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Title: Wen Xin Diao Long
Author: Xie Liu

Editor: Jen-shing Li
Li-chian Luo

Release date: December 11, 2007 [eBook #23822]

Language: Chinese

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23822

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK Wen Xin Diao Long ***

Wen Xin Diao Long

Written by Liu Xie

Chapter 1: On the Origin of Literature

Literature holds great virtue; why does it arise alongside heaven and earth? The mixture of black and yellow gives rise to shapes and forms; the sun and moon, like stacked jade discs, adorn the heavens; mountains and rivers display their beauty, shaping the earth’s landscape—these are all manifestations of the Way. Looking up, we see its radiance; looking down, we observe its patterns. Heights and depths have their proper places, thus the two rituals came into being. Humans participate in this, with their innate spirits playing a role—this is what is called the Three Powers. Humans are the finest among the Five Elements and truly the heart of heaven and earth. When the heart generates speech, literature emerges—this is the natural way.

All things in the world, whether plants or animals, possess literary qualities: dragons and phoenixes display their beauty through intricate patterns; tigers and leopards exhibit their grace through vivid colors. Clouds and mists have colors that surpass even those created by painters; plants bloom splendidly without the need for a craftsman’s skill. This is not mere decoration but something natural. As for the sounds in the forests, they harmonize like music from yu and se instruments; the rhythms produced by springs and rocks are like those from bells and chimes. Thus, when form is established, patterns are formed; when sound is emitted, literature arises. How can things without consciousness possess such beauty, while beings with minds lack literary qualities?

The origin of human literature dates back to the Taiji, with divine wisdom as its foundation, and the I Ching being the first manifestation of it. Paoxi marked its beginning, while Confucius completed it. The two trigrams of Qian and Kun alone shaped the language of literature. Literature is indeed the heart of heaven and earth! The River Map gave birth to the Eight Trigrams, while the Luo Book contained the Nine Categories. The elegance of inscribed jade tablets and golden carvings, as well as the splendor of red texts on green parchment—who could create such things? It is still the work of divine principles.

From the time when bird tracks replaced ropes as a means of communication, writing began to flourish. The deeds of the ancient Xia and Shang dynasties are recorded in the Three Tombs, but their times are so distant that their sounds and styles cannot be traced. During the Tang and Yu dynasties, literature truly flourished. The rulers sang songs, inspiring people to compose verses; Yi Ji offered wise advice, promoting the art of writing. With the rise of the Xia dynasty, great achievements were made, and songs celebrated their virtues. By the Shang and Zhou dynasties, literature surpassed mere substance. The Odes and Hymns brought forth new brilliance. King Wen faced difficulties, yet his poetic expressions shone brightly, with profound meanings. Moreover, Gongdan, being highly talented, enhanced these works by refining poems and hymns and eliminating unnecessary words. As for Confucius, he surpassed all previous sages. He synthesized the Six Classics, ensuring their sound was as pure as gold and as resonant as jade. He shaped human nature and crafted words, so that his teachings echoed throughout the land and influenced generations to come. He captured the brilliance of heaven and earth and enlightened the ears and eyes of the people.

And
The surname Feng originated from the Kong family; the Great Sage established the classics, and the Virtuous King expounded their teachings. All of them drew upon the essence of the Way to articulate their ideas, delved into the principles of the divine to formulate doctrines, took inspiration from the rivers He and Luo, sought guidance through divination with yarrow sticks and tortoise shells, observed celestial phenomena to understand changes, and examined human culture to foster progress. Only then could they organize the world’s affairs, expand laws and regulations, develop great undertakings, and make their words shine with brilliance.

Thus, it is known that the Way is passed down through the sages through written texts, while the sages use these texts to clarify the Way. Knowledge flows freely without obstruction, and its application is ever sufficient in daily life. The Book of Changes says, “What stirs the world lies in words.” And the reason words can stir the world is that they are expressions of the Way.

Praise says: The essence of the Way is subtle; divine principles guide teaching. The radiance of the Great Sage shines brightly, reflecting virtue and filial piety. The dragon diagrams reveal their form, and the tortoise inscriptions show their appearance. By observing celestial phenomena, people may follow their example.

Evidence of Sainthood, Part Two

He who creates is called a sage; he who expounds is called wise. Shaping human nature is the achievement of the highest philosophers. Confucius’ writings can be heard, and through them, the sentiments of the sage become evident in his words. The sacred teachings of ancient kings are recorded in documents, while Confucius’ eloquence overflows in his sayings. Thus, when referring to the Tang dynasty, it is described as flourishing; when praising the Zhou dynasty, it is said to be admirable—this is evidence that governance values literature. Duke Zheng of Zheng entered Chen because of his literary talents; the State of Song established rituals based on extensive writings—these are examples of how actions value literature. When praising Zi Chan, it is said, “Words suffice to express one’s aspirations, and writing suffices to express words”; when discussing gentlemen in general, it is said, “One’s intentions should be sincere, and one’s words should be skillful”—this shows that self-cultivation values literature. Therefore, having sincere intentions and skillful words constitutes the precious foundation of written expression and the golden rule of literary art.

The wisdom of the Zhou dynasty is exquisite and profound; its writings establish standards, and its thoughts align perfectly. Sometimes concise words convey the essence, sometimes extensive writings express deep emotions, sometimes clear reasoning establishes frameworks, and sometimes hidden meanings conceal practical applications. Thus, The Spring and Autumn Annals uses a single word to praise or criticize, and The Rites of Mourning uses minor details to encompass broader concepts—this is concise expression conveying meaning. The Odes of Bin uses connected verses to build sentences, while The Conduct of the Confucians uses elaborate language to express complex ideas—this is extensive writing expressing emotions. Contracts and judgments use symbols related to the trigram Gou, while writings are clear and distinct using symbols related to the trigram Li—this is clear reasoning establishing frameworks. The subtle meanings of the four trigrams are concealed, and the delicate language of the five patterns is veiled—this is hiding meanings to conceal practical applications. Hence, it is known that complexity and simplicity differ in form, concealment and revelation differ in method, and adaptation varies with circumstances. When examined through the teachings of the Zhou and Confucius, there is a master of literature.

Therefore, when discussing literature, one must refer to the sages; when seeking to understand the sages, one must rely on the classics. The Book of Changes says, “Distinguish things and speak rightly; when judging words, be thorough,” and The Book of History says, “Words should emphasize essence, not merely seek novelty.” Thus, it is known that right speech is necessary for clear argumentation, and emphasizing essence is essential for well-crafted words. With well-crafted words, there is no fault in seeking novelty; with clear argumentation, there is the meaning of decisive judgment. Even if the subtle meanings are concealed, it does not harm the correctness of the expression.

Words are subtle and euphemistic, yet they do not undermine their essence. The essence and subtle expressions work together, with straightforward language paired with profound meaning—this can also be seen in the writings of sages. Yan He believed that “Confucius adorned his words with embellishments, focusing merely on ornate language.” Though he wanted to criticize the sages, he could not avoid it. Thus, the elegance and beauty of the sages’ writings truly combine splendor with substance. The ways of heaven are hard to perceive, yet people still strive to understand them; since writings are visible, why not think about them? If one seeks to establish the teachings of the sages through writing, then literature serves that purpose well.

Praise: Great wisdom gives rise to insight; profound wisdom governs all. Precise principles form the text, while delicate qualities bring richness to it. Like the sun and moon hanging high, its language is as abundant as mountains and seas. Though its influence fades over centuries, its essence endures for millennia.

Chapter Three of the Sacred Classics

The teachings of the three supreme realms are recorded in what are called classics. These classics represent the eternal truths and unchanging doctrines. They depict heaven and earth, imitate gods and spirits, organize various elements, establish human norms, delve into the depths of human nature, and constitute the core of literary artistry. In the imperial era, there were the “Three Tombs”; in the dynastic era, the “Five Classics” emerged, supplemented by the “Eight Collections” and further elaborated upon in the “Nine Mounds.” As time passed, these texts became increasingly complex. But after Confucius edited and compiled them, their true value was fully revealed. Thus, the “I Ching” had its Ten Appendices, the “Book of History” featured seven perspectives, the “Book of Songs” listed four types of poems, the “Book of Rites” standardized the five classics, and the “Spring and Autumn Annals” established five principles. Since their meanings are rooted in human nature, and their language is carefully crafted, they enable education and moral cultivation, bringing clarity and coherence. Yet the essence of these teachings remains subtle, while the sages’ wisdom is outstanding. Their expressions are profound and intricate, with deep implications. It’s like a massive bell that produces no faint, delicate tones.

The “I Ching” focuses on discussing the heavens and applying its principles practically. Hence, the commentaries say its meaning is far-reaching but its language is simple, with hidden truths within its words. The three volumes of the “I Ching” are indeed the profound depths of wisdom. The “Book of History” records spoken words, but its interpretations are obscure. Only by understanding the “Erya” can one grasp its true meaning. That’s why Zixia exclaimed about the “Book of History”: “It shines brightly like the sun and moon, and moves clearly like the stars”—meaning its words are clear and illuminating. The “Book of Songs” emphasizes expressing emotions. Its interpretations are similar to those of the “Book of History,” but its style and rhythm make it more expressive, with gentle and soothing qualities that resonate when recited—thus it best conveys deep feelings. The “Book of Rites” establishes systems based on real events, with detailed rules and regulations. Every fragment of text is precious. The “Spring and Autumn Annals” clarifies principles, with each character conveying meaning. Through detailed descriptions, it forms a complete text; through contrasting accounts, it highlights chronological order. Its subtle expressions and hidden meanings show its profound depth. The “Book of History” seems complex at first glance, but its principles become clear upon examination; the “Spring and Autumn Annals” makes its language understandable at first sight, but its true meaning remains hidden. These are the unique features of the sages’ writings, reflecting their distinct internal and external structures.

Metaphor:
Rooted deep and firm, with branches and leaves lush and thriving; concise in expression yet rich in meaning, dealing with matters that seem near yet are actually distant. Thus, though ancient, its enduring charm remains fresh with each passing day. Those who come after can still learn from it without delay, and those who came before have used it for ages yet were not the first to do so—truly like rain falling over Mount Tai, nourishing lands for thousands of miles.

In terms of the order of rhetorical works, the *I Ching* comes first; in imperial edicts and official documents, the *Book of History* is the source; in odes, songs, and praises, the *Book of Songs* lays the foundation; in inscriptions, eulogies, admonitions, and blessings, the *Book of Rites* sets the standard; in biographies, records, treaties, and proclamations, the *Spring and Autumn Annals* serve as the root. All these together reach heights and expand horizons, allowing various schools of thought to flourish and ultimately be brought within this framework.

