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卷五十六 列傳第十六 謝瞻 孔琳之

Volume 56 Biographies 16: Xie Zhan, Kong Linzhi

Chapter 56 of 宋書 · Book of Song
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Chapter 56
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Biography 16: Xie Zhan and Kong Linzhi
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西 簿
Xie Zhan, whose courtesy name was Xuanyuan—he was also known as Yan, with the alternative courtesy name Tongyuan—came from Yangxia in Chen Commandery and was the third elder brother of Xie Hui, General of the Guard. At six he could already compose literary pieces, including "In Praise of Amethyst Quartz" and "The Guoran Poem," and every gifted writer of the time marveled at him. He began his career as a staff officer under Huan Wei in the Anxi command and later became Secretary Gentleman in the Chu court. Zhan was orphaned young; his aunt by marriage, the Liu lady, raised him with devoted care, and he and his brothers treated her exactly as they would their own parents. When Lady Liu's brother Liu Liu was appointed governor of Wu and took their elder sister along, Zhan could not bring himself to stay behind; he resigned and went with them, serving Liu as chief clerk of the Jianwei command. He was soon appointed staff officer to Emperor Gaozu's Zhenjun Army and to the Prince of Langye as Grand Marshal, then served successively as chief clerk, administrator of Ancheng, gentleman of the palace secretariat, secretariat and yellow gate gentleman of the Song state, and attendant of the chancellor of state.
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退
His younger brother Hui then held the post of Right Guard in the Song regime, and his influence was already formidable. When he returned from Pengcheng to the capital to bring the family home, guests thronged about him until the lanes before his gate were impassable. Zhan was at home at the time. Alarmed, he said to Hui, "Your rank and title are still modest, yet people are flocking to you like this. Our family has always made a virtue of modest retirement; we do not wish to meddle in public affairs, and our circle extends no farther than kin and friends—yet you have come to dominate court and countryside alike. Can this truly be a blessing for our house?" He then put up a hedge to screen off the courtyard, saying, "I cannot bear to look upon this." When he returned to Pengcheng he told Emperor Gaozu, "I was originally a man of no distinction; my father and grandfather never rose above the two-thousand-dan rank. My brother has only just turned thirty; his talents and ambitions are unremarkable, yet his honors outshine the whole regime and his offices are weighty and exposed. When fortune runs too high, disaster follows—and that day cannot be far off. I beg that he be demoted and removed from office, so that our declining house may be spared." He made this plea again and again. Emperor Gaozu appointed Zhan to Wu Commandery, but Zhan petitioned again on his own behalf and was instead made administrator of Yuzhang. When Hui confided court secrets to him, Zhan would promptly repeat them to relatives and old friends as a joke, so as to put an end to such disclosures. Hui went on to earn merit in establishing the new dynasty, and the trust placed in him grew ever heavier; Zhan's anxiety only deepened.
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宿使婿
In the second year of Yongchu he fell ill while serving in his commandery; he refused medical care, hoping his life would not be prolonged. When Hui heard of his illness he rushed to his side. Zhan saw him and said, "You are a chief minister of state and hold supreme military authority; to travel a thousand li on such an errand is bound to invite suspicion and slander." And indeed, at that very time petitions were filed accusing Hui of rebellion. When Zhan's illness grew grave he returned to the capital. Because Hui commanded the palace guard and could not stay away overnight, Emperor Gaozu had Zhan lodged in the former residence of Yang Ben, son-in-law of the Jin Princess of Nan Commandery, east of the headquarters of the General of the Guards. Zhan said, "I have my forefathers' humble house—why should I stay here?" On his deathbed he sent Hui a letter: "I have been fortunate to leave this world with my body whole and to return my bones to the hills—what more could I regret? Brother, strive to discipline yourself—for the sake of the state and our house." He died soon after, at the age of thirty-five.
