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卷九十二 列傳第六十二 文苑

Volume 92 Biographies 62: Writers

Chapter 92 of 晉書 · Book of Jin
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Chapter 92
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1
Preface
2
Writing is what shapes civilization through moral transformation—the supreme teaching of the sages. What fails to spread far will not last—a truth the histories hammer home again and again. Hence the prophetic charts drawn from the Luo and the mystic green script that founded their mighty reign. Spirit-seal writing on Mount Yuan, imperial deeds engraved on golden slips—the lore that crowned their rule. Then came the full flowering of written records; inscriptions on bells and stones multiplied; literature reshaped folkways under royal civilizing influence and upheld filial duty within the bonds of kin; it structured heaven and earth and spanned all within the realm and beyond—so we see how immense, how enduring, is the meaning of letters in their age.
3
西耀
By the twilight of Zhou rule, hymns and praise poetry had grown lush; masters such as Xun Qing and Song Yu carried that tradition from remote antiquity—writers who coursed together like matched teams, whose eloquence poured into every school of thought and whose regulated verse mastered every tonal shift. Afterward writers trod the same path: at Chang'an, Jia Yi and Sima Xiangru wielded prose like the luminous serpent in legend; in Later Han, Ban Gu and Zhang Heng carved draconic brilliance onto their drafts—each claimed the summit of renown and won universal acclaim as a literary lord. Once Wei inherited Heaven's charge, a galaxy of writers arose: its founding rulers set the pitch of high style, the Seven Masters of Jian'an each refined its grace; the Hanlin anthology distilled their essence, Cao Pi's Dianlun anatomized their craft—never had lettered beauty flourished so fiercely in one generation. Only Prince Chen set his genius soaring—fully steeped in the canon, a brilliance that stands beside sun and moon.
4
Once Jin took the mandate, literature bloomed: Zhang Zai memorialized mountains with unmatched grace; Lu Ji wrung marvels from inkstones half consumed by flame; Pan Yue and Xia Tong matched radiance with the greatest names of their day; each lavishly embroidered yet kept the shuttle bright, mining the imperial stacks for lore and weaving Ping Terrace songs—their fuller stories appear in separate traditions. Consider Ying Zhen (Jifu) and Zuo Si (Taichong)—stars among the writers south of the river; and Cao Pi together with Yu Chan—the finest Eastern Jin had to offer at its revival. They truly combined bronze resonance with polished jade—learning broad as a grove, depth like a river—matching the old masters and leaving an inheritance for ages to come. Here we gather the foremost wielders of the brush and set them down under the heading "Literary Garden."
5
Ying Zhen
6
Ying Zhen, courtesy name Jifu, came from Nandun in Runan and was the son of Ying Qu, Palace Attendant of Wei. For generations from Han through Wei the family had risen on literary talent; rank followed rank until they stood among the commandery's greatest houses. Ying Zhen excelled at debate and was celebrated for his erudition. Xiahou Xuan's fame was immense; when Ying Zhen called on him, Xuan treated him with marked respect. He ranked at the top of his cohort and rose through a series of prominent posts. While Emperor Wu still held the title General Who Guards the Army, he named Ying Zhen army adjutant. When the emperor took the throne, Ying Zhen became a palace attendant. During an archery banquet at Hualin Garden, Ying Zhen's poem outshone every other. The poem ran:
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When the crown prince's junior mentorate was first established, Ying Zhen and Kong Xun, chief clerk of the Army Guard, were the first to hold the post. He later became a cavalier attendant-in-ordinary and, as a Confucian scholar, helped Grand Commandant Xun Yi draft a new ritual code that never came into force. He died, leaving a literary collection that circulated widely.
8
His younger brother Ying Chun: Ying Chun's son Ying Shao rose to palace attendant under the Yellow Gates in the Yongjia years and was put to death by Sima Yue, the Prince of Donghai. Ying Chun's brother Ying Xiu and Xiu's son Ying Zhan are biographed elsewhere.
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Cheng Gongshui
10
Cheng Gongshui, courtesy name Zi'an, came from Baima in Dong commandery. He was precocious and devoured the classics and their exegesis. Content with little, he acquired no lands or fortune; even when famine gnawed his household he remained untroubled. Gifted from youth, he wrote rhapsodies of striking polish yet lived in quiet retirement, courting neither renown nor office. A crow famed for filial devotion nested habitually on his roof; Cheng judged it an auspicious creature embodying the virtue of feeding one's parents in old age and wrote a rhapsody in its praise (most of which is omitted here). He argued that "a true fu must dissect the nature of things and expound principle without rigid formula—the grandeur of heaven and earth becomes thinkable through such writing. Since antiquity no one had attempted such a piece—perhaps because beauty too overwhelming defies eloquence; or else why should the tradition have stayed silent?" With that he composed his "Rhapsody on Heaven and Earth," opening:
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Cheng loved musical theory; one sweltering day he whistled into the breeze until pure tones shaped themselves into melody—and thus arose his "Rhapsody on Whistling," which begins:
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Zhang Hua admired him deeply; each essay left Zhang convinced no one could rival Cheng, so he nominated him to the Chamberlain for Ceremonials, who appointed him court erudite. He served as palace secretary, moved up to assistant director, then advanced to gentleman of the palace writers. He often drafted verse and rhapsodies alongside Zhang Hua by imperial order and helped Jia Chong and colleagues codify the law. He died at forty-three; over ten fascicles of poetry, rhapsodies, and assorted prose circulated after him.
