← Back to 宋書

卷六十七 列傳第二十七 謝靈運

Volume 67 Biographies 27: Xie Lingyun

Chapter 67 of 宋書 · Book of Song
← Previous Chapter
Chapter 67
Next Chapter →
1
Biography 27: Xie Lingyun
2
便
Xie Lingyun was a native of Yangxia in Chen commandery. His grandfather Xuan had been Jin's General of Chariots and Cavalry. His father Min had been slow-witted from childhood, held the post of Secretary Gentleman, and died young. Lingyun showed exceptional brilliance even as a boy. Xuan was astonished and told those close to him, "I fathered Min—how could Min have fathered Lingyun!"
3
In his youth Lingyun was devoted to study and read widely; in literary excellence none in the lands south of the Yangzi could rival him. His uncle Hun on his father's side took a special liking to him. He inherited the title Duke of Kangle, with a fief of three thousand households. Under the usual rule for hereditary dukes, he was appointed supernumerary attendant cavalier, but he declined the office. He served as acting adjutant on the staff of the Prince of Langye, who held the post of grand marshal. By nature he was lavish and proud. His carriages and dress were strikingly fine, and he often redesigned garments and furnishings in new styles. People took him as a fashion setter, and everyone called him "Xie of Kangle." When Liu Yi, General Who Pacifies the Army, was stationed at Gushu, he appointed Lingyun recorder on his staff. When Yi moved his garrison to Jiangling, he again appointed Lingyun attendant gentleman on the guard army staff. After Yi was put to death, the High Ancestor provisionally appointed him adjutant to the grand commandant. He later entered the capital as director of the secretariat but was dismissed for an offense.
4
使
While the High Ancestor marched on Chang'an, Daolian the General of Agile Cavalry stayed behind to guard the capital. Lingyun was provisionally made advisory adjutant on his staff, then promoted to attendant gentleman of the palace secretariat, and later served as advisory officer to the heir apparent's central army and as attendant gentleman at the yellow gates. On a mission to offer congratulations to the High Ancestor at Pengcheng, he wrote the "Rhapsody on Recording the Campaign." The preface reads:
5
西 使 沿
It is said that light and dark hold different stations, and steadfastness and decline follow different courses. Though the seasons revolve, ages of disorder outnumber ages of order; lasting peace is therefore rare in the long run, while ruin spreads easily like a flood. When the Jin royal house [lacuna] the Fen and Yellow Rivers and moved its seat to Wu and Chu, it passed through nine reigns and more than a century. The west had no hope of relief from Qin, and the east nursed the shame of three defeats. Calamity piled upon calamity for a very long time. Moreover the imperial tombs lay shrouded in shadow, so that loyal devotion could not be properly paid. As the years wore on, the court's heart turned ever farther from the north. A blessed age was rising and the moment had come. The Duke of Song, as chief minister, held fast to the right course, turned the wheel of state, restored order within the empire, and cleared the distant frontiers. Because the realm was not yet reunified, he constantly sat uneasy on his throne, his mind full of concern. Heaven's mandate was stirring again: the obscure and weak received their moment, tortoise and milfoil confirmed the grand design, and omens and auspicious signs appeared in abundance. Then, reverent toward Heaven and in harmony with the signs, he followed destiny's promptings, raised an army to end the fighting, and personally led a campaign of hard exertion. On the dingyou day of the fifth month of the twelfth year of Yixi, he solemnly proclaimed the punitive expedition, issued orders to the six armies, mustered troops in the capital region, and encamped the host on the Bian River. A thousand warships with spirit prows, ten thousand thundering supply trains, armored horsemen crowding every road, and flying banners that blotted out the sun. He separately charged his generals with wise counsel and generous strategy—tactics more subtle than the Three Stratagems and principles as profound as those in the Six Secret Teachings. Before his weapons had even flashed in full, the enemy fell at Jinyong; as soon as his bow was drawn, the foe fled in rout from Huatai. In less than a month, victory was reported from both fronts. His great achievement and abundant virtue were unmatched in all history. The emperor, moved by the hardships recalled in "Dongshan," rejoiced in his glory reaching to Heaven; at daybreak he rose from troubled sleep and sent his envoy across the plains and marshes. I was holding a post in default and was wrongly assigned this special mission; compared with the earlier odes, "Splendid the Blossom" left me ashamed, and I could offer no relief to the weary soldiers on the march. I departed in mid-winter and returned with my report at the spring equinox. My route passed nine garrison districts and stretched more than a thousand li. I traveled along the Yangzi and crossed the Huai, went upstream toward the Si and Bian, studied the cities in detail, and surveyed mounds and tombs on every side. As I lingered over ancient sites, my heart was full. Long ago my imperial ancestor held a feudal domain and received his charge on the Huai and Xu. His way was rooted like the mulberry, and his merit was built through humane rule. Many years had passed, markets and courts had changed, yet his great enterprise endured, and I was bound in longing for that brighter age. I then sought out the old inhabitants and walked in the footsteps of the past. Deep emotion and heavy sighs overcame me; my heart ached and tears fell. I therefore set down what I had heard and seen and wrote the rhapsody "Recording the Campaign," so that though times change and fade, something of them might endure. The text reads:
6
We trace our line to the great house of Lieshan and inherit the bright glory of the fire officer. He raised up glorious service after the age of Tang and laid his grievances before the Zhou king. His merit was matched to his mandate and he took his rightful place; he received the sacred jade tablet that defined his domain. Through glorious ages his house stood plain and bright; in the middle period it grew rich and flourishing. His house followed the Way and his virtue shone; his influence spread through the world and his transforming power was exalted. I set my hopes on the footprints of the past and examined my own slight worth to keep sorrow far away. Divination with milfoil and tortoise first revealed estrangement; advance and withdrawal depended on when to act and when to hide.
7
Sheltered by constant kindness that is never cast aside, I rely on partial success that is never forgotten. His light shines even in darkness and shares its warmth; his favor, the longer it lasts, grows ever more personal. I see myself as late grass, frail and slight, and look up to the lush verdure of spring. I trail my shoots onto the pine and raise slender branches along orchid-lined paths. He grants generous favor in abundance; to repay even a speck of dust seems beyond any deadline. I rejoice in the peace and brilliance of the age and in the solemn, well-governed imperial Way.
8
When the king founded the realm, he marked the regions and fixed the borders; inner and outer were set right, and the center and the barbarians were kept distinct. From the "Lesser Ya" odes down to the histories of Ban Gu, the Rong and Man grew fiercely strong and had to be punished and destroyed. Thus King Xuan took up arms against the Xianyun, and the founding emperor of Han was then campaigning against the Xiongnu. Yet they raided from the capital region to the Jing River, from the frontier passes to the plains. They peered at the suburbs and watched the frontier towns, [lacuna]. They took King Xie's forced exile as a model and rose on the unrest that had not yet been settled. They seized the three metropolitan districts of Qin and captured the two capitals of glorious Zhou. They fortified the Xiao and Mian passes to command the terrain and held the winding defiles as a barred gateway. Families forever yearn for their native soil, and the state longs to return to the tombs of its forefathers. They await the long-deferred age of peace and now belong to the sage ruler who answers the call of the times. Earth extends its reach through the four great rivers; Heaven lends its light to sun, moon, and stars. Water moistens the earth in manifest union; fire rises to Heaven in fellowship with mankind. Only the chief minister's sage wisdom, in the chaos of a new age, wove the great design of state. He gathered all schools of thought into a true vision and balanced the five talents in equal measure. He grasped the moment's turning point as if reading it in jade, and at the brink of the pit he once lifted the people to safety. Tortoise and milfoil confirmed the omen; the living and the dead were of one mind. Following Heaven's mandate he carried out punishment, and the minister of rites reviewed the penalties in detail. He raised the battle standards and chose his troops, took up the battle-axe and raised the war banners. Bows and arrows bore all the loyal resolve of Chu; spears and halberds alone embodied the martial spirit of Wu.
9
西 宿
Swiftly the three wings formed the fish-scale formation; the two wings swept forward like geese in flight. Before the army even formed its ranks in the capital region, his might had already shaken Qin and Ji. He brought stern justice to Weicheng and gentle peace to the bend of the Luo. Compared with all antiquity, his design had no parallel; searched through the records of the past, none matched it. Once the west grieved at marching east; now on the northern campaign the south is filled with sorrow. Was this only the usual feeling of court and country? It stirred the emperor's deepest thoughts. He sang of drizzling rain as in the "Bin Airs" and took up "Gathering Thorn-fern" from the Zhou odes. He rejoiced that victory was secured at Jinyong and lingered over the season when the war chariots had moved. He waited a thousand li away, moved by distance; he gazed across the horizon, holding to the promised day. He charged this humble minister to offer congratulations and bear the royal command to the river's bank. At evening they gave a farewell feast and I made ready to depart; at dawn I set out, lodged overnight, and spoke my farewells. The year was already late and my cares multiplied; the day was passing and I clung to those I must leave. I could not pay full respect at my native place and bade farewell to the long-familiar steps of the courtyard. I passed through deep clouds, dim and close, and met plain snow drifting down. I crossed frozen rapids into icy clarity; the wind, sharp in the reeds, lifted a note of grief. Feeling springs from the root and easily swells; even slight things are hard to bear in the heart. Though I pressed on diligently along the road, bitter grief came like a wall collapsing inward.
10
祿 駿 西
Then I passed the Pheasant Gate, crossed the floating bridge, gazed from Bell Cliff, and went over Zha Pond. I surveyed the tangled disorder of the Yongjia era and traced the restored order of the Jianwu reign. At that time the court neglected the imperial regalia within, while the Rong and Di harassed them from without. Men of worth were swept adrift, and the common people were torn apart. Jin still had its sacrifices, and blessing and rank returned. The two bright rulers looked down from on high; at the twenty-first year they escaped calamity. The Primal Emperor was born with virtue to receive Heaven's mandate and first brought back light to the yang realm. Emperor Ming sought to follow the later martial ruler and raised a successor age to put down rebellion. Emperor Jianwen held to the Way through inner sincerity, and therefore in gentle rule punishments fell into disuse. Emperor Xiaowu set himself aside to rely on the worthy and pacified the outer realm while governing within. Watching the daily change he practiced restraint, hoping that a harmonious age might yet be attained. He grieved that the Long'an era brought invaders and mourned the shattering of the sacred jade and tortoise. Disasters and evil omens ravaged the coastal lands, and border warfare entangled the realm for a full twelve-year cycle. At times the court could lean only on fragmented allies like Jin and Zheng, and the state's domain shrank to a mere hundred li. Thanks to his heroic planning and stewardship, he broadly aided others and forgot himself in the cause. He held the inner realm and eased its fears, and cleared the outer marches, washing away the filth of disorder. Dark omens blocked the sun, and the throne's foundations gave way. There were sighs like those in "Shu's Lament," and longings like "Wild Geese" with no hope of return. He looked to Heaven's true mandate, acted in accord with the times, and seized the turning point. He rallied the people's desire to serve, and all the realm turned to him as one. He swept away the foul vapors of accumulated gloom and parted the clouds to let bright light shine through. He restored the shadowed imperial tombs at Pingling and brought the seven ancestral temples back to their former dignity. He simplified forced labor and encouraged farming, rewarding every loyal effort and distinguishing true devotion. He brought harmony to the ancestral rites and the age, [lacuna]. He swept fugitive rebels from the Han Ford on the Yangtze and cleansed usurpers from the Min Mountains in Shu. Barbarians who nested in the western forests led their elephants trunk by trunk to drink at deep springs. He bestowed caps and robes with grace, and they pondered righteousness; they put on official regalia and came to submit.
11
沿
He looked upon Yecheng and turned north, cherishing how culture and merit had been gathered and raised up. Without a sovereign's well-being, how could there be excellent ministers to serve as his arms and legs? It is like knowing the rhythm by listening to the melody, or reading the design by seeing how the threads are strung. Their enterprise grew ever more intricate yet refined, and though affairs multiplied, nothing was harmed. He paused at the twin banks of Shitou and traced the Sun clan's earliest foundations. Han Chinese refugees fortunately escaped the net of chaos and, relying on the river barrier, held out and endured. At first like a magpie rising at Fuchun, then truly like a whale leaping from the river's edge. For three generations the state prospered, but after five false rulers the royal line was destroyed. Seeing how success and failure followed one another, it was still the proverb: when the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold. They marked twelve years as one cycle — yet how could Wu remain secure once Shu had fallen? Everyone else missed the signs hidden in the strategy, but Yang Hu alone saw where the logic led. He urged building defenses at Guangwu to make the point clear, and established Xiangyang as a strategic bulwark. They held Jiankang as if it were already lost, and along ten thousand li of frontier, who could stand against them? He despised the twisted words of Lu Bao and the slanders spread from Jingling. He reproached the court for fearing censure, and turned to the old annals with a deep sigh.
12
Wang Dun, pampered by royal favor, turned against the throne; the foe grew powerful and the state broke apart. Those who ask about seizing the tripod — what path is there? They must first destroy the men of worth. Consider how nature assigns different roles: though their paths diverged, each in the end earned its praise. Some advanced or retreated through folly or wisdom; for others, rise and fall flew straight as an arrow. Xie An concealed his ambitions and entrusted his counsel, and in the end preserved himself and his household. Zhou Yi showed forthright integrity yet fell into rebellion; he clung to righteousness yet destroyed himself.
13
He scanned the four quarters with anxious eyes and lamented that the royal road was choked. The mad remnants of the Gan-Yue cult dared to invade across the Five Ridges. Twin peaks seemed to crumble in midstream, and their fierce power rivaled that of old Jing and Ying. Thunder seemed to gather at the emperor's throne, and arrowheads flew through the palace halls. At that time the court debated abandoning the capital, and the people had no heart to die in its defense. The armies were worn down by long campaigns, and the city walls had never been properly fortified. Safety and danger were grossly unequal in strength, and the mismatch between the few and the many was plain for all to see. Splendid was the profound counsel; he refined its master strategy. He held his forces in check and waited for the right moment, then pursued the fleeing enemy and ran them down. At Lei Pool his banners blazed forth; then at Lake Poyang he destroyed and swept clean the enemy. He brought peace and order to the capital region, dismantled redundant fortresses, and eased the people's labor.
