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卷三十下 郎顗襄楷列傳

Volume 30b: Biographies of Lang Yi; Xiang Kai

Chapter 35 of 後漢書 ✓ Translated
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Chapter 35
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1
Lang Yi, courtesy Yaguang, came from Anqiu in Beihai commandery. His father Lang Zong (courtesy Zhongsui) studied the Jing interpretation of the Book of Changes, mastered wind-angle astrology, star calculation, and the six-day-seven-part calendar, read qi for omens, and made his living as a fortuneteller. Emperor An summoned him; he topped the policy examination among classicists and was later made magistrate of Wu. When a sudden gale struck, Lang Zong predicted a major fire in the capital, recorded the expected moment, and sent observers to confirm—events matched his forecast. The dignitaries reported his feat to the throne and secured an Erudite’s summons for him. Lang Zong disdained fame from fortune-telling; when the appointment arrived he hung his official seal in the yamen overnight and vanished, never serving again.
2
The younger Lang Yi inherited his father’s arts while mastering the classics; he lived reclusively on the coast and drew hundreds of students. He plumbed doctrine by day and scanned the skies by night, tireless from dawn to dusk. He turned down every provincial summons and recommendation for “possessed of the Way” or “forthright.” Under Emperor Shun, omens multiplied; in the first month of Yangjia 2, when the court called for candidacies, Lang Yi presented himself at the gates and offered this memorial:
3
使
I have learned that Heaven hangs strange signs and Earth shows warning marks to admonish the sovereign— urging self-scrutiny, moral cultivation, true balance in rule, and reform that spreads virtue. The Inner Commentary on the Book of Changes says: “Every disaster springs from the kind of governance that produced it.” Reform the policies and the omens lift; eliminate the faults and they lift as well.” “I trust Your Majesty hears petitions with the zeal of one who sits past midday, renews the thrice-daily self-scrutiny, weighs missteps, and works to clear enduring regret.”
4
西殿
Today’s habits run to extravagance and ease; compassion is shallow and righteousness slight. Extravagance must be cured by austerity; moral thinness by earnest generosity; governing rulers and people alike begins with ritual. Ritual discipline must start with the throne; trimming display and shallow ways cannot be left to commoners alone. Hence the moral tone of the “Zhou South,” where “Guanju” stands as the foundation of policy. Establish the root and the Way grows; as wind bends grass, so pure springs flow from a clean headwaters and foul streams from a tainted source. Heaven and Earth work like a bellows and flute—power lies in modest emptiness, and influence spreads outward from the center. I note repeated fires at the mausolea—blazes fierce enough to disturb the imperial dead. The Changes’ “Heaven and Man Correlation” warns: “When rulers chase profit without reflection, grace dries up—and destructive fire consumes the palace.” It adds: “Lofty towers and lavish treasuries violate yin–yang balance—fire follows.” And: “When neither sovereign nor subjects practice restraint, fires rage through the ruler’s halls.” Lately the Western Granary has been rebuilt, the Imperial University restored, and countless offices and halls refurbished. Pan Geng left excess for simplicity when he moved the capital; the Xia founders kept modest rooms yet pursued true refinement. When Lu expanded its treasury, Min Ziqian objected: “Keep the old scale—why rebuild?” I urge cutting every repair still possible, easing taxes on the destitute, feeding orphans and widows—that answers Heaven, brings joy to men, anchors humanity, and embodies austerity. Who could heed Heaven, care for the people, embrace kindness and restraint, and still lack Heaven’s favor?
5
Earth is the soil deity—yin, calm, and quiet; in seasons meant for nurturing growth it should be honored, not tormented. Since New Year’s month darkness has stretched day after day. The Inner Commentary says: “Persistent overcast without rain marks confused qi—Meng turning into Bi.” Meng pictures superiors and subordinates obscuring each other in chaos. It adds: “Wanted virtue left unused brings endless murk.” The worthy are transformation’s root; clouds hold the rain. Ignoring talent while claiming to seek it matches endless cloud with no downpour. Recently cold overshot its season—ice thawed, then locked tight again. Cold yields to heat and heat to cold—sun and moon alternate, seasons hand off, and creatures mature. After spring begins the fire phase should rule—yet chill persists. The fault lies in withholding rewards while inflicting harsh penalties. Defer executions until autumn so punishments align with seasonal qi.
6
輿
Reviewing the Flying Marquis charts and current policy, I forecast earthquakes and floods after summer begins. Mars wanders off course, swelling and shrinking as it crosses Ghost constellation and loops the imperial asterism. Fire’s essence rules the south—it governs summer’s administration. When summer governance goes awry, Mars strays from its path. The third through ninth days of the first month correspond to the Three Excellencies’ hexagram. The three dukes mirror the celestial Terraces and bind the ruler’s person. Misrule lets yin cold overturn seasonal order. “Lofty as those southern hills”—that ode belongs to the Zhou hymns; “Our limbs are worthy”—the Canon of Shun praises such ministers. Today’s officials strike grand poses, draw fat salaries, ignore the empire’s troubles, lounge about pleading sickness, yet leap up when bonus payments arrive. Can ailments vanish that conveniently if sincerity were real? With such conduct, can omens be banished and peace restored? Choosing governors rests with the three high offices. Bad magistrates indict their superiors; faulty provinces indict their nominators—should not the buck stop at the recommenders? The throne heaps favor on them while underlings grow lazier—wide meshes above, tight meshes below. The three dukes are not my foes and I am no fanatic; I speak because the court hungers for stable rule, not because flattery is impossible.
7
使
Raised in the backcountry, ignorant of court taboos, I lay my heart bare without polishing phrases. Let me face axe or cauldron—I die without complaint. I proffer this memorial at the gate and await whatever sentence you decree. After it was read, the emperor ordered him to respond before the Masters of Writing. Lang Yi answered:
8
退 便
Wise rulers welcome criticism; loyal servants hide nothing. I am but a common mortal, blunt and unaware of court prohibitions, so I risk death to repeat these truths. I pray you enlarge the virtues of Heaven and Earth, shine like sun and moon, study archives and canons, weigh ancient and modern rule. Where policy falters, amend it yourself. Ground yourself in Wen and Wu’s legacy, rise toward Yao and Shun’s standard, banish disaster, extend grace, and command the world. This humble wish consumes me waking or sleeping. I therefore expand my earlier argument and submit seven practical measures as follows:
9
殿 殿便 西 退
First: imperial tombs are sacred, yet infernos licked the bedchambers—those spirits would tremble if conscious. Palaces date barely to Emperor Ming’s Yongping reign—few decades yet endless rebuilding. The Western Park pens game and fowl in villas never meant for permanent living, yet carpentry never stops—labor and treasure pour out by the hundred million. The Inner Commentary says: “Extravagant rulers who overbuild invite drought and fire.” So Duke Xi of Lu, facing drought, reformed himself, silenced county bells, and halted repairs—rain followed though troubles lingered. Heaven answers humanity faster than shadow or echo. On this month’s seventeenth, a wuwu day marked the zhi phase; when the sun stood at shen, wind rose from yin and stopped in chou. Chou, yin, and shen align with the fire note—expect either blaze or drought. Please audit construction expenses, remember popular labor, shutter the works bureau, strip gaudy carving, shrink palace kitchens, and end private revels. The Zhongfu commentary promises: “When yang stirs Heaven, change comes within a day.” Do this and auspicious clouds will gather while ill omens cease.
10
Second: since last year the Dui hexagram has governed, yet matching signs seldom appear. The Changes commentary says: “Show without substance—that is the sycophant.” Substance without display—that is the true man of the Way.” Temperature is substance; clarity or murk is outward show. Today’s three dukes look respectful yet hollow—stern in face, timid within—serving with empty show and no statecraft; omens of purity shift while seasons do not, so yin cold disrupts the cycle. Prognostication warns: “High sun brings freak winds; veiled sun splits earth.” Three years of this breed eclipses—yin eating yang, built layer on layer. If spring warmth arrives on schedule, your decrees are genuinely mild. If cold returns, the mercy was cosmetic. Even ten households yield loyal men; surely the empire hides talent—yet none win recognition. That cannot nurture virtue or save the people. Adopt worthy aides to advance sagely reform.
11
Third: Heaven’s pattern is near—the cycles of three and five repeat. This shaoyang year should build momentum; I fear after yi-year shocks will cross Heaven’s Gate and disaster climax in wu-ji. Spring will parch; summer will flood—the six-day-seven-part calendar proves it. Before calamity strikes, omens align by category. Faulted conduct reverses celestial qi, stirs essences into omens, and warns the throne. True kings, when harvests fail, thin palace kitchens and skip delicacies. Years of meager harvests have left homes hungry—each harvest poorer than the last. When the people lack sufficiency, how can the ruler claim plenty? Though drought and flood have not struck, the wise ruler looks ahead and checks threats at their birth. Laozi says: “The people hunger because their superiors tax too heavily.” Emperor Wen wore plain robes and leather shoes, kept utensils unadorned, tightened his own wants and cut taxes—peace followed. Your reign renews Han’s virtue; hold to the old standards with austerity and thrift, and the realm will rejoice. The Changes teaches: “Heaven’s Way is impartial—it always aids the good.” So King Wu Ding won fortune, and Duke Jing of Song won long life.
12
輿 使
Fourth: no prince has been named heir; the Eastern Palace sits empty; the stars give no clear sign of an heir. Mars after last equinox sat five degrees in Bond; by the Triple Concordance it should now be nine degrees in Wings, yet it lingers in Willow—over fifty degrees behind prediction. Last year’s eighth month, day wuchen, Mars crossed Ghost Cart into the Chariot, slipped north of the Rear Star, jogged four degrees east, then swept north and returned. The Chariot signifies the inner palace. Mars embodies peak yang and acts as Heaven’s messenger—yet it shuttles through the harem stars. The Changes says: “Heaven displays signs—they disclose blessing or doom.” The meaning could hardly be clearer. Rite allows the emperor one wedding with nine consorts, each rank properly ordered. Thousands of palace women languish cut off from normal life; pent-up grievance moves Heaven, so Mars trespasses the harem stars—warning you to restore kinship and heed the omen. King Wu dismissed the harem captives and honored worthy men; Heaven answered with the sage heir King Cheng. You stock the harem beyond Heaven’s intent—hence royal children perish early and the throne lacks an heir. The Classic of Poetry warns: “Fear Heaven’s anger—never mock or slacken.” No blessing now exceeds abundant heirs; will you not weigh how to secure them? Dismiss surplus women to wed freely; Heaven will bless you with countless descendants. I beg you dwell on this counsel again and again. Your intimate attendants should echo these warnings until they reach you. Sound history illumines today; sound astronomy illumines human affairs. Question the bureaucracy; if I am wrong, punish me for reckless counsel.
13
西 宿宿 宿西 西 使 西
Fifth: on jichou night of last year’s leap month, a white streak ran from the western park through the Left Foot into Jade Well and faded after days. The Annals records: “A broom star blazed in the Great Asterism.” What counts as the Great Marker? It means the Great Fire star. Great Fire, the Net constellation, and the pole—all serve as that great marker. One comet touching three lodges marks the polar palace of the true king. When the palace loses restraint, policy inverts, and military awe fails—the three markers flash response. White Tiger rules war over Zhao, Wei, and the western capital region—the sign appeared there. Metal omens surface in fall. I fear Qiang trouble along Zhao, Wei, and Guanzhong once autumn opens. Warn every district early: respect harvest times, cut labor and levies, halt needless building, fortify stores and jails, post guards, and assign able men to calm the west. Metal’s ill omen indicts those above. On the designated bingwu day dispatch the commander with ritual arms, record the covenant on jade, acknowledge the white qi sign at the western altar, and expunge baleful influence through fire-over-metal symbolism. Fire conquering metal converts peril into fortune.
14
Sixth: at si hour on yimao the fourteenth, a white rainbow pierced the solar disk. Pure white solar halo counts as this “rainbow.” A halo that cuts the disk means yin is encroaching on the great yang. An appearance in spring means policy has strayed from the proper course. Court eunuchs and ministries keep grilling cases—often trivial ones. Since the imperial tomb fire, unnamed blame has driven mass arrests and brutal interrogation. Fire warns the throne: heed it, never dismiss it. Withdraw into scruple and self-scrutiny to forestall more omens. Defer harsh inquiries until autumn trials. The Yi commentary promises joy when rulers elevate talent in due order. Neglect that and you get the white rainbow across the sun. Appearances on jia/yi days implicate the central ministry. Under the current minister cosmic order errs and talent goes ignored; popular outrage everywhere agrees. Metal doubled since spring—metal cuts wood, auguring arms—remove the minister to placate Heaven. Delay will prove my counsel false and leave the commoners suffering.
15
輿
Seventh: the Han house has stood three hundred thirty-nine years. By the “Three Foundations” chronology Gaozu began in hai zhong 2; we are now xu zhong 10. Apocrypha says mao/you and wu/hai mark revolutions; spirits at Heaven’s Gate watch and listen. Spirits stationed in xu/hai watch each reign’s merit—virtue thrives, vice dies. The secret Yi calendar places us in Kun’s “trapped” phase. Kun’s second yang pictures petty men besieging their betters. The canon asks: “Trapped yet steadfast—is this not the gentleman?” True kings endure danger yet honor their mandate. You formerly cultivated virtue in concealment; omens stirred your first year—the cosmic pivot already shifted. Yet omens may remain; wise rulers anticipate disaster early. Xu zhong ends as we enter the final third; three centuries have passed since Wen curtailed corporal law. Use the turn to slash redundant laws, retitle offices, simplify regalia, shrink ritual excess, and streamline the pivot of government. Proclaim a new reign year, call hidden worthies, recruit the upright, invite debate, and welcome blunt advice.
16
I cited these turns timidly—taboos bind me from saying more.
17
Censors asked: “You said the spring rainbow meant policy was irregular.” They protested that court follows precedent—what changed? They quoted your demand to overhaul statutes and titles. Some link irregular policy to omens; others say reform fixes them—which holds? They challenged a second era change so soon after Yangjia. They demanded plain proof. Lang Yi answered:
18
使
Spring’s eastern work awakens yang and fosters creation. Sovereigns echo Heaven—spring calls for mild rule and seasonal justice. Yet punishments roll on in spring—autumn severity in spring skies—hence the rainbow across the sun. Yin riding yang paints halos—because clerks torment the people. That is not the mercy the throne should show. That is the “irregular government” I meant. Personnel power sits with the three offices—not Zhou-level sages—yet every hire runs through clerks, corridors clog with favor-seekers, and gifts never stop. Candidates flood recommendations with kin—breeding fraud—hardly “following the models.” The secretariat sits at the hinge—sealed against graft. Let appointments return to the Masters of Writing. I am crude, yet consensus says this fits the age. Confucius predicted Han’s calendar shift at three hundred years. Each virtue-cycle lasts 304 years; five cycles span 1,520—elements take turns. Sovereigns track Heaven the way seasons swap colors. Three centuries after Wen’s mercy code, petty bans still accumulate. Royal law should flow like a river—easy to steer clear of, hard to violate. The Changes praises clarity: simple laws reveal Heaven’s pattern. Lead by austerity, rename offices to match reality. The sage’s way exits and enters—many routes, one goal. Reform done right ends calamity; done wrong summons omens. The cycle’s pivot invites a new reign motto—aligning with cosmic timing.
19
I lack wit to answer every royal query. Lang Yi next recommended Huang Qiong and Li Gu and outlined remedies:
20
The seven measures I offered fit present needs. I risk execution for blunt counsel and tremble without refuge.
21
耀 使
One hollows hulls and trims oars to ride the rivers and seas; one hires worthies and picks aides to bring peace to the realm. Yao deployed many dragons; Wen, Wu, Zhou, and Shao built dynastic glory. The Poetry cries: “Sovereign majesty—Zhong Shanfu enacted it.” How the regional states fared—Zhong Shanfu read each case aright. King Xuan leaned on him, and good order followed. Your reign has been diligent, yet the chief posts still lack the right men—hence omens pile up and the realm stays unsettled. The archives and my own observation agree—states thrive by gaining talent and fail by losing it. The worthy hesitate before serving; when promotion tracks merit, gentlemen gladly trade poverty for honorable station. If merit goes unrewarded and counsel unheard, men drift home to the wilds and cling to private purpose. Seeking talent serves Heaven above and the people below. To spurn them defies cosmic order and popular hope. The first invites disaster; the second blocks moral sway. Calamity breeds popular outcry; failed reform costs the throne its moral authority. The breaks in the seasonal cycles—fault lies here. You must stand steadfast and vigilant, guarding Heaven’s charge and the dynasty’s great work.
22
祿
Huang Qiong of Jiangxia—grand counselor—loves learning, stays humble while packing talent, knows the canon, governs decisively, and reads shifting signs. The court once honored him and gave him a seat among the highest. Huang Qiong had little time at court; mourning and illness cut short his service before his designs ripened. Laozi says the greatest voice is barely heard; the greatest vessel finishes late. Solid virtue needs years to take root. All praise the court for Huang Qiong—yet wonder why he was not brought back sooner. Raise his honors, fulfill the ritual of fostering talent, recall him to Luoyang, and reassure the empire. Li Gu of Hanzhong, forty, commands the disciples’ learning and the moral gravity of Yan and Min. His integrity gleams like noon; his loyalty cleaves to the right—he outshines antiquity. Heaven bred Li Gu to aid sage Han—summon him specially as a sign to the realm. Extraordinary gifts must not be shackled to rank and seniority. Yan Hui at eighteen drew the world toward virtue; the boy magistrate Ziqi reformed his district while scarcely grown. Restore Huang Qiong, call Li Gu, and give them real power—rivals to Yi Yin and Fu Yue—and blessing will follow. I am no judge of character, but the people sing one verdict on these men. Poll the bureaucracy—if any charge fails, execute me for deceit. Do not dismiss truth for the messenger’s rank.
23
便
I submit four more practical items below:
24
Confucius dated the Annals from the first month to sanctify the new year. Model Heaven’s rhythm: proclaim virtue, enfeoff talent, shower mercy, nurture vital qi, and shelter the people. Do this and the sky clears, planets align, and seasons cooperate. Otherwise the sun dulls, weather fouls, and smog masks daylight. Since spring opened I hear only torture and sentence—not mercy. Heaven reacts instantly, yet haze has veiled moon and sun since New Year. The sun mirrors the throne—earthly misrule dims it. Clear or murky solar omens track good and bad rule. Heaven’s signs never appear without reason. Are you worn by endless affairs while inner counsel falters? Why so many celestial warnings? Summon steadfast virtue, recruit talent, fill the ministry’s hinge posts, and forge united rule. I stress the sun because its eclipse cannot stand—you must reform now. Small omen, enormous stakes. Few words, wide meaning. Please study this memorial closely.
25
退
Confucius tied first thunder to hexagram Dazhuang and ministerial dominance to Jie. Days nine through fourteen belong to Dazhuang—the hexagram of rise and fall. Thunder should roll in that span—harmony of qi and ascent of the royal Way. The Yi praises thunder from earth—sage kings answered it with ritual music. Thunder wakes sprouts and scourges harmful yin. Creation needs thunder’s push and rain’s soak. The canon pairs thunder’s stir with rain’s nurture. Merciful spring rule draws timely thunder; cruelty drives thunder into winter silence. Missing thunder means weak sovereign yang. Murky air still cloaks the luminaries—that proves the text. Heaven’s mesh is wide yet catches all—omens track policy faithfully. Great rulers mirror Heaven and rotate policy with the seasons. Thunder embodies imperial command and the nurture of life. When edicts fail and life turns to slaughter, thunder answers awry and harvests fail. Purge cruel officials, ease the people, and thunder will roll as Heaven intends.
26
Third: last year’s tenth month, day guihai, Venus and Jupiter met in Fang and Xin. Venus north, Jupiter south, their beams touching. Those lodges mark the celestial hall where policy is proclaimed. Apocrypha promises bumper crops when Jupiter guards the Heart. The Documents’ Hong Fan notes lunar omens and Chong Hua’s halt. “Chong Hua” names Jupiter in the Heart lodge. Venus joins Jupiter in the hall of state—metal and wood clash yet merge: yin ministers eclipse the sovereign. Those eastern lodges align with Song. The Shi manual reads Jupiter’s left exit as plenty, right as famine. Both planets east with Jupiter south signals “right exit”—famine may stalk Song. Audit Bright-Hall governance and planetary order will right itself.
27
祿 西 西 宿
Fourth: weak sovereign yang or dominant ministerial yin both parched the land. Weak yang means royal grace never reaches the fields. Usurping yin means revenue leaks from the throne to ministerial cliques. Winter into spring brought no healing rain—only ill-timed west winds. The court prayed everywhere—mountains, rivers, dragon rites, market shifts. Heaven ignores sham ritual—true reform begins with the throne’s self-blame. If prayer alone fixed weather, drought would never plague us. Calamity persists because the fault lies elsewhere. Since spring I see no rewards for virtue—only capital police hauling petty suspects until jails burst. Fresh light over Gongling proves Heaven’s fire, not arson. On dingchou a gale blackened sky and land. Wind carries Heaven’s command—warning the throne toward steadfast rule. Month-long drought threatens the winter wheat. Lose one crop and a third of the people starve. Spread mercy and aid the commoners. Yao’s flood lasted nine years yet granaries stayed full—light taxes and planning. Issue generous relief now to match Heaven’s mandate. Ignore reform and rain waits till summer—hope nothing sooner. If reform fails to bring rain, boil me for lying.
28
西
The emperor named him gentleman of the palace; feigning illness he fled home. Fourth month: the capital quaked and sank in places. Summer brought crushing drought. Autumn: Xianbei took Mayi and routed Dai’s army. Next year western Qiang struck Longyou. Events unfolded much as Lang Yi predicted. Later summons by state carriage went unanswered.
29
Sun Li, local bully and knight-errant fan, courted Lang Yi’s fame with a neighbor. Lang Yi snubbed him; Sun Li nursed a grudge and murdered him.
30
Xiang Kai (courtesy Gongju) came from Xiyin in Pingyuan commandery. He was bookish, steeped in ancient lore, and adept at celestial and yin-yang calculation.
31
Under Emperor Huan the castrates ran the court, justice turned savage, royal heirs kept dying, and omens multiplied. Yanxi 9: Xiang Kai left home, presented himself at the gates, and offered this memorial:
32
耀 耀 西
High Heaven is silent—it teaches through celestial signs. Even Yao and Shun tracked the luminaries and five planets—hence long life and an enduring pattern for posterity. Last May Mars entered the Supreme Turret, crossed the Emperor’s Seat, left the Vermilion Portal, straying from its track. That leap month Venus entered Bond, brushed the Heart’s minor stars, and rocked the central blaze. That central blaze is the celestial sovereign; the lesser sparks beside him stand for imperial sons. The Supreme Turret is the five emperors’ court—Venus and Mars flare there, portending the ruler’s danger; both intruding Bond and Heart forecast no heir. This year Jupiter lingered in the Supreme Turret, reversed west toward the Rear Gate, then swung back hugging the celestial Han. Jupiter cherishes life—its refusal to move indicts neglected mercy and brutal law. Seven years back, Mars and Jupiter entered the Chariot, reversed forty days—and Empress Deng fell. That winter froze wildlife and killed riverside bamboo and cypress. My teacher warned: withered bamboo and cypress within three years touches the ruler. Luoyang now shrieks at night of ghost fires—same omen as the plants’ death. Since spring, frost, hail, and thunderclap storms follow eunuch arrogance and harsh justice.
33
Liu Zhi and Cheng Jin executed villains the people endorsed—you trusted castrates’ slander and had both men hauled away. The three dukes pleaded for Liu Zhi—you ignored them and browbeat the ministers instead. Patriotic officials will soon fall silent.
34
Murdering innocents and killing worthies curses three generations. Your reign has massacred the Liang, Kou, Sun, and Deng lines—collateral victims number beyond count. Li Yun and Du Zhong died for frank counsel—no pardon—and everyone knew it was wrong. Never in Han’s history has frank speech been punished this savagely.
35
The Yongping code kept capital cases for winter review—life mattered. For decades magistrates dodge capital review by feigning sickness—prisoners rot awaiting trial. Prefects play judge and executioner—innocent ghosts cry out and plague follows. King Wen’s one queen bore ten heirs—you house thousands yet sire none. Cultivate virtue, soften sentences, and earn the fertility hymned in ‘Locusts.’
36
Seventh year, sixth month, day thirteen: a dragon carcass dozens of yards long lay on Yewang mountain in Henei. Fufeng watched a meteorite strike—thunder heard three counties away. Dragons shift shape—the Changes likens them to sages; dynasties read them as omens. Courtiers call the dead dragon a snake to hide the ill omen. Dragons and divine snakes should not simply die. Qin’s fall was foretold when Mount Hua’s spirit promised ‘the First Emperor dies this year.’ Wang Mang’s reign heard rumors of dead dragons—Han restored thereafter. If rumor fulfilled itself, how much more must reality? Stars ornament the sky as states cling to their ruler. When vassals mutiny, stars desert their stations. Stone stands for firmness—fallen stone means lost mandate. Five meteors in Song preceded Duke Xiang’s capture by Chu. Qin’s end saw meteorites in Dong commandery. Fufeng’s fall strikes near imperial tombs—expect death or revolt.
37
History records no clear Yellow River nor self-ruined academy gate until now. The river images regional lords. Clear water is yang; muddy is yin. A muddy river running clear means regional powers aim at the throne. The university gate’s ruin signals collapsing moral education. Jing Fang promised peace when the river clears. Yet heaven dims, earth disgorges monsters, plague spreads—still the river clears—unnatural as Confucius’ unicorn.
38
I earlier cited Gong Chong’s scripture from Gan Ji—you dismissed it. Small birds keep season; humble men may speak truth. Though lowest-born, I beg a hearing to finish my plea. The throne filed my memorial unread.
39
Ten days later he submitted again:
40
Venus dipped north, rose east—great wars loom: China weak, frontier strong. Mars should shine yet hides—conspiracy stirs. Cause lies in unjust jails and murdered loyalists. Hence Jupiter lingers by the justice stars. Clear Liu Zhi and Cheng Jin, restore Li Yun’s and Du Zhong’s heirs.
41
Impious service of Heaven brings eclipses and battling stars. Lately eclipses hit new moons—sun, moon, stars blur; planets stray. Gong Chong’s scripture teaches cosmic harmony and restoring heirs. Emperor Shun ignored it—hence short-lived child emperors Chong and Zhi.
42
使
Illicit royal passions invite divine wrath. Late Zhou’s obsession with brawn bred bully champions. Shang’s lust produced Daji. Lord Ye’s dragon hobby summoned real dragons. You pamper heaven-cursed eunuchs—no coincidence you lack sons. Astrology seats eunuch stars in the market—not the palace. Yet they hold ministerial rank—against Heaven’s design.
43
宿
Shrines to Huang-Lao and Buddha now fill the palace. Those teachings prize emptiness, non-action, life, and austerity. You indulge appetites and slaughter—contradicting the very shrines you built. Legend makes Laozi the Buddha among foreigners. Buddha avoids mulberry shade overnight—no lingering attachment. Heaven offered a beauty; Buddha called her a skin bag of blood. He never looked again. Such single-minded renunciation completes awakening. You hoard beauties and delicacies—hardly Huang-Lao detachment.
44
使 使 宿
The memorial brought immediate summons before the secretariat. Xiang Kai replied: antiquity had no eunuchs until aging Emperor Wu toured the harem. They grew through Shun’s reign into a blaze. You heap titles on them tenfold beyond old practice. Still no heir—is favoring them unrelated? The secretariat relayed his answers; the throne ordered trial. Officials answered: eunuch posts are ancient. Early Han’s Zhang Ze helped purge the Lüs. Wen used Zhao Tan—his line thrived. They charged Xiang Kai with twisting law and apocrypha to slander the throne. They sought prison under the metropolitan commandant. The emperor spared him—his stars matched nature—but referred sentence to the judiciary.
45
Earlier Gong Chong offered Gan Ji’s 170-scroll Taiping scripture from the Quyang spring—lace-bound in pale silk. It mixes five-phase lore with shaman chatter. Courts ruled it heterodox and impounded it. Zhang Jiao later exploited that text.
46
The historian notes: heavenly discourse needs human proof. Zhang Heng urged mastery of astronomy and omen lore. Lang Yi and Xiang Kai read heaven against human affairs, and their forecasts matched events; the morals they drew from those signs were plain enough. That is how omen lore can serve the age, and why posterity should study it as a warning. The trouble is their taste for occult shamanry, so a true gentleman does not treat such arts as the whole of wisdom.
47
Hymn: Yang Hou’s learning ran deep; the court sent the rush-wheeled cart again and again to call him in. Su Jing’s missive from afar dispelled the shadow that lay on the north. Xiang Kai and Lang Yi warned of calamity because policy had grown corrupt.
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