13
Zuo Si
14
殿 便 西 使
Zuo Si, courtesy name Taichong, hailed from Linzi in the old kingdom of Qi. The clan descended from Qi nobility—the ancient titles "Left and Right Young Lord" supplied their surname. For generations the family had pursued Confucian scholarship. His father Zuo Yong began as a petty clerk and won promotion on merit to palace assistant censor. As a boy Zuo studied calligraphy after Zhong Yao and Hu Zhao and took up the zither—he mastered neither. Zuo Yong told a friend, "The boy grasps less than I did at his age." Stung by those words, Zuo threw himself into study and learned the yin-yang traditions besides. Plain of face and slow of tongue, he nevertheless wrote with towering brilliance. He avoided society and preferred the quiet of home. He drafted a "Rhapsody on the Qi Capital" that took a year to complete. He next planned his "Three Capitals" rhapsody; when his sister Zuo Fen entered the harem the family relocated to Luoyang, and Zuo called on Editorial Director Zhang Zai to gather material on Shu Min and Qiong. He brooded on the work a full decade; brush and paper littered gate, yard, fence, and latrine—every stray couplet was recorded on the spot. Feeling his reading still too narrow, he secured a post as palace secretary for access to the imperial library. When the rhapsody was done, contemporaries still shrugged it off. Zuo believed his work matched Ban Gu and Zhang Heng yet feared dismissal on account of his homely looks, so he brought the manuscript to the renowned Huangfu Mi of Anding. Huangfu praised it and supplied a preface. Zhang Zai glossed the Wei section; Liu Kui annotated Wu and Shu and wrote a preface: "Fu writers crowd the middle ages—Sima Xiangru's 'Sir Vacuous' claimed first glory; Ban Gu's twin capitals privilege argument over diction; Zhang Heng's pair favors ornament over thought. This piece, however, distills many models and weaves diction with doctrine at rare finesse—only a painstaking reader grasps its argument, only a scholar of wide learning commands its diversity. People honor the remote past and scorn the present, unwilling to labor over factual truth. I take a different view of this text, so I lend what wit remains to introduce and gloss it—much as Hu Guang annotated the "Official Admonitions" or Cai Yong the "Canon Preface." Wei Quan of Chenliu also wrote a "Brief Explication" for Zuo's work, opening: "Reading the 'Three Capitals,' one finds no idle flourish—every line rests on canonical authority; each thing catalogued comes straight from the atlases and histories. The language is splendid and the sense monumental—work of real worth. The recluse Huangfu Mi of Anding—once junior mentor to the crown prince—western gentleman lost in books and the Way, lofty in purpose, read these lines with beating heart and supplied the overarching preface. Zhang Zai of Anping and Liu Kui of Jinan—court compilers steeped in the classics, gifted stylists—each delighted in the text and drafted scholarly commentary; every landscape, soil, plant, beast, and curiosity they traced to source, unpacking sense after sense. I admire the piece too deeply to stay mute; picking up where Zhang and Liu left off I added this "Brief Explication"—knowing it only piles dutiful clutter on readers who may skip it." After that the work commanded enormous esteem (most of the prose is omitted here). Minister Zhang Hua exclaimed, "This belongs with Ban Gu and Zhang Heng. Readers finish yet feel there is more; revisit after years and it still feels fresh." Noble households scrambled to copy it until Luoyang ran short of paper—a story still told today. When Lu Ji first reached Luoyang he meant to write his own "Three Capitals"; learning Zuo was at work he laughed aloud and wrote Lu Yun: "Some rustic here thinks he can compose that rhapsody—when he's done we'll line the wine jars with it." Once Zuo's piece appeared, Lu Ji conceded outright that he could not better it and abandoned his own draft.
15
退
Jia Mi, director of the palace library, asked him to lecture on the Han History; after Jia's execution Zuo withdrew to Yichun Ward and buried himself in books. Sima Jiong, Prince of Qi, offered him chief recorder; Zuo pleaded illness and refused. When Zhang Fang terrorized the capital the entire family fled north into Ji province. He died of illness a few years later.
