

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Who can truly share the same heart of a virtuous person?
They can ward off evil and accumulate good deeds. Seeing through the mysteries of ghosts 　　and spirits , one should simply align human actions with Heaven's will.
The wicked, once arrogant and foolish, may one day repent and become virtuous.
If not for divine retribution, how could they change their iron will? Simply align your words and deeds with Heaven's will, and 　　you will remain unperturbed by any bullying. Ultimately, there's no need for calculation; Heaven will never wrong anyone. 　　Those who bully the good and kind are cruel and heartless; only when they personally experience retribution do they understand the cause. 　　Heaven is vast and all-encompassing; even the greatest evil 　　is tolerated, allowing for self-renewal. Fortune and misfortune are clearly revealed in Heaven; do not consider retribution futile. 　　Gods and ghosts secretly plot; if one does not lose their family, their life will surely be shortened. 　　Many things happen, but good things are rare; do not say that retribution is delayed. 　　The path of the heart, good and evil, is like a shadow, following each other every step of the way. 　　Following one's heart without realizing the error, but one mistake will create an enemy. 　　In the end, all worldly affairs are settled by Heaven; do not boast of your cleverness to the world. 　　Wealth and honor are determined by Heaven; do not strive for them, just as agriculture hopes for a bountiful harvest. 　　If one does not diligently cultivate the land, all the worry day and night will be in vain. 　　Quietly observe the struggle between skill and clumsiness; 　　the clumsy are at ease, the skillful toil. Skill and clumsiness are intertwined in fortune and misfortune; 　　do not disregard the slightest bit of Heaven's will. The wicked should not deceive the good; though others may not know, Heaven knows. 　　Examine the thoughts in your heart; ask yourself, where is the best course of action? 　　In the county school, there was a student named Guan Jian, known for his studiousness and extensive reading of history and literature. He was respected by his peers, and often had more than ten students attending his lectures daily. One day, a student showed Guan a poem on the cause and effect of the Wang family. Guan read it several times, then suddenly shook his head, sighed deeply, threw the poem on the table, and remained silent for a long time with his eyes closed. Everyone laughed and said, "This poem is just common parlance. We offered it to you, brother, for a laugh. Why are you so suspicious?" 　　Guan replied, "Not so. The way of Heaven is to reward good and punish evil; even among Confucian scholars, this is the same. Because it is so clearly proven, without the slightest error, it has been relied upon by Yang Zhu and Mozi, who have attached it to ghosts and gods, and combined it with cause and effect, lest it confuse the common people, making it impossible to distinguish truth from falsehood, right from wrong. This problem has existed for a long time. However, there are aspects of the reasoning that I do not understand, and there are things I do not comprehend. I will now try to explain them. If you brothers are willing to teach me and explain a few words, so that my mind may be cleared and my eyes cleared, then I would be extremely fortunate. Moreover, people..." "When one is born, one's parents give one form, and Heaven and Earth bestow upon one's nature. The wise and foolish, the good and the evil, each have their inherent qualities, though they may differ in some ways. Though habits may change over time, they are not far removed from the truth. Human goodness is bestowed by Heaven, and so is human evilness. Good and evil are inherently created by Heaven, not by human effort. Now, Heaven bestows blessings upon the good and misfortunes upon the evil; Heaven favors one over the other. Is this Heaven's doing? Heaven's way is to cherish life and is righteous—how can this be? Is it not Heaven's doing? Then who is doing it? This is truly the doubt of the common people." The crowd remained silent, unsure how to answer. 　　That night, Guan Sheng lay awake, rubbing his stomach in thought, but still could not grasp the essence. He then composed a poem: " 　　The long night is sleepless, my thoughts wander. 　　I cannot understand the principles of Heaven and Earth, thus arousing doubt in the world. 　　The subtle feelings are difficult to describe, the mysterious mysteries are unfathomable. 　　There is no way to find a path to understand, only to leave this heart in vain." 　　Life and death are ordained by Heaven, appearances are left by parents. 　　The wise and foolish are guided by their own hearts, good and evil are determined by their actions. 　　No two things are of the same nature; who can truly know themselves? 　　The good receive blessings, the wicked fall into peril. 　　Punishment and creation are the principles of Heaven, but who is truly responsible for their creation? 　　To be born and then die is hard to believe and even harder to predict. 　　Human nature is given by Heaven, yet Heaven records it. 　　It should be of one kind, why create two different foundations? There is 　　no need for violence, no need for calamity. 　　If right and wrong are defined, each harbors their own selfish desires. 　　Wasted effort in research and contemplation, empty dreams and worries. Following 　　one's own 　　desires harms the world's teachings; arguing against others insults the gods. Silently, who sees this? Who dares to deceive Heaven? 　　Unfit for the rule of a sage, I fear the people's moral compass will be disrupted. 　　Even polishing one's heart mirror is futile; ultimately, this protection is hard to remove. 　　Unable to unravel the secret meaning, you can only compose a poem. 　　The next morning, I showed the poem to my friends, who all praised its accuracy and incisiveness, its clear meaning and sound reasoning. Some copied it from their manuscripts, others read it and memorized it. 　　One day, a friend of Zhang, returning from his villa, rested briefly under a tree in the west gate and recited a poem by Guan Zhong. A woodcutter happened to be eavesdropping nearby. Zhang laughed and asked, "What do you know that you're listening?" The woodcutter replied, "I regret that you recited it so quickly; I haven't fully grasped its meaning." Zhang recited it again. The woodcutter asked, "Who wrote this?" Zhang then explained the whole story of Guan Zhong's poem. The woodcutter asked, "Who is Guan Zhong?" Zhang replied, "He is Yang Sheng." The woodcutter laughed loudly, shouldered his load, spat on the ground, and said, "Such learning to call himself Yang Sheng? Shouldn't he be ashamed? He's not even worthy of being compared to a lowly servant!" He then stormed off through the west gate. Zhang was furious and chased after him, cursing him. The woodcutter just laughed and continued on his way. 　　As they approached the market, Guan Zhong happened to be coming from the east. Zhang quickly grabbed Guan Zhong, explained the situation, and invited him to join him in beating Guan Zhong. Guan said, “No. He is an extraordinary person, or perhaps a hermit? We should seek to hear his words, how can we offend him with impoliteness!” Guan then stepped forward and bowed to the woodcutter, saying, “My younger brother is foolish and young, and does not understand. I have offended your wise teachings. I beg you not to be offended. If you are so kind, I beg you to enlighten me.” He asked three questions but did not answer, only smiling and looking away. Guan Yu, respectful and intrigued, knelt and said, "The benevolent love others. Sir, you cultivate yourself through learning; this is not the mindset of a great Confucian scholar." 　　The woodcutter laughed and led Guan Xing away, saying, "I am but a rustic, not a Confucian scholar, yet I know what Confucianism is. If you ask me further questions, what can I say?" He refused again, then replied, "I have heard your poem, which suggests that Heaven has a will and uses its own will to determine the difference between good and evil in human nature, thus imposing its own karmic consequences. This is unsettling for a fine work. Alas, it is utterly absurd. The beginning of all things originates from the Wuji (limitless) and Taiji (supreme ultimate). With movement and stillness, Yin and Yang are separated. Yang transforms and Yin unites, giving rise to the Five Elements. The true essence of the Wuji, the essence of the two and five, are wonderfully combined and condensed. The way of Qian (Heaven) forms the male, the way of Kun (Earth) forms the female; the interaction of these two energies gives birth to all things. The principles of Qi are intricate, and forms and natures are unique. Only humans possess the most intelligent and discerning mind, and thus have..." It loses its complete nature. However, due to the mixture of Qi and Li, there is inevitably a distinction between hardness and softness. The difference between good and evil, and the response of fortune and misfortune, all stem from this. Only the sage, in harmony with Heaven and Earth in virtue, with the sun and moon in brightness, with the four seasons in order, and with the spirits in good and bad fortune, simply maintains stillness and is cautious in action. Thus, the Taiji of man is established. The way to establish the Taiji is nothing more than sincerity and reverence. The good of Yang is benevolence, moderation, righteousness, goodness, and fortune; the evil of Yang is softness and weakness. The good of Yin is righteousness and strength; the evil of Yin is wickedness and wickedness. The reward of good and evil in man, which brings fortune and misfortune, is due to the harmony of Qi and Li, and the natural attraction of like-minded people. Goodness and fortune meet, evil and misfortune arrive, just as fire is obtained by using a smoldering torch and water by using a water-drawing stick. Fire is ignited and water is produced. Is this truly the will of Heaven or the work of spirits? Haha, how difficult it is to understand! 　　After saying this, he carried his load and let out a long howl before leaving. His movements were swift as the wind, and Guan Sheng could not catch up with him. Upon returning, he sighed deeply for several days. 　　Afterwards, he secluded himself to study, determined not to leave. After more than ten years of study, he became a renowned scholar. * 　　Hanting Xiaohui Lu* (Record of a Night Gathering at 　　Hanting): North of Gaoyou Prefecture and west of Sheyang Lake, there is a canal called Hangou, also known as Hanjiang. It was originally a waterway dug by Emperor Yang of Sui to guide the Bian River to the Huai River and into Jiangdu to view the Qionghua flowers. Abandoned for over a thousand years, it has become a winding, serpentine river, entirely occupied by residents. Some have been converted into rice paddies, others into lotus ponds. Green reeds and purple duckweed stretch for miles, truly a magnificent place in the water kingdom. On the eastern plain of the canal, lived a wealthy man named Jin Yuyan. He built a pavilion atop the rugged bank of the canal, naming it Hanting.

The fable tells of a group of young men, all valuing Confucian studies. On auspicious occasions and festivals, they would always invite nearby scholars for gatherings of poetry and wine. As the Double Seventh Festival approached, the group gathered with friends in a pavilion, exchanging poems, passing tokens, and enjoying themselves immensely. Among them was a man named Liu, skilled in extraordinary arts. He could bind a winnowing basket into a phoenix, summon immortals with flying talismans, and write characters with a descending brush. He was said to be able to predict fortune and misfortune, and could compose poetry and prose without difficulty. The group asked Liu to test his skills, and he agreed. He then took a clean winnowing basket, bound a brush to its end, set up a table and lamps, and the group lit incense and prayed devoutly. Liu then used his qi to perform a hand seal, and the talisman flew and the ruler vibrated. A moment later, a gentle breeze came, and the winnowing basket began to move, first slightly, then gradually becoming more prominent, leaping onto the table. Liu bowed deeply, then asked, "Who is the ancestral master? Please tell me your name." Thereupon, the celestial scepter shook the table and wrote: "I am Zheng Yuanhe, the romantic and unrestrained immortal." When the crowd first saw the title "romantic and unrestrained immortal," and then saw the name Yuanhe written on it, they burst into laughter.
Liu Sheng urgently tried to stop him, but to no avail. He then wrote with a swift, resounding stroke: "Hey! Take Liu Zinian, who called himself the Hermit of Brocade Clouds; Xu Qiao, the Daoist of Li'an; Jia Dao, the Immortal of the Waves; and Suanzhai, the Master of Wind and Moon. Even these great scholars and ancient philosophers might have used such names, each with their own hidden meaning and different interpretations. You lowly youths, ignorant of the tastes of your predecessors, presumptuously pry into their lewdness—it's utterly pointless! Consider Sima Xiangru of the Han Dynasty, a great scholar of his time. Wenjun and he became lovers through listening to the zither, and no one considered it an affair. Li Jing of the Tang Dynasty, a renowned general of his time, met Hong Fu with a glance, and no one considered it a secret affair. As for the willows of Hong Han and Zhangtai, and the strings of Tao Gu and You Ting, no one in the past ever criticized them. And then there's the mingling of Cui and Zhang, the elegance of Su Shuang, the relationship between Bai Juyi and Fan Su, and Su Shi and Tao Zhi—all recorded in ancient texts, detailed and vivid. How can words fully capture it all! The appearance of beautiful women in the world, the encounters of refined scholars..." Those of that time, like the unicorn, phoenix, sweet spring, and fragrant herbs, are not commonplace in ordinary neighborhoods. Thus, Green Pearl and Jade lost themselves for others; Flying Swallow and Jade Ring lost others for themselves. Talent, skill, and love cannot coexist. As the ancients said, "Beautiful women often have short lives," this is what it means. With my own pure talent and beautiful appearance, I have a good beginning and a good end, far surpassing all those before me. The desire for romance is something all people yearn for, yet it is restrained by propriety and law. Moreover, the world is so pedantic... People of low character, neglecting true insight and striving for refinement, are bound by all forms of impropriety. Ha! Their hearts are heavy, their minds preoccupied—can even one person truly let go of this matter? I do not believe so. Alas! Those who confine themselves to rigidity and restrict their own freedom often carry this resentment into their lives—truly laughable. I now present a poem for your critique. Comment: Gentlemen, do not laugh at Zheng
Yuanhe; he found much pleasure amidst the flowers and willows.
The dance ends, the jade plate softens with spring's chill; the song ceases, the silk fan glows with wine's flush.
The moon is pale by the latticed window, all is quiet; the wind rustles through the silk curtains, half the night has passed.
On this fine night, meeting a beauty of unparalleled grace, I ask you, what is your heart truly thinking?
After the poem was written, the crowd said, "We are but foolish lads, and we humbly beg your forgiveness." Someone said, "Your extraordinary encounter with Yan Guo and your eventual union must have inspired countless beautiful poems. We earnestly hope you will not hesitate to share them with us, so that we may understand and follow the path, and not be bound by convention. This would be a great help from you." He swayed his whisk, seemingly pleased, and wrote again, "I have indeed written a hundred poems, but I do not easily show them to others. Since you all wish to continue this harmonious exchange, like high mountains and flowing water, why not offer one more?" The poem reads: "I imagine the boudoir
is too secluded, so I come to wander along the flower-lined path.
Autumn waters gather, holding a charming smile; spring mountains congeal, holding idle sorrow.
The sound of jade pendants shatters on narrow golden lotus feet; a gentle breeze from a silk fan softens jade shoots.
She calls out to her waiting child, who stands nearby; she flits at bees and butterflies, feigning shyness.
It seems as if we had a vow from a previous life, for why does she fall in love at first sight? She is
too lazy to answer questions, only laughing wildly; she is repeatedly urged to drink, her eyes never leaving my side."
I also fear suspicion and future slander, yet I desperately try to steal the moment.
A moment's separation leaves my soul longing, and every night I must guard against nightmares.
Our hearts were sworn in on the day of our vow, why bother with words to express our feelings?
I will wait until the moon rises above the plum blossoms, not until the flowers have fallen and the candle is low. I will
only brew fine tea for elegant discussions, and compose new poems with beautiful verses. I will quietly scoff at vulgar people who sleep among flowers and 　　willows
, oblivious to the setting moon and the passing stars. I will offer 　　jade cups to those who are drunk and unrestrained, and entice them to sing Xiao Qing's poems again. I will leave some leftover wine for you to drink, and pretend to trim the dim lamp to conceal my true feelings. 　　The soft jade strings resonate with sorrow, and the warm fragrance of perfume lingers in my ear. 　　When will the moon over the West Chamber shine again, illuminating our sweet reunion? 　　The lamp dims, the screen deepens my longing, and my half-undone robe reveals my soft breasts. 　　I warm the jade-like skin, seeking a fragrant dream, and skillfully bathe in the Huaqing Palace to find extraordinary joy. 　　The lingering fragrance of crimson blossoms is sweet and cold, and the mountains and clouds are disordered. 　　This morning, I will hide my reflection in the mirror, ashamed to see my face after the rain on the Yangtai Terrace. 　　The package, wrapped and heavy, was sent from afar; it seems everything it did breaks my heart. 　　The handkerchief still bears the stains of tears, the precious fruit still carries the fragrance of my sleeve. 　　I am powerless to spare time for calculation, yet how can I bear to forget my feelings? 　　A single night has separated us by three autumns; I hate the 　　endless chirping of the crickets. Since we began our journey together, years have passed, our tender feelings unwavering. 　　Time and mood have always been attuned to each other; I foresee any impulsiveness or suspicion. 　　You sold your hairpin to hide it from your mother, and had someone deliver the item to avoid the neighbor's concubine. 　　It's difficult to be with the ladies of Zhangtai; I recite eight lines of poetry under the moon and in the wind. 　　The golden cup is empty as night deepens; I laugh as I extinguish the silver lamp and enter the bridal chamber. 　　Together we make vows of love, each expressing our sorrow and desolation. 　　The fragrance fills the warm bed curtains; the rain has stopped, and the butterfly dream lingers 　　on the balcony. The rooster crows loudly as we revel in our wine; the sun rises high above the clouds. 　　Suddenly, the winnowing basket falls to the ground, like a bird struck by an arrow, tumbling and leaping about. Everyone is astonished, but no one can fathom its meaning. It lasted for a long time before stopping. 　　Liu placed the winnowing basket on the table and offered incense again, saying, "Just now, you expounded on the beauty of the poems and the precision of the subject matter, which we greatly admired. But the Patriarch suddenly became furious. Is it because of our faults, or is it because the poems are not continued?" He shook the winnowing basket again and quickly wrote, "My spirit is not the evil ghost of the previous winnowing basket, but the great Confucian scholar Suanzhai Guan of the Yuan Dynasty. I am angry that his heretical words misled the upright scholars of the Ming Dynasty. When I overturned him, I ordered his followers to beat him and flee." The crowd said, "According to Mr. Zheng's comment, he was in harmony with the scholar, but the scholar looked down on him as if they were worlds apart. What does this mean?" 　　He wrote again on the winnowing basket, "Alas, how could this be! I have seen the words of Yuanhe. He was a ghost who was trapped in the mire. Even in death, he was still earnestly advising people to correct their mistakes. One can imagine how he cultivated his mind and conduct when he was alive. Men and women are Yin and Yang; husband and wife are Heaven and Earth. Therefore, Yin and Yang are in order and creation is completed, Heaven and Earth are in their proper places and all things are formed." The flourishing of all things is the foundation of the Five Constant Virtues and the source of humanity's ultimate goal. It is the source of rectifying the inner chambers, governing the family and the state, and transforming the world; pure customs and righteousness all originate from it. Moreover, the Book of Poetry, with its "Guan Ju" as its crowning verse, is a testament to the sages' efforts to rectify the origins, clarify the source, establish the ultimate human standard, ensure harmony in human relationships, and illuminate the laws for all ages. Furthermore, it is summed up in one phrase: "No evil thoughts," ensuring that people are upright and unbiased, and orderly and without disorder. Later generations, foolish men and women, defy this, indulging in lust and drowning in music, muddying the source and polluting the flow. Blinded minds and clouded knowledge, wickedness takes root in the heart, and depravity manifests outwardly. Month by month, day by day, they are corrupted, their habits insatiable, even to the point of defying heaven and reason, killing themselves and destroying their families—such cases are numerous! Should we not be afraid? Should we not be cautious? People today, seeking a spouse, only consider talent and beauty, never mentioning chastity and virtue—how lamentable! Now I, your humble servant, offer this short poem to condemn the corrupt and wicked; I earnestly hope you will not scoff, for I am most grateful.” He then wrote a poem in response: “ 　　You have come to inquire, wanting to know what has happened. I must labor with pen and paper, for I have not yet begun to compose. 　　Ancient tyrants were licentious, and today's dissolute men. Their deaths are due to this, and the downfall of nations is truly caused by them. 　　Meixi defied the laws of heaven, and Daji initiated the criminal code. Cheng Tang conquered Xia Jie, and Zhou Wu attacked Chaoge. 　　Feiyan became the root of treachery, and Yang Guifei caused disaster. The six officials harbored ambiguity, and the four seas were engulfed in war. 　　Sister-in-law and maidservant sang of round fans, and neighboring concubines broke their shuttles.” Ruan Xian was ashamed to borrow a horse, Geng Xin playfully inscribed a poem about geese. 　　Each detail is daunting to count, each pattern stubbornly unblemished. Family reputation tarnished, nation's progress jeopardized. 　　Those of the past were virtuous, but the present is even more erroneous. Blindly following custom, recklessly caught in the storms. 　　Several times due to wealth, helplessly indulging in idle wandering. Youth wasted on career, daydreaming of a fleeting dream. 　　Meeting a goddess at Luopu, encountering a Chu maiden at Wushan. Hearing her sweet and melodious song, watching her graceful and charming dance. 　　Exotic treasures truly worthy of appreciation, rare gems dared not be readily accepted. A slight transgression might incur blame, a temporary separation fears wasted time.

