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卷九十四 列傳第六十四 隱逸

Volume 94 Biographies 64: Hermits and Recluses

Chapter 94 of 晉書 · Book of Jin
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Chapter 94
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1
耀
Consider how the high heavens let fall their light, and the hermit star Shaowei keeps to its station in the sky. The "Appended Remarks" and "Wings" sound out what lies in shadow, and the hexagram of principled retreat gives that stance its perfect emblem. Hence men who gave nothing away in word or look, whose path we know because Confucius spoke of them; and the proud scorning of wealth and station, whose moral sense Sunzi laid out at length. To hold to yielding strength is how life endures; that is the fixed temper of everything that breathes; while fullness invites injury—such has always been heaven's steady law. Men of old who grasped this truth stood aloof from the crowd, breathed in a clarity that nourished plain living, let their names die away beyond the rivers and seas, and withdrew their footsteps from the world's noise. They drank from running water to keep themselves clean, dwelt like birds in the wild to dim their luster, chose their course with deliberate care, and stilled every scheme so the heart could rest empty. They shone like jade and held the chill of ice; they were still as a held river, steadfast as a mountain. They walked the path of deepest contentment and won a peace without end. Once they had gone far, none could overtake them; they accepted whatever came, untroubled in the dark. Guarding the person, they kept harm away—no cause for remorse—and the ode the Classic of Poetry calls "Kao pan" might almost have been written of them. Even once a ruler had aligned his government with heaven and the courts fell quiet, he would still leave the high seat half-empty for recluses of firm integrity, so culture might flourish. Envoys climbed to mountain huts; jade and silk waited on the doorsteps of the poor. That is why the "Monthly Ordinances" says that in late spring one should call forth noted scholars and honor the wise—surely it speaks of just such a time. Since the house of Jin rose, the throne has combed the hills for hidden men: Qiao Xiu shut his gate on the world, Jiang Dun whistled and sang deep in the hills. They raised the standard of unstained integrity and showed how to step outside the scramble for power. They never took the court's gracious offers, yet their example was enough to shame the grasping and the ambitious. Here I gather their stories to honor the height of their character.
2
便 使 耀
Sun Deng, courtesy name Gonghe, came from Gong in Ji commandery. He kept no household. On the mountain north of the city he hollowed out an earth cave for a home: in summer he braided straw into a coat, in winter he spread his long hair like a blanket. He loved the Book of Changes and would pluck a single-stringed lute; everyone who met him felt drawn and glad. Anger was foreign to him. Once men threw him into a pond hoping to rouse his temper; he climbed out and only laughed. He would drift through the villages now and then. If people offered him food or clothes he accepted without fuss, and left everything behind when he walked on. While staying on Mount Yiyang he was spotted by a charcoal-maker who saw at once that he was no common wanderer. The man spoke to him; Deng gave no reply. Emperor Wen of Wei sent Ruan Ji to look in on him. Ji talked with him after they met; again Deng said nothing. Xi Kang stayed with him for three years, asking what design he had in mind, and never received a word in reply. Kang could only sigh again and again. As Kang was leaving he said, "Master, have you no parting counsel at all? Deng replied, "Do you understand fire? Fire is born with a flame, yet its strength is not in brandishing that flame; the point is knowing how to use the light without burning yourself. A man is born with gifts, yet the danger is not in hiding them but in how he spends them; everything turns on the use he makes of his talent. A lamp needs fuel to give steady light; tend the fuel and the glow endures. Talent needs a clear eye for what is real; only then can a man live out his natural span. You are rich in gifts but poor in judgment; in the world as it is now, you will be hard put to stay out of trouble. Will you not seek a post after all? Kang did not take the warning to heart and soon died a violent death. In his "Poem of Hidden Anguish" he wrote, "I once fell short of Liuxia Hui; now I am humbled before Sun Deng. Some thought Deng held his tongue because any word about loyalty to Wei or Jin could invite deadly suspicion. No one knows where he finally went.
3
西宿 綿 便便滿 使 𩿦
Dong Jing, courtesy name Weinian, was a man of unknown origin. He first reached Luoyang in the company of a Longxi county clerk, hair streaming loose, strolling and humming verses, and usually slept in the White Community hall. He begged in the streets for ragged scraps of silk batting and knotted them into a cloak; he turned down whole pieces of cloth or good cotton. People might jostle and curse him; his face never darkened. Sun Chu, then an editorial secretary, often visited the hall to talk with him. Once Chu put him in a carriage to take him home, but Jing refused even to sit inside. Chu wrote urging him that this was an age of Yao and Shun reborn, and asked why he clutched the Way to himself while the kingdom went wanting. Jing answered in verse: "Zhou's great road lies in ruins and the hymns are stilled; Xia's rule has rotted and the five constant virtues are lost in the mud. The smooth courtiers glance around and slip away, while swaggering men fill every corner—yet the makers of policy are only the Seven. Do they not rejoice in heaven and earth's endless change? Alas, this is not an age one can join; I answer it by keeping to myself. I need no pleasure but my own: I can drink from a clear stream and feed on the highest Way—why should I scurry about until I am worn hollow? Any fool knows what it means when fish hang on a line and beasts pace a cage. The sages of old sheathed their gifts deep in the soul: a patched cloak could not warm them with pride, nor chariot and coronet lend them glory; in motion they were a river in flood, at rest a pool that never stirs. A parrot may talk, a chime from the Si's shore may float—baubles the mob toys with. Do you call that the way things really are? The swallow weaves beneath the eaves—yet goes unharmed? Kites and falcons nest on remote cliffs—yet every one of them can die for want. Look at the fish beneath the bridge: they hang back, tails curled, unable to choose—and in a blink the water is gone. Alas! Bird and fish go on the same old way for age after age and never wake to it; from where I stand I see exactly why it is so. Who is to say some wise soul, grave and still within, is not watching me even now, frowning as he turns away? Creation ranks everything low but sets man high: restless, he finds the nine regions too small; at peace, a single cramped room is empire enough. Some years later he disappeared without trace. All that remained where he had slept was a bamboo staff carved from stone and two poems. The first read: "Heaven's way is firm and plain; earth's frame is rich and deep; boundless was the Primal Simplicity—such is the pattern we inherit. Our late age races downstream, polish crowding out truth; the world's dull gaze—who still knows what is real? I am leaving this hollow show for the house nature built for me. The second said: "Confucius never found his season; the unicorn moved him to grief. Unicorn, unicorn! Why will you not leave the world and keep what is true?
4
𧑅 使
Xia Tong, courtesy name Zhongyu, was a native of Yongxing in Kuaiji. Orphaned young and poor, he won a name for supporting his mother with filial care and lived at peace with his brothers. He would gather brushwood before dawn and trudge home in the dark, or walk to the shore to catch crabs and shellfish to help feed the family. He was an elegant and persuasive speaker. His kinsmen pressed him to enter government. "You are honest, lucid, and upright," they said. "You could be a commandery clerk, move among the high officials, and rise in time—why choose the hardship of the hills and spend your whole life on the coast? Tong's face went dark. "Is this how little you think of me? Had I lived under a flawless sage-king, I might have debated office and retirement with the likes of the Eight Yuan and Eight Kai. In a foul age I would gladly foul myself beside Qu Yuan. In an age neither wholly bright nor wholly dark I would hoe side by side with Jie Ni and Chang Zu. Never would I cringe and crawl in some yamen gate! Your words set every hair on my skin on end, sent cold sweat in rivers down my ribs, painted my cheeks fever-red, set my heart smoldering like coals, glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and stuffed my ears as if with clay. His relatives were mortified into silence. After that he refused to see his clan at all.