14
Huan Xuan built an altar at White Stone and set himself up as ruler; two worthless rebels defied all authority. They trampled the inner palace in shameful disgrace and attacked the ancestral temple with fire. He mourned Wang Dao's self-reproach and praised Liu Yu for establishing his loyal merit. The Way was bent by calamity and decay, yet merit never fell short of true benevolence. I asked about the hostel of the falling star and searched for ancestral homes among the ruins of Wu. No sign remained of steps or doorways; thorny weeds choked the overgrown clearings. The joyful days of that generation live on in memory, as vivid to me as the present. I sighed at Qi's songs at Shuangjiu and mourned to Tang's lyrics in the "Discarding the Juniper" ode.
15
西
At Xu Shou I mourned the puppet Sun ruler, where king and court once held the realm in fealty. Heaven's timing favored the punitive campaign, and they sent letters of submission to King Wu. By the time the northwest's lifeline was cut, the southeast could no longer rally the reign's order. It was truly Juping's prescience—and truly an omen of the later restoration. By the Left Historian's recorded evidence, how can such shadows and traces even be reckoned? Crossing the river at Jiangcheng, I traced blame to its source and saw that confronting the mighty was folly without a plan. Tired of the grand victories at the Purple Residence, he was content to ride the waves and wander far. He crossed Yunmeng Marsh and traced south, then reached the Zhe River and floated east. Along the river he set repeating crossbows and waited for dragons in the midstream currents.
16
駿
Passing through Fangyu, he came at last to Ouyang. He entered the lands of Jiangdu and made camp in the countryside of Guangling. The vast thousand li fell away behind him as he pushed upstream against the rushing river. He passed Red Embankment time and again, and surging flood rose as he crossed the Twin Gates. Looking north along the road stirred deep thoughts; turning to Eastern Hill delighted his eyes. Thick forest and sparse undergrowth, winding paths, jagged stones, and mountains that loop and fold. Rapids drove the water into a fierce rush; sunlight glinting on stone announced the rising sun. He saw that light shines on all without favor—and resented how a returning stream cannot wash away the stain. He envied the small fish darting underwater and watched gulls wheel down to dip and feed. In rise and fall alike they yielded to their nature; glancing at his own slight frame, he felt immeasurably distant.
17
便 忿
Then he checked his feelings, cleared his mind, and weighed ease against hardship. To cross brought good fortune; Heaven's natural barrier brought hardship. For the foe it was an obstacle; for the realm it was an advantage. Goujian set out to build his hegemony at Langye, and Fuchai contested for mastery at Huangchuan. Minister Ge sighed and yearned for righteousness; Lady Cao was stricken with shame at Qian Hun. From the high battlements I took a long look and saw the rise and fall of Liu Bi of Wu. A warning against the rebellious spirit of the southeast—and the moment that left Empress Liu awestruck before a sage. They drew on the riches of salt and iron and faced the reckless swiftness of Huai and Chu. They offered seat and cane to soothe tempers, yet in rage one struck the chessboard—and conflict erupted. They raged at Yuan Ang for nursing disaster and lamented that only the Household Commandant was pointlessly ruined. Without the Marquis of Tiao's loyal resolve, the seven states would have trampled the righteous order. They praised how the Han princes governed their people and searched out worthy men to draw in enlightenment. The prince asked who among the eloquent still remained—and was told Zou Yang and Mei Sheng. Zou Yang held to loyal speech in Wu's court; Mei Sheng argued righteousness in Liang's hall. He showed his brilliant gifts in the Rabbit Garden and, though he spoke plain truth, was spared the lash. A thousand years had passed since Confucius's home; profound Confucianism had been thinned to shallow study of the later age. He revered Dong Zhongshu's calm dignity and followed, in scholar's garb, the path of those who came before. He faced the park without stealing a glance and, behind lowered curtains, held forth on the order of things. The proud pair Duan and Fei crossed paths with the treacherous pair Hong and Yan. He lamented that the Way had no proper age and picked his way along a dangerous road on cautious feet.
18
When he heard of Emperor Xuanwu's grand inspection, he marched the host back to this town. After the dynastic fortune shifted eastward, the realm first prospered by meeting crisis with resolve. White standards rose on the Qin Mountains; red banners unfurled over the Ba River lands. Fearing the imperial line would snap, they removed the corrupt and honored the virtuous. They celebrated victories meant to last for ages—and mourned how the heir overturned the imperial standard. When virtue did not mount the throne but a regent seized succession, the blow surpassed Yu's flood—and ruin was inevitable.
19
西
At Buqiu I lingered in deep reflection, honoring the Grand Tutor's living legacy of arms. I recalled the afterglow of noble withdrawal and took up the frayed thread of simple integrity. The people's hearts answered with longing for relief, while the state in crisis hungered for consoling rule. As a boat waits for its oars, as the angler needs his line. In every public move he sought harmony, wielding benevolence in word and in silence alike. He enlarged the nine currents of learning to brace the realm's four pillars, and renewed the ancestral graves to purify the old domains. He renounced the triumph at Xizhou Gate and turned homeward toward Dongshan—as toward myself. I mourned that soaring south had opened the age's fortune, yet grieved that the Peng's wings had never fully spread.
20
宿
From Jintan I pushed far outward, pausing at White Horse to rest my craft. I passed through Sheyang toward the Hangou Canal, crossed the Tong-Huai, and approached Yongcheng. Tumbling ramparts, and the Huai in wild alarm; endless plain, and paths weaving everywhere. Before thorny wastes I mourned my native hills; against rushing eddies I wrestled bitter shoals. For a thousand li no mountain rose; across a hundred valleys, distant dwellings still clustered. Old weeds choked the trail; from living smoke I knew an abandoned village near. The passage is lost, yet I held that its beauty, in truth, could still delight. I had grown up on this blessed land—yet now could only lament its ruined desolation. The opening line is lost; utterly spent, I faced the year's harshest cold. Towering strat clouds rose above; the wailing storm scattered its broken sighs. Through day and night the rains hung on; I grieved as the gathered gloom began to knit. At sunset I looked for clearing skies; bright light answered as the moon climbed. I grieved like tumbleweed ripped from its root, mourning wild geese bound for the southern wilds. Humble sights pierced me with grief—what words could ease a heart such as this? I asked how long forced service would run—and trembled watching days flare up and die. I felt the Wei Poems' cry—'We must return'—and that old hope where sons would come through rain and snow. Was this not the dread of a first campaign—and the hope of storks calling from the anthills, signalling return?
21
宿 綿 西
After a night's stay—where the prior line is lost—I urged my boat toward Pi township. Xi Chezheng served Xia in office; Yi Yin as chief minister steered Tang to power. Three generations held their fief, sharing in the lords' enfeoffment at Jiantu. I lamented Zhong Ji's spoiled contempt—and how he chose ruin over survival. I admired the magistrate of Xue's wise answer—and Shi Mi's gift for holding all in order. I climbed winding walls and sought the old seat of Huaiyin. He understood the humiliation of passing under a stranger's legs—and waited his season for grand ambition. He forsook Western Chu for a better foothold and joined Southern Han to shape the realm's design. At Mengjin he routed Wei; at Jingxing he scaled the heights and Zhao fell. His mystic awe ran through Qi and Tian Heng; his last thunder shook Long Ju from the field. He saw Rang Tong and warned of Chen Xi's revolt—yet why wise at the start and foolish at the end?
22
駿
At the Yi River I dropped my oars; at Gaotai Bridge I halted and would not go on. Yellow Stone laid a hidden tryst, discerning true worth; Zhang Liang read the scene and proved his trust. True to his original heart as a man of letters, he sought the prince amid the clouded heights. Could one be free of worldly tethers in the high heavens? He held only righteous scorn for mean constraint. He first won glory at Wuguan Pass and at last extended his service to the imperial line. Through hardship and ease he turned defeat aside; in anxiety he bent with the season's demands. Splendor dimmed for Jing and Hua; I mourned the swift horses fallen from the flying chariot. Moved by the people's hunger for grain, he yearned to serve; cherishing wings at rest, he longed to beat heavenward.
23
From Chen Mountain I turned east, honoring the Prime Minister's forebears. I mourned how broken foes were nearly spent—yet their last rage still burned along the northern coast. They harried the helpless along the Huai's curve and abandoned widows and orphans on the Si's banks. He entrusted the late mandate [lacuna] upon the clouds, hoping for imperial review in the north at Lingwu. Surrender would come only at dawn—and in scorching summer he still chose his marching men. Stern awe thundered forth; then gentle warmth slowly steeped the rich earth. Jucheng fell as swiftly as clouds parting; then the army rolled through the Qi capital. Once the four frontier passes had barred all advance—what could still stand in the way? One turn of fortune, and loyal trust was secured.
24
I grieved the Han dynasty's final collapse and decay, as rebellion spread on and on until it seemed to flood the heavens. They feigned father-and-son devotion through fraud and borrowed the language of brotherhood to mask false grace. Rivaling Cao Cao in cunning and arrogance, conspirators roused treason in the eastern frontier. Before war drums could even sound at the eastern wall, the foe's head was already taken at the tower gate. I reviewed earlier records of tribute and frontier governance and tested them against what I had seen in old Xuzhou. I listened for the floating stone chimes along the Si and admired the pearl-bearing waters of the Yi. Grass slowly reclaimed the burned earth, while a lone paulownia rose from the slopes of Mount Yi. I was moved by the traces of Yu the Great in ages past and grateful for the surviving text preserved in the Documents of Xia.
25
Through long campaigns and lingering delays, my longing for the past in ancient records only grew. I pondered Bo Wen in his former fief, where all alike sought fame at Peng and Shang. I looked out on the towering peaks of Lingbi and crossed the rushing bridge at Lü County. I recalled the song sung while fording the waters—though swept along in the flood, what injury could that bring? I opened Confucius's noble questioning and spoke of destiny and life in accord with the Way. How could one rest content with hollow pedantry? I listened instead to the allegories of Zhuangzi, master of insight.
26
西 西
Then I crossed Lanshi Bridge and climbed Play Platform. I spurred my horse to the fishing shoal and drew rein at the corner of the city wall. Forever stirred by the four surrounding mountains, I shed tears beside the twin canals. I lamented how the glory of things races past like a relay station and sighed that valleys in time become rivers. The years that have gone seem boundless; deep thoughts took root and would not loosen. Touched by the imperial ancestor's luminous virtue, I sought to measure the depths with a humble heart. He sent down the wise and bright as mirrors for the age and turned his policies to the wind, making them shine abroad. When the Way had touched the depths of national peril, his grace spread far among the common people. Scholars sang the praises of his rule and teaching, and the people voiced songs of his generous grace. His reign matched the beauty praised in "Gathering Millet" and echoed the voice of "Broad Han." The Qiang, Hu, and Di spread their wings in rebellion, casting cloud-dark nets over the forbidden lands. They drove the common people into mounting misery, seized imperial parks and tombs, and buried them in ruin. Survivors were cast off to wither in Hexi, and ruin was ordered across the lands south of the Han. They struck Fangcheng and broke its gate-bolts; chaos engulfed Qiao and Ying—who could answer for it? When an age lacks talent it inherits disorder; when the times gain worthy men, good order rises. Salvation for the ancestral domain rested with recluses who bent their ambitions to the task. I entered the far-reaching feeling of letters sent on the wing and grasped the broad wisdom of rewarding the army. Awaiting the lofty vision of the enlightened ruler, past and present were joined in a single purpose. He drew profound stratagems from hidden opportunity and unleashed his spirit's edge beneath cloud-dark banners. He swept the marshes as the wind sweeps all before it and pressed into ravines until birds scattered in terror. The heartland was spared barbarian dress; here south of the Yangtze men could at last loosen their belts in peace. Having subdued Fei and Lu, he then established his stronghold at Pengcheng and Pei. He brought peace to the imperial highways within the realm and shook heaven's majesty beyond the Yellow River. He swept Eastern Qi into calm and turned west toward Xiao Pass, where peace was soon to come. When power passed from one balanced hand to another, the rise and fall of a great enterprise was truly revealed. His heart was unashamed before Yue Yi, yet his affairs recalled King Hui of Yan. He held to wisdom without self-praise, offered up his great achievements, and withdrew. He surrendered seven provinces and came here, then returned to the Five Lakes and cast aside his sleeves in departure. Great deeds were constrained within a single lifetime, yet far-reaching hopes were pressed into his later years.
27
西 [] 駿
I sought past records in the borderlands of Song and drew the Spring and Autumn from the classic of Lu. Jin made alliance with Eastern Wu at Shen; Zheng leaned on power in southern Jing. So the army was turned back at Cao Gate, intending to seal the pass at Yigeng. They harbored five defectors and so prolonged the raids, then attacked three towns to threaten Peng. I admired the loyal remonstrance of Xi Chu and rejoiced in the surprise force of Han Jue. I followed the old terrace of Xiang Yu and traced the lingering traces of Chu's hegemony. From childhood he nursed a grand ambition; at twenty he unleashed heroic vigor. His spirit towered over heaven and seemed to turn back the sun; his strength could uproot mountains and topple rushing waters. First he rose like a storm wind from Gou and Yue; midway he flashed like lightning at Heng Pass. Partial anxieties arose over trifling scruples, while he forgot that the difficult could become easy. Envy kept fine brocades from shining; thoughts of returning home drew only sighs. He killed Emperor Yi and harmed the innocent, yet [lacuna] bred suspicion toward Feng; he restrained talented men without strategy—once his position was lost, who could hold it for him? When his cause was exhausted he shut himself in ever more tightly; then he blamed Heaven and nursed his grief. Before his fine black steed he poured out his fury; in his last words he grieved for Yu Ji. Climbing to the old camp of Fan Zeng, I realized the opening strategy had never rested on true trust. He rose when Qin was debilitated and its bonds collapsing, and met the Han when its power was coalescing. Even to white-haired age at Fuling, he still wrongly believed in the weight of a sworn promise. To place one man against the Three Heroes—surely the fault lay not in his own weakness. He left Feng and Pei unseized, and so made himself no better than meat on the block and in the cauldron.
28
西 駿
I departed from Biankou to journey forth and, at Western Hills, drew up my reins. I contemplated the hidden grief of ages past and recalled the serene purity of Prince Yuan. Amid the power struggles of the Warring States he found his heart at ease in the halls of the Way. He studied with Fuqiu to cultivate virtue and joined three scholars to form a circle of like minds. Clear water springs from its first source; accumulated benevolence rests on earlier virtue. He drew out the splendid legacy of the Chu house and passed its untainted fame to generations yet to come. He won praise for his purity and detachment, and his virtue was celebrated far and wide. Some rejected favor to avoid marriage ties; others abandoned glory and refused office. Zheng kept himself safe through blunt honesty; Jun's surpassing talent cost him his life. It drives home how the thoroughfare reaches its end, revealing where a benighted age first went wrong. Once one sees that the slightest lapse is already amiss, one need not wait out the whole day. Even if evil is checked before it shows, remembering past virtue is of little avail.