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使 便
Zhan was a gifted writer; the brilliance of his style rivaled that of his clansman Hun and his younger kinsman Lingyun. Lingyun's father Ying was a man of no particular talent. He had served as secretary gentleman and died young. Lingyun loved to pass judgment on other people's merits and faults; Hun found this troubling and wanted to rein him in, but had not yet found a way. He said to Zhan, "No one but you can manage this." He then arranged outings with Hui, Yao, Hongwei, and the others and had Zhan share a carriage with Lingyun. The moment Lingyun got into the carriage he began ranking people's merits and faults. Zhan said to him, "The secretary gentleman died young, and even those who speak of him disagree among themselves." Lingyun fell silent, and from that day his habit of judging others faded away.
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簿
His younger brother Jiao, whose courtesy name was Xuanjing, showed exceptional conduct from childhood. While still a small boy, he cared for his birth mother of the Guo clan, who had long suffered a chronic illness. Morning and evening he saw to her comfort, tasted her medicine, and brought her food without missing a single hour; his devoted manner and sorrowful face never changed, even for a moment. Fearing the servants who nursed her would grow slack, he took on the work himself. Because his mother feared being startled by noise in her illness, even the lightest footfall was too much; moved by Jiao's devotion, everyone in the household, high and low alike, removed their shoes and walked on tiptoe, speaking only in hushed breaths—for more than ten years. He first served as provincial chief clerk, staff officer of the central army, and attendant of the heir apparent, and was soon promoted to secretary director. Because his elder brother held power and rank and he himself had been promoted beyond his due, he firmly declined the appointment. Xu Xianzhi had him appointed chief clerk of the minister of works and gentleman of the yellow gate. In the third year of Yuanjia he was executed as an associate in the crime; he was thirty-one. An edict spared his son Shiping, but Shiping too died young, and the line came to an end.
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祿 簿 西 使 ' ' 便 ' '便 便 便 便
Kong Linzhi, whose courtesy name was Yanlin, came from Kuaiji. His grandfather Shen had served as an aide to the Jin chancellor. His father Yin had held the post of grand master of splendid happiness. Linzhi was forceful and upright, a man of firm resolve; he loved letters and learning, understood music, played chess well, and was a master of cursive and clerical calligraphy. The commandery offered him the post of chief clerk, but he declined; he was later summoned as regular attendant of his native state. When Huan Xuan held power as grand marshal, he appointed Linzhi libationer of the Western Pavilion. At that time Huan Xuan proposed abolishing coin and using grain and cloth currency instead. Linzhi argued: "In the Eight Policies of the Hongfan, wealth ranks immediately after food—is this not because the medium of exchange is among the most essential instruments of government? If the people were not using coin for trade but were exhausting themselves minting money instead, that would indeed obstruct their livelihood—and forbidding it would be right. Today farmers devote themselves to grain and artisans to tools; the four classes each pursue their own calling—when have they ever lavished their labor on coin? That is why the sage kings created a token of no intrinsic use to circulate goods of real value, avoiding spoilage and sparing the cost of transport—this is why coin succeeded tortoise shells and cowries and has never been abandoned across the ages. Grain and cloth are treasures meant for food and clothing; if they are now parcelled out to serve as currency, the waste will be enormous. They are further worn down in merchants' hands and wasted in cutting and trimming—this harm has been plain since antiquity. As Zhong Yao said, "Crafty men compete to hoard damp grain for profit and weave thin silk to pass as currency." In the Wei dynasty severe punishments were imposed, yet the practice could not be stopped. That is why Sima Zhi argued that using coin not only enriches the state but also reduces the need for harsh punishments. Coin fell out of use because warfare and disorder persisted so long that it was abandoned of its own accord; there was a reason for it, as at the end of the Han. Now that coin is in use, to abolish it would be to strip the common people of their wealth overnight. If one gathered all the grain in the realm to feed everyone, some granaries would overflow while others would lack even a peck in store; to move supplies between them so the poor could draw on the rich—the means to do this truly depends on coin. Abolish it overnight and it becomes worthless scrap; those who hold coin but no grain would all sit helpless and starve—this is the immediate harm of cutting off coin. Moreover, judging from present conditions, regions that use coin are not poor, and regions that use grain are not rich. The people have long been accustomed to coin; to change the system would surely breed confusion. As the saying goes, "Unless the