5
紿 退 退
When his mother grew sick he nursed her with physic, so his kinsmen had a chance to visit. His uncle Jingning was holding a sacrifice to the ancestors and had hired two shamankas, Zhang Dan and Chen Zhu—women of breathtaking beauty in gorgeous ritual dress, who sang and danced superbly and could make themselves vanish from sight. As the first watch began, bells and drums rolled, strings and pipes wove between. Zhang and Chen slashed their tongues with knives, swallowed blades, breathed fire—smoke hid the hall and lightnings seemed to crackle through the murk. Tong's cousins wanted to watch the show but knew he would refuse, so they lied: "Uncle's recurring illness has lifted; the whole family is celebrating. We mean to visit him during the sacrifice to offer our joy. Won't you come along? Tong went with them. Inside the gate he saw Zhang and Chen whirling in the courtyard on light feet, chattering like spirits, laughing like ghosts, leaping to catch cups and platters, wheeling through the drinking games in a blur. Tong bolted in horror, not toward the door but straight through a fence. Back home he rebuked them: "When licentious ways spread through Wei, Duke Wen of Wei wept for the realm; when the rainbow omen showed in the sky, even gentlemen feared to name it; when Ji Huanzi took the dancing-girls of Qi, Confucius turned his chariot and fled south; when Zilu looked on Xia Ji, his rage shook him to the marrow. I have often wished I could strike off Shuxiang's head and blind Huafu with my thumbs. And now you bring such creatures under your roof, sport with them through the night, give free rein to pride and lust, trample the bounds between men and women, and shatter every claim to purity—why? He threw himself on his couch, hair streaming, and would not speak again. The relatives, squirming with shame, sent the two women away at once and slipped off in all directions.
6
使 使 便 𠻳 便仿 耀簿 使
When his mother later sank toward death, he traveled to Luoyang to buy drugs. It was the spring festival on the third day of the third month. Everyone from princes downward had gone to the Floating Bridge; noblemen and women jammed the way until carriage canopies and silks lit the road like torches. Tong sat in a small boat sunning his bundles of herbs while great coaches rolled past like clouds; he never lifted his eyes. Grand Commandant Jia Chong, intrigued, hailed him. Tong ignored the first call; when Chong pressed again he answered slowly, "Xia Zhongyu of Kuaiji. Chong asked about the customs of his country. Tong said, "We are a steady, patient folk. We still breathe something of Yu the Great, of Taibo who yielded a throne, of Yan Zun who scorned office, and of the old Lord Huang who chose death rather than serve the Qin. Chong added, "You live on the coast—can you play tricks on the water?" I can," said Tong. Tong seized helm and sweep and spun the boat in the current—first a leap like mullet, then a stretch like a stingray, then the bow reared like a wild goose, the stern dipped like a beast's tail; three times he snatched the long pole and sent the skiff darting straight through the chop. Wind and water roared; mist swallowed the banks. In moments eight or nine white fish vaulted into the boat. The crowd gasped. Chong was more astonished than anyone. He stepped down to the gunwale and questioned him; Tong answered as quick as an echo. When Chong hinted at an appointment, Tong only looked down and said nothing. Chong tried again: "Yao sang, Shun sang; Confucius, hearing a fine song, always turned back to join the chorus. Every sage raised his voice. Can you sing us something from your own country? Tong said, "Our ancient lord dwelt on Mount Kuaiji, gathered the myriad states in audience, and spread civilization through our humble land; when he died he was buried there. His kindness fell like rain clouds; his teaching lingers still. The people sang of their longing, and so we have the 'Song of Admiration.' There is also the filial girl Cao E, who at fourteen showed a devotion brighter than any tale from Yue, Liang, or Song. Her father drowned in the river and his body could not be found. She cried to heaven from midstream, then leaped in and died. Later both corpses rose together. The people mourned her devotion and sang the ballad we call 'The River's Daughter.' When Wu Zixu warned the king of Wu and was ignored, they killed him and threw his body in the sea. The people mourned his fierce loyalty and sang the ballad called the 'Little Sea.' I mean to sing it for you now. The listeners cried as one, "Yes—do!" Tong struck the hull with his foot and let his voice roll out—high, fierce, and full. Wind answered from nowhere; he spat a spray toward the sky until clouds and rain seemed to answer, roared and cheered until thunder rolled at noon, drew one long breath that howled like a gale, and kicked up dust like smoke. Everyone from the nobles down was terrified, and they had to beg him to stop before the storm died away. They turned to one another and said, "Had we not played on the Luo today, we would never have met this man! When they heard the 'Song of Admiration,' they could almost see the face of Yu the Great before them. The 'River's Daughter' left them weeping freely, as if the noble widow Bo Ji stood in their midst. The 'Little Sea' made them feel as though Zixu and Qu Yuan stood on either hand." Chong meant to overawe him with the full imperial guard—hoping he would look up from the river and soften—so he unfurled scarlet flags, broke out the drum corps, and drew up armored horse in disciplined ranks. Suddenly music blared, long horns screamed, carriages clashed and careened along the avenues, and a ring of courtesans in brocade jackets—flashing gold and green—swept three circuits around his skiff. Tong sat bolt upright and never seemed to hear a note. Chong and his party withdrew muttering, "The boy from Wu is wood and stone from the ribs up." Tong went home to Kuaiji, and after that no one knows his fate.
7
Zhu Chong, courtesy name Jurong, came from Nan'an. Even as a boy he showed uncommon decency: quiet, almost without wants, hungry for books yet destitute, he lived by tilling and tending crops. A neighbor misidentified Chong's calf as his own and led it away; when he found his beast under the trees he brought Chong's calf back, shamefaced, but Chong would not take it. When someone's ox ruined his field, Chong kept bringing hay to the owner to feed it, never showing resentment. The owner, ashamed, kept the beast from doing further damage. In Xianning 4 the court named him a doctorate; he pleaded illness and stayed away. Another edict soon followed: the heir apparent needed men of proven integrity who loved the canon—appoint Chong right tutor of the household. Whenever word of a call reached him, he bolted for the deep hills; contemporaries ranked him with Guanning of the eastern coast. He lived among tribesmen who honored him like a chief. He taught them deference, and the whole district changed: lost goods stayed where they fell, brawls vanished, and even snakes and beasts did not strike. He died in ripe old age.
8
西 西
Fan Can, courtesy name Chengming, was from Waihuang in Chenliu—a grandson of Fan Dan, who had been magistrate of Laiwu under the Han. He was as stern and honest as his grandfather Fan Dan, with a memory that drank in books. Students flocked to him from every quarter. He wore no air of pomp, yet everyone who met him stood straighter. During the Wei, provincial and commandery posts came again and again; he refused them all. At length he accepted a place as administrative adviser, rose to chief clerk, served as aide to the grand commandant and gentleman of the palace, then marched west as army marshal—winning praise in each office. When Emperor Xuan took charge of the regency, Can was named governor of Wuwei. There he picked able officers, opened schools, and pushed farming and silk work. Barbarians harried the frontier, but his clear dispositions kept them out; the Silk Road stayed open and the signal fires stayed cold. The prefecture was rich and temptation everywhere; he tightened discipline and cut back extravagance. He left office when his mother grew frail. The court faulted him for walking away from a sensitive post on the barbarian edge and demoted him to magistrate of Leku.