29
鹿
Then came early spring, when the season opened and hidden thunder shook the creatures from their sleep. Leaves unfolded on tender branches; fragrant blossoms trimmed the newborn buds. Wheat grew lush on Mao Hill; willows trailed gently along the high city walls. I watched ospreys gather by the river and saw calling deer feeding on the marsh plants. Yi and Si lay far behind as clear streams rushed on; autumn and winter drew near as remnant winds struck. Wind rippled through orchids and the water rose in waves; grief spoke from my collar, mirrored in a sorrowful face. Sorrow filled the roots and gathered at the border; grief rose from branch tips to its full term. Alas, my journey lengthens with each passing day; I wait for the campaign to advance so I may speak of going home. I was blessed with the abundant favor of auspicious clouds and marked a double seventh in this year. I had tasted ease and pleasure in the capital district, yet still faced danger and hardship on the river road. As the homeward moon turned I lingered in longing, gazing at the tall masts until tears flowed. I prayed that the passes and Ye would soon be cleared, and awaited the imperial carriage's triumphant return. May pure customs prevail throughout the realm and great bounty spread to every corner of the land. May sage and simple each find their place, great and small, and square and circle accord with their measure. Surely the four classes will each have their rightful place, and it is meet to reap millet from the border fields. Though I suffer the awkward gait learned at Handan, perhaps a wandering path may yet be set right. To long hold to simplicity until the harvest is complete—that is the way of the plain man as well.
30
宿
Lingyun's father and grandfather were both buried in Shining County, and old homes and villas remained there; he moved his household registration to Kuaiji, built a separate estate nestled against mountains and beside rivers, and enjoyed all the splendor of a secluded life. With the recluses Wang Hongzhi, Kong Chunzhi, and others he roamed freely for pleasure, resolved to end his days there. Whenever one of his poems reached the capital, high and low competed to copy it; within a single night it spread among scholars and commoners alike; admiration poured in from far and near, and his fame shook the capital. He composed "Rhapsody on Mountain Dwelling" with his own annotations to set forth these things. It says:
31
In ancient times, dwelling in nests and caves was called cliff dwelling; building houses on mountains was called mountain dwelling; life in forests and wilds was called hill-and-garden; life in outer suburbs was called dwelling beside a city—the four are not the same, yet their logic can be inferred. As for the heart, the imperial throne is in truth no different from life at Fenyang. In outward circumstance, life in the mountains is truly unlike the bustle of the market town. Ailing, I turned to quiet ease; true to my nature, I venture to speak from what I love and write this rhapsody. Yang Xiong said: "The poet's fu is splendid yet governed by rule." The style of writing should embrace both qualities to realize its full beauty. This rhapsody treats neither the grandeur of the capital's palaces and towers nor the pomp of hunts, music, and pleasure, but the grasses and trees, streams and stones, and grain of the wild hills. My gift is less than the masters of old; my mind lives outside worldly affairs. I can perhaps manage plain song in words, but to pursue resplendent ornament lies far beyond me. I ask my readers to put aside the sumptuous phrasing of Zhang Heng and Zuo Si, and to seek instead the profound spirit of Tai Xiaowei and the Four White-haired Elders of Shangshan—to strip ornament and embrace plainness, if perchance they can meet this work in its true intent. Meaning dwells in words, yet no writing can fully contain it; one must trace what remains and search out the intent—I leave the reward of understanding to those who can receive it. The text reads:
32
Xie, ailing on the mountain summit, read the books the ancients had left behind and found his own thoughts in harmony with theirs. At ease he smiled and said: "When the Way is held weighty, worldly things grow light; when principle is preserved, mundane affairs fall away." Past and present cannot be changed; plainness and ornament each keep their proper place. The Grand Palace was no dwelling at Cloud-Girded Peak; the Crossroads Chamber was no hall of the Radiant Merit. The deep heart went onward to Ding Lake; the lofty spirit was given over to Fen Yang. I marvel at Lord Wen's renunciation of grain, yearning to follow the pine immortal on a distant journey. I praise Tao Zhu as he beats his oars, warning Wen Zhong away from future grief. They knew body and fame must part; they weighed honor against simplicity and held nothing back. How few are those who have walked the path of leading the hound—and what way remains to hear the crane's cry! 〈He smiled because his reading matched the ancients' words—when reason meets understanding, that is the fit state. Sun Quan likewise said to Zhou Yu, "Gongjin's mind is one with mine." To hold the Way weighty is to treat things lightly; to keep principle is to set affairs aside. Age and ornament may change with time, yet this point does not. Neither Cloud-Girded Peak nor Radiant Merit took delight in celestial halls; the Grand Palace and Crossroads Chamber were not places to linger—Ding Lake and Fen Yang were where they belonged. "Wencheng" refers to Zhang Liang. He gave up grain and worldly affairs to roam with Master Red Pine. "Taozhu" refers to Fan Li. On the eve of his departure, he likewise addressed Wen Zhong with words of warning. This means both sages balanced honor against simplicity, and so preserved their lives while leaving fame behind. "Leading the hound" refers to Li Si's dying sigh; "Hearing the crane" refers to Lu Ji, after his army was routed at Chengdu, saying, "I think of the cranes calling at Huating—I shall never hear them again."〉
33
If nest and burrow expose one to wind and dew, the hexagram Great Strength prescribes beams and walls to remedy the harm; if palace halls achieve splendor through jade chambers, the hexagram White Simplicity exalts garden-and-hill retreat as a world apart. Only the highest virtue [lacuna] unto mountain ravines—blessed to unite excellence without being bound. Though no market or court, winter and summer are evenly mild; though walled dwellings stand, gaudy ornament and crude plainness alike fall away. 〈The Changes states that in high antiquity men lived in caves and open country; later sages replaced this with houses, roof beams above and eaves below, to shield against wind and rain—drawing this from Great Strength. A jade hall is inherently simple; hence White Adornment refers chiefly to its topmost line. Such halls belong to another age entirely. He means that life in deep mountain ravines surpasses garden-and-hill retreat, yet avoids mere burrows in cliffs—thus freed from [lacuna], one enjoys the ease of every season; though walls are built, one need not be bound to market or court, and so forth.〉
34
使 西
In former days Zhongchang Suben spoke his wish—for flowing streams and towering peaks; Ying Qu wrote in a letter—of Mount Mang and the Luo River. Their sites were uneven and one-sided; the ground did not form a full circle. In the hidden reaches of Copper Ridge, the Zhuo clan mastered the arts of carved wood and split cloth; At the splendor of Golden Valley, Shi Chong contrived vistas of music and refined pleasure. They boast only outward landscapes in verdant profusion—yet their intent falls short of mountain dwelling in contemplative stillness. Phoenix Terrace and Cong Terrace, Yunmeng and Qingqiu, the Zhang Canal and Qi Garden, orange groves and Long Isle—though prized domains of kings who ruled a thousand chariots, none is ground fit for those who honor blessed retreat. When landscape itself is incomplete, what point is there in demanding it all at once? 〈Zhongchang Suben wrote: "Let one's home have fertile fields and a spacious estate at the foot of lofty mountains beside running streams. Channels and ponds loop about; bamboo and trees spread on every side; open paddocks ahead, fruit orchards behind." In his letter to Cheng Wenxin, Ying Qu wrote: "My field for seeking the Way lies west of the Pass—bordering the Luo to the south, anchored by Mount Mang to the north—making lofty peaks my home and deep woods my canopy." This means both men's mountain retreats lacked the perfection of a complete, all-around landscape. Yang Xiong's Rhapsody on the Shu Capital reads: "Copper Ridge extends." Zhuo Wangsun mined the hills for copper; therefore the Book of Han, Treatise on Profit and Trade, records: "The Zhuo household at Linqiong—the lord of the house held sway over the mountains and streams." In Yang Xiong's Dialects: "Between Liang and Yi, carving wood into vessels is called pi, and splitting silk for garments is called gui." Golden Valley was the country retreat of Shi Jilun, situated on the Henan frontier, graced with hills and streams, woodland, ponds, and water mills. While he held command at Xiapi, guests came and went composing verses—it became the grand literary rendezvous of an entire generation. This means that though both estates were splendid rarities, their design fell short of the spirit of quiet retreat on Pan Mountain. Phoenix Terrace was where a daughter of Qin lived during the reign of Duke Mu of Qin, that she might win the flute-master Xiao Shi. Cong Terrace was Zhao's towering pleasure-pavilion. Zhang Heng observed that Zhao first raised Cong Terrace, while Chu afterward built Zhanghua. Chu's Yunmeng—Da Zhong [lacuna] Ju's Rhapsody on Long Drinking records: King Ling of Chu roamed the heart of Yunmeng and paused atop Jing Terrace. Before him flowed the Huai; to his left rolled the waves of Dongting; to his right he turned to the tides of Poyang; southward he gazed upon the foothills of Wu Mountain—and so raised Zhanghua Terrace. This too appears in the historical records. Qingqiu in Huainan and the overseas reaches of Qi were all devoted to the chase. Sima Xiangru wrote: "To hunt in autumn at Qingqiu, to roam at leisure beyond the sea." The Zhang Canal was constructed by Shi Qi at the behest of Duke Wen of Wei as a conduit for irrigation. Qi Garden was Wei's bamboo plantation, set at a bend of the Qi River as celebrated in the Book of Songs. Orange Grove was a garden estate of Shu; Yang Xiong's Rhapsody on the Shu Capital likewise speaks of orange groves. Zuo Si noted that every household kept orchards of oranges and pomelos. Long Isle was Wu's pleasure park; Zuo Si also praises its lush demesne, fashioning river islets and sea sandbars into a garden enclosure [lacuna]. Where the text is lost, it nonetheless shows this garden's singular beauty and seclusion. A venue for revelry among lords who command a thousand chariots—not a homeland where [lacuna] may rest [lacuna]; and no landscape can boast every excellence at once—it yields only what its ground provides.〉
35
便
I contemplated how the wise steer the turnings of fate, seizing fortune's tide in guarded silence while letting principle speak for itself. I fixed my gaze on the year's close as a time to withdraw and rest, and sang of lofty merit in words meant for stone. How narrow the grief of Qu Yuan drowned in the Jiang; how pitiable Yue Yi's exile from his homeland. I chose ground where nature's spirit shines most fair, and so fulfilled the dream of dwelling on high. 〈My grandfather, General of Chariots and Cavalry, won great victories on the Huai and at Fei, and the south of the Yangzi was spared the flood of ruin. Later, after the Grand Tutor died and the great design was abandoned, he asked to resign his post and return east, seeking refuge from the turmoil at court. Fortune's turn and one's season in the light or in hiding—these are concerns of every worthy mind; hence he chose a landscape graced by nature's spirit to give voice to his wish for dwelling on high. The founding of his mountain retreat took root in this decision.〉
36
便 便
I looked up to the counsel of sages past and looked down upon what my own temperament prefers. With this frail body I surrender to restful repose, and tend my own concerns that I may claim my leisure. I felt shame before Ban Sheng's early awakening, and regret beside Shang Zi's late striving. Age and ailment came hand in hand, and with them my wish to embrace plainness and turn homeward. I took leave of lifelong companions and wandering, and made my home in the clear expanse of mountains and rivers. 〈He means that founding this mountain retreat bequeaths an example to posterity. Every temperament has its proper bent, and for him life in the mountains was the fitting choice. The Changes reads: "When evening comes, withdraw to rest." Zhuangzi says: "Look after your own mind." These two passages describe the life he chose. Ban Si had never been tainted by worldly affairs, hence 'early enlightenment'; Shang Ping had not yet freed himself from worldly burdens, hence 'late striving.' Reflecting on those two men, I find myself still behind—and now age and sickness have overtaken me as well. A will content with little and cleaving to plainness is called cheng—either suits a life in the mountains. Parting from companions and wanderings, hence 'farewell to a lifetime of friendship'; Taking refuge among mountains and rivers, hence 'dwelling in clear expanse.'〉
37
西 綿 西便
The site lay with a lake on the left and a river on the right, with islets near at hand and sandbars within reach. Mountains faced it and hills rose behind; the east was walled off and the ground fell away to the west. Waters gathered and released, drew in and flowed out, spreading through sinuous bends. Channels linked in crooked reach, now askew, now straight, now level together. 〈Mei Cheng wrote: "With the river on the left and the lake on the right, pleasure knows no limit." This was a Wu visitor's speech to the prince of Chu. He likely meant the countryside of Jiangdu—though rivers and lakes abound there, cliffs and peaks are scarce; here, rivers and lakes likewise flank both sides, but the mountain ridgelines and contours are what no walled pond-city can offer. "Going to islets and returning to sandbars" means that water surrounds the dwelling on every side; "Facing mountains and backing onto mounds" likewise means mountains to east and west; the site lies enclosed within four waters. "Embracing, containing, exhaling, and inhaling" means that a stream runs through the center as well. "Spanning gracefully and winding about" means that the shores and backs of the waters are joined in one continuous circuit. Where the terrain winds, he calls it an oblique span; where it is level and straight, he calls it lateral directness.〉
38
西 西谿 西谿西西谿便 西谿 西谿 谿 谿
To the east lie Upper Field and Lower Lake, West Pass and South Valley, Stone Barrier and Stone Cascade, Min Gorge and Yellow Bamboo. Flying springs burst from cliffs a hundred ren high; dense peaks tower and press against a thousand foothills. The long source is drawn from the distant river; the deep current branches into nearby irrigation ditches. 〈Upper Field stands at the outlet of Lower Lake and is called Field Mouth. Lower Lake lies at the lowest reach below the fields; both places boast celebrated mountains and streams. The West Stream and South Valley split the current; waters from the valley barrier are channeled by irrigation ditches into Field Mouth. The West Stream issues from West Valley Barrier in Shining county, the highest of the nearby peaks; the West Stream lies on the far side of [lacuna]. Farther within the West Stream one comes to Stone Barrier; stone blocks the way, and so the place is named for its barrier. Stone Cascade lies east of the West Stream. Nine li south of the county seat, cliffs on either side soar several dozen zhang, and water plunges from above. By the outer stream, embankments stretch for more than ten li, all alive with rushing cascades; green bamboo drapes the cliff walls on either side. Min Gorge lies on the eastern stream below Stone Cascade; its waters wind down to irrigate fertile fields. Yellow Bamboo joins it, and to the south the district reaches Pu Village.〉
39
崿西 便 崿