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Zhao Zhi
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使 西
Zhao Zhi, courtesy name Jingzhen, was a native of Dai commandery. His family had settled in Luoyang. When the new magistrate of Goushi took office, thirteen-year-old Zhao went with his mother to watch the procession. His mother said, "Our forebears were never humble folk; war uprooted the clan until they sank into the ranks—that is all. Will you rise above this life or not?" Moved deeply, Zhao sought out a tutor. Whenever he heard his father shouting at the ox in the field he dropped his primer and wept. His teacher asked why; Zhao answered, "I am too young to earn honor or keep my parents fed—the old man still toils because of me." The instructor marveled at him. At fourteen he entered the capital and the Imperial Academy, where he found Ji Kang transcribing the stone classics; Zhao circled, unable to tear himself away, and begged the stranger's name. Ji Kang said, "What is a boy like you doing asking?" "Your bearing is like no other—that is why I asked." Ji Kang, intrigued, told him who he was. He later ran away to Shanyang hoping to find Ji Kang but failed and trudged home. When he tried to leave for distant study his mother forbade it, so he feigned madness and bolted a few miles—each time she ran him down. At sixteen he wandered to Ye, met Ji Kang again, followed him home to Shanyang, and adopted the name Zhao Jun, courtesy name Yuanyuan. Ji Kang used to tell him, "That sharp little head of yours, those bright eyes even as a boy—you have something of Bai Qi about you." After Ji Kang's execution Zhao traveled to Wei Xing and called on Prefect Zhang Sizong, who treated him with exceptional kindness. When Zhang rose to governor of Jiangxia, Zhao followed him to the Yun basin hoping to cross into Wu; Zhang died before they could go, so Zhao drifted to Liaoxi and settled his household register there.
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He had long befriended Ji Kang's nephew Ji Fan; before leaving for good he sent Fan a farewell letter laying bare his purpose:
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西 西
Zhao stood seven feet four inches tall; his speech was sharp and incisive in the manner of a wandering strategist. Liaoxi recommended him as chief clerk for fiscal reporting; in Luoyang he unexpectedly met his father. His mother had died without his knowledge—his father hid the news so Zhao could establish a career and forbade him to come home; Zhao therefore turned back toward Liaoxi. Youzhou repeatedly appointed him section aide; he closed nine criminal cases and earned praise for meticulous judgment. During Taikang he qualified as an exemplary official and was summoned to court—only then did he learn his mother was gone. Once ashamed of his commoner's station, he had hoped office and scholarship would win honor enough to support his parents in style. When that dream collapsed he howled and wept until blood burst from his throat; he died at thirty-seven.
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Zou Zhan
21
駿 駿
Zou Zhan, courtesy name Runfu, hailed from Xinye in Nanyang commandery. His father Zou Gui had served Wei as Left General. Celebrated young for breadth of learning, he served Wei as communicator gentleman and erudite at the Imperial Academy. Early in Taishi he moved through masters-of-writing posts, justice reviewer, and aide on the southern campaign—Yang Hu esteemed him greatly. He was then called in as junior mentor to the crown prince. Under Taikang he became cavalier attendant-in-ordinary, then governor of Bohai, later chief secretary to Grand Tutor Yang Jun, and finally palace attendant. Yang Jun's fall cost him his post as a member of the discredited staff. He was soon reinstated as cavalier attendant and libationer of the Imperial College, then moved to head the Lesser Treasury. He died near the close of Yuankang; twenty-five poems and policy essays won wide respect.
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西 西
Zou repeatedly dreamed of a figure calling himself Zhen Shuzhong who said nothing more—the dream returned again and again. At length he understood: "West of my house lie rubble piles—someone lies buried beneath them. Zhen Shuzhong" is the restless soul beneath the rubble west of my gate." They dug and found him, then laid the bones to rest with full ceremony. That night the figure visited his dreams to give thanks.
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His son Zou Jie, courtesy name Taiying, inherited literary gifts. During Yongkang he served as gentleman of cavalier attendance. When Prince Zhao Lun seized the throne, Zou Jie joined Lu Ji and others in drafting the forced abdication edict. Lun's execution landed him before the commandant of justice; an amnesty spared him. He later served as adjutant on the grand tutor's staff. He died in the final years of Yongjia.
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Zao Ju
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鹿
Zao Ju, courtesy name Daoyan, came from Changshe in Yingchuan. The clan originally bore the surname Ji but changed it generations ago to escape a vendetta. His father Zao Shuwei governed Julu under Wei. Handsome and eloquent, he cut a striking figure at court. At twenty he entered the grand general's bureau, then governed Shanyang county with a solid record. He rose to gentleman of the masters of writing and then assistant director on the right. Jia Chong drafted him as middle staff officer for the Wu campaign. After the troops came home he served successively as gentleman at the Yellow Gates, Ji provincial inspector, and junior mentor to the heir apparent. He died during Taikang in his early fifties. Forty-five poems, rhapsodies, and essays bore his name; most vanished in the wars.
