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卷57 列傳第22 盧思道 李孝貞 薛道衡

Volume 57 Biographies 22: Lu Sidao, Li Xiaozhen, Xue Daoheng

Chapter 57 of 隋書 · Book of Sui
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Chapter 57
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1
Changheng, Lu Sidao's paternal cousin
2
調 西 簿
Lu Sidao, whose style was Zixing, came from Fanyang. His grandfather Yangwu had served as Director of the Secretariat in Northern Wei. His father Daoliang had withdrawn from public life and never held office. Sidao was bright, handsome, and quick-tongued, with an easy, unconstrained temperament. When he was sixteen he met Liu Song of Zhongshan, who showed him an epitaph he had written for someone. Sidao read it and found much of it beyond him; stung to shame, he shut himself in to study and became a pupil of Xing Zicai of Hejian. Later Sidao wrote another piece and showed it to Liu Song, who could no longer follow it very well either. Sidao sighed and said, "So learning really does pay—this was no empty effort!" He borrowed rare books from Wei Shou, and within a few years had won renown for both talent and learning. Yet he was careless of his conduct and prone to slighting others. During Qi’s Tianbao reign, before the History of Wei was officially released, Sidao had already memorized it and was flogged and humiliated for it. He kept giving offense, and was passed over for promotion. Later Yang Zunyan, Left Vice Director, recommended him at court; he entered office as Acting Attendant in the Ministry of Works, also served as Extraordinary Attendant Cavalier Attendant-in-Ordinary, and was posted to the Secretariat. When Emperor Wenxuan died, each leading writer at court submitted ten dirges, and the best lines were selected for the service. Wei Shou, Yang Xiuzhi, and Zu Xiaozheng each had only one or two pieces chosen, whereas Sidao alone had eight accepted. People therefore nicknamed him "Eight-Bushel Lu." Later he was demoted for leaking Secretariat secrets, becoming Libationer in the Chancellor’s Western Pavilion, and also served as Attendant to the Heir Apparent and Recorder under the Minister of Education. In every post he held he was repeatedly censured and shamed. He was later dismissed and sent home for unauthorized use of treasury funds. Once, north of Ji, he gave way to melancholy and wrote a pentasyllabic poem to voice his mood; readers judged it finely done. Several years later he returned as Chief Clerk of the Capital Region, then served as Master of Guests and Attendant Gentleman of the Yellow Gate, and was retained as a writer at the Forest of Letters. When Emperor Wu of Zhou conquered Qi, Sidao was made Pillar of State, Third Order, and summoned to Chang'an; he and peers such as Yang Xiuzhi wrote "On Hearing the Cicadas," and Sidao's contribution, lucid and piercing in diction, won great esteem. Yu Xin of Xinye read all the contributions and sighed in deep admiration of Sidao's. Soon afterward he went home because his mother was ill and became involved when Zu Yingbo of his commandery, his cousin Changqi, Song Hu, and others rose in arms; Sidao joined them. Zhou sent Pillar of State Yuwen Shenju to put down the revolt; the offense merited execution, and Sidao was already as good as dead. Shenju had long known his reputation, had him brought forth, and ordered him to draft a victory proclamation. Sidao wrote it at a stroke, flawless without emendation; Shenju was pleased and spared him. He was later appointed Senior Master of Instruction. When Gaozu was Chancellor, Sidao was moved to Administrator of Wuyang, a post that did not suit him. He wrote "Rhapsody on a Lone Goose" to express his feelings, which read:
3
便
In the year I began serious study I left my home for the capital, where I soon found patrons who understood me and won the regard of many great men in turn. By twenty I had barely joined the court; gossipers overrated me, and I came by a hollow fame. Learned men from Lord Yang and Special Advance Xing downward all treated me as an equal, hurried out shoeless to welcome me, polished my reputation, and inflated my standing. Yet my gifts were naturally mediocre, my nature truly slack and indolent; I cared nothing for profit or gain. Though the court held me fast for nearly thirty years, the wish to go my own way never left me. My regimen had gone awry, and I suffered a mild disorder of the breath. I took office with seal in hand and became magistrate of the eastern plain. Along the great river lay rich fields without end; the noise of office fell away, and fish and birds were my companions. A goose that had strayed from the flock was caught by a fowler; a rustic tamed it and presented it to me. I kept it in the pool and courtyard and admired it morning and evening; it eased my cares and lightened my mild ailment. The Book of Changes says, "The goose gradually reaches the shore"—a splendid display of pinions. Yang Xiong says, "The goose flies in the dim distance"—soaring to great heights. The Huainanzi says it "returns east to Jieshi," fleeing the oppressive summer. Zhang Heng's rhapsody says it "sojourns south at Hengyang," shunning bitter cold. In grace of step and clarity of call, in lofty spirit and distant aim, among the phoenix-kind one seldom finds its equal—yet with wings clipped in a courtyard corner, standing alone with only its shadow, pecking scraps beside chickens and ducks: how pitiful! My fiftieth year has come all at once; reflecting on my life's course, I am stirred to many thoughts, and so I wrote this rhapsody simply to comfort myself. The text runs:
4
綿 宿
This lone goose, singular among winged creatures, truly bears a lofty, pure nature, born far away east of the frontier passes. Its down about to molt, it sings in harmony with the wind; where ice and clouds lie heavy, it spreads its wings and cleaves the sky. It leaves distant isles behind, faces mist and frost, starts at the fisher's close-set nets, and dreads the bow that brings down the migrating goose. When the Dipper turns east and the moon-maid takes charge of the month, it gathers far off at the Cold Gate and lightly ascends to the Dark Tower. When heaven stands high and the air turns crisp and leaves fall in season, it calls with its flock along the Huai and sings along the riverbanks. It brushes the crimson sky in bold flight, rides the power of the red ether, meets the swirling autumn wind, and lingers in the slow-setting sun. When spring comes to Poyang and Dongting first greens, it preens its wings; the flock floats together and bathes as one. It shakes snow-white plumes in the wind, folds frost-gray down to await the dawn, feasts on the lush plants of rivers and lakes, and fills itself on beans and grain of the open country. It departs in lofty