9
使
Soon he was shifted to retainer clerk under the grand steward. His mother's death plunged him into mourning famed for its grief. When the mourning term ended he returned as the steward's clerk. When Cao Fang, the prince of Qi, was cast down and sent to the Metal Rampart palace, Can went in undyed linen to bow him off and wept until bystanders wept with him. Emperor Jing called a plenary council; Can stayed away again, yet the court indulged him because of his moral weight. He pleaded illness once more and barred his gate. A special edict named him palace attendant with credentials and ordered him to Yongzhou. He feigned madness and fell silent, living in his carriage so his feet never touched earth. Sons and grandsons waited on him always; even weddings and appointments they settled only after whispered questions at his pillow. If he approved, his face stayed calm; if not, he tossed all night—so his household read his mind.
10
使輿 祿
After Jin Wudi took the throne, Sun He—then junior tutor to the heir apparent and a townsman of Can—memorialized that Can's life was ascetic and his body long ill, that the counties should bring him to Luoyang in a litter, and that imperial physicians might restore him to the state's service. The throne ordered local officials to furnish physic and pay him a two-thousand-bushel stipend year after year to nurse his health, plus a hundred rolls of silk. His son Fan Qiao, thinking the sickness grave, tried to decline the bounty; the edict refused the refusal. He died in Taikang 6 at eighty-four, having kept silence thirty-six years, and breathed his last in the cart that was his bed. His eldest son was Fan Qiao.
11
便 祿使
Fan Qiao, courtesy name Bosun. When Qiao was two, his dying grandfather Xin cupped his head and said, "I shall not live to see you a man!" With that he pressed his own inkstone into the child's hands. At five, when his grandmother told him the story, he clutched the inkstone and wept. At nine he began formal study; even among playmates he never used a coarse word. When he came of age he studied under Jiang Guoming of Le'an. Liu Gongrong of Jiyin was famed for reading character; one meeting with Qiao won his deepest respect. His friend Liu Yanqiu, himself celebrated, said, "Fan Bosun's nature is mild and his mind tight as mesh; I have tried a hundred times to catch him in a slip and never can." When Minister Li Quan claimed Yang Xiong outshone Liu Xiang, Qiao answered that Xiang had settled the classics of an era—work Xiong could not have matched—and wrote a treatise comparing the two; the piece is omitted here for length.
12
使 退
Qiao never wearied of books. When his father feigned madness and silence, Qiao and his two brothers quit school, shut out the world, and nursed him until he died—never leaving their hamlet in all those years. Liu Yi once told the court, "If Governor Fan's sickness is feigned, then Bo Yi and Shu Qi walk among us again. If it is genuine, a sage king should pity him all the more. The sons have served a sick father for years with shining virtue; to leave them unranked is to invite the charge that the throne wastes good men." Under Yuankang the throne sought modest scholars of cold pedigree, rank no object. Palace gentleman Wang Kun recommended him: pure in endowment, high in principle, steeped in the canon yet inward-turned, happy in poverty and fixed in purpose—"the very cold-clad scholar the age needs." Zhang Hua presided over the ministry; seventeen names came up from the realm, but only Qiao drew a special encomium. Personnel director Xi Long also combed for hidden talent; learning that Qiao had kept his parents in a lane of wattles until their hair turned white, the court named him magistrate of Le'an. He pleaded illness and never went. He was nominated once as filial-incorrupt, eight times to the Three Ducal Offices, twice for outstanding purity, once again for cold pedigree—and never accepted.
13
Once on New Year's Eve a neighbor felled one of his trees; when someone tattled, Qiao pretended not to hear until the culprit, ashamed, brought the timber back. Qiao went to him and said, "You only wanted fuel for a feast with your parents—what shame is there in that?" His tact in smoothing such matters was always like this. Magistrate Gao Jun of Waihuang marveled, "Every gentleman chases some private gain, yet Bosun walks the Way with open hands—his name has never darkened a clerk's ledger. Here is proof that when the great Way fades, humanity and duty still appear. When the great Way is lost, ritual and right rise—how true that is!" He lived without stain and won such admiration. He died in Yuankang 8 at seventy-eight.
14
便
Lu Sheng, courtesy name Shushi, came from Dai commandery. Young, able, and principled, he became assistant editorialist. Early in Yuankang he was named magistrate of Jiankang. On taking office he wrote a treatise called "Setting Heaven Right," arguing that from the winter solstice one should set a gnomon and read shadows to calibrate sun, moon, and stars. He maintained that sun and moon span only a hundred leagues, not a thousand; and stars ten leagues, not a hundred. He tabled the essay and begged the high ministers to debate it. "If I speak with reason," he wrote, "let the court mend the mistakes of earlier calendars and set heaven's pattern straight. If I cannot prove my case, I will gladly die to show the world I was a fraud." The throne never answered. Watching the year's omens at New Year he foresaw chaos and resigned on grounds of illness. Zhang Hua sent his son to coax him back; twice the court called him as erudite and nominated him palace secretary—he refused each time.
15
His other works perished in the wars; only his notes on the Mohist logic survive, with this preface:
16
"Names," he writes, "sort the same from the different and right from wrong; they are the doorway of moral teaching and the cord of statecraft." Confucius said, "The first task is to set names straight; when names wander, nothing can be finished." Mozi framed the 'Dialectic Canon' to ground naming; Hui Shi and Gongsun Long continued that teaching and won fame by parsing terms. Mencius attacked Mozi, yet his own arguments matched Mohist rigor. Xunzi and Zhuangzi mocked the logicians yet could not refute them.
17
Names cling to shapes; to read shapes one must sort colors—hence the paradox of hard and white. Names demand clear cuts; clearest cuts lie in being and nonbeing—hence the dispute over how nothing orders itself. What is may also not be; what can be done may be impossible—this is the 'double permission' of naming. The same holds difference, the different holds sameness—this is how logicians split and join categories. At the limit of sameness nothing fails to match; at the limit of difference nothing fails to part—those are the debates of pure same and pure difference. From same and different come right and wrong; from right and wrong, fortune and disaster. To argue one thing and thereby map the world's rise and fall—that is naming at its height.
18
From Deng Xi through the Qin logicians, treatises survived yet were nearly unreadable; for five hundred years no one taught them, and they died out. Only the Mohist Canons endure—upper and lower classics, each with its commentary, four scrolls bound into the Mozi so they escaped oblivion. I align each exegesis with its canon and mark doubtful lines; where the text fails, I leave the space blank. I added two short essays, On Punishments and On Names, mapping their drift for a later reader who cares. Whoever would relight a dying lamp may find some pleasure here too.