profit is a hundredfold, do not change your trade." How much more convenient is coin than grain? Under Emperor Ming of Wei, coin was abolished and grain used as currency—for thirty years. Because it proved inconvenient for the people, the whole court debated the matter at length. Talented statesmen all agreed that coin should be restored; the people had no objection, and the court had no dissent. They still abandoned grain and cloth in favor of coin—enough to show the defects of grain-and-cloth currency, as proven by experience. Some say the Wei restored coin because they had long gone without it and accumulated vast stores, hoping thereby to enrich the public treasury and strengthen the state. That is almost certainly wrong. Long ago Duke Wen of Jin deferred Jiu Fan's counsel but honored Ji Zi's pledge first, holding that a moment's merit was nothing compared to benefit lasting ten thousand generations. At that time famous worthies sat in the ranks and gentlemen filled the court; they debated the welfare of the realm and were about to settle the essential methods of statecraft. If grain had truly been more convenient than coin, they would never, in good conscience, have sacrificed a lasting institution for a moment's gain—that much is certain. They acted from hardship and sought reform—changing course and starting anew. Near the end of Emperor Xiaowu's reign the realm was at peace; seasons were mild and harvests abundant; the people were content in their work, and grain and cloth themselves grew plentiful, nearly to the point of abundance in every home—facts show that coin did the people no harm. Recently warfare has broken out again and again, famine has followed in its wake, and hunger and cold have not been relieved—that is the real cause. Your Lordship has already come to the people's aid, transforming what they see and hear, promoting the teaching of agriculture, clarifying statutes to expand farming, granting the seasons to the people so each may follow his calling; the idle will return home, those chasing profit will cease—and the fields will be tilled with vigor until no land lies fallow. From this point on, peace and prosperity are sure to follow—why worry whether there will be enough food and clothing? In my humble view, abolishing coin is no remedy for these ills."
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''
Xuan also proposed restoring corporal mutilation. Linzhi argued: "Tang and Yu used symbolic punishments, while Yu of Xia established capital statutes—because simplicity and decadence differed, yet the goal of transforming society was the same. Leniency and severity complement each other; each must change as circumstances require. The Documents says, "Punishments are light in one age and heavy in another"—meaning they must follow the times. In the Three Dynasties customs were pure and affairs simple, so few fell under penal statutes; but at the end of an age customs grow crafty and affairs pressing, and people constantly fall into the net of the law. If the three thousand statutes were applied in a declining age, the innocent would surely suffer excess punishment—this is why the Five Emperors did not follow one another's laws, and why corporal mutilation cannot be fully restored. Emperor Wen of Han acted from compassion, grieving that offenders had no path to reform; he reformed the ancient laws and claimed punishments were set aside—yet the names were mild while the reality was harsh, and in the end the people suffered all the more. When Emperor Xiaojing succeeded to the throne, he lightened and softened the penalties. Softened penalties made the people lax and failed to restrain wrongdoing; the ideal of hitting the mean in punishment is why past ages praised it—yet generation after generation debated the matter without finding the true balance. After warfare and famine, ever more people fell under the law. The punishment of exposure in the marketplace originally meant amputation of the right foot; Emperor Wen made one error, and later rulers inherited it without reform—this is why former worthies grieved over it, debating the matter without resolution. Zhong Yao and Chen Qun differed slightly in their views, but both wished to replace exposure in the marketplace with amputation of the right foot. Had their counsel been followed, many more lives would have been spared. Commuting death to lesser penalties is indeed a lightening of the law, yet people heed what is visible and ignore what is hidden, forget what is distant and fear what is near—hence inscriptions on bowls and bowstrings worn as reminders. Petty men are especially prone to this: what the eye does not see they neglect; what is set before them daily startles the heart. From this it follows that harsh punishments do not necessarily prevent harm, and mild ones do not necessarily fail to inspire fear—yet one can preserve lives and allow families to flourish; benevolence aids society, and the benefit extends to all. Moreover, today's chief problem is flight and evasion; habitual rebels who will not reform have nowhere to hide—visible punishment would warn those not yet guilty and cut off evil at its root. As for the remaining statutes, the old system should stand. I do not claim to have found the perfect mean—I offer only this limited view through a narrow tube."