flight, its calls echoing on and on, pure as the ice-silk of Qi, bright as the fine jade of Mishan. At dawn it bathes in clear dew and walks at ease with measured steps; at evening it rests on a fragrant islet, stretching its neck upon the current; fleeing the cold it races in pursuit, drifts on the Yuan and roosts upon the stream; shunning the summer heat it turns homeward, flying through clouds across the desert. It takes the dark swan for companion, keeps company with the vermilion egret, wearies of heaven's trackless gloom, and alights on the fragrant river islet. Suddenly the fowler sets his net, the huntsman springs his trap; it bids farewell forever to the open sky and walks within a double cage. At first cramped in cage and pen, it dreads knife and block, would yield body and life, and grieves to have lost its proper realm. In time it grows tame in garden and court, lodges in the palace pool, accepts grain as a gift, and wanders at ease. Then it folds its wings and bows its neck, holds its breath and stills its cry, quenches lofty dreams of mist and glow, and smothers the deep longing of rivers and sea. When will it toss its head and spread its wings, soar to the highest heaven, rise in exultant flight, and reach the distant tiered walls? Base birds look on without respect; small birds glance and scorn it—content to be held to earth without shame: what glory could there be in piercing heaven again! The bird that charts the south is great yet envies none; the mite on an eyelash is tiny yet not despised: each follows its nature under heaven and does not harbor warring desires. It hears not the music of Xianchi, tastes not the grand sacrifice, drinks beside the morning cock, and shares its meal with the wild drake. It does not cry out for fame, but would rather measure its frame to be seen; for now it lodges in marsh and pool, and quiets its heart in muddy shallows. It treats honor and shame alike and stays serene, enjoying the gentleman's kindly regard.
5
Early in the Kaihuang reign, citing his mother's age, he petitioned to resign, and the emperor graciously approved. Sidao trusted in his talent and pedigree and often rode roughshod over others, and his career therefore languished. He then wrote "On the Toils of Life," a pointed critique of his age, which begins:
6
Zhuangzi says, "The great clod burdens me with life." How true those words are! I am fifty; frailty and age gather like clouds; looking back on the past, how laborious my life has been. I therefore wrote this essay to speak of the times as follows.
7
退
After leaving my post and living in retirement, a visitor called; presently he drew himself up and said, "Life is heaven and earth's greatest virtue; man is the most spirited of living things, paired with yin and yang and honored above all creatures. The gap between beauty and ugliness, folly and wisdom, is as wide as heaven from earth; differences in conduct and station are as vast as the sea or a mountain's halt. You, sir, were born in a noble region, of a ministerial house nine generations deep, gifted by heaven with talent ten thousand men admire; your learning spans the classics, you emulate Ziyou and Zixia of Confucius's school, your style exhausts elegance, and you rival Sima Xiangru and Yang Yun of Han. You act and withdraw with measure, advance and retire by ritual, neither fawning nor arrogant, free of anger and resentment; whether bowing high or low, in speech or silence—how spacious your bearing! Your humble servant admires this greatly."
8
漿 退 退 滿
I smiled and said, "Have you not thought this through? How far your praise goes! Listen closely, and let me explain it for you. Of all human conditions, none is better than never to have been born. In my own life, labor has never ceased; in my youth I embraced instruction, walked by the rule, and rose by following what was right. After I came of age I rinsed my cap-tassel and took office, bridled by benevolence and righteousness, bound to court and marketplace. I lost the nature of one who soars on land, forsook the freedom of rivers and lakes, was swallowed by these storms and drowned in missteps; cares and labors came all at once, and for many reasons. Why so? A lofty pedigree already draws suspicion from petty officials; fine talent and insight also draw envy from the dull and mediocre. Deep learning and a keen memory make the ignorant glare sidelong; eloquent speech flowing like a river makes the tongue-tied writhe with shame. It is not only that insects begrudge spring sap or ospreys begrudge rotten rats; not only that one sighs like Dong Zhongshu of Jiangdu or is banished to Changsha like Jia Yi and never returns—one also meets a Zang Cang in Lu, a Jin Shang in Chu; Zhao Yi sang his lament for this, and Zhang Sheng wept. In the last days of Qi one found no enlightened age; one bowed the neck to the yoke and had nowhere to hide. Duan Gui and Zhang Rang cared only for gold; Jia Mi and Guo Huai were glutted with corruption. Cruel punishments ran riot; disaster reached even the fish in the moat; men's ears heard slander like Fei Lian's, their feet trod blood like Long Feng's. In Zhou's last days one still served a wayward king; ascending the steps with tablet in hand, sweat soaked one's back—the peril when a Juchen envoy trod Jiaoyuan was nothing beside this; the danger when a man of Qi seized a horse's tail was mild by comparison. The passes of Yangchang and Gouzhu, riding hard with whip in hand; beyond Wuluo and Jitian, wind-combed and rain-soaked, nine meals in thirty days without daring to call it hardship—such labors were but trifles. Now a great age has dawned, the four gates stand serene; the emperor holds the tally on high, worthy ministers assist below; Qibo and Shan Juan would blush to nurse private grief, Bian Sui and Wu Guang would regret hiding like wood and stone. I am in the autumn of my life, already nearing the age when one knows one's allotted span; sentiment and propriety call for stepping back, and I cannot find rest. A single leaf blown by the wind does not diminish the great grove of Deng; two wild ducks flying away do not empty the vast waters of the Bohai. I plow and dig wells, rise at dawn and rest at dusk, watch the morning clouds over the southern hills, and enjoy the moonlight in my northern hall. I study Fan Sheng's treatise on the nine grains and heed its seasonal rules, and I live by Cui Shi's four-seasons ordinance in my daily round. In the morning I shoulder hoe and cloak among simple farmers in white cottages; in the evening I talk crops with neighbors whose clothes and feet are caked with mud. Rough wine fills the cup and hearty songs fill the mat until, in a daze, heaven and earth seem but a single span. That is the rustic's delight—perhaps you envy me for it?
