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卷四十八 列傳第十八 向雄 段灼 閻纘

Volume 48 Biographies 18: Xiang Xiong; Duan Zhuo; Yan Zuan

Chapter 48 of 晉書 · Book of Jin
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Chapter 48
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1
Xiang Xiong; Duan Zhuo; Yan Zuan
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簿 使 殿
Xiang Xiong, courtesy name Maobo, came from Shanyang in Henei commandery. His father, Xiang Shao, was prefect of Pengcheng. He began as the commandery chief clerk under Prefect Wang Jing. When Wang Jing was executed, Xiang Xiong mourned him without restraint, and the crowd in the market wept with him. Later Prefect Liu Yi had him flogged on a trumped-up charge; when Wu Fen succeeded Liu, he jailed Xiang Xiong again over a petty fault. Colonel Director Zhong Hui recruited him from prison as an adjutant; when Zhong Hui died with no one to lay him out, Xiang Xiong claimed the body and gave him burial. Emperor Wen summoned him and scolded him: "When Wang Jing died you wailed for him at the Eastern Market—I let that pass. Zhong Hui was a declared traitor, yet you buried him too. If the law indulges that, what becomes of the statute?" Xiang Xiong replied: "The kings of old gathered exposed bones and buried the dead; their kindness reached dry bones—did they first judge guilt and merit before they buried anyone? Royal punishment has already been inflicted; the law has run its course. I buried him out of decency toward a fallen man; that offends no moral teaching I know of. Statute comes from the throne and custom from the people—must I betray the living and insult the dead just to please the fashion? Would you leave bleached bones in the ditch as a lesson to future good men—would that not be the greater shame?" The emperor was pleased, talked with him over wine, and sent him home.
3
退 退
He rose by stages to gentleman of the yellow gate. Wu Fen and Liu Yi were both palace attendants in the same bureau, and Xiang Xiong refused to speak with either. When Emperor Wu heard of it, he ordered Xiang Xiong to mend fences with Liu Yi. He went to Liu Yi, bowed twice, and said, "The edict has just cut off all duty between superior and subordinate—what is left to say?" With that he turned and left. The emperor was furious and demanded, "I told you to make peace with Liu Yi—why did you break it off?" Xiang Xiong said, "The gentlemen of old advanced men with courtesy and dismissed them with courtesy; today people lift a favorite onto their knees and drop a fallen man into the pit. Liu Yi of Henei did not strike the first blow against me—that is mercy enough; how can you call us cordial lord and minister again?" The emperor let the matter drop.
4
During the Taishi era he rose to inspector of Qin province with crimson banner, curved awning, military band, and a grant of two hundred thousand cash. Early in Xianning he became metropolitan censor, then palace attendant, then left the capital as general who conquers the barbarians. Early in Taikang he served as governor of Henan and received a secondary marquisate within the passes. When Prince Qi, Sima You, was ordered to his fief, Xiang Xiong remonstrated: "Your sons are many, but few enjoy real prestige among the people. To keep the prince of Qi at the capital would do the dynasty deep good—think twice before you send him away." The emperor would not listen. Xiang Xiong pressed his advice until it angered the throne, then rose and walked out; he died of grief and rage.
5
His younger brother Xiang Kuang became general who guards the army under Emperor Hui.
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西 西
Duan Zhuo, courtesy name Xiuran, was a native of Dunhuang. For generations his clan had been a leading house of the west; he was blunt, upright, and a sharp debater. He began in provincial posts, rose to chief of staff under Deng Ai, the general who guarded the west, followed him in the conquest of Shu, earned a secondary marquisate, and advanced to discussion gentleman. When Emperor Wu took the throne, Duan Zhuo addressed a memorial to clear Deng Ai’s name:
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西
The late General Who Pacified the West, Deng Ai, was utterly loyal yet was labeled a traitor; he conquered Ba and Shu yet suffered the three-clan extermination—I mourn him in private. It is bitter to hear him called a rebel. Ai was brusque and vain, could not work with colleagues, and offended polite opinion—so no one would speak for him. I risk my life to show why Deng Ai could not have rebelled.
