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卷三十六 列傳第六 衞瓘 張華

Volume 36 Biographies 6: Wei Guan; Zhang Hua

Chapter 36 of 晉書 · Book of Jin
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Wei Guan Descendants: Wei Heng; Wei Zao, son of Heng; Wei Jie, younger brother of Zao.)〉 Zhang Hua Sons: Zhang Yi and Zhang Wei.)〉 Liu Bian
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西 使 使殿 使使 宿 使 便殿 使 便 殿 綿
During Deng Ai and Zhong Hui's conquest of Shu, Wei Guan kept his existing post, carried the imperial insignia, and oversaw both men's armies as acting army supervisor for the western command; the court gave him a thousand soldiers. Once Shu had surrendered, Deng Ai began handing out titles and posts on his own authority as if the throne had authorized him. Zhong Hui nursed treason in secret; seeing Deng Ai act like a law unto himself, he slipped Wei Guan a joint memorial denouncing him. The emperor ordered both men brought back in prisoner carts; Zhong Hui sent Wei Guan ahead to arrest Deng Ai first. Zhong Hui thought Wei Guan's escort was small enough that Deng Ai might cut him down—then he could pile another charge on Ai's head. Wei Guan saw the trap but could not openly refuse. He reached Chengdu by night, sent orders to every general under Deng Ai that an edict demanded Ai's arrest, and promised to leave everyone else untouched. Those who rally to the imperial forces will keep their former ranks and rewards; anyone who holds back will face execution to the third degree of kin. By cockcrow every unit had reported to Wei Guan—only Deng Ai and his staff stayed inside the tent. At daybreak the gates opened; Wei Guan rode the imperial courier's carriage straight to the steps of the Chengdu palace hall. Deng Ai was still in bed; father and son were taken together. Deng Ai's officers plotted a rescue: they formed ranks and marched on Wei Guan's camp. Wei Guan rode out alone to meet them, waved a fake draft memorial promising to clear Deng Ai's name, and the generals believed him and stood down. Zhong Hui soon arrived, invited every general—including Hu Lie—into a hall, seized them all, locked them in the Yizhou hostel, and then openly rebelled. The troops wanted to go home, camp and city alike were in turmoil, and fear spread everywhere. Zhong Hui kept Wei Guan to plot with him, scribbled on a tablet that he meant to execute Hu Lie and the others, and held it up; Guan refused, and the two men began to mistrust each other. Wei Guan slipped out to the privy, found Hu Lie's old servant, and sent him through the camps shouting that Zhong Hui had turned traitor. Zhong Hui pressed him for a decision; they sat up all night with swords across their knees. The troops outside were already poised to attack Zhong Hui. They held back because Wei Guan had not yet come out. Zhong Hui ordered Wei Guan to go reassure the armies. Wei Guan meant to escape and played along: 'You command the whole army—you should go yourself.' Zhong Hui replied: 'You are the imperial overseer—you go first; I will follow.' Wei Guan walked straight off the dais. Zhong Hui immediately regretted letting him leave and sent runners to call him back. Wei Guan claimed vertigo, staggered, and collapsed on purpose. Before he cleared the gatehouse, dozens of messengers were chasing him. At the outer quarters he drank salt water and threw up violently. He had always been slight of frame; now he looked at death's door. Zhong Hui sent his confidants and doctors; they all swore Guan would not rise again, so Hui relaxed his guard. At nightfall the gates shut; Wei Guan drafted a call to arms and sent it to every unit. Every formation had pledged loyalty to the throne; at dawn they stormed Zhong Hui together. Zhong Hui fought with his bodyguard but the loyal generals broke him; he fled around the hall with a few hundred followers until every one of them was cut down. Wei Guan redeployed the commanders and order returned at once. Deng Ai's old troops smashed open the prison cart, freed him, and marched back toward Chengdu. Wei Guan knew he had helped Zhong Hui ruin Deng Ai and feared Ai might turn on him; he also wanted sole credit for crushing Hui. He sent the protector Tian Xu to Mianzhu to ambush Deng Ai at Sanzaoting by night and kill him together with his son Deng Zhong. Years before, when Deng Ai pushed through Jiangyou, Tian Xu had hung back; Ai nearly executed him but relented. When Wei Guan dispatched Tian Xu he said, 'Now you can settle the score for Jiangyou.'
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使西 西 使
Once order was restored, the court debated how to reward Wei Guan. Wei Guan argued that Shu fell through many commanders' efforts, that Deng Ai and Zhong Hui had swaggered to their own ruin, and that his own tricks had never planted the victory banners—so he refused every prize. They made him credential-bearing inspector of Guanzhong armies as General Who Guards the West, then moved him to command Xuzhou as General Who Guards the East, raised his fief to Marquis of Ziyang, and used the leftover noble rank to make his brother Wei Shi village marquis of Kaiyang. Early in Taishi he became General Who Conquers the East and duke, commanding Qingzhou troops as inspector, then added the titles Grand General Who Conquers the East and shepherd of Qingzhou. Every post he held earned a reputation for good government. He was named Grand General Who Conquers the North, inspector of Youzhou and colonel of the Wuhuan guards. On taking command he memorialized to carve out Pingzhou from the frontier and later oversaw it himself. East of Youzhou and Bingzhou stood Wuhuan chieftain Wu Huan; westward lay the powerful Li Wei—both plagued the border. Wei Guan set the two powers against each other until they turned on one another; Wu Huan surrendered and Li Wei wasted away and died. The court praised his service and offered one son a village marquisate. Wei Guan asked to transfer the title to a brother but died before the edict arrived; his son Wei Mi received the village marquisate instead. None of his six sons held titles, yet he kept passing honors to two younger brothers—people everywhere admired him for it. He begged repeatedly for an audience in Luoyang; Emperor Wu welcomed him warmly but almost at once sent him back to the frontier. Early in Xianning he was summoned to head the Secretariat with the added title attendant-in-ordinary. He was rigid and rule-bound, ran his staff by the statute book, treated the ministry like a headquarters office, and its gentlemen like clerks. Wei Guan was deeply learned and polished in letters; he and the Dunhuang gentleman Suo Jing were masters of cursive hand—contemporaries dubbed them 'the pair of wonders on the terrace.' Late Han master Zhang Zhi had owned the cursive tradition; critics said Wei Guan inherited his sinews and Suo Jing his flesh. Early in Taikang he became Minister of Works while keeping his posts as attendant-in-ordinary and director. His administration stayed lean and transparent, and court and countryside alike praised him. Emperor Wu matched Wei Guan's fourth son, Wei Xuan, with Princess Fanchang. Wei Guan protested that his house was only scholar gentry and far beneath an imperial princess; he memorialized again and again until the throne overruled him. He also served as junior tutor to the crown prince, with a thousand household guards, a hundred mounted escorts, and a full drum-and-bugle guard at his bureau. After a solar eclipse Wei Guan joined Grand Commandant Prince Sima Liang of Runan and Minister Wei Shu in offering to resign; the emperor refused.