19
祿
Dong Yang, courtesy name Zhongdao, came from Junyi in Chenliu. In the first Taishi years he came to Luoyang seeking neither stipend nor fame. After Empress Yang was cast down, he climbed the academy hall and cried, "Why did we build this hall? Amnesties forgive treason yet never forgive parricide—that is where the law draws its line. How could ministers varnish the rites until the law reads upside down? When heaven and humanity part company, the great upheaval follows. He answered with his essay 'Against Change.' During Yongjia the earth opened in Buguang ward and two geese crawled out—one gray that flew off, one white that could not. Yang said, "This is the Di Spring where the Zhou lords swore their oaths. The gray bird is the barbarians, the white our dynasty—need I spell the omen out? He turned to Xie Kun and Ruan Fu: 'The Book of Changes praises those who see the turning point—dig in deep, friends. He shouldered a pole and led his wife into Shu, and was never heard from again.
20
簿 使
Huo Yuan, courtesy name Xiuming, was from Guangyang in Yan. While still young he took tortures in prison to save an uncle condemned to die. At eighteen he watched the academy rites and stayed to master them. Great lords' sons respected him but thought his name too slight for a daylight call, so they came by torchlight. Liu Dai, his father's friend, meant to sponsor him but died first, telling his son Shen, 'Huo Yuan is a vessel in the making—remember to lift him up.' Later Yuan went home to the hills. Governor Xu Meng of Gaoyang meant to call on him until his clerk barred a governor from crossing the line—Meng gave up with a sigh. He taught a hundred disciples in the hills while the prince of Yan sent monthly sheep and wine. Liu Shen ranked him second class; the ministry of education balked until Shen memorialized again. Zhang Hua had Chen Zhun move him to the top grade, and the throne agreed. Late in Yuankang he was summoned with Wang Bao as a worthy; the counties escorted him with full rites and he still would not go. When Wang Jun seized the government and sounded him out, Yuan stayed silent, and Jun nursed a grudge. Three hundred Liaodong fugitives in the hills wanted him for chieftain but never acted. A children's rhyme asked, 'Where sits the Son of Heaven? In the bean patch just ahead.' Wang Jun read bean as Huo, seized Yuan, beheaded him, and spiked his head. His students stole the body by night and gave him burial. The realm cried injustice.
21
Guo Qi, courtesy name Gongwei, came from Jinyang in Taiyuan. Young, upright, and learned in astrology, he wrote treatises on heaven, the five phases, and a hundred fascicles on the Guliang and Jing Changes. Townsmen such as Wang You studied at his feet. Emperor Wu meant to name him assistant editor and asked his kinsman Guo Zhang. Zhang hated him and said flatly, 'I never heard of him.' The emperor retorted, 'If a Wuhuan stable-boy is good enough for you, he is good enough for my editorial office.' So the emperor appointed Qi anyway. When Sima Lun seized the throne and offered a post, Qi answered, 'I served Emperor Wu; I will not serve your court. He stayed home for life.
22
退
Wu Chao, courtesy name Shiming, came from Hanshou in Wuling. He loved quiet and the Way, and shunned the world's business. Summoned as erudite, he never went. Liu Hong tried to name him governor of Lingling; the ministry blocked it as irregular. Hu Ji told the throne that after chaos flatterers rose while the steadfast hid—so honest praise had waned. Chao's mind wanders beyond things; past sixty he still keeps a wattled gate and grows daily in the Way—a southern marvel, a hermit sage. If we never honor such men, how do we teach the good? Commoners became magistrates under the Former Han—let this man shine to stiffen public morals. The edict passed, yet Chao stayed home and died there.
23
Lu Bao, courtesy name Yuandao, came from Nanyang. He was learned, widely read, and proud to stay poor. After Yuankang the moral net rotted; he hid his name and wrote the 'God of Cash' to mock the money-grubbers. It opens:
24
便
Coin is shaped like heaven and earth—square inside, round skin. Stacked it is a mountain; spent it is a stream. It moves in season, rests by rule, trades easily in the market, and does not fear wear. It breaks seldom like long life, runs never dry like the Way—so the world worships it. Men call it Elder Brother Kongfang: lose him and you starve; win him and you flourish. It flies without wings, runs without feet, melts stern brows, loosens silent tongues. The rich coin walks first; the poor coin trails. The fore ranks play lord; the rear play slave. Front ranks swim in surplus; the rear run dry. As the Classic of Poetry says, 'Happy the rich—pity the poor alone.'
25
使使使使 忿
Cash means 'springwater': it runs everywhere, even to the dark. Luoyang's gentry, bored with seminars, nap through abstruse talk yet snap awake at Elder Brother. Where it blesses, luck follows—who needs books if cash smiles? Lü Gong bowed to an empty bond, Gaozu won with two extra coins, Zhuo Wenjun traded sackcloth for silk, Sima Xiangru swapped cowherd shorts for a grand carriage—every rise came from cash. An empty bond is hollow—think what solid coin can do. Two little coins bought an empire's favor. So men call it divine. Virtueless yet revered, powerless yet mighty—it shoulders past the palace gates. It turns peril to peace, death to life, honor to shame, and living men to corpses. No feud ends, no deadlock lifts, no grudge clears, no fair name flies without its nod.
26
使
Crimson officials and palace climbers never tire of my elder brother Kongfang. They shake his hand from youth to age, heedless of rank or years; his gate is always a market. The proverb runs, 'Money has no ears, but it can command ghosts.' So men today worship only cash. Hence the saying: no pay, no troops. No bounty, no charge. Serve without a broker in the ministry and you may as well plow. Even with a patron, without Kongfang you are a bird without wings, a man without legs.
27
Every cynic of the age copied his essay. Bao never served; no one knows his end.
28
Fan Teng, courtesy name Wuji, came from Dunhuang. Raised as filial-incorrupt, he became a gentleman of the palace. When war swept the empire he resigned and went home. Prefect Zhang Min called; he barred the door and refused every gift. He said, 'In a dark age stay high-minded and poor—that is how you survive.' He gave away half a million to kin, wattled his gate, hoed his garden, and took his ease with lute and books. Zhang Gui wanted him as marshal; Teng said, 'A shut gate should not reopen. He refused flatly. He died after two months' illness.
29
Ren Xu, courtesy name Cilong, came from Zhang'an in Linhai. His father Ren Fang had governed Nanhai under Wu. Orphaned young, he studied with fierce diligence. Grown, he kept his life clean and won the hamlet's love. General Jiang Xiu of the commandery, admiring him, asked him to serve as merit clerk. Jiang Xiu was corrupt and lawless; Xu rebuked him bluntly again and again. When Xiu brushed him off, Xu resigned, barred his door, and lived for his studies and his conscience. When Xiu fell under arrest, Xu scrambled to help him on his way; Xiu sighed, 'Ren Xu is the real thing. I ignored his straight talk and came to this—what is left to say?' Soon Xu passed as filial-incorrupt, served briefly as gentleman, was pressed to be local evaluator, and each time went home instead. In Yongkang 1 Emperor Hui cast a wide net for recluses; Prefect Qiu Fu praised Xu's purity and learning, and the court ordered him escorted with honors. Xu pleaded illness—the court was chaos and his heart was in the hills. When Chen Min rose, every Jiangdong notable was caged; only Xu and He Xun chose death over submission. Chen Min never broke them.