26
His son Zao Tian, courtesy name Xuanfang, likewise won fame as a writer. During Yongjia he governed Xiangcheng commandery. His brother Zao Song, courtesy name Taichan, combined literary and artistic gifts; he served as junior mentor and cavalier attendant-in-ordinary until Shi Le had him executed.
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Chu Tao
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Chu Tao, courtesy name Jiya, came from Qiantang in Wu commandery. Even as a boy he shunned rough games; precocious and reflective, he preferred quiet study of the classical corpus. At thirteen he wrote the rhapsodies "Gulls" and "The Water Mill," astonishing everyone who read them. He told friends, "Everything worth knowing sits between yellow covers—what else is there to chase?" Provincial posts came calling; he declined them all. After Wu surrendered he was appointed gentleman of the masters of writing. Zhang Hua told Lu Ji, "Your clan springs like dragons across the cloudy ford; Gu Yanxian sings like the phoenix at dawn—I assumed the southeast had spent every jewel of talent, then Chu Tao appeared." Lu Ji replied, "You simply have not met everyone who keeps silent and still." Zhang Hua answered, "So virtue like Ji Zha's need not stand alone; every river and peak still hides treasure." Chu later governed Jiuzhen before becoming metropolitan commandant. He died at fifty-five.
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Wang Chen
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Wang Chen, courtesy name Yanbo, came from Gaoping. Gifted but from an obscure house, he refused to curry favor with great families and paid for it in obscurity. He held only the minor post of instructor to his commandery and, bitterly frustrated, wrote "On Explaining Our Times," which opens:
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退
Royal government had slackened; offices went to mediocrities; men of worth withdrew to rustic lanes and died unheard.
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Early in Yuankang Cai Hong of Wu—magistrate of Songzi, courtesy name Shukai—won fame for "Discourse on Relentless Effort," echoing Wang's themes and drawing sighs from every reader.
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Zhang Han
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便 便 退 使
Zhang Han, courtesy name Jiying, came from Wu county in Wu commandery. His father Zhang Yan had served Wu as grand herald. His prose was lucid and his habits bohemian; contemporaries nicknamed him "Wu Kingdom's Infantry Captain" —alluding to Ruan Ji. One day He Xun of Kuaiji traveled to Luoyang under summons; mooring at Wu's Chang Gate he played his lute on board. Zhang did not know him at first but stepped aboard to talk and found an instant soulmate. Learning that He was bound for the capital, Zhang said, "I have errands in the north as well." They shared a carriage and vanished without a word to kin. Sima Jiong, Prince of Qi, appointed him clerk in the grand marshal's eastern bureau. While Sima Jiong dominated court, Zhang warned fellow Wu native Gu Rong, "The realm boils and the killing is not over. Renown across the empire makes retreat almost impossible. I belong among hills and streams, not this court. You read trouble coming and plan what follows—skills I lack." Gu seized his hand and said sadly, "I would gladly pick ferns on South Mountain with you and drink only river water." When autumn wind rose he craved Wu water-shield soup, wild rice, and sliced perch. "Life is too short to chain yourself a thousand miles from home for a hollow title!" He ordered his carriage and rode east that same day. He wrote "Rhapsody on the Hill of Home" (largely omitted here). When Sima Jiong fell soon afterward everyone called Zhang prescient. The ministry nevertheless struck him from the rolls for desertion. He followed his mood and cared nothing for reputation among his peers. Someone asked, "You indulge the moment—have you no thought for how posterity will judge you?" "I'd trade any posthumous fame for another cup of wine tonight." His candor passed for profundity in that cynical age. Deeply filial, he mourned his mother past what ritual allowed. He died at fifty-seven. Several dozen essays and poems survived him.
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Yu Chan
36
西 西
Yu Chan, courtesy name Zhongchu, hailed from Yanling in Yingchuan. His grandfather Yu Hui had served as chief clerk on the staff of the general who guards the north. His father Yu Dong was famed for raw strength. Under Emperor Wu a Western Regions wrestler appeared whom no Jin challenger could best. The throne sought brawlers; Yu Dong alone volunteered and threw the man dead—his fame echoed beyond the frontier. Yu Chan loved books and composed polished essays at nine. As a youth he crossed the Yangzi with his mother's Sun kin. His mother lived with her brother in Xiangcheng while he served as chief clerk in Le'an. When Shi Le stormed the city at the close of Yongjia, Yu's mother died in the sack. For nearly twenty years he neither groomed nor married, touched neither meat nor wine—neighbors admired his devotion. The province ranked him as elite scholar and Prince Yuan-di twice offered posts—Yu refused each summons. He later joined the staff of Sima Yi, Prince of Xiyang and grand marshal, and rose to gentleman of the masters of writing. When Su Jun seized the capital Yu fled to Xi Jian and served as adjutant on the minister of works' staff. After Su Jun fell Yu earned a barony at Jiyang and appointment as governor of Pengcheng. Xi Jian again named him middle staff officer. Soon he became cavalier gentleman-attendant and headed the imperial editorial office. He then posted out as prefect of Lingling and traveled the Xiang lands to mourn Jia Yi. The piece begins:
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Ill health later brought him back to court as palace attendant while he again directed the history office. When Yu Tan, interior governor of Wu, raised a monument to Taibo, Yu Chan drafted the inscription. His "Rhapsody on the Yang Capital" enjoyed enormous esteem. He died at fifty-four with the posthumous epithet "Steadfast"; ten fascicles of verse, rhapsodies, and commemorative prose survive.