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使 使 使 使
Wei Guan argued that the nine-rank system was a wartime stopgap, not a lasting way to choose men, and urged a return to village and neighborhood recommendations. He and Grand Commandant Sima Liang memorialized: 'Ancient sage-kings exalted the worthy, lifted the good, and taught the realm, so the court shone with deference and the countryside knew no evil. Village organization was enough to keep people honest: ask what they had done, test what they said, and the worthy emerged. No one could fake a name, so every man polished his own conduct. Revere the worthy and the customs grow calm; drive out the wicked and conduct turns steadfast. Village and neighborhood selection was the great law of the former kings. Afterward the method crumbled. The Wei state rose amid collapse: families were scattered, no one could be vetted at home, so the nine ranks were a rough makeshift for that age alone. At first local opinion still mattered more than pedigree; praise and blame meant something, and something of the old village scrutiny survived. Gradually rank became a tally of pedigree; the empire learned to chase titles alone, forget virtue, haggle over petty advantage, and morale corroded—the harm was immense. The realm is reuniting and great renewal begins—we urge wiping away these decadent rules and anchoring everyone to the ancient model: register people where they live, from the highest minister to the meanest clerk, and end hollow domiciles in distant commanderies. Then every neighborhood becomes a true community, magistrates work with the heads of residence, the rectifiers and nine ranks vanish, and good men rise through local opinion again. Inferiors would honor superiors, people would trust instruction, morals and policy would both clarify, and culture would march with law. Once everyone sees character is not won by networking, empty rivalry dies and each man looks to himself. Scrap the nine ranks and follow antiquity: let ministers recommend one another openly. Talent will find many paths, the throne can spur honest promotion, and measure who shines or fails in office—that would be a worthy statute.' Emperor Wu praised the plan yet never carried it out.
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When Crown Prince Zhong was named heir, officials whispered that he was too simple to rule. Wei Guan often meant to memorialize for his removal but held his tongue. Later, at a banquet on Lingyun Terrace, Wei Guan feigned drunkenness, knelt by the emperor's couch, and said, 'I must speak.' The emperor asked, 'What is it, Minister?' Wei Guan started and stopped three times, then stroked the couch and cried, 'What a waste of this seat!' The emperor caught his meaning and covered with a laugh: 'You are truly drunk, are you not?' Wei Guan said nothing more. Empress Jia nursed a grudge from that day on.
6
駿駿
Wei Xuan, now the imperial son-in-law, kept slipping into drink and dissipation. Regent Yang Jun loathed Wei Guan and meant to rule alone: divorce the princess from Wei Xuan and Guan would resign. Jun enlisted the eunuchs to slander the family until the emperor agreed to take back Princess Fanchang. Humiliated and frightened, Wei Guan pleaded age and offered to step down. An edict answered: 'Minister Wei Guan is not yet of retiring age, yet year after year he begs to withdraw while his mind is still sound—such steadfast sincerity moves Us deeply. We grant his wish: promote him to Grand Guardian and let the duke retire to his estate. He keeps a hundred household guards plus chief clerk, adjutant, and secretarial staff; along with carriages, mounted escorts, banners, parasols, and the full drum-and-pipe escort prescribed by precedent. Grant ten qing of income land, fifty mu of garden, a million cash, and five hundred bolts of silk; bedding and mats must be of the finest weave to match Our respect for worthy ministers.' The ministries pressed again to jail Wei Xuan and strip Wei Guan of office; the emperor refused. When the throne learned the eunuchs had lied, it meant to restore the princess to Wei Xuan—but Wei Xuan had already died.
7
簿
Long before, when Du Yu learned that Wei Guan had arranged Deng Ai's murder, he told everyone, "Boyu will not escape judgment for this. He enjoys the reputation of a leading scholar and commands whole armies, yet he leaves no virtuous word and rules his men without justice—a petty man wielding a nobleman's charge. How can he answer for that?" Wei Guan heard the verdict and went straight to Du Yu's door without waiting for his carriage. Events unfolded exactly as Du Yu had said. Once, rice Wei Guan's servants had steamed spilled and turned into snails on the floor; little more than a year later disaster struck the clan. Chief clerk Liu Yao of the Grand Guardian's office and others risked their lives to recover Wei Guan's body and bury it.
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Years earlier, while Wei Guan headed the Ministry of Works, his tent-commander Rong Hui broke the law and Guan expelled him. When violence erupted Rong Hui marched with the assassins; that is why Wei Guan's sons and grandsons perished.
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便 使 使 便
After Prince Sima Wei fell, Wei Guan's daughter wrote the ministers: "My father still lacks a proper posthumous honor—he might as well be any commoner—and I cannot understand how the court stays mute. Where lies the blind spot that even the Spring and Autumn chroniclers condemned? Grief and anger compel me to speak." Liu Yao and his companions then raised yellow pennants, struck the petition drum, and declared: "When the forged edict arrived, the duke accepted dismissal at once, surrendered every seal and ribbon, kept his guards sheathed, and obeyed repeated orders to quit his mansion—riding out alone in a cart. The forgery removed only his offices, yet everyone below the Army of the Right treated it as genuine, ignored its wording, slaughtered chief ministers without memorializing upward, dragged away the duke's sons and grandsons, and butchered them—nine lives among the empire's most honored houses. We have seen the edict that anyone tricked by Prince Chu who was not a true conspirator should go free." That language targets only the lane runners forced to carry white staves. Statute says anyone who kills on orders still dies for it. How much less men who personally butchered honored ministers and loyal servants—even if they were not conspirators, justice cannot spare them. The chief villain is dead, yet his killers walk free. We fear officials have not traced every fact and may let murderers slip away: then the duke's killers would never be punished, their ghosts would cry to Heaven forever, and loyal servants would ache under an enlightened reign. We ourselves bear wounds from that night; the funeral rites have barely ended. Consider Rong Hui: Wei Guan cashiered him from the Ministry of Works staff, yet he knew every member of the household and each child's name. He later joined the Army of the Right; that night he stood outside the gate bellowing the forged edict that dismissed the duke. When the doors opened he strode to the middle courtyard, reread the sham edict, stripped the duke of seals, ribbons, and court insignia, and drove him from the house. Rong Hui then listed every dependent and child, marched them under guard to the stockade north of East Pavilion Road, and within moments cut them all down. Rong Hui alone slaughtered the duke's line. He also led the looting of the treasury. Question Rong Hui and every crime surfaces. We beg the throne to try him fully and execute his whole clan." The emperor approved.
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Because Wei Guan's whole house had died innocent, the court posthumously credited his Shu campaign, made him Duke of Lanling with three thousand extra households, styled him "Accomplished," and awarded the ceremonial yellow axe.
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Wei Heng, courtesy Jushan, first served the Prince of Qi's ministry staff, then rose through heir-apparent attendant, secretariat posts, vice-director of the Palace Library, junior tutor to the heir, and gentleman of the Yellow Gate.