8
西 滿使
Ai began as a herdsman on the military colonies; Emperor Xuan pulled him from the fields and set him among high ministers. In every civil and military post he distinguished himself—proof enough of Emperor Xuan’s eye for talent. When disaster struck at Taoxi and government troops were beaten, Inspector Wang Jing was trapped in a ring of siege. Both provinces trembled; the Longyou frontier nearly slipped from the state’s grasp. The late emperor weighed every general and found none fitter to save the border than Deng Ai; he gave him troops and lifted the siege at Didao. After the relief he stayed to garrison Shanggui. The army had just been shattered: men were demoralized, officers listless, magazines empty, arms worn out. Deng Ai meant to store grain and rebuild the army against whatever came next. Rain failed that year; he introduced contour plowing, plough in hand, working ahead of his men—tens of thousands under him, yet he shared the labor of the lowest ranks. Hence at Luomen and Duangu he shattered a stronger enemy with fewer troops and piled up ten thousand heads. The court then handed him the grand strategy drawn up in the temple. He obeyed without thought for himself, swept forward like dragon or unicorn, and nothing could stand before him. Shu was a maze of cliffs and defiles; Ai had fewer than twenty thousand foot and horse. He packed his horses on timbered paths and hurled himself into dead ground—courage that pierced the clouds carried his men until Liu Shan shook with terror and came out bound with his ministers. Ba and Shu fell within the allotted campaign—clear proof that the late emperor had chosen the right man.
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西
His deeds deserved to be carved on bamboo and silk for ages to come. He was an old man of seventy—what could he still want? Because Liu Shan had just yielded and outlying districts were still unsettled, Ai issued orders on his own authority to steady the realm. That bent the rules, yet it matched classical precedent; judged by intent it deserves careful weighing, not summary condemnation. Zhong Hui, who garrisoned the west, meant to seize the empire; fearing Deng Ai’s fame and knowing they could not share power, he seized on ambiguities and framed him. When the edict reached him, Ai disbanded his picked troops, bound himself, and surrendered without hesitation. He trusted that once he faced the late emperor he would not die for it. After Zhong Hui fell, Ai’s staff and soldiers—panicked fools—rushed after him, smashed his cage-cart, and freed his bonds. Trapped and desperate, he lost every footing. Rebellion is no light thing: a rebel first gathers allies and only then moves the host—yet no one ever named a single confidant of Deng Ai’s. At the block he spoke no treason—only to be cut down from front and rear. Can that fail to move pity? Witnesses wept; listeners sighed. That is why Jia Yi broke his heart before Emperor Wen of Han—some wrongs in the world are worth bitter tears.
10
使
Your Majesty has risen with generous grace: houses struck by punishment are not barred forever from office. Let Deng Ai have an heir and unbroken offerings. The people of Qin mourned Bai Qi’s innocence; the people of Wu grieved Wu Zixu’s cruelty—both won shrines. All under heaven ache for Deng Ai with the same bitterness. Let his students and old aides recover his coffin, bury him on his family ground, return his lands, and enfeoff a descendant for the conquest of Shu so his posthumous name may be fixed and his ghost find peace. You would loose a wronged ghost under the earth and show posterity what faith means—then every man who seeks a name or a deed will gladly leap into fire and water for you.
11
The emperor read the memorial and praised his intent. Duan Zhuo later submitted another memorial on policy:
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使 使
I have heard that heaven’s season is less telling than earth’s advantage, and earth’s advantage less telling than the harmony of men. A three-mile wall and five-mile outer rampart, ringed by attackers, may still hold—that shows season weaker than terrain. Walls may be high, moats deep, grain piled high, weapons keen—yet the garrison flees—terrain is weaker than unity among men. The kings of old always spread kindness first and bound the people’s hearts. When hearts are one, even a tiny citadel cannot be stormed. When hearts are divided, no golden fortress can be held. From this I infer: Shun played the five strings and sang the “South Wind,” and the realm ordered itself—because Yao’s people were as close as neighbors under one roof. Our own age has been a storm of usurpers; blades and saws have never rested; the wailing of the orphaned dead still rings in the ear. Therefore I urge Your Majesty to think far ahead, choke trouble at its root, pluck the lute, sing the classics, and rule with folded hands. The heart of it is kindness to the common people: extend favor and you hold the realm; withhold it and you cannot guard your own household. Tang Yao began with harmony among the nine branches of kin; King Wen began with moral order in his own chamber; every sage king has cherished kin before strangers and the near before the far. I propose that the grand tutor, the minister of education, and the general who guards the army—the three princes—stay in Luoyang to anchor the capital; every other prince old enough to govern, from fifteen sui upward, should be sent to his fief. Choose for each tutors and ministers who combine civil and military talent. Let them drill troops in their domains and spread trust among the people. They will cherish the people like children and the realm like a home; lord and vassal will stand in fixed relation for generations, until wide domains recall the old houses of Jin, Lu, and Wei. That is the true “bedrock of the state,” and the empire will feel its strength. Though you speak of carving out fiefs, it is like pouring from one purse into another—all still within the royal house. If you fear future strength, lay down rules now that princes must divide favor among sons and brothers. Branches will spread and power thin by degrees until you reach the model of myriad states of old—a boon to later reigns, not a danger.