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西 簿
Xuan loved men who attached themselves to him and flattered him, but Linzhi could not bend to his will and therefore won no favor. He was transferred to extraordinary attendant of the scattered cavalry in the Chu regime. When his mother died he resigned his office. When his mourning ended he was appointed left western aide of the minister of works, but because his father had retired from office he resigned on his own account. At that time Sima Xiuzhi was interior administrator of Kuaiji and rear general, and he again appointed Linzhi as his chief clerk. When his father died he left office. When mourning ended he served as chief clerk of the grand marshal, left assistant of the masters of writing, and attendant clerk of Yang Province, distinguishing himself in each post.
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便調
At that time all officials were ordered to submit practical proposals; deliberators held that schools should be restored, punishments administered justly, official posts reviewed, promotions and demotions clarified, hidden talent promoted, and agriculture and levies simplified. Beyond the general deliberations, Linzhi submitted a separate proposal: "Seals and stamps distinguish offices and ranks and establish bonds of trust. No office is greater than the emperor's, and no rank more exalted than duke or marquis. Yet the imperial seal passes from dynasty to dynasty, and hereditary seals pass from generation to generation—their value lies in continuity, and there is no need to remake them. Today only the commandant's post keeps a single seal throughout; all other officials within and without the court receive a new seal with every transfer—and I cannot see the rationale for this. If the argument is that officials bear different surnames and therefore differ from hereditary succession, the difference between successive dynasties is far greater still. If one speaks of rank and regalia, the honor of duke and minister does not equal the weight of emperor and king; if the fear is the ill omen of executed ministers, then the Han used the Qin seal; their dynasty lasted four hundred years, and no one ever heard that because Ziying was executed and the state fell, the seal was cast aside. The honor of emperors and dukes does not hesitate over a transmitted seal—why should humble ministers scruple over keeping their present stamps? Historical records know nothing of this practice; by analogy it contradicts its own standard. Yet year-round carving and casting wastes labor and material; the expense in gold, silver, copper, and charcoal is beyond reckoning—this is not the way to follow established practice and simplify affairs. I hold that all officials should use a single seal without the trouble of remaking them. Only when new offices are created, or seals are too few for the officials, or inscriptions are damaged, should new seals be cast—then it would aid the imperial treasury, not merely bring a small benefit."
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He also said, "The cypress gate and funeral display do not appear in the ritual canon; they arose in late antiquity, custom hardened into habit, and thus they became established practice. From the Son of Heaven down to the common people, the practice has its reasons; to abolish it suddenly would surely cause alarm. Yet if it serves no genuine purpose but violates ritual propriety, keeping it offers no clear benefit and removing it no clear loss—one should follow the ancient canon and reform later errors, especially since the wasteful expense truly harms the people! Most funeral rites for gentlemen come from village custom; each occasion costs tens of thousands, draining the people's wealth while serving no worthy purpose. Among the poor and humble, each strives to exhaust himself; though his house may be as bare as a hanging bell, none fail to pour out property and spend every penny—is this what is meant by burying with ritual? I hold that one should strictly follow the ancient canon, abolish the cypress-gate display entirely, and mark mourning with a plain fan—enough to show bereavement."