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He excelled at cursive and clerical hands and wrote the Essay on the Four Scripts:
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滿 仿
In the age of the Yellow Emperor the world first took shape through invention. Scribes Ju Song and Cang Jie invented writing to replace knot records—inspiration came from watching birds' tracks in the sand. The symbols multiplied into what we call characters, governed by six principles. First, indicative compounds—examples are "above" and "below." Second, pictographs—sun and moon illustrate it. Third, phonetic compounds—take "river" and "Ho." Fourth, merged senses—"martial" and "trust" show how parts combine. Fifth, reciprocal glosses—"old" and "aged" interchange meanings. Sixth, loan characters—magistrate and elder borrow the same graphs for new sounds. Indicatives simply point: a stroke above means "up," below means "down." Pictographs mimic the thing itself—the full sun, the waning moon. Phono-semantics pair a semantic classifier with a phonetic hint. Merged meanings join radicals: halting spears yields "martial"; person plus speech yields "trust." Reciprocal glosses pivot around a shared root such as "old" and "examined elder." Loan usage lets one graph serve several words whose sounds differ but whose written form stays fixed. From the Yellow Emperor through the Three Dynasties the ancient script stayed stable. Then Qin imposed seal script, burned the classics, and the old graphs vanished. Under Han Wudi the prince of Lu razed an old Kong mansion and found the Documents, the Spring and Autumn Annals, the Analects, and the Classic of Filial Piety. Having forgotten the ancient forms, contemporaries nicknamed the text "tadpole script." Han libraries hoarded them; few eyes ever saw the originals. Early Wei traced its paleography to Handan Chun. Wei Heng's grandfather, Marquis Jing, copied Chun's Documents version and later showed it to Chun himself—who could not tell it from his own exemplar. During Zhengshi the court carved three-graph stone classics but drifted from Chun's standard; people kept the nickname "tadpole" and carved strokes that merely looked like tadpoles. In the first year of Taikang tomb robbers in Ji county opened King Xiang of Wei's grave and pulled out more than a hundred thousand words of bamboo texts. Compared with Marquis Jing's copies, they still looked alike. Several bundles surfaced; the scroll on Chu affairs shows the finest brushwork. I cherish these traces and spend what wit I have to praise them, ashamed to rank beside older masters yet hoping to preserve something of antiquity's shapes. The ancients had no separate term—they simply spoke of the "configuration of the characters."
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耀 耀 綿綿
"The Yellow Emperor's clerks Ju Song and Cang Jie watched birds' footprints and first carved true writing. They ordered the myriad affairs, fixed laws and ritual, spread the sovereign's canon, and let substance and ornament instruct the world. Then ruthless Qin drowned heaven in cruelty: the great Dao vanished and ancient script perished with it. Wei antiquarians treasured old texts said to sleep in burial mounds, yet generations never opened them—nobody could tell authentic from fake. Great Jin now opens an era, spreads the teaching, lets Heaven display omens and Earth shine with pattern. Those graphs blaze—radiant chapters—phonetic and semantic at once: the sun stands regent and fills its disk; the moon serves as minister and thins at the rim; clouds coil upward; stars scatter their light; grain sprays heavy ears; mountains pile ridge on ridge; insects seem poised to twitch; birds hover short of flight. Watch how brush meets ink—every stroke driven by utter focus. Momentum balances the form; motion starts and stops without seam. Some strokes stand square on the guideline; compasses turn and squares fold. Others bend round and square as each shape demands. Curves flex like bow limbs; straight lines hum like bowstrings. Suddenly a stroke rears like dragons vaulting a river. Then dense drops plunge like rain sheeting from the sky. Some lifts surge like wild geese climbing, wide and wheeling. Others drift soft as knotted tassels and hanging plumes, endlessly fine. Step back: it is wind skimming water, bright ripples widening ring on ring. Step close: every line feels utterly spontaneous. These are the footprints of high antiquity and the forebear of the Six Classics. Zhou and seal scripts descend as children; clerical and cursive hands are the distant great-grandchildren. They summon images beyond speech—no tongue can exhaust them."
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使使 使 使
Under King Xuan of Zhou the scribe Zhou wrote fifteen chapters of large seal script—some graphs match older forms, some differ—hence the style called Zhou script. After King Ping moved east, warlords carved up the realm: every state wrote its own way and characters drifted apart. Then the First Emperor united the empire. Chancellor Li Si standardized the graphs, dropped anything that defied Qin usage, and compiled the Cang Jie primer; Zhao Gao of the chariot office wrote Yuanli; Grand Historian Hu Wujing wrote Boxue—all trimming Zhou's large seal into what we call small seal. Others tell of Cheng Miao, a county clerk who angered the First Emperor and spent ten years in Yunyang prison, refashioning large seal—adding strokes where they were few, shaving them where many, squaring rounds and rounding squares—then presenting the result. The emperor approved, freed him, named him an imperial clerk, and charged him with fixing the script. Some say Cheng Miao's version became the clerical hand. Once Qin shattered old seal traditions eight styles appeared: large seal, small seal, engraved tallies, insect motifs, seal impressions, heading labels, halberd inscriptions, and clerical script. Wang Mang had Minister Zhen Feng collate the lexicons and redefine ancient graphs, producing six categories. First, ancient script—the texts from Confucius's wall. Second, odd graphs—archaic forms that diverge slightly. Third, seal script—the Qin court standard. Fourth, auxiliary script—meaning clerical. Fifth, twisted seal—used for chops and seals. Sixth, bird script—for banners and credentials. When Xu Shen compiled the Shuowen he took seal forms as authoritative—still the clearest framework for discussion. Under Qin, Li Si was hailed as the twin-master of seal styles; every sacred peak inscription and bronze giant bore his brush. During Eastern Han's Jianchu era Cao Xi of Fufeng tweaked Li Si's manner yet still ranked among the finest. Handan Chun studied under him and grasped the essence; Wei Dan studied Chun yet never quite matched him. During Taihe, Wei Dan governed Wudu but his calligraphy kept him at court as attendant-in-ordinary; every Wei ritual bronze carries his lettering. Late Han added Cai Yong, blending Li Si and Cao Xi into hybrid forms—yet his discipline never matched Handan Chun's polish.
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Cai Yong's Essay on Seal Momentum begins: "Birds left their tracks; the sage Cang Jie followed. Sages set the pattern and gave the world its script. Among the six styles seal script is the authentic form. The shapes are subtle, the craft almost divine: some lines line up like tortoise shell cracks or dragon scales in even rows; strokes stretch and tails flare, long strokes doubling back on themselves; they hang like grain ears heavy with seed, coil like serpents knotted in smoke; waves leap and splinters fly; hawks hover while lesser birds quiver; necks crane and wings fold tight as if climbing through clouds. Some strokes dart inward, faint at first touch yet ink-heavy at the tip, snapping apart yet still tied together; like dew-beaded silk threads pooling at the hem; verticals hang like pendants, horizontals weave like cords; distant tips slant off at odd angles, neither square nor round; they seem to walk or fly, to tiptoe and to peck like sparrows. From a distance they look like wild geese gliding in long files; Up close you cannot find where a stroke truly ends. No hand can chart every source. The accountants Yan and Sang cannot tally every twist; sharp-eyed Li Lou cannot spy the gaps; master artisans Pan and Chui bow away from such skill; even Historian Zhou would fold his brush in awe. It crowns every classic—radiant, patterned, fit to be studied. It scatters splendor across white silk and stands first among cultured arts. I delight in how literary virtue flowers here, yet resent that no carver can fix it in stone. So I ponder each stroke's rise and fall and offer this broad sketch."
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鹿 殿
Qin still wrote everything in seal script, but the paperwork swelled and seal too slow, so copyists were told to use the quick clerkly hand—hence "clerical" script. Han kept the practice for documents, reserving seal script for tallies, chops, banners, and public signage. Clerical writing is the shortcut to seal. Wang Cizhong of Shanggu first set down the standard model. Emperor Ling loved calligraphy, and many excelled, but Shi Yiguan stood first: he could write a single character a fathom wide or pack a thousand into an inch, and he flaunted the skill. He would walk into a tavern penniless, cover a wall with characters, let the crowd pay his tab in exchange for the show, then erase the work once the wine was paid for. After every performance he planed the wall and burned the templates so no copy survived. Liang Hu set up extra panels, plied him with wine, and when he was drunk stole the rubbings. Liang Hu rode that skill to the directorship of the Selection Bureau. Yiguan later served Yuan Shu; the Geng Qiu stele at Songzi in Julu, raised by Shu, is thought to be his work and is superbly cut. Liang Hu fled to Liu Biao; when Cao Cao took Jingzhou he put a price on finding him. Later, while Liang Hu oversaw appointments, Cao Cao had petitioned for the Luoyang magistracy but was offered only the northern district captaincy—so he appeared bound at Liang's gate and accepted an acting staff-major posting. He earned his keep in the Palace Library by copying documents, which is why so many of his autographs survive. Cao Cao pinned Liang Hu's sheets inside his tent and on palace walls, judging them finer than Shi Yiguan's. Most palace plaques today still show Liang Hu's seal hand. Liang Hu owned large characters; Handan Chun owned small ones. Liang Hu conceded that Chun had Wang Cizhong's method, yet his own brush exploited every ounce of momentum. His pupil Mao Hong taught in the Library—today's eight-stroke clerical style follows Mao Hong. Late Han also produced Zuo Ziyi—his small script diverged slightly from Chun and Hu but earned renown.