13
Under the Han the Lü feared to move because kin like Liu Zhang sat inside the capital and the nine feudatories pressed from without. For today’s needs, strong princes are the dyke that steadies Mount Tai. Men who are not of our bone will not share our heart. Yet the Wei code caged the princes and severed kin ties—nothing could be less auspicious. Lately the realm was again carved up without need into the five ranks of nobility. Those above do not model the worthy, those below do not debate merit—yet right and wrong are jumbled and everyone alike receives a fief. That may suit a moment’s expediency, not a lasting rule; if it stays forever unchanged, it will only breed resentment and creeping disorder. States rise when the nine branches of kin live in harmony and the common people pull together. They fall when royal kin grow estranged and the people lose heart. When Xia tottered, Yi Yin went back to Yin. When Yin was divided, the Lü entered Zhou. Yin took Xia’s fall as its mirror; yesterday’s lesson is tomorrow’s warning.
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He went on:
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西
When Shu was attacked, Liangzhou cavalry and Qiang and Hu fighters—over five thousand men promised rich reward—followed Deng Ai and every one earned first-class merit. Yet the Yihai edict barred provincial commanders from the same rules as central army officers, so none could be enfeoffed no matter how high their merit. Only Yang Xin of Jincheng, pressing the Jiangyou front, won thirty of his men a fief. West of Jincheng, outside Yang Xin’s command, not one soldier was enfeoffed. Men under central army rules became marquises even on modest merit. Provincial troops, however great their deeds, won no fiefs—hardly the promised ‘no favor withheld near or far.’
16
耀
Sweet bait hooks fish; rich reward kills brave men. So Jing Ke died for Dan of Yan, Zhuan Zhu for King Helü—blade in the Qin court, sword in the fish—because they saw death as home for a cause they honored. Men fight for rank and bounty; injustice breeds grudges—it has always been so. The Book of Odes says, ‘The shrike on the mulberry has seven chicks.’ ‘The good man’s bearing is one.’ I say these soldiers deserve titles and fiefs.
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Duan Zhuo’s memorials were read and noted each time. Yet he was small fry in a lonely post and never promoted, so he took long leave and went home. Before leaving he had his son present a memorial:
18
退祿
Three reigns have favored me; I bore a seal yet showed no merit and lay idle for years—I have no strength left to serve. Your Majesty hears all counsel, heeds a madman’s plea, forgives my intrusion, and punishes no blunt offense—your grace fills heaven and earth for me. A loyal minister toward his ruler is like a filial son toward his parents: to advance brings joy, not greed for rank. To withdraw brings grief, not clinging to salary. The heart only wants to bring honor to ruler and kin—how could feeling hold back? I mourn five private griefs: reared on the frontier, long abroad, ill since my return, never granted audience—you do not even know who I am. Second, I lived in an age of deeds yet left no name on the bamboo slips. Third, I served a sage emperor yet am too frail to give my strength—I should die in the dust. Fourth, my parents died young and my brothers are gone—I can no longer show filial piety at home. Fifth, summer races by and winter returns; even a hundred years seem short, yet midlife brought me ruin. I blush before sun and moon and owe Heaven a debt I cannot pay—these five regrets wring my heart as I take the road home.
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使
The proverb says, ‘Flowery speech is hollow, straight speech is true, bitter words are medicine, sweet words are poison.’ I would gladly say the realm is at peace, yet no tortoise omen, no spirit fox, no lucky fungi, no qilin in the royal park, no phoenix at court—so I dare not mouth pretty lies like a sycophant. When Han Gaozu had just won the empire, the soldier Lou Jing warned him, ‘You won the realm differently from the Zhou founders; to claim their omens is a poor fit.’ Gaozu listened, took the point to heart, and gave Lou Jing the imperial surname. He told Lu Jia, ‘Write me how Qin fell and how I rose.’ Lu Jia wrote the New Discourses, tracing past rise and fall as a mirror. Tian Ken urged that only kin could hold Qi as king and earned a thousand in gold. The world praises Gaozu’s openness—how else could he build an empire?