9
退 ''
The guest said, "I have already heard your account, sir. Others have their own concerns; please also give me the gist of theirs. I replied, "Clouds rise and mud sinks—high and low are not the same rank; what is round rolls on and what is square stays put—motion and rest follow different laws. Those who range the heavens and cross the seas will still cast a light net in some marsh; where every road is bright with traffic, the axe suddenly falls in the hills. I have lately lived in a prosperous age yet clung to my modest tastes, watching how men rise and fall and how perilous the roads of the times can be. On deep-winter nights, when I sit in silence and think at length, sighs pile up in my heart and tears sting my nose. A human life of a hundred years is frail and short beyond telling—like a galloping horse or a flash of lightning, it defies words. Looking back in restless longing, I find that within a few decades poverty and wealth, honor and disgrace, are scarcely worth mentioning. Men of insight are few and the ignorant many; most are narrow, vulgar, reckless, and shallow. At home they wear a human face but harbor a beast's heart, failing in filial piety and righteousness; abroad they fawn, slander, and flatter, without shame or decency. They forget Laozi's teaching to withdraw and be content, and they cast aside the Zhou maxim that one should serve only while able. This evil has accumulated since remote antiquity, and in recent times the rot has grown especially deep. The spirit of humble yielding that Fan Li embodied is no longer passed on among officials, while the deluded conduct condemned in the Documents of Xia is treated as harmless by those in power. Before the morning dew has dried, carriages crowd the lanes of the Dong and Shi mansions; as the sun sets, black-canopied coaches pack the wards of Yan and Dou. They are supple as grease or leather, bowing and crawling, swallowing filth to win favor and fawning in the vilest ways to draw near. With honeyed words and flattering smiles they heighten his pleasures; with feigned tears and hypocritical sorrow they console his bereavements. They send fine wine from nearby and tribute serpents from afar, casting off beautiful women as one kicks off a shoe and discarding gold and jade as though they were nothing. When Deng Tong fell, not even a hairpin's worth of his gifts remained; when Liang Ji was executed, the power of the Five Marquises was already rising. Those who once bought office and scurried to pay court—old hangers-on who raced after carriage dust and fawning night visitors at the great man's door—at first lost their wits in terror, like a man who meets a beast, or turned pale as Lord Ye at the sight of a dragon; then suddenly they clap their hands and swagger, strut with lofty air, band together to shun the house of Lord Lian, and join hands to mourn at Lord Sheng's gate. Gilded wheels raise dust as they arrive like a flying arrow; the sparrow net is hung for a moment, then they are gone as though a string had snapped. No sweetness binds them, no distance holds them back; they shift by the thousand, appearing and vanishing like spirits. Those who behave thus are men of pedigree, some even gifted—yet they feel no shame at lacking benevolence or righteousness, and neither friends nor wives can make them blush. Outwardly respectable, inwardly treacherous, they win purple robes and green sashes, rule provinces and prefectures, and under official caps plunder and fatten themselves. They fill their halls with song and dance, cauldrons and bells, until their ears are weary of lute strings and their mouths are glutted with delicacies. Right-minded men condemn such conduct, yet the rulers of the day do not reprove it; the vulgar age wallows in evils like these. I have gone against the age in a humble post, living quietly in seclusion, ashamed of the chase for office and deeply afraid of grasping gain. My heart is like dead ash, untouched by power or profit; I keep no surplus at home and spend nothing from my purse. By chance I have held office for some decades, and my dullness has been laughed at—that is why I speak of the toils of a modest life. Our sage sovereign rules the realm, stripping ornament back to simplicity, so that men again know honor from shame and the age returns to peace. Within, the chief minister spreads culture and learning; without, great ministers like Fang and Shao display martial authority. The great Way covers all, pure customs prevail, appointments go only to the capable, and ranks are never handed out lightly. In such a time I have kept to the sidelines and never joined the gowned officials; cliques of flatterers have been swept away, and the frivolous have vanished without a trace. Pebbles are transformed into jade, and weeds into orchids and sacred fungus. What once shocked the ear and offended the eye no longer stirs the age; such things are neither heard nor seen, and none dares treat me with contempt. The Book of Changes says, "When the sage appears, all things look up to him"—is that not exactly this?"
10
使 殿 使
A year or so later he was recalled and ordered to welcome the Chen envoys at the suburban ceremony. Soon afterward his mother died; before long he was recalled as Attendant-in-Ordinary and reported on the duties of the Vice Minister of the Palace Secretariat. At that time the court debated establishing the Six Ministries and was about to abolish the Court of Judicial Review. Sidao submitted a memorial saying, "If the ministry keeps the Bureau of Carriages while the court retains the Imperial Stud, and the ministry has a Bureau of Punishments while the court abolishes the Court of Judicial Review, then livestock will be prized above the law—that truly will not do. He also argued that the palace was no place for corporal punishment and asked that court officials who merited beating be allowed to redeem the penalty instead; the emperor approved all of this. That year he died in the capital, aged fifty-two. The emperor deeply mourned him and sent envoys to offer condolences. He left a collected works of thirty fascicles that circulated in his day. His son Chisong, in the Daye era, rose to be administrator of Hedong.
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使 使 使使
Lu Changheng, courtesy name Zijun. His father Daoxian had been Vice Director of the Ministry of Works under Wei. Changheng's childhood name was Longzi. He was refined and composed, his bearing a model to others; he read widely in the classics and histories and excelled at cursive and running script. His cousin Sidao, childhood name Shinu, was with him acclaimed in the clan as the family's finest talents. Youzhou therefore had a saying: "For a thousand li around, the Lu clan means Shinu and Longzi. At seventeen he was summoned by Yuan Ye, Prince of Jiyin of Wei, and appointed attendant in the Grand Minister of War's office, with a concurrent post in external military affairs. When Qi received the mandate, he served successively as magistrate of Ping'en and attendant to the crown prince. Soon afterward he was recommended by Vice Director Zuxiao and promoted to Director of the Gold Bureau in the Ministry of Revenue. Zuxiao often said, "When I appointed Lu Zijun to the ministry, I felt I had done no disgrace to Youzhou. Later he also served concurrently as General Attendant and received envoys from Zhou. When Emperor Wu of Northern Zhou conquered Qi, he was made Attendant of the Jade Bureau and, with Grand Minister Hesixi, revised the ritual codes. At the beginning of the Kaihuang era he was appointed Vice Minister of Rites in charge of ancestral temples. Emperor Gaozu once assembled his ministers and ordered each to recount his achievements; everyone pressed forward except Changheng, who remained silent. Vice Director Gao Feng regarded him with surprise. When the Chen envoys He Che and Zhou Fen came on successive missions, the court each time assigned Changheng to receive them. Before long he was sent out as chief administrator under the Xuzhou commandery and won a strong reputation for competence. Su Wei, Minister of Personnel, assessed him thus: "His virtue is the people's measure; his conduct is the scholar's pattern. Commentators treated the remark as a celebrated saying. Once, while passing through Junyi, the horse he was riding was struck by another man's ox and killed. The ox's owner apologized and offered to pay compensation, but Changheng said, "When livestock collide it is only nature—what has that to do with human intent? Why apologize? He refused and would take nothing. By nature he was magnanimous and never quarreled; this was typical of him. He was transferred to chief administrator under the Shouzhou commandery. The regional commander Yuwen Shu greatly respected him and entrusted him with the prefecture's affairs. A year or so later he was promoted to governor of Jinzhou. In the Renhou period he was commissioned with imperial insignia as touring inspector of Henan; on his return, because his mission had pleased the throne, he was granted the rank of Master of the Same Third Order and three hundred rolls of goods. Changheng, feeling himself near seventy, submitted a memorial asking to retire, but a gracious edict refused permission. At the beginning of the Daye era he was summoned as Left Attendant of the Heir Apparent, but died on the road to Luoyang at the age of seventy-two. His sons were Baosu and Baoyin.
12
Li Xiaozhen
13
使
Li Xiaozhen, courtesy name Yuancao, was a native of Bo in Zhao commandery. His father Xili had been Inspector of Xin under Qi; the family had for generations been a prominent clan. From youth Xiaozhen loved learning and could write well. Under Northern Qi he entered service as an attendant in the Ministry of Education. Calm and reserved, he did not casually receive guests; with his cousins Li Sao of the Personnel Bureau and Li Jijie, attendant to the crown prince, together with Cui Ziwu of Boling and Lu Xunzu of Fanyang, he formed friendships as firm as sworn brotherhood. Later, having placed first in the archery examination, he was appointed Attendant Gentleman. At that time Gao Qianhe, Vice Director of the Yellow Gate, was a powerful favorite of the ruler and sought a marriage alliance with Xiaozhen. Xiaozhen refused him; a breach followed, and Gao secretly slandered him until he was sent out as external troops attendant in the Grand Minister's office. He later served in succession as attendant of the Central Secretariat, grand administrator of Boling, and vice governor of Su prefecture, then again as General Palace Attendant and deputy envoy to Zhou; on his return he was appointed Attendant Gentleman of the Yellow Gate. When Emperor Wu of Zhou conquered Qi, he was granted the rank of Master of the Same Third Order and made Lower Minister of Lesser Ceremonial. When Emperor Xuan succeeded to the throne, he was transferred to Lower Minister in the Ministry of Personnel. When Gaozu was chief minister, Wei Cong rebelled at Xiangzhou; Xiaozhen followed Wei Xiaokuan in the campaign and, for his merit, was granted Senior Master of the Same Third Order. At the beginning of Kaihuang he was appointed grand administrator of Fengyi; because his name violated an imperial taboo, he thereafter used his courtesy name. Several years later he was promoted to governor of Mengzhou, where officials and people lived in peace under him. From then on he no longer cared for writing; when people asked why, he sighed and said, "Fifty years pass in a blink; my temples are white and my strength is spent—office and letters are gone at once. How sad! Yet on his free days he would gather guests, sing to the lute, and drink with them, making merry all day long. He was summoned as Vice Minister of the Palace Secretariat and, with Li Delin, shared responsibility for drafting state documents. Yet Xiaozhen proved unfit for demanding administrative work; many said he neglected his duties. The emperor rebuked him in anger and ordered the censor to investigate, whereupon he was sent out as governor of Jinzhou. He died while still serving in office. A twenty-fascicle collection of his writings circulated widely. He left a son named Yunyu.
14
Xiaozhen's younger brother Xiaowei likewise enjoyed a fine literary reputation and, during Emperor Yang's Daye reign, rose to serve as Vice Director of the Court of Judicial Review.
15
Biography: Xue Daohheng. (His younger cousin Ru is treated later in the chapter.)
16
西 西 簿 使 使 簿祿
Xue Daohheng, courtesy name Xuanqing, came from Fenyin in Hedong. His grandfather Cong had served as Governor of Jizhou under the Northern Wei. His father Xiaotong had been Governor of Changshan. Daohheng lost his father at the age of six and threw himself into his studies with single-minded devotion. At thirteen, while studying the Zuo Commentary, he read of Zichan's statesmanship in Zheng and wrote an "Encomium on Guo Qiao" of real literary polish; all who saw it were astonished. His literary reputation soon spread further, and the Prince of Pengcheng, You, governor of Sizhou, appointed him an aide in the military bureau. Yang Zunyan of Hongnong, Left Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs and a towering figure of his generation, met him and exclaimed in admiration. He received appointment as Attendant at Court. Xin Shu of Longxi, Director of the Ministry of Personnel, spoke with him and sighed, "The legacy of the Lord of Zheng lives on. Pei Yan of Hedong looked him over and declared, "Since the royal house moved north of the Yellow River, I had thought a sage of the western passes a rarity indeed—yet here I meet Master Xue again." When Emperor Wucheng was still chancellor, he summoned Daohheng as his recorder; after Wucheng took the throne, Daohheng rose in due course to chief clerk of the Grand Marshal's office. A year later he was also made Regular Attendant of the Scattered Cavalry and charged with receiving envoys from Northern Zhou and Chen. Early in the Wuping era he was ordered, together with other scholars, to help revise the Five Rites, and was appointed Left Outer Military Officer in the Department of State Affairs. When Chen sent Fu Zuan on a mission to Qi, Daohheng was appointed concurrent Chief of Guests to receive him. Fu Zuan presented a fifty-rhyme poem, which Daohheng answered in matching verse; both north and south acclaimed the exchange. Wei Shou remarked, "Fu Zuan was like a man baiting a fishhook with a worm—hopelessly outmatched. He served as a literary attendant at the Wulin Pavilion and was ranked alongside Lu Sidao of Fanyang and Li Delin of Anping, with whom he was on close terms. He continued in his post while serving on duty at the Secretariat, and was soon appointed Vice Director of the Secretariat, remaining a reader-attendant to the crown prince. Under the Last Ruler he came increasingly into favor, though many at the time accused him of sycophancy. He later joined Attendant-in-Chief Hulu Xiaoxiao in deliberating state affairs and laid out a full plan for defending against Zhou, but Xiaoxiao would not adopt it. After the fall of Qi, Emperor Wu of Zhou appointed him Second-Rank Gentleman of the Censorate. He later returned home and, after serving as a provincial chief clerk, entered the capital as Senior Gentleman of the Bureau of Revenues.
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使 使 使 ' '滿 西
When Gaozu was chancellor, he followed the commander Liang Rui against Wang Qian and served as acting governor of Lingzhou. During the Dading era he was made Palace Attendant of the First Rank and served as acting governor of Qiongzhou. When Gaozu took the throne, Daohheng was dismissed from office for an offense. When the Prince of Hejian, Hong, marched north against the Turks, he summoned Daohheng to manage military correspondence; on his return Daohheng was appointed Secretary of the Palace Secretariat. That same year he was also made Regular Attendant of the Scattered Cavalry and sent as envoy to the Chen court. Daohheng then submitted a memorial: "The southeast is but a petty corner of the realm, yet it has long played at kingship—ever since the Yongjia reign, when the heartland fell apart. The Liu, Shi, Fu, Yao, Murong, and Helian regimes all seized titles without right and were extinguished in their turn. When the Wei moved southward they had no leisure to pursue distant conquests. Northern Zhou and Qi were locked in rivalry for supremacy, so the south escaped punishment year after year. Your Majesty's sacred virtue matches Heaven itself; you have taken the throne and may be compared with the sage kings of antiquity in unifying the realm—how can petty Chen be left outside the imperial net any longer? On this mission I ask leave to demand that Chen acknowledge vassal status. Gaozu replied, "For now I mean to show forbearance and set them outside my immediate concern. Do not press them with harsh words; understand my intent." The southeast had always prized poetry, and the Chen ruler was especially fond of ornamental verse; whatever Daohheng wrote was soon on everyone's lips south of the Yangtze. When the campaign against Chen was launched in the eighth year, he was appointed Director of Personnel on the Huainan campaign staff and also took charge of official correspondence. As the imperial army reached the Yangtze, Gao Jiong sat in his tent one night and asked him, "Will this campaign succeed in pacifying the southeast? Give me your view. Daohheng replied, "In judging any great undertaking, one must first weigh it by the highest principles of right. The nine provinces listed in the Tribute of Yu were originally the domain of the true sovereign. At the end of the Later Han, rival warlords sprang up, and Sun Quan and his brothers seized the Wu and Chu regions. When Emperor Wu of Jin took the throne he soon reunified the realm, but the southward flight at Yongjia split the empire once again. Since then war has never ceased, yet when adversity reaches its limit, prosperity returns—such is the constant way of Heaven. Guo Pu once prophesied, 'The separatist rulers of the southeast will hold sway for three hundred years, then reunite with the heartland.' That term is almost complete. Judged by the turn of destiny, conquest is assured—that is the first reason. The virtuous prosper and the wicked perish; the rise and fall of states has always obeyed this law. Our sovereign is personally frugal and diligent in government, while Chen Shubao lives in palaces of carved splendor, drowning in wine and debauchery. Ruler and subjects are divided, and both men and gods are incensed—that is the second assurance of victory. A state's strength lies in whom it appoints; Chen's ministers are mere figureheads. They have elevated the petty official Shi Wenqing to run the government, while Director Jiang Zong cares only for wine and verse and has no gift for strategy; their chief generals Xiao Mohe and Ren Mannu are worth no more than a single soldier each. That is the third assurance of victory. We possess the Way and are mighty; they lack virtue and are weak—and their armed forces number no more than a hundred thousand. From the Wu Gorges in the west to the eastern sea, if their forces are divided their strength is feeble, and if massed together they cannot defend every point at once. That is the fourth assurance of victory. A sweeping victory is beyond doubt." Gao Jiong said with delight, "Your analysis of victory and defeat is lucid in both principle and fact—I understand it perfectly now. I had valued you for literary talent alone—I never expected such strategic insight." After the campaign he was appointed Vice Director of the Ministry of Personnel. He was later dismissed for favoring certain appointees; critics said he sided with Su Wei and chose officials for private reasons, and he was stripped of rank and sent to serve on the southern frontier. The Prince of Jin, Guang, was then in Yangzhou and secretly had someone suggest that Daohheng travel by way of Yangzhou, planning to petition the throne to keep him there. Daohheng had no wish to join a prince's household and, following a plan of the Prince of Han, Liang, took the Jiangling road instead. He was soon recalled by imperial order and resumed duty at the Palace Secretariat. The Prince of Jin bore a grudge over this, yet still valued his talent and treated him with considerable respect. Some years later he was made Vice Director of the Palace Secretariat and additionally granted the rank of Palace Attendant of the Third Rank.
18
便 使使
Whenever Daohheng set out to write, he would shut himself in an empty room, lie against the wall, and fly into a rage if he heard anyone outside—so intensely did he concentrate. Gaozu often remarked, "Xue Daohheng's official writings always suit my meaning. Yet he also warned him against being ponderous and overwrought. Later, pleased with his service, Gaozu told Yang Su and Niu Hong, "Daohheng is growing old yet still toils diligently for the court—it is time he had halberds set before his gate as a mark of honor. He was accordingly promoted to Upper Defender of the Office and rewarded with a hundred lengths of silk. Daohheng protested that he had earned no such honor, but Gaozu said, "You have long labored at court, and the great affairs of state are all drafted and proclaimed through you—is that not achievement enough? Daohheng had long held key posts at court, and his fame only grew; the crown prince and imperial princes competed for his friendship, while Gao Jiong and Yang Su held him in the highest regard. His reputation in that age had no equal.
19
During the Renshou era Yang Su dominated the government; because Daohheng was close to him, the emperor did not want him privy to state secrets for too long and sent him out as acting administrator of Xiang prefecture. Daohheng had served at court for many years, and the sudden parting overwhelmed him with grief; he could hardly speak for weeping. Gaozu's face fell with sorrow as he said, "You are in the evening of your years, and your service to me has been unstinting. I mean to have you govern there and nurture the people as well. Your departure feels to me like losing an arm. He then granted him three hundred lengths of goods, a nine-ring gold belt, a suit of court dress, and ten horses, comforted him warmly, and sent him on his way. In office he governed with simplicity and restraint, and officials and commoners alike cherished his benevolence.
20
When Emperor Yang succeeded to the throne, Daohheng was transferred to governor of Panyu. After a little more than a year he petitioned to retire from office. The emperor told Vice Director Yu Shiji, "When Daohheng arrives, I shall appoint him Director of the Imperial Library. When Daohheng arrived, he presented his "Eulogy for Emperor Wen, the Literary High Ancestor." It begins:
21
In the Great Beginning and Great Simplicity, at the vast dawn of creation— the Heavenly and Earthly Sovereigns, in the dim reaches before any written record. Their way is beyond reach and their traces remote—beyond the reach of words, beyond what eye or ear can follow. When men lived in caves and nests, dwelling like quail and drinking like nestlings, they differed little from birds and beasts—what then made the human spirit precious, or reason of any use? From Fu Xi and the Yellow Emperor down to Yao and Shun, rulers modeled themselves on Heaven, established laws, and cultivated civilization—only then did the throne gain its dignity and the sage's Way its authority. The dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, and rulers such as Yu, Tang, King Wen, and King Wu, brought benefit to the people and won praise in the Book of Odes—yet even they declined in the Three Dynasties and Five Emperors era, their virtue shamed by ceaseless war. Qin seized power between dynasties and made legalist punishment the foundation of rule; Han held the Mandate yet mingled hegemonic methods with true kingship. When the Wei rose, three kingdoms confronted one another; by the end of the Jin, the empire was torn by chaos. Within the nine provinces, monsters and rebels lurked in their lairs; the surviving peoples of the great cities trampled beneath the hooves of war. Though the Northern Wei settled Song and Luoyang and the Liang held the passes of Xiao and Han, none could set the eastern sea in order or quench the fires of civil war! To gather the turning of a thousand years into a single dawn, to unite ten thousand generations in one reign—is this not the destiny of Great Sui?
22
Such was Gaozu, the Cultured Emperor: at his birth heaven sent a sage, and crimson light flooded the room; when he kept his powers hidden, purple mist climbed the sky. His dragon-like face and sun-cornered brow, the jade lines of his forehead and pearl-like ridges—marvels set down in prophecy and plain to see in his person. His house was long in sacred favor, its foundation towering—like the layered virtue of the Zhou at Bin and Qi, not like the abrupt ascent from Feng and Pei. He humbly underwent heaven's trials, took up governance at the court gate, headed the six ministers, and outshone every lord—like Shun as Grand Marshal, like Yu as Minister of Works. The old mandate was failing; the realm boiled with strife; omens flashed in heaven and golden light swept the fields. Villainous warlords rose in rebellion, holding the north country from the river to the eastern sea; Cunning leaders ran riot, shutting the crossings at White Horse and Chenggao. Yong and Shu defied the throne, trusting in the narrows of Copper Beam; The Yun and Huang regions rebelled, beckoning invaders from Jinling. The heartland trembled; the imperial cauldrons seemed ready to pass from hand to hand. Gaozu rose like dragon and phoenix, plunged through flood and battle, fulfilled the Red Submerged prophecy and took heaven's mandate, set a hundred ever-victorious commanders in the field and roused hosts from every quarter—quelling rebels as ancient kings had quelled Gonggong and Chiyou, cutting down barbarian foes root and branch. Without needing Han's twenty-eight generals or Zhou's fifty-two expeditions, he ended the revolt almost at once, cleared the land of turmoil, and rescued the people from ruin. He righted the tilted pillar of heaven and retied the broken cords of earth. Far lands bowed low, knowing their herds and horses belonged once more to the center; Musicians prostrated themselves, dreading that bells and chimes might never sound the old harmonies again. The people gladly pressed him to rule; heaven, earth, and the spirits cast their lots anew in his favor. Though the altar stood ready, he still held to the fivefold refusal of the throne; Only when the myriad hosts could not be refused did he yield to the plea of all within the four seas. He took the throne, offered rites at the suburban altar, danced the ancient sixfold rites to summon heaven, laid out the four jades to feast the Lord on High—and heaven and earth met in harmony, and every thing under them flourished. He weighed the good ordinances of earlier kings and changed the dynastic name; Because the people came to him from every quarter, he moved the capital and built anew. He aligned the capital with the Vermilion Bird in heaven and the Black Dragon on earth, set every quarter in its place by the sun and moon, and patterned inner palace and outer court on the stars. He proclaimed his rule from the imperial gate, gathered the lords in the Bright Hall, swept away the old and set up the new, and transformed the manners of the age. Beyond the frontier, the northern tribes had raged for ages; when a hundred thousand swept the border even Fan Kuai could find no answer, and five thousand men on the march were swallowed as Li Ling's army had been. Even Zhou and Qi at their height courted barbarian queens beyond the desert and could not end the raids, poured out treasure from Shandong and could not satisfy their greed. When Han's fiery mandate rose, the sage emperor held the realm: he plotted from the throne room and sent his might across the northern sands; chiefs of yurt and fur became his subjects, and steppe and forest became his hunting parks. In Wu, Yue, and the lands of the great rivers and lakes, north and south were sundered; men boasted of imperial omens and trusted in mountain fastnesses, and usurpers again and again seized the name of emperor. Five dynasties and three hundred years went by; then heaven's mercy descended, ever mindful of the Way, grieving that the people alone were left outside the human order. The present emperor, raised at Tang and wise in Dai, stood on the pivot of the realm with heaven-given martial genius; he took the war sacrifice and rode out, and in a single campaign brought all to order. Then nothing lay beyond the realm, the nine provinces were one, the four seas were a single home, and ten thousand li were one domain. Then he put the oxen to pasture and freed the horses, sheathed the sword and turned to civil rule.
23
綿
Ever since the heartland split in long disorder, generation after generation forged weapons of war and every house learned deceit; the sages' teaching was lost and the ancient kings' rites lay in ruins. He charged the Minister of Rites to compile the Five Rites and instructed the crown prince to restore the six classical modes. The rites of jade, silk, and sacrificial vessels were complete in every detail; Music of bell, stone, pipe, and drum was ordered, and courtly and popular styles were set apart. He gave his heart to governance, bent his attention to every petition, rose early and retired late, slept little and ate sparingly, anxious until the people were secure and fearful lest even one thing go wrong. He walked in the way of the ancient kings, pondering through the night until daybreak; He reformed the failings of a hundred reigns, reforming today what had been wrong yesterday. At the least good deed his face brightened with pleasure; At the least offense he sighed that the fault was his own. He cut taxes and lightened labor service, put agriculture first and treasured grain; the granaries overflowed until grain spoiled, and the people no longer feared famine. His nature was vast in mercy, his heart tender toward all; his kindness spared even beasts in the egg and womb, his benevolence reached grass and trees, and cattle and sheep went unharmed. In law and capital punishment he upheld the code over private feeling and judged in an instant, so that human relations were ordered and court and people alike stood in awe. Flattery found no path to his side; the great families could buy no favor at court. With utmost care he served heaven and earth; All day he strove without slackening, ever watchful at the peak of power. He shaped the people through virtue until the age knew great peace; every minister and border lord agreed that heaven and earth were in harmony—a moment that comes once in a thousand years. The feng and shan on Mount Tai, the supreme rite of a hundred kings, with seals of gold and cases of jade, were his by right; his fame and deeds should have led all others. He acted yet claimed no credit, achieved yet would not rest in glory; his humble purpose ran deep, and he steadfastly refused. Though he might have ceased labor he did not; the highest virtue claims no virtue. Instead he purified himself at Mount Tai and humbly confessed his faults. Then men saw that among the sixty-four hexagrams humility was supreme, and that for the seventy-two kings who performed the feng sacrifice such announcement was a small thing—so towering and boundless that no words could measure him. His deepest sincerity and highest virtue touched heaven and earth; harmonious breath and gentle winds filled the universe. Heaven and earth showered blessings; the hundred spirits offered good omens—in sun and moon, stars and sky, wind and cloud, grass and tree; in mountains, rivers, jade and stone, in every scaled and feathered creature. Year after year, month after month, they appeared beyond counting. Things never known since antiquity, unrecorded in any book, unseen by any eye, unheard by any ear— As the ancients said: when a sage appears, all things look to him, the spirits thrive, and every treasure finds its use—so it was with him.
24
Soon his heart turned to the immortal peaks, and his wish to leave the world grew strong; As Yu cast the cauldron at Mount Jing, his ascent to heaven carried him beyond reach. All the people were his subjects still; they mourned their lost father and mother, grief clinging to bow and sword. At Mount Tu no tribute came; at Changling only empty processions of court dress passed by. His descent of sacred essence, his name inscribed in heaven's book, his opening of fortune and grasp of the mandate, his founding of the house and legacy for ages—this was sage virtue; He quelled disorder and restored order, saved the realm and gave the people peace, united the six directions in one script and one measure—this was divine achievement; With dark wine in earthen vessels and ancient music he sacrificed to the Lord on High, honoring heaven as his partner—this was the greatest filial piety; He sheathed the sword and stilled the drums, set rites right and trimmed music, brought the people into a realm of long life and led custom into abundance—this was government at its height. He held the four pillars of rule over all the world, equaled the Three Sovereigns and stood with the Five Emperors—far more than a mere notch above Zhou and Han, infinitely beyond the petty ages of Wei and Jin. Though the Dance of the Five Agents was offered in the ancestral temple and the Song of Nine Virtues never left the music bureau, his subtle achievement could not be bound in ritual form, his glorious work was too vast for any eulogy to exhaust.