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His son Yu Suzhi inherited literary fame, serving as palace attendant, chief recorder on the minister's staff, and governor of Xiangdong. He died during the Taiyuan reign.
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Cao Pi
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Cao Pi, courtesy name Fuzuo, came from Qiao commandery. His ancestor Cao Xiu had been Wei grand marshal. His father Cao Shi commanded the right army. Youthful bookworm and polished rhapsodist, he excelled at verse. His commandery nominated him as filial and honest; after appointment as court gentleman Cai Mo sponsored him as assistant compiler. He resigned to mourn his father. After the mourning period he governed Gouzhang county and was summoned as erudite of the Imperial Academy. When Zhang Shuo of Guiyang claimed trysts with the goddess Du Lanxiang, Cao answered with two satirical poems and ten sequels to her songs—all dazzlingly wrought. His "Rhapsody on the Yang Capital" ranked just below Yu Chan's celebrated version. He rose through gentleman of the masters of writing, staff officer to the garrisoning general, and governor of Xiapi. Frustrated at stalled promotion he wrote "Reply to the Scholars" to justify his choices. It opens:
41
祿
He rose to minister of the imperial household and died in office. Fifteen fascicles of prose and verse circulated after him.
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Li Chong
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Li Chong, courtesy name Hongdu, was a native of Jiangxia. His father Li Ju governed Jiang province as inspector. Orphaned young, he tracked down the bandits who had vandalized his father's tomb and slew them with his own blade—news that spread his reputation. His regular script rivaled Zhong Yao and Suo Jing—calligraphers everywhere prized his hand. Wang Dao brought him onto the chancellor's staff; he then became recorder-adjutant. From youth he studied legalist doctrine and scorned fashionable emptiness; his "Admonition on Learning" declares:
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Chu Pou of the northern expedition force tried to keep him as adjutant; desperate household finances drove Li to beg a provincial post. When Chu offered a county and asked which he preferred, Li replied, "A hunted ape dives into the forest—there is no leisure to pick the tree!" Chu named him county magistrate; his mother died soon after. After mourning he directed the imperial library as chief compiler.
45
Court archives were chaos until Li pruned duplicates, grouped texts by subject, and established the four divisions still used in the palace library. He rose to gentleman of the palace secretariat and died in harness. His corpus includes commentary on the Documents, six essays on the Changes, two treatises on Zhuangzi, and two hundred forty poems, rhapsodies, and state papers.
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His son Li Yong inherited literary gifts and won nomination as filial and honest.
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His cousin Li Shi was noted for quiet integrity and mastery of clerical calligraphy. Early in the Eastern Jin revival he rose to palace attendant.
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Yuan Hong
49
西 忿
Yuan Hong, courtesy name Yanbo, was grandson of the palace attendant Yuan You. His father Yuan Xu governed Linru county. Brilliant and restless, his prose gleamed; his poems on historical themes caught his deepest moods. Orphaned and destitute, he earned his rice ferrying tax grain. While Xie Shang commanded Niuzhu he slipped onto the river one moonlit autumn night with a handful of companions in disguise. Yuan Hong's boat drifted past; his voice rang clear and his lines gleamed—Xie ordered the boat stopped and sent men to learn who sang. They answered, "The magistrate of Linru's son is chanting verse." Those were his poems on history. Delighted by Yuan's spontaneity, Xie invited him aboard and talked until dawn—overnight Yuan's reputation bloomed. When Xie became general who pacifies the west and inspector of Yu he named Yuan military adviser. He rose to chief recorder on Grand Marshal Huan Wen's staff. Huan prized his pen and gave him sole charge of correspondence. His "Rhapsody on the Eastern Expedition" praised every eminent migrant minister—but omitted Huan Yi. Fu Tao, already on Huan's staff and friendly with Yuan, pleaded with him to add Huan Yi. Yuan smiled and said nothing. Huan seethed yet hesitated to confront the era's literary arbiter openly. Later, riding home drunk from Green Mountain, Huan insisted Yuan share his carriage—onlookers trembled for him. After a few miles Huan asked, "Your rhapsody praises every worthy—why omit my father?" Yuan answered, "Addressing so exalted a patronage is not mine to decide lightly—without your instruction I dared not presume." Unconvinced, Huan snapped, "Supply the line now." Yuan improvised: "Far-sighted and forthright, now recruiting now guiding—life may end yet principle endures; Xuancheng's steadfast honor rings true as justice." Huan's eyes filled; he said no more. The rhapsody also snubbed Tao Kan—whose son Hunu cornered Yuan in a side room with a knife: "My father's deeds tower—why erase him?" Flustered, Yuan protested, "I praised him lavishly—how can you say he is missing?" He extemporized: "Metal refined through countless heats cuts clean—his service steadied the age and stilled rebellion; historians hymn the Duke of Changsha's feats." Hunu lowered the blade.
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He later compiled "Eulogies for Three Kingdoms Ministers," opening:
51
便 ''
His northern campaign with Huan Wen produced the "Northern Expedition Rhapsody"—among his loftiest pieces. Once Wang Xun, Fu Tao, and Yuan joined Huan Wen; Huan had Fu read the "Northern Expedition" aloud until the passage: "Tradition upon tradition tells how the unicorn was taken in this field—the spirit beast appeared as an omen of virtue—why should Heaven lend its form to the house of Yu? Confucius wept from the marrow—it was grief unfeigned, not theater. Not one man's fate alone was mourned—Heaven itself seemed to grieve"; at that turn Yuan shifted rhyme." Wang Xun said, "This piece must endure centuries—you cannot shift rhyme carelessly. Moving the rhyme after 'All under Heaven' breaks the emotional arc—the closure still feels abrupt." Fu Tao added, "One extra bridging couplet might salvage the transition." Huan said, "Then improve it." Yuan shot back, "Gratitude lingers in the heart—I chase that lingering breeze and set it down alone." Wang savored the new lines and told Fu Tao, "Among living stylists we must rank him first."
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Blunt and upright, he never flattered Huan in debate—so he never won high office. Staff paired him with Fu Tao as "Yuan and Fu." Yuan burned with shame: "Huan honors me no higher than a confidant yet pairs me with Fu Tao—insufferable."
53
Xie An loved his quick wit in debate. When Xie An governed Yangzhou, Yuan left the personnel ministry for Dongyang; friends saw him off at the Smelting Pavilion. Notables gathered; Xie meant to test Yuan under pressure—at farewell he pressed a fan into Yuan's hand as a parting gift." Yuan answered instantly, "I shall fan benevolent breeze over the common folk." Listeners marveled that wit so quick could stay apt.
54
Recalling Fu Yi's stately "Hymn for Emperor Ming," Yuan composed nine chapters honoring Emperor Jianwen and presented them to Xiaowu.
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He died at Dongyang early in Taiyuan, aged forty-nine. He left thirty rolls of Later Han annals, three of Bamboo Grove worthies, and three hundred assorted poems, rhapsodies, and state papers.
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His sons were Yuan Chaozi, Yuan Chengzi, and Yuan Mingzi. Yuan Mingzi alone matched his father's fame, rising to governor of Linhe.
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Fu Tao
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Fu Tao, courtesy name Xuandu, came from Anqiu in Pingchang. Gifted and learned, he won notice while young. The province ranked him as elite scholar and summoned him as adjunct administrator—he declined both offers. Grand Marshal Huan Wen named him adjutant and showered him with favor—every banquet required Fu Tao at his side. During the expedition against Yuan Zhen he penned two essays called "Setting Huainan Right" after repeated rebellion south of the Huai. The upper essay opens:
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The lower essay opens:
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西 西
After Shouyang fell he earned the Wenxi county marquisate and magistracy of Yongshi. Huan Wen's death transferred him to General Huan Huo's western headquarters as adjutant and concurrent magistrate of Huarong. Under Taiyuan he became gentleman compiler in charge of national history while ranking officials for his native province. Once Emperor Xiaowu held court in the western hall; Fu Tao attended. Home again he shouted for his son Xizhi: "A banquet of a hundred lords—and the emperor asks first whether Fu Tao came: few fathers earn such pride. What father could wish for more?" He became general of agile strikes while keeping his compiler's duties. He died in office.
61
祿
Fu Xizhi inherited literary gifts, rising through gentleman at the Yellow Gates, palace attendant, minister of the masters of writing, and household grandee.