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西 使 使 西耀
Today everyone cries that Yao and Shun are back and the realm is at peace. I alone do not believe it, and I have a warning to offer. The laws the kings left and the sages spoke are the clearest mirror for what follows. Mencius said, ‘Yao could not simply hand the realm to Shun; Heaven gave it to him.’ When Shun yielded to Yao’s son south of the river, lords and litigants still flocked to Shun, not to the son. Shun called it Heaven’s will and took the throne in the central plain. Had he seized Yao’s palace and forced the son, that would not have been Heaven’s gift.” Once Shu defied the west and Wu claimed the east—three rulers each styled himself emperor. Wei Wendi accepted abdication at Fanpi yet styled himself another Yao or Shun, mocked Mencius and Xunzi for not grasping abdition, carved his doctrine in stone—how could that make later ages honestly assent? He aped Yao and Shun while weakening kin who should shield the throne, never unified the realm, and no minister dared remonstrate—was that not a grave fault? Xunzi said, ‘So-called abdication by Yao and Shun is not as told.’ The realm is supremely heavy—only the strongest can bear it. It is supremely vast—only the most eloquent can parse it. Its affairs are supremely many—only the clearest eye can see them. None but a sage can master those three heights.” So Mencius and Xunzi each withhold assent from some tales. Your Majesty moved from the eastern palace to the western hall under glittering arms and banners that hid the sun. You match Heaven and the people like Tang and Yu, yet your legal changes differ little from Wei Wendi’s—you should use Xunzi’s three tests to steady the rule. The princes bear the title of state founders but lack real ties that bind the capital. Shu’s natural defenses have always tempted rebels and outlaws, yet no imperial kin garrison them—where is the long-term plan to choke trouble at its root?
21
使
Han Wendi inherited a finished realm: the empire breathed as one. Yet Jia Yi warned him it was like sleeping on kindling with live coals—safe only because the flames had not yet caught. That is the mind that remembers ruin in survival and danger in calm. I beg you, in peace, to think of peril—not to feel too high above the world, to remember the pit at your feet and the thin ice under them. Sweep away Wei’s bad statutes, spread a new humane rule until every land rejoices, down to insect and plant. Let the court sing the ‘Kangzai’ hymns and leave no woodcutters grumbling in the hills—that is what the world hopes to see. From your accession you welcomed blunt counsel—if frank men fall silent for fear, how will auspicious omens ever arrive?
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使 退
I am no Lu Jia, not in your inner council, yet I know: a sage ruler wants straight ministers who hide nothing. Though I am remote and little trusted, I dare trace why famous kings rose and tyrants fell, lay out paths to find talent, care for the aged, keep faith, and answer objections—five themes in all. Everything I cite is precedent from past and present, not novel theory. My words are plain and may not deserve your ear. Yet I believe they can jog memory and wake indifference. Please see my clumsy loyalty, forgive my blunt zeal, and do not teach the world to fear speaking. My sickness worsens; I think of returning home like the poem says, like the fox that dies facing its burrow—I take long leave to lie near my parents’ graves. I gaze toward the palace yet my heart stays with the throne; unable to come myself, I send my son Ying with this memorial.
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西 鹿 鹿 使 殿 忿 祿 使
First: I have heard good deeds are patterned—they stand written in the classics. Evil has its punishments—they are warned in the penal codes. From high antiquity through Qin and Han one can name bright kings, hegemons, and dark lords who lost their states. One can also name blunt loyal ministers and flattering traitors. Courts with blunt remonstrators always flourish. Courts that favor sycophants always fall. Every ruler wants loyal help and worthy ministers. Yet ruin follows ruin because the wrong men were chosen. Men called worthy prove unworthy; men called loyal prove disloyal. I shall show how worthies built states and how unworthies destroyed them. Late Yao kept four villains at court and ignored eight talents, yet the realm stayed calm because Shun served as minister. Jie of Xia and Zhou of Yin were both emperors yet lost all—because they spurned good ministers, listened to women, drowned in wine and debauch, killed Long Feng and Bi Gan—so the world turned on them. Taijia was cruel and broke Tang’s laws; Yi Yin exiled him to Tong until he repented, then welcomed him back to Bo after three years. After Taijia was banished and restored, the Yin house revived from weakness; the lords submitted and he was honored as Taizong, thanks to Yi Yin’s steadfast loyalty. When Zhou decayed, lords warred and the king grew weak. Duke Huan of Qi was a lecher at heart. Yet he united the lords and honored Zhou because of Guan Zhong. When he died maggots crawled from his door—price of trusting Shu Diao. The