30
使
Emperor Yuan, first settling the east, summoned him as staff adviser and wrote in his own hand; Xu still pleaded sickness. When the prince rose to general of the east, he called again; when he became left chancellor he offered the wine-cup post—Xu refused every one. At the court's revival the summons came; his mother died that same hour. Wang Dao then opened schools and wanted Xu and Yu Xi, famed recluses, to join. Wang Dun's coup came first; the emperor died; the plan died with him. Emperor Ming named him palace counselor; Xu stayed away a year until the ministry struck his name—Xun Song protested. Late in Taining another honored summons went out; the edict landed the day the emperor died. He died in Xianhe 2; Feng Huai asked posthumous rank to the Nine Ministers, but Su Jun's revolt buried the request.
31
His son Ren Ju reached grand director of the imperial surname and died at home.
32
宿 鹿貿 鹿 鹿 宿 使
Guo Wen, courtesy name Wenju, came from Zhi in Henei. He loved wild country and the name of recluse. At thirty he would vanish into the hills for weeks on end. After burying his parents he took no wife, left kin, and climbed Huayin to see the stone reliquary. When Luoyang fell he walked into the Pi range in Yuhang, leaned poles against trees, thatched a roof, and lived without walls. Beasts raided every hut but left him alone for ten years. He wore buckskin and hemp kerchief, ate no meat, hoed beans, lived on forage, and traded for salt. If buyers underpaid, he let them. Once they knew him, they paid fair coin. He shared spare grain with the hungry. When gifts came he took only the plain pieces to show courtesy, not greed. A tiger left a deer at his door; he told neighbors, they sold it and offered him coin. Wen said, 'Had I wanted money I would have sold it myself. I mentioned it only because I do not need the silver.' Hearing this, they marveled. A beast gaped at him; he pulled a bone from its jaw; at dawn it laid a deer before his door. Hunters camped with him; he fetched their water night after night, untiring. Magistrate Gu Yang and Ge Hong visited him and carried him back to town. Gu Yang gave him leather breeches for the cold; Wen refused and walked back to the hills. Yang left the clothes in his hut; Wen never touched them until they rotted on the floor.
33
西鹿 使
Wang Dao sent a coach; Wen shouldered his pole and walked. Wang Dao housed him in West Park among orchards and tame deer. Officials came to gawk; Wen squatted like a stone, indifferent to the crowd. Wen Qiao asked why he abandoned family for the hills. Wen answered, 'I went out to study the Way; chaos penned me in with no road home—so I drifted here.' Qiao pressed: hunger and desire are natural—are you without feeling?' Wen said, 'Passion feeds on memory; I forget, so I am still.' Qiao asked whether dying alone on a peak was not cruel. Wen said, 'Buried men feed ants too—what is the difference?' Qiao asked why he did not fear beasts. Wen said, 'Men who wish beasts no harm need not fear them.' Qiao asked how he would serve a troubled age. The court would use him to save the times—would he? Wen laughed: 'A weed from the hills cannot prop the age.' Wang Dao once held a banquet with music and called him in. Wen stared straight ahead and crossed the marble hall like a path in the woods. Guests spouted abstruse philosophy; Wen always said he could not follow. His mind was a locked drum—no one found the key. Wen Qiao ranked him near Liuxia Hui—virtue without court polish. In Yongchang a plague swept the city; Wen nearly died. Wang Dao sent physic; Wen said, 'Life belongs to heaven, not to drugs. Long or short span is timing alone.'
34
Seven years in Wang Dao's park—never a step outside. One dawn he begged to return; Wang Dao refused. He slipped back to Lin'an and raised a hut. Magistrate Wan Chong housed him in the yamen. When Su Jun sacked Yuhang, Lin'an stood untouched—folk called it foresight. After that he spoke only with hand signs. Dying, he asked to lie on stone without funeral; Wan Chong refused. He fasted twenty days yet never wasted. Wan Chong asked how many days remained. Wen lifted three fingers—he died on the fifteenth day as he signaled. Wan Chong buried him where he lived; Ge Hong and Yu Chan wrote his lives, praising his grace.
35
西 西 使 使
Gong Zhuang, courtesy name Ziwei, came from Brazil. He matched his townsman Qiao Xiu for stainless repute. Li Te had his father killed; Zhuang wore mourning for years, too weak to strike back. When Li Shou feuded with Li Qi, Zhuang urged Shou to seize the west and submit to Jin. Trade a small throne for a great protectorship—no wiser plan.' Shou agreed, crushed Li Qi, and took power. Shou still played emperor and offered posts; Zhuang refused every bribe. When famine came he memorialized Shou to yield to Jin and save the people. Shou hid the memorial, ashamed. Shou then courted the Hu; Zhuang warned again; Shou ignored him. Zhuang had used Shou to kill his foe yet still wanted Jin's suzerainty honored. When Shou refused, Zhuang feigned deafness and paralysis, never returned to Chengdu, studied until Li Shi's day, and died.
36
He wrote 'On Surpassing Virtue' to mourn learning lost in Shu—text omitted here.
37
西 使
Meng Lou, courtesy name Shaogu, came from Wuchang. He was great-grandson of Wu minister Meng Zong. His brother Meng Jia had been chief clerk under Huan Wen. Young, he was chaste, austere, in sackcloth and gruel, happy only in books. He never gossiped, rarely visited anyone, fished or hunted alone—his family never knew his path. His mother's death left him skeletal; he ate no meat over ten years. Kinsmen pleaded, 'Shaogu! Who has no parents? Who keeps parents forever? The sages set rites so the wise may ease grief and fools may aim higher. To die childless is the greater unfilial act. He heard them, relented, and ended mourning properly. His name then filled the empire. Emperor Jianwen summoned him as adviser; he pleaded illness. Huan Wen himself knocked on his door. A friend told Huan Wen, 'Meng Lou's virtue tops the scholars; bring him to your staff to leaven the court.' Wen sighed, 'Even the prince of Kuaiji could not move him—I hardly dare speak of hiring him.' Lou heard and said, 'Huan Wen only thinks I snubbed him on purpose. Nine men in ten lack office—are they all recluses? I am too sick to obey the prince's summons—that is no pose of pride.' His name only grew weightier after that. He mastered the Three Rites. His Analects commentary circulates still. He died in ripe old age.
38
退
Han Ji, courtesy name Xingqi, came from Guangling. His clan fled war and settled in Jiaxing. His father Han Jian rose to grand herald under Wu. He loved books, lived poor, shunned office, and the whole east coast revered him. Wang Dao summoned him as clerk; he stayed away. Late in Xiankang Kong Yu recommended him; the court sent carriage and silk. Zhuge Hui said his name was still slight; the court named him erudite instead. He pleaded age and died at home.
39
使
Liu Jun of Gaomi and Bing Yu of Chengyang shared his fame. Liu Jun scorned fashion, copied the ancients, and reshaped his town. Bing Yu was Bing Yuan's heir: silent, careful, every gesture correct. Emperor Cheng sought odd talents; both were nominated like Han Ji and Zhai Tang. Yu pleaded sick; Liu Jun went to the capital, declared himself too old, and refused the cap. Both died in honored old age.