25
I, a humble man most fortunate, was born into this glorious age; I served at the purple court and hurried along the scarlet steps—yet one farewell at the heavenly gate, and suddenly the emperor was gone beyond Dinghu. I can only yearn to follow the ascending dragon, can only grieve like ants upon his bier. With brush in hand I dare hope to offer this praise! As the bird that tried to fill the sea could not enlarge the earth, nor the man who wept before the river swell the flood, I give all my heart allows and all my strength can reach; moved by this duty, I have written at length unawares. Thereupon he composed the eulogy:
26
How distant deep antiquity, how remote the fallen age—the four seas, nine provinces, ten thousand kings and a thousand emperors. After the Three Dynasties the Way declined ever further; when the Jin came, the rot could no longer be borne. Barbarians ravaged the heartland; villains ran wild, stealing imperial titles—more than a dozen kingdoms. They trusted in force and trampled rites and virtue; dust rose on the five peaks, mist shrouded the three emblems of rule. Heaven's dark mandate opened a new age; from a distant land he rose, swallowed rebels and usurpers, and stood alone in power. Two hundred years of rule matched the great dynasties of old, yet rivers and lakes were still divided and the land not yet whole. Wu, Min, and Yue; the north country and the Wei shore—the nine provinces were split apart, three powers stood like tripods. Deceit never ceased, arms clashed without end; though the east was pacified, the land still groaned under division. The five phases turned to their hour; at the dawn of a new millennium Gaozu rose in splendor, and men and spirits acclaimed him. Sacred virtue arose anew; his counsel was heaven's alone—he punished the wicked, honored the good, swept away foes and stilled disaster. The Minister of Rites drew up the rites, the Grand Historian chose the day; Guzhu pipes and Yunhe zithers sounded. He offered rites to heaven, sent smoke to the Grand Unity; jades were presented at court, mountains and rivers received their due sacrifice. He read the stars and moved the capital, rooted on the red earth below, aligned with the Purple Palace above. He governed from the great hall, proclaimed law from the tower gate; the imperial city was heaven's treasury, firming the foundation and lifting his awe. From the northern rivers to the desert sea, across the frontier wastes, tribes rose in rebellion and raided the border posts. His majesty awed the far lands, his virtue reached every frontier; they bowed low and came in loyalty, calling themselves his subjects. Wu and Yue held their territories under southern stars; for generations they styled themselves kings. The storm had not yet been stilled, the great whale still escaped the net—then the commander of heaven received the axe, and all was suddenly swept clear. Under sun and stars, in vast peace, ritual reached every corner; writing and law were one throughout the realm. He retraced Yu's path and fulfilled Shun's work—rites to secure the throne, music to transform the people. He toiled over every duty of state, nurtured the common people, opened the nets on three sides, and took blame upon himself from every quarter. He brought the people within law and custom, led the age toward benevolence and long life; his transforming power made harvests rich and the people prosper. With reverent heart he governed himself, served heaven and earth; harmony spread abroad, and good omens followed one upon another. The altar awaited him, Cloud Pavilion stood empty; he yielded and would not ascend—the sage Way grew ever purer. He walked in the steps of King Wen of Zhou, raised up the sage who followed; his Way was like Guangwu of Han, passing on the sacred mandate. He knew the future and held the past, saw with heaven's mirror; his house was enduring, his foundation vast and bright. As the Yellow Emperor sought the Way at Kongtong, as Yao vanished by the Fen—his imperial carriage passed beyond, riding the clouds to heaven. Grief bound the whole land, sorrow touched heaven itself; his bounty flows through ten thousand generations, his teaching for a hundred years. We still ponder his wise design, forever hold his sacred example; his Way reached hidden and visible realms, his kindness touched all that live and grow. The oracle is stilled, heaven and earth fall silent; this humble servant writes the eulogy to voice grief beyond measure.
27
使
The emperor read it and was displeased; turning to Su Wei he said, "Daoheng heaps praise on the former reign—this is the sense of the 'Fish and Waterweeds' ode. Thereupon he appointed him Director of the Capital District and was about to have him executed. Daoheng did not perceive his meaning. Fang Yanqian, Inspector of the Capital Region, was an old friend who saw calamity coming and urged him to shut his doors to guests and speak humbly—but Daoheng would not listen. During a prolonged debate over a new ordinance, Daoheng told his colleagues, "Had Gao Jiong still lived, this measure would already be firmly in place." Someone reported him; the emperor raged, "Are you pining for Gao Jiong?" He turned him over to the judicial authorities for investigation. Daoheng assumed the fault was minor and pressed the court to rule promptly. On the day of sentencing he still hoped for pardon and told his household to prepare a feast for friends who might call. When the verdict was reported, the emperor ordered him to kill himself. Daoheng was utterly unprepared and could not bring himself to bid farewell. The court reported again; he was strangled, and his wife and children were exiled to Qimo. He was seventy at the time. The empire regarded his death as a grievous wrong. His collected works ran to seventy juan and circulated widely.
28
便 滿
He had five sons; Shou was the best known, having been adopted by his kinsman Ru. Ru was upright and solitary, shunning vulgar company; versed in the classics and histories, he possessed literary gifts; though he wrote no major pieces, his poems were lucid and refined. In the Kaihuang era he served as Attending Censor and Recorder under the Yangzhou Area Command. He always held himself to strict integrity, which many colleagues in the prefectural staff found awkward. When his term ended he became Magistrate of Qingyang and aide in Xiangcheng Commandery, and died in office. Wherever he served he left benevolent rule behind. He was especially close to Daoheng; as soon as Shou was born he was given to Ru as heir and raised in Ru's home. By adulthood he scarcely knew his birth parents. Hu Zhongcao, an aide in the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, once asked Ru in court to lend him a knife to trim his nails. Ru judged Zhongcao no gentleman of taste and refused him outright. His refusal of casual acquaintance and his austere, solitary ways were all of this sort.
29
Daoheng's nephew Mai rose to a post in the Selection Department; his cousin Daoshi became Vice Minister of Rites and Administrator of Lishi—both won fame in their day. His nephew Deyin possessed outstanding talent and began his career as Cavalry Commandant of the Guard. He assisted Wei Dan in compiling the History of Wei and, when the work was finished, was promoted to Assistant Editor. When Prince Yue of Dong held regency in the eastern capital and Wang Shichong seized the throne, all military orders and urgent proclamations issued from his pen. When Shichong fell, he was executed for his offenses. Many of his writings circulated widely in his day.
30
The historiographer writes: In the last days of Qi these men all won fame for literary brilliance; through Zhou and Sui alike they were held in high regard. Li was hailed as the age's towering talent, Xue as its leading hope; each wielded the brush like a spirit serpent, each kept pace in swift excellence; their prose ranged freely, their voices rang clear as gold and jade. On calm reflection, Lu ranks above the other two. Li and Xue rose to high office in purple and green, while Sidao's career languished; though fortune has its decree, this also came of his neglect of small proprieties.
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