same Huan with Guan Zhong wrought greatness. With Shu Diao he brought chaos. Glory, shame, life, and ruin hang on appointments—choose with care! Qin began as a tiny clan of Boyi’s line; under Qin Zhong it grew fond of chariots, rites, and music. From Duke Mu to the First Emperor every ruler sought talent far and near—You Yu from the Rong, five rams from Wan, Pi Bao from Jin, Jian Shu from his hamlet. Heroes flocked in; generation on generation Qin grew strong, swallowed rivals, seized the throne—thanks to wise advisers. The moral order was still crude when the First Emperor died at Sand Dunes. The Second Emperor rode cruelty and fraud, ruined the succession, and butchered the good until poison spread to every commoner. Chen Sheng and Wu Guang raised a cry and the realm answered. Zhao Gao seized power, Yan Le struck, and the Second Emperor died at Wangyi. Ziying lasted forty days, king in name alone, with no support. Wicked ministers called deer horse and hastened Qin’s fall. Qin lost the realm; Xiang Yu seized it then lost it—boiling Han Sheng and spurning Fan Zeng were his faults. Had he killed Liu Bang at Hongmen and ruled from Xianyang, none could have stood against him. Instead he scorned good counsel, trusted his own pride, went home to Pengcheng in silks like a provincial fool—and gloried in it. Five years later Han seized him; still he cried ‘Heaven, not my warcraft’—how blind! Men flock to benevolence as water runs downhill—Jie and Zhou drove the people to Tang and Wu. Gaozu rose from the ranks with a sword and the wealth of the six states—he needed more than Zhang Liang’s plots; Xiang Yu drove the world into his arms. Two centuries later Chengdi handed power to his uncles and let authority leak outward. Zhang Yu, tutor to the throne, received the emperor bowing at his couch while Chengdi asked omens of state. Had Zhang Yu spoken truly, the Wang clan could not have seized power and Wang Mang could never have usurped Han. Zhang Yu flattered, schemed, and crawled among the five Hou for favor. Zhu Yun demanded the horse-cutting sword to behead Zhang Yu as a warning—true loyalty. Chengdi called it slander of a tutor and ordered Zhu Yun boiled alive. Zhu Yun broke the palace rail; only General Xin Qingji’s bloody protest saved him. Else Zhu Yun would have died at once. Leaving the broken rail honored frank speech—but could not save Han from ruin. Men say no traitor matched Wang Mang—yet Zhou was no worse. Mang began as humble kin, feigned virtue, and won praise as filial and kind. As regent for Cheng and Ai he seemed diligent and praised. Countless memorials praised him; every minister sang his virtue. Han lacked an heir; the dowager lived on; Mang crowned a child and stole the throne. Tang and Wu too seized power, then ruled justly. Had Mang ruled with true benevolence eighteen years, he might have kept the temples; even Guangwu could not have risen. Once enthroned he thought himself heaven-sent, boasted past the sage-kings, spread omens, ruled with terror, until men and gods raged and omens shook heaven and earth. Still he doubled harsh laws, rewarded sycophants, and killed the frank. The realm revolted; he died at a commoner’s hands—a laughingstock. He fell not from taking power but from misruling it. After Mang fell, Liu Xuan, Liu Penzi, and Gongsun Shu each claimed the throne in turn. None of them matched Heaven or the people—they only swept the path for Guangwu. The empire belongs to the world, not to one man. As the Odes say of Muye, ‘The Yin host stood thick as a wood—yet the lords rose for Zhou.’ And, ‘Lords bow to Zhou—Heaven’s mandate is not fixed.’ So the ruler is no fixed man: virtue wins the realm, vice loses it. Wise kings toiled as if standing on a shoreless river. They mirrored heaven and earth, honored ministers, drew near the loyal, and spurned flatterers. Filial kindness filled the palace; their teaching warmed the people. Their justice was straight as a whetstone; their faith moved gods and men. They heard no crooked whispers from imperial in-laws. They heeded no wheedling from favorite attendants. The four gates stood open; remonstrance was welcome without taboo. They trembled on the throne, lest they become stepping-stones for a later founder. They say he who fears danger stays safe. He who fears ruin survives. If a ruler stays vigilant in peace, his line endures—why fear making way for another? The proverb says, ‘Even a madman’s words the wise ruler weighs.’
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使 宿 使
Second: careers differ—conduct is not one mold. Wu Qi chased office, skipped his mother’s funeral, killed his wife for a command—deeply unfilial. Yet in Wei he froze Qin’s eastward gaze. In Chu he checked the three Jin to the north. Zeng and Min would not leave their parents a night—unlike warriors who rush to danger. Great Jin rivals sage Yao, yet Wu still styles itself emperor—a shame to us. To win heroes for the Huai front, open every path to talent, search hills and halls, test and hire only the best. Today bureaus pick men blindfolded; the nine-rank system asks only the rectifier. So high ranks go to sons of lords or brothers of the mighty. Then talent born in hovels is buried unseen.