40
西 西 使
Qiao Xiu, courtesy name Yuanyan, came from Brazil. His ancestor Qiao Zhou was a famed scholar of Shu Han. He foresaw chaos, cut ties, and would not even see kin. He refused every provincial summons. Li Xiong's clan offered carriage and silk; he ignored them all. He farmed in buckskin cap and rags. Gong Zhuang marveled at his resolve. Huan Wen recommended him after the conquest of Shu; the court, citing age and distance, only sent seasonal greetings. When Fan Ben rose, a hundred clansmen sheltered under his staff. Past eighty, kin wished to carry his gear; he said, 'You have elders and babes to tend first. I can still shoulder my pack—do not load my age on you.' He died past ninety.
41
便 西 西調 使調使
Zhai Tang, courtesy name Daoshen, was from Xunyang. He was kind, frugal, refused gifts—even a pot of grain. In Yongjia's chaos bandits spared his village for his name. Wang Dao summoned him; he hid on South Mountain. Gan Bao, his kinsman-by-marriage, sent a boat of supplies, telling the crew to drop the cargo and leave. Zhai sold goods for silk and repaid him. Gan Bao meant a favor yet felt only shame and deeper respect. Yu Liang recommended him; Emperor Cheng named him national erudite; he stayed home. Yu Yi's levy on retainers skipped Zhai Tang by edict. Zhai handed his servants to the clerk, refused special favor, and freed them to commoner status. Emperor Kang summoned him as attendant censor; again he pleaded age. He died at seventy-three at home.
42
His son Zhai Zhuang, courtesy name Zuxiu. Zhuang copied his father's life: farmed, fished, shunned gossip. As an adult he gave up hunting. Someone asked why he quit hunting but still fished. Zhuang said, 'Hunting is my cruelty; fish choose the hook—I curbed the worse first. Fish greedily take hooks—how is that my sin?' Listeners called it wise. Late in life he quit fishing too, lived on beans and water. He refused every summons. He died at fifty-six. His son Zhai Jiao kept the same path. Emperor Xiaowu summoned Fasi; he too stayed away. The family was called a line of recluses.
43
便 西 使
Guo Fan, courtesy name Changxiang, came from Wuchang. His uncle Guo Ne governed Guangzhou. His father Guo Cha governed Ancheng. Youthful, he refused every nomination. He lived in Linchuan on fishing and hunting. He marked abandoned land, waited a year, then plowed. When a neighbor claimed the field, he gave the whole crop away. The magistrate forced the rice back; Fan still refused. He gave his cart to a sick stranger and walked home. He gave game to buyers, took no pay, left no name. Gentry and commoners alike honored him. Yu Liang recommended him with Zhai Tang; he ignored the doctorate call. Yu Yi, the emperor's uncle, boarded his skiff at Wuchang to drag him to office. Fan said, 'Every man has limits—do not force mine.' Yi asked him onto a larger barge. Fan answered, 'This skiff suits a countryman; honor it as you find it.' Yu Yi crawled into the tiny boat and sat with him all day. He dropped a knife in a stream; a farmer fished it out and Fan offered it as gift. The man would not keep it; Fan said, 'If you refuse, neither of us owns it.' The man said, 'If I kept it, heaven would blame me.' Fan sank the knife again. The farmer dove and brought it back, vexed. Fan paid him tenfold the knife's worth and let him keep it. Such was his stubborn honesty. He died at home.
44
西
Xin Mi, courtesy name Shuzhong, came from Didao in Longxi. His father Xin Yi governed Youzhou; the clan wore high caps in reputation. He was a scholar and calligrapher others copied. He lived quietly and made few friends. The court named him tutor to princes; he never went. Late in Yongjia the court sent him west as envoy. He went because he saw Luoyang falling. Liu Cong offered a grandee title; he refused. Shi Le and Shi Hu could not move him either. Through war after war he stayed aloof from rank. When Ran Min seized the throne and offered the grand astrologer post, Xin wrote comparing himself to Xu You and Boyi. Boyi and Jie Zitui fled power—names that never die. They left court never to return. Yet a sage at court may be no different from a sage on the hill—who sees that truth? Those who escape calamity are not hiding—they simply still the heart until fortune finds them. Xin Mi wrote that all things turn at the limit—winter and summer prove it. Stack too high and you topple—like a tower of stones. Your merit is won; to cling to power is not the way to stay safe. Yield now, return to Jin, and win the clean fame of Xu You—live long as a pillar of the realm. He stopped eating and died.
45
Liu Linzhi
46
祿 退 使使 使使 退
Liu Linzhi, courtesy name Ziji, of Nanyang, was kin to Liu Dan. He loved plain living and shunned display—no one noticed him. He wandered peaks and meant to hide. On Hengshan he found twin stone silos by a ford too deep to cross. He lost the trail until a woodcutter pointed the way home. Some said the silos held immortal drugs; he searched again and never found them. Huan Chong offered chief clerk; he refused. When Huan Chong called, Liu was in the mulberry tree and said, 'Honor my father first.' Chong flushed and went in to greet the old man first. His father sent him down; Liu brushed his coat and spoke with Chong. Liu served wine himself; when Chong sent a servant the father said, 'A rustic host pours his own cup.' Chong stayed until dusk, moved. Though born noble, he attended every poor neighbor's wedding and funeral. His house stood by the post road; every traveler stopped for his charity. He fed them all himself until travelers dreaded the detour. He took no gifts. A dying crone miles away cried, 'Only Liu will bury me! How can he hear?' He had heard her cough, arrived as she died, and buried her himself. Such was his kindness. He died in honored age.
47
Suo Xi, courtesy name Weizu, came from Dunhuang. He declined every nomination as ill. He wrote on heaven and earth and the dark arts. He muttered alone, wept alone, fell silent when questioned. Prefect Yin Dan spent a day with him and called him a walking scripture. Yin asked him to preside as village elder at the archery rite. You are no phoenix tree yet hope phoenixes to roost— you are no Duke Cao yet hope sages to call—this will not do. Confucius answered summons— Mencius waited for the right invite—both taught the world. I call you only to honor learning, not for rank—say you will come.' He died at seventy-nine. Yin Dan mourned in undyed linen and sent twenty thousand cash. Yin said, 'The world hoards riches— eyes crave color— ears crave music. Master Suo chose poverty, tasted the void, doubled the mystery others flee. His hut was tiny yet his mind held the empire; not even Zhuangzi outdid him.' They styled him Master of the Dark Retreat.
48
使 使 西
Yang Ke of Tianshui. He taught the Book of Changes, never married, lived on gruel, and refused small talk with strangers. Only handpicked disciples heard his voice in person. He taught in secret, relayed through chosen disciples. Liu Yao named him grand astrologer; he fled to Longshan. When Liu Yao fell to Shi Le, Ke stayed in Chang'an. Shi Hu took the throne— Shi Hu sent silks and carriage; Ke pleaded sick. Forced, he went. He faced Shi Hu silent and upright, and was lodged in Yongchang. Ministers wanted him executed for lese-majesty; Shi Hu refused and let him be. His thank-you letters through disciples were praised as profound. Shi Hu sent a girl to tempt him; he never looked. Soldiers stole his gifts and leveled swords; he showed no fear. He slept naked on bare earth under a rag quilt. The eccentric Xun Pu debated him; Ke feigned sleep. Xun stripped his quilt and laughed. Ke never flinched. People compared him to Jiao Xian—none plumbed his depth. He begged leave westward; Shi Hu sent carriage and ten tax-free households. Back home he kept teaching. Fleeing west, his ox-cart was overtaken by guards who killed master and pupils.