To the south, twin streams converge, ringed by three islets. Inner and outer waters circle back upon one another; streams and mountains divide and reunite. A crumbling cliff looms from the eastern bluff; Pan Hill presses close against the western fields. Waters brush green groves and stir the waves; they scatter white sand and raise ripples. 〈"Twin Streams" means the Shining River and the Little River. The two waters meet south of the mountain, merge, and flow on together. The Three Islets stand where the two rivers meet; sand piled along the banks built up these islet reaches. Inner and outer waters joined—that is the scene he describes. "Perilous cliff" refers to the bending river ridge. At the southern edge of the mountain dwelling, a boulder thrusts out as if about to crash into the river; every traveler who passes is seized with dread. "Pan" was the site of the county's old seat of government, on the river's [lacuna]; boulder-stones reach the sandbars, girdled with green groves and linked to white sand.〉
40
西 谿 便 西 便 便
To the west, Yang and Bin meet the peaks; Tang and Huang stretch on in succession. Shi and Bi girdle the streams; Zeng and Gu stand overlooking the river. Bamboo lines the shore in green; red stone gleams in the reflected stream. Mountains hide the moon and cast shade; trees clatter their branches and raise the wind. 〈Yangzhong and Yuanbin are both spots near the Little River where the water meets the mountains. Tang and Huang run northward from there. Shi is Stone Chamber, on the south bank at the mouth of the Little River. Bi lies on the north bank of the Little River. Both lie downstream from Yangzhong. The cliff rises forty zhang and is red in hue—hence his line about stone gleaming red in the reflected stream. West of Mount Zeng and south of Mount Gu lie estates the Prince first established; all face the river and are draped in green bamboo. When the mountains are high the moon is hidden—hence he speaks of shade; when birds gather on the branches and cry—hence he speaks of wind.〉
41
軿 軿西 軿軿軿 西 谿 軿
To the north, the Twin Wu Lakes join; two embankments link the marshes. Heng and Shi stand wholly apart; Xiu and Zhou mark opposite sides. Long dikes wind outward; spring streams pour forth in broad flood. Rocky shoals below the mountains spread into marshes; rapids over stone cut open a passage. 〈Great and Little Wu Lakes, with a mountain between them. The outer embankment loops around, northwest of the dyke. Shores that open onto the river—all are fine spots. During the Yixi era Wang Muzhi lived at Great Wu Lake; the place he first built still stands. Both embankments are long streams. The outer one runs four or five li beyond the mountain; the inner one also crosses a mountain and opens at New Barrier. Heng Mountain lies north of the country retreat. Chang Stone lies northwest of the country retreat. The Wu lakes were once an old reservoir—hence his line about winding dikes. The long creek runs very far—hence "spring streams pouring forth." At Chang Stone shoal [lacuna]—hence "rocky shoals below spreading into marshes." The inner stream spreads over stones for miles, water running over the top—hence "rapids cutting over stone and opening a passage." Mount Xiu stands to the northeast, Zhouli Mountain south of Xiu—both define the northern boundary.〉
42
谿 便 谿 谿
To the far east lie Tiantai and Tongbai, Fangshi and Taiping, the Twin Leeks and Four-Bright Peak, the Five Depths and Three Jing. Marvels recorded in apocryphal texts, responsiveness attested in numinous signs. Moss covers the stone bridge one crosses; Nan Creek winds in serpentine loops one traverses. 〈Tiantai and Tongbai—these peaks preside over more than seven counties, the sea bordering them to the south. The Twin Leeks, Four-Bright, and Five Depths all connect in one chain—a marvel unmatched elsewhere, rising higher than the Five Sacred Peaks, kin to the Three Isles of the sea. "Leek" takes its name from the vegetable. Four-Bright and Fangshi—their four faces naturally open like windows to the sky. The Five Depths—Tanji the Daoist, the Cai, Xi, Xie, and Chen families each hold one ravine; they interlock like strategic corners, and every one is a wondrous site. Three Jing stands north of Taiping. Taiping marks the foot of Tiantai. Fangshi shoots straight upward ten thousand zhang; a long stream runs below—it too belongs to the Jinyun chain. All these peaks appear in apocryphal geographies—dwellings of immortals. The vital route crosses Stone Bridge and passes Nan Creek—nowhere is human passage harder; travelers do not go beyond here.〉
43
To the far south lie Song Needle, Roosting Cock, Tang Mound, and Man Stone. Cu and Sheng face off across the ridges; Li and Meng mark separate domains. One enters the outermost inlets and circles back, lost without knowing the way. Above loom jagged peaks shrouded in mist; below lie deep waters, churning and savage. 〈Roosting Cock stands above Baokou; a side channel enters it, winding deep within the heart of four mountains. Song Needle rises above Roosting Cock, hugging the riverbank. Tang Mound joins the waterway to Taiping; above it cascades a waterfall hundreds of zhang high. Man Stone lies below Tang Mound, where Xi Jingxing founded a mountain retreat—it too belongs among the celebrated peaks. Cu and Sheng form the boundary line, eighty li from the mountain—hence "the far south." The bird track over the forward ridge is claimed to reach fifty li in height, unmatched to left or right—yet compared with the land below, the figure does not add up. Li Mountain looks marvelous from afar; White Gleam Peak is said to be the highest, with fine fields below—where Wang Jinghong built a mountain retreat. Tanji the Daoist lived on Meng Mountain, at a place called Meng Embankment—Yang Shu's polder fields. Clear streams and graceful bamboo, boulders parting in great arcs—charm in its purest form. Countless inlets and streams wind through dense woods until one loses all sense of direction; jagged cliffs and deep pools appear everywhere—not in this spot alone.〉
44
西 綿 便
Turning to the distant west— 〈The passage below is [lacuna].〉 To the far north the Yangzi flows ever seaward; the great ocean gathers and holds it. Isolated islets and swelling sandbars stretch without end; islands pile one upon another. Mountains array themselves in sheltering ranks; waters sink and swirl, soaking the shores. Here lies the boundless edge of the wild east—where wind and wave meet in restless union and strife. 〈The river runs north of the mountains to the Shangyu boundary—the Three-River Mouth—where it meets the ocean. Laozi called the sea king of all valleys because it dwells below them all. Seafaring people call a lone hill a Kun. Where sandbars rise into hills, people call them islands—islets, in other words. A shoal-rise is sand just lifting, about to become an islet—shifting without pattern, swirling and sinking in restless coils. The eastern edge of the Great Wilderness—hence "the remote extremity." Wind and waves never hold steady—hence "union and strife."〉
45
滿 西 西 便
Only to gaze upon his southern lane's [lacuna], where [lacuna][lacuna] births rocky shoals and [lacuna][lacuna] opens into broad marsh. From [lacuna] banks one sounds the depth; from sandbars one reads the shallows. When surging tides rise, Zeng Rock disappears; when the clear flood withdraws, hidden sand emerges. When wind stirs and waves build, the water surges with terrifying force. In spring and autumn, at the new moon and the full. Waves surge in startled thunder; breakers roll in endless dread. Lightning lashes; thunder breaks; torrents leap and spray in every direction. They vault sheer cliffs into jagged crests and stretch across the current in unbroken sheets. First they whirl upward and vault toward the sky; then they plunge to the depths and lay bare the gorges below. This is why the heir of Chu lost his heart to the guest from Wu, and why the River Spirit felt abashed before the Lord of the Sea. 〈Nanshu was his former home on the river: the gate opened straight onto the water. Three bends around Zeng Mountain brought the road to its end at Sijiang; on the opposite bank to the west stood Chang Stone. Between the two mountains, a solitary hill rose on the southwest corner of the bank. Both peaks were pinched and narrow—hence the name Shengji, "Rising Reef." South of Yong Gate the ascent opened at once onto broad flats—hence the name Chengyan, "Spreading Reach." From the high bank one measures the depths; from the sandbar below one reads the shallows. Lone stones and sunken sandbars lay in the river, swelling and shrinking with the water. Spring and autumn, at the new moon and the full—these were the tides at their height. Mei Sheng tells how the crown prince of Chu fell ill and a visitor from Wu, by extolling the splendor of the autumn tides, healed him of his affliction. The crown prince is the state's designated second; hence the phrase "Chu Second." The River Spirit is the River Lord who dwells in the stream—this is the being called the River Spirit. Abashed before the Lord of the Sea—the story is told in Zhuangzi's chapter "Autumn Waters."〉
46
槿 西 谿
The old home—yesterday's house, today's garden—where fen-tree [lacuna][lacuna] and hibiscus still twine upward; foundations and wells stand as they were. Curving lanes ring it fore and aft; straight paths run east and west. Does it not look upon streams and marshes, embrace low hills, and belt the mountains round? Survey the spirit-haunted wonders of these bounds, and this country is their crown. Paired eaves are thatched at the mountain's foot; a solitary ridgepole stands where the river begins. The south door opens on distant ridges; the east window frames the fields at hand. Fields climb ridge upon ridge until the plots brim full; peaks lie along the water, and footpaths thread the paddies. 〈The thatched hall stood on the eastern slope of Zaili Mountain. From the east window one looked out over the fields and took in together the splendor of river and hills. Three bays in a row—hence the name Paired Beams. Before the gate stood a solitary hall, set upon the reef, keeping the river's ridge in view; to the south it faced distant peaks along the river. These two halls looked out upon each other, and between them there was scarcely anything to choose.〉
47
漿 滿 滿
Paths crisscross the land; field margins weave and cross. Channels guide the flow; irrigation veins branch and ditches join as one. Millet stands lush and full; rice breathes fragrance on every stalk. Before summer ends it already flowers; into autumn it ripens at leisure. Upland and lowland alike yield hemp, wheat, millet, and beans. Reading season and solar term, one crop succeeds another and harvest follows harvest. It provides grain and drink enough for the table, and makes merchants, craftsmen, and market folk unnecessary. What need has life for great store? Reason teaches that enough is a belly well filled. 〈Xu You said: "When the mole-rat drinks from the river, it fills no more than its belly." He meant that once a man's food is enough, contentment overflows—what need for endless wants? Merchants, craftsmen, and market folk seem always to want more; yet with modest desires, a life lived out is enough. Only without fields can one find no footing at all.〉
48
From the garden to its fields, from the fields to the lake. Waters spread across the river's face into a distant realm of lakes. Pools and stream-gorges are dredged into graceful bends; the tangled margins of rush islets are cleared away. Warm springs run pure in the spring flood; cold waves race away with autumn's going. Wind stirs waves at the orchid islet; the sun throws inverted light along the pepper-scented path. A waterside pavilion rises on the mid-islet, where one gathers the delight of water and moon together. At dawn shade lengthens and all grows clear; at dusk fragrance gathers and the air is sweet. One turns and finds old friendships forever lost, yet still hopes cloud-wandering guests may come, if only for a moment. 〈These are only a few of the lake's beauties; I fear words can never say enough—not one part in ten thousand is set down here. Stream-gorges rise from their sources and pour into the lake—hence the phrase "deepening pools and stream-gorges." The stream-gorges run long—that is why they wind so gracefully. Rush is cleared away to form islets—that is what "winding margins" refers to.〉
49
Among the water plants are duckweed and algae, smartweed and reed, cattail and celery and calamus, rush and wild rice, marsilea and fern, water chestnut, water shield, caltrop, and lotus. Though every plant here has its grace, only the lotus-filled channel blooms with such vivid splendor. Green leaves spread in dense luxuriance; red blossoms open in riotous bloom. It laments how swiftly clear fragrance fades, yet takes pride in how soon full splendor passes away. It must be fully grown before one plucks it—unlike orchid grass, which is stripped bare and left to wither. One gathers the idle strains of "Striking the Strings" and is moved by the sorrowful sigh of "Jiangnan." The Qin zither sings, and memory drifts upstream; "Tang Shang" is played, and old love comes back. 〈This passage is drawn from the "Li Sao." "Striking the Strings" is the "Song of Gathering Water Chestnuts." "Jiangnan" is a harmonized air whose words run, "Picking lotus in Jiangnan." The Qin zheng sings "The Jianjia Chapter," and "Tang Shang" plays the "Pu Sheng" poem—each moved by what it sees to inspire a rhapsody. Fish, algae, duckweed, ferns, and water shield have their poets too, but I will not recount them all here.〉
50
The "Ben Cao" lists many drugs, but mountain and marsh yields are not the same. Lei and Tong were masters of distinction; He and Huan knew every drug thoroughly. There are paired kernels, six roots, five flowers, and nine fruits. The two "dong" plants share a name but not the same nature; the three "jian" plants differ in form yet spring from one source. Water orchid bids autumn farewell and lifts crimson blooms; forest orchid near the snow sends its fragrance abroad. Selaginella lives through ten thousand generations without dying; fu ling is known only after a thousand years have passed. Red blossoms shine against green calyxes; white clusters flourish on purple boughs. They prolong life and add to one's numinous force, and they drive off evil and banish illness. 〈The places of origin given in the "Ben Cao" are no longer strictly followed today; one simply uses whatever grows in the local soil. This region yields a great many drugs. Lei Gong and Tong Jun were the ancient gatherers of medicine. Physician Huan was an ancient master of the art—hence the phrase "distinguish and know all." The "paired kernels" are walnuts and almonds taken in pairs. The "six roots" are gouqi root, wuqie root, kudzu root, wild kudzu root, and [lacuna] root. The "five flowers" are violet, daphne, hawthorn, chrysanthemum, and inula blossoms. The "nine fruits" are lotus seed, sophora fruit, cypress fruit, dodder seed, privet fruit, cnidium fruit, vitex fruit, smartweed seed, and [lacuna]. The "two dong" are asparagus root and ophiopogon root. The "three jian" are aconite, tianxiong, and wutou. "Water fragrance" is orchid grass. "Forest orchid" is gardenia. Selaginella and fu ling are both substances of immortality. All these drugs are fully described in the "Shennong Ben Cao."〉
51
便 調 竿 便 竿
As for bamboo, two arrow bamboos differ in leaf, and four bitter bamboos share one taste. Water bamboo and stone bamboo grow in separate valleys, and great and small kinds alike are gathered here. They stand tall and slender yet gracefully bent, desolate in their depth and lush in their crowding. Evening dew leaves them dark and drenched with sorrow; morning wind shakes fresh clarity through them. Their tips brush the dark clouds; above green pools they rise in jade-green splendor. It puts Shanglin and Qi'ao to shame and proves what the southeast still preserves. One longs for the wanderings at Shanyang and lingers where luan and yi birds come to roost. One recalls the mournful air of Kun Garden and sighs over Ling Lun's sorrowful flute. The Wei maiden, traveling far from home, sings of her longing to return; the Chu exile, cast out, composes "Fang Lu." 〈The "two arrow bamboos": one is bitter arrow, with broad leaves; the other is hairpin arrow, with slender leaves. The four bitter bamboos are green bitter, white bitter, purple bitter, and yellow bitter. Water bamboo grows beside the water in very fine, dense clumps; in Wu it is used as latticework for dwellings. Stone bamboo grows in thick clumps of this kind and serves to fill roof rafters; the large sort are straight poles, the small sort lack sheaths. Tall and slender, gracefully bent, desolate and dense, lush and crowding—all describe the look of bamboo. Shanglin was the imperial park in Guanzhong, and Qi'ao the bamboo grove in Wei—neither can compare with this place. Among the famed arrow bamboo of Kuaiji in the southeast, none is richer than what grows here. Shanyang is where one roams among bamboo groves; the domain where egrets and herons nest and feed. Bamboo from Mount Kun could be made into flutes. In the age of the Yellow Emperor, Ling Lun selected stalks of even thickness, cut them, and blew them to produce the pitch of the Yellow Bell. The Wei maiden, homesick, wrote the "Bamboo Poles"; the Chu exile Dongfang Shuo, stirred by river and marshland, wrote the "Seven Admonitions."〉