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Third: Tian Zifang’s care for old horses drew poor scholars; how much more should a Son of Heaven live the great life of the classics. Every sage king fed the old. Many elderly are not sages—you cannot feed every one. So the throne honored three elders as fathers to teach filial piety. It honored five elders to teach reverence. Mencius said, ‘Treat the aged of others as you treat your own.’ Peace is declared, yet no horses graze south of Mount Hua—because Wu still defies us. Hungry men swallow any food; the people hunger for your new rule. Ponder Tian Zifang’s kindness, remember old servants, repay past favors, and proclaim a generous code for the aged.
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使 西 西 調 西
Fourth: in law and reward nothing tops trust. The ancients said, ‘Without trust a man is nothing.’ How then nurture men with kindness or duty without keeping faith? As western prefect I received the jiwei edict: ‘Recruit Qiang and Hu only if willing—never force.’ I published the edict, promised pay, and listed every volunteer for the western command. Jin subjects may be drafted by the usual rules. Qiang and Hu will not cross the Long frontier unless persuaded with kindness and pay. Past river campaigns stayed calm; Prefect Guo Sui led well and promised rich reward. Volunteers trusted the pay and won first-class merit. Yet now commanders are enfeoffed while Qiang and Hu heroes—even kings and marquises among them—go unrecorded. Duke Wen would not break faith for land; Duke Huan kept his word—how much more should a sage emperor!
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使 便 使 使祿
Fifth: Zhou and Han enfeoffed kin—Zhou with five ranks, Han with iron oaths. When they fell, great ministers seized the throne. Qin ended Zhou, not a Ji prince. Wei replaced Han, not a Liu. Let kin hold linked cities while outsiders hold no great fiefs; even if princes later fight among themselves, the imperial regalia stays in the family—like losing one bow in Yunmeng yet keeping the rest. So long as the throne stays in the clan, the founder’s temple stands unmoved for ages. Jin has twenty princes and five hundred petty lords—yet Han’s founder began landless; size is no excuse. Sage emperors bore foolish sons; wicked fathers sired Shun—blood alone guarantees nothing. Every crisis calls arms—yet multiplying armies and nobles only breeds chaos; the five ranks are a bad tool. Enlarge princely domains, give them troops, send them to their fiefs with strength to support one another—then you may sleep soundly. Rename the petty ranks and align their stipends with true feudal precedent.
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使
He who rides the same track as a wreck, shares the corpse’s fever, or copies a dead law will not endure. How much more should mighty Jin, ready to claim heaven’s mandate, learn from history and guard the deed you carve in stone. Look far at rise and fall so future scribes have a clear record. Yi Yin shamed his king into virtue—that is why I speak bluntly despite my low rank.
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The emperor read his memorial with wonder and made him general who displays might and prefect of Weixing. He died in office.
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西 駿 駿駿簿 駿 駿 西
Yan Zuan, courtesy name Xubo, came from Anhan in Baxi. His grandfather Yan Pu was Zhang Lu’s clerk, urged surrender to Wei, and was enfeoffed as village marquis of Pingle. His father Yan Pu inherited the title and rose to prefect of Zangke under Wu. Yan Zuan lived in Xin’an, befriended bold spirits in youth, read widely, and mastered practical affairs. After his father died his stepmother was cruel, yet he served her with growing reverence. She hated him more, accused him of stealing his father’s gold, and hauled him to court. Pure opinion ostracized him for years; he showed no bitterness and kept filial duty. When her heart softened and the rectifier was changed, his rank was restored. He served Yang Jun as attendant, then became magistrate of Anfu. When Yang Jun fell, Yan Zuan quit office, rallied Pan Yue, Cui Ji, and others to bury him. Cui and Pan, fearing punishment, made Yan Zuan lead the burial. When the tomb was ready, Yang Mo told Prince Wuling of a plan to execute the ringleaders. The others fled; Yan Zuan spent his own fortune to finish the tomb and bury Yang Jun. Zou Zhen recommended him to Hua Qiao for the editorial office. Hua Qiao said the post was a sinecure that great families fought over—no room to judge talent. So he was not hired. Prince Hejian Sima Yong made him marshal on the western frontier; he earned the Pingle village marquisate.