Silent as if indulging in wine, dazed as if possessed by a nightmare. Wild foxes, stinking creatures, barbarian swarms.
Musk and orchids hang in the room, makeup gleams on the body. Eyebrows painted with burning ink, teeth ground with salt.
Strange creatures in the land of black-clad women, white snails transformed into spirits. A lone figure in a bright era, a rat in a lotus leaf.
Joy and anger shift in an instant, sorrow and happiness change in a flash. Sincere heart twists and turns, vows flow like a river.
A cup of wine hides a trap, a screen conceals a net. Nine officials secure the tile market, eight formations are arranged with jingling bridles.
Sweet words bind lives, bewitching souls in warm blankets. Calling greedy ants for honey, luring moths to the lamp.
Feigning anger to bind, coquettish cries and flattery. Setting up traps to openly extort, secretly scheming
to gain advantage. Don't boast of being stingy, losing money easily leads to reconciliation. Frequent visits are never too little, giving is never too much.
Painted walls to fill hunger with cakes, a raincoat to ward off the wind. The burning of wormwood brings heartache, the blowing of an axe is caressed by the hand.
Snow fills the crystal well, gold melts in the iron pot. All for the sake of livelihood, not for the sake of silken threads.
The cuckoo urges the return of the new cuckoo, the old woman of Chu scatters. The clouds over Yangtai are cold and indifferent, the road to Wuxia is rugged.
My spirit is desolate and exhausted, my hair is gray and thin. My purse is empty, my body is afflicted with a serious illness.
Can poverty be replaced by extravagance? Can decline be reversed? My body is like bamboo battered by rain, my face like a frosty eggplant.
I eat simple porridge, I walk on foot in tattered boots. My parents weep with sorrow, my wife sighs at the lack of salt.
The sun and moon are like shooting arrows, time is like a cart passing over a hill. Youthful years are hard to regain, let us not waste this prosperous age.
Good advice should be heeded, honest words should be forgiven even if scolded. I will devote myself to the wisdom of sages, and strive to emulate the teachings of Qiu Ke.
After the poems were annotated, the crowd said, "We junior scholars, unaware of right and wrong, were almost seduced by wickedness. Fortunately, we heard your esteemed instruction, which has allowed us to see the sun through the thick clouds. However, your words, condemning this matter as if it were a grave evil, and avoiding a latrine, are so detailed and precise, as if you had personally witnessed it. We wonder if someone told you this, or if you yourself experienced it? We beg for your further instructions." He hesitated, looking ashamed. The crowd burst into laughter again, and he overturned his basket. Then, the smoke from the riverbank faded, the moon set over the western wall, and the guests dispersed. Later, it
was said that he had bound the poems of the two immortals into a book and often showed it to people as a refined pastime. It is said that this story is still circulated in the Jianghuai region to this day.
A Midday Dream at the Post Station
In the autumn of the Xinmao year of the Chenghua reign (1441), wandering spirits and rabble, including Bo'erhu, a mob of dogs and sheep, traveled westward from Yandai to the border regions of Yansui and Ningxia, where they were ravaged by locusts. This caused hardship for the army and only slightly alleviated the suffering of the people. However, the granaries on the border were completely emptied. In the Renchen year (1462), Li Gong, the Minister of Revenue from Dongmeng, was ordered to oversee the grain storage in various border areas. In autumn, he arrived in Yansui and traveled westward, lodging at Pingyi Fort. The next morning, he continued westward for about forty-five li when several hundred cavalrymen came to meet him. Their leader dismounted and reported, "Commander Gao Xiang, the garrison commander of Poluo Fort, has come to receive you." Li Gong smiled, rose, and ordered his guards to follow.
After traveling another ten li or so, he saw a large mountain rising abruptly to the west, with its branches extending from south to east, forming a protective circle. To the north, the bright sands stretched to the horizon, disappearing into the distance, and a river flowed from northwest to southeast. Between the two mountains, clouds, like a smoke-filled canopy, lingered and did not disperse. The Duke pointed and asked, "Where is this?" Xiang spurred his horse and replied, "Bolo Fortress." When they reached the smoke tent, it was located east of the main mountain, north of the branch mountain, and on the edge of a large slope. The Duke called to Xiang, "You thought this was Brolo Fortress, but now it's just an empty mountain." Xiang said, "This is the northwest mountain site, where there's a flag; that's Brolo Fortress." The Duke said, "How can there be a fortress there, and a smoke tent here?" Xiang said, "This isn't a smoke tent, but the old fortress where Xu Jinglu, the current commander of Yansui, defeated the enemy. The smoke from that day condensed on the fortress and hasn't dissipated to this day." The Duke said, "Ah, how strange!" He then led his horse closer to the fortress to observe it.
The fortress was situated on a slope about the size of a palm, about sixty or seventy paces long from east to west, and about thirty paces wide from north to south. The main mountain embraced it to the west, the branch mountain ran to its south, a sandbar arched its east, and a long river flowed around its north. Remains and broken arrowheads were scattered all over the sand and grass. The Duke sighed and said, "I imagine the soldiers there must have been few, for the fortress is so small!" Xiang replied, "Only 1,500 cavalry." The Duke then asked, "How many bandits were there?" Xiang replied, "About 240,000 to 250,000." The Duke laughed and said, "This is absurd. There is no such thing in the world. It must be a misrepresentation spread by others." Xiang said, "My father, Feng, was defeated here with Sun Yue and died in battle. I was with my father at the time, and we were pursued by the bandits. We hid on the summit of the Western Mountain. I could clearly see the enemy and the bandits locked in combat, and I could clearly hear their conversations. Only I know the details of this matter." The Duke said, "You should tell me the whole story." Then they rode off side by side.
Xiang said, “Since last autumn, the border wars have subsided somewhat. At that time, Eunuch Fu, Marquis Zhu of Funing, and Censor Wang were on their way back from their campaign when suddenly a band of 240,000 to 250,000 rebels, led by their chieftains Borhu, Heluochu, and Qiagaslan, entered the country in three routes to plunder. General Sun Yue, leading 3,000 cavalry, happened to encounter the bandits here. The terrain offered no respite, so he launched a fierce battle, but his forces were outnumbered and the bandits took advantage of the situation. At that time, Xu Jinglu captured 1,500 elite cavalrymen and was traveling along the border, also near Polu Fort. Hearing that Sun Yue was under heavy attack, he said to his men, ‘If we try to recruit troops from our town now, it will be too late. In war, speed is of the essence. You all…’” Known for his loyalty and bravery, today is the perfect time for a true man to serve his country and make a name for himself. I will lead the charge for you all; those who lag behind will be executed. All obeyed. In two hours, they had traveled eighty li when they encountered Sun Yue, who had been defeated by the enemy. The wounded and dead were scattered and the dust clouded the sky. The enemy's formation stretched for tens of li. Jing Lu ordered, "The enemy is arrogant after their victory, and their formation is large and chaotic. Today's battle is truly a cause for celebration!" He ordered his men to take up short weapons, roll up their flags, and charge straight in. They advanced several square flanks from the enemy's rear, their movements as swift as lightning and as powerful as the wind. Jing Lu's men and horses were all red with blood; the enemy could not withstand them and thus retreated. Sun Yue was then able to enter the fortress.
Jing Lu formed a circular formation. The enemy, based in the middle, launched a combined attack. From the beginning of the battle until late at night, they fought dozens of battles. The enemy soldiers died because of their loyalty, but they did not manage to get a single arrow from the Jinglu. The enemy leaders held a meeting on the summit of the western mountain and executed one of their disobedient followers in front of the battle lines to encourage their discipline. They then divided their forces into thirteen formations, each with over twenty thousand cavalry, to defend against the Jinglu. With a single command, each formation would advance and fight, rotating in shifts, intending to prevent the Jinglu from resting and thus catch them off guard. This continued without rest for half a day and a night. When
they launched another attack at dawn, the enemy, knowing their plans and strength were exhausted, sent a leader who could speak Chinese with a hundred or so cavalrymen to approach the formation and request an audience with their commander. Jinglu spurred his horse forward, and his entourage tried to follow, but Jinglu shouted them back. Standing a few dozen paces from the enemy lines, he stopped and said, "You barbarians wish to see me, what is your purpose?" The chieftain replied, "I am a minor commander of the Hening Prince's family. During the Tianshun era, Grand Tutor Esen brought me back, and now I am the Kai Prince, commanding 20,000 scouts. The Crown Prince Bo'erji sent me to ask, 'Who are you to be so audacious? Leading a few suicidal soldiers, you dare to fight against our 200,000 to 300,000 elite troops. My Crown Prince wanted to send a large force to attack, but it would be a waste of these horses, and killing you all would be pointless.'" "Give all the horses to the Crown Prince, and release all your lives. If you don't comply, you won't be able to fly away even if you want to." Jing Lu laughed and said, "You filthy dog, who are you trying to intimidate with such boastful words? If you fight for dozens of days and still don't leave, you're a true hero." The chieftain replied, "Your Tiger-Headed General, leading three thousand Black-Haired Soldiers, has been bullying us on the border for over ten years. Yesterday, I wiped them out in one fell swoop. Where can you few possibly go?"
Jing Lu laughed again and removed his helmet to show it to him. The chieftain jumped off his horse in surprise and, along with his entourage, knelt on the ground, saying, "Yan was defeated yesterday, how come he's here again today?" Jinglu said, "I was promoted to General Jinglu three days ago and am now garrisoning Camel City. The one you fought yesterday was the newly appointed General Sun, the guerrilla commander. If I had led the Black Hair Army yesterday, you scoundrel would be dead again." Their chieftain laughed and said, "I thought I wouldn't listen to that Yan yesterday, but it turns out I wasn't. Now that Heaven and Yan are above, I dare not speak idle words. I beg Yan not to stoop to his level, but just give me six horses to take to the three chieftains. We Dada people don't want to be ungrateful; we'll surely receive six horses in return." "If you don't listen to me, I'm afraid Yan won't be able to relieve himself." Jinglu said, "You scoundrel, you claim to be from the Celestial Empire, yet you know nothing of the law. Go back and tell that scoundrel that I'm just looking for some amusement; let him come and attack." His chieftain, frustrated and resentful, left.
A short while later, dozens of enemy cavalry emerged from each camp, scattered like stars, circling Jinglu's camp, sometimes advancing, sometimes retreating, sometimes attacking, sometimes shooting. Jinglu ordered his soldiers to sit still, sharpening their swords and arrows, without firing a single shot. He then said to the crowd, "If we don't give this bandit a good beating, his courage won't be broken." He then ordered his interpreter to dress in fine clothes, like a general, and then spoke in a foreign language to the crowd, saying: "Wanna Xishan..." Above, beneath the wolf-head banner, stood the red-clad Borhu, a woman leading a band of unruly lackeys who only knew how to herd sheep. "Now open the northwest corner of the camp, let's all rush forward, capture Borhu to sacrifice to the banner, and seize some horses for everyone's enjoy!" Before the words were finished, her attacking cavalry, cursing, sped off to report. The Jinglu, knowing the enemy was agitated, deployed their forces in a state of readiness. The enemy then selected five or six thousand elite armored soldiers, each wielding short weapons, forming a single unit, and descended like an iron mountain. The Jinglu laughed, saying, "The enemy has outmaneuvered me!" He then ordered his bows and arrows to be concealed behind shields, which in turn concealed his spears and cannons, and he crouched in his armor. He outwardly appeared to underestimate the enemy, but in reality, he intended to catch them off guard.
The bandits remained motionless even after approaching within twenty paces. When their weapons clashed, they suddenly sprang into action. Archers drew their bows from both sides and unleashed a volley of arrows; shield bearers charged at their flanks; cannons and muskets rained down like bullets striking a wall, every shot hitting its mark. Those in front could not escape, while those behind pressed forward relentlessly. In an instant, they trampled each other, their flesh and blood piled high like a mound. Jinglu ordered, "Anyone who dares to pursue the bandits will be beheaded!" He then sent his valiant general, Bai Daoshan, to capture the bandit leader, dressed in red. He was imprisoned under Bo'erhu's command as a Pingzhang (a high-ranking official). Jinglu ordered his arm severed, his hair cut off, his head smeared with filth, and his release to humiliate him.
Bo'erhu, unable to bear the humiliation, roared and charged down the mountain, personally facing the arrows and stones, and commanded his thirteen battalions to advance. Jinglu proclaimed to his troops: "In the past, Zhang Xun and Xu Yuan defended Suiyang with three thousand men, their righteousness praised throughout history. They were among the six kings who honored them, and their sacrifices continue to this day." "In our current battle, with no city to rely on and half our troops gone, if we are of one mind, the victory of the expedition will be achieved right now!" The soldiers cheered, each one capable of fighting a hundred men. The enemy dismounted and fought desperately, crouching low to their armor and exchanging arrows, grappling with each other. The dead and wounded lay scattered on the ground, arrows piled high like firewood, making it impossible for anyone to move. They fought like this for three hours before retreating, but ultimately failed to capture a single enemy soldier.
At night, Jinglu said to his men, "The enemy is exhausted and will surely raid our camp under the cover of darkness." He then ordered several dozen artillerymen to lie in ambush a hundred paces away. At midnight, indeed, more than a thousand enemy soldiers came gagged. Once inside their ambush, the cannons fired simultaneously, and the camp erupted in commotion. The enemy fled in terror, losing their way, and many fell off cliffs or into the water and drowned. When they emerged again at dawn, the mountains were silent, and not a single enemy soldier remained. The soldiers were overjoyed and wanted to form ranks to enter the fortress. Jinglu angrily shouted, "Anyone who dares to move will be executed!" He then ordered them to stand ready for battle. At the hour of Si (9-11 AM), suddenly a yellow dust rose into the sky, and bandits poured out from the ravines of the four mountains, forming hundreds of groups that surrounded Jinglu's army three times. Everyone praised Jinglu as a divine strategist. However, the bandits dared not fight recklessly, and only held their positions. Jinglu ordered his soldiers to play hand-to-hand combat to show their leisure. When one soldier fell, both armies laughed.
At night, they saw the enemy camp lighting fires in the distance, with fires echoing from near and far. Jinglu laughed and said, "The enemy has fled. If I had been given 50,000 elite troops, today would have been a great victory." At the fourth watch, they heard a great commotion from the enemy camp, and Jinglu raised cannons and beat drums as if to pursue them. The enemy then fled in disarray, and the local people of the two mountains chased after them with white sticks. They collected the felt, furs, clothing, armor, bows, and arrows abandoned by the enemy for days.
Earlier, when Jinglu encountered the enemy on the border, he was short of food and water. He had two liters of fine flour, but he could not bear to eat it alone, so he scattered it in the wind to show his camaraderie. The besieged troops then shared the flesh and blood of horses to satisfy their hunger and thirst. After the enemy retreated, they returned to the fort in triumph. His grandson, Yue, greeted them with a bow and wept, saying, "You have achieved great merit in defeating the enemy, while I bear the blame for the defeat. The difference in our joy and sorrow is like heaven and earth." Jinglu dismounted, took Yue's hand, and laughed, saying, "My merit is your merit; your fault is also my fault." He then shared all the captured and executed men with him. Gao Xiang recounted everything in detail, and Lord Li listened attentively.
During their journey, they arrived at Boro Fort. Upon entering the lodging, Lord Li was shocked and exclaimed in dismay. Without changing his clothes or washing his face, he called to Xiang again and asked, "After this battle, what promotion or reward has been promised to Jinglu?" Xiang replied, "None. He only reported Sun Yue's defeat and Jinglu's victory to the emperor, so he presented both as evidence." Lord Li was again surprised and asked, "Who was in charge of this matter?" Xiang said, "The initial words of the elders, spoken by the commander-in-chief, were merely a scheme to cover up their defeat." Li Gong then clutched his chest, looked up, and cried out, "Heaven and Earth, how could I have imagined that in this glorious age, the tragedy of Qin and Yue would be repeated today!" He then angrily wrote a poem on the wall, threw the pen to the ground, sighed deeply, and went to bed. His poem reads: "
At sunset, when I halted my horse on the battlefield, I pitied the snipe and the clam locked in their struggle.
The masses risked their lives to capture the dragon, but I alone protected my army and returned from the tiger's mouth.
To escape death is a fortunate event, but to be outnumbered is the mark of a true man.
Alas, the Heavenly Gate is ten thousand miles away; who will speak of right and wrong to the one with double pupils?