52
檿 沿
Its trees include pine and cypress, sandalwood and oak, [lacuna], paulownia, and elm. Mulberry and thorn, paper mulberry and dong tree, catalpa and Chinese catalpa, tamarisk and tree of heaven. Some are hard, some soft; some steadfast, some brittle—each nature is its own. Low or high, rich soil or poor, each grows where conditions suit it. Trunks, arm-span thick, vanish into crags; crowns, a thousand ren high, thrust into the open sky. They rise tall atop steep ridges and cast shade in the valleys below, branches spreading in profusion. Along long valleys their boughs lean; where stones pile up, they thrust into the paths. Blossoms mirror the water and brighten its surface; fragrance gathers on the breeze and drifts everywhere. In bitter cold they stand green and luxuriant; in mild warmth they grow fragrant and rich. They shed leaves at autumn's end and tarry with bud and calyx at spring's first thaw. 〈These are all kinds of trees—the finest are chosen and described here. A mountain ridge is called a "gang." Between ridges, in the lower ground, long valleys and piled stones each take their own direction. Encountering Sorrow says: "Youth's spring accepts farewell. The bright sun shines clear." The Odes says: "The calyx is not resplendent."〉
53
With the plants already described, the animals are no less various. Things that fly, swim, gallop, or leap—how could one trace them all to their origins? Observe their forms and listen to their cries—they fill the hills and waters. Cold and warmth follow the seasons; each thrives as nature intends, not by human rule. 〈Grass, trees, and bamboo are plants. Fish, birds, and beasts are animals. Beasts come in many kinds—some leap, some run. Runners gallop; leapers bound. The kinds are too many to trace to a source; but observe their forms and listen to their voices, and you will know how fine these hills and waters are. Each season brings what it will—that is nature's way, not something commandments can enforce.〉
54
[]鯿 []沿 [] 鯿 [] 谿
Fish include a species whose name is damaged in the text, snakehead and crucian, bream and trout, grass and silver carp, flatfish and bream, sturgeon and sand-perch, mandarin fish, catfish, carp, mullet, and long-finned sturgeon. Their mingled hues gleam like brocade, fresh as cloudlight. They peck at algae and sport in the waves, duckweed drifting over the deep pools. Some flare their gills and leap in the rapids; others lash their tails and wheel through the waves. Sea bass and sturgeon enter the shallows in season; long-finned fish ride the rapids out from spring-fed pools. The character [the cited text] is pronounced you. Snakehead (li) is pronounced li. Crucian (fu) is pronounced fu. Bream (xu) is pronounced xu. Trout (zun): fanqie reading cun-gun. Grass carp (huan) is pronounced wan. Silver carp (lian) is pronounced lian. Flat bream (bian): fanqie reading bi-xian. Bream (fang) is pronounced fang. Sturgeon (wei) is pronounced wei. Sand-fish (sha) is pronounced sha. Mandarin fish (gui): fanqie reading ju-zhui. Catfish (chang): fanqie reading shang-yang. Mullet (zi): fanqie reading bi-zhi. Long-finned sturgeon (the cited text): pronounced by fanqie zhu-wei. These are all readings given in the Shuowen and Zilin. The Classic of Poetry says: "The brocade coverlet gleams. Hence the phrase "brocade-bright." Sea bass and sturgeon are seasonal fish of the same time. The fish gan (the cited text) is pronounced gan. [lacuna] is pronounced xun. They all come from rocks in the streams and are always kept as curiosities.〉
55
[] 宿 退 [] []
Birds include kun swans, wild swans, yi birds, white swans, ospreys, egrets, bustards, and [lacuna]. The jiqu bird wears brocade in its plumage; the xiaozhi bird bears ribbon-like stripes. Wild ducks assemble at daybreak; long-tailed pheasants appear on the mountain bridge in season. Sea birds ride against the wind; northern birds turn away from the chill. When tender shoots appear, geese head north; when frost descends, they depart south as guests. Their answering cries rise to the Milky Way; paired birds lodge together on the river shallows. They listen to clear chirping below and carry noble song upward toward the stars. They skim and wheel on crested wings, mirrored in sunlit gorges, lost in self-admiration. The kun bird (the cited text) is pronounced kun. Hong (wild swan) is pronounced hong. Yi is pronounced yi. The Zuozhuan reads, "Six yi birds flew backward"—the character is written this way. White swan (the cited text): pronounced by fanqie xia-zhu. Qiu (osprey) is pronounced qiu. Lu (egret) is pronounced lu. Bao (bustard) is pronounced bao. [lacuna] is pronounced xiang. Duke Tang's horse was the same color as this bird, so the bird is called [lacuna], pronounced xiang. The jiqu and xiaozhi birds are recorded in Zhang Hua's Browsing the Myriad Things. Zhi is pronounced di; it is also a fine pheasant; these four birds all have beautiful colors and substance. Fu (duck) is pronounced fu; it is the wild duck and always waits for dawn before flying. Jiao: fanqie reading yi-xiao; a long-tailed pheasant. The Analects says: "A hen pheasant on the mountain bridge—how timely! how timely! The sea bird Aiju was unknown to Zang Wenzhong, who took it for a divine omen. The story is recorded in the Zuozhuan. "Northern birds" means wild geese; in the cold months they fly toward Hengyang. The Book of Rites says that when frost first descends, geese come as visiting guests. At year's end people say the geese turn northward. This marks the moment when yang first stirs: tender shoots mean heading north; frost means departing south as guests. The mountain pheasant mirrors itself in the water, delighting in its own finery.〉
56
[][] 鹿 [] [][]
In the high hills live gibbons, [lacuna], raccoon dogs, badgers, an, man, ya, and [lacuna]. On the lower slopes are bears and pandas, jackals and tigers, wild goats, muntjacs, and musk deer. They cast branches from precipitous cliffs and bound across chasms over deep ravines. They crouch in the valley depths and roar; they climb to the treetops and cry mournfully. 〈Yuan (gibbon) is pronounced yuan. [lacuna] is pronounced hun. Li (raccoon dog): fanqie reading li-zhi. Huan (badger): fanqie reading huo-wan. An: fanqie reading wu-xuan. Man is pronounced man; it resembles the badger but is longer, belongs to the wolf kind, and is also called chou. Ya: fanqie reading an-xia. [lacuna]: pronounced by fanqie yi-sheng; a yellow-and-black raccoon dog, also said to resemble [lacuna]. Jackal (chai): fanqie reading zai-jie. Wild goat (yuan) is pronounced yuan; a wild sheep with large horns. Muntjac (jun): fanqie reading gui-min. Elk (jing) is pronounced jing; it can leap and cast itself. Tigers give long roars and apes cry mournfully—calls worth lingering over.〉
57
[]
He casts neither line nor net, nor spreads any snare. Bow and retrieving arrow lie idle—who would deploy snares or fish baskets? He sees that even tigers and wolves know kinship, and grieves that indulged desire knows no bound. Recalling the path he took from youth, he grasped that love of life befits every living thing. Extend from one's own path to all things—I believe 'returning without going far' is found in this. He strokes gulls and water birds in easy delight, barring crafty intent from grove and pool. 〈These eight items are all gear for fishing and the chase. He has not taken life since boyhood, even to hoary age—so in these hills that sport is forever laid aside. Zhuangzi wrote that tigers and wolves are 'benevolent beasts'—do they not cherish bond between sire and offspring? Men call tigers and wolves cruel only because, no wiser than beasts, they fail to see their own poison and reserve their fiercest hatred for wolf and tiger—yet when appetite runs free, what shore can hold it? From early years he kept the prohibitions, and so was kept from killing. Once one sees through this that every creature loves life— The Yijing says: 'Return, and do not go far—no deep remorse.' —one may hope by this to enter the Way. Zhuangzi says that when a seafarer keeps a calculating heart, gulls wheel in the air but refuse to come down. Now, with no intent to harm them, each finds ease in grove and pool.〉
58
鹿 鹿 仿
Reverently I receive the holy injunctions and humbly pore over the scriptures of old. Mountains and wilderness lie open and clear; towns reek of blood and butchery. Hence the vast vow of great compassion, to lift all beings from ruin and fall. Surely compassion is not mere words on earth—there must be grace lent to bring good to fruition. I honor the splendid deer park where the truth was first spoken; I long for Vulture Peak, that mountain of renown. I aspire to the steadfast grove of purity; I yearn for Amra's fragrant garden. Though that splendor lies far off, I trust the mournful Dharma-voice still endures. Raise chapels on hidden peaks, hoping wandering monks may here set down their burdens. Perhaps to share the Lamp King's offered seat, or taste the blessed meal of Fragrant Accumulation. The matter is slight, yet mind may pierce it; truth is never cut off, only waiting to be warmed again. 〈In Jia Yi's Lament for Qu Yuan we read: 'I respectfully receive your gracious gift.' Reverently receiving' belongs to the same turn of phrase. By 'settlements' he means market towns—singing, mourning, quarrels, and every kind of noise—ill suited to monastic life compared with mountain wilds. The sutras everywhere enjoin dwelling in the hills; the written teachings on this are ample. Laozi says: 'Skilled at lending, and skilled at bringing to completion.' This is the Way that nourishes all beings. The Deer Park—where the Four Noble Truths were taught. Vulture Peak—where the Prajna and Lotus Sutras were expounded. The Steadfast Grove—where nirvana was proclaimed. The Amra Garden—where the inconceivable was revealed. Now he lays out groves and ordered gardens in their likeness; though memory stretches far back and splendor is remote, the sorrowful teaching-voice seems still near. Chatiya denotes a resting place set up for monks who cannot stay long in one spot. This is what is meant by 'easing the shoulders.' The Lamp King and Fragrant Accumulation—accounts drawn from the Vimalakirti Sutra. The Analects says: 'Warm what is old and know what is new.' Truth is never broken off; go over it again and it becomes one's daily bread.〉
59
When first he explored the land, he went alone, staff in hand. He waded stream beds and crossed waters, climbed ridges and walked the high trails. He scaled peaks without rest and would not halt at the deepest springs. Wind-combed and rain-bathed, he braved the dew and traveled by starlight. He tested his modest ideas and spent every bit of his limited design. Without turtle shells or milfoil omens, he chose the finest and most remarkable sites. He cleared brush to open trails and searched out rocks and cliff faces. Four mountains ringed the scene; two streams meandered away. Facing the southern ridge, he raised a platform for the scriptures; Against the northern hill he built a hall for teaching. Beside sheer peaks he set up a meditation cell; Overlooking the deep stream, he lined up the monks' quarters. He faced towering trees of a hundred years and drew in fragrance lasting ten thousand generations. He held fast to springs ancient as time, savoring their pure, abundant flow. He forswore splendid pagodas in the outer suburbs and kept apart from the bustle at the city wall. He delighted in plain sincerity and simple integrity, and reaped heaven's sweet dew upon his sacred ground. 〈This means that when he first explored the site, he went himself and endured every hardship. He gave all he had though his means were slight and asked no omen of turtle or milfoil; the poor cannot afford magnificence, so he was content with simple thatched dwellings. That is why he turned from the suburbs and kept his distance from the city wall. Yet clarity, emptiness, and quiet are truly where one may attain the Way.〉
60
西 西 西
Monks of stern austerity, who at daybreak reveal their deepest resolve. They carry on their master's line in deed, yet their hearts reach beyond the world's bounds. Whether roaming or at rest, they lean on rock and roof themselves with grass. Seasons turn from cold to heat, yet their highest calling never wavers. They see the three ages as a dream and tread the Way through the six perfections. They dwell in tranquil insight and still repose, holding within them the hidden harmony of truth. They set their secret hope on Mount Dong, which in truth foretells rebirth in the Western Paradise. Though a single day seems a thousand years, they still rue that they did not meet sooner. 〈This refers to the two masters Tanlong and Faliu. Both men renounced earthly love, left wives and children, and lightly took to the hills, severing every outer tie. No fish or flesh crossed their lips; they wore only cast-off rags. Beasts that saw them marveled, yet the masters remained utterly unmoved. Like the poet who set out westward, unable to rest until he found the Way, they were no different. On an earlier retreat midway at the Stone Gate waterfall, when he first spoke of leaving them behind. They hoped to be reborn on Mount Dong and at death to find rest in the West. The joy of their meeting made a single day feel like a thousand years, yet still they grieved that it had not come sooner.〉
61
They scorned worldly goods and prized their own souls, forsaking the world to seek the spirit. Appalled by life's short span, they cherished the promise of longevity. They longed for Lord Fuqiu to lead them onward and hoped Master Anqi would come to greet them. They savored the bitter taste of pine and cassia and wore coarse hides and hemp until their bodies wasted away. They envied the cicada's quick sloughing of its shell and trembled at the touch of rainbow clouds. They scaled famous peaks and often paused to rest, and in cliffside caves laid bare their inmost hearts. Though they had not yet reached the highest Way, they had already snapped the world's entangling cords. Speaking of pine fungus and longevity, they knew they still fell short of even Shang Zai and Peng Zu. 〈This passage tells how seekers of immortality, though not risen to the Buddhist Way's summit, have already stepped beyond the world. Lord Fuqiu was teacher to Wang Ziqiao; Master Anqi was teacher to Ma Mingsheng—both stories come from the Biographies of Arrayed Immortals. The Scripture of Straightness in the Grotto says: "Students of immortality today also need an enlightened master to awaken them—hence they do not shrink from bitter herbs or wasted flesh." Zhuangzi says: "Harmonize with heaven's heights." Here the particle pronounced ér means a cliff face. Again and again they crossed famous peaks, found caverns in the cliffs, revealed their inmost nature, and so won long life. Compared with pine fungus or the lifespans of Shang Zai and Peng Zu, the distance remains immense.〉
62
[] [] [] [] [][] [] []