To draw upon the classics to establish standards and to use elegance to enrich language is like casting bronze from mountains or extracting salt from the sea. Thus, when writing follows the classics, there are six principles: first, emotions are profound yet not deceitful; second, style is pure and unmixed; third, events are truthful and not fabricated; fourth, principles are upright and unswerving; fifth, expression is concise yet not sparse; sixth, prose is beautiful yet not excessive. Yang Xiong compared this to carving jade into utensils, referring to the literary content contained within the Five Classics. Literature establishes one’s character, and character is conveyed through literature—both are emphasized by the four teachings, complementing each other. To cultivate virtue and build a good reputation, everyone learns from the sages; yet in crafting words and refining rhetoric, few truly follow the classics. Hence, the extravagance of the Chu dynasty and the Han dynasty led to persistent flaws—returning to the fundamentals is truly praiseworthy! An ode says: The teachings of the three great civilizations are profound and rooted in antiquity. There is only one way to bring about harmony, and thus five teachings were divided. The human spirit is like a craftsman, and literature is a profound repository of wisdom. How profound and vast—it is the origin of all literary expressions.

Chapter Four of Zhengwei:
The ways of the divine reveal the hidden; heavenly mandates become subtly apparent. When Ma Long appeared, the *I Ching* flourished; when the sacred turtle was seen, the *Hongfan* shone. Hence, the *Xici* states, “The River produced maps, the Luo River produced books—the sages followed them,” referring precisely to this. Yet in ancient times, true writings were hidden, and people favored artificial and exaggerated expressions. Though truth existed, falsehoods also persisted.

The Six Classics shine brightly, while the supplementary texts are numerous; the *Classic of Filial Piety* and *Discourses* are clear and distinct, while the *Hook and Oracles* are complex and intricate. Examining the classics and supplementary texts, there are four types of falsehoods: First, when supplementary texts pretend to be classics, it’s like weaving—threads of silk and hemp must not mix for cloth to be formed. Now, with the classics being correct and supplementary texts being extraordinary, with content drawn from afar, this is the first type of falsehood. The classics represent the teachings of sages; the supplementary texts represent divine teachings. The teachings of sages should be extensive, while divine teachings should be concise. Yet now, there are more supplementary texts than classics, and divine principles become even more complicated—this is the second type of falsehood. Claims that come from heaven are called oracles, and all eighty-one chapters are attributed to Confucius—this is like Yao creating green maps or Chang creating red books—this is the third type of falsehood. Before the Shang and Zhou dynasties, maps and diagrams appeared frequently; by the end of the Spring and Autumn period, the various classics had been compiled—preliminary supplementary texts...

Later on, when the warp and weft deviated from their proper order, falsehoods multiplied. Once falsehoods were doubled, the truth became evident, and the warp was sufficient for instruction—why then concern oneself with the weft?

Originally, the appearance of the Map of Auspiciousness was a divine mandate from the heavens, bestowed upon a sage as an omen; its meaning was not meant to complement the classics. Thus, when the River Map did not appear, the Master sighed. If such a map could be created, there would be no need for such sighs. In ancient times, King Kang displayed the River Map in the eastern hall, thus showing that the mandates of past ages were passed down through generations as treasures. What Confucius wrote were merely prefaces and records. Then, those skilled in occult arts attached their own deceptive techniques—some spoke of yin and yang, others discussed disasters and omens, claiming that birds’ songs resembled speech and insect wings formed characters. As these ideas proliferated, they falsely attributed them to Confucius. Scholars debated and examined them, saying they originated during the reigns of Emperor Ai and Ping, when secret treasures were kept in the eastern hall, leading to confusion among scholars.

During the reign of Emperor Guangwu, great faith was placed in these arts. Influenced by this trend, many scholars emerged. Pei Xian compiled the Weaves to explain the Classics, while Cao Bao selected prophecies to establish rituals. This deviation from the true path and the classics became even more extreme. Hence, Huan Tan criticized their falsity, Yin Min mocked their pretense, Zhang Heng exposed their errors, and Xun Yue clarified their deceptions. These four scholars were highly knowledgeable, and their discussions were thorough.

As for the origins of Xi and Nong, the principles behind musical scales, the omens of white fish and red crows, and the auspicious signs of gold and purple jade—these events were remarkable and extraordinary, with rich and elaborate descriptions. Though they offered no benefit to the classics, they contributed to literary works. Later poets drew inspiration from them. Pingzi feared that they might mislead scholars and ordered their prohibition; Zhongyu regretted that they mixed truth with falsehood and did not allow them to be completely discarded. Since they were associated with the classics in earlier times, they are discussed in detail here.

Praise: The rivers Hu and Luo nurtured the Map and Weaves. Divine treasures were stored for use, their principles hidden yet their writings precious. Through the two Han dynasties, confusion reigned. Deceptive practices were eliminated, and only the refined elements were retained.

Discrimination of the Odes, Chapter Five

Since the Songs and Elegies fell out of favor, no one dared to explore their depths. It was then that extraordinary writings emerged—none other than The Li Sao! It truly stood above poets of earlier times and ahead of those who excelled in rhetoric. Was it because they were not far from the sages, or because the people of Chu possessed great talent? In ancient times, Emperor Wu admired The Li Sao, and Huainan composed a commentary on it, saying, “The National Odes are sensual but not licentious; the Minor Elegies express grievances but do not cause chaos. The Li Sao, however, combines both qualities. It rises above filth and turbidity, floating beyond the dust of the world, pure and untainted—its brilliance can rival that of the sun and moon.” Ban Gu believed, “It displays talent and self-promotion, expressing resentment toward those who drowned in the river. The stories of Yi killing the two Yao sisters do not align with the teachings of Zuo’s history; the tales of Kunlun and the Hanging Gardens are not recorded in the classics. Yet its language is elegant and refined, making it the foundation of poetry. Though its author was not wise, he possessed remarkable talent.” Wang Yi believed, “The poet…”

Ears—Qu Yuan was gentle and compliant. The text of “Li Sao” is based on the principles established in the classics. When riding a swift steed or an eagle, one rides six dragons at the right time; when facing Kunlun and flowing sands, one follows what is described in “Yu Gong.” All renowned scholars and poets imitated its style, describing it as having “the appearance of gold and the quality of jade, unmatched for centuries.” Emperor Xuan of Han lamented that it all conformed to the teachings of the classics. Yang Xiong also said it shared the elegance of poetry. The four schools used it as a model for the classics, but Meng Jian argued it did not conform to traditional traditions. Opinions varied greatly, showing a lack of thorough examination and careful analysis.

To verify such arguments, one must rely on explicit statements. Thus, its descriptions of Yao and Shun’s integrity, and Yu and Tang’s reverence, reflect the style of official documents; its criticism of Jie and Zhou’s recklessness, and its sorrow over Yi and Jiao’s downfall, serve as a form of admonition; using dragons to represent gentlemen and swallows to symbolize slanderers embodies the principles of metaphor and allegory; moments of tears and sighs express loyalty and forgiveness—these four aspects are consistent with those in the “Odes” and “Elegies.” As for the use of dragons, elaborate stories, searches for the Goddess Mi, and the role of raven birds in matchmaking, these are strange and fantastical elements; descriptions of lands collapsing, suns being extinguished, men with nine heads, and earth spirits with three eyes are even more bizarre; following Peng Xian’s example and seeking comfort through Zi Xu reflects a narrow-minded attitude; mixed seating of men and women, chaos without order, and constant indulgence in wine and pleasure signify licentiousness—these four aspects differ from the classics.

Therefore, when evaluating its official documents, it follows certain standards, but when discussing its extravagant elements, it deviates greatly. It is clear that “Chu Ci” draws upon the traditions of the three dynasties yet incorporates elements from the Warring States period. It is like a gambler among the “Elegies” and “Hymns,” yet a hero among poems and essays. Though it draws on the essence of the classics, it also creates its own magnificent language. Thus, “Liu Jing” and “Jiu Zhang” are bright and filled with sorrow; “Jiu Ge” and “Jiu Bian” are delicate and full of grief; “Yuan You” and “Tian Wen” are magnificent and clever; “Zhao Hun” and “Da Zhao” are dazzling and rich in meaning; “Bu Ju” showcases bold expressions, while “Yu Fu” reflects a spirit of solitude. Hence, it can overwhelm the ancients with its vigor and resonate with the present, offering stunning beauty that is hard to match.

Starting from “Jiu Huai,” its influence declined rapidly, and Qu Yuan and Song remained unmatched. When expressing emotions and grievances, it is melancholic and easily moved; when describing separation, it is sorrowful and hard to forget; when talking about landscapes, it depicts them through sound; when discussing nobles, it reveals the times through its words. Thus, Mei and Jia followed its style to achieve elegance, while Ma and Yang emulated it to create wonders. Its influence spread among poets across generations. Those with great talent embraced its grandeur, those with moderate skill sought its vivid language, those who composed poems referenced its landscapes, and those who were less skilled picked up its floral imagery. If one can rely on the “Elegies” and “Hymns” as a foundation, use “Chu Ci” as a guide, select the extraordinary without losing integrity, and appreciate the beauty without sacrificing substance, then one can master the art of poetry with ease, without needing to seek inspiration from Chang Qing or favor from Zi Yuan.

Praise goes: Had it not been for Qu Yuan, how could we have seen “Li Sao”? His extraordinary talent and lofty aspirations were truly remarkable. With boundless mountains and rivers, his emotions and reasoning were deeply profound; like gold and jade in form, his works exuded excellence in every detail.

Sixth on Ming Poetry

Great Shun said, “Poetry expresses one’s aspirations; songs prolong those words.” As analyzed by the sages, its meaning is clear. Thus, “What lies in the heart becomes an aspiration; what is spoken becomes poetry.” Expressing thoughts through words—this is precisely what poetry does! Poetry holds onto human nature; among the three hundred types of poetry, the ideal is “innocence.” Holding onto this principle as a guide aligns well with poetry’s purpose.

Humans are endowed with seven emotions, which stir in response to external things. Expressing one’s feelings through poetry is entirely natural. In ancient times, Ge Tian’s musical lyrics included “Xuan Niao”; the Yellow Emperor’s “Yun Men” had meaningful content beyond mere sound. By Yao’s time, there was the song “Da Tang”; Shun composed the poem “Nan Feng.” These works were straightforward in expression. When Yu achieved great success, songs reflected the nine seasons; when Tai Kang lost his virtue, five sons and his wife lamented. Upholding beauty and correcting evil has been a long-standing practice. From the Shang and Zhou dynasties onward, the “Ya” and “Song” poems became complete, the four foundational styles shone brightly, and the six literary principles deepened. Zi Xia understood the art of composition, and Zi Gong grasped the skill of refinement; thus, these two men from the Shang and Zhou dynasties could be considered experts in poetry. After the royal lineage declined, poets stopped creating new works. During the Spring and Autumn period, people observed social conditions, recited old poems, used them as means of greeting and honoring guests, and developed their literary skills through such practices. When the State of Chu began to use poetry for criticism, “Li Sao” emerged as a work of satire. When the Qin emperor destroyed traditional literature, he also created “Immortal Poems.”