" As he slept soundly, he dreamt of two people, one in a black hat and white robes, the other in military armor, who bowed before him and said, "Sir, you are a great scholar; why did you act so hastily, almost causing us to be guilty?" Li Gong was startled and looked at them, saying, "Who are you, sir? And what guilt do you speak of?" The old man said, “We are the spirits of this mountain and river. Because of your righteous anger, which reached the heavens, we were moved to the presence of the Nine Heavens' Envoy. Having read your poems and detailed your loyal deeds in pacifying the barbarians, he said that we failed to uphold the righteous and suppress the wicked, and that good and evil went unpunished. He wished to punish us according to the laws of Heaven. We told the Envoy, ‘When the barbarians heard that Sun Yue was besieged, they no longer cared about life and even wanted to sacrifice themselves for their country. We rushed to the Heavenly Court, and were fortunate enough to be sent by the Six Jia and Nine Envoys to assist them. The Supreme Lord also blew golden light, which transformed into smoke and clouds to protect our weapons. Otherwise, how could we have defeated 250,000 strong barbarians with only 1,500 cavalry, killing and wounding thousands without losing a single soldier? Moreover, the smoke and clouds from yesterday have not yet dispersed, as you can see.’ The Envoy did not immediately believe us and imprisoned us. He first investigated the smoke and clouds, then checked the Heavenly Court, and the results were consistent. Only then did he release us from our crimes.” "
Li Gong was overjoyed and said, 'Supporting the good and suppressing the evil is self-evident, but the merit of pacifying the barbarians has brought even greater glory. How can I not feel resentful?' The old man laughed and said, 'Throughout history, many famous generals, due to excessive killing, rarely achieved a good end. Those who are not truly benevolent often have no descendants with far-reaching achievements, and some even lose their lives. Xu Jinglu was a benevolent general, but he only lived to be fifty-six, had only one son, and was destined to die on the battlefield. Now, the Emperor, mindful of his defense of the country and protection of the people, and his loyalty and filial piety, has specially added a twelve-year period to his lifespan, and bestowed upon him three more sons, allowing him to die peacefully in his bedchamber. Heaven's reward for virtue is silent and difficult to know. From now on, you must not write in anger and offend the gods and spirits.'
Li Gong smiled and awoke. He hurriedly called Gao Xiang, told him about the dream, and ordered Xiang to record it, saying, 'I am old and fear I will not live to see it again. You must remember this matter carefully, and verify it later.'" "Xiang often told people about it.
Later, in December of the eleventh year of the Hongzhi reign, Jinglu died of illness in his bedchamber at the age of sixty-eight, with four sons. However, Gao Xiang often talked about his midday dream at the post station, and this was verified to be exactly the same. Alas, how strange! Therefore, I record this, so as not to forget Li Gong's intention.
A Heart as Firm as Metal and Stone .
During the Zhiyuan reign of the Yuan Dynasty, there was a student named Li Yanzhi in the Songjiang Prefectural School, whose nickname was Yulang. He was only twenty years old and was handsome and elegant. He had a gentle and refined character, and his learning and talent were unparalleled in the school. Officials from all levels of the prefecture and county, as well as the young and old in the villages, all praised him. There was a building in the back garden of his school." The third level, soaring into the clouds, is inscribed with the plaque "Huijing" (Meeting Scenery). Those who ascend it can see the surrounding rivers and mountains in the distance, and the entire city and its markets nearby, all within sight. The walls of the gardens are adjacent to alleyways, the residences of officials and courtesans, clustered like beehives in a circular pattern. Yanzhi, however, would always be reading upstairs during the summer months.
One day, after a late autumn rain, the sounds of singing and music from outside the walls, carried by a gentle breeze, continued to drift, like celestial music, like the clear, refreshing air. Overwhelmed by the pleasant atmosphere, Yanzhi invited his companions to drink upstairs. One friend suddenly laughed and said, "This is exactly what they mean by 'hearing the sound but not seeing the form.'" Yanzhi replied, "If one sees the form, one cannot appreciate the sound, and thus the music becomes unclear." Everyone agreed that his argument was apt. Another friend said, "This argument is profound and insightful; it's a truly excellent topic. Everyone should compose a poem. If a poem is not completed, the penalty will be a certain number of cups of wine from the Golden Valley." "Then Yanzhi first recited:
A cool breeze rustles in the corner of the sky, the rain on the banana leaves by the window has ceased, and the clear sound has stopped.
A vast breeze sweeps across the azure sky, and the sweltering heat suddenly enters the autumn light.
Leisurely climbing the pavilion, I lean on the railing, the vast rivers and mountains stretching out before my eyes.
Looking down at the bustling city, I feel the world is small;
looking up at the Dipper, I feel the cold wind. I pause to contemplate, and a celestial melody arrives.
The strings and pipes are numerous and the music is fast and fast, the sounds lingering and mesmerizing.
Sitting alone in silence, I judge for myself, this is no ordinary sentiment. The cries
of the monkeys and geese in the gorges are mournful ." There is a unique sentiment within it.
At first, it seems like celestial music playing on the eaves, or like the sound of an autumn pestle striking a water clock. The sound shatters
like ice shards being poured towards the moon, or like scattered glass pieces being scattered by the wind.
A madman, seeing this, opens his heart, inviting friends to share the same theme and raise a cup together.
Let not the clouds and rain of Wushan separate us, for the clear song sometimes crosses the threshold of humanity.
The charming hear the sound and their feelings are already apparent, while the rustic meet and fall deeply in love.
The rustic and the charming have different interests, not just in hearing the sound or meeting.
After reciting the poem, as the friends passed it around, suddenly the cook ran to announce, "Master Yutang has arrived!" Yanzhi hurriedly took the poem, straightened his clothes, and went to greet him. He carried it upstairs. Master Yutang, seeing the table, smiled and said, "Gengliang said, 'This old man is leisurely, his refined interest is not shallow.'" "Then they continued to sit and drink. Yanzhi, fearing his friends would expose his actions, feigned changing clothes, crumpled the poem into a ball, and threw it against the wall. They then sat back down and drank, enjoying themselves until dusk before parting.
Unexpectedly, the place where the poem was thrown was the residence of the former courtesan, Granny Zhang. Granny Zhang had only one daughter, seventeen years old, named Lirong. She was born with eyebrows as dark as ink, and was also known as Cui Mei Niang. She was intelligent and skillful, not only skilled in arts and needlework, but also excelling in calligraphy, painting, poetry, and prose, surpassing all her contemporaries. She was truly the most beautiful woman in the region. However, she was devoted to her husband and did not associate with the world of courtesans. People could spend hundreds of dollars but could not even catch a glimpse of her. Behind her house, she built a small building facing Huijing, which she called "Duijing," her private retreat."
When Yan Zhi threw the poem down, Zhi Li Rong was sitting upstairs. Suddenly, she saw the paper ball fall and ordered her maid to pick it up and examine it. She was both surprised and envious, reciting the poem repeatedly, unable to put it down, saying, "This poem is no ordinary work; it must be the handwriting of Li Yu Lang. Besides, we haven't even discussed marriage yet. If Heaven takes pity on me, I wish to marry him."
The next day, she used a piece of Yue silk to write a poem in the same rhyme scheme on it and threw it back from the same spot. Yan Zhi happened to be passing by and found it. Reading it, he laughed and said, "I've heard of a famous courtesan named Zhang Cui Mei, whose will is fickle, and whose talent and beauty are extraordinary. I've always longed to meet her, but haven't had the chance. Seeing her writing, I'm certain it's her." The poem reads: "
A cool morning breeze, a sweet sleep, I'm too lazy to rise. The neighbor's banquet has just ended.
I rise, too weak to approach my dressing table, a lotus flower reflected in the icy mirror.
Layers of floral shadows climb the carved balustrade, my slender frame makes my dancing sleeves seem too wide.
I idly seek out the crickets beneath the fragrant steps, my golden lotus feet seem afraid of the cold green moss."
Alone by Taihu Lake, lost in thought, a jade ball of poetry suddenly descends from the sky.
Dragons and snakes dance, splashing through the clouds, each page a testament
to longing. Turning it over and over, carefully analyzing it, one finally understands true affection.
If not for the secret promise from the jade-like youth, who else could possess such purity?
From childhood, no horse was ever tethered before my door, and the pear blossoms never fell in the night rain.
Let the fishing boats drift freely on Wuling, the fallen petals willingly flowing eastward.
A half-rolled-up handkerchief, now open again, holds the memory of holding the jade cup in those days.
I often see the shadow of flowers moving beyond the wall; when will I see my beloved again?
I often hear of her name and feel as if I have seen her; though our marriage is not yet sealed, my heart is already filled with longing.
Poetry naturally expresses deep feelings, and the human heart can be understood as clearly as a person's face.
After reading this, Yanzhi climbed the ancient steps of Taihu Lake and gazed upon it. There, he found Lirong sitting alone on the upper floor. Upon seeing each other, their souls were captivated, and they dared not utter a word for a long time. Yanzhi said, "Judging from your demeanor, are you not Zhang Cuimei?" Lirong smiled and replied, "Indeed. Moreover, after examining your excellent writings, if I thought you were Li Yulang, I fear you would have nowhere to escape." They looked at each other and laughed heartily. Lirong said, "I have long heard of your talent and conduct, yet you have chosen many suitors, but only one out of a hundred has been successful. Why is that?" Yanzhi said, "If I possessed your talent and beauty, how dare I speak of choosing?" They then shared their feelings and vowed to become husband and wife before parting.
Yanzhi returned home and told his parents the truth. His father said, "She was a prostitute, but her chastity is commendable. She should never enter the household of a scholar to serve our ancestors and continue our lineage." Thus, he did not agree. Yanzhi then sought help from relatives and friends, pleading with his parents in every way possible, but they still refused. Nearly a year later, Yanzhi's studies were ruined, his spirit gradually deteriorated, and he became as if drunk and delirious. Lirong also became haggard because of this and vowed never to marry another. His father had no choice but to send a matchmaker and prepare the six rites to betroth him.
As the appointed time approached, Arutai, the councilor of Zhiben Road, was about to leave for the capital. At that time, Bayan was the Right Chancellor, wielding immense power. Every official whose term was about to end had to present ten thousand taels of silver as a tribute; those who failed to do so were severely dismissed. However, Arutai had served in office for nine years, exhausting his purse and failing to even reach one-tenth of the required amount. Desperate, he consulted his subordinates. One suggested, "The Right Chancellor has amassed a mountain of wealth, but his heart is already weary; what he values most are his daughters and precious toys. If we were to select two or three beautiful and talented courtesans from various prefectures, it would only cost a few hundred taels of silver. With some adornment, it would still only cost a few hundred more. If we could obtain them and present them to him, the Right Chancellor would surely accept them."
Arutai was overjoyed and ordered his subordinates, acting on the Right Chancellor's orders, to conduct a public selection process in various prefectures. Two women were chosen, with Lirong being the most sought-after. Meanwhile, Yanzhi and his son, running around trying every possible avenue, squandered their entire fortune and ultimately could not escape their fate.
One day, the authorities detained the mother and daughter, forcing them to board a boat. Knowing she could not escape, Li Rong sent Yan Zhi a poem on a scrap of paper: "Do not blame
Heaven for death or separation, for this body has already pledged itself to the Yellow Springs.
I wish my beloved to take care and not to hope, for we will continue this bond in the next life.
" From then on, she refused to eat or drink. Zhang, the old woman, wept, saying, "Your death is a testament to your righteousness; I will surely suffer the same fate." Li Rong then ate a little. After the boat departed, Yan Zhi followed on foot, his sorrow moving all who passed. Whenever they encountered a boat that needed to rest, he would wail all night, sleeping on the water's edge.
This continued for nearly two months until the boat reached Linqing. Yan Zhi, having traveled over three thousand li by night and night, had calloused and cracked feet, no longer recognizable as human. Li Rong peeked through a crack in the plank and, in anguish, died. Zhang, the old woman, tried to revive him, but he only recovered after a long time. The boatman, distressed, replied to Yanzhi, "The reason I am not dead is because my mother has not yet escaped. If she escapes, I will die. My lord, you may return home; do not trouble yourself. Even if you die because of me, it will be of no benefit, only adding to my suffering."
Upon hearing this, Yanzhi looked up to the sky and wept bitterly, throwing himself to the ground and dying instantly. The boatman, pitying him, helped him dig a pit and buried him on the bank. That night, Lirong hanged herself in the boat. Arutai, enraged, said, "I have provided you with fine clothes and sumptuous food, placing you in a position of great wealth, yet you yearn for your humble origins and abandon your life." He then ordered the boatman to strip her of her clothes and throw her body ashore to be burned.
After the fire, her heart remained unchanged. The boatman stepped on it, and suddenly a small figure, the size of a finger, emerged. Washing it with water, it was the color of gold, as hard as stone, with every detail of clothing, eyebrows, and hair—a perfect replica of Li Yanzhi, but unable to speak or move. The boatman took this to Arutai. Tai exclaimed in surprise, "Alas, how wondrous! This is the essence of unwavering resolve, the embodiment of emotion; otherwise, how could such a thing exist?" He sighed in admiration. The crowd said, "If this heart is like this, then that heart must also be like this. Please exhume Li Yanzhi's body and cremate it."
Arutai agreed to the cremate, and indeed, the heart remained unburnt. Within it was a small figure, its form and appearance as unwavering as before, but its adornment and countenance were those of a beautiful woman. Arutai rejoiced, saying, "Although I caused the deaths of these two men, I have obtained this rare treasure. If I present it to the Right Chancellor, even the finest pearls are insignificant." He then placed it in a brocade pouch, sealed it in a fragrant wood box, and inscribed it, "A Treasure of Unwavering Resolve." He then gave Zhang a silver ingot to help with the funeral arrangements for the two men, and provided travel expenses for the women who had come with him to return home. Arutai then hurried on his journey. He
arrived in the capital in no time, met the Right Chancellor, presented him with a letter, and recounted the entire story. The Right Chancellor was overjoyed. He opened the letter and found it was not the original; instead, it was a mass of rotten blood, foul and unbearable to behold. Enraged, the Right Chancellor summoned the judge and said, "He stole another man's wife, each of us facing death. Knowing his crime is grave, he used this filthy substance to seduce me, intending to escape punishment." He was then imprisoned. After the judge had finished examining the body, he reported, "The man and woman's love was strong and their will steadfast, yet they could not be together. Thus, a single thought led to this situation. Now that they are united, their love and spirit are restored, and it is plausible that they can reunite." The Right Chancellor refused to accept this and ultimately brought Arughtai to justice. Alas! The Tale
of the Four Pieces of Jade
: Miao Yiwen was a fine scholar from Huaiyin. From a young age, he was intelligent and diligent in his studies. As he grew older, he possessed unparalleled talent and handsome appearance, and was chivalrous and impulsive. His family was wealthy, but he was addicted to courtesans and neglected any ambition for officialdom. At the beginning of the Yongle reign, he and about ten others, each carrying heavy goods, went to Shaanxi to make a living. They traveled under the stars and slept in the open, enduring all hardships. It took twenty days to reach their destination, and they stayed at an inn. Among their companions were Jia Qi and Zou Qi, who were closest to Yiwen. They shared meals and lodging, and both were also skilled in poetry. It was early autumn, and although the three were traveling, their spirit of poetry remained undiminished. Yiwen said, "The mountains and rivers here are beautiful, reminiscent of the Han and Tang dynasties. Fortunately, we have some free time. May I take you two brothers on a trip?" Jia and Zou replied, "Yes."
The next day, they brought wine and food, accompanied by servants, and leisurely traveled, composing poems as they went. They stopped at the majestic mountains, the Li, Ba, and Chan rivers, the slopes of Xiliu and Changping, the pools of Kunming and Taiye, the palaces of Mingguang and Sheyuan, the terraces of Baosi and Bailiang, and visited almost all the other gardens, tombs, temples, and shrines. Whenever they came across the ruins of a former palace, they would always compose poems in remembrance. His writings are magnificent, and his two friends' works are exquisite. It's a pity I can't write them all down; I'll just record a few.
On the Hot Spring:
Looking west from Chang'an, the evening clouds are sorrowful; the palace rests on empty mountains, the grass and trees are autumnal.
The spring water is still and flowing, just as before; no one is there to reveal the jade-like chicken head.
On Ying'e Pool:
Broken clouds hang across the trees, the ancient platform is desolate; a thousand years have passed, and the events are vague.
Only the moon over the pool remains, for whom does it shine quietly on a clear night?
On Bao Si Terrace:
A stream of wild water embraces the flowing sand; idle clouds drift by the terrace.
Back then, I only hoped to have a laugh; how could I bear the endless laughter throughout the ages? On
Epang Palace:
The wicked Qin children suffered a perilous fate; the Hangu Pass was breached again, its momentum
like a thunderbolt. Pity the blood of the people of the six kingdoms, all turned to ashes in Xianyang.
His three sons always passed through Tongchang Gate, and the White Horse Temple outside the gate was their lunch place. The abbot, whose origins are unknown, was called the Venerable Heguang, over sixty years old, and very strict in observing the rules. He was also adept at flattery and ingratiation, and many poets and writers associated with him. As they became acquainted through their interactions, they developed a close and intimate relationship.
Later, on the Mid-Autumn Festival, He Guang thought to himself that two or three gentlemen were all at his inn, and on this auspicious occasion, he might feel a longing for them. So he prepared melons, fruits, and wine, and sent his servant to invite them. The three men gladly went. Upon arrival, He Guang greeted them with a smile, saying, "This mountain monk is fortunate; how could you not have abandoned me?" At dusk, they moved their table to the Linliu Pavilion. Although the feast was not lavish, it was tastefully prepared. The four men sat around drinking, and after a while, the moon rose over the eastern mountains, the water and sky merged into one blue, the Milky Way stretched across the sky, and all was silent. He Guang said, “We are scholars, not commoners. We must each compose a poem to see who is better. If no one can finish a poem, we can still enjoy a large cup of wine.” The crowd replied, “As you command.” He Guang continued, “Poetry is good, but short verses cannot fully express the beauty of the scenery. Today, we should compose an ancient poem, using the rhyme of the first one, and then we can all continue and harmonize.” The crowd said, “Good.” He Guang then said, “The host will offer wine and the guests will offer toasts. Mr. Yiwen should propose a theme.” Yiwen pondered and agreed, saying, “The night banquet at the waterside pavilion is called ‘Full of Fragrance.’ He Guang is the host, so I should propose.” He Guang declined, but was unable to refuse, and then recited: “
The illusory body is like foam, life is like a dream, who will pity the wind-blown lamp and the spark of a stone? Without a speck of dust, all worries must be cast aside. Having realized the non-duality of emptiness, do not let form bind you. Alone I lie in the white cloud mountain, beside the ancient green cliff. Water fills the rocky shore, clouds gather at the cave entrance, and a shower of flowers falls before the niche.” Not far from Caoxi, lies a secluded paradise. Only then can one soar into the sea of life, the jeweled moon shining like a precious ornament. Only the blooming plum blossoms tell of the passing of winter; who cares what year it is?