The mountains serve the waters' needs—you cannot put one man in charge of it all. Each kind of provision has its own crew, who vie with the seasons to gather what is needed. They climb the ridges to hew timber, clear thorn brush, and cut bamboo. They pull young shoots from the bamboo groves and pick rush leaves in the valleys. Where carambola thrives they pluck it, and when autumn turns to winter they store the gathered yield. Creepers spread through the wild, and by wading among them one collects wild grapes. They brew clear mountain wine as well, and may great blessing be yours. Bitterness comes from atractylodes wine, sweetness from [lacuna] wine matured to perfection. In the high woods they strip bark for mu, and on cliff-side zanthoxylum they peel paper-mulberry for paper. On sunlit cliffs they dig madder, and from shaded heights they gather [lacuna]. By day they pull thatch; by night they hunt for cord. They mow wild rice and trim cattails, for mats and for edible shoots. Raw clay and fired ware alike—what is gathered comes in many kinds. Ashes and charcoal, too, each follow their own season. Honey is gathered in the sixth month, chestnuts stripped in the eighth. The store of goods is vast, and this brief account cannot exhaust it. 〈This section treats the gathering of produce from mountain and stream. Fishing and hunting, however, are not included. Yang refers to carambola. In the hills it is called muzi. [lacuna] is read fu; the character appears in the Zilin. The Classic of Poetry says: "In the sixth month we eat yu and ao." The term lie she comes from the Erya. Shu is atractylodes wine, and it tastes bitter. A plant name lost in the text yields a wine, sweet to the taste; both are superb and also serve as medicine. That plant cures abscesses and hard swellings; shu cures cold phlegm. Shen is read shen; it tastes like wild rice shoots but finer. Bark is cut from trees to prepare it, and this dish is called mu. Ji is read ji; it is collected for papermaking. Qian is read qian; it is gathered to make dye. [lacuna] is read xian; it is gathered for brewing. Honey-gathering and chestnut-stripping each keep to its own month.〉
63
崿 氿 西 綿 西 西 西 西 西 西
There are two dwellings, north and south: water links them, but land stands in the way. Only by watching wind and cloud does one learn where each lies. 〈The two dwellings are the northern and southern sites, each with its own home. Peaks and cliffs cut off the land; only the watercourses link the two. Only by reading wind and cloud can one finally tell where each stands.〉 To the south, two fields lie between the channels, and three gardens encircle the ridges. Nine springs branch into separate brooks, and the five grains ripen on different hillsides. Peaks rise in uneven ranks among them, and linked ridges spread over the flats to shape the slopes. Many streams irrigate and ring what lies near, while dikes restrain and carry the water to what lies far. Far-off dikes run beside the paths; nearby currents burst into rapids. Banks rise over the mounds as waves spread; you walk out with the water and walk back with it. Waters wheel and return, winding round and round; crooked islets and rounded peaks. Such beauty and charm on display—how could a single account exhaust them? Lodges are thatched against the northern summit, and halls open their windows toward the southern peaks. Tier upon tier of cliffs stand framed in the doorway; mirror-bright waters are ranged before the window. Red clouds serve as vermilion lintels, azure clouds as green rafters. One watches shooting stars plunge overhead, and looks back on [lacuna] not yet bound. Great swans wheel upward beyond reach—how much more the darting flight of swallows and sparrows. Side springs break out and murmur along the eastern eaves; Lofty cliffs stand face to face, thundering at the western eaves. Tall bamboo spreads in luxuriant shade; shrubs stand dense and deep, draped in heavy growth. Creepers spread in trailing tendrils; flowers breathe fragrance, lovely and bright. Sun and moon pour light through the branches; wind and dew spread clarity over hidden valleys and peaks. Cool in summer, warm in winter—each season offers its own comfort. Terrace foundations wind back and forth; rafters and window lattices rise tier upon tier. Here I chose a place to live, playing with water and rearranging stones. Step out nearby and turn to look back—the view never wearies all year long. I grieve that beautiful things pass and change; I resent that fleeting years feel borrowed. Far withdrawn from the throng of men, I have long entrusted my heart to clouds and rainbows. 〈Southern Mountain was where I first chose and established my dwelling. From the river pavilion, the path crosses ridges and runs through fields, rising and falling for about three li. Along the way one sees tall trees and thick bamboo lining the fields and hills, rippling water among scattered stones, side paths and rushing streams—sights to delight the eye. At the dwelling itself, a road runs from West Mountain to East Mountain—more than two li. To the south, ridge after ridge stacks in layers, green upon green; cloud and mist on the skyward paths stretch almost without end. Three paths lead from the trail into the valley. Southwest of Square Cliff, Stone Gate [lacuna], south [lacuna], and Pool to the southeast—each is treated in a separate account. Entering by the path, one walks a bamboo-lined trail; halfway it widens, and bamboo channels guide the stream. Once inside, the southeast hillside channel winds through quiet marvels—different spots, the same splendor. North of the path, east and west roads run, using the mountain as a natural barrier. At the narrow spot due north, they cut into the lake to form a pool. The southern mountains face each other, each with its cliffs and crags. To the northeast it rests against a ravine; below, the clear stream mirrors the sky—tilted branches, coiled boulders, shaded coves reflecting on the islets. On the west cliff, forested, about twenty zhang from the pool, they rebuilt the foundation and raised a dwelling among cliff and trees. Water laps the stone steps; windows open toward the mountain—looking up at tiered peaks, looking down into the mirrored depths of the ravine. Halfway up the cliff there stands another pavilion. Turning to look around brings distant vistas; glancing back at the west lodge, its windows stand face to face across the view. Descending along the cliff, dense bamboo shrouds the path; from north to south, all is bamboo grove. It measures one hundred zhang east to west and one hundred fifty-five zhang north to south. It rests against nearby peaks to the north and looks out on distant ridges to the south; mountains surround it on every side, streams and ravines crossing through. The beauty of water, stone, forest, and bamboo, the charm of cliffs and winding coves—all are here in full. Cleared, trimmed, and built up, this is where I live. Its finer pleasures, enjoyed up close, cannot all be written down; I can only sketch the general form. Yue Mountain lines the outer edge; beside it, [lacuna] [lacuna] makes a view unlike any other.〉
64
氿 氿
So a small lake lies beside its sheltered bend. Where countless streams converge and myriad springs circle back. The Gui and Lan take different shapes—at the head the Bi spring, at the end the Fei. Another landscape lies apart; the road winds far into the distance and back. 〈Gui, Lan, Fei, and Bi are all names of springs, as recorded in the Book of Poetry. The text says that here myriad springs converge, each with its own shape and setting.〉
65
綿 宿 便
When one seeks the way back, the path reaches the boundary of North Mountain. Plank roads sag and buckle; stone stairways link one flight to the next. Again a waterway winds in looping circles. The lake spreads wide and flat; the pool lies deep and clear. A lone shore rises in elegant grace; a long islet runs green and unbroken. Looking out on every side—the view opens wide, calm and free. Where two streams merge, different sources share a single mouth. They plunge through narrows and rough water and meet at the mountain's crown. Rapids heap sand into mounds; peaks rise from islets into low hills. Stones lean into the surf and brush the cliffs; trees mirror the waves and crowd into thickets. The path runs along the southern bank across the foreground, then turns behind the northern cliff. Hidden among thickets, one loses track of day and night and must read the stars to tell east from west. Passing back and forth, 〈Every stretch is either cliff and stream or waterway, with islets facing one another—each has its own appeal.〉
66
[][]
Mountains, streams, ravines, and stones; islet shores, grass, and trees. Marked differently from the earlier section, yet listed the same way in the later records. The mountains are not harsh crags but gentle slopes; the streams run clear, never muddy. Stones rise from the woods into the cliffs; springs gather in the gullies and pour down into the valleys. Deep pools swirl into islets and release their fragrance; sandy shores unfurl and mirror the bamboo. Grass meets winter with blossoms; trees face down the frost and still flare green. Where the sun strikes, cold yields to warmth; where shade falls, summer still holds snow. Linked ridges pile into hidden crags; lifted peaks stand clustered, steep and [lacuna]. Springs float and streams leap, sketching the open sky; deep waters seep in silence through the caves. Each place differs, yet all are fine; each season differs, yet all delight. 〈An earthen hill topped with stone is called ju; a mountain clothed in forest is called hu. This section treats the many beauties of mountain and stream; not every one need be present, so he sums up the best. What comes after dwelling in the mountains also has its own pursuit.〉
67
貿 綿
Spring and autumn each have their demands; morning and evening need their supplies. One plows for grain and trades mulberry for clothes. One grows vegetables for the table and gathers herbs to ward off decline. Beyond this, what need is there? One follows one's nature and does not stray. At dawn he listens to the Dharma; at dusk he returns from releasing captive life. He reads books and savors their principles, and sets prose to paper to give voice to his heart. All that he means to say is laid out through exposition and comparison. He sets it down in words here, and this admonition may be applied in turn. 〈He means that cold calls for padded silk and cotton, heat for hemp and gauze, and morning and evening meals—these tasks are arranged to meet such needs. Medicine to treat illness lies beyond these; one thing leads to another—how could it be otherwise? As for listening to sermons, releasing life, reading books, and writing prose—these are all his delights. Han Feizi wrote Yang Jiao; Ban Gu likewise speaks of "weighing past and present"—the sense is one. Zuo Si says: "Expound and compare for those beside you and set it forth."〉
68
[] []
North Mountain holds two orchards; South Mountain, three groves. Every kind of fruit is planted, some near at hand, some farther off. They are set in rows and planted in clusters, welcoming early fruit and awaiting late. They grow lush along brooks and gullies, dense or sparse on cliffs and peaks. There are apricot terraces, a [lacuna] orchard, citrus groves, and chestnut plots. Peaches and plums come in many varieties; pears and jujubes from their own distinct regions. Loquats and hawthorn apples belt the valleys and mirror themselves on the islets. Mulberries and plums send fragrance through the winding ridges; shadbush and persimmons hang heavy on the long shores. 〈Zhuang Zhou says: "A fisherman saw Confucius upon the apricot terrace." The Vimalakirti Sutra speaks of a [lacuna] tree garden. Yang Xiong's Rhapsody on the Shu Capital mentions citrus groves. Zuo Taichong likewise says: "Every household has its grove of tangerines and pomelos." Peaches and plums are planted in great number; jujubes and pears belong to the lands between the North River and the Ji, and to the Huai and Ying regions—hence he speaks of distinctive places.〉
69
In the beds and plots he grows buds wrapped in fragrance—knotweed, houttuynia, smartweed, shepherd's purse, turnip, celery, perilla, and ginger. Green mallow clings to the season and cradles the dew; white leeks answer the season and carry frost. Hardy scallions rise over the shady slopes; spring fava sends up shoots where the sun is near. 〈Fengfei appears in the "Cypress Boat" ode of the Book of Odes. Guanzi says: "On a northern campaign against the Mountain Rong, they obtained hardy scallions." Yu Kan says hardy scallions stand tall in the garden. Watered vegetables supply one's own table, without waiting on anything from outside.〉
70
A frail body is hard to preserve; declining years slip away all too easily. Touching one's temples brings grief; looking at one's face brings self-reproach. Trusting that the pure pharmacopoeia holds remedies, he hopes that even in decline one may be restored. He seeks rare drugs on famous mountains, crosses spirit-dark waters, and rests his carriage. He gathers rehmannia from the stones and plucks asparagus from beneath the bamboo. He picks asarum from the layered ridges and pulls irises from hidden ravines. He seeks stalactites in the caves and inquires after cinnabar yang at Red Spring. 〈All of these are drugs that prolong life, gathered from the mountains nearby and picked to cure illness.〉
71
Two rains-retreat seasons, three months each in winter and summer. Monks arrive from distant places, and the local congregation is never incomplete. The Dharma drum sounds clear and bright; hymns and gathas ring out. Scattered flowers drift in lush profusion; incense flows and fragrance flies abroad. They unfold subtle teachings from kalpas without end and expound the surviving purport of the Semblance Dharma. With this single trace of the mind, they aid those living beings in their myriad ways. They open the good path at the southern lecturer and return to clarity at the northern Dharma seat. This satisfies not my feelings alone—I trust every gentleman present is moved. In the mountains, all is serene and still; the world's clamor cuts itself off. One hears all around, yet not too much; grasp the principle, and all rejoice together. Cold wind scours and scatters—but face the sun, and warmth is constant. Blazing light burns fierce and high—yet face the shade, and frost and snow remain. One rests on a lofty terrace and climbs to the roots of the clouds; one sits below the stream and passes through the wind-gaps. In this mountain fastness one finds harmonious delight, and passes down what from past to present never perishes. 〈The monks sit through two seasons, winter and summer—this is called rains retreat, always ninety days. The congregation gathers from near and far; the Dharma drum, hymns and gathas, flowers, and incense—these four are the affairs of retreat lectures. "Unfolding" and "expounding" describe the discourse of these retreat lectures. With this mind one can aid those living beings. "Southern lecturer" means the preacher; "northern Dharma seat" means the Dharma master. The mountains are quiet and still—the very place for preaching. There are woods and groves as well, so one can suit cold and heat and always find mild ease—that is the comfort.〉
72
便 便
Deep love of life—judge it from myself. Fearing the end of life, cherishing the joy of daylight. With one steadfast heart of benevolence, one rescues myriad species from peril. One summons startled souls from the brink of death and gathers endangered forms from the edge of extinction. One sets aquatic creatures free in the river's flow and returns sky-dwellers to the edge of heaven. One watches wings rise and soar, and sees fish puff their gills as they come and go. Those who gallop and hunt may yet be cured of their frenzy; those who suspect and harm may yet grasp the principle. 〈All living things cherish life; judge from yourself and you may know their hearts. Cherishing daylight and fearing death—this is the love of life. One who can release captive life need only have one steadfast heart of benevolence to rescue myriad species from peril. Aquatic creatures and sky-dwellers each seek life in their own way. Laozi says: "Galloping and hunting in the fields make the heart run wild." Those who suspect and harm always bear injury in mind; seeing the principle of releasing life, they may yet awaken.〉
73