18
𡽱 姿
Early Wei saw Zhong Yao and Hu Zhao define running script; both studied under Liu Desheng, Zhong's manner diverged a little, yet each had its genius—the style now dominates the realm. He titled his essay Clerical Momentum: "Bird tracks evolved into the clerks' assisting hand. It sheds ornate seal curls for blunt simplicity. Once everywhere adopted, its shapes obey fixed measures. Bright as constellations ranged; lush as clouds piled layer on layer. The boldest strokes span eight feet; the finest wedge a hair's breadth. Each composition bends to need—no rigid mould. Some swell dome-high or march like comb teeth; some flatten like whetstones or stretch ruler-straight; others rear like coiling dragons or slash diagonally; still others pivot square on square. Long and short answer each other—different bodies sharing one rhythm. The brush lifts lightly—strokes part yet never quite sever. Ripples and ink dots scatter like ritual bells deployed, courtyard torches veiled in smoke, jagged cliffs stacked high and low in linked ranks. They resemble tiered towers heaped with rooflines, clouds banking atop a ridge. From afar they look like dragons wheeling in the sky; Up close they dizzy the eye and stagger the mind. Their queer shapes outrun every catalogue. Not even Yan and Sang could tally them; Zai Gong and Zigong could not put them into words. Why dwell on counting seal or draft strokes when this mighty script still waits for praise? Is its grandeur too vast to see, or its secrets too deep to pass down? Here I lift and lower my gaze to study it and sketch the broad outline."
19
西
Cursive appeared with the Han, though nobody remembers who invented it. Under Emperor Zhang, Qi minister Du Du earned fame for entire compositions in draft script. Later came Cui Yuan and his nephew Cui Shi—both masters. Du's dots sat calmly but his frames ran lean. The Cuis wielded thrilling strokes yet spaced their characters a touch loosely. Then Zhang Boying of Hongnong refined the art into something finer still. His household bolted every roll of silk—practice writing on it before dyeing. He practiced beside the pond until the water turned ink-black. Every stroke stayed within canonical bounds—people mocked "too busy for real cursive"—yet not an inch of paper survived unused. Posterity treasures him; Wei Zhongjiang hailed him as sage of cursive. His younger brother Zhang Chang, courtesy Wenshu, ranked just behind him. Disciples such as Jiang Mengying, Liang Kongda, Tian Yanhe, and Wei Zhongjiang won reputations but none approached Wenshu. Luo Shujing and Zhao Yuansi worked alongside Boying and enjoyed acclaim in the west, yet their flashy tricks confused casual viewers. Boying boasted: "Measured against Cui Yuan and Du Du I fall short; stacked beside Luo and Zhao I still have plenty to spare." Zhang Chao of Hejian also earned renown, yet though he hailed from the same province as the Cuis he never mastered the method like Boying.
20
𪑜𪐴𪑮 仿
Cui Yuan's Essay on Cursive Momentum begins: "Writing began with the sage Cang Jie. He traced bird tracks to fix the script, and down the ages books only multiplied. The age grew crooked; policy veered with every crisis. Dust piled on public desks, so men grabbed brush and ink to keep up. Clerks simplified old graphs to move faster. Cursive pared the forms again. It answers the moment, suits sudden emergencies. It saves labor and rescues precious hours. Thrifty change need not obey antique models. Watch its images rise and fall with ritual poise. Squares avoid the square; circles cheat the compass; The left stroke bows while the right soars—seen head-on they resemble sheer ridges. Forms stand like cranes poised for flight, ready to vault skyward. They start like beasts shocked midstride—not yet launched into their run. Some knots heap ink beads like strings of pearls—split yet still tethered; pent rage suddenly bursts into wildest flourish. Some hang sheer as a man gripping deadwood above a cliff; secondary dots cling like cicadas hugging twigs. When the brush lifts, trailing ligatures knot tight—like Du Bo drawing a poisoned shaft along a cliff edge, or a serpent diving head-first into its hole with tail still dangling. From a distance it falls away like a sodden ridge calving into mist; Up close not one stroke may shift. Minute cues steer each flourish according to need. This rough sketch only hints at its likeness."
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Hearing crisis break out, Wei Heng slipped through a breach in the wall to reach He Shao—his sister-in-law's father—and press him for news. He Shao kept silent. Wei Heng doubled back past the kitchen where guards were eating and was cut down on the spot. The court later awarded him colonel of Changshui posthumously and styled him the Loyal Heir of Lanling. He left two sons: Wei Zao and Wei Jie.
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Sons: Wei Zao and Wei Jie.
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Wei Zao, courtesy Zhongbao, inherited his father's title. Prince Sima Yue of Donghai folded Lanling into his own domain and re-enfeoffed the house as Duke of Jiangxia with eighty-five hundred households. When Emperor Huai took the throne he served as gentleman attendant at leisure. In the fifth year of Yongjia he fell captive to Liu Cong. Emperor Yuan installed Wei Chong, a descendant of Wei Guan, as heir to the line.
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姿 婿
Wei Jie, courtesy Shubao, was barely five when his spirit and bearing already marked him as extraordinary. His grandfather Wei Guan said, "This boy is unlike anyone else—yet I am old and will not live to see him grown." Still a boy he rode a lamb cart through the market; onlookers mistook him for a jade statue and throngs emptied the ward to stare. General Wang Ji—Wei Jie's uncle—was himself striking, yet whenever he saw his nephew he groaned, "With pearls and jade beside me I feel utterly coarse." He told others, "Walking with Jie is like carrying luminous pearls—they light everyone nearby." When he matured he loved Pure Conversation metaphysics. Illness wasted him, so his mother kept forbidding him to lecture. On rare good days kinsmen coaxed a single sentence from him; every listener sighed that he had touched the marrow of the mystery. Wang Cheng of Langye seldom praised anyone, yet each time he heard Wei Jie speak he gasped and collapsed in admiration. Wits rhymed, "When Wei Jie talks doctrine, Wang Cheng topples over." Cheng, Wang Xuan, and Wang Ji shared glittering reputations yet stood beneath Wei Jie; folk said, "Three Wang sons cannot rival one Wei boy." Jie's father-in-law Yue Guang commanded empire-wide renown; critics called them "ice-pure father-in-law, jade-smooth son-in-law."
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西 輿
Official summons poured in; he declined every one. Eventually he accepted libationer at Grand Tutor Yang Jun's western pavilion, then groom to the heir apparent. Wei Zao served Emperor Huai as gentleman attendant at leisure inside the palace. With the realm collapsing, Wei Jie resolved to move his household south. His mother protested, "I cannot leave Zhongbao behind." Wei Jie pleaded with family survival at stake until she wept and agreed. At farewell Wei Jie told his brother, "The threefold duty binding lord, father, and teacher is everything we honor. Today is the day you devote yourself fully—brother, strive with all you have." Then he escorted his mother by litter onward to Jiangxia.