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Luo Han
63
簿 簿 西 使 西 西
Luo Han, courtesy name Junzhang, came from Leiyang in Guiyang commandery. His great-grandfather had governed Linhai. His father Luo Sui governed Xingyang. Orphaned young, he was raised by his aunt surnamed Zhu. Ambitious even as a boy, he dreamed a brilliant bird flew into his mouth—he woke breathless and told his aunt. She said, "Colored feathers mean you will write brilliantly." From that day his lines grew steadily finer. At twenty the provincial office summoned him thrice; he refused. His father had governed Xin'gan; when local commander Yang Xian pressed him into chief clerk, Luo refused until persistence left him no graceful exit. When Yang left office Luo escorted him clear to the county seat. Locals showered the former prefect's son with gifts; Luo reluctantly accepted. On returning home he resealed every parcel untouched. Neighbors far and wide applauded his integrity. He served as merit clerk until Inspector Yu Liang named him aide for Jiangxia affairs. Prefect Xie Shang, fast friends beyond ceremony, called him "the brightest jewel south of the Xiang." Soon he advanced to provincial chief clerk. When Huan Wen took the province Luo joined his western headquarters as adjutant. Huan once dispatched Luo to audit Xie Shang. Luo ignored paperwork and spent days drinking with Xie before heading home. Huan demanded findings; Luo asked, "What do you think of Xie Shang?" "He surpasses me," said Huan." "Would your better deserve impeachment? So I filed nothing." Huan admired the wit and dropped the matter. He became provincial adjunct administrator. Office bustle drove him to a reed hut on an islet west of town—timber frame, woven mats, coarse clothes and greens—yet utterly content. Once Huan Wen feasted his staff; Luo arrived late. Huan asked the table, "What manner of man is this?" Someone answered, "Among Jing-Chu's best." Huan replied, "He stands among the finest east of the Yangzi—not merely Chu." The court summoned him as gentleman of the masters of writing. Huan Wen respected his gifts and transferred him to revenue adjutant on the western staff. Soon he governed Yidu commandery. When Huan became Duke of Nanjun Luo served as his palace majordomo. He moved up through regular gentleman, cavalier attendant-in-ordinary, palace attendant, minister of justice, and finally chief minister to the Prince of Changsha. Retiring with age, he received the grand master of palace leisure title and the honor of carriage stakes before his gate. A white finch once nested on his office eaves; after retirement orchids and chrysanthemums sprouted unbidden in his courtyard—omens of virtue, people said. He died at seventy-seven; his essays stayed in circulation.
64
Gu Kaizhi
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Gu Kaizhi, courtesy name Changkang, came from Wuxi in Jinling commandery. His father Gu Yuezhi served as left aide to the masters of writing. Learned and spirited, he finished his "Rhapsody on the Zither" and declared, "Critics will dismiss it as derivative next to Ji Kang's qin pieces; true judges will prize its strangeness and height." Huan Wen named him grand marshal adjutant and treated him almost as family. At Huan Wen's tomb he mourned in verse: "Mountains fall and seas run dry—where shall fish and birds turn?" Someone asked whether grief for Huan Wen showed on his face." "Thunder splitting cliffs and a river pouring into the sea," he said." Fond of wit, he was everyone's favorite companion. Later Yin Zhongkan prized him equally as military adviser. While Yin governed Jingzhou Gu borrowed cloth sails for leave home; at Broken Tomb a gale shredded them. He wrote Yin, "The place lives up to its name—we smashed through the grave mound. Travelers are safe and your sails intact." Back in Jingzhou friends asked him to describe Kuaiji's scenery. He answered, "Cliffs beyond counting vie in splendor; streams without number race downhill. Mists braid the foliage like clouds lifting into sunset glow." Once Huan Xuan joined Gu and Yin Zhongkan in a word game of perilous lines. Gu opened: "Wildfire sweeps the plain—nothing left but ash." Huan Xuan answered, "White hemp wraps the roots—mourning banners flutter." Yin said, "Fish tossed into deep pools; birds loosed to the sky." They turned to deadly riddles. Huan said, "Rinse rice on a spearpoint; boil stew on a sword edge." Yin answered, "A hundred-year-old climbs a rotten limb." An aide added, "A blind man on a blind stallion above a deep pool." Yin—half blind—cried, "That cuts too close!" The game ended. Gu always ate sugarcane from the thin tip toward the thick root. Asked why, he smiled, "So sweetness deepens—" entering a finer realm step by step.