The sage is gone—whose heart can I confide in? The dregs remain—he opens the sealed bundles and splits open the scroll cases. He finds two scrolls of the Man Below the Pillar and seven chapters of the Man on the Mound above the Moat. He receives the undispersed whole simplicity and rescues the way and its arts, already in decline. Alas! The Six Classics proclaim the sage's teaching; the Nine Schools distinguish worthy disciples. National histories record past chronicles; family biographies set forth models for the age. Literary compositions set forth praise and blame; debates test what is and what is not. Military arts, crafts, medicine, and day-selection; methods of tortoise shells, yarrow stalks, divination, and dream interpretation; wind-angle and tomb-siting arts; books on calculation, numerology, pitch pipes, and calendrics. Whatever one browsed in life—all of it is now cast aside. He proves that prior learning has lost the Way, and holds to one virtue without wavering. 〈Zhuang Zhou says: "Wheelwright Pian told Duke Huan of Qi that what Your Grace reads in books is the sage's dregs." "Teng" refers to texts such as the Metal Coffer chapter. "Below the Pillar" means Laozi. "Above the Moat" means Zhuangzi. "Two" and "seven" refer to the number of chapters in each work. He says these two books hold the truest principle; beyond them lie only the sage's formal teachings, which the solitary seeker casts aside.〉
74
便
From childhood on, he truly loved letters. Paper before him and brush in hand, he joined his nature to spirit in writing. Poetry gives voice to the heart; rhapsody spreads its theme in full. Admonitions, inscriptions, dirges, and eulogies each have their proper form. Then came life in the mountains, and years passed one after another. Fortunately he had many idle days and looked to himself alone. With refined study and quiet thought, he truly contemplated the beauty of his work. With autumn in his heart he shaped his lines, and with a smile set forth his themes. 〈This means that from youth he loved literature; since retiring to the mountains, other distractions had ceased, and he turned to verse to fill his idle days. Thus he could join spirit and nature, and make a whole morning last forever.〉
75
鹿 輿使使 西
Some heed Lao Zi's warning to preserve life; others weigh Zhuang Zi's chapter on nurturing life and attaining freedom. Some fear that leaving no tracks does not go far enough; others dread the many hardships of walking the earth. Some measure themselves against the Upper Sovereign of old; others shun the decline of the age as if it were a mat beneath them. I turn my heart to lofty men of old and cast off courtesy-names among sage and worthy company. Guang Chengzi extinguished his shadow on Mount Kongtong; Xu You hid his renown on Mount Ji. Yu Gong marked his valley by the colt ford; Juanzi hid among the cliffs to gather wild herbs. Old Master Lai took refuge on Mount Meng and wove baskets for a living. The Four White-Haired Elders dwelt in the Shang Mountains and nourished their will; the Minister retired to Maoling and spread his words. Zheng Zizhen left the valley and was gone forever. Liang Hong left Mount Ba for Kuaiji, [lacuna]. Gao Wentong lived on West Tang Mountain at ease; Tai Xiaowei leaned against the cliff and hollowed an earthen court. All alike could live out their years in peace, keeping fast to the pure intent of those they left behind. 〈Laozi says, "Those skilled at preserving life." Zhuangzi says this is what he calls not being skilled at preserving life. Zhuangzi also says that nurturing life has no limit, yet one who has attained life does not chase what life cannot give—what then is one to do? "Cutting off tracks," "Upper Sovereign," "Lower Decline," and "guest-name" all likewise come from Zhuang Zhou. Guang Chengzi lived atop Mount Kongtong; he was the Yellow Emperor's teacher. Xu You retired to Mount Ji; when Yao offered him the realm, he would not accept. Yu Gong lived at Jufu; Duke Huan of Qi, hunting deer, entered the mountains and met him. Juanzi retired to Mount Dang, devoted to elixir arts, and conveyed to Boyang the three chapters of "Heart of the Zither." Gengsang Chu mastered Lao Zi's Way and lived on Mount Wai Lei. Jieyu the madman of Chu—when the king of Chu heard of his worth and sent envoys to summon him, he wandered instead among famous mountains and ended on Mount Emei in Shu. Xu Wugui lived among the cliffs; the Marquis of Wei came to console him and asked, "Master, you have suffered in mountain and forest—yet you will see me." Xu Wugui replied, "If my lord would reduce appetites and shut out likes and dislikes, your ears and eyes would see clearly." He lived by gathering wild grasses and chestnuts. Old Master Lai farmed on the southern slope of Mount Meng, wrote fifteen chapters on Daoist matters, and made his living weaving baskets. The Four White-Haired Elders fled Qin chaos for the deep Shang-Luo Mountains; when the Han founder summoned them, they would not come out. Sima Xiangru was a man of rare talent, yet had no taste for the great affairs of court; [lacuna] he then took leave of his disciples at a mountain bend and never returned. Liang Hong retired to Mount Balting, farming and weaving for his own delight; later he went deeper still into the Kuaiji Mountains. Tai Xiaowei lived below Mount Wu'an in an earthen chamber cut into the cliff, gathering herbs to sustain himself. Gao Wentong lived on West Tang Mountain, taking his ease in quiet contentment.〉
76
And for all its graceful depth, its silence, emptiness, and remoteness— affairs and feeling pull apart, principle and outward form run counter. If even ear and eye cannot reach its limits, how could human footsteps tread there? Its truth has been hoarded since ancient times in the three seasons of darkness; only the five eyes of enlightenment could make it plain. Weighing my limited thought, I stop my brush; knowing my shallow insight, I cease writing. 〈This means the place is not one human footsteps can seek; one would need the three clarities and five penetrations before one could tread there. So I stop my brush and write no more, hoping that those who truly hear will grasp what I mean.〉
77
使祿 使 便 穿
After Emperor Wen took the throne and executed Xu Xianzhi and his fellows, he summoned Lingyun to serve as director of the palace library. Twice more the court called him, and twice he refused. The emperor then had Fan Tai, household officer of the imperial household, write him a letter of earnest praise and encouragement—and only then did Lingyun emerge and accept the post. He was charged with putting the palace library in order and filling in lacunae in the texts. Since the Jin dynasty from first to last had never possessed a unified dynastic history, Lingyun was commanded to compile a History of Jin and roughly lay out its divisions; but the work was never finished. Before long he was promoted to palace attendant and summoned to the emperor's presence morning and evening, with lavish marks of favor. In both poetry and calligraphy Lingyun stood alone in his age. Whenever he finished a piece, he copied it out in his own hand; Emperor Wen called his writings and ink traces "two treasures." Counting himself among the foremost men of the age, he felt his gifts entitled him to a share in statecraft, and from the moment of his first summons he had staked his hopes on that; but once at court he found that Emperor Wen received him only as a man of letters—whenever he attended imperial banquets, talk and literary appreciation were all he was offered. Wang Tanzhou, Wang Hua, Yin Jingren, and others—men whose standing had never surpassed his—were all entrusted with real power and favor. Lingyun simmered with resentment and often pleaded illness to avoid regular attendance at court. Instead he dug ponds, trained vines on trellises, planted bamboo and violets, and pressed public labor into his service without regard for any proper limit. On excursions beyond the city he sometimes covered a hundred and sixty or seventy li in a single day, and might stay away ten days at a stretch—filed no memorial to inform the court and sought no leave for urgent business. The emperor, unwilling to disgrace so great a minister openly, hinted that he should withdraw on his own. Lingyun then memorialized the throne citing illness, and the emperor granted him leave to return east. As he was about to leave, he submitted a memorial urging a northern campaign against Hebei, saying:
78
使 使 綿 調
For more than a hundred years now the Central Plains have lain in chaos—peoples driven into exile by raiding armies, whole communities lost and swallowed up. The late emperor was wise, resolute, and divinely martial, his heart set on succoring all under heaven. He meant to sweep Zhao and Wei clean, unite every realm under one culture and one law, restore lands long withered to civilization, and bring estranged customs back within the civilizing sway of the Middle Kingdom. Heaven withdrew its favor, affairs turned against him, righteous intent was thwarted and his great design left unfinished. Mourning his virtue from afar, how bitter the regret that one's allotted years should end before his aim was fulfilled! And now the imperial tombs are scarcely sealed before fierce enemies prowl for their opening—every man of discernment burns with indignation; who does not gnash his teeth and sigh? Yet the men entrusted with affairs in the Jingping era were none of them equal to the task, and with turmoil convulsing the capital—how could such a burden have been placed in such hands? Isolated cities were driven to ruin, and no one would go to the utmost to save them. Men of loyalty and valor languish in the northern wastes; three thousand li of riverlands have passed into the enemy's hands. The frontier garrisons sent out in later years were all lands our former sovereign had opened and won—yet they were lost in a single stroke. Such a national disgrace must be avenged; the wound is still fresh in our own memory. And on the northern frontier, ever since the stain of the invaders, the people have endured every form of hardship. Conscription, levies, and exactions never cease; what the authorities demand and cannot obtain they answer with punishment and death—ruined lives, shattered households, grief in every dwelling. Even the benevolent cannot bear to look upon it.
79
西 西 西 耀
All agree that the Western barbarians have left their rear exposed and marched far beyond Long, while the Eastern barbarians stand open to attack—here is a chance for a swift, crushing blow. The Western army has turned back and seized Guanzhong; Xianyang is under long siege and their line of retreat is severed. Though the enemy has sent relief, those forces are stalled east of the River, while their main host marches far north to strike at the capital—stretching to link front and rear in one long line. Yet the Western enemy holds deep mountains and hard passes; their base remains firm. To abandon their lair for such a rescue is hardly enough to save their besieged forces—and leaves their heartland exposed besides. Their troops grow weary in the field while their realm hollows out at home. No moment heaven offers could be more favorable than this. To parade one's armies and show the majesty of the throne—the day is today. If we let this standoff drag on, some unforeseen change may arise; should a fresh enemy rise, the situation will no longer be what it is today. Miss the season, and strategy becomes hard. Double our arms and stores as we might, certainty of complete success would still be beyond our grasp. Review the ages past: nearly every great founding took the conquest of the weak as its foundation. Sage emperors old and new have scarcely differed on this point. Is it not because heaven's season and human effort, principle and destiny, must align—the arc of rise and fall has a term fixed by nature itself? As the ancients said: "Only when heaven's calamity and man's disaster have both been seen may one begin to plan. When Wei grew strong and subdued Jing and Ji, it seized its chance in the weakness of Yuan and Liu; when Jin rose to its height and opened Wu and Shu, it did so because the houses of Zhuge and Lu were in decline. Such precedents fill the historical records of earlier ages. After the pacification of the Qiang, all thought the northern invaders would soon be wiped out together—our armies would sweep to Huatai, roll through every city, and the enemy, stripped of nerve and spirit, would be spent within days.
80
Yet Chang'an fell through indiscipline, Tong Pass was lost—and heaven's judgment, delayed, has borrowed month upon month of reprieve. From that day to this has been twelve years, a full cycle; the ancients foretold as much. The Five Barbarian dynasties have run their allotted generations in step with the times; the invaders' destined span will be exhausted by next year. They turn on one another and wear each other down—the stratagem of Bian Zhuang, waiting as tiger and wolf tear each other apart, is plain to see in the war they fight today. We look up to your sacred grace as the thirsty look to water and the hungry to bread; our hearts have long been turned toward the southern clouds—the court that alone can deliver us. The hope of deliverance rests wholly upon your sagely wisdom. Fail to seize this moment, and no such sign may ever come again. I know well that the treasury today holds no double surplus. Yet great undertakings are not always timed to wealth and full armies alone; for us the enterprise would still be manageable—what matters is seizing the hour. Our arms are ready and our forces roughly sufficient; measured against what came before or may come after, we stand at an advantage. I have weighed the matter again and again. The registered population of Jizhou exceeds a million; the richness of its fields, recorded since the Tribute of Yu, is no empty boast. Foundations laid in earlier ages still stand; channels run clear from their sources and mulberry and hemp shade the countryside. Its wealth and strength are there for any eye to see. Measured against the long welfare of the state, what is one campaign's expense?
81
西 西 西
Some, taking the defeat in Guanxi as their warning, declare that Hebei would be impossible to hold. But the two frontiers differ utterly in character. Guanxi is a land of mixed settlements and many peoples—as in the Former Han, when garrisons at Bashang kept watch and beacon fires linked all the way to Ganquan. How much more vulnerable are distant garrisons at the very moment when old troops depart and new ones have not yet settled in! Hebei, by contrast, is populated almost entirely by our own old families, with scarcely a stranger among them. Ridges link into natural ramparts, and the Three Passes choke the way like narrow gates. Send our mobile cavalry in a long strike, and the desert itself will bend before their wind. If we station strong garrisons at the frontier passes, the mountains of Jizhou will hold fast. When Longxi was ravaged in former times, Chao Cuo spoke out; When the Xiongnu grew insolent and overbearing, Jia Yi cried out in righteous anger. Measured against the present moment, those crises seem almost remote.
82
Emperor Wu of Jin was no more than a ruler of middling talent, yet he met with Sun Hao's cruelty and chaos, and Heaven favored his virtue. Wang Jun also presented the surrender document, while Xun Xu and Jia Chong overcame the doubters—thus in that very year he raised his enterprise to greatness and united the realm. How much more is this true now, when Your Majesty is wise and enlightened, the empire turns toward benevolent rule, civil virtue and martial might resound together, stern authority and plain integrity rise as one, aided by worthy chief ministers, princes of excellent command, regional governors who proclaim their martial glory, and fierce ministers filling the court? With Heaven's mandate extending so far, what foe could fail to fall? As for those stubborn barbarians—they are living on borrowed time! I humbly reflect that Your deep designs and long-settled purpose have already fixed Heaven's strategy. I am base, obscure, and of narrow learning, hiding myself among cliffs and caves, yet I truly hope for the age of great peace and long to witness the feng sacrifice at Mount Tai. Though I lack Sima Xiangru's eloquence, I may at least avoid the wrath of Sima Tan. For this I beg leave of my post in the capital on grounds of illness, and would count myself entirely without regret. Long I have wished to submit this memorial, yet feared giving offense. Having received Your gracious leave to depart, I temporarily left the palace precincts. For ten years I have suffered from wasting thirst and constantly feared I might not see another dawn. Clinging to this foolish purpose, I risk death to speak before You.