49
Gongsun Feng
50
Gongsun Feng, courtesy name Ziluan, came from Shanggu. He wintered in one layer, summered on rotted gruel in a jar. He sang to his lute, self-content; none understood him. Murong Wei brought him to Ye; he still would not bow or speak. Visitors seldom won a word. He died after a few years.
51
Gongsun Yong
52
使
Gongsun Yong, courtesy name Ziyang, came from Xiangping. He lived ninety years in the hills, eating only what he tilled. He and Feng reached court; he bowed to no prince, spoke to no lord, winter or summer. After a year he played madman and Murong Wei sent him home. Fu Jian meant to summon him but sent only greetings because of age and distance. He died before Fu Jian's envoy came; Fu Jian mourned him as Master of Honored Void.
53
退 使 使 西 使
Zhang Zhong, courtesy name Juhe, came from Zhongshan. When Yongjia fell he fled to Mount Tai. He lived on qi, herbs, and elixirs. Winter coat, summer rope—he sat like a corpse. He taught the wordless Way, not the canon. He carved a cave in the cliff. Pupils lived in nearby caves and visited every five days. He taught by gesture, not lecture. Each dawn he bowed to a stone altar. He ate from pottery, cooked in stone pots. Neighbors offered clothes; he refused. Asked about omens he said, 'Heaven needs no words to run the seasons—what would I know of yin and yang?' He brushed the world off so in every case. Past a hundred he saw and heard clearly. Fu Jian summoned him. He bathed and told his pupils, 'I am old—I cannot defy an emperor's call.' He mounted the carriage when dry. In Chang'an he refused court dress: 'Let this wild man meet you in hemp.' Fu Jian agreed. Fu Jian said, 'You perfected the private Way—now help the world. He offered him the role of Jiang Ziya to the king of Qi.' Zhang Zhong answered, 'I fled to Tai with the beasts to save my skin. I longed to see a sage king once. I am too old for office—do not call me Jiang Ziya. Let me end my days on sacred Tai. Fu Jian sent him home in the honor coach. He reached Mount Hua westward. He cried, 'An eastern hermit dies on the western peak—fate.' Fifty li on he died at the barrier. Fu Jian sent rites, grand sacrifice, posthumous name Master of the Peaceful Way.
54
Shi Yuan claimed origin from Ju in Beihai. He wandered, no wife, no land, coarse food, ragged coat. He passed on any gift of clothes. He walked any distance to mourn the dead. Heat or cold, near or far, he always arrived— sometimes the same mourners saw him twice at once. He could pick objects in pitch dark as if at noon. He vanished in Yao Chang's rebellion.
55
Song Xian, courtesy name Ling'ai, from Xiaogu in Dunhuang. He hid on Jiuquan South Mountain. He taught three thousand students astronomy and classics. He spoke only to Yin Yong and Qi Liang. Prefect Yang Xuan hung his portrait in the gallery— and wrote, 'What stone for pillow? What rapid for ford? The man stays hidden—only the name rings.' Prefect Ma Ji marched with full pomp to call. Song Xian barred his high gate. Ma Ji sighed, 'Hearing his name yet never his face—he is a dragon among men.' He carved on the cliff: red walls, green peaks— trees thick as the magic grove— that man is jade, the state's jewel— his hut is near yet he is far—my heart aches.'
56
使
He wrote ten thousand words of poetry and Analects notes. At eighty he still studied. Zhang Zuo summoned him as crown prince's friend; he sighed, 'I am no Zhuangzi—why defy a clear edict?' He went to Guzang. The crown prince called; he feigned illness and took no gifts. Soon he was made grand tutor. He memorialized, 'I was born for the hills, my heart in high antiquity. Life does not delight me; death will not grieve me. Bury me in mountain stone or river—no word home. Let no letter reach my kin. Now I ask only that wish.' He fasted to death at eighty-two, styled Master of Dark Void.
57
使使
Guo He, courtesy name Chengxiu, from Lueyang. Ancestor Guo Zheng refused eight ducal calls and five carriages under the Han. The clan rose on the classics for generations. Guo He mastered every corpus, best in histories. He refused local office. Zhang Zuo's envoy dragged him to the libationer post. At court they named him the crown prince's companion. He memorialized for release and rode home to eastern Zhangye. He died at eighty-four as Master of Dark Power.
58
Guo Yu, courtesy name Yuanyu, from Dunhuang. He studied under Guo He in Zhangye. He debated well and wrote well. He mourned his teacher Guo He with three years' sackcloth by the grave. He carved a cave in Linsong, ate pine nuts, wrote commentaries, taught a thousand pupils.
59
使 使 祿
Zhang Tianci wrote begging him to save the northwest. The prince asked him to join the government. He cited Fu Yue, Jiang Ziya, Confucius, Mozi. He said Jin was cornered east while the north fell to barbarians. He asked how a sage could watch and not save. He sent a carriage with empty seat of honor.' Guo Yu pointed at wild geese: 'You cannot cage that bird.' He fled deeper into the hills. When pupils were seized he said, 'I flee salary, not justice—I cannot let pupils suffer.' He went to court. He mourned Tianci's mother with curt rites then fled back south.
60
使
Fu Jian later summoned him for rites; father's death stopped him; three hundred students came to his cliff. Wang Mu rebelled in Jiuquan and called on Guo Yu. He said, 'To save a drowning man you do not cast lots— to nurse a patient three years you do not withhold food— Lu Zhong never held his tongue—how can I stay silent while men go barbarian?' He raised five thousand men and thirty thousand shi for Wang Mu. Wang Mu made him chief clerk and strategist. Though a minister he chanted Daoism, dreaming of returning like Bo Cheng.
61
西 鹿
He warned Wang Mu not to kill allies like Han did. Strike now and deer will graze your courtyard.' Wang Mu ignored him. He wept at the gate, 'I will not see this city again.' He hid under his quilt, fasted seven days, begged for death. He dreamed a dragon stopped on a roof— 'Roof' writes as corpse over a beam— a dragon to a corpse means I die. Sages die not in women's quarters—nor shall I.' He returned to Chiya pavilion and died meditating.
62
西 西
Qi Jia, courtesy name Kongbin, from Jiuquan. He was poor and book-loving. At night a voice cried his name— Flee and hide, flee and hide! The world bruises those who dress it— gain is a hair's weight, loss a cliff of stone.' He fled to Dunhuang, worked as a school cook, and became a scholar. He taught a hundred pupils on the western shore. Zhang Chonghua named him erudite libationer. He wrote the Two-Nine Spirit Classic from the Filial Piety, teaching without weariness. Two thousand officials bowed to Qi Jia as 'Master' without daring his name. He died full of years.
63
Master of the Quxing Cliff
64
鹿
The recluse of Quxing cliff—name and home unknown. He lived on Mount Wenji in Xuancheng near the Quxing grotto. Huan Wen climbed to his cave. Huan found him in deerskin in a stone room, baffled his retinue, and had Fu Tao write his praise. He died in the hills.