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Wei Jie's first wife had died. General Shan Jian of the southern expedition admired him deeply. Shan said, "Long ago Dai Shuluan married his daughter solely on talent, heedless of rank—how much more so for a Wei son who heads a house of such prestige!" He married his daughter to Wei Jie. They pressed on to Yuzhang, where Grand General Wang Dun was stationed; Chief Clerk Xie Kun, who had long admired Wei Jie, welcomed him gladly and talked for days on end. Wang Dun told Xie Kun, "Wang Bi once rang like golden bells at Luoyang; this youth now answers like jade chimes south of the river—the thread of Pure Conversation snaps back to life. Who expected, after Yongjia's ruin, to hear again the voice of Zhengshi? Were He Yan still alive he would faint away once more." Wei Jie believed shortcomings deserve sympathetic forgiveness; unintended slights deserve calm reasoning—so his face never showed sudden joy or anger.
27
姿
Because Wang Dun's swagger sat ill with him—always grasping the upper hand—Wei Jie doubted he would prove a loyal servant of the state and asked leave to reach Jianye. Capital sophisticates had heard of his looks; the crowds who came to stare packed wall-tight. His fragile health collapsed under the strain; he died in the sixth year of Yongjia at twenty-seven—people said Wei Jie was literally watched to death. They buried him at Nanchang. Xie Kun mourned wildly; someone asked what loss could wound him so deeply. He answered, "A ridgebeam just snapped—how could I not grieve?" During Xianhe his tomb was moved to Jiangning. Chancellor Wang Dao ordered, "The heir-apparent groom Wei Jie will be reburied tomorrow. He was a paragon admired across the empire—offer a modest offering to honor old ties." Later Liu Tan and Xie Shang ranked western Jin luminaries; someone asked whether Du Yi could compare with Groom Wei. Xie Shang replied, "There is no comparison—you could slip several men between them." Liu Tan added, "Du Yi has crystalline skin; Shubao has crystalline spirit." Such was the regard thoughtful men paid him. Among Restoration-era talents only Wang Cheng and Wei Jie ranked first.
28
祿
Wei Heng's kinsman Wei Zhan, courtesy Daoshu, served as secretariat gentleman and prefect of Nanyang. During Yongjia he governed Jiangzhou and rose to minister of justice for the Jin prince. Edicts had forced sons to inform on fathers and even whipped parents to locate sons; Wei Zhan argued this corroded moral instruction and had both practices struck. After the Restoration he became Minister of Justice and memorialized for restoring corporal punishment—the text sits in the Treatise on Punishments. He died and received posthumous appointment as minister of palace supplies.
29
Zhang Hua, courtesy Maoxian, came from Fangcheng in Fanyang. His father Zhang Ping had been governor of Yuyang under Wei. Zhang Hua was poor and fatherless, herding his own sheep, until his townsman Lu Qin spotted his promise. Liu Fang of the same district likewise prized his talent and married him to his daughter. Zhang Hua's learning was deep, his phrasing warm and elegant, his mind clear and encyclopedic; he pored over cosmographs, prophecies, and every technical treatise. From youth he guarded his conduct; even in panic he kept ritual bounds. He rushed to justice and spent himself helping the desperate. His capacity and foresight were immense—contemporaries seldom plumbed him. Before his name circulated he wrote the Wren Rhapsody to speak for himself. It reads:
30
{}
Creation works by countless turns, scattering myriad shapes among the ten thousand things. Even the tiny wren receives life and breath; its shabby fluttering frame wears no royal colors to boast with; its feathers serve no craft and its flesh never reaches the sacrificial board. Kites and goshawks bank away with folded wings—why should it dread the fowler's net? It nests where scrub grows tangled and dense. Its flight never billows nor swoops in thundering flocks. Its home is easy to furnish and its needs easy to meet; one branch suffices for its nest; a few grains fill each meal. It never lingers where it roosts. It wanders without plotting a circuit; It neither hugs coarse brambles nor vaunts sweet orchids. A flap carries it free; wherever it lights it rests secure. It leaves fate to pattern and quarrels with nothing. Tiny creature without human wit, yet its conduct seems wise. It hoards no glitter that buys disaster and flaunts no plumage that courts ruin. Still, it keeps its nature without pride; active, it follows the simple path. It trusts spontaneity for sustenance and envies none of the world's sham prizes. Armored hawks sharpen talons; swans and herons tower above the clouds; golden pheasants hide in precarious crags; kingfishers glitter on distant shores; wild ducks and migrant geese wheel skyward—all glorious plumes and meaty breasts—yet each dies guiltless; even carrying reeds to dodge bowstrings cannot save them from this slaughtering world. Green goshawks fierce yet wear jesses; clever parrots enter cages—fierce wills bent to feed men, pent in deepest prisons; they twist song to suit masters and would snap their wings to stay useless pets. They pine for Zhong and Tai forests and sigh for tall pines on Long Ridge. Daily favor cannot match old freedom. The seabird Yuanju fled storms to shore; Tiaozhi's giant thrushes crossed ranges as tribute; borne ten thousand li in cages, trembling with dread. Great bodies obstruct the world; strange shapes excite awe. Yin and yang forge everything in one crucible. Giants and mites tangle together—species beyond counting. A wren could nest on a gnat's lash while the giant roc spans heaven's edge—proof that what heaven lacks below still overflows with life. I survey the breadth of heaven and earth—how am I to say what is truly great or small?
31
When Ruan Ji of Chenliu saw him, he sighed and said, "Here is the makings of a kingmaker!" From that moment his name began to spread. Prefect Xianyu Si recommended Zhang Hua for the post of erudite of the Chamberlain for Ceremonials. Lu Qin spoke of him to Emperor Wen; Zhang Hua was slated for assistant magistrate under the Henan Intendant but before taking office was named assistant editorial director instead. Soon he rose to chief clerk and concurrently served as palace attendant secretary. Court deliberations and memorials were largely put into practice, and he received full substantive appointment. When the Jin accepted the abdication, he was made gentleman attendant at the Yellow Gates and enfeoffed as marquis within the passes.
32
Zhang Hua's memory was prodigious—within the realm he could lay out affairs as if tracing them on his palm. Emperor Wu once quizzed him on Han palace layouts and Jianzhang Palace's countless gates; Zhang Hua answered without hesitation, holding his audience spellbound; he sketched plans in the dust while everyone watched rapt. The emperor marveled at him; contemporaries likened him to Zichan of Zheng. A few years later he became director of the palace secretariat and was soon given the concurrent title of regular attendant cavalry. When his mother died he mourned so fiercely that he wasted beyond ritual bounds; an edict from the inner palace urged him on and pressed him back to office.
33
Early on Emperor Wu had secretly planned the Wu campaign with Yang Hu, while most ministers opposed it—only Zhang Hua endorsed the strategy. Later, when Yang Hu lay dying, the emperor sent Zhang Hua to consult him on the Wu campaign; the account appears in Yang Hu's biography. When the great offensive loomed, Zhang Hua was put in charge of revenue and logistics; he calculated supply lines and grain transport and fixed the grand strategy at court. The armies had marched yet scored no breakthrough; Jia Chong and others demanded Zhang Hua's execution as a gesture of atonement to the realm. The emperor said, "This was my decision—Zhang Hua simply agreed with me." Meanwhile senior ministers argued against rushing the advance; Zhang Hua alone held fast that Wu would fall. When Wu fell, an edict declared: "Minister Zhang Hua, Marquis within the Passes, once joined the late Grand Tutor Yang Hu in devising the grand design; he then directed military affairs, coordinated the fronts, weighed strategy, and planned victory at headquarters—meritorious counsel indeed. Promote him to Marquis of Guangwu County, add ten thousand households to his fief, enfeoff one son as village marquis with fifteen hundred households, and grant ten thousand bolts of silk."