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使 紿
His brushwork was supreme; Xie An deemed him unmatched since civilization began. Often he left faces unfinished for years—especially the eyes. Asked why, he said, "Limbs matter little for likeness; capturing spirit—that lives in those dots we call eyes." Spurned by a neighbor girl, he painted her on a wall and drove thorns into the breast—she doubled over with chest pain. When he confessed and she yielded, he pulled out the thorns and she healed. He illustrated Ji Kang's quatrains, sighing, "Strumming the five strings is easy—painting the gaze that follows the wild goose is hard." Portraits from his brush had no peer in his day. Three extra hairs on Pei Kai's cheeks brought the likeness eerily alive. He set Xie Kun among cliff rocks, noting, "This man belongs in wild hills." Yin Zhongkan, ashamed of his eyes, refused to sit. Gu insisted, "Precisely those eyes—I'll dot the pupils and veil them with dry strokes like thin clouds crossing the moon." Yin relented. He sealed a chest of his dearest paintings and sent them to Huan Xuan. Huan slit the back, stole the scrolls, resealed the chest, and returned it untouched—or so he claimed. Finding seals intact but paintings gone, Gu declared spirits had spirited them away—as mortals ascend to immortality—without blinking.
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紿
Youths mocked his boastfulness by showering him with fake praise. His poems aped ancient masters—or so he believed. Asked to chant in the Luoyang accent he sneered, "I won't croak like some Luoyang hag!" Early in Yixi he served as cavalier attendant-in-ordinary alongside Xie Zhan; moonlit nights he declaimed while Xie cheered from afar until dawn unaware of fatigue. When Xie slipped off to bed he left a stand-in applauding; Gu never noticed and kept reciting until sunrise. He dabbled in petty magic and trusted every charm. Huan Xuan once handed him a willow leaf: "Cicadas hide beneath this—hold it and vanish from sight." Gu hid his eyes with it while Huan relieved himself; Gu believed no one could see him and prized the leaf.
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Serving Huan Wen he used to say, "Half my nature is foolish, half clever—average them and you get mediocrity." Hence people say Gu Kaizhi had three supreme gifts—genius, brushwork, and glorious folly. He died in office at sixty-two; his literary collection and "Notes on Awakening the Veil" circulated widely.
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Guo Chengshi
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調 西 西 便
Guo Chengshi, courtesy name Zhongjing, hailed from Yangqu in Taiyuan. Quick-witted from youth, he outpaced peers. He transferred to gentleman of the masters of writing, then became chief minister to the Prince of Nankang. Lu Xun's rebellion uprooted him; he barely escaped back to the capital. Liu Yu enlisted him as adjutant to the minister of state. On Liu Yu's northern campaign, after Chang'an fell Liu wished to push west; his staff mostly demurred. Asked next, Guo remained silent, then faced west and recited Wang Can: "Climbing Baling southward I turned toward Chang'an." Liu Yu understood: "Then we climb Baling together—no farther west." He abandoned the western march.
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He rose to middle staff officer under Liu Yu's ministerate, received the Nanfeng marquisate, died in harness, and left a literary collection.
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Historians' Appraisal
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西 耀 輿西
The historians write: Taste springs from disposition, tone from temperament; feeling seeks outlet in song, yet resonance follows no fixed image and prosody admits endless forms. Ying Zhen's verses from the Hualin archery banquet exhaust the splendor of language—few poems from that grove rival them. Cheng Gongshui showed brilliance young; brooding on cosmos-wide themes he reclaimed what lesser poets discarded—inventions beyond ordinary ambition. Zuo Si nursed his "Three Capitals" for ages; Huangfu Mi praised it and Lu Ji laid down his brush—not merely foremost in his day but luminous for all time. Zou Zhan's essays and Zao Ju's lyric passion crown Nanyang and Yingchuan alike. Chu Tao's prose strides boldly; ripened early in virtue, hailed as treasure beside sacred springs and Taishan—deservedly so. Wang Chen never blended with the powerful yet languished lowly; his "Discourse on Our Times" reveals his mind. Zhang Han frolicked outside convention, spurning titles; his "Yellow Blossom" poems unlock the soul. Yu Chan's polished prose lifts him among writers; his "Yang Capital" rhapsody drew especial praise from contemporaries. Cao Pi plumbed arcane lore despite humble posts; his goddess songs shimmer and his "Reply to the Scholars" rings clear. Li Chong's "Admonition on Learning" is taut and forceful indeed. Yuan Hong's Eastern Expedition and famed-minister eulogies rank beside Pan Yue and Lu Ji. Fu Tao's erudition and editorial genius drew the emperor's queries in the western hall—signal honor. Luo Han gleams as pearl of the Xiang lands; his bird dream sprang from utter sincerity—not mere augury of dragons and phoenixes. Gu Kaizhi overstated his gifts yet charmed every circle; genius and eccentricity earned him the "three supremacies." Guo Chengshi's agile counsel won renown among purists; his subtle quotation decided Liu Yu's western campaign.
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Encomium: The Changes set patterns; pentatonic scales carry tone. How fair these masters, flourishing in literature's grove. Each voice rings like jade, each stroke clangs like bronze. Cheng Gongshui and Zuo Si wield blazing, muscular prose. Yuan, Yu, Li, and Gu weave iridescent, sunset-rich lines. Beside earlier masters they ascend toward lucid perfection.
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