65
簿 便
Xie Fu, courtesy name Qingxu, from Kuaiji. He hid on Mount Taiping ten years. Xi Yin and the ministry summoned him; he refused. A moon omen touched the hermit star—seers said a recluse would die. People feared for Dai Kui. When Xie Fu died, Kuaiji wits mocked Wu: 'Their hermits cannot even manage to die.'
66
使使
Dai Kui, courtesy name Andao, from Qiao. He mastered debate, letters, lute, painting, and every art. As a boy he carved a Zheng Xuan stele in mortar—crowds marveled. He lived for lute and books, not office. His teacher Fan Xuan gave him a niece in marriage. Prince Xi summoned him to play; Kui smashed his lute: 'I will not be a prince's jester.' Xi called his brother Dai Shu instead. Shu happily took his lute to the palace.
67
Kui moved to Shan in Kuaiji. He condemned 'free and easy' excess and wrote:
68
西
To roam while parents need you is unfilial; to bolt the border while the throne totters is cowardice. The ancients never let conduct wreck the teaching—why? They grasped the meaning. Knowing the root, they ignored the pose. He mocked Yuankang poseurs who mimicked reclusion without virtue. Purple passes for crimson because it looks like crimson. Village worthies mimic the mean and rot virtue; libertines mimic freedom and ruin the Way. Bamboo Grove had excuse; Yuankang only aped the scarf.
69
Confucians chase fame and lose the substance. They trade masks until all truth dies. Daoists flee names yet leap bounds. Both schools thin to hypocrisy. Hypocrites hide behind Confucius and Laozi. When the root rots, neither sage can save it.
70
Alas! Unless you are born whole, model the ancients with care. Judge ends and means before you act. Paths differ yet aim one way; tracks tangle yet the tally holds. Else you chase fashion, lose the core, and earn a thousand years' mockery.
71
使
Xiaowu called him to court; he pleaded his father's health. Officials hounded him until he fled to Wu. He hid with Wang Xun on Mount Wuqiu for weeks. Xie Xuan memorialized that Dai should be left alone to save his health. Summons never moved his resolve. He was past sixty and frail. Another summons might kill him. Xie asked the throne to leave him in peace. The emperor agreed; Dai Kui went home to Shan.
72
Wang Xun tried again; Dai stayed away. The eastern palace begged Dai as tutor. They wanted him as palace tutor. They knew he would spurn pomp—send full ritual anyway.' He died before taking the post.
73
His son Dai Bo matched his spirit. Dai Bo was summoned in Yixi and died unreached.
74
Gong Xuanzhi
75
Gong Xuanzhi, courtesy name Daoxuan, from Hanshou in Wuling. His father Gong Deng had been minister and attendant. He loved books and quiet alleys. He refused nominations. Xiaowu's edict praised recluses. The edict paired Dai Kui and Gong Xuanzhi. Why hide such men? Both were named attendant and erudite with full honors.' County officers pressed; both pleaded mortal illness. Gong died at fifty-eight.
76
His pupil Yuan Shou also refused office. Xiaowu hounded Yuan Shou in vain. Yuan died at home.
77
便 鹿
Tao Dan, courtesy name Chujing, was Tao Kan's grandson. His father Tao Xia was disgraced. Orphaned, he chased immortality. He stopped eating grain and never wed. He ignored vast wealth and many servants. He read the Book of Changes and divined. He built a hut in Linxiang hills with a white deer. He moved visitors across a stream they could not ford. When summoned he fled to Pi mountain and vanished.
78
退 穿
Tao Qian (Yuanming), courtesy name Yuanliang, great-grandson of Tao Kan. His grandfather Tao Mao governed Wuchang. Youthful, proud, learned, the hamlet esteemed him. His 'Five Willows' self-portrait begins: Quiet, terse, no taste for rank. He read for joy, not pedantry, and forgot meals when moved. He loved wine but stayed poor. Friends poured for him; he drank to blackout. He left drunk without fuss. His hut leaked; he wore patches; his ladle was empty—yet he smiled. He wrote for himself, forgot fortune, accepted his end. People called his self-sketch honest.
79
簿 使
He took a small post for his parents' rice, quit at once. He refused clerkship, farmed, and fell ill. He told friends he would take a stint as magistrate for farm money. The court named him magistrate of Pengze. He planted the county fields to glutinous rice for wine. His family begged for food grain. He split the fields half for wine, half for rice. He scorned toadying to superiors. He said he would not bow for a clerk's pay. In Yixi 2 he quit and wrote 'Returning Home.' It begins:
80
Home again! The fields run wild—why stay away? I let flesh rule soul—why grieve alone? Past faults cannot be mended; the future may yet be caught. I strayed but a little; today I know right from wrong. Boat and breeze bear me; I ask the way; dawn comes too slow. I see my eaves and run. Boys wait at the gate. Weeds choke the paths—pines and mums still stand. Wine brims the cup with children by my side. I pour my own cup, smile at the trees, lean on the southern sill—this little room is enough. I stroll the garden daily; the gate stays shut; I lean on a cane, lift my eyes to the hills. Clouds drift from peaks without a plan; tired birds know the way home; Sunset dims; I linger by a lone pine.
81
西
I end visits—world and I have parted—why chase more words? Kin and books and lute melt my care. Farmers say spring is late—west field calls. Cart or skiff—winding dales, rugged hills. Woods thrive, springs run—I envy things their hour, know my life ebbs.
82
Enough! Why not trust the heart to stay or go—why scurry with nowhere bound? Rank is not my wish; heaven's court is not for me. Dawn walks, weeding, whistle on the eastern mound, poems by the stream— I ride change to the end and doubt heaven no more!
83
便
The court called him editor; he stayed away. He drank with anyone who offered, even strangers, until blind drunk. He only visited farms and Lu Mountain.
84
便 便 輿
Wang Hong came to govern and longed to meet him. He said he shunned fame, not princes' chariots. He cited Liu Zhen's warning against false slander. Wang Hong sent a friend with wine mid-road to Lu. Tao stopped for wine and forgot the journey. Wang Hong joined the feast. Tao had no shoes; Wang ordered sandals made. Tao stretched his bare feet to be measured. He said he needed a litter for bad feet. Students carried his chair; he chatted as if no shame. Wang met him only in the wilds. Wang sent grain when the larder ran dry.
85
Friends brought feasts; he never refused. Each drunk brought pure joy. He left chores to servants. He showed no temper except toward wine; sober, he still sang. Summer nap by the north window—he called himself older than history. He strung a soundless lute: 'Taste the music in the mind, not the ear.' He died under Song at sixty-three; his works survive.
86
The historian says: office and reclusion are one man's two roads. In court he orders the state; at home he washes off dust and feeds the soul. Both ways are ancient. Sun Deng in his cave, Dong Jing in straw— Dong Jing in rags—men like Liu Ling and Shang Ziping. Xia Tong's filial name rang far; his kin prized his blunt truth; when he sang the 'Little Sea'— Wu Zixu seemed to walk again; and that flint heart of his shamed even Jia Chong—on the Luo embankment the crowd saw it was true. Song Xian earned the name Master of Dark Void. Others fled office, wrote, fished, hid jade in sackcloth—each stiffened the breeze for later ages.
87
The verse says: fat pay brings grief; fame chains desire. Yet these men stood clear of both. They fed the spirit in cliffs and woods. They shamed the greedy and left high footprints.
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