34
使
Zhang Hua's stature dominated his age; everyone deferred to him. The Jin court histories and ritual codes alike passed through his hands, with countless revisions. Imperial edicts of the day were drafted in his hand; his fame swelled until men looked to him as a future chief minister. Yet Xun Xu, swaggering as scion of a great house and secure in imperial favor, loathed Zhang Hua and watched for every chance to post him away from the capital. Once Emperor Wu asked Zhang Hua, "Whom can I trust with what comes after me?" He answered, "Among those of shining virtue and closest blood, none rivals Prince Sima You of Qi." That was not what the emperor wished to hear—a subtle breach of imperial intent—and calumny soon found its opening. Zhang Hua was therefore posted as commander of Youzhou with imperial insignia, concurrently colonel-protector of the Wuhuan and general who pacifies the north. He won over old allies and new subjects alike; barbarian and Han peoples alike embraced him. The Mahan and Xinmi peoples of the eastern Yi, coastal and mountainous, lay over four thousand li from the province; more than twenty lands that had never submitted through the ages now sent envoys with tribute. The distant tribes submitted; the frontiers stayed quiet; harvests ran rich year after year; troops and mounts grew formidable.
35
退 使 使 使
The court debated recalling Zhang Hua as chief minister and advancing his rank to ceremony equal to the Three Dukes. Earlier Zhang Hua had maligned the summoned scholar Feng Hui to the throne; Feng Dan was Feng Hui's younger brother and stood high in imperial favor. Feng Dan once attended the emperor and, speaking calmly of Wei and Jin history, went on to say: "Your servant ventures that Zhong Hui's rebellion owed much to Emperor Taizu of Wei." The emperor's face darkened. "What are you saying?" Feng Dan doffed his cap and apologized: "Your servant spoke rash nonsense and deserves death ten thousand times over. Yet there is still a thread of meaning your servant may unfold." The emperor asked how he meant it. Feng Dan replied: "A skilled charioteer reads slack and taut in the reins; a wise ruler gauges how offices balance power. Hence Zhong You was checked for being too capable, Ran Qiu promoted for seeming modest; Liu Bang's princes were ruined by indulgence, Guangwu's generals survived because he kept them humble. It was not a matter of benevolent versus cruel rulers or foolish versus wise subjects—promotion, demotion, reward, and seizure shaped the outcome. Zhong Hui's gifts were modest, yet Emperor Taizu flattered him, praised his schemes, heaped titles on him, seated him in vast authority, and handed him whole armies—until Zhong Hui believed his plans infallible and his deeds beyond reward; he swelled with arrogance and turned traitor. Had Taizu acknowledged only Zhong Hui's modest talents, curbed him with ritual, checked him with authority, and bound him with rules, neither rebellious intent nor rebellion itself could have taken shape." The emperor said, "So it is." Feng Dan kowtowed. "Since Your Majesty accepts your servant's words, ponder how thick ice forms drop by drop—do not let another Zhong Hui bring ruin again." The emperor asked, "Is there anyone today like Zhong Hui?" Feng Dan answered, "Dongfang Shuo warned that speaking out is no simple matter; the Book of Changes says, 'If a minister is not discreet, he loses his life.'" The emperor dismissed his attendants. "Speak plainly." Feng Dan said, "Your counselors who shaped the realm's greatest deeds are known to every corner of the empire—those who command the provinces and armies already weigh on Your Majesty's mind." The emperor fell silent. Soon afterward Zhang Hua was recalled as Chamberlain for Ceremonials. When a roof beam of the Grand Ancestral Temple snapped, he lost his post. For the rest of Emperor Wu's reign he attended court only as a full marquis.
36
駿 駿
Emperor Hui named Zhang Hua junior tutor to the heir apparent; together with Wang Rong, Pei Kai, and He Jiao—men whose reputations drew Yang Jun's jealousy—they were shut out of state affairs. After Yang Jun fell, ministers gathered in the hall to strip the empress dowager of title; eager to read the emperor's mood, they cited how the Spring and Autumn Annals severed ties with Wen Jiang—the dowager, they said, had cast off the ancestral temples and likewise deserved deposition. Only Zhang Hua argued that "between husband and wife, neither parent nor child may dictate the bond—the empress dowager committed no offense against the late emperor. She favored her own clan and failed as a mother in this enlightened age; follow the Han precedent that reduced Empress Zhao to Empress Dowager Xiaocheng—strip her dowager title, restore her as Empress Wu, house her apart, and grant her a dignified death." The court rejected his plea and reduced the empress dowager to commoner status.
37
使 祿
Prince Sima Wei of Chu, acting on a secret edict, slew Grand Steward Prince Sima Liang of Runan, Grand Guardian Wei Guan, and others; armies rioted inside and outside the palace; the court panicked and could find no policy. Zhang Hua told the emperor that Wei had forged the edict and murdered the two dukes on his own authority; troops had obeyed in haste, believing it imperial policy. Dispatch the zouyu banner to stand down the outer armies—they will scatter like wind before it. The emperor agreed, and Wei's forces collapsed. After Wei's execution Zhang Hua was credited with the decisive counsel and named senior household grandee of the right, general-in-chief with ceremony equal to the Three Dukes, palace attendant, and director of the palace secretariat, with golden seal and purple ribbon. He steadfastly declined the general-in-chief opening-office privilege.
38
退
Jia Mi and Empress Jia conspired to lean on Zhang Hua—a man of humble pedigree yet scholarly polish and strategic sense who posed no threat to the throne yet commanded universal respect—as the backbone of government and advisor on policy. Still hesitant, they consulted Pei Wei, who had long revered Zhang Hua and urged the plan wholeheartedly. Zhang Hua served with utter loyalty, patching every breach; even under a dim sovereign and vicious empress the realm stayed calm—credit belongs to him. Wary of the empress's clan, Zhang Hua wrote "Admonitions for the Palace Women" as veiled counsel. For all her cruelty and jealousy, Empress Jia still respected Zhang Hua. After weighing his loyal service past and present, the court promoted him to Duke of Zhuangwu Commandery. Zhang Hua declined more than ten times until inner-court edicts pressed him to yield. A few years later he succeeded Prince Sima Huang of Xiapi as minister of works while directing the historiography office.