In the early Han dynasty, Wei and Meng were the first to use four-character verses, continuing the tradition of offering advice, following in the footsteps of the people of Zhou. Emperor Wu loved literature, and the Bai Liang poems were composed in rhythmic form. Scholars like Yan and Ma wrote freely without restraint. By Emperor Cheng’s time, more than three hundred poems had been compiled, covering both courtly and national themes—considered complete according to Zhou standards. Yet, among the poets’ writings, no five-character verses were found, which is why Li Ling and Ban Jieyu were doubted by later generations. According to “Zhao Nan: Xing Lu,” half-section poems originated first; Ruzi’s “Cang Lang” also contained complete pieces. The elegant songs of “Xiao Yu” date back to the Spring and Autumn period, while the nursery rhyme “Xie Jing” dates from the Cheng era. Examining historical evidence shows that five-character verses existed for a long time. Moreover, some of the finest ancient poems are attributed to Mei Shu, but his piece “Gu Zhu” was actually written by Fu Yi. Comparing these works, they can be traced back to the Han dynasty. Their structure is prose-like—straightforward yet refined, expressing emotions vividly and sincerely—making them the pinnacle of five-character poetry. As for Zhang Heng’s “Lamentations,” they possess a refined elegance; his “Immortal Poems” offer a fresh sound. At the beginning of the Jian’an era, five-character poetry flourished. Emperors Wen and Si encouraged its development; Wang, Xu, Ying, and Liu competed to create more such works. They cherished nature, frequented gardens, described imperial favors and grand banquets, expressed their passions boldly, and utilized their talents freely. They focused on conveying ideas rather than seeking intricate details, prioritizing clarity over superficiality—this was their common approach.

Also, during the Zhengshi and Mingdao periods, poems blended with immortal themes; those like He Yan were mostly superficial. Only Ji Xin’s works were pure and lofty, and Ruan Ji’s had profound depth, which is why they stood out. As for Ying Qu’s “One Hundred and One Poems,” they stood independently without fear, with cunning diction and sincere meaning—this too reflected the integrity of the Wei dynasty.

In the Jin dynasty, literary talent gradually turned toward delicacy and elegance. Zhang, Pan, Zuo, and Lu competed in poetry, drawing from the style of Zhengshi while being softer in tone than Jian’an. Some refined their writing for beauty, while others pursued flowery expressions for charm—this was the general trend. In the Jiangdong region, poetry was influenced by metaphysical ideas; people mocked those focused on practical matters and admired those who spoke of transcending worldly concerns. From Yuan and Sun onward, although each had their own distinctive styles, their poetic approaches were similar, with no one truly standing out. Thus, Jingchun’s “Immortal Poems” stood out as elegant and refined. At the beginning of the Song dynasty, poetic forms underwent changes. As Zhuangzi and Laozi faded from prominence, interest in landscapes grew; poets sought to craft perfect verses of a hundred characters and competed to create unique lines. Emotions were expressed through vivid descriptions, and diction was refined to achieve novelty—this was the competition of modern times.

By examining successive dynasties, we can observe how emotions evolved; by comparing similarities and differences, we can understand the key principles. As for the four-character form, elegance and smoothness are fundamental; for the five-character form, clarity and beauty are essential. Different styles suit different talents. Pingzi achieved elegance, Shuyue possessed smoothness, Maoxian brought clarity, and Jingyang emphasized beauty. Those who excelled in all aspects were Zi Jian and Zhong Xuan; those with particular strengths were Tai Chong and Gong Gan. Yet poetry has fixed forms, but thoughts have no fixed limits—people follow their nature and aptitude, rarely achieving perfection. What seems difficult when understood deeply becomes easy; what seems easy when taken lightly becomes difficult. As for mixed-length poems, they originated from written works; the concept of combining verses arose from divination; palindrome poetry began with philosophical ideas; collaborative verse writing followed the model of the Bai Liang poems. Though in size and detail they may differ, their emotional and logical essence remains the same—all fall within the realm of poetry, so no further elaboration is needed.

Praise: People live with aspirations, and songs express them. They flourished in the imperial era, as seen in the “Two South” poems. Spiritual truths and political order complemented each other. Their brilliance endures, captivating generations forever.

Chapter Seven of Yuefu

Yuefu refers to music based on fixed rhythms and harmonious tones. The nine musical pieces played in heaven were for the supreme deity; the eight pieces of Ge Tian music applied to the imperial era. From the “Xian” and “Ying” poems onward, there’s nothing more to discuss. As for the songs sung by Tu Shan to her lover, they marked the beginning of southern melodies; the songs of You Yu to Fei Yan initiated northern tunes; Xia Jia’s laments in Dongyang gave rise to eastern melodies; Yin Zhen’s reflections in Xihe led to western melodies—musical styles changed over time and were not uniform. Ordinary people and common women...

The local customs are chanted, poets collect words for songs, musicians follow musical rhythms; emotions inspire the strings and bamboo flutes, while spirit transforms into sounds like metal and stone. Thus, Shi Kuang observed the rise and fall of music styles, and Ji Zha discerned subtle signs of their prosperity or decline—this is the pinnacle of refinement.

Music originates from one’s inner disposition; its resonance penetrates deep into the soul. The ancient kings were cautious about it, striving to prevent excesses. When teaching their heirs, they insisted on singing of the Nine Virtues, so that they could evoke emotions and influence all aspects of life. As the refined melodies faded and vulgar sounds became prevalent, the Qin dynasty burned the Music Classics. In the early Han dynasty, they were restored. Imperial officials recorded their grandeur, and Shusun established their formal structures. Thus, the “Wude” songs emerged during Emperor Gaozu’s reign, and the “Four Seasons” songs were developed under Emperor Xiaowen. Although they imitated the “Shao” and “Xia” melodies, they also retained many elements from the Qin era. The harmonious tones gradually disappeared. Emperor Wu valued rituals and established the Yuefu system, combining the musical traditions of Zhao and Dai with the styles of Qi and Chu. Yan Nian composed songs with gentle melodies in harmony with musical rhythms, while Zhu Ma created songs in the style of Sao poetry. The “Gui Hua” songs were beautiful but not standard, and the “Chi Yan” songs were licentious and not conforming to norms. Hejian recommended refined songs, but they were rarely performed by the emperor, which led to Ji An’s criticism of the “Tian Ma” songs.

By Emperor Xuan’s time, elegant songs were sung, and poems imitated the style of “Lu Ming.” By Emperor Yuancheng’s time, vulgar music became more common, and proper melodies deviated from traditional norms. The situation was indeed difficult. During the Later Han dynasty, only mixed elegant songs were performed in temple ceremonies. Though the lyrics were classical, the musical rhythms did not match those of Kuai and Shi Kuang.

As for the three founders of the Wei dynasty, they had vibrant spirits and brilliant talents. They shaped the melodies and rhythms, resulting in music that was melodious yet uneven in rhythm. Looking at their northern expeditions and the series of “Autumn Wind” songs, some described feasts, while others expressed sorrow over imprisonment. Their themes were not beyond vulgarity, and their lyrics were filled with grief. Although these were considered proper melodies, they were actually variations of the “Shao” and “Xia” melodies. In the Jin dynasty, Fu Xuan understood music well and created new elegant songs to praise the ancestors. Zhang Hua also wrote many new pieces. However, Du Kuai’s melodies were graceful and soothing, while Xun Xu’s changes made the rhythms sad and rapid. Thus, Ruan Xian criticized them for being out of tune, and later generations verified this using musical scales. The subtlety of music lies in the balance between its internal and external elements.

Therefore, poetry is the heart of music, while sound is its physical form. The physical form lies in sound, so musicians focus on tuning their instruments. The heart of music lies in poetry, so gentlemen should refine their writings. “Loving music without excess” is why the Jin dynasty was renowned for its elegance; “Constant jesting among each other” led to the downfall of the Zheng state. Thus, we know that when Ji Zha observed music, he did not simply listen to the sounds.

As for charming and delicate songs, as well as sorrowful and heart-wrenching poems, if vulgar lyrics are included in the music, how can pure melodies arise? Yet, ordinary listeners seek novelty, while those who appreciate elegance often become impatient. When the lyrics are deeply moving, people become excited. When both poetry and music are of a vulgar nature, that is the beginning of decline. All musical lyrics are called poetry, and poetic expressions are called songs. Sound accompanies the lyrics, but the lyrics become complex and difficult to follow. Therefore, Chen Si said, “Zuo Yan Nian was careless in altering ancient lyrics; those that are too long should be shortened,” emphasizing the importance of simplicity. Looking at Emperor Gaozu’s song “Da Feng” and Emperor Xiaowu’s lament “Lai Chi,” even the child singers followed the rhythms without fail. Zi Jian and Shi Heng both wrote excellent works, yet they never ordered musicians to perform them. As a result, people criticized their music as out of tune—clearly, they hadn’t thought carefully enough.

As for the drumming and music of the Xuanqi era and the musical instruments of the Han dynasty, though they represented different forms of military music, they were both included in the Yuefu genre. The revisions made by Miao and Wei are also noteworthy. In ancient times, Zi Zheng classified literature, distinguishing between poetry and songs; therefore, he included brief musical pieces to clarify the distinctions between them.

Praise: The eight musical tones form the basis of literature, with words serving as its structure. Songs are sung in fields and mountains, while musical instruments resound on imperial terraces. The melodies of “Shao” are difficult to imitate, whereas those of Zheng-style music are easier to replicate. It is not only through listening to music that one can understand rituals.

Chapter Eight: Fu

The “Book of Poetry” has six categories, one of which is fu. Fu involves elaborating on descriptions and imagery, depicting objects and expressing one’s aspirations. In ancient times, Duke Shao said, “High officials present poems, while teachers offer admonitions and fu.” The traditions say, “Those who can compose fu while standing on heights may become high-ranking officials.” The concept in the prefaces to poems is the same, but the expressions vary. Ultimately, they are related and interconnected. Thus, Liu Xiang emphasized “praising without singing,” while Ban Gu referred to it as part of the tradition of ancient poetry.

For example, Zheng Zhuang composed fu on “The Great Tunnel,” and scholars wrote fu on “Fox Fur.” Their endings followed a certain rhyme scheme, with the words written by themselves. Although these fit the style of fu, they were not yet fully developed. It was not until Ling Jun composed “The Sao” that the scope of fu expanded. Thus, fu originated from poets and was further developed in “Chu Ci.” Xun Kuang wrote works on rites and wisdom, while Song Yu wrote on winds and fishing. They gave these forms their names, making them part of the realm of poetry and painting, and contributing to the development of the six literary categories. They described guests and hosts at the beginning, and explored all aspects of language and expression. This marks the origin of separate poetry forms and the beginning of fu.

During the Qin dynasty, there was little literary work, but there were some mixed forms of fu. At the beginning of the Han dynasty, poets continued this tradition. Lu Jia initiated it, Jia Yi carried it forward, Mei and Ma spread its influence, and Wang Yang expanded its scope. From Gao Shuo onward, various subjects were depicted in fu. These works accumulated during the Xuан era and were organized during the Cheng era. There were over a thousand fu pieces presented to the emperor. Tracing their origins, it is clear that fu flourished during the Chu dynasty and reached its peak in the Han dynasty.