31
輿
When Crown Prince Sima Yu was deposed, Yan Zuan carried a coffin to the gate and begged justice in a memorial:
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使
I read the amnesty and the former heir’s own writing with shock. Never has a subject’s treason sounded so extreme. Mercifully his life was spared. Sima Yu was a sage’s son yet fell so low because he was raised in luxury, spoiled by two emperors. His tutors were rich drones, not poor scholars like Wei Wan; even his attendants were no Ji An—so he never learned to serve father or ruler. The classics seat the heir among commoners so he knows humility before honor. Lately the heir’s court grew too grand—that invited ruin. Princes’ tutors are picked for power, not men like Gong Sui who teach the Way. Friends lack the three good companions; ‘literary’ aides never read—only race horses and gamble. I have long feared for the imperial kin and sighed. Let Yu be a warning—if you banish him too far he may repent too late.
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祿 使 使 使 使
Even Han’s rebel Heir Li was excused as a boy’s folly when elders spoke. Moved, Wu built the Terrace of Longing for a Son. Yu’s fault is lighter than Prince Li’s; choose new tutors and he may yet be saved. Name Zhang Hua tutor—his virtue is deep and his loyalty sure. Name Liu Shi protector—poor, upright, and learned as Lü Wang in old age. Name Pei Wei friend—he is clear-minded and upright. Fill his staff with poor scholars of proven conduct who know hardship. Post stern censors to bar noble idlers from his gate. Then every face around him will be upright. Have tutors lecture every ten days and debate before the heir. Let them teach filial piety, loyalty, and repentance until he hears only good.
34
使
Taijia was banished, repented, and became a good king. Wei Wendi feared deposition and saved himself by caution. Wei Mingdi, deposed as a prince, was surrounded by upright tutors who corrected him. He grew filial and careful and is praised to this day. Gaozu nearly replaced the heir until the Four Elders and Zhang Liang saved him. Past deeds are warnings for the future. Mencius said peril breeds virtue in the disinherited. Li Si said indulgent mothers ruin sons and strict homes breed no slaves. Your doting brought him here; punishment may teach him to change. The realm is troubled and barbarians watch for weakness. The succession must not stand vacant. Plan for the throne and delay a little. First lecture him sternly. Follow Wei Mingdi’s example; if he will not mend, depose him later.
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I am a humble outsider with no private tie to the heir. A Chu maiden warned of a ‘dragon without tail’—no heir at forty. I served near the throne; though low as a gate guard my heart is for the state. My mother divined that presenting this memorial would mean my death. My wife and children begged me with tears to stop. Yet frequent promotion bound me—how repay such grace? I can only speak my heart even at cost of life. I brought a coffin and await execution.
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The memorial was ignored.
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When Zhang Hua died and Jia Mi fell, Yan Zuan alone wept over Zhang Hua, crying that he had refused to retire in time. He cursed Jia Mi’s corpse as the boy who ruined the state.
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When the imperial great-grandson was named heir, Yan Zuan wrote again:
39
殿 使 使
My plea for the deposed heir went unread. Huguan elders moved Han Wu to build the Terrace of Longing. Tian Qianqiu used a riddle yet rose to chancellor in a month. My feeble words failed; the prince died at Xuchang. Had you listened, that tragedy would not have happened. Heaven helped: the plotters died and the heir’s innocence emerged—too late for me to help. You recalled the prince’s body and restored his rites—yet I fear another Lü–Huo coup. Naming the great-grandson heir follows the classics, consoles the dead prince, and steadies the realm. The commoner prince nearly ruined the temples until loyal ministers struck down the plot. Even Zhou’s and Han’s purges pale beside it. Use this crisis to reform institutions for good. Rite seats the heir among commoners and makes his staff friends, not mere underlings. That satisfies filial awe above and frank counsel below.
40
使 使 使
Han Wu’s slander nearly killed the heir and would have massacred every prisoner on an omen. Bing Ji barred the gate because the imperial grandson was inside, reared him, and raised Emperor Xuan. Loyal hearts find a way. Ancient loyalty flourished where law was lenient. Bing Ji defied an edict yet was pardoned for loyalty. Since Jin arose the laws have grown cruel—delay means death. One man might accept death, but Jin wipes out whole clans. Empress Lü ruled lawlessly. Zhou Chang thrice refused to send the Zhao king until he himself was called to court. Han law was loose enough to allow that. Under Jin’s code Lü would have killed Zhou Chang’s three clans—who then would dare die for right? Change the law for the long term. Han spared Guan Gao to show what ministers owe. Ten Zhao men shaved their heads as slaves to serve their fallen prince and kept him alive. If Jin law honored such loyalty, men like Zhou Chang and Bing Ji could save an heir. If attendants like Tian Shu went unpunished, poison could not reach the heir.
41
宿 使 使殿 使
I faulted the heir’s staff for vanishing—then learned many who wept at his cart were jailed. I did not follow him—yet I had good reason. The three guard commands were meant to protect the heir. When envoys came suddenly none dared arm the guard—fearing extermination. The great-grandson is a child in a time of plots. Decree that in sudden successions ministers may arm, must hear the edict in person at court—like Zhou Chang holding the tally or Tian Shu serving a fallen prince—so the heir can be saved. The future is dark; past errors can still be mended. I saw Pei Quan serve the heir with zeal and Qin Ji remonstrate again and again. Yuan Qian won nine-rank honors while Pei Quan’s loyalty went unrewarded. Reward Pei Quan posthumously as Yuan Qian was rewarded. Praise men who wept for the heir at the roadside and honor Qin Ji’s petitions to encourage loyalty.
42
Yan Zuan added:
43
使
The minister of state guards the heir’s life. Choose poor, loyal veterans like Liang Liu or Zhu Chong for daily tutoring. Stop staffing the heir with Wu, Jia, or Guo relatives. Rich noble boys help neither character nor study. Staff him with poor scholars of proven integrity and ease their rites so they may counsel frankly.
44
Wei Wendi’s eastern palace had Xu Gan and Liu Zhen as literary friends of like mind. Wu’s heir Deng shared bed and carriage with Gu Tan and Zhuge Ke like commoners—so should Jin. An emperor’s son is already rich—his danger is pride and ignorance of farming. Worst of all he may not know a cow from a horse—train him! Zhou Gong flogged his son; Cao Shen beat his—strictness need not break love. Better small correction now than ruin later.
45
Rites require the heir to attend his parents morning and night. The five-day audience thins filial duty and invites intrigue. The classic warns that even one missed morning lets a knife slip between parent and child. Han Gaozu invented the five-day rule because he was too busy—our emperor is not. The heir has time—restore daily filial visits. The Book of Rites says King Wen matched his father meal for meal. How can a filial son visit only every five days?
46
He added:
47
使 退 使
The prince’s coffin travels while the great-grandson is too young for the road. Send the consort with her father Wei Yan to escort the bier. My low house served the heir through three borrowed postings—I knew the plot early. I begged to be deputy regent like Bing Ji to guard the heir with my own hands. Bureaucrats refused me as too lowly. Men said the post meant certain death. I would die to save the heir—gladly. Regents and guards merit the three-clan law today. Yet they are small men—punish lightly. Confucius said a tutor must face death for a six-foot orphan. So sage kings choose tutors with care. Xiang Xiong once buried Zhong Hui and rose to right guard—such men should guard the heir. Men like Xiang Xiong would not fail. Execute the two foolish envoys alone, spare their kin. Guo Xu and Guo Bin deserve full punishment.
48
滿
Pick guards as loyal as Xiang Xiong for the eastern palace. When you die, surround the child with men as staunch as Zhou Chang. Jia Mi’s twenty-four ‘friends’ were shallow flatterers. Jia Mi sneered that I sided with the Sima clan. His words froze my blood. Your edict praises Man Fen and Yue Guang. Jia Yin shunned Jia Mi for five years of mourning—wise men praised him. Pan Yue and Miao Zheng clung to Jia Mi—honest men despised them. The court expelled Jia’s circle—people cheer, but I dissent. Expel Pan Yue’s whole twenty-four, not just a few.
49
The court made him prefect of Hanzhong for his blunt loyalty. When Sima Lun fell, Yan Zuan drove over his grave. He asked Zhang Hua’s nephew Zhang Jing to return from Hanzhong. Yan Zuan scorned small scruples but loved great honor. He died in office at fifty-nine. His five sons were all able and open-hearted.
50
西
His eldest son Yan Heng could not take office in Liaoxi because Wang Jun filled the post himself. Yan Heng served under the harsh Gou Xi and died remonstrating.
51
使 輿
Historians say the realm knew Crown Prince Yu was wronged. Yet terror of the Jia clan’s cruelty silenced every honest voice. Yan Zuan, lowlier than a palace attendant, was ready to die in a cauldron for the heir—few courtiers matched even his servants. Jin’s great lords were less brave than his retainers. Xiang Xiong mourned Wang Jing to the end and kept his honor. Duan Zhuo cleared Deng Ai’s name from afar. Their justice moved the age and kindness reached the dead. Zhu Bo and Luan Bo did less for the dead than these men.
52
輿
The ode: burying Zhong Hui from duty, clearing Deng Ai from afar. Their paths were alike and their fame alike high. Yan Zuan, humble, bore his coffin to counsel the throne. Wanton favorites blocked his good counsel. He wept too late—sighs could not save the day.
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