39
滿 殿 西
When Empress Jia plotted to remove the heir apparent, Liu Bian, commander of the left guard and a man the heir deeply trusted, attended every banquet. Time and again he watched Jia Mi's arrogance fuel the heir's resentment, plain on the prince's face, while Mi simmered with his own grievance. Liu Bian asked Zhang Hua about the empress's plot; Zhang Hua replied, "I have heard nothing." Liu Bian said, "I rose from a cold-handed clerk in Xuchang through your patronage to where I stand today. A gentleman repays one who knows him—I speak plainly—yet you still mistrust me?" Zhang Hua asked, "Suppose it were true—what would you do?" Liu Bian answered, "The heir's residence teems with talent; the four guard commands field ten thousand crack troops. You stand as chief minister—give the word and the heir can enter court to oversee the Masters of Writing, lock Empress Jia in Jinyong Fortress; two palace attendants could manage it." Zhang Hua replied, "The emperor holds the sun throne; the heir is a son like any other; I hold no Yi Yin mandate—move rashly and we abandon sovereign and father alike and proclaim our unfilial shame to the world. Even success would leave guilt on our heads—how much less when powerful in-laws choke the court and authority splinters everywhere?" When Emperor Hui gathered his ministers at Shiqiang Hall and produced the heir's handwriting for all to see, none dared speak. Only Zhang Hua objected: "This court courts catastrophe. Since Emperor Wu of Han, every deposition of the legitimate heir has ended in ruin. Our dynasty's grip on the realm is still fresh—think carefully, Your Majesty." Pei Wei, left vice-director of the Masters of Writing, urged them first to question whoever carried the letters and to compare them with the heir's genuine script—otherwise forgery might slip through. Empress Jia produced more than ten pages of the heir's routine memorials from the women's quarters; no one dared call them false. Debate dragged until sunset without resolution. Seeing Zhang Hua's resolve, the empress memorialized to reduce the heir to commoner status, and the emperor approved.
40
西 西 穿
Earlier Prince Sima Lun of Zhao had served as general who guards the west and thrown Guanzhong into turmoil until the Di and Qiang rose; Prince Sima Tong of Liang replaced him. Someone urged Zhang Hua: "Prince Lun is grasping and trusts Sun Xiu, who sows chaos wherever he goes—a slippery schemer among villains. Send Prince Tong to execute Xiu, cripple Lun's faction, and appease the western marches—why not?" Zhang Hua agreed, and Tong promised. Sun Xiu's friend Xin Ran arrived from the west and told Tong the Di and Qiang had risen on their own—not Xiu's plot. Thus Xiu escaped execution. After Lun returned he curried favor with Empress Jia, demanding oversight of the Masters of Writing and later the director's seat. Zhang Hua and Pei Wei blocked him both times; Lun and Sun Xiu came to hate Zhang Hua as a mortal foe. When the imperial armory caught fire Zhang Hua feared a coup; he ringed it with troops before fighting the blaze, so treasures of many dynasties—including Liu Bang's snake sword, Wang Mang's pickled head, and Confucius's wooden shoes—burned away. Witnesses swore they saw a sword burst through the roof and fly off—none knew where it landed.
41
使 使 殿
Earlier, in Zhang Hua's Zhuangwu fief mulberries turned to cypress—those versed in omens called it ill-starred. Strange apparitions kept plaguing Zhang Hua's residence and his ministry offices. His youngest son Zhang Wei, citing the split of the Central Terrace star, urged him to resign. Zhang Hua refused and said: "Heaven's purposes lie beyond our grasp—we answer them only by cultivating virtue. Better stay calm and wait out heaven's decree." When Lun and Sun Xiu prepared to depose Empress Jia, Xiu sent Sima Ya by night to Zhang Hua: "The altars are tottering; Prince Zhao wishes to join you in restoring the court and acting as the strongman who sets things right." Zhang Hua knew Xiu meant usurpation and turned him down cold." Ya snapped, "The blade is at your throat—yet this is what you say!" He stalked out without a backward glance. Zhang Hua was napping at midday when he dreamed his roof collapsed; he woke with foreboding. That night the coup struck; forged edicts summoned Zhang Hua, and he and Pei Wei were arrested together. As death closed in Zhang Hua asked Zhang Lin, "Do you mean to murder a loyal servant of the throne?" Zhang Lin brandished an edict and demanded: "You were chief minister charged with the realm—why did you not die for principle when the heir was cast aside?" Zhang Hua answered, "Every word I spoke against it at Shiqiang Hall is on record—I did remonstrate." Lin shot back, "If they ignored your counsel, why did you not resign?" Zhang Hua had no reply. Moments later a messenger arrived: "The edict orders your execution." Zhang Hua said, "I am an old servant of the late emperor; my heart burns red as cinnabar. I do not cling to life—I fear what calamities may yet strike the royal house." They cut him down south of the carriage lane before the front hall and wiped out three generations of his kin; court and countryside mourned. He was sixty-nine.
42
便
Zhang Hua delighted in nurturing talent and never tired of lifting others; even a penniless scholar waiting at his gate who showed the slightest merit drew his praise and public endorsement. He adored books; when he died his house held no spare coin—only histories and belles-lettres bursting from his trunks. When he moved house once, thirty cartloads carried nothing but books. When Director Zhi Yu of the Palace Library collated the official canon, he used Zhang Hua's editions as the authoritative text. Every rare curiosity in the realm seemed to end up in Zhang Hua's library. Hence his erudition was unmatched in his time.
43
滿便
During Emperor Hui's reign someone brought Zhang Hua a bird feather thrice ten feet long. Zhang Hua turned pale. "That is the feather of the sea drake—when it appears the realm falls into chaos." Lu Ji once sent Zhang Hua cured fish; when guests packed the hall Zhang Hua lifted the lid and declared, "This is dragon flesh." No one believed him until Zhang Hua said, "Rinse it in vinegar—something strange will happen." A moment later five-colored light flared up. Lu Ji questioned the donor and learned that under a straw stack in the garden they had found a white fish of odd shape, too fine for ordinary fare—hence the gift." Though the armory was sealed tight, a pheasant suddenly crowed inside. Zhang Hua said, "A snake must have turned into that bird." They opened the doors and found a shed snakeskin beside the bird. When the bank at Linping in Wu commandery gave way, a stone drum emerged that rang silent when struck. The emperor consulted Zhang Hua, who said, "Carve Shu paulownia into the shape of a fish and strike it—the drum will sing." They did as he said and the tone carried for miles.
44
宿 西 使 使
Before Wu fell, a purple vapor lingered between the Dipper and the Ox; every augur blamed Wu's strength—only Zhang Hua disagreed. After Wu surrendered the glow burned brighter still. Hearing that Lei Huan of Yuzhang read the heavens with uncanny skill, Zhang Hua invited him to stay the night, dismissed the servants, and said, "Let us study the sky together and learn what lies ahead." From the tower Lei Huan said, "I have watched a long time—something strange rides between the Dipper and the Ox." Zhang Hua asked what omen it foretold." Huan answered, "It is the aura of a storied blade reaching up to heaven." Zhang Hua said, "You have named it. A fortune-teller once told me that past sixty and risen to the Three High Offices I would gird such a sword. Can his prophecy finally prove true?" Zhang Hua pressed, "In which commandery does it lie?" At Fengcheng in Yuzhang." Zhang Hua asked him to take the magistracy there so they could hunt for it together." Lei Huan agreed. Delighted, Zhang Hua had Lei Huan appointed magistrate of Fengcheng. At Fengcheng Lei Huan dug beneath the jail four yards down and found a stone coffer blazing with light; inside lay twin swords inscribed Longquan and Tai'e. That night the aura between the Dipper and Ox vanished. He polished them with clay from the northern cliff of West Mountain outside Nanchang until they blazed. Set in a basin of water, their glare dazzled the eye. He sent Zhang Hua one sword with a packet of clay and kept the other. Someone protested, "You found two blades but sent only one—do you cheat Duke Zhang?" Huan replied, "This dynasty verges on chaos—Zhang Gong will bear the blow. This sword belongs hung on the tomb tree of the lord of Xu—as in the old tale. Such numinous things slip away in time; they are not meant to serve mortals forever." Zhang Hua treasured the blade and kept it at his side. Finding Nanchang clay inferior to Huayin's red soil, Zhang Hua wrote Lei Huan: "The inscription marks this as Gan Jiang—why has Mo Ye not appeared? Still, heaven-forged wonders must reunite in the end." He sent Lei Huan a pound of Huayin clay. Lei Huan polished again—twice the brilliance. When Zhang Hua died the sword vanished. After Lei Huan died his son Hua, a provincial clerk, carried the sword past Yanping Ford; it leapt from his belt into the river. Divers found no blade—only two patterned dragons many yards long coiling underwater and fled back in terror. Light sheeted the waves until they boiled—then the sword was gone. Young Hua sighed, "My father's words about transformation and Duke Zhang's prophecy of reunion—here is the proof!" Tales of Zhang Hua's learning fill volumes—only a sample appears here.
45
After Lun and Xiu fell, Prince Sima Jiong of Qi ruled as regent; Zhi Yu wrote him: "While sorting the palace secretariat after Zhang Hua's death I found his draft reply to the late emperor. Asked whom to trust after his death Zhang Hua answered: "None shines so virtuous and close as the Former Prince of Qi—keep him to anchor the altars." Those loyal, earnest counsels ring true even beyond the grave—revealed only after his death—far above the temporizers who trim every sail. Critics fault Zhang Hua for not defying the throne over Crown Prince Minhuai. In that hour any remonstrator faced death for defiance. The sages never fault men for dying to no purpose. Yan Ying, chief minister of Qi, did not die in Cui Zhu's coup; Ji Zha, Wu's pillar of state, would not argue treason and loyalty once principle was exhausted. When duty leaves no room to act, the sages impose no blame." Jiong memorialized: "I have heard that restoring fallen houses is the mark of a sage king; punishing evil and rewarding good is the Spring and Autumn Annals' finest lesson. King Wu honored Bi Gan's grave and marked Shang Rong's lane—proof that living and dead may yet speak to one another. Sun Xiu's revolt toppled states that had aided the founding and slew ministers of backbone, hacking at the royal house; unleashing cruelty until lines of merit ministers were all but wiped out. Zhang Hua and Pei Wei died because others feared them; Xie Xi and Xie Jie perished like sacrificial lambs; Ouyang Jian and others fell though guiltless—the people mourned them all. Your Majesty's radiance renews the realm, yet these families have received no redress. When the Luan and Xi houses fell to bondsmen, the Spring and Autumn chronicled the injustice; King You cast off lines of worthy ministers and singers turned it into satire. Humble as I am in office, I beg leave to speak plainly. If this finds favor, command the ministers to debate it openly." Opinion divided, though most called it an injustice. Zhu Dao of Zhuangwu petitioned Prince Sima Yi of Changsha to restore Zhang Hua's titles; the court wavered for years.
46
使
In the second year of Tai'an an edict declared: "Love and hate clash; slanderers smear the upright—it has always been so. Late Minister of Works Duke Zhuangwu Zhang Hua gave his full loyalty, steadied the court, and earned trust on every measure. He deserved princely rank for steadying the state yet refused eight or nine times, warning that the old feudal order could not return without catastrophe—his plea was so earnest it moved the realm. His devotion was sworn before the spirits. The late emperor ennobled him for conquering Wu. Later titles broke precedent and small favors could not outweigh his earlier deeds; villains murdered him on charges of treason—sheer injustice. Restore his posts—palace attendant, director of the palace secretariat, minister of works, Duke of Zhuangwu, Marquis of Guangwu—and return confiscated goods, seals, and credentials; send envoys to mourn him."
47
When Lu Ji and his brother first reached Luoyang, flush with pride as scions of a Wu great house, they looked askance at northern scholars—yet one meeting with Zhang Hua felt like reunion with an old friend; they revered his moral stature as pupils honor a master. After Zhang Hua's execution Lu Ji wrote a dirge and an "Ode on Virtue" in lament.
48
Zhang Hua wrote ten chapters of Records of Broad Learning; his essays circulated widely. He had two sons: Zhang Yi and Zhang Wei.
49
Sons: Zhang Yi and Zhang Wei.
50
輿
Zhang Yi, courtesy Yanzhong, loved books and carried his father's modesty, rising to regular attendant cavalry. Zhang Wei was broadly learned in the classics and astronomy and served as gentleman attendant cavalry. Both perished in the same purge. Zhang Yi's son Zhang Yu, courtesy Gong'an, inherited his grandfather's title. Fleeing south across the Yangzi he became aide to the minister-in-chief and gentleman attendant of the heir apparent.
51
使 使 鹿 退
Liu Bian, courtesy Shulong, was a native of Xuchang in Dongping commandery. Born to a military household, he was blunt and sparing of speech. As a young county clerk he refused to hold a candle for the drunken merit officer at night; the officer nursed a grudge and reassigned him to watch a roadside pavilion on a pretext. A holder of the xiucai degree named Zu drafted a letter to the inspector in the pavilion but stalled; Liu Bian offered a few sentences that gave it striking force. Zu told the magistrate, "Liu Bian is clerk material for the high offices—why waste him on a pavilion?" The magistrate made him gate clerk, but he handled affairs loosely and lacked polish. The magistrate asked whether he would study. Liu Bian said he would gladly try." He was sent to school. Soon his elder brother, a long-service guardsman for the heir apparent, died; regulations required a replacement and the merit officer asked Liu Bian to fill in. The magistrate cited Zu's earlier praise." The request was refused. Liu Bian followed the magistrate to Luoyang, entered the imperial academy, passed the Classics examination, and became a fourth-rank clerk at headquarters. An investigator ordered him to copy a cartload of yellow paper; Liu Bian replied, "I am no copyist for hire." The investigator complained to the impartial judge and demoted him to clerk under the director of the Masters of Writing. Someone advised him, "Your gifts suit great affairs, not petty chores—better serve as palace warder." Liu Bian took the advice.
52
簿西
He rose from clerk in the Ministry of Personnel to chief clerk under Prince Sima You of Qi as minister of works, then chamberlain aide, west-bureau clerk under the minister of education, and gentleman of the Masters of Writing—each post suited him. Promoted to gentleman attendant cavalry, then governor of Bingzhou, then commander of the left guard for the heir—learning of Empress Jia's plot to remove the heir he grew deeply anxious. His appeals to Zhang Hua went nowhere and his resentment deepened. Empress Jia's agents in disguise overheard him; they promoted him to general of light chariots and governor of Yongzhou as a banishment—realizing his warning had leaked and fearing execution, he drank poison. When Liu Bian left for Bingzhou a dozen former Xuchang clerks held a farewell; one mocked him and Liu Bian had him dragged out—onlookers thought him petty.
53
The historians wrote: Loyalty is the finest virtue, learning the state's brightest ornament—like ritual among the stars or the crown of human relations. Wei Guan steadied Emperor Wu's couch while Zhang Hua defied Prince Zhao Lun's orders—Boyu led in loyal counsel, Maoxian shone when danger loomed. On perilous roads principle still speaks: when darkness thickens, affairs lose their course; yet where pine and bamboo stand unbent, death outshines life—those who march toward the flame do not flinch at ruin. Both were caught in wanton snares and fell to the blade together—the realm laid waste. How tragic!
54
祿
The encomium runs: Worthies pledged their lives; their Way gleams through bitter winters. Others drew pay like corpses and watched ruin—no peace for our age. Wei fell to the Jia clan; Zhang was broken by Prince Zhao. Loyalty in a time of chaos has never been easy.
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