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綿 綿 使 綿 便 綿 使
He also said, "Formerly, during famine, grain and silk were both costly; afterward grain prices recovered, but silk is now twice as dear. As silk has grown costly, sericulture has expanded; though diligence has doubled, prices still do not fall. I believe there is a clear reason for this. Before the recent troubles, military equipment used only armor; robes, padded coats, and vests were reserved for battle, stored in armories, and never damaged. Today ceremonial guards, palace guards, and envoys on patrol or escort duty all use robes and padded coats—not in one office alone, but in every army alike. Silk and cloth wear out easily and cannot last long. Worn by day against the cold and by night for sleep, they are torn and ruined before a year has passed. Whenever new silk reaches market, people exchange tax grain to buy it; government offices compete to purchase in sums of millions; prices keep rising—private clothing grows costly and government storehouses are emptied. What the palace guard requires cannot be abolished, but for the rest one should return to armor as before. For minor escort and reception missions, weapons alone should suffice—no need for armor and padded coats. If use is simplified, prices will naturally fall."
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使
He also said, "Not to be ashamed of plain food—only a gentleman can manage this. Luxury at table has been the fashion for a long time. Though broad reform is now under way, this custom has not changed. What pleases the palate is a single flavor, yet the spread must fill a square zhang; beyond what suits the mouth, all is expense to please the eye—the rich display pride, the poor exhaust their estates; all despise it, yet none can stand apart. I hold that grades should be set so that luxury and frugality have a proper mean; those who do not reform should be demoted and censured—then the transformation toward virtue and frugality will spread within days."
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西 西
He was promoted to gentleman of the ministry of personnel in the masters of writing. In the sixth year of Yixi, when Emperor Gaozu held the post of general who pacifies the west, he appointed Linzhi chief clerk and attendant of the prince of Langye as grand marshal. He was also appointed chief clerk to Emperor Gaozu's pacify-the-north and campaign-the-west commands and promoted to palace attendant. When the Song regime was first established, he was appointed palace attendant of the Song state. He was sent out as administrator of Wu Commandery and was dismissed for official misconduct.
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使 ' ' 使 使
In the second year of Yongchu he became imperial censor. He was clear in statutes and upright in law, yielding to no pressure. He memorialized to impeach the minister of works Xu Xianzhi: "I have heard that serving superiors by upholding the law is respect, and governing subordinates with authority is order. Only then are court statutes clear and the multitude governed with dignity. When this way is neglected, the net of law collapses. On the seventh day of this month I attended the crown prince's regular assembly. When the assembly ended the carriages departed, and I waited at the gate for the audience to close. A man on horseback blocked my carriage; I had my officers seize him and ordered him driven away. The man cursed my officers; I questioned him and intended to take his name. Whenever there is official business I always fear disorder and tell my men not to pursue it—but this man alone would not stop cursing, so I ordered his name taken. The man would not dismount and kept shouting; two ceremonial attendants ran up and struck my officers. Ni Zong, clerk of the minister of works, also pulled the ceremonial attendants' men and struck my subordinates. Zong said, "How dare the censor commit violence and seize the minister's men! Every man the censor seizes, the ceremonial attendants bind and take away. I ordered my subordinates not to fight; the violence was overwhelming, and only after a while did it disperse. Another crowd gathered beside my carriage; my officers had seized Fan Mazi—they beat him until he collapsed and could not return to the censorate. I was taking the record myself; there was no confrontation—yet Zong dared, riding the wave of violence, to seize the prisoner by force. The minister of works Xu Xianzhi was in the same row of carriages; with such disorder, some say he did not restrain it, others say he tried but could not stop it. To indulge without restraint already violates the statutes of the state; to restrain yet fail to stop is likewise without proper authority. He allowed assault on the censorate; his violent reputation was notorious; he indulged Zong and the rest without inquiry or correction—damaging the state's authority and lacking the bearing of a great minister; without standards, upon what can moral discipline rest? Xianzhi holds the foremost position at court and administers the capital region; his office is weighty, and all officials look to him. Yet he could not uphold the court's statutes and enforce this standard of conduct. The result was that subordinates ran wild and insulted the censorate; violence arose from the capital itself—what is called having a low wall and leaping over it oneself. Moreover Zong led the forcible seizure; even if he is not prosecuted, these breaches warrant censure and demotion. I request that Xianzhi be removed from office and sent home with the title of duke. The offense of Zong and the rest has already been referred to the clerical censor for investigation and disposition." An edict said, "Petty men are hard to restrain; the minister of works is not to be questioned; the rest as memorialized." Xianzhi, holding the foremost post at court, did not wish to display a violation of law before others. At that time Xianzhi also governed Yang Province; Linzhi's younger brother Qiong was attendant clerk, and Xianzhi had Qiong intercede with Linzhi to suspend the case. Linzhi would not agree. Qiong pressed him repeatedly. Linzhi said, "I have offended the chancellor; the punishment should stop with me alone. You certainly ought not to suffer by association—why press so earnestly?" From then on the hundred officials were awed into dignity and none dared violate the prohibitions. Emperor Gaozu greatly praised him; passing the Orchid Terrace, he paid a personal visit. He also served as grand rectifier of his native province and was promoted to minister of the imperial ancestral temple. He did not manage estates; his household was especially poor and plain. In the first year of Jingping he died, at the age of fifty-five. He was posthumously enfeoffed as minister of ceremonies.
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His son Miao had his father's manner and rose to attendant clerk of Yang Province. Miao's son Ji has a separate biography. Ji's younger brother Daocun, in the Daming era of Emperor Shizu, served as gentleman of the yellow gate in the ministry of personnel, chief clerk of the vanguard army of the prince of Linhai Zixu, and administrator of Nan Commandery. When the prince of Jin'an Zixun established a rival regime, Daocun became palace attendant and acted for Yong Province. When the affair failed he took his own life.
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使 使 使
The historian writes: What the people's livelihood values above all are food and wealth. Wealth circulates currency; food is the heaven of the people. Therefore the nine measures were spread by the Agricultural Sovereign, and strings of cowries arose in high antiquity. Formerly, when the pure people had not yet dispersed, desires were few and sustaining life was easily accomplished. When one man plowed the fields, surplus grain filled the room; when one woman wove, she had clothes enough to cover her body. Though vigorous trade universally aided the needy, the benefit of tortoise shells and cowries was on the whole slight. Yet affairs corrupt and change; deceit arises in succession; toiling in darkness and suffering forced labor, farmers left their fields for trade; merchants' work was easy, secondary pursuits spread and grew, and the currency in circulation was no longer what the first makers intended. Thereupon they competed for rarities seldom seen, hoarding from afar goods scarcely known; pearls and kingfisher feathers sped without feet, silk rugs and patterned rhinoceros horn flew without wings; all under Heaven was adrift, and all alike abandoned the root for secondary pursuits. In times of abundance they shared the resources of many harvests; in famine and disaster they again diminished what farming households had stored. Though coin might fill a foot measure, it could not relieve famine in the age of Yao; though cowries might be wheel-sized, they truly could not quench thirst in the age of Tang—the pestilence of this harm has already grown deep. It would indeed be fitting to abolish coin altogether and use only grain and cloth, so that the people know the path of laboring for life—there is no other way. A thousand bolts of cloth as currency is harder to manage than carrying a jade disk in one's bosom; ten thousand bushels as a market transaction is not easier than crossing a district—thus secondary crafts could restrain themselves and wandering idlers would know to return home. Yet as years pass, the people grow accustomed to the system: some treasuries overflow with rotting strings of cash while the high granaries stand empty; some households hoard coin while good fields lie untilled. If the system were changed overnight, abolished and unused, the medium on which exchange depends would vanish from one day to the next—though this reaches the heart of the matter, it cannot be done at once. First one should cut ornament and stop falsity, return to simplicity and revert to antiquity, cast jade disks into hidden peaks and pearls into clear ravines. Then drive the people of an age back to farming and sericulture, until silk and grain overflow in abundance, common as water and fire. Then wash away round coin, melt and cast until none remain, establish institutions to last forever—every household praising benevolence: would this not surpass even the age of Tang? Huan Xuan grasped the beginning but not the end; Kong Linzhi saw the end but not the root—did they consider that circumstances open and close? Can a one-sided argument truly stand?
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