83
Lingyun went east on grounds of illness, yet continued to feast and hold gatherings for pleasure, turning night into day. He was impeached again by the Censor-in-Chief Fu Long and dismissed from office. That year was the fifth year of Yuanjia. Once Lingyun had returned east, he joined his clansman Huilian, He Changyu of Donghai, Xun Yong of Yingchuan, and Yang Xuanzhi of Taishan in literary fellowship. Together they wandered mountains and wild country, and men of the time called them the Four Friends. Huilian showed talent and quick understanding even as a boy, yet his frivolous ways kept his father Fangming from recognizing his gifts. Lingyun traveled from Yongjia back to Shining while Fangming was serving as administrator of Kuaiji commandery. Lingyun once traveled from Shining to Kuaiji to visit Fangming, and on the way stopped to see Huilian. The two took an immediate and deep liking to each other. Changyu was then teaching Huilian to read, also within the commandery, and Lingyun likewise judged him unmatched in talent. He said to Fangming, "Ah-Lian's gifts are as remarkable as this, yet you treat him like an ordinary child. He Changyu is a Wang Can for our age, yet you feed him as though he were some minor guest. Since you cannot honor men of talent, you ought to give Changyu back to me." Lingyun then took Changyu away with him.
84
西 便 便
Xun Yong, styled Daoyong, rose to the post of Supernumerary Regular Attendant. Xuanzhi, styled Yaofan, served as Interior Administrator of Linchuan and won the favor of the Minister of Works and Prince of Jingling, Dan. When Dan was defeated, Xuanzhi was executed as well. In literary talent Changyu ranked only below Huilian; neither Yong nor Xuanzhi could equal him. When Prince Yiqing of Linchuan gathered literary men about him, Changyu served in his household, rising from Gentleman of the Principality to Recorder on the staff of the Pacifier of the West. Once at Jiangling he wrote to his clansman He Xu, using rhymed verse to describe Yiqing's staff. It began, "Lu Zhan dyes his temples, hoping to please a concubine. Black hair cannot long endure; gray strands will soon appear again." There were five or six lines like this, and frivolous young men expanded and spread them. Every man mentioned was turned into a subject, and each entry was given sharper and crueler lines. The piece soon circulated widely. Yiqing was furious and reported the matter to the Founder, who had Changyu demoted to Magistrate of Zengcheng under Guangzhou. When Yiqing died, court officials went to his residence to mourn. He Xu said to Yuan Shu, "Changyu can now be recalled." Shu replied, "The state has just lost a pillar of the realm. It is hardly fitting to turn one's thoughts so soon to a banished man." Prince Shao of Luling was then stationed at Xunyang and appointed Changyu Acting Staff Officer of the Southern Gentlemen, with charge of secretarial duties. On reaching Banqiao, he was caught in a violent storm and drowned.
85
Drawing on the wealth of his father and grandfather, Lingyun possessed a very substantial estate. He kept a large household of slaves and servants, with hundreds of clients and retainers, and never ceased cutting into mountains, dredging lakes, and pressing men into labor. Whenever he explored mountains and climbed ridges, he pushed into the most secluded and precipitous places, leaving none of a thousandfold maze of cliffs and peaks unvisited. When climbing he usually wore wooden clogs with removable teeth—going uphill he took off the front teeth, going downhill the rear ones. Once he cut timber and opened a path from the southern mountains of Shining all the way to Linhai, with several hundred followers in his train. Wang Xiu, Administrator of Linhai, was alarmed and took them for mountain bandits. Only when he learned it was Lingyun did he relax. He asked Xiu to go farther still, but Xiu refused. Lingyun sent him a poem: "For a lord of the land the terrain is hard to leave; for a traveler, mountain paths come easily." In Kuaiji too he traveled with a large retinue, alarming the counties and districts. The Administrator Meng Yi was a devout Buddhist, yet Lingyun looked down on him. Lingyun once told him, "Attaining the Way requires the karma of wisdom. You, sir, will be born into heaven before I will, but you will become a Buddha only after I do." Yi deeply resented the remark.
86
便
East of Kuaiji's outer wall lay Huizhong Lake. Lingyun petitioned to drain it for farmland, and the Founder ordered the provincial and commandery authorities to inspect the site. The lake lay close to the city wall and supplied aquatic produce on which the people depended. Yi firmly refused to allow the project. Denied Huizhong Lake, Lingyun next petitioned to drain Bipi Lake at Shining for farmland, and Yi again refused. Lingyun claimed Yi was not acting for the people's good but feared that draining the lakes would destroy many living things. He attacked Yi in public and thus drew his lasting hatred. As Lingyun grew overbearing and the people grew alarmed, Yi memorialized the throne that Lingyun harbored rebellious intent, raised troops in self-defense, and posted the memorial on a public notice board. Lingyun galloped from the capital and submitted a memorial at the palace gate: "Your subject, having retired to the mountains on grounds of illness, has now been three years. I live far from town and market, apart from the affairs of the world, dwelling in seclusion among remote cliffs with all outward ties severed. Keeping to my station, I seek only to preserve my life and finish out my remaining years. Then suddenly, on the twenty-eighth of last month, I received a memorial from Yi, Administrator of Kuaiji, dated the twenty-seventh, which read: 'Of late strange rumors have been whispered abroad. Though this may be understood between us, the people will not keep silent. I have therefore made modest defensive preparations.' Reading this memorial, I was shocked and grieved, unable to understand its cause. I set out at once and raced here to lay my fate before Your Majesty. When I passed through Shanyin, the defenses were imposing: barricades, horse-spears, and crossbeams blocked the streets and lanes; scouts and patrols crisscrossed the city, and arms and armor filled every road. I do not know of what crime I am accused. When I met Yi, though he claimed my innocence was understood, the defenses remained as they were — I could only feel blind terror. Your subject was once privileged to serve in close attendance and received the Emperor's grace. Had my guilt been clearly established and borne out by documentary proof, I would not only accept public execution in accordance with the law of the realm — I would have nowhere under Heaven to hide. Now I am condemned on empty rumor — what cruelty could equal this? Since antiquity even sages and worthies have not escaped slander, yet slander always arises from some discernible cause. Some hold death lightly and prize honor above all, forming factions and gathering followers; some are the bravest in their district, swordsmen racing in each other's tracks. No one who has cultivated ritual and ceremony is ever heard to seek the crime of treason; nor does a man dwelling in mountain seclusion fabricate the offense of lese-majeste. Now evidence appears without cause and false slander is invented from nothing — such cruelty has no precedent in all antiquity. It is not that I begrudge my life — I truly mourn the agony of this injustice. Though inwardly I find no fault upon reflection, I cannot make my case heard. Therefore, dragging my sick body along, I came to lay myself before the throne and surrender. If I may rely on Your Majesty's discerning grace, then the day of my death would be as a day of life. Your subject has lived in fear and dread day after day; my wasting illness has flared up, my body is half-delirious, and I scarcely know what I have said."
87
使 使
The Emperor knew he had been falsely accused and did not punish him. Unwilling to let him return east, the Emperor appointed him Administrator of Linchuan and granted him mid-tier two-thousand-bushel rank. In the commandery he roamed at will, no different from the Yongjia period, and was reported by the proper authorities. The Minister of Works dispatched an envoy, and Provincial Attendant Zheng Wangsheng was sent to arrest Lingyun. Lingyun seized Wangsheng and bound him, raised troops and fled in rebellion, and thus conceived seditious intent. He composed a poem, saying, "When Han was collapsing Zhang Liang roused himself; before the Qin emperor Lu Zhilian felt shame. Born a man of river and sea — his loyalty and righteousness stirred a noble heart." They pursued him, captured him, and sent him to the Court for Judgment for sentencing. The Court for Judgment reported that Lingyun had led his followers in rebellion and recommended execution by decapitation under the law. The Emperor valued his talent and wished only to dismiss him from office. Prince of Pengcheng Yikang insisted that he should not be pardoned, whereupon an edict said, "Lingyun's offenses have piled up one upon another; he truly deserves the full weight of the law. But Xie Xuan's merit was like that of Guan Zhong; mercy should extend to his descendants. Reduce his sentence one degree from death and send him into exile at Guangzhou."
88
使
Later, Zong Qishou, a commandery guard captain of Qin, reached Tukou. On reaching Taoxu Village he saw seven men get off the road and speak confusedly together; suspecting they were not ordinary men, he returned to report to the commandery and county. Troops were sent to follow Qishou in a surprise strike. They fought hand to hand, captured them all, and delivered them to prison. One of them, Zhao Qin of Shanyang County, said, "My fellow villager Xue Daoshuang had previously worked with Xie Kangle. In early ninth month of last year, Daoshuang, through our fellow villager Chengguo, told me, 'The former Linchuan Administrator who was convicted and exiled to Guangzhou — Xie — gave money to buy bows, arrows, swords, shields, and the like, and told Daoshuang to gather stout fellows from the village to seize Xie at Sanjiangkou. If the plan succeeds and all goes as wished, the credit will be shared alike.' They gathered their band to waylay Xie but did not succeed. On the way back famine struck, and along the road they turned to robbery." The proper authorities again reported that he should be arrested and tried according to law. The Emperor ordered that the sentence of public execution be carried out in Guangzhou. Facing death he composed a poem, saying, "Gong Sheng had no life remaining; Li Ye too reached his end. Ji Kang's principle was already besieged; Huo's life also ended. Frost-stricken leaves shiver; wind-torn mushrooms hang in tatters. A chance encounter — how long can it last? The span of life is not what I mourn. My heart has gone on ahead — I know it myself; this pain I have borne long already. I regret that my noble resolve was not granted to perish upon the mountain cliffs." The Gong Sheng and Li Ye named in the poem convey the same intent as Zhang Liang and Lu Zhilian in the earlier poem. It was the tenth year of Yuanjia; he was forty-nine. The writings he left were handed down in the world. His son Feng died young.
89
使 調
The historiographer writes: Human beings are endowed with the spirit of heaven and earth and embody the five constant virtues; hardness and softness take turns, and joy and anger divide the heart. When the heart moves within, song and poetry burst forth without. The six categories of meaning supply their foundation, the four inaugural poems hold them fast, and rising and falling songs and ballads spread in profusion through the Airs. Though no written traces survive from before the eras of Yu and Xia, in receiving breath and harboring spirit the principle cannot have been any different. Song and poetry, then, must have arisen with humanity itself. When the Zhou house had already declined, the literary current grew ever more visible. Qu Ping and Song Yu opened clear springs ahead; Jia Yi and Xiangru raised fragrant dust behind them. Their splendid words enriched metal and stone; their lofty righteousness reached to the clouds and sky. From that time forward, the range of feeling and intent grew ever wider. Wang Bao, Liu Xiang, Yang, Ban, Cui, Cai, and others like them followed different paths yet raced toward the same end, each generation in turn taking the last as teacher and model. Though clear diction and lovely turns sometimes flashed forth in their pages, coarse sounds that burdened the breath were also plentiful. As for Pingzi's brilliant flowering, in whom writing changed with feeling — his unsurpassed songs and lofty traces went long without a successor. By the Jian'an era the House of Cao had founded its mandate; the two founders and Prince Chen all amassed rich ornament, and only then did they weave feeling through words and clothe substance in literary form. From Han to Wei, across more than four hundred years, men of letters and literary talent saw the style of writing change three times. Xiangru was skillful at words of vivid likeness; Ban Gu excelled at discourse on reason and feeling; Zi Jian and Zhong Xuan took temperament and native quality as their substance. All alike displayed their gifts and claimed beauty for themselves, shining alone in their own age. Therefore the men of that age each admired and emulated one another, and tracing the source of the rushing current, all alike looked back to the Airs and the Sao. Only because tastes differed in feeling did they deliberately make their forms diverge from one another. Descending to the Yuankang era, Pan and Lu stood out above the rest. Their metrical rules differed from Ban and Jia, their form changed from Cao and Wang; meanings clustered thick as stars, and elaborate words were woven together like brocade. Linking the refined echoes of the Pingtai gatherings and gathering the lofty tones of Nanpi, the lingering wind and surviving brilliance reached their peak in the lands south of the Yangtze. When Jin was restored, the Neo-Daoist current alone flourished. Learning exhausted itself in the Keeper under the Pillar, encyclopedic breadth stopped at seven chapters, and though men galloped through literary language, their meaning was confined to this alone. From Jianwu down to Yixi, spanning nearly a hundred years, though echo followed echo and words linked together like waves massed and clouds piled, all alike lodged their words in supreme virtue and entrusted their intent to the dark pearl. Forceful and beautiful language was nowhere to be heard. Zhongwen first reformed the style of Sun and Xu, and Shuyuan greatly transformed the literary temper of the Taixuan era. By the time of the Song dynasty, Yan and Xie had risen to fame. Lingyun's inspired encounters rise loftily, and Yannian's craft is clear and meticulous. Both matched the measure of earlier masters and bequeathed models to later generations. If one spreads one's robe and discusses the heart of the matter, weighing earlier literary blossoms, the reckoning of skill and clumsiness may yet be spoken of. The five colors enhance one another, and the eight tones harmonize and flow freely, through dark and yellow, pitch pipes and pitch standards, each suited to what things require. One seeks to make Gong and Yu tones alternate and low and high mutually regulate each other: if the preceding sound is level, what follows must be sharp. Within a single line, every sound and rhyme must differ. Within a pair of lines, every light and heavy must differ. Only when one marvelously grasps this principle may one speak of writing at all. As for the abundant works of the ancients, lofty in import and prized through the ages — Zi Jian's piece on the capital enclosure, Zhong Xuan's piece on the Ba embankment, Zi Jing's chapter on drizzling rain, Zhengchang's line on the north wind — all alike expressed feeling straight from the breast, without leaning on the Odes and historical chronicles. It was precisely through tonal pattern and regulated rhyme that they attained the loftiness of earlier models. Since the Sao writers, this secret has remained unseen. As for lofty words and marvelous lines whose tonal pattern is born of nature, all tacitly accord with principle and are not arrived at through deliberate thought. Zhang, Cai, Cao, and Wang never had any who first awakened to it, and Pan, Lu, Xie, and Yan grew ever farther from it. Those in the world who truly understand music will have grounds to grasp it and will know that these words are not mistaken. If one says otherwise, let us await the sages yet to come.
← Previous Chapter
Back to Chapters
Next Chapter →