Jia Sheng continued:
A stretch of green mountains, half a forest of yellow leaves, the beautiful autumn scenery is truly delightful. The moss is old and verdant, the courtyard trees are frosted. The Milky Way is heavy with dew, the clear sky is adorned with the moon's radiance. Together we enjoy the fragrant feast on this long, clear night, by the pavilion amidst the reeds. A meeting of minds across three lifetimes, drunkenly discussing the ages, no need for red sleeves before the wine cup. The green mountains are reflected in the clear mirror, reflecting the pure sky. I am delighted that my teacher, a lover of scholars, has composed such a delicate and perilous poem. He asks when we will meet again, promising it will be in two or three years.
Zou Sheng added:
We met like duckweed, hoping for a refined gathering, but parting is difficult and pitiful. The Venerable Hong Shi, we laugh and discard our pearls and jade. The stream around the bank is shimmering blue, the willows along the embankment are green and swaying in the wind. The ancient temple is nestled among red trees, beside the flowing water and small pavilion. A heart filled with the beauty of nature , the scent of forests and springs, all regrets for the past. Flower shadows cover the ground, the bright moon shines high in the sky. Water lilies skillfully part like emerald threads, golden waves ripple like lotus blossoms. This place, so beautiful, is hard to revisit, yet the scenery remains year after year.
A poem in response:
A traveler's heart, the delightful charm of the waterside pavilion, even Chang'e seems to pity me. Youth is fleeting, time should not be wasted lightly. Alas, no flowers to bloom in vain, leaving one momentarily captivated. I secretly think of the beauties of bygone dynasties, how many ancient bushes remain? Yang Guifei of the Tang Dynasty, Zhao Feiyan of the Han Dynasty, their fragrant souls seem to linger. A clear, beautiful night, a deep sorrow embraces the heavens. Scattered jade hairpins and golden geese, dust buries coral and pearl ornaments. A dim lacquer lamp shines alone, the jade box feels like an eternity.
After reciting, a burst of laughter erupts. Jia Sheng, holding two large goblets, filled them to the brim before He Guang and Yi Wen, saying, “While the poems of these two gentlemen are excellent, there seems to be something to discuss. He Guang’s work lacks the elegance of a night banquet at a waterside pavilion. Yi Wen’s words are licentious. We must not overlook them.” Zou Sheng agreed. Yi Wen said, “I cannot drink.” He then ran off the embankment and did not return for a long time.
He Guang instructed his servant boy, “You may tell Mr. Yi Wen to return to his seat; I will not urge him to drink again.” The servant boy searched far and wide but could not find him, much to everyone’s surprise. He then ordered monks, some with torches and others with flamingos, to search the area for more than ten miles, but there was no trace of him. Jia and Zou were greatly distressed, saying, "If we want to fall into the cliff, the mountain is flat; if we want to drown in the water, the river is shallow. There are no villages or houses in the desolate wilderness. Have they been possessed by demons
or devoured by tigers and wolves?" He Guang replied, "I have lived here for over forty years and have never been harmed by demons or tigers." At dawn, they asked fishermen and woodcutters, but they knew nothing; they inquired among farmers and herdsmen, but they found nothing. They reported to officials, posted notices in the market, kowtowed to Buddhas,
and prayed to saints, but for nearly ten days and months, there was still no response. Even the local residents found it strange. A year later, Zou and Jia finished their business and wanted to return home. They wept before the crowd, saying, "The three of us came together, but Wen alone is lost. We have lost a good friend, and we fear he will report us when we get home." The crowd comforted them, saying, "We will prepare wine and food and go to the White Horse Temple again. This will both relieve your worries and allow us to search more carefully."
On the appointed day, they set off along the old road. As they approached the bridge, they saw two people sitting on the sand, drinking. The crowd wondered, "In this remote mountain place, there is such a person adorned with gold and silk, yet no one follows him. Could he be a demon?" Upon closer inspection, they saw a man and a woman. Getting even closer, they realized it was Wenyi and a beautiful woman. Seeing the crowd arrive, Wenyi quickly rose and, hand in hand with the woman, fled. The crowd shouted and chased after them, catching up in less than half a mile. The woman, deeply ashamed, threw herself into the river. The crowd rushed to save her, but it was too late; they were all stunned and at a loss for what to do. Jia and Zou grasped Wenyi's hand, weeping, saying, "You did such a thing without letting me know, almost driving someone to their death. Now you've caused a woman to drown; what should we do?" Wenyi lowered his head and sighed deeply, remaining silent. The crowd said, "Let's take him to the temple and guide him." Upon arriving at the temple, the crowd told He Guang what had happened. He Guang said, "What Wen has done is irreversible; do not press or blame him. But tell me, who is this woman, and why did she follow you?"
Wen bowed his head and did not answer. After much explanation and discussion, he said, "Just now, I was drinking at a waterside pavilion, with my clothes open and belly exposed, and I rode the moonlit stream eastward. After about a mile, I glanced to the left of the water and saw a cassia tree with a flat rock beneath it. I sat on the rock, gazing at the sky and looking down at the clear stream. The dew was serene, and the fragrance of the cassia filled the air; even a fairyland could not compare." He then recited the previous poem several times. Suddenly, a beautiful woman bowed before him and said, "I am Hongya, a maidservant from the He family, who live next door to the temple. My daughter knows that you are avoiding drinking, and has asked me to invite you to my humble abode for tea. Please do not refuse." Moreover, I have been away from home for a long time, and upon hearing the invitation from a young lady, I was unsure whether it was acceptable, but I gladly went immediately.
The woman led me along a winding, secluded path, shaded by trees, for about a mile, until we arrived. The house was magnificent, with white walls and vermilion doors. A young woman waited at the left of the door, smiling as she greeted me, "How lovely is this waterside pavilion!" She then led me inside. The pavilion had several layers, all extremely ornate, with the last small room being the young woman's residence. I remembered her elegant room and felt somewhat embarrassed to enter without reason. The woman said, "It's alright." After the tea was served, she said, "I am originally a country girl named Yu Yu. In my youth, I was pure and fair, and my father called me Four Pieces of Jade. I learned music in my early years and became the wife of a wealthy man named He Lang. Unexpectedly, He Lang is fickle and greedy, traveling far away to do business in Guangdong. Now that he is about to pass five years, he has abandoned me and Hong Ya to guard this empty house. Moreover, I am young and have missed this precious night. How could I not feel the longing of a lonely phoenix? I have been watching you from the neighboring temple for a long time, so I shamefully invited you. If you do not find me shameful, then my filth will be proven, and my pent-up feelings will be fulfilled." I said, "I am fortunate, but what about my two friends?" Yu Yu said, "He Guang and my husband are very close. If my two friends find out, my affair will be ruined." I then agreed.
After a while, a variety of delicacies were prepared, and the maid Hong Ya was ordered to sing to accompany the wine. Then Hong Ya prepared her throat and began to sing, about to produce a beautiful song. Yu Yu smiled and looked at me, saying, "One should not sing old songs to a new bride." She then said to me, "Though I am not clever, I will try my best to be worthy of the title. I will presume to use your previous rhyme and compose 'Man Ting Fang' to describe myself. I respectfully request your permission, and hope you will not laugh at me." Then Yu Yu ordered Hong Ya to sing: "
Sorrow locks my brows, my eyes weary, my heart is broken, who will pity me? Spring and autumn pass in vain, tears are secretly shed. I have leaned against the jade ornaments of Leshan, unable to forget the jade knot. I am ashamed that the double rings are eroded by dust, by the jade tower of wind and moon. I lean against the spoon, lean against my lover's sleeve, pausing before the wine cup. A song of Liangzhou, the clouds and leaves stop in the distant sky. Colorful threads coil around the golden phoenix, Hong Ya laughs as she picks up the flower hairpin. Where is my heartless lover? I spend my years alone on my pillow."
After the song, wine cups were exchanged, and toasts were made. Then the moon sank in the west, the painted candles were lit again, and I spent the night there. The next morning, I intended to return temporarily, but Yu Yu said, "I have already sent someone to inquire at the shop. Once you gentlemen have finished your business, I will bid you farewell. How could I dare to keep you waiting and delay your return? I should not have listened to such words and broken our promises for so long."
Jia asked, "If that is so, where is he staying?" Yi Wen replied, "He lives next door to the temple." He Guang said, "Alas! The area around the temple is desolate, filled with ruined tombs and ancient graves. How could there be such a wealthy family there? It is no doubt that he is a monster. Let's not waste time discussing this further. I only hope that Yi Wen can guide us there, and the truth will be revealed." Yi Wen was desperate and had no choice but to continue.
After walking about a mile east from the temple, they pointed to a small mound beside an ancient tomb and said, "This is it." He Guang laughed and said, "I have found it. This large tomb is the tomb of He Huaizhi, a music official of Emperor Xuanzong of Tang. This small mound is said to be the 'Pipa Tomb.' Comparing it to the village of Ba, also known as 'Four Pieces of Jade,' adding the character 'four jade' to Ba, isn't that a pipa? In the poems he wrote, there are also descriptions of the pipa. The one who married He Lang is actually a relic of Huaizhi." Looking at the site and hearing the words, they were terrified, their faces filled with worry and fear. He Guang said, "No harm, no harm. Now that we have the details, how can we know it's not a blessing?"
He then ordered his disciples to open it. After digging only a foot deep, they found a stone box with the inscription on the lid: "Bestowed by the Emperor of Tianbao." Upon opening it, they found a pipa made of a hundred fragrant herbs and inlaid with seven treasures, with six red ivory and gold-threaded panels, looking brand new, exuding a wonderful fragrance and dazzling brilliance. On the back is a chapter in gold-inked seal script reading "Ode to the Pipa," consisting of 135 rhymes. The ode reads:
In the fourth year of the Tianbao era, the Western Qiang were pacified, and the distant barbarians were pacified and their loyalty was shown.
Diligently, they did not hesitate to travel ten thousand miles, and they re-translated the texts for the distant people.
They crossed mountains and sailed the seas to come to the capital, where the Spring Official and the Court of Imperial Sacrifices welcomed them with gentle etiquette.
A finely patterned horse carries a brocade canopy, a swift-footed horse carries a golden basket. Shouts of "
Long live the Emperor!" resound from the mountains,
a grand imperial audience, banners fluttering high above the five-colored clouds. Banners and pennants, feathered and adorned, are not yet embellished, the imperial court is wide open, 　　the Emperor's face glowing crimson
. Songs of celebration rise and fall, their voices melodious, their tattooed hair styled like monkeys. On the steps and steps, earthen baskets are presented, sufficient to signify the alliance of vassal states. Rare and wondrous 　　treasures beyond description, yellow jade and purple 　　shells, like celestial jade pendants. White jade, green jade, and cinnabar, among them one item is of the finest quality. 　　How magnificent is the scale of its manufacture, its 　　contents contained in a tortoiseshell box, securely sealed. Ice silk flanks a cloud-patterned brocade frame, its fragrance rich and exquisite. 　　Its brilliance dazzling the eye, its form like a grotesque foreign instrument. 　　Named the pipa, its priceless priceless, its round back and straight neck are perfectly formed. 　　Cloud-like light and rosy shadows dance on its patterned surface, its embryonic form undoubtedly a Kunlun tamarisk. 　　A sandalwood trough holds aloeswood, its surface adorned with rhinoceros horn and coral. A spoon-shaped 　　handle, its curved legs like phoenix legs, its moth-like eyebrows and sea-eyes wide open. 　　Four axes, evenly distributed like a flying dragonfly, are skillfully carved from black jade. A gentle 　　touch on the wall grinder reveals a clear, cold pool, its surface like a double-carved parrot, its shape changing with the seasons. 　　A goose's neck curves like a jade fungus stem, its colorful velvet ribbons adorning its fragrant scales. 　　The strings of a kunji are white and lustrous, their ends aligned like star spears. 　　Moist as cold jade, pure as ice, bright as autumn water, clear as jade. 　　It surpasses even the zithers of Qin Tower, and the luan-pole sheng of Zhangtai. 　　The disciples of the Pear Garden, seeing it, are like blind men, arguing and debating its wonders. 　　They sigh and sip, unable to comment, as the year's calendar ends and the year begins. 　　The people are prosperous, all things flourish, the good rain has just ceased, the sun shines brightly. 　　The Holy Emperor bestows a banquet to welcome the heroes, a thousand officials accompany him for a grand feast. 　　Eight seats are set up to welcome the dukes and ministers, the Imperial Kitchen presents apricot syrup. 　　The official in charge of the sacrificial procession presented deer and 　　roe deer as tribute, along with fresh roasted meat and roasted large sacrificial animals. Wine cups were laid out, sacrificial vessels arranged in rows, 　　and ceremonial pots and pans displayed. Officials, adorned with sable hairpins and jade ornaments, stood with hands clasped 　　, on the red steps, amidst the cacophony of phoenix flutes. The roar of dragon bells was powerful and resounding, as the purple- 　　clad peaks prepared jade soup. Dried red dragon meat 　　was served with mustard greens, and sliced carp and mackerel were prepared. Golden platters presented razor clams, and Shang dynasty bottles, Zhou dynasty jars, and Han dynasty jars were displayed. 　　The finest liquors and jade-like liquids were overflowing, and large goblets rippled and swirled in the glass. 　　Coral jewels gleamed on long lampposts, yet the clamor of the nine music horns 　　was barely audible. The imperial edict issued this foreign music, and the music halls, though empty, dared not investigate. 　　The strings were as sharp as iron, too powerful for the dust and flesh to handle. 　　Among them, only He Siling stepped forward, playing without hesitation. 　　He bravely placed the instrument across his chest, standing alone before the imperial swan to present his work. 　　The tuning pegs jingled, a new melody began, the early notes already set. 　　A sweeping motion, like a storm, swept away the 　　clamor, a glance back at the chorus of music like autumn gadflies. As vast as a roaring whale in the ocean, as delicate 　　as a warbling oriole in a secluded valley. As swift as the crashing waves of an ancient ravine, as gentle as the murmuring spring stream. 　　As high as thunder and lightning in the heavens, as low as the buzzing of bees in the darkness. 　　As skillful as the cry of a cuckoo in an old tree, as poignant as the dripping rain of a cold night. 　　As fierce as two drums and gongs, as clear as the celestial sphere resounding in a fairyland. 　　As near as the wind whistling at the corner of a palace, 　　as far as the clanging of pestles and mortars. As light as a single spark of glass, as abundant as a shower of pearls. 　　Suddenly, it transformed into the sound of rainbows, a shower of blossoms and drifting clouds. 　　The clouds drifted lightly across the sky, dust settled on the colorful beams and eaves. 　　Other chorus dared not follow, their sounds growing hesitant and their rhythms fading. 　　The music, rich and abundant like piled-up oranges, could still find a worthy brother in the Xiang River zither. 　　Fortunate is this prosperous age, a time of peace and tranquility; fortunate is this sage's virtue, as bright as the sun and moon. 　　All nations sing praises of the peaceful and prosperous people; the 　　majestic Chenghua reigns throughout the land. His boundless virtue nourishes all living beings; barbarians submit without the need for conquest. 　　The bright stars of Kui 　　bring an end to war; the northern barbarians, eight in number, flock to You and Bing. The western Qiang submit, crossing the Yellow River; the eastern barbarians offer tribute across the 　　vast ocean. The southern barbarians surrender, coming to Chu and Jing; the tranquil willow camps 　　are now silent. The swift and fierce horses of the Turtle Herdsmen are no more; the government offices are quiet 　　, free from disputes. Trade in the markets is balanced; the people live in peace and contentment, happily tilling 　　the land. The people are richer than those of Tian and Peng; this joy should be enjoyed far and wide. 　　This foretells the prosperity and glory of our Great Tang Dynasty; worthy to accompany the imperial procession to the suburbs; worthy to dispel the spring chill at dawn and dusk. 　　worthy to share with the Holy Emperor a moment of unease; worthy to reconcile with the Holy Emperor a sense of kinship. 　　worthy to ride before the emperor in the Western Garden; worthy to hold a cup of wine beside the flowers in the Eastern Pavilion. 　　May our Emperor live a long and prosperous life; may our Emperor live a long and prosperous life. 　　May this auspicious omen last for a thousand years, may this auspicious omen last for a thousand years. 　　The inscription reads: "On the day after the full moon in the autumn of a certain year of the Tianbao era, by the Duke of Dong'e, the tutor of the founding male crown prince," and so on. Unfortunately, it was slightly eroded by soil, obscuring its name. It was then taken back to the temple, where everyone passed it around, delighted and unable to put it down. 　　Suddenly, several merchants entered the temple, saying, "We see an aura of extraordinary treasure within this. If it is true, we beg you to sell it to us, even at a price of ten thousand taels of gold." He Guang and the others then showed them the pipa, deceiving them, "This is a family heirloom of our temple. If you can sell it, we will offer one hundred ingots of silver." The merchants, without objection, paid the agreed price. The others said, "Yi Wen has encountered this extraordinary calamity, which is like a rebirth. We should take this gold into the temple to bring blessings." He Guang could not refuse and thus accepted it. Afterwards, Yi Wen and the others returned home, and all were well. (From 　　Pang Guanlao's Records ) 　　During the Zhiyuan era of the Yuan Dynasty, Jiangnan had just submitted to the Yuan, the people were simple and honest, and the laws were still relatively relaxed. Nanjing was a strategically important town, teeming with diverse people. Beside Longjiang Pass lived a man named Liu, learned and fond of antiquity, who lived a life of ease with poetry and wine, and of upright character. He would turn a blind eye to any friend or acquaintance who was stingy with their pursuits or indulged in pleasure. If their words were even slightly disrespectful, he would rebuke them, and people would always submit. While he sometimes composed poetry, he drank without restraint. Even though he often drank night after day, he was never seen truly drunk. Therefore, people nicknamed him "Liu the Wine Jar," referring to the fact that his belly could hold wine as large as a wine jar. He often spoke of the proper relationship between men and women, saying, "Husband and wife are like heaven and earth, the foundation of human relations, the source of all things, the ancestor of the Five Constant Virtues, and the master of the Three Cardinal Guides. When the sages edited the Book of Poetry, they chose the 'Guanju' poem at the beginning to rectify the relationship between men and women and to emphasize human relations. How could we expect that today's shallow and vulgar people, some prodigal sons, some idle loafers, do not know righteousness and propriety, and act recklessly. At best, they lose money and ruin 　　their virtue; at worst, they kill themselves and destroy their families. There is no greater folly than this, truly pitiful." Therefore, everyone admired his uprightness. However, Liu was arrogant and competitive, and people could easily deceive him with flattery. Among his friends was a man named Zhang, who was fierce and frivolous, impulsive and domineering, and no one dared to offend him. If anyone slightly defied him, he would die without regret, and people called him "Zhang the Death-Given One." There was also a man named Wang, who had a huge fortune, and was extravagant, spending money like water, and people called him "Wang the Ten Thousand." Both men were renowned for their drinking prowess and their ability to flatter and praise, which led Liu Peiweng to become close to them. 　　Previously, in the lower market of the river mouth, there was a famous prostitute named Sishuihe, whose beauty and talent were unparalleled, attracting wealthy merchants and travelers alike. Zhang Sheming, relying on her notorious reputation, monopolized her services, refusing to entertain guests. Lacking funds, he lured Wang Shiwan to join him in drinking and gambling for profit. Unexpectedly, Shiwan secretly used gold and jewels to win Sishuihe's favor, causing her to distance herself from Sheming. Although Sheming was furious, he was powerless against Shiwan's influence and wealth, and harbored thoughts of killing Shiwan, while feigning friendship. 　　One day, Sheming said to Shiwan, "I think Liu Peiweng is putting on an act of aloofness and maturity; his heart may not be truly righteous. Brother, you should invite him for a drinking party, pouring him huge goblets and urging him to drink heavily until he's completely drunk. I'll then take him to Sishuihe's house, and then we'll see the truth." Shiwan did as he suggested. They drank heavily and got very drunk. The two men laughed and helped each other to Sihe's house, asking him to stay overnight. The two men laughed again and returned home.

At the fourth watch, Pei Weng awoke, opened his eyes, and looked around, not knowing where he was. He saw a beautiful girl beside him and asked, "Where is this?" The girl replied, "I am Si Shui He. During the day, you drank at Wang Lang's place and frequently spoke of my affection. Wang Lang, being a close friend, did not argue and, following your wishes, recommended me. I do not know why you reprimanded me, so I did not remove my clothes and waited for dawn." Pei Weng sighed, "I was careless and deceived by a petty person." After a long while, he laughed loudly and said, "Although I am not as easily fooled as Tao Gu, I cannot be ignorant of the distinction between right and wrong." He then composed a poem entitled "The Scenery is Beautiful" and wrote it on the wall. The poem reads: "
Reason is hard to understand, events are hard to understand, how laughable is the heartless betraying the affectionate. Beautiful lady, do not weep for spring, it is of no use, just wait for the remaining night. But the Wushan Mountains are clear all morning, how can dreams be fulfilled?"
After finishing writing, he threw down his pen on the table and drifted away.
Upon their return, Wang and Zhang entered, laughing loudly, and asked, "Did you have a good time last night?" Pei Weng was furious and sternly rebuked them, saying, "The ancients said there are three kinds of beneficial friends and three kinds of harmful friends. You two are capable of harming others; what benefit do you gain for yourselves?" The two bowed repeatedly for a long time, and Pei Weng treated them as before.
Afterwards, they returned to their quarters, and having drunk about half of their wine, Pei Weng suddenly produced several taels of silver and said to Shi Wan, "Please give this gold to the woman from yesterday. Although I have no personal relationship with her, a true man should not occupy another's bed without cause, blurring the lines between men and women. Even if she doesn't mind, how can I feel at peace?" Shi Wan readily agreed and complied.
Upon parting, Sheming said to Shiwan, "Liu Peiweng is a true villain; his words are absolutely untrustworthy. We will go to Sishuihe's house and give him the gold; his true feelings will then be revealed." When they arrived at Sishuihe's house, Shiwan presented the gold, saying, "Liu Lang presents this to express his gratitude for last night's affection." Sishuihe thought Shiwan was using this gold to deceive him, but he pretended to accept it and said to Shiwan with a smile, "This matter is because you, Liu Lang, have been kind to me; it is not that I dared to deceive you. However, true love cannot last forever; please take your leave today."
Hearing this, Shiwan realized it aligned with Sheming's words and turned pale, cursing loudly. Sishuihe hurriedly explained the whole story, even kneeling and begging repeatedly, but Shiwan still refused to believe him, threw off his clothes, and left without looking back, thus severing ties with Sishuihe. Sheming seized the opportunity to rekindle his relationship with Sishuihe, and every day he would falsely tell Shiwan about Peiweng's secret affair with Sishuihe, using seemingly encouraging words to subtly influence him.
Shiwan, filled with resentment, often said to others, "If I don't kill Peiweng, I'll eventually die of anger." Sheming, pleased with his plan, said to Sihe, "Everyone believes Shiwan's words. If I secretly kill Peiweng, the authorities will surely arrest Shiwan and execute him, then we can be together in peace." Sihe replied, "I swear this, from now on I'll leave my life to you, why kill someone?" Sheming said, "Once these words are spoken, how can they be stopped? If they are exposed, I will kill you first." Sihe thought to herself, "If I obey, I will die; if I don't, I will also die." Overwhelmed with worry and fear, she had no way to escape. Just then, an old acquaintance, Li Dinggang, a traveler from the upper reaches of the river, came to visit. They conspired together, secretly going up the river at night, without anyone in her family knowing.
Her mother, worried that Sihe only had Zhang Sheming, Wang Shiwan, and Liu Peiweng gossiping and spreading rumors, and that either they were dead or had escaped, believed it was the work of the three divination masters. Therefore, she took the whole story to the patrol office, resulting in the three men being detained by the authorities. Despite persistent questioning, no torture could be administered, and no truth could be found.
Just then, the old official's term ended, and a new patrol inspector, Pang, named Guan Lao, was appointed, known for his quick wit and efficiency. An official reported that Zhang Sheming and two others were involved in a case previously unresolved by the previous official, a dubious case. Guan Lao wrote with a flourish, "If it is a murder, execute them and that's it. What is there to doubt?" He immediately had the three taken to the marketplace for torture, but they returned several times, causing a great stir far and wide, with crowds thronging the streets to watch.
Guan Lao then changed his clothes and walked through the markets. Suddenly, a man cried out, "What an injustice! Where is the person? Why is someone being killed here?" He immediately arrested the man and brought him back. Upon questioning, the man confessed, "I heard that Si Shui He was abducted by a traveler named Li Dinggang from the upper reaches of the river at a certain time. Now Dinggang has returned to trade and is on a boat at the river mouth." Guan Lao was overjoyed and ordered him to act as an informant, and the man was immediately apprehended. The old man said, "Since you are Li Dinggang, just take him away and kill him. There's no need to ask any more questions." Upon hearing this, Dinggang shouted, "Although I abducted him, I am still alive. Please send someone to bring him back as a witness, and the truth will be revealed." The old man laughed and said, "If I don't kill you, you certainly won't confess so easily." He sent someone, and within a month, four people were brought to the authorities. They were then brought before the officials to testify, each giving their own account. The old man was furious and had each of them flogged twenty times, ordering them to confess the truth. Liu Peiweng then confessed:
"I once devoted myself to Confucian studies for many years, but upon realizing the ways of the world, I thought of retiring. I only knew that poetry could make me forget my feelings, but I never expected that wine could lead to disaster. Therefore, I was deceived and tempted by others, and I had no way to protect myself. This has led to my danger and disgrace. How can I save myself? I indulged in three cups of yellow wine, losing my life's integrity, disgracing my lineage, and further staining my name with the name of Peiweng. My words and deeds are true, and I willingly confess my guilt."
Si Shui He confessed:
"I was born into a good family, but suffered misfortune in my youth. My parents sold me for money, and I lost my chastity by submitting to their demands. I was not skilled in needlework, but I indulged in arts and crafts. Every day I leaned against the door, smiling charmingly, and every morning I sang softly behind a fan. I ate at one house and slept at another, hence the name Si Shui He. I was the wife of Zhang Lang and the wife of Li Lang, which caused trouble among many. I knew that the law could not tolerate me, so I confessed the truth."
Wang Shiwan confessed:
"I was born into a wealthy family and grew up in a prosperous era. I did not know the hard work of my father and grandfather, but instead acted like a madman. I relied on money and power, and did whatever I pleased. I did whatever I wanted, completely forgetting my poverty. I spent money like water, and was called Shiwan; I was imprisoned for my crimes and became destitute. Now that I have said this, what is the use of regret? I brought this upon myself, and I dare not refuse the judgment of the public."
Zhang Sheming confessed: "
I was not born into an official family, and I lacked the education of my father and teachers, which fostered my foolish and vulgar talents and cultivated my vicious nature." They are oblivious to propriety and morality, greed and deceit are their highest virtues, harming others for their own benefit, taking it for granted. Love brings life, hate brings death—who dares to transgress this? They turn a blind eye to favors, a slight to aggrieve, relying on their strong blood and brute force. They tolerate no words, refuse to part with a penny, and when their evil reaches its extreme, they are subjected to torture—what excuse do they have for escaping punishment?
Li, the scapegoat, confessed:
"I was born dull-witted, old and talentless, unable to distinguish right from wrong, blindly following my likes and dislikes, comparing myself to Yang Guifei's ailing teeth, and imitating Yue Nu's furrowed brows. I eat leftover sugarcane, vainly admiring its reputation; I wear my worn-out fur, hoping for its beauty. Greedy for bait, forgetting the hook, loving nothing, I fall into the net. Catching idleness and emptiness, this is called 'extermination'; taking the blame for others, this is called 'scapegoating'. Having shared the name of the other criminals, how dare I evade my own guilt?"
The five men bowed, and the attendant presented the confession. The old man examined it carefully for a long time, then wrote the judgment: "
No one is a saint, how can one possess perfect virtue! Although material desires are difficult to eradicate, right and wrong are easy to discern." The heart is governed by desires, and desires are dictated by the heart. If the heart is upright and virtuous, what desires cannot be good? Wine, women, wealth, and anger are commonplace in the world, but people are divided into gentlemen and petty men, and stories have paths to moral decay and paths to benevolence. Therefore, the same methods yield different results. A gentleman cultivates a righteous heart and restrains desires; restraint brings good fortune. A petty man indulges in desires and loses his heart; indulgence brings misfortune. How can wine, women, wealth, and anger lead to moral decay or moral ruin? Consider Liu Peiweng, who ruined his reputation as a scholar with wine; Si Shuihe, who lost his integrity as a good family member with women; Wang Shiwan, who ruined his wealthy foundation with wealth; Zhang Sheming, who ruined his principles of self-preservation with anger; and Li Dinggang, whose crimes were all related, and whose punishments were somewhat mitigated according to reason and law. According to the clear law, each should be treated leniently, and from now on, they must change their professions.
This story spread far and wide, and is still used as a joke in the martial arts world.
The Beggar's Song:
Li Ziran was the son of a commoner in Linqing County. He was orphaned at the age of seven and raised by a Taoist priest named Ren from the Yan Gong Temple, who took him as his disciple. He was tall, intelligent, and adaptable, and was well-liked by the locals.
At that time, the Grand Canal had just opened, and two locks were set up in Linqing to control water flow. Public and private boats came and went, thriving in trade and commerce, with merchants flocking to the area, and inns and shops springing up everywhere. Many prostitutes frequented the area, and Ziran, having been intimate with a courtesan for a long time, secretly embezzled almost all of her master's assets without her knowledge. One day, while drunk, he got into a fight with a vagrant and was sued in court. His master then discovered the theft and died in a fit of rage. Ziran, also guilty of patronizing a prostitute, was imprisoned for a year. However, he was posthumously granted citizenship and could not regain his former profession. With nowhere to go, he married his former prostitute, Ming, and rented a room at the lower lock, selling rice cakes to make a living. Ziran,
mindful of their poverty, and his wife worked diligently day and night. Within half a year, their cake shop became a food stall, and their food stall expanded into a distillery. Their business grew daily, and their wealth increased daily. Over a decade or so, the family fortune grew exponentially, with shops in the south and residences in the east, making them immensely wealthy. They had only one son, named "Dang." When he was seven, his mother passed away from illness. Naturally, she remarried, finding a suitable match, but fearing her young son would suffer mistreatment at the hands of a stepmother, she was extremely cautious. Mutual suspicion and avoidance arose between mother and son.
Later, as Li Dang grew older, she arranged a marriage for him with a wealthy woman. From the moment the new bride entered the family, the mother and son became even more estranged. Li Dang acted recklessly, and his mother neither told him nor offered any guidance, leading to his downfall. This was entirely due to her own mismanagement. At first, she was unaware of his actions, and even when she became aware, she was powerless to stop them. Within a year or two, Li Dang indulged in drinking, prostitution, gambling, and all sorts of vices. The family fortune was squandered, his behavior became extremely reckless, he was implicated by thieves, became involved with criminals, was involved in murder, acted as a guarantor for swindlers, was imprisoned, or fled into hiding. Naturally, they had no choice but to rescue him, bribing superiors to buy him off, making up for debts and paying off arrears. In the years of discord, his property was completely lost, and he often lacked food and clothing.
Li Dang, though arrogant and reckless, was also somewhat law-abiding, possessing only his old house, still worth several hundred taels of silver. His wife's younger brother, Liu, said to Ziran, "You are getting old and have no other means of livelihood. I fear things will become increasingly difficult. I own some salt in Lianghuai, which has been unsold for years, and I intend to sell it. I've recently observed that you, my nephew, are not as successful as before. You could sell this house and go with me; we're sure to make a good profit." Li Dang also encouraged himself. Father and son discussed it together, sold all their possessions, and left with Liu on a chosen day. Ziran, his wife, and his new bride temporarily stayed with their in-laws. Nearly two years passed without any news.
One day, someone came from Huaihuai, saying that Liu had died on the way, and that Li Dang had seized all the wealth of both families, remaining as unruly and capricious as before. Ziran wanted to leave but could not, and wanted to ask for help but could not find anyone. Within half a year, his wife and daughter-in-law passed away one after another. Alone and weary of human relationships, he was struggling to make ends meet. Moving east and west, ignored by all, he eventually took refuge in the monks' kitchen at the Yan Gong Temple. His old friends and relatives, knowing his plight, failed to provide him with food, forcing him to beg in the market. Naturally, having always enjoyed wealth and comfort, this new life made him a target of hatred, and he suffered greatly from hunger and cold.
Among his companions was an old man who could sing poetry and earned a considerable amount from begging. Naturally, admiring his talent, earnestly asked for his instruction. The old man, generous, taught him. Naturally, being from a Daoist family, was quite knowledgeable in poetry and literature, and after being taught, he recited a poem in one go: "
Why does poverty breed diligence and frugality? Only because of hardship and difficulty in providing for others.
Wandering, hunger and cold are unbearable; toiling and exhausted, who can I blame?
Whether as a servant or a craftsman, relying on others for sustenance, I have no other desires but to be warm and fed. Day
and night I toil without regard for my health, saving on clothes and food to earn a meager living.
I accumulate a small amount of capital for a living, buying more and selling less, traveling east and west.
Through all four seasons and eight festivals, braving heat and cold, I roam the 120 different shops.
My honest business practices earn people's trust, and I can make ends meet with food and clothing."
The old and young have enough to rely on, and wealth is sufficient; human virtue
is fulfilled, and heavenly principles prevail. Why does diligence and thrift lead to wealth? Because poverty begins with toil.
They live a simple life, consuming coarse tea and plain rice, planning day and night to accumulate savings.
With a few square meters of management, their businesses flourish, their wives prosper, and their children are noble, fulfilling their desires.
Working as a shop assistant in the salt and goods industry, their whole family enjoys a life of comfort and happiness.
They buy neighboring land, building spacious courtyards and gardens, stretching across fields and gardens.
First, they manage their servants, then their carriages and horses, undertaking repairs and construction year after year.
Women marry into powerful families for influence, women marry into wealthy families regardless of money.
With both influence and power secured, their foundation is solid; money cannot buy virtuous descendants.
Why does wealth breed pride and extravagance? Because it breeds luxury. Those who earn money die, 　　leaving their wealth unclaimed; a virtuous husband
becomes another family. They indulge in desires and passions, giving away money like dirt, boasting and showing off. 　　They suspect their old partners of changing their family business, believing empty promises and altering their lives. 　　A widowed mother visits temples, a father-orphaned young man frequents shady shops. 　　Frequent visits to the hermitage caused trouble, and the long-standing brothel ruined the family. 　　A mad servant deceived his master with rebellious words, and a promiscuous concubine and adulterer destroyed his former ambition. 　　A gang of scoundrels followed him day and night, gambling and drinking without restraint. 　　Why did pride and extravagance lead to poverty and lowliness? Only because of his recklessness that he ruined his family. 　　In the past five or seven years, his property was gone, and he sold all his utensils and jewelry. 　　He bought things here and there, constantly changing 　　his mind, buying things worthless. Selling his fields and gardens was still possible, but he was persuaded by sweet words and deceitful people. 　　He moved house and was helped by others, but 　　after all the changes, he had nothing left. He couldn't afford food and clothing, and his servants scattered. 　　The world changed, and old friends turned away. He couldn't pay his rent and was evicted. His mother was ill, his wife was dead, and he was left alone. 　　As evening approached, he had nowhere to turn, and who would care for him? Seeking refuge and finding another place to stay was the best option. 　　Now that you can recite this, one day in the bustling marketplace, recite it aloud, and then explain it to the reader. The residents immediately erupted in cheers and praise, and the money and rice they had received were carried home, enough for several days. They went out 　　again after exhausting their supplies, doing so repeatedly, and felt deeply fortunate. One day, while reciting poetry, a Taoist priest suddenly appeared in the crowd and sang: " 　　The four seasons advance and the seasons change, the rise and fall of humankind are of the same principle. 　　Spring returns to the earth and all flowers flourish, summer arrives with its heat and all things are born. 　　Autumn stirs with golden winds and all things thrive, winter's cold closes off and the cycle returns to its proper course. 　　The beginning and end of heaven and earth are of the same principle, do not be alarmed by rise and fall. 　　" Ziran, having heard this, went forward and bowed, asking the reason. The Taoist priest smiled and said, "Aren't you Li Ziran, a disciple of the virtuous scholar? How can you not recognize me? Thirty years ago, I spent several days with you at the Temple of Lord Yan, how could I forget?" Ziran was overjoyed, and they shook hands, inviting him into a teahouse. They reminisced about their long separation, and he told him about his own life, both sad and happy. The Taoist priest said, “My dear friend, you need not be so vulgar. I just heard the meaning of your song, which states that the blame lies entirely with the son, who could not continue his father’s work, which is perfectly reasonable. But if we compare it to your situation, it seems quite different. Now that you are still alive, to whom should the blame be placed?” Ziran sighed and said, “Although I am not dead, the downfall of my poor family was indeed caused by those who were like pigs and dogs. Although the words in my song are slightly different, the principle is the same.” The Taoist priest clapped his hands and laughed, saying, “It is understandable that you did not uphold the Tao to the end and did not understand the principles. Moreover, you sang vulgar and absurd poems, leading people to fool themselves and into irrationality, which is truly lamentable.” 　　Ziran stood up in shock and asked to hear his explanation. The Taoist said, “My previous poem fully explained the principles. Take the cycle of the four seasons, for example. Spring brings forth life, summer nurtures growth, autumn yields harvest, and winter stores away. Youth is like spring, adulthood like summer, old age like autumn, and death like winter. Similarly, consider the rise and fall of families: diligence and frugality are spring; wealth and honor are summer; pride and extravagance are autumn; poverty and lowliness are winter. Not only the cycle of the four seasons, but also the life and death of people, the rise and fall of nations, and the order and chaos of the world—nothing is exempt from this. Every drink and every bite is predetermined. The rise and fall of all things is due to the natural order. You now blame only human affairs; is this not a mistake?” 　　Before he finished speaking, the old man selling tea suddenly became enraged, grabbed the Taoist’s teacup, and shouted, “You vulgar man! Get out! Get out! You are defiling my teahouse!” The Taoist smiled and watched for a long time, then left without a word. 　　The old tea master replied, “Both of you, please stop. I shouldn’t be arguing with you, but I know you are foolish and refuse to teach you, which is not the heart of a benevolent person. You should listen carefully. Heaven is Yang; Earth is Yin. What is formed by the wondrous combination of Yin and Yang is man. It is said that God descends upon you, descending into your heart, which can move Heaven and Earth and touch the spirits. Heaven does not speak, but man speaks; Earth does not act, but man acts. The ancient sages looked up at the heavens and down at the earth, and established the human principle in the middle. Thus, the Eight Trigrams were developed and the Nine Categories were arranged, the four directions were set and the five officials were established. Heaven and man…” Thus, the three realms are in their proper places. You say that the four seasons follow the natural order of Qi (vital energy) and are unrelated to human affairs. For example, if one does not sow in spring, weeds and wormwood will grow rampant and crops will not sprout. If one does not weed in summer, weeds and wild plants will grow in abundance and grains will not ripen. If one does not harvest in autumn, the crops will be destroyed by wind and frost, and granaries will be empty. If one does not store provisions in winter, supplies will be insufficient, and the people will have no means of support. Is this truly solely determined by the natural order of Qi, or is it also subject to human affairs? Furthermore, you say that a person's life, from youth to old age and death, is also a natural process of Qi. If a person does not learn in childhood, they will have no resources in adulthood. If they are too old to act... Then, self-cultivation, family harmony, and the governance of the state have nothing to rely on. If the elderly are not cared for in accordance with the seasons, they will not enjoy a long life. If 　　the sick are not treated with moxibustion and liniment, they will die young. Is this truly solely determined by fate or by human actions? You also say that the success or failure of a family is a natural cycle. Diligence and frugality lead to wealth and honor, while pride, extravagance, poverty, and lowliness are also natural occurrences of fate. If diligence and frugality do not lead to unrealistic expectations, wealth and honor are always fearful of excess, and poverty and lowliness are always content with one's lot, is this truly solely determined by fate or by human actions? As for the rise and fall of a nation, and the order or chaos of the world, there are even more… It is said that since the Zhou dynasty, starting with Duke Liu's accumulation of virtue and benevolence, King Wen eventually possessed two-thirds of the empire. Singers and litigants flocked to him, and his loyalty remained unchanged. This was not because he seized power, but because the people were drawn to him. King Wu comforted the people, and eight hundred feudal lords gathered unexpectedly. This was not because he sought them, but because Heaven granted them their favor. When virtue is spread, people flock to him; when people flock to him, Heaven rewards them. When the roots are firm, the foundation will be great; when the source is deep, the flow will be far. To enjoy eight hundred years of prosperity—was this not fitting? The Han dynasty gained the empire because Qin destroyed the six states, creating resentment throughout the nine regions. Emperor Gaozu of Han was determined to appease the grudges and avenge the shame.

Though powerful rulers vie for power, those who heed the advice of Elder Dong succeeded, eliminating tyranny and clearing the names of wronged people. To live to four hundred is no excessive. The Tang dynasty removed disliked rulers and consolidated lost achievements; the Song dynasty eliminated corrupt officials and quelled long-standing chaos. Both dynasties chose to govern from among those without resentment and to soothe those who desired a peaceful life. While they dare not compare themselves to the Zhou dynasty, they did not fail to act justly. Rulers did not conceal their true feelings or deceive the people; ministers avoided suspicion and prevarication. With peace and order, harmony among the people, and obedience to Heaven, each dynasty enjoyed over three hundred years of rule—was this not a satisfactory endeavor? The rest, accustomed to usurpation and separatism, vied for power and territory. Some used their position to elevate themselves, others cooperating with their superiors for personal gain, some usurped titles, and still others stole names. Though holding the throne, they harbored treacherous intentions. The rulers were heartless and unfaithful, the ministers hesitant and indecisive. They robbed the people, who grieved for their former lives, and led the resentful masses to submit. This began with Wang Mang and Cao Cao, and continued with the evils of Yi and Wen. If they were fortunate enough to have two or three generations of rulers, unless the sons killed their fathers, the ministers would surely kill their rulers. Wars broke out in the inner chambers, and resentment arose among family members.
Some were emperors in the morning, yet by evening they were destitute. When they gained power, they were more ruthless than tigers and wolves; when they lost control, they were slaughtered like dogs and pigs. They attracted treacherous bandits, invited barbarians to wait for an opportunity, disrupted the people's morals, and feared to challenge the imperial power. How lamentable! You only know that rise and fall, order and chaos are related to fate, but you do not know that the changes in fate are truly in the hands of people. The rule of sages and virtuous men is based on understanding the hearts of the people and aligning them with Heaven; the actions of petty men are based on indulging their own desires and cleverly manipulating events. The heart is Heaven, and Heaven is reason. Human actions are swift, while Heaven's actions are slow; human affairs are manifest, while Heaven's reason is silent. Good and evil, yin and yang, are mutually dependent. Goodness does not necessarily bring blessings, yet blessings arise on its own; evil does not necessarily bring misfortune, yet misfortune arrives on its own. The rise and fall, order and chaos, are thus determined. Why cling to biased and forceful arguments to mislead the foolish? Moreover, you first betrayed your teacher, and today you can escape betraying your father? All this is due to the harmony of reason and nature; evil accumulates and misfortune arrives, so who can you blame?
Upon hearing this, the two men were drenched in sweat, prostrated themselves to receive the teaching, and dared not look up. After parting, the next morning each carried incense and silk, wishing to seek the unresolved principles, but the tea seller had moved and was nowhere to be found.
Zhai Ji Zhai Shan Ge
In the winter of the year Yiwei of the Chenghua era, I and my friends sat under the eaves, basking in the sun. During our conversation, one of them said, "Yesterday I saw a scholar named Ke Xi, surnamed Zhai, and named Ji." "The name 'Zhai' is close to 'choice,' and in every household, weddings, funerals, and burials are conducted through selection. Even for minor matters, the subtlety of its intention is undeniable." Everyone praised it. A friend, Xu, said, "In my opinion, it would be better to call it 'Zhai Shan,' wouldn't that be better? Goodness is the foundation of all blessings. If one chooses goodness in all things, good fortune will naturally follow. Otherwise, it's truly abandoning the fundamental for the superficial. It's like expecting food without farming, or clothes without weaving—is that acceptable?" Everyone laughed again and changed the name. I further reasoned, saying, "All self-cultivation, family harmony, governance, and peace are based on goodness. Goodness is the necessary path for being a person, a daily practice. How can it be neglected? The choice made may appear similar but be different in essence, referring to what is harmful and beneficial." "Everyone agrees.
Later, I reflected on the profound discussions of my friends, which precisely addressed the problems of the past. Nowadays, people often have countless flaws, yet they are oblivious to them, not only in choosing what is good or bad! For example, when a family has a wedding, funeral, or house-related event, they immediately become suspicious of seeking good fortune and avoiding misfortune, consulting various divination methods, disregarding morality and reason, even going so far as to violate the natural order and heaven. Little do they know that unforeseen disasters will soon follow, how lamentable! Furthermore, many people are narrow-minded, stubborn, and jealous. Even hearing the slightest criticism will cause them great anger, while regarding matters that are hidden and intolerable, they remain unconcerned even if they have doubts. When things go wrong, they simply accept it passively. Haha, truly laughable! Truly lamentable! Seeing these flaws, I am deeply alarmed and, despite my limited knowledge, I presume to establish a new idea. I divide the selection of auspicious times into two categories: weddings, funerals, and house-related events, and the selection of good times for blind musicians, monks, nuns, witches, old women, and servants." The path, categorized into eight matters, each with a brief introduction, is presented as a colloquial expression, titled "The Song of Choosing Auspiciousness and Good Fortune." It is not intended to presume to establish a single viewpoint, but rather to warn the wise and caution the foolish.
Marriage is the first step in human life, the foundation of the five cardinal relationships, rectifying the household and the nation, continuing ancestral rites and prolonging the lineage—it is the very beginning of the workings of Heaven and Earth. Those seeking marriage should first observe the father's character, thus discerning the mother's virtues. Once the mother is known, the daughter's model is established. But people today are different. Upon considering marriage, their hearts are set on wealth and profit, or solely on auspiciousness and inauspiciousness, unaware that poverty, wealth, and status are determined by Heaven, while fortune and misfortune are determined by oneself. Confused and bewildered, how lamentable! How lamentable!
Marriage in this world is truly laughable; virtuous character is not sought, only talent and appearance. Wealthy families have busy matchmakers, meticulously planning dowries. Greedy and foolish, upon hearing this, set their sights on it, day and night, their thoughts unwavering. They consult blind fortune tellers and tortoise shells to determine the future of their families. How can blind fortune tellers accurately predict good or bad fortune? They often speak carelessly and opportunistically. If fate brings them good fortune, wealth will follow, and their entire household will change. After countless schemes and calculations, poverty will be followed by wealth. The wife will become arrogant, domineering, and disobedient, causing the family's fortunes to decline. Alas! Where is the auspicious date? We should heed the advice of Duke Wen. Marry a woman not as good as mine, who will be devoted and attentive.
When a woman loses a loved one, it is a time of great calamity. Beyond grief, she will be oblivious to life itself; how can she care for anything else? Because continuing the family line is paramount, the sages governed it with propriety, teaching people not to harm the living with the dead, establishing this eternal law in the classics. Today's common people see established customs but do not follow them, deceiving and listening to false teachings. They point to the spirit of their deceased relative as a calamity, and their entire family avoids it. They write the father's name to create a prison, and then ask a monk to break the prison. They save the coffin and shroud... Offering Buddhist services, to ease grief and fulfill human sentiments. To sing and dance before the coffin, to hold a feast at the grave—this is tolerable, yet intolerable!
It is lamentable that sons, in mourning, do not follow the proper ways of their ancestors. They hastily consult feng shui masters to inquire about auspicious and inauspicious days, seeking to avoid taboos. The coffin and shroud are rotten and thin, barely covering the body, yet singing and music continue unabated all night. Exquisite delicacies are laid out in advance to entertain guests, while drums thunder and Buddhist scriptures are chanted. Paper offerings and banners are painstakingly prepared, bankrupting their livelihoods for others to see. At the grave, how can they consider the eternal separation from their loved ones? They frantically watch over the dining hall lest the guests disperse. Alas! Choosing an auspicious day—what crime has it committed? For this, their children and grandchildren are as if they don't exist. Such is the extent of their toil; look back at the crows in the forest.
A dwelling is a place of peace and rest, a boundary to shelter from wind and rain. Near the market, there is the benefit of bustling trade; near the fields, there is the benefit of farming. Its size depends on the terrain, its splendor and simplicity are appropriate. The wealth or poverty of a family is determined by its circumstances. People today are different; many are misled by methods of seeking sustenance, believing that a particular door can bring wealth, or a particular orientation can bring official rank. They take the eight characters of birth, combine the stems and branches, arrange the year and hour, deduce the surname, move west to east, and demolish doors and houses. The poor suffer financial loss, and the rich may even suffer misfortune—nothing could be more foolish!
A house is meant to shelter from wind and rain, its size and orientation conforming to rules. They disregard their proper place, blindly believing in yin and yang, recklessly invoking official positions and business acumen. They might combine their birth year and destiny with the Three Wonders, clashing with and avoiding divine influences according to the stems and branches. They don't build in the mild spring or autumn, but choose the dead of winter or the hottest summer. They open doors and drains at an angle, and who will give way to neighbors who might obstruct their way? They may suffer financial loss due to alterations or demolitions, or even fights and disputes. Alas! Choosing an auspicious day, if it's not auspicious enough, initial plans may turn into tears. Making do when it's convenient and repairing when it's inconvenient are both blessings.
Burial is about concealment; choosing an auspicious day is about selection. The suitability of the site is paramount. Do not choose a site near a mountain pass, for fear of flooding; do not choose a site near a city, for fear of constant relocation. The reason for choosing a suitable site is to ensure lasting peace and stability. The Spring and Autumn Annals mention "a certain gentleman could not be buried," referring to rain, but never mentioning the auspiciousness of the year or month, or the good or bad fortune of the burial site. Today's practices are almost entirely vulgar, to the point that some expose their parents, waiting for years for favorable conditions, then relocate their ancestors to several auspicious locations, harming their own interests and believing misleading others. They do not realize that the body and soul should be at peace, and that reverence and caution are essential; everything is the opposite. Therefore, those who relocate graves to auspicious sites often suffer misfortune. Alas! How lamentable!
Recently, discussions of feng shui regarding burial have arisen, even among scholars who lack understanding. They falsely claim that choosing a burial site brings wealth, while poor feng shui leads to poverty. They claim that the eight needles of sand and water reveal the dragon vein, and that the Greedy Wolf star must be encountered when it faces the direction of the dragon. They carelessly distinguish the distance of the burial site, and even a slight error determines good or bad fortune. Therefore, many foolish people relocate their graves. My grandfather's decaying bones are not properly rested. His coffin is left exposed, awaiting a favorable year; what proper etiquette is this, causing such a loss? Alas! Choose an auspicious day, but do not boast of good fortune; the proverbs of the ancients are truly accurate. There is a piece of land on the mountaintop fit for royalty; why not bury it in your family there?
In the past, the blind relied on this for sustenance, thus many learned to write novels for minor officials and sing ancient and modern songs. The foolish considered it lofty talk, and the wise could use it to help them sleep; this was a good way for the blind to support themselves, and also the reason why the ancients had the blind recite poetry. Now, however, it is different. Regardless of gender, they specialize in playing stringed instruments, composing beautiful sounds, singing lewd songs, going in and out of people's homes year after year, until young and old are all influenced and corrupted by vulgarity. Will they expect their children to be virtuous and chaste in the future? Moreover, their living conditions are indiscriminate, and there are countless other consequences. Alas!
Blind men and women engage in stringed instruments, and because of this, they are ignorant and narrow-minded. They go in and out all night without suspicion. The filthy music and lewd sounds are utterly unbearable. They only know that these people are blind, their outward appearance undisturbed while their inner world remains clear. They are adept at the deceitful dealings of the marketplace, waiting to discern the true nature of others' actions. People have elders and children, and even with daily instruction, they struggle to understand; how much more so when they allow their own relatives to hear such sounds? Truly, the head of the household acts hastily. Alas! Choose what is good, for goodness has its constants; nothing is better than not using it at all. Not only are customs passed down to
future generations, but rumors also spread. Those monks and nuns who leave home are said to be dedicating themselves to the path of Buddhahood—this is not true. Nor is it true that they do what they desire. They are merely given refuge by their foolish parents, or perhaps there are other reasons for their refuge there. Yet, how can their desires and passions be separate from others? These are all things they do out of necessity. Having entrusted themselves to others, they are driven by either greed or lust. Often, one sees them speaking softly and meekly, never arguing over likes or dislikes—this is what is meant by "human tactics." Once caught in these tactics, few can escape. Foolish men and women seek gain only to suffer loss—alas, there is no greater shame!
Monks and nuns come and go, entwining doors and windows, bringing tea, vegetables, and official documents. Growing increasingly close, they become trusting, calling out "father" and "mother" as if they were customers. They transform madness and wickedness into genuine affection, cleverly using help and emergency aid. Lust and greed are ever-present, and the harmony between husband and wife has its own reasons. On the Lantern Festival and the Ghost Festival, the eighth day of the fourth month, they seek to create a chaotic gathering, cleverly devising methods. They light lamps, bathe the Buddha, and offer sacrifices at the Ullambana Festival, with men and women roaming and engaging in illicit affairs all night. Alas! Choose the good, for such desires are not to be pursued; please reflect silently and your heart will be alarmed. Adhere to the virtuous path, for otherwise, you will tarnish your family's reputation
. How laughable are the families of today, regardless of wisdom or folly, nobility or lowliness, all affairs, big or small, are handled by women. Even the most resolute husbands are often half-dominated. When illness strikes, for minor ailments, they rely on the old woman who administers medicine; for serious illnesses, they rely on the sorceress, sometimes giving them nameless medicines, sometimes praying to false spirits. Alas! Human life and family reputation are wasted on things that bring no benefit; this is the end of it. Such women, coming and going from house to house, commit adultery, theft, sorcery, and evil deeds. They seduce wives and concubines, and entice servants; their misdeeds are too numerous to list. Alas, how terrifying! In common
households, when someone falls ill, they disregard reason, focusing instead on filial piety, compassion, and serving gods and ghosts. They invite sorcerers and shamans to perform ugly rituals, beating drums, ringing bells, and hanging paper money. Generals, flower maids, and vanguards—in an instant, wives become fathers-in-law. Regardless of social status, pitifully, they all fall into this trap. Midwives and matchmakers are even more harmful; wives and concubines respect them for a reason. They incite lust, spreading both inside and outside the home, and using their wealth to create illusions. Alas! Choose goodness, for goodness is inexhaustible; I urge you to eradicate this trend as soon as possible. From now on, treat illnesses with reason, lest others laugh at your blindness and deafness.
Those who keep servants are meant to perform tasks and duties. Although there is a difference in social status, they are not the same in terms of food and body. One should know their hunger and cold, observe their hardships, and be both lenient and forgiving in their merits and demerits. As they grow older, they should all be paired with servants, distinguishing between those of close and distant relationships, and between those within and outside the household. This would be proper. However, they are treated like livestock, oblivious to hunger and cold, and spared no hardship, even being beaten at the slightest provocation. Slaves are not given wives when they grow old, and maids are neglected due to jealousy from their wives. The situation is ambiguous, with lax control, and a lack of distinction between close and distant relatives. Living together indiscriminately, how can one expect to avoid trouble?
Slaves should be given wives at seventeen, and maids at fourteen. They only know how to command without restraint; once trouble arises, they will suffer the consequences. Some wealthy families have many concubines, not considering that everyone is driven by blood and energy. Tight control may offend the natural order, while indulgence will surely ruin their reputation. A protective wife's illicit affair with a servant leads to adultery, and a mad husband's favoritism towards a maid destroys all sense of kinship. Slaves and maids are indispensable in any household, as long as the head of the household is not selfish. Alas! Choose the good, this is urgent! The practice of keeping slaves and maids should be stopped. They are born of the same yin and yang, and their well-being depends on their sustenance from beginning to end.
The Tale of the Woodcutter of Yunxi In
the seventeenth year of the Zhiyuan era, the Song Dynasty had just fallen, and the Jiangnan region fell entirely to the Yuan Dynasty. All former Song soldiers, civilians, and officials were registered and forced to make a living. Many loyal ministers and righteous men harbored resentment; some went into hiding, some changed their names, some abandoned their wives and children to become monks, and some abandoned their hometowns to become Taoist priests. They relied on doctors and fortune tellers to pass the days; they lived as fishermen and woodcutters, merely trying to survive. Such unyielding people were everywhere, too numerous to list. The Yuan rulers dared not arrest them, fearing the consequences, and only ordered the local governments to keep them under control.
In Jinling, there was a woodcutter named Yunxi, whose origins and surname were unknown. Whenever someone asked his name and origins, he would cover his face with his hands, weep, and reply, "I am a fugitive from the Song Dynasty." His sorrow moved passersby, and he would not eat for a day. People pitied him and could not bear to ask further questions. In the morning, he would go into the mountains to gather firewood and sell it in the market; in the evening, he would stay in the monks' kitchen of Hongji Temple. For over twenty years, even in the dead of winter and the sweltering heat, he remained undisturbed and never interacted with anyone. Later, he became quite familiar with people, and when he encountered timid or virtuous individuals, he would respond somewhat politely. There was a man named Ping Yidao, whose ancestors were also from the Song dynasty's official family. He loved virtue and kindness, and whenever he saw Yunxi, he treated him with the utmost respect, never neglecting his duties. Because of this, they became quite compatible. When invited to meals, he would readily comply, but never reveal his name. Yidao wanted to test his poetry, so he composed a poem himself to test his ability to respond. Yunxi smiled, but instead of writing it on paper, he drew a line on the ground with his hand in response, then erased the line with his hand, preventing Yidao from copying it. Over several years, only one poem was obtained: "
In a dream, I entered the palace to pay homage to the emperor; waking, I weep for my lost home.
Half my life's work has left me with nothing but my country; the mountains and rivers before me now belong to others.
There is no place to hold Wang Zhu's death; only wild herbs can alleviate Boyi's poverty."
Why live such a lonely and miserable life? I yearn for a sliver of truth.
One day, I went to Jiangshan to gather firewood. It was deep winter; I traversed remote valleys, exploring desolate wilderness. Suddenly, the wind howled through the empty forest, and clouds gathered across the fields. In an instant, the green peaks turned silver, and the world changed dramatically, freezing the mountains and chilling the valleys. A light mist enveloped the forest, obscuring villages; a dense fog covered the streams and bridges, obscuring even the bird paths. My clothes were soaked through, my hands and feet stiff, my chin trembling with cold, unable to move. I wanted to return but couldn't, wanted to stop but had nowhere to go. Looking towards the dense forest by the stream, I saw what appeared to be a village, so I forced myself to proceed. There it was, indeed a house, with stone walls and woven brambles for doors, several thatched huts, like a fairyland. The doors were tightly shut, impossible to open. I tried to push them open but was powerless; I wanted to knock but feared anger. Hesitant and calculating, I stood in the snow for a long time, the cold unbearable, and finally, I had no choice but to knock. Someone asked, "Who is it?" Yunxi replied, "I am a woodcutter. I am trapped by the wind and snow, and I beg you to open the door and save me." The man said, "So you know I am a woodcutter, but what is your name?" Yunxi sighed, "Am I destined to die?" and then endured the cold and left. The host laughed heartily and invited him over, but he was too late. He ordered two boys to help him up, and there came the host, dressed in a deep robe and turban, carrying a cane made of dove-shaped rattan, and wearing red duck shoes. He greeted him with a smile, saying, "This old man and you are quite old friends. I joked with you for a moment, but your stubbornness is no different from before?"
Yunxi stared for a long time but did not recognize him. He asked repeatedly, but he did not answer, only laughed loudly. Then the host led Yunxi inside. They passed through many gates, crossed towering buildings, and reached the rear pavilion. A little to the east, there was a small pavilion with three bays. The brocade curtains, embroidered curtains, felt curtains, and mattresses, as well as the couches, tables, screens, and incense burners, were all extremely precious. They were dazzling in color and gold and green. A small table was set out, laden with plates, wine vessels, and food, the contents of which were indistinguishable. An old man sat at the head of the table. Upon seeing Yunxi arrive, he rose from his seat and stood to the side. Yunxi, suspicious that such a figure existed in such a remote mountain place, must be an immortal. He bowed and prostrated himself in reverence. The old man and those dressed in deep robes reciprocated with proper courtesy. The old man was stern in appearance, his spirit clear and understanding. He seemed oblivious to people's presence and deaf to their words. Yunxi felt awe and humility, as if he were unworthy of respect. Dozens of boys, each carrying offerings, lined up between two pillars. Those dressed in deep robes ordered a couch to be placed at the end of the table, and Yunxi was invited to sit next to him. Unable to decline, he had no choice but to accept the offer. After a while, wine was served. Those dressed in deep robes served the old man at the head of the table as if he were a revered master. Although their conversation touched upon the rise and fall of dynasties, and the rites and music of ancient times, it was not what was recorded in the classics or histories. Before he could even get drunk, the man in rustic clothes suddenly rose.
Despite repeated invitations from the man in deep robes to stay, he refused and, braving the snow and wind, drifted away. The snowstorm intensified, and dusk approached. The man in deep robes then invited Yunxi to sleep on the opposite bed. Yunxi bowed and said, “This humble man has been deeply honored by your hospitality and exceptional courtesy, and your invitation to sleep opposite me is an even greater kindness. However, I did not know your esteemed father-in-law’s name; I have undeservedly accepted this favor.” The man in deep robes laughed and said, “You are willing to risk death to preserve your reputation; why should I be so easily swayed?” Yunxi was astonished and dared not ask further.
After a long silence, the man in deep robes sighed and said, “I too am a man of the Song Dynasty. From a young age, I aspired to fame and fortune, determined to pass the imperial examinations. I studied the Book of Changes, intending to bring honor to my family and serve the country. However, the principles of the Book of Changes are profound and subtle, and I could not delve into them deeply. I consulted several teachers, but still could not grasp their essence. Suddenly, I heard of a sage master on this mountain who had attained the profound teachings of the elusive. I sought him out, but could not find him; I wanted to seek him, but could not give up. So I built a house here and lived alone for nine years. Finally, I was moved by the master's kindness and was able to receive his profound teachings in person. The master then said to me, ‘The Way of the Book of Changes is indeed worth learning, but the ambition for officialdom is unnecessary.’” A decade later, the Song dynasty ended, and misfortune began in Jiangnan. "Because of my teacher's instruction, I abandoned my wife and children, escaped worldly affairs, moved my dwelling five times, and have lived in this secluded place for twenty years. I never expected you to come by chance; it seems we are destined to meet. My teacher is the old man drinking wine just now." Yunxi said, "The poor have always considered divination and numerology to be mere fabrications, but now, hearing your words, it seems there is indeed some truth to it."
The man in the deep robe said, "No. The wicked and eccentric men of the world deceive and mislead the ignorant, falsely claiming to possess divine powers and fabricating supernatural phenomena." "The talisman. Some say that the one who replaces the Han dynasty is of high rank, others say that the ox succeeds the horse, and these are called divination. What my teacher meant by the end of the Song dynasty's deceit is to deduce and compare, and to explore the principles of common sense. On a grand scale, the cycle of heaven and earth, and on a small scale, the rise and fall of a person, can all be deduced."
Yunxi said: "For example, our Emperor Taizu, after the Chenqiao Mutiny, the sun shone brightly, he quelled the rebellion, and honored his mother's teachings. He passed the throne to his eldest son, whose benevolence and martial prowess were unparalleled in ancient times. Why did Dezhao die young, and Tingmei not live to a ripe old age? And why did Taizong ultimately break his vow to his mother?" Are the distinctions between right and wrong truly so vast? Consider Emperor Zhenzong's benevolence, Emperor Renzong's gentleness and restraint, and Emperor Yingzong's integrity; then there was Emperor Shenzong's initial obsequiousness followed by his eventual confusion, Emperor Zhezong's decline and subsequent chaos, Emperors Huizong and Qinzong's capture in the north, and Emperor Gaozong's weakness and cowardice. They endured humiliation and shame, sought refuge and comfort, knelt in remote corners of the world, feared the loyal and delighted in the sycophants, ultimately leading to the sinking of the imperial tombs and the relocation of the throne. Furthermore, Emperors Xiaozong, Guangzong, Ningzong, and Lizong merely followed the old ways, content to share the throne in the south, their ancestral glory lost to time. From Emperor Duzong onward, things are beyond repair. Alas! What day is this today?
The man in the deep robe said, “At first, I was just as doubtful and angry as you are, and upon reflection, I was overcome with grief. Later, my teacher enlightened me, and I was finally relieved.” Yunxi asked in surprise, “What did he mean?” The man in the deep robe said, “My teacher said: ‘The Chenqiao Mutiny was not the plot of one person, but a change of sentiment among the masses. The people listen to Heaven, and the people obey Heaven.’ This was a record kept by the officials who were writing at the time, using names to conceal the truth. Moreover, Emperor Taizu succeeded the Five Dynasties, from Tang to Jin, then Han to Zhou, usurping power.” Multiplication. Whether it's arrogant soldiers plundering the territory, or fierce generals seeking glory, rise and fall repeatedly, stories repeating themselves, with only minor differences. Even if Li Chuyun hadn't offered the suggestion of reconciliation, and Zhao Pu, fearing the extermination of his clan, hadn't necessarily changed things, the outcome might not have been so certain. When the Jin invaders approached Bianjing, they were misled by peace talks and forgot about defense, pursuing loyalty and righteousness while discouraging loyalists from serving the emperor. The country was lost, yet there was no hardship; the public watched without resentment, seemingly a change in public sentiment—this was the natural order of things. Little did they know how many like Li Chuyun and Zhao Pu there were among them. "Is that so?"
Yunxi said, "Emperor Taizu followed the example of Yao and Shun, abdicating the throne to his brother rather than his son. His benevolence and wisdom are evident. Yet Dezhao died young, and Defang followed, with no hope of a reversal of the throne. Where is the justice of Heaven?" Shenyi said, "Emperor Shizong of Zhou entrusted Emperor Taizu with his trusted advisors, the state, and his orphaned son, yet Emperor Taizu seized it all. What kind of justice is that?" Yunxi said, "That is why. However, Zhao Pu, who received extraordinary treatment from Emperor Taizu, instead harbored ambitions to usurp the throne. As for Emperor Taizong..." " How could someone who betrayed the Golden Box Covenant, disobeyed his loving mother's command, disregarded the Emperor Taizu's act of parting with his beloved son, and was misled by Pu's wicked words, yet still enjoy the throne for nine generations?"
The woman in the deep robe replied, "Empress Dowager Du's teachings were the words Emperor Taizong had subtly instilled in him; the matter was bound to succeed through the treacherous Pu. Having learned from the mistake of having a young emperor, they regarded Dezhao as young and Taizong as virtuous, following the example of the Duke of Zhou—wouldn't that be wonderful? Moreover, during the Chenqiao Mutiny, it was Pu who, along with Kuangyi, instigated the generals, leading to the uprising; only Emperor Taizu was unaware. Their private agreement has already been revealed..." "That's right. If a future ruler has the words of a long-term ruler, how can such a mistake be allowed to continue? This is self-evident."
Yunxi said, "In that case, is Emperor Taizong right and Emperor Taizu wrong?" Shenyi said, "Haha! When Emperors Huizong and Qinzong were captured in the north, Emperor Gaozong had no heir, yet he still didn't repay the debt of dowry? The several emperors who fled south ultimately became descendants of Emperor Taizu." Yunxi continued, "When Bianjing fell, the two emperors were about to leave. The Jin army, isolated and long stationed in a strategic location, looked back without any reinforcements. Not a single person or unit was seen resentfully offering aid." This allowed them to advance with ease and leisurely leave our territory, as if treading on uninhabited land. Some argue that this was due to treacherous ministers assisting the ruler, hindering loyalty and righteousness, thus causing the people's hearts to waver. As for the imperial edict ordering the surrender of the two rivers to the barbarians, yet Taiyuan ultimately refused to submit. What difference is there between the people of Taiyuan and those of Bianjing? The man
in the deep robe said, "If we consider it from the perspective of human sentiment and border control, it's not without merit. Bianjing was seized from the orphaned territory, so its rise and fall are understandable. Taiyuan was obtained by comforting the people, so the favor and righteousness should be reciprocated. Taking gold with benevolence..." "The city of Jinling was built on the border, but Jinling ultimately became a border town; Jinghu was gained through deception, but Lü Wenhuan lost it through deception; Wu and Yue offered their favors and gifts, and ultimately settled in Wu and Yue; these are all the natural order of things, the interplay of fate, and the vicissitudes of human affairs."
Yunxi said, "Hearing your words, it seems close to the Buddhist concept of reincarnation and retribution." Shenyi smiled and said, "Take plants as an example: those that flourish in spring wither in summer, and those that bloom in autumn fade in winter. Extreme cold turns to heat, and extreme heat turns to cold; day turns to night, and night turns to day. Is this not the natural way of heaven?" "The cycles of Qi and reason, the balance of gratitude and resentment; the gathering of good and evil—all are the way of Heaven's righteous retribution. This is as clear as the sun and stars, as certain as metal and stone, so precise it cannot be overlooked, an infallible principle." Yunxi then danced with joy, descended from his bed, and prostrated himself, saying, "Hearing your profound discourse, my doubts have been resolved, and my blockages have been cleared." He then discussed the ministers of the Song Dynasty, naming so-and-so as loyal, so-and-so as upright, so-and-so as virtuous, so-and-so as righteous, so-and-so as treacherous, so-and-so as sycophantic, so-and-so as greedy, so-and-so as corrupt, a noisy and detailed discussion that lasted all night.
Then the candles burned out, the incense burned out, the lingering mist dissipated, and the last stars fell; dawn broke in the east. Yunxi bowed to the man in deep robes and returned home. He jumped and sang, as if he had obtained a priceless treasure, as if he had ascended to a celestial realm. He sat silently with a smile all day, and no one knew why.
Several years later, he died without illness. On his deathbed, he told others about the extraordinary discourse he had encountered, which was recorded with a Daoist pen. Later, it was circulated among those who appreciated it.
A Record of Leisurely Commentary on a Gathering:
There was a man named Xian, whose given name was Ping, a member of the Poetry and Wine Society of Wuhe Township. His appearance was like that of a chaotic being, incapable of singing or dancing; his nature was like wood or stone, yet he possessed some understanding of language. He had no distinction between day and night, no change of heat or cold; he knew neither how to seek profit nor avoid harm, nor how to respect good or fear evil. He was neither arrogant nor obsequious, neither pedantic nor evasive; seemingly foolish yet insightful, common yet upright, clumsy yet cautious, seemingly simple yet meticulous. He did not consider wealth and honor an honor, nor poverty and lowliness a disgrace; he looked up to heaven and down to earth to enjoy their vastness, and found joy in communal living among others. He held fast to the constant without doubt, followed the natural order without deviation, his heart had no inclination, his ambition had no expectation, he had no views of joy or sorrow, no worries about gain or loss. Although he said he read books, he never used them as a means of livelihood; although he said he studied literature, he never used literature for its own sake. He only knew to eat when hungry, drink when thirsty, sleep when tired, and find contentment in leisure. He considered poetry his achievement and wine his pleasure. He seemed content, as if he had gained something; he seemed pleased, as if he had accomplished something; no one could truly understand why.
One day, while drinking with friends, the conversation drifted to matters of ghosts and spirits. One friend said, "I've seen people believe in shamans and sorcerers, asking them to draw pictures on altars and perform various indecent acts, which is utterly useless. However, they often seem to foresee the names, deaths, origins, illnesses, and fortunes of their deceased ancestors, which is even more incomprehensible." Another friend said, "I've also seen strange occurrences in people's homes, such as throwing bricks and tiles, moving objects and wealth, bewitching men and women, causing immense harm. Their claims of being gods or ghosts are unverifiable." Another friend added, "For instance, there are those who use spirit writing to divine and resolve doubts, producing long and short essays that resonate with the times. There are even children who can recount their past lives, and adults who discuss the reasons for being reborn. And there are also..." Those who speak based on appearances, some shouting from beams and hiding in walls, corrupt customs and morals, spreading rumors far and wide, which the law cannot prohibit. Among these are absurdities; are they all true or false? What does the truth say? We, as disciples of the sages, have also studied and investigated principles; how could we not be knowledgeable in the study of things? Some commented, "This is the absurdity of common customs." Others said, "This is the art of evil people." Still others said, "It is demonic, it is strange." Yet others said, "Gods and ghosts are clearly present; how can they be falsely accused!" The crowd argued, each offering their own opinion, a cacophony of trivialities, ultimately without a definitive conclusion.
Only the commentator closed his eyes, sat upright, and remained silent. His friends, puzzled, asked him why, but he smiled and did not answer. When the gathering ended and he returned home, he read by his window. After reading, he silently reflected on the day's conversation. When the candles were lit at night, he angrily picked up his brush and wrote a poem: "
Creation is originally natural; it is through human enlightenment that one can explore its root."
The ingrained habits of the divine are commonplace, and the mysterious and astonishing tales are passed down.
The body, though in the midst of transformation, still seeks transformation; the heart, though bound by duty, seeks even more from Heaven.
All things in the world contain wonder, and all forms before the eyes hold
their mysteries. Gods and ghosts possess inherent abilities that manifest in their forms and functions, their movements and transformations hidden and imperceptible.
Yin and Yang are depicted in images and laid down as warp and weft; the wisdom of sages is preserved in simple texts.
Long lost are the corrupt paths that lead to chaos, yet righteousness and propriety remain, albeit only intermittently. The pursuit of
benevolence and learning is truly lamentable, and the corrupt customs left behind are pitiful.
The four classes of people carelessly indulge in vulgarity, and for millennia, the ignorant have mingled
with the wise. They regret their lack of refinement and find it difficult to transcend; who can cleanse them of their ingrained habits?
They cleverly set up licentious shrines to seek miraculous responses, and falsely worship non-ghosts to achieve reverence.
Cultivating the mind is as serene as autumn clouds, and breaking free from worldly desires is as firm as iron and stone. One should strive to investigate
things and attain knowledge; who is to blame for following evil and perverting reason? Lacking talent and learning,
seeking little knowledge, one is confused by what one sees, doubts what one hears, and has biased views and hearing. They willingly
block out filth with their own enlightenment, and are bound by doubt and fear.
The Buddha's lamp shines like the Mingshan Temple, will-o'-the-wisps and phosphorescent lights emerge from the fields.
They speak of fortune and misfortune through language, wasting money by striking tiles and throwing bricks.
They claim to be gods and ghosts, appearing at opportune moments, bullying women and men, haunting them at night.
The elderly see strange things before their death, children speak of their past lives as soon as they begin to speak.
In the delirium of illness, they are protected by gods; after death, they are clearly released by ghosts.
They repeatedly spread falsehoods and absurdities, their fragmented words indulging in madness.
A single word, coincidentally agreeing, confuses people; half-truths, are proclaimed by all.
The righteous are saddened, the benevolent sigh, the cowardly believe the common man.
The clear and muddy are not in accordance with the will of the wise; success and failure are ultimately in the hands of sorcerers.
Heretical paths and absurdities abound, evil winds and wild drums are allowed to spread unchecked.
They write talismans and incantations to bind spirits, they pray to saints and summon immortals.
They can exorcise spirits to recount past events, they can wield a brush to write long essays.
The ashes before the stove reveal the deceased, the halo on paper reveals ancestors.
The earth god and stove god light rice bowls, family members and evil spirits are questioned by incense smoke.
They call out to grandfathers and mothers with images, beat drums, shake knives, hang paper money.
The scriptures, though thousands of volumes long, remain empty, their deep-seated flaws difficult to eradicate for a thousand years.
Different kinds of people clash, their fortunes dictated; truth and falsehood are indistinguishable, black and white are clearly distinguished.
I yearn to correct customs and follow ancient ways, but my unrealistic dreams of changing traditions waste my sleep.
Worldly troubles are inherently numerous and imperfect, and human affairs are inherently incomplete.
Alone, I sit by the window with its short lamp, pondering and judging my own doubts.
Having finished reciting the poem, I stroke the table and laugh heartily. I recite it several times, admiring and sighing to myself. Then I call for a servant, and we prepare soup and wine to celebrate.
As Fang pondered, a man suddenly rose from under the lamplight, dressed impeccably, resembling a scholar, with refined features and a dignified bearing. He bowed and smiled at Fang, saying, “Your work, which you claimed was the work of the ghost Dong Hu, is, in my opinion, nothing more than a way to refute the vulgar opinions of the masses and express your own views. That is why I felt uneasy about it, and thus, without considering the distinction between the living and the dead, or between humans and ghosts, I dared to offer my opinion. The primordial energy in heaven and earth is all-encompassing, boundless and without trace; all things dwell within this energy, interconnected and mutually inclusive, inseparable. Human breathing is always in harmony with this energy; if one breath is out of balance, illness arises; if breathing ceases, death ensues, like a fish…” Water cannot be removed. What are spirits and deities? They are the functions of Yin and Yang. What are Yin and Yang? They are the movement and stillness of the One Qi. Humans and all things in heaven and earth share this One Qi, with no difference in size or distinction between self and other. Inner and outer contain each other, encompassing the large and the small, principle is inherent and Qi follows, and they are interconnected and responsive. Therefore, the place where the human heart resides is called principle, and the place where principle resides is connected to Qi. When principle is manifest and Qi accumulates, spirits and deities become clear. The difference between right and wrong lies in the inclination of the human heart. The rightness or wrongness of this inclination lies in whether one has learned or not. With learning, one can discern truth and sincerity, with a righteous heart and sincere intentions, virtue in harmony with the primordial Qi, and offerings to spirits will be received and sacrifices to deities will be performed. Without learning, one's own views are unclear, one's heart is doubtful and confused, and one is fearful and apprehensive. "When you come together, all evil and bizarre things arise from this. You, sir, are unable to study diligently to acquire knowledge and teach people the correct principles, yet you sing blind words to condemn the world's ignorance. This is why I lament your fate."
Upon hearing this, Ping was overjoyed. He descended from his seat and bowed, saying, "I am grateful for your generosity in discussing the fundamental unity of heaven and earth, the source of the interconnectedness of qi and principle, the wonders of the functions of spirits and deities, the reality of the interaction between humans and gods, and the distinction between foolishness and wisdom, good and evil. Your explanation is precise and thorough. However, regarding the so-called location of human hearts and the location of principle, it is known that principle is the guide of qi. Therefore, the ancient Confucian saying, 'Where there is principle, there is qi,' is indeed true. If I were to respond with my sincere devotion, the spirits and ghosts would surely manifest themselves." "I think it is indeed true. May I ask, are those descendants who come to offer sacrifices today truly my ancestors?"
The man laughed and said, "What are you talking about! The coffin is placed in the grave, the spirit tablet is enshrined in the temple, we express our remembrance at appropriate times, we offer sacrifices to the spirits—all these practices and arrangements stem from this heart. This heart is my heart, this principle is my principle. Qi may be flexible, but principle remains constant. Those who come to offer sacrifices are none other than my ancestors! Even the birth of a child is merely the interaction of form and qi, a creation from nothing. How much more so can my sincerity move the established principle of reality. The ancients said, 'Ancestors who accumulate good deeds bring prosperity to their descendants; ancestors who accumulate evil deeds bring calamity to their descendants.' This is also proof of the interconnectedness of qi and principle." Having said this, he rose and took his leave. The commentator said, "I have received your kindness, but I do not know your name. Is that acceptable?" The man turned back and said, "You are the union of Yin and Yang, the meeting of gods and spirits. Your spiritual essence is the most profound and mysterious. You and I are in your heart; why ask further? If you wish to know who I am, examine who you are. You are the unified me, and I am the divided you."
The commentator tried to persuade him to stay but could not, and suddenly fell asleep. Upon waking, he recorded the events of his dream as a self-reminder. ( From
"Evening Visit to the West Garden")
There was a man named Xichuan Weng, also known as Haiping Daoren, or Anli Zhairen, whom he referred to as such. He lived in the southwest corner of the capital. Behind his residence was a small garden, filled with a profusion of flowers, called the "West Garden." Within it was a pavilion called "Evening Delight," where the old man often resided. He subsisted on vegetables he grew himself, spending his days and nights there, indulging in poetry and wine. When guests arrived, he would exchange vegetables for wine, showing them his utmost hospitality. Yet, the old man was unlearned and unskilled, unaware of his own foolishness; over sixty years old, unaware of his own old age; penniless, unaware of his own poverty; living among others, unaware of his own lowliness. He possessed a bold and unrestrained spirit, a resolute and vigorous demeanor, a righteous and chivalrous character, and a proud and self-satisfied joy. Everyone dared to laugh but dared not speak.
Although the old man's words and actions were often unrestrained, his poems and essays seemed to be close to elegance and tranquility, so they are recorded here. His "Record of Late Enjoyment in the West Garden" says:
In the seventh month of the Xin-You year of the Hongzhi reign, I moved to a corner of the south side of my house. Located in the market, close to the door, I was happy to exchange firewood and rice. There was extra space behind the house, with a narrow earthen fence, several fathoms in circumference, comparable to the neighbors. The boundary was about a hundred paces wide, with two wells each at the northwest and southeast corners, equipped with water-drawing mechanisms, and the plots were laid out in rows, with the atmosphere of an ancient well field. The irrigation canal ran all around, irrigating all kinds of vegetables, each with a different name, a verdant sight to behold. Fresh ingredients are cooked thoroughly and dried in the sun, making a delicious and satisfying meal. It can also be used to supplement wine. Locust trees and willows stand in harmonious contrast, creating a lush and inviting atmosphere. Pine trees arch their branches, and bamboo supports the sparse vegetation, forming a canopy-like structure. Moss mats and sedge carpets are layered and stacked, creating a flat and spacious area suitable for sitting, with winding bamboo paths. From the left and right, pits are dug, and mounds of earth are built, creating a terraced landscape where one can sit and enjoy the view, stroll leisurely, and cleanse the mind and eyes. Whether the weather is sunny or cool, it is suitable for playing music, playing chess, reciting poetry, and drinking. A pavilion can be built with an inscription reading "Evening Delight," a metaphor for the enjoyment of the evening. Vines and creepers mark the boundaries, ensuring a proper layout. Firewood is laid on earthen beds, with a clay stove and earthenware cups. And ancient and simple, with numerous books and historical scrolls. A few screens may suffice, yet the vast and boundless expanse seems to hold the towering peaks of Taihang. Once, a tapestry of vibrant blue and purple, a dazzling display of gold and jade, appeared, perhaps resembling clouds, vying with the mountains in grandeur. Like the image of Yinglong Ridge. The illusions play endlessly, the reflected light on the grass and trees, each spirit shining brightly upon the other, making one wonder if this is not a place of mortals, or perhaps a different realm. Moreover, there are companions of wind and moon day and night, where wine is poured indiscriminately, poems are written without restraint, and indulgence in licentious chanting is wasted. When self and things are in harmony, and the heart is one with heaven, how can images be pointed out? How can words be expressed? This is what I dare not revel in alone; I wish to share it with those who understand. Together. Xi Chuansheng wrote this, hence this record.
And there are also twenty five-character rhyming poems entitled "Enjoying Life in the West Garden," which read:
Enjoying life in the West Garden, A riot of flowers blooms in vibrant red.
My old heart finds only contentment, Spring's joy is shared with all.
Wine's pleasure transcends worldly thoughts, Poetry's form rivals the work of nature.
To seek exquisite pleasure, one must be in the moonlight. East:
Enjoying life in the West Garden, Spring's beauty seems to return to winter.
Cold fragrance of plum blossoms by the window, Lingering snow on the stone altar and pines.
The sound of bells is choked by the wind, The pavilion's shade is heavy with moonlight.
The four seasons' charm is good, Truly for nurturing a leisurely life. Winter :
Enjoying life in the West Garden, High spirits and worldly worries vanish.
Moving flowers are accompanied by the wind. Raising a cup, the moon shines in pairs.
A stone couch nestled among bamboo, a thatched pavilion facing windows.
A grand song, without rhythm, mostly a transcendent melody. (Jiang)
Enjoying the pleasures of the West Garden, I sit by the small pond in the shade.
Snails perch on the grass, ants greet the cup near the trees.
The sun shines on the bamboo tips, the dream breaks at the pine roots.
My little grandson knows I'm drunk, and pulls my sleeve, showing how to support me. (Zhi) Enjoying the
pleasures of the West Garden, I climb the platform to gaze at the sunset.
My eyes reach their limit, a lone bird disappears, the distant mountains fade into the distance.
My verses are clumsy, the chrysanthemums are turning yellow, the empty cup reminds me of a white-robed man.
Seize the moment and enjoy life to the fullest, don't let a single moment slip by. (Wei) Enjoying the pleasures
of the West Garden, my heart is at ease, my body is relaxed.
(Pouring wine into the flowers) Drunk, I found a line inscribed on the wall.
I stroll by moonlight, dragging my cane, my brown robe billowing in the wind.
At seventy, my body is still strong; what more could I ask for? (Fish)
Enjoying myself in the West Garden, I find solace in music and books.
New ideas are fitting, yet I find joy in familiar routines.
Dust is far away, moss is still, the pavilion is empty, the bright moon shines alone.
Poetry has made me addicted to drunkenness, and my children and grandchildren help me every day. (Yu)
Enjoying myself in the West Garden, I carry my own earthenware cup.
I open pomegranates and shellfish, roast bamboo shoots and peel rhinoceros horn.
A line is first submitted, a couplet is then assigned a title.
It is fitting to be in the pavilion, drunk as mud all day long. (Qi)
Enjoying myself in the West Garden, in a secluded little study.
(Qu) Far from the dust of the world, a lazy heart finds peace.
Beehives cling to leaves on the wall, bamboo shoots climb the steps .
A cup of wine under the moon and flowers, each day brings solitary joy. (Good)
Enjoying pleasure in the West Garden, windows open beneath the bamboo.
Swallows in the pond gather catkins in the wind, rain seals the moss on the crane path.
Fallen flowers are lazily swept away by children, chess is idle as guests have not yet arrived.
Composing poems, I sit up late,
raising my cup to the moon. (Ash) Enjoying pleasure in the West Garden, its tranquility surpasses all others.
Music and books provide for my leisurely pursuits, wind and moon accompany my idle body.
Simple food and drink, ever-changing scenery.
Poems completed, I lie down drunk, grass covering the ground like a carpet. (True)
Enjoying pleasure in the West Garden, I sit until late at night, intoxicated.
The evening breeze has ceased after the rain, and a new moon emerges from the idle clouds.
The small pond reflects the scenery, and distant peaks are shrouded in the twilight.
From where does the flute rise, its clear melody carried through the flowers? (Wen) Enjoying
the pleasures of the West Garden, I freely pour wine in this fine time.
The bamboo breeze soothes my drunken thoughts, and the moonlit pond bathes my poetic soul.
Fireflies flit through the window, and 　　cranes hover by the gate amidst the swirling clouds.
What more night should I enjoy? True pleasure lies in the twilight. (Yuan) Enjoying the pleasures of the West Garden, I roam freely and indulge in pleasure. 　　My body is always leaning on a cane, and my white hair can no longer support my crown. 　　In this secluded place, my poetic soul is refreshed, and my drunken eyes are wide open to the sky. 　　The spring day is long in the small courtyard, and the shadows of flowers press against the railing. (Han) Enjoying the pleasures 　　of the West Garden, I spend my days idly by the bramble gate. 　　The pond is divided by water flowing through the bamboo, and the sunset sets off the mountains beyond the city. 　　Though my heart still yearns for sunflowers and beans, my interest in mulberry and elm has waned. 　　On the flat rock in the western forest, I often get drunk under the bright moon. (Shan) Enjoying 　　the pleasures of the West Garden, how different am I from an immortal beyond the mortal world? 　　I entrust the twilight years to the heavens, and I am fortunate to preserve my declining years. 　　Although poetry and wine add to my debts, the scenery costs nothing. 　　Morning and evening, I am often downcast; my purity is not in vain. First, 　　I find pleasure in the West Garden, a secluded study far from the city's clamor. 　　Moonlight shines on the bamboo dew, and 　　the fragrance of flowers rises like a tide in the pines. My wine cup is always full; the dreams of the mortal world are far away. 　　No carriages or horses come and go; I spend my days with fishermen and woodcutters. Second, I find 　　pleasure in the West Garden, a place of distant, worldly friendships. 　　An old neighbor often brings wine, and bamboo shoots are enough to satisfy my cravings. 　　Rain brings forth blooming flowers, and the wind rustles the bamboo. 　　As the sun sets, I return from my midday dream, sitting and counting the swallows building their nests. Third, I 　　find pleasure in the West Garden, where cicadas sing their nightly songs. 　　After the rain, autumn arrives early; the sky is still, and the moon shines high. 　　My humble abode welcomes distinguished guests; new poems are offered with fine wine. 　　I indulge in the joys of poverty and hardship; here I am close to the heroes. Fourth, I find 　　pleasure in the West Garden, a pine pavilion adorned with brocade and lush grass. 　　A pale new moon peeks through the eaves; many insects chirp on the steps. 　　The door closes as the guests depart; the poem is finished, and the wine is half-drunk. 　　The surrounding sky seems washed clean; I sit alone and sing a high-pitched song. Song 　　In the West Garden, enjoying the pleasures of life, the scenery is especially beautiful after a clear day. 　　Red lotuses lean against the pond like mirrors, and green bamboo is shrouded in mist. 　　Cats chase butterflies, and cranes peer at fish from their rafts. 　　The peaks rise in a chaotic array of purple and green, and the sun hides behind the evening glow. Hemp 　　In the West Garden, enjoying the pleasures of life 　　, the thatched pavilion is bathed in the long sun. Willows droop over the green pond, and red calyxes waft their fragrance in the breeze. 　　The beauty of the scenery is beyond words, and a tranquil heart finds coolness in the place. 　　In my declining years, I have encountered a prosperous age, and I can peacefully enjoy the light of old age. Sun 　　In the West Garden, enjoying the pleasures of life, the desolate terrace is illuminated by the evening light. 　　Geese return as autumn deepens, and cicadas fall silent after the rain has cleared. 　　Yellow leaves burn in the tea stove, and moss embroiders the stone scale. 　　Sitting here, the flower dew is cold; rising, I walk towards the moon. Geng 　　In the West Garden, enjoying the pleasures of life, I am seventy years old. 　　Over the years, my hair has gradually turned white, but my eyes remain youthful. 　　I study verses morning and evening, and indulge in wine, sometimes drunk, sometimes sober. 　　In quietude, my eyes are broad, and my thoughts wander into the vast emptiness. Green 　　In the West Garden, enjoying the pleasures of life, I climb the high terrace to gaze at the sunset. 　　The bright clouds follow the setting sun, and the bright moon rises with the clouds. 　　Good lines are found in leisure, leaning on the railing in a drunken stupor. 　　A lone bird disappears on the horizon, the sun sets on the layered mountains at dusk. 　　In the West Garden, enjoying leisure, the old man 　　finds even greater pleasure. Embracing fools, we laugh together; who can rival my laziness? 　　Drawing a tiger, I am ashamed to become a dog; striving for a living, I painfully learn from the dove. 　　The West Garden offers many evening pleasures, poetry and wine provide ample enjoyment. 　　In the West Garden, I cultivate a mind that understands the principles of nature. 　　Pavilions and terraces become elegant delights, the scenery inspires solitary chanting. 　　The overnight rain contains morning dew, a light mist hangs over the pavilion in the daytime shade. 　　I sit quietly for a long time behind the curtain, a secluded bird separated by layers of forest. 　　In the West Garden, enjoying leisure, the old man finds even greater pleasure. 　　Fragrant lotuses laugh together, the bamboo groves revel in the summer heat. 　　The wind still blows north after the rain, the moon shines south after the clouds clear. 　　I call the servant to prepare the bedding, how can I resist the allure of poetry and wine? 　　In the West Garden, I idly reminisce about the past. 　　Back then, we crossed our arms; today, I alone stroke my beard. 　　The old ways are revealed through poetry, □□□□□. 　　□□□□□, □□□□□. Salty In the West Garden, 　　where 　　pleasure abounds 　　, fleeting light passes before the eyes. 　　Sparse 　　... ... ...

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The Ten Forbidden Books of the Ming and Qing Dynasties - A Collection of Flower Images (Part 2)

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