As for descriptions of imperial gardens, hunting scenes, and journeys, they all served to reflect the state and its landscapes, emphasizing grandeur and significance. The prefaces set the tone, introducing the main themes, while the subsequent sections organized the content and conveyed the narrative flow. According to the final chapters of “Na,” Min Ma discussed the structure of fu. Thus, it is known that the Yin people compiled odes, while the Chu people developed fu. These both fall within the realm of elegant literature. As for descriptions of plants, animals, and various other subjects, they were created based on inspiration and emotional responses, using vivid descriptions. When depicting objects accurately, logical coherence was important. This represents a smaller category of literary works, focusing on intricate details and creativity.

Observing Xun Kuang’s implicit language, with its self-contained structure; Song Zi’s grandiose rhetoric, truly marking the onset of excessive embellishment. Mei Cheng’s “Tuyuan” aimed to introduce novelty; Sima Xiangru’s “Shanglin” employed rich variety to achieve elegance; Jia Yi’s “Hu Niao” delved deeply into emotions and logic; Zi Yuan’s “Dong Xiao” explored all aspects of sound and form; Meng Jian’s “Two Capitals” combined splendor with refinement; Zhang Heng’s “Two Capitals” was swift and expansive in content; Zi Yun’s “Ganquan” created a profound and exquisite style; Yan Shou’s “Lingguang” conveyed a dynamic momentum: these ten writers are all outstanding figures in the field of rhapsody. As for Zhong Xuan, his works were forceful and compelling; Wei Chang was erudite and his writings full of brilliance; Tai Chong and An Ren contributed significantly to the development of rhapsodic forms; Shi Heng and Zi An left lasting impacts on literary traditions; Jing Chun was delicate and intricate in his expressions; Yan Bo had a bold style with abundant emotional depth: they too were pioneers of rhapsody during the Wei and Jin dynasties.

The purpose of writing rhapsodies is to evoke emotions through observation of the world. Since emotions arise from objects, the meaning must be clear and elegant; since objects are perceived through emotions, the language must be skillfully crafted and beautiful. Beautiful language combined with elegant meaning, where style and substance complement each other, is like threads of red and purple in weaving or shades of black and yellow in painting. Though the language may be innovative, it must have substance; though the colors may be mixed, they must have a foundation—this constitutes the fundamental principles of rhapsody. Yet those who focus on superficial details neglect this foundation. Even if they read a thousand rhapsodies, they will only become more confused about their essence. As a result, excess embellishments weaken the core, and superficial richness harms the fundamental structure—leaving no true elegance or moral guidance. This is why Yang Xiong regretted focusing on trivial details and criticized such practices.

Praise says: Rhapsodies originated from poetry and developed into various styles. They depict objects in vivid detail, resembling paintings. What is restrained must be expressed, and speech should be free from constraints. When style becomes elegant, unnecessary elements are removed.

Eighth Ode and Praise

At the pinnacle of the four literary forms lies the ode. An ode is a means of expressing praise, used to celebrate noble virtues and describe appearances. In the time of Emperor Yu, odes were written in ink to sing of the “Nine Melodies.” From the Shang dynasty onward, the structure of odes became more refined. A single nation’s culture is called “feng,” while the cultures of all regions together are called “ya.” Odes used to address deities are called “song.” “Feng” and “ya” guide people, covering both change and stability; odes, meant to address deities, must have pure and beautiful meanings. The State of Lu compiled odes in the order established by Gong Dan, while the Shang people recorded them based on earlier kings—these were the proper songs for ancestral temples, not ordinary songs for banquets. The piece “Shi Mai” was composed by the Duke of Zhou; it is a philosophical ode, serving as a model for future works. People have their own thoughts; one should not suppress them but express them verbally. The songs of the Jin people criticizing luxury, and those of the Lu people mocking extravagance, were straightforward expressions without poetic embellishment—short words used for satire. Qiu Mingzi and Zunzi also considered such works to be forms of recitation; these were variations of folk recitations that gradually spread among people. Later, the Three Families wrote the “Orange Ode,” with its fragrant emotions and symbolic meanings, extending to even the smallest things.

During the Qin dynasty, imperial decrees included odes praising the emperor’s virtues. During the Han dynasty, Emperors Hui and Jing also composed odes of praise. Such works continued to be created throughout the ages. For example, Zi Yun’s “Biao Chong Guo,” Meng Jian’s “Xu Dai Hou,” Wu Zhong’s “Mei Xian Zong,” and Shi Cen’s…

After discussing these works, some attempted to imitate “Qing Miao,” while others followed the styles of “Xie” and “Na.” Though their levels of depth varied and their details differed, their purpose in praising virtues and highlighting merits remained consistent. As for Ban Fu’s “North Expedition” and “West Expedition,” which were transformed into introductions, isn’t this an overstatement that goes against the proper form? Ma Rong’s “Guang Cheng” and “Shang Lin” are elegant yet resemble rhapsodies—how can such literary flourish lead to a loss of substance? Additionally, Cui Yuan’s “Literature” and Cai Yong’s “Fan Qu” both excel in their introductions but are concise in their main texts. Zhi Yu’s evaluations were quite precise. Yet when he claimed that these works combined both the elegant and the vulgar styles without changing their core intent, it was merely an unfounded theory, similar to false doctrines about yellow and white substances. During the Wei and Jin dynasties, few works stood out among these various odes. Chen Si’s compositions used “Princes” as a theme; Lu Ji’s numerous works had “Meritorious Officials” as the most prominent subject. The mixing of praise and criticism was characteristic of the declining era.

Originally, odes should be based on classical standards, with language that is clear and pure. They should be expressed in a way that resembles rhapsodies yet avoid being overly ornate; they should be solemn like inscriptions yet differ from mere admonitions. They should be used to express praise and elaborate on meanings, being intricate yet adaptable to emotions. Their fundamental essence remains unchanged.

Praise serves to clarify and assist. In ancient times, during sacrifices to Yu Shun, the music master would deliver praises, serving as introductory words. Later, Yi Zhi praised Yu, and Wu Xian praised others—both using words to clarify matters and sighs to enhance the expression. Thus, during the Han dynasty, the position of Honglu was established, where introductory words functioned as praises, continuing the tradition from ancient times. It was not until Sima Xiangru began writing that praises for Jing Ke appeared. Later, when writing histories, praises were used to convey praise and criticism, with concise language summarizing the content and odes used to discuss matters. Similar practices existed in biographical writings. However, Zhong Zhi mistakenly referred to them as narratives, deviating greatly from the original intent. When Jing Chun annotated the “Yi,” he required praises for all plants and animals, encompassing both beauty and ugliness—this was also a variation of odes.

Ultimately, the purpose of praise is to offer encouragement and admiration. This is why, throughout history, such works have been brief rather than extensive, always concluding with four-character phrases and lingering within a few lines of verse. They use concise expressions to fully convey emotions and clear statements to conclude the text—this is their essence. Although their origins are distant, their practical applications are limited. In essence, they belong to the minor categories within the genre of odes!

Praise says: The form of an ode lies in its structure, while its merit lies in its praise. Its expression is intricate, with coherent logic. The more time passes, the brighter its significance becomes. When applied to objects and phenomena, it transforms words into objects of appreciation.

Ode No. 10: Heaven and earth are in their proper places, and sacrifices are offered to all gods. After worshiping the six ancestral deities and the three supreme spirits, sweet rains and gentle winds bring forth millet and sorghum—sources of sustenance for the people. How wonderful it is to receive such blessings! Sacrifices must be fragrant, stemming from noble virtues. The priests present truthful accounts, supported by eloquent words.

Prayers.

In ancient times, Yi Ji first used wax for sacrifices to the eight deities. The prayer went like this: “Let earth return to its place, water flow back to its streams; may insects cease to exist, and plants and trees return to their habitats.” Thus, the prayers of the former emperors are recorded here! Shun’s prayer while tilling the fields read: “Using this long plow, I till those southern fields; all lands belong to the people.” His desire to benefit the people is clearly expressed in his words. As for the rituals of the Shang dynasty, reverence grew day by day; black bulls were offered to heaven as an expression of self-blame for the sins of all peoples—these are the prayers of the suburban sacrifices. Plain carts were used to pray for rain, with the speaker taking responsibility for six aspects of governance—these are the texts of the rain-prayer ceremonies. In the Zhou dynasty, the high priests were in charge of the prayers of the six types of sacrifices. Thus, phrases like “May all creatures thrive” were spoken at the sacrificial sites in heaven and earth; “May peace reign everywhere” was chanted during the sunrise rituals; “Rising early and staying up late” was mentioned in the prayers offered at the temple altars; “May there be abundant blessings without bounds” was proclaimed during the sacrifices of lesser animals. For all kinds of sacrifices, there were corresponding texts—this was to show piety toward the gods and solemnity in the ancestral temples.

From the Spring and Autumn period onward, there were insincere sacrifices and flattery in prayers; every god seemed to be appeased through such rituals. Even during times of crisis, people would pray for help. The “Chu Ci: Summoning the Soul” can be considered a masterpiece of prayer texts. During the Han dynasty, various rituals were carried out with great solemnity, incorporating both the teachings of great scholars and the practices of alchemists. This led to secret prayers intended to shift blame, differing from the sincere intentions of King Tang, yet similar to the prayers of Yuean witches—this was the gradual decline of proper ritual practices.

The Yellow Emperor had texts for exorcising evil spirits, and Dongfang Shuo wrote books cursing ghosts. Later, curses became more focused on harsh insults. Only Chen Si’s “Reproaching Faults” contained just and proper language.

As for ritual prayers, their purpose was merely to offer food as an offering; however, later ritual texts also included praise for one’s actions and words. Combining prayer with praise was an extension of this practice. In the Han dynasty, elegiac inscriptions were written for imperial tombs; during the Zhou dynasty, officials wrote inscriptions during funerals. Thus, these inscriptions originated as gifts, written out of sorrow. Their meaning was similar to elegies, but their purpose was actually to address the gods. Elegies began with sorrow and ended with lamentation, while these inscriptions followed a poetic style and served ritual purposes. They were read by high priests and were indeed prayer texts. While various expressions were used, the goal was to truly communicate with the gods. The key lay in using proper language and sincerity, without any shame. Prayer rituals required sincerity and respect; sacrificial ceremonies demanded solemnity and sorrow—these were the fundamental principles. Ban Gu’s sacrifice at Zhuo Mountain demonstrated sincerity and respect in prayer; Pan Yue’s sacrifice for Lady Yu showed solemnity and sorrow in ritual practice. By examining these examples, we can see clearly what is proper.

A covenant was a way of making things clear. Feathers, white horses, pearl plates, and jade vessels were used to present prayers beneath the bright sky, addressing the gods directly. In ancient times, the Three Kings did not use elaborate oaths for covenants; sometimes they simply made agreements and left. As the Zhou dynasty declined, covenants became more frequent, especially during times of crisis. They started with Cao Mo and ended with Mao Sui. During the Qin dynasty, Huang Long was invoked as a curse; in the Han dynasty, oaths were made to secure the lands. As long as righteousness prevailed, the covenants held; when the principles were abandoned, everything started over again. It depended on human actions—what role did prayers play in this?

Where? As for Zang Hong’s oath, its intensity could cut through clouds and mist; Liu Kun’s ironclad vow, its fervor pierced even the frosty air. Yet neither helped the Han or Jin dynasties—instead, they led to enmity. Thus it is known that sincerity not born from the heart renders oaths useless.

The fundamental principles of an oath involve outlining dangers, encouraging loyalty and filial piety, sharing life and death, pooling efforts, praying to spirits for guidance, referring to the heavens as a standard, inspiring sincerity through emotion, and expressing words with utmost earnestness—these are the common elements. But it is not the words themselves that are difficult; rather, it is handling those words skillfully. Future gentlemen should take this as a solemn lesson. Loyalty and faithfulness are sufficient; there is no need to rely on deities.

Eulogy: Be cautious in rituals and respectful in prayers; the priests should speak thoughtfully. Sincerity lies in solemnity, and crafting words requires effort. In later times, people overdecorated their writings with colorful language, but what truly matters is having no shame when facing the spirits.

Inscription No. Eleven

In ancient times, Emperor Xuān engraved inscriptions on his carriage to encourage compliance, while Great Yu inscribed arrows to invite advice. King Tang used bowls and dishes to establish principles of constant renewal; King Wu wrote admonitions on door mats. Duke of Zhou was cautious in his words on metal vessels, and Confucius changed his expression when using the “tilted vessel”—these were the warnings of ancient sages, long-standing traditions. An inscription is a name; examining a vessel requires proper naming, and using it wisely demands careful moral conduct. Zang Wuzhong discussed inscriptions, saying, “The emperor embodies virtue, the lords assess merits, and the officials praise achievements.” The Xia dynasty cast bronze tripods to embody virtue; the Zhou dynasty inscribed arrows to symbolize vigilance—these are examples of embodying virtue. Lü Wang inscribed his merits on bronze tools, Zhong Shan carved his achievements on ordinary vessels—these are examples of assessing merits. Wei Kuo recorded his exploits on bells, Kong Kui praised his diligence on bronze vessels—these are examples of praising achievements. As for Fei Lian, who had inscriptions on stone coffins, and Ling Gong, who received derogatory titles—inscribing on hidden stones is truly strange! Zhao Ling inscribed his deeds on Fanwu stones, and Qin Zhao engraved inscriptions on Huashan Mountains—such boasts are laughable! By examining these examples, the meaning of inscriptions becomes clear.

As for Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s inscriptions on Mount Tai, though his rule was tyrannical, his cultural influence had its merits. The inscriptions by Ban Gu at Yanran and Zhang Chang at Huayin also have grand descriptions. Cai Yong’s inscriptions stand out as the best throughout history. Qiao Gong’s axes contained classical verses; Zhu Mu’s bronze vessels resembled complete stele inscriptions—these were examples of leveraging one’s strengths. As for Jing Tong’s inscriptions on various objects, they followed the style of Wu’s inscriptions, but the content didn’t match the objects, with inconsistencies in detail. Cui Teng’s evaluations included many praises but few warnings; Li You wrote lengthy texts with sparse meaning. Divinatory tools like the tortoise shell and divining sticks were placed among gambling items; measuring instruments were mentioned alongside mortars and pestles. With so much time spent on naming objects, how could there be time for proper reasoning? Wei Wen’s nine-jewel vessels had fine craftsmanship but dull inscriptions. Only Zhang Zai’s “Sword Pavilion” inscription showed true talent and elegance. His swift and decisive style, coming after others yet surpassing them, made his inscriptions on the Min and Han rivers appropriate.

Proverbs are like needles, used to address ailments and prevent problems—much like needles and stones. The practice of writing proverbs flourished during the Three Dynasties. There remain some verses from the proverbs of the Xia and Shang dynasties. In the Zhou dynasty, among the many proverbs for officials, only the “Yu Zhen” remains complete in both form and meaning. By the Spring and Autumn period, it had declined but not vanished entirely. Thus, Wei Jian admonished his lord using the example of Hou Yi, while the ruler of Chu taught his people the importance of diligence. Since the Warring States period, people focused more on achievements rather than virtue, and inscriptions replaced proverbs; the practice of writing proverbs gradually disappeared. It was not until Yang Xiong studied ancient traditions that he modeled after the “Yu Zhen” and created twenty-five pieces such as “Qing Yin” and “Zhou Mu”. Later, Cui Hu and Hu added more, collectively naming them “Proverbs for All Officials”. These were arranged according to their functions, with each serving as a reminder—truly embodying the pursuit of the noble traditions of ancient times and the emulation of the Zhou dynasty’s examples. As for Pan Xu’s “Fu Jie”, it is concise but lacks depth; Wen Jiao’s “Shi Chen” is extensive but overly complicated; Wang Ji’s “Guo Zi” has plenty of text but little substance; Pan Ni’s “Cheng Yu” is morally sound but stylistically weak. Among all these later works, few achieve true excellence. Wang Lang’s “Za Zhen” includes references to daily items, showing caution but failing to apply its lessons appropriately. Its concise language and emphasis on principles are commendable, yet its descriptions of things like water, fire, wells, and stoves are overly detailed, indicating a one-sided focus.

Proverbs are recited in official settings, while inscriptions are placed on objects. Though their forms differ, their purpose of providing warnings is the same. Proverbs aim to prevent mistakes, so their language must be precise and clear; inscriptions also serve to praise, so their style should be broad and flowing. The subjects chosen must be carefully selected and distinct, and the language must be simple yet profound—this is the essence of both. However, the tradition of writing such texts has faded, and the practices related to ordinary objects have long been neglected. As a result, proverbs and inscriptions are rarely used in later generations. Only those who uphold the values of literature should consider their significance.

Praise: Inscriptions mark objects, while proverbs guide virtue. They serve as reminders in words, like mirrors in water. Upholding this integrity and vigilance helps us walk wisely. A broad and proper meaning, combined with concise language, is ideal.

Eulogies, Chapter Twelve

During the Zhou dynasty, there were writings of eulogies reflecting high moral standards. Scholars were able to compose eulogies during funerals. An eulogy serves to highlight someone’s virtues and ensure their memory endures. Before the Xia and Shang dynasties, such texts were unknown. Although the Zhou dynasty had eulogies, they were not used by scholars. Also, lower-status people did not compose eulogies for higher-status ones, nor did younger people do so for elders. For those of royal rank, eulogies were composed in the name of heaven. Reading these eulogies reveals their grand structure. Starting with Duke Zhuang of Lu at Chengqiu, eulogies began to be written by scholars. By the time Confucius died, Duke Ai composed an eulogy. His words of sorrow and lamentation, though not particularly wise, still preserved the ancient tradition. As for Liu Qi’s eulogy for Hui Zi, it was filled with grief and long rhymes.

In the Han dynasty, this tradition continued. Yang Xiong’s eulogy for Empress Yuan was overly complex, but Sha Lu simplified it into a coherent piece. How could one describe someone’s virtues and honors in just four lines? Du Fu’s eulogies praised earlier generations; Wu...

Although the elegies are well-crafted, other works of his are rather sparse. How could he be renowned for Emperor Guangwu’s sake and then expect a reward of a thousand pieces of gold! What Fu Yi created was in the proper literary style and order; Xiao Shan and Cui Yuan combined clarity with elegance. Their descriptions of events resembled biographies, while their language lacked rhythmic harmony—this is indeed the mark of an elegist’s talent. Pan Yue drew inspiration from Xiao Shan, excelling at expressing sorrow, easily achieving freshness and relevance, which is why they stood out across generations and left a lasting legacy. As for Cui Chen’s elegy for Zhao and Liu Tao’s elegy for Huang, both adhered to established norms, with their strength lying in conciseness. Chen Si sought fame, yet his work was actually complex and slow-paced. Wen Huang’s elegy ended with a hundred words of self-explanation—a great deviation from proper form! As for Yin Chen’s odes to Tang, praising the blessings of the divine birds, and the Zhou historians’ songs celebrating the deeds of Hou Ji, writing elegies for ancestors is indeed the practice of poets. When it comes to expressing sorrow, it varies depending on the context. Fu Yi’s elegy for Beihai reads, “The white sun casts dim light; the continuous rain brings darkness.” Starting with such emotional descriptions set a precedent, and those who followed imitated him, striving even more for excellence.

In essence, an elegy is a composition that selects words and records deeds, following the style of biographies while using poetic language, beginning with praise and ending with sorrow. When describing a person, it gives an impression as if one can see them clearly; when expressing sorrow, it evokes deep pity—this is its purpose.

A stele is a marker. In ancient times, emperors would record their achievements through rituals and erect stone markers on mountains, hence the name “stele.” King Mu of Zhou inscribed his deeds on stones at Yan Mountain, which also embodies the concept of ancient steles. There were also steles in ancestral temples, placed between the columns, used solely for offering sacrifices without recording achievements. As ordinary objects gradually declined in use, later generations adopted steles, using stone in place of metal to achieve immortality. From temples to tombs, they served as markers for graves.

Since the Later Han dynasty, steles have proliferated. Among those with exceptional talent, none surpassed Cai Yong. Looking at Yang Shi’s stele, its language is rigorous and follows classical norms; the writings of Chen and Guo lack careful selection of words; all of Zhou Hu’s steles are precise and excellent. Their narratives are concise and to the point, their embellishments elegant and rich; their language is clear and endless, their ideas ingenious and outstanding. Judging by their talent, they were naturally gifted. Kong Rong’s creations imitated Bo Jie; the writings of Zhang and Chen were clear and well-embellished, ranking just below them. When Sun Zha wrote, his focus was on steles; Wen, Wang, Xi, and Yu’s writings were overly complicated. Among them, Huan Yi’s piece was the most refined and well-structured.

The style of writing for steles requires historical insight; the preface functions like a biography, while the main text serves as an inscription. To highlight a person’s noble virtues, one must show their exemplary character; to commemorate their great achievements, one must display their remarkable qualities—this is the standard for steles. A stele is essentially an inscription, and an inscription is essentially stele text. Names are given based on the object, and it precedes an elegy. Thus, those who engrave stones to praise achievements fall under the category of inscriptions; those who erect steles to commemorate the deceased belong to the realm of elegies.

Praise goes thus: It captures the distant and the intangible; inscriptions and eulogies establish its legacy. Virtues are recorded, and excellence is fully displayed. Observing its style is like seeing a face; listening to its words feels like hearing sobs. The ink on stone bears splendor—how can its image ever be subdued?

Elegy No. 13

The epithet “Fu Xian” implies sorrow; brevity conveys grief. Sorrow means dependence. True grief stems from the heart, hence it is called sorrow. Expressing sorrow through words is a form of lamentation common among lower classes; thus, it applies not only to the elderly but also to those who die young. In ancient times, the Three Worthies perished for Qin, and no one could atone for them—such was their unjust fate. The Ode to the Yellow Bird expresses sorrow; is it not also a poet’s elegiac verse?

During Emperor Wu of Han’s ritual sacrifice, Huo Xin met a violent death. The emperor, moved, composed poems—these too fall under the category of elegiac verses. In the Later Han dynasty, when the ruler of Ruyang died, Cui Yuan wrote an elegy, marking a change from previous styles. Yet descriptions of crossing the gates of death lack proper lamentation; tales of riding dragons and clouds lack true sorrow. Moreover, the final sections in five-character lines resemble ballads, echoing Emperor Wu’s style. As for Su Shun and Zhang Sheng, though they wrote elegies, they failed to fully express their innermost feelings. Among the Jian’an era elegies, only Wei Chang’s works stand out; his piece “The Departing Maiden” evokes compassion. When Pan Yue followed suit, he truly mastered this art. His expressions vary in tone, his emotions deeply sorrowful; his narratives are like accounts, and his conclusions mimic poetry. With concise four-character lines and few slow passages, his work achieves both moral integrity and graceful prose, adhering to traditional forms yet offering novelty. No one has surpassed him in works like “The Golden Deer” and “The Orchid of the Marsh.”

In essence, elegiac verse focuses on profound sorrow, with language expressing deep affection. Those who have not yet developed virtue are praised only for their kindness and wisdom; those who are too weak to handle responsibilities have their sorrows emphasized through descriptions of their pale complexions. Writing with a hidden heart results in appropriate expression, while reading such writings evokes deep emotion. If language is overly ornate, it may be beautiful but not sorrowful. True elegance lies in allowing emotions to give rise to grief and language to inspire tears.

“Mourning” means reaching the utmost. The poem says, “May the gods mourn,” meaning that the gods reach the highest level of sorrow. A gentleman ensures a proper epitaph and expresses utmost grief, so that those comforting the bereaved do so with complete sincerity. Those who stray from the right path deserve no mourning. Similarly, when floods devastate Song and fires destroy Zheng, or when travelers deliver messages amid national disasters and civilian deaths, mourning is shared. During the Jin dynasty, when Zhu Xi built his tower and Qi attacked Yan City, historians like Zhao and Su Qin turned congratulations into condolences—such tyranny leads to destruction. All these cases illustrate the purpose of mourning. Some perish due to arrogance and nobility, some due to stubbornness and deviation from righteousness; some have aspirations but lack the right timing, and some possess talent yet suffer consequences. Comforting them after their deaths is also called mourning.

Since Jia Yi wrote his elegy on the Xiang River, expressing his sorrow for Qu Yuan, such works shared a similar style yet were based on factual accounts; their language was clear while their themes were mournful—these were indeed the first of their kind. When Sima Xiangru wrote his elegy on the Second Emperor, it was entirely in the form of a rhapsody; Huan Tan believed its words were so moving that readers would sigh upon reading them. Its concluding sections were particularly poignant, capable of evoking deep sorrow. Yang Xiong’s elegy for Qu Yuan showed limited effort in expression but profound reflection on the Qu Yuan tradition, hence its language was solemn and weighty. Ban Biao and Cai Yong were both skilled at crafting such works, but they still fell short of matching Jia Yi’s level. Hu Ruan’s elegies for Yi and Qi were full of praise with no criticism, while Zhong Xuan’s works contained sharp satire. Thus, Hu Ruan appreciated their purity, while Wang Zǐ criticized their narrowness—each reflecting their own perspectives. Zhang Heng’s elegy for Pingzi was elaborate yet somewhat light-hearted; Lu Ji’s elegy for Wei Wu had clever introductions but complex prose. From there onward, there were no more works worth mentioning.

Although elegies originated in ancient times, ornate language came later; when ornamentation exceeded measure and rhythm slowed down, they transformed into rhapsodies. It is fitting to uphold proper principles to guide reason, to highlight virtues and correct errors, to analyze praise and criticism, to express sorrow with integrity—so as not to disrupt moral order!

In praise: The sorrow expressed in words lies in those who are weak and helpless. Those who fail to thrive from an early age have been a source of lament since ancient times. Even those with versatile talents may lose their way. It is sad to think of this over thousands of years; thus, fables are used to convey such sentiments.

Article Fourteen on Miscellaneous Writings

Those born with wisdom and talent, as well as those well-versed in literature, possess abundant expressions and eloquent speech. Their literary skills keep evolving, leading to new forms of expression. Song Yu had great talent but also strayed from conventional norms; he first created the form of dialogue to express his ideas, allowing his thoughts to flourish freely, thereby enriching his writing. When Mei Cheng developed this further, he created “Seven Stimuli,” with rich and extravagant language that was strikingly beautiful. This form stemmed from human desires, initially deviant but eventually leading to something positive, serving as a warning to those indulged in luxury. Yang Xiong delved deeply into literary creation, compiling various pieces into “Lianzhu.” Though his writings were brief, they were clear and polished. These three represent different branches of literature, products of leisurely creativity.

After “Dialogue,” Dong Fang Shuo expanded on this format, calling it “Guest Challenges,” using historical examples to comfort one’s spirit, with a straightforward yet persuasive style. Yang Xiong’s “Mockery Unveiled” combined humor with self-explanation, also being quite skillful. Ban Gu’s “Banquet Jokes” contained elegant elements; Cui Tun’s “Expressing the Essence” featured refined language; Zhang Heng’s “Responding to Criticisms” was concise yet refined; Cui Shi’s “Answering Mockeries” was orderly and subtle; Cai Yong’s “Explaining Admonitions” had a profound structure and brilliant prose; Jing Chun’s “Guest’s Pride” revealed deep emotions with vivid expressions. Although they all built upon each other, they represented the highest level of such works. As for Chen Si’s “Guest’s Questions,” its language was lofty but its reasoning was weak; Yu’s “Guest’s Consultations” had noble intentions but weak prose. There are many such works, but none stand out in terms of quality.

Indeed. The origin of this literary form lies in expressing one’s aspirations through passion. When one’s body is frustrated, they rely on the power of virtue; when times are difficult, they turn to emotional resilience. All such writings possess profound depth and elegance, reflecting the essence of this literary genre.

Starting from “Seven Essays,” many authors followed suit. Observing Mei’s pioneering work, it is truly outstanding and magnificent. Fu Yi’s “Seven Provocations” demonstrates skill in conciseness; Cui Teng’s “Seven Dependences” showcases ingenuity in erudition; Zhang Heng’s “Seven Discourses” features rich and flowing language; Cui Yuan’s “Seven Severitys” upholds pure and upright principles; Chen Si’s works emphasize grandeur; Zhong Xuan’s “Seven Explanations” delves deeply into logic and reasoning. From Huan Lin’s “Seven Statements” to Zuo Si’s “Seven Satires,” there were more than ten such works. Some had beautiful prose but flawed meanings, while others had sound logic but awkward wording. Generally speaking, these works focused on lavish palaces and grand hunting scenes, describing exquisite foods and enchanting sights and sounds. Their vivid descriptions could stir one’s very soul, though they began with extravagance yet ended with integrity. Yet, satire serves as a warning to many, and its impact does not wane. As Zi Yun said, it’s like playing Zheng and Wei melodies, ending with elegant music. Only Cui Yuan’s “Seven Severitys” praises the virtuous and returns to Confucianism and Taoism; although its prose isn’t exceptional, its ideas are truly remarkable.

After “Lianzhu,” imitators emerged from time to time. People like Du Du and Jia Kui, as well as Liu Zhen and Pan Xu, tried to create something brilliant but often ended up using inferior materials. It was like someone crawling on all fours instead of walking with grace, or someone holding their heart in shame—far from the beauty of Xi Shi. Only Shi Heng brought fresh ideas and sharp writing skills, expanding upon existing forms. How could he possibly aspire to match the modest achievements of others? With concise prose and ample thought, his works made meanings clear, language pure, narratives complete, and expressions harmonious. They flowed naturally, truly worthy of being called pearls.

In fact, since the Han dynasty, various types of miscellaneous writings have existed. Some were official documents or oaths, some were brief summaries, some involved intricate quotations, and some were poems or satires. Collectively, they fall under the category of miscellaneous writings; upon closer examination of their meanings, each can be discussed separately. Since they are grouped together, no need for detailed description here.

Praise: Great were those who came before us—firm in learning, talented beyond measure. They used their literary skills to create masterpieces, displaying great ingenuity. Their words were rich and interwoven, as bright as the stars in the sky. Their longing for beauty filled their hearts.

Satire, Chapter Fifteen

The poem by Ren Liangfu says, “As long as one has feelings, the people will become wild.” The heart may be as treacherous as a mountain, and the mouth as blocked as a river. Feelings of resentment and anger vary, and words of joy and deceit are endless. In ancient times, when Hua Yuan abandoned his armor, the defenders sang songs of defiance; when Zang Hu lost...

The teacher composed songs about creating dwarfs; he also mocked people’s appearances, harboring resentment in his words. There were also vulgar proverbs about silkworms and crabs, as well as tales of fox-headed people engaged in licentious acts. If such things could serve as warnings, they would be recorded in ritual texts. Thus, it is clear that humorous and satirical words are not to be discarded.

Humorous words are those that are simple and accessible to the common folk, meant to bring laughter. In ancient times, when Duke Wei of Qi indulged in pleasure, Chunyu Yue wrote about sweet wine; when King Xiang of Chu held banquets, Song Yu composed works on lust. Their intent was subtle satire, worthy of attention. The jokes told by You Zhan about Qi City, and You Meng’s advice against burying horses, were all cleverly worded attempts to restrain tyranny. That’s why Sima Qian included such stories in his historical records under the category of humor—although their wording might be unconventional, their underlying meaning was upright. Yet since their essence was not elegant, they easily led to corruption. Later, Dongfang Shuo and Mei Gao, who ate cheap food and drank weak liquor, offered no corrective measures; instead, they slandered and mocked others. They even said, “Writing rhapsodies is also a form of humor; it’s like performing like singers,” showing some remorse. In the Wei dynasty, people used humor to write comedic books, and Xue Zong composed mocking verses during banquets. Though these brought laughter at the table, they had no practical use. Still, scholars of refined literature couldn’t avoid being influenced by them; people like Pan Yue, who wrote about ugly women, and Zhu Xi, who described someone selling cakes, followed suit—countless in number. During the Wei and Jin dynasties, humor became extremely popular, with people exaggerating features to the extreme—like Ying Rong’s nose being compared to a stolen egg, or Zhang Hua’s appearance likened to holding a pounding pestle. These were worthless words that damaged moral standards—nothing but the foolish laughter of the indulgent and the wild songs of the vulgar.

Satire involves concealment. It uses euphemisms to hide true meanings and clever metaphors to point out issues. In ancient times, when returning to the ancestral altar, people sought help from the Chu army by referring to a deep well and mentioning wheat; Shuyi asked the people of Lu for food by singing about jade pendants and calling out names like Geng and Gui; Wu Ju criticized King Jing of Chu using the image of a large bird, while a guest from Qi mocked Duke Xue using the image of a sea fish; Princess Zhuang used the excuse of a dragon’s tail, and Zang Wen wrote on a sheepskin coat. The use of hidden language appeared in historical records. Its purpose was, at best, to promote governance and benefit individuals, and at least to guide those who were confused. Its origin lay in cunning tactics and urgent situations, and it could complement humorous words. During the Han dynasty, there were eighteen chapters in the “Book of Concealment,” compiled by Xin and Gu, recorded at the end of rhapsodies.

In ancient times, Duke Zhuang of Chu and Duke Wei of Qi enjoyed using hidden language. By the time of Dongfang Manqian, his wordplay became even more skillful. But his misleading and mocking words served no purpose in providing guidance. Since the Wei dynasty, it has become less about true humor and more about gentlemen using satire as riddles. Riddles involve twisting words to confuse people. Some use shapes and characters, others use images and objects—delicately testing minds, superficially showing off words. The meaning aims to be gentle yet proper, while the words aim to be hidden yet clear. Xun Kuang’s “Rhapsody on Silkworms” already hinted at this style. By the time of Emperor Wen and Chen Si of Wei, it became more concise and precise. Gao Gui and others described various things in detail, though sometimes their efforts were disconnected from broader principles. Looking at ancient satire, its purpose was to address important matters—it wasn’t just for children’s playful mockery and silly laughter! Still, humorous and satirical writings, like fiction among the nine schools of thought, were collected by unofficial historians to broaden perspectives. If one imitates them without understanding, isn’t it like Someone entering a room or You Zhan and You Meng’s stone games?

In praise: Ancient satire served to rescue those in danger and relieve distress. Even if there were silk and hemp, straw and reeds were not discarded. When appropriate, it greatly aided in admonition. But empty humor and jesting severely damaged moral standards.

Biographies, Chapter Sixteen

In the early days when civilization was just emerging, centuries stretched far back. How can we understand the past today through written records? In the time of Xuanyuan, there was Cangjie, who held the position in charge of documentation—a role that has existed for a long time. The Book of Etiquette states, “The historian writes with a brush.” A historian is one who uses a brush to record things. In ancient times, the left historian recorded events, while the right historian recorded speeches. The speeches were recorded in The Book of History, and the events were recorded in The Spring and Autumn Annals. During the Tang and Yu dynasties, records were kept in the form of odes; during the Shang and Xia dynasties, they were in the form of edicts and vows. When the Zhou dynasty brought about reforms, Duke Ji established laws, organized the calendar using three main systems, and connected events across the four seasons. As the various vassal states were established, each had its own historians to highlight virtues and expose vices, thereby setting moral standards. From the time of King Ping, whose rule was weak and whose policies were not proper, the laws became scattered and disordered, and moral principles declined.

Once, the Master lamented the shortcomings in the way of governance and the decline of culture. He would sit in silence, sighing like a phoenix, or cry by the roadside like a qilin. Then he consulted the Grand Preceptor to standardize The Odes and Hymns, and used the records of Lu to revise The Spring and Autumn Annals. By highlighting successes and failures, he indicated promotions and demotions; by documenting the rise and fall of states, he served as a warning. A single word of praise could confer greater honor than wearing imperial robes, while a single word of criticism could lead to severe punishment. Yet the profound meanings were subtle, and the texts were delicate. Qiu Ming, living in the same era, truly understood these subtle messages. He traced the origins and ends, creating the biographical style. A biography means transmission—transmitting the essence of the classics to future generations. It is like the wings of sacred writings and the crown of historical records.

During the Warring States period, the role of historians still existed. When Qin unified the seven kingdoms, strategies from that era were recorded. Since these were merely listed without detailed narration, they were simply called “brief records.” When the Han dynasty overthrew the Ying and Xiang families, military achievements accumulated over many years. Lu Jia studied ancient traditions and wrote The Spring and Autumn of Chu and Han. Then there was the Grand Historian, who relied solely on brief records. Sima Qian continued this work, evaluating the merits of emperors. Compared to Yao’s use of classics, his works mixed ordinary people with virtuous ones; compared to Confucius’ approach to the classics, his writing lacked the profundity of the sages. Therefore, he adopted the format of Lü Buwei’s works, collectively calling them “histories.” The term “history” itself is a grand designation. Thus, The Imperial Biographies describe emperors, The Biographies summarize the lords and nobles, The Eight Books cover government affairs, and The Ten Tables list years and titles. Although different from ancient styles, they still provide a chronological order. As for the actual records, they lack the intention of hiding anything, but they require broad knowledge and eloquent skills. There are also issues such as an excessive preference for the unusual and deviations from the classics, as well as flaws in the organization of the records, all of which have been discussed in detail by Shu Pi.

When Ban Gu wrote about the Han dynasty, he followed the precedents set before him. Observing Sima Qian’s writings, he realized that Sima Qian had achieved much more in terms of accuracy. His Ten Treatises were rich in content, and his prefaces were magnificent and elegant, showing great scholarly refinement. Indeed, there was still something left to be explored. As for the principles of adhering to the classics and following the sages, the efforts to establish a solid foundation, the faults of exaggerating one’s own merits, and the mistakes of accepting bribes in exchange for writing, these were all thoroughly analyzed. Looking at Zuo Zhuan’s narrative style, events were interspersed among the classics, making the text concise but difficult to understand regarding family lineages. With Sima Qian’s individual biographies, things became more detailed and easier to read, and later writers followed this approach. When Emperor Xiaohui relinquished power and Empress Lü took control, Ban Gu’s histories deviated from the classics and lost accuracy. Why?

What then? Since Paoxi, there has been no record of a female emperor. The fate of the Han dynasty made it difficult to set a precedent for future empresses. A hen does not crow at dawn—this was the first oath taken by King Wu; women should not be involved in state affairs—this was stipulated in the treaty made by Duke Huan of Qi; Empress Xuan caused chaos in Qin, and the Lü family endangered the Han dynasty: It is not only difficult to entrust political matters to women, but their titles as well should be chosen with care. Zhang Heng served as an official historian yet made mistakes similar to those of Tian Gu. Regarding the two empresses during the Yuanping era, he attempted to write biographies for them, which was also highly erroneous. Although Zǐ Hóng was fraudulent, he was still the rightful successor to Emperor Xiaohui; Rúzǐ, though of low status, actually carried on the lineage of Emperor Ping. These two men deserved biographies—why then write ones for the two empresses?

As for the biographies in the “History of the Later Han,” they originated from the Dongguan Library. Those compiled by Yuan and Zhang were one-sided and inconsistent; those written by Xue and Xie were careless and lacked credibility. Those by Sima Biao were detailed and accurate, while those by Hua Qiao were proper and well-structured—these stood out as the best. During the Wei dynasty, various works on biographies emerged, such as those in “Yangqiu” and “Weilue,” as well as “Jiangbiao” and “Wulü.” Some were overly dramatic and hard to verify, while others were superficial and lacked focus. Only Chen Shou’s “Three Records” combined elegance and substance. Comparing him to Tian Gu was not an unfounded praise.

Regarding the books from the Jin dynasty, they were part of the official historical records. Lu Ji began compiling them but did not complete the work, Wang Shao continued it but did not finish it. Gan Bao wrote the “Records” to ensure accuracy and proper sequencing; Sun Sheng’s “Yangqiu” excelled in concise presentation. According to the “Spring and Autumn Annals” and its commentaries, examples were given to illustrate general principles; from the “Historical Records” of the Han dynasty onward, there was no standard format. It was not until Deng Zhan’s “Records of the Jin Dynasty” that systematic rules were established. He also drew upon the systems of the Han and Wei dynasties as well as those of the Yin and Zhou dynasties. Even those with limited knowledge had some sense of what constituted proper historical records. When An Guo established rules, he was following Deng Zhan’s standards.

The purpose of historical writing is to encompass the works of various scholars over centuries, to reflect the rise and fall of civilizations, to serve as a lesson for future generations, so that the systems of each era may endure alongside time, and the achievements of great rulers may last as long as heaven and earth. Thus, at the beginning of the Han dynasty, the role of historians was highly valued. Records from various regions were first gathered in the office of the Grand Historian, so that they could provide a thorough understanding of the state. By examining stone tablets, metal boxes, torn silk, and damaged bamboo fragments, historians aimed to gain extensive knowledge of ancient times. Therefore, when selecting words and establishing standards, one should rely on the classics; advice and warnings should be based on the teachings of sages. Only then can evaluations be clear and precise, preventing errors and abuses.

However, the biographical style involves organizing events chronologically, and the writing is not merely speculative but based on facts. As time passes, it becomes difficult to distinguish similarities and differences, and as events accumulate, it becomes easy to overlook their beginnings and endings—this is indeed the difficulty of comprehensive compilation. Sometimes, multiple people may contribute to describing the same event; if both are recorded, it leads to redundancy, while if only one is mentioned, it results in incompleteness. This also shows how difficult it is to make appropriate selections. Hence, Zhang Heng pointed out the errors in the works of Ban Gu, and Fu Xuan criticized the excessive complexity of the “History of the Later Han”—both were due to these issues.

When recounting distant eras, many false accounts emerge. Gongyang Gao said, “Accounts vary depending on hearsay,” and Xun Kuang said, “Record distant events in detail but recent ones briefly.” This is because if the text is doubtful, it should be omitted—credibility in history is important. Yet, people generally prefer the unusual, ignoring practical truth. They seek grand narratives based on hearsay.

In recording distant events, one seeks to detail their traces. Thus, they abandon what is common and embrace the unusual, inventing anecdotes not found in older histories, which my book then records. This is the origin of distortion and falsehood, and a great pestilence in historical accounts. As for recording events from the same era, times are often full of deceit; even though the words of emperors like Ding and Ai are subtle, the realities of human nature and interests remain. Those from prosperous families, even if mediocre, adorn themselves fully; while those from failing families, even if virtuous, are dismissed and ridiculed. The cold and heat are reflected in the writings—this too is the distortion of the same era, something worthy of lament! Hence, when recording distant events, distortions abound; when recording recent events, errors persist. To analyze matters objectively and remain upright requires a pure heart!

As for honoring the virtuous and concealing faults, this is indeed the sacred principle of Confucius—for even the slightest flaw cannot tarnish true virtue. Punishing the wicked is the straightforward duty of a good historian—just as a farmer must remove weeds. Such principles remain constant through all ages. As for the techniques of organizing complex information, the key lies in emphasizing truth and discarding the extraordinary, clarifying the structure, and carefully evaluating examples—understanding the overall framework allows all principles to be integrated. Yet, the role of history is to oversee an entire era, bear the responsibility for the whole nation, and face criticism for right or wrong. Holding the pen and bearing this burden is the most arduous task. Even those like Sima Qian and Confucius were criticized by later generations. If one acts arbitrarily and loses objectivity, how perilous that would be!

Praise: History began with Huangdi, encompassing the teachings of Zhou and Confucius. Through the ages, these records have covered both good and evil. Praise and criticism stir the souls of all time. In terms of style, they follow the traditions of Qiu Ming, returning ultimately to those of Dong Zhongshu.

The Seventeenth Chapter on Philosophers

Philosophical works are books that express one’s aspirations upon entering the path of wisdom. The highest goal is to cultivate virtue; the next is to create writings. In society, people suffer from chaos and lack of clarity; gentlemen despise the obscurity of fame and virtue. Only those with exceptional talent shine brightly through their writings, making their names as enduring as the sun and moon. In ancient times, figures like Feng Hou, Li Mu, and Yi Yin belonged to this category. These texts are remnants from ancient times, recorded during the Warring States period. When Yu Xiong understood the way, King Wen sought his advice—his remaining writings were compiled into the “Yu Zi.” No other work preceded it in establishing this tradition. Later, when Boyang understood rituals, Confucius visited him, and thus the teachings of virtue were ranked among all schools of thought. Thus, Yu was merely a literary friend, while Li was actually a teacher of Confucius—sages lived together, yet the classics and philosophical works followed different paths.

By the time of the Seven Kingdoms, talented individuals emerged in large numbers. Mencius upheld Confucianism with utmost devotion, while Zhuangzi expounded on the Way with brilliance. Mozi advocated frugality and consistency, Yin Wen emphasized the correspondence between name and reality. Rural elders governed states based on geographical advantages, while scholars managed governance through celestial phenomena. Shen Buhai and Shang Yang used logical reasoning to govern, Guiguzi employed rhetoric to strategize, and Xu Jiao combined various techniques. Historical records intertwined with casual conversations. Those who followed these traditions were countless, all using eloquent speech to showcase their skills, reaping rewards and glory.

During the reign of the tyrannical Qin dynasty, whose flames spread across the land, the toxicity of its smoke did not reach the works of the philosophers. It was not until the Han dynasty that Emperor Cheng showed interest, and Zi Zheng began to compile these works; thus, the “Seven Strategies” emerged, along with a multitude of other philosophical texts. In total, over 180 such works were compiled. By the Wei and Jin dynasties, more authors appeared, and both truthful and false statements were recorded. When gathered together, they filled entire chests.

Though there was an abundance of writings, their essence could still be summarized. Those that expounded on moral principles and governance drew from the Five Classics. The purest among them adhered to established norms, while those that deviated from them fell outside those norms. For example, “The Book of Rites • Monthly Commands” draws from Lü Buwei’s records; the three-year mourning period is described in Xun Kuang’s writings—these are examples of pure works. On the other hand, tales like Tang asking Ji about the sound of thunder in mosquito wings, Hui Shi telling the King of Liang about battles fought with snail horns, “Liezi”’s accounts of moving mountains and crossing seas, and “Huainanzi”’s descriptions of overturning heavens and breaking earth—all belong to the category of absurd and contradictory works. Thus, people criticized the philosophers for their nonsense and exaggerations. The “Guicang” scriptures, with their bizarre stories of Yi killing ten suns and Chang’e flying to the moon, are even more extreme. If the Yin dynasty’s I Ching is like this, how much more so are the works of the philosophers!

As for the scholars of the Shang and Han dynasties—those considered “six kinds of pests” and “five kinds of vermin”—who abandoned filial piety and benevolence and caused disasters through their teachings, their actions were no exaggeration. Gongsun Long’s claims about white horses and orphan calves, with their clever but flawed reasoning, and Wei Mou’s comparison of them to birds of prey—these were not baseless criticisms. In ancient times, Dongping sought out the works of philosophers in the “Records of History,” but the Han dynasty did not include them. This was because the “Records of History” contained many military strategies, while the philosophical works involved various strange doctrines. Yet those well-versed in these matters should grasp the essentials, appreciate the superficial aspects while focusing on the substance, discard the false and adopt what is true, and thoroughly compare and analyze them—this too is a remarkable achievement for scholars.

Mencius and Xun Kuang’s writings have profound principles and elegant language; Guan Zhong and Yan Ying’s works are accurate in facts and concise in expression; Lie Yukou’s writings are grand in spirit and full of novelty; Zou Yan’s ideas are extravagant in thought and powerful in language; Mo Di and Sui Chao express their thoughts clearly but simply; Shi Jiao and Wei Liao have thorough knowledge but dull writing; Jun Guan offers frequent profound insights; Guiguzi often delves into profound mysteries; Wenzi excels in his abilities; Yin Wen captures the essence succinctly; Shen Buhai analyzes complex principles skillfully; Han Fei writes extensively and richly; Lü Buwei has far-reaching insights and comprehensive perspectives; Huainanzi draws widely and writes beautifully—these represent the best aspects of the works of all philosophers, along with their general style and tone.

As for Lu Jia’s “New Words,” Jia Yi’s “New Books,” Yang Xiong’s “Discourses on the Law,” Liu Xiang’s “Garden of Discourses,” Wang Fu’s “Hidden Man,” Cui Shi’s “Political Discussions,” Zhong Chang’s “Prosperous Words,” and Du Yi’s “Secret Pursuits”—some discuss classical texts, while others explain political strategies. Although they are labeled as treatises, they ultimately fall under the category of philosophical works. Why? Because those who cover a wide range of topics are considered philosophers, while those who focus on a single principle are considered treatises. All of these are diverse and mixed discussions, hence they are classified among the philosophical works.

Since the time before the Six Kingdoms, the distance from the sages was not great, so it was possible to engage in lofty discussions across generations and open new paths. After the Han dynasties, their influence gradually weakened; although the right path was clear, most followed mere imitation—this is the gradual change over time. Alas! The individual is at odds with his times, yet his aspirations align with the truth; he sets his heart above all eternity while gazing toward ages far in the future. Yet metal and stone fade away—will their voices not also vanish?

Praise says: A true man in the world should possess treasures of virtue and stand out with excellence. He should discern all things clearly and possess wisdom that encompasses the universe. Why hide one’s virtues? If one holds the truth, one must impart it. Different types of writings have distinct styles, as if there were boundaries between them.

Chapter Eighteen on Treatises

The teachings of sages and philosophers are called classics; those that explain these classics and their principles are called treatises. A treatise deals with ethics; when ethics are sound, the sage’s intentions remain intact. In ancient times, Confucius spoke in subtle terms, which his disciples later recorded, hence they downplayed the title of the classic and called it The Analects. It was from here that the practice of giving names to various treatises began. Before The Analects, classics did not contain the word “treatise.” The Two Treatises in The Art of War were added by later scholars!

Upon closer examination, treatises come in many forms: those discussing governance combine with arguments and discussions; those explaining classics refer to commentaries and annotations; those analyzing history go hand in hand with praise and evaluations; those critiquing literature are recorded alongside quotations. Thus, those who argue should speak clearly, those who discuss should express themselves plainly, those who transmit knowledge should guide others, those who annotate should provide explanations, those who praise should clarify meanings, those who evaluate should assess principles fairly, those who write prefaces should organize events, and those who quote should follow proper syntax—eight distinct titles, all serving the same purpose. A treatise is something that synthesizes various opinions and delves deeply into a single principle.

For this reason, Zhuangzi’s Work on Equalizing Things is titled a treatise; Sima Qian’s Spring and Autumn Annals features six treatises listed explicitly. As for the Treatises on the Arts from the Shiqu Library and the Baihu Tong Explanations, which discuss the teachings of the sages, these represent the proper form of treatises. Later, Ban Biao’s Treatise on Royal Commands and Yan You’s Treatise on the Three Generals expressed emotions vividly, skillfully integrating historical styles. During the early Wei dynasty, legalist theories were combined with nominalist ideas. Fu Gu and Wang Can refined nominalist principles. By the Zhengshi era, there was a focus on preserving classical texts; it was then that scholars like He Yan began to promote metaphysical treatises. Thus, Dan Zhou rose to prominence, competing with Confucius in his approach. Looking at Lan Shi’s On Talent and Nature, Zhong Xuan’s On Abandoning Aggression, Shuyi’s On Distinguishing Sounds, Taichu’s On Nothingness, Fusi’s On Two Principles, and Pingshu’s two treatises, all show original insights, sharpness, and precision—these are the finest examples of treatises. As for Li Kang’s On Fate, it compares favorably with Lun Heng; Lu Ji’s On the Decline of the State imitates Strategies of Qin but falls short, yet it still possesses its own merits.

Next came Song Dai and Guo Xiang, who delved deeply into the realm of the divine; Yi Fu and Pei Hui engaged in debates within the domain of existence and non-existence. All of them stood out in their times, leaving a lasting influence on later generations. Yet those who adhered to existence focused entirely on form and function; those who valued non-existence clung solely to solitude. Their insights were one-sided and failed to reach the true essence; reaching the ultimate source of wisdom—was that the realm of Prajna? By the time of the discussions in the Jiangdong region, metaphysics was the sole focus; though there was innovation, much relied on previous ideas. As for Zhang Heng’s “Satire of the World,” it resembled mere jesting; Kong Rong’s “On Filial Piety and Integrity” was nothing but mockery; Cao Zhi’s “On the Dao” resembled a mere copybook. Without firm principles, such discussions are worthless.

Discussion, as a form of discourse, serves to distinguish right from wrong. It explores the finite and delves into the intangible, striving to penetrate difficulties and reach extremes—it is the tool for careful consideration and the standard for weighing all matters. Thus, its meaning should be comprehensive and unambiguous, with language free from fragmentation, ensuring that the mind aligns with reason, leaving no gaps; words and thoughts must be closely matched so that opponents cannot exploit weaknesses. This is its essence. Therefore, discussion should be like cutting wood—effective in breaking through logical barriers. A sharp axe cuts across obstacles; clever wording finds ways around contradictions. Though the writing may seem skillful, its flaws become evident upon examination. Only a gentleman capable of understanding the aspirations of the whole world can engage in proper discussion.

Annotations, as written explanations, break down the structure of discussions. Although different in form, they ultimately serve the same purpose. Qin Yanjun’s annotations on the “Yao Classic” span over a hundred thousand characters; Zhu Wen Gong’s interpretations of the “Book of History” amount to three hundred thousand words. Such works are disliked by those who seek simplicity and ashamed those who focus on mere sentences. In contrast, Mao Gong’s teachings on poetry, An Guo’s transmissions of the classics, Zheng Jun’s explanations of rituals, and Wang Bi’s interpretations of the I Ching are concise and clear, serving as models.

To persuade means to delight; speech is the tool for this, so words should bring joy and satisfaction. Excessive delight leads to falsehood, which is why Shun was alarmed by slanderous speech. Those skilled in persuasion—Yi Yin enhanced the Yin dynasty through his arguments, Duke Tai established the Zhou dynasty through his eloquence, Zhu Wu relieved the crisis in Zheng, and Duanmu saved Lu—all demonstrated the power of good persuasion.

During the Warring States period, when states vied for dominance, orators abounded. They strategized, weighed advantages and disadvantages, used clever rhetoric, and employed subtle tactics. The eloquence of one person could equal the value of precious treasures; a three-inch tongue could be more powerful than an army of millions. Some wore six seals as decorations, while others ruled over five capitals. When the Han dynasty unified Qin and Chu, the role of orators diminished. Li Jun died in the cauldron of Qi, Kuai Zi nearly ended up in the Han dynasty’s fate; although there were still figures like Lu Jia, Zhang Shi, Fu Hui, Du Qin, Lou Hu, who wielded their tongues to climb the ranks of high officials and even sit among princes, they all relied on favorable circumstances—none could go against the tide.

Effective persuasion involves balancing flexibility and firmness; it isn’t just about soothing words but also about sharp reasoning. Fan Ju’s cautious advice and Li Si’s efforts to stop the expulsion of foreigners both aligned with circumstances and addressed practical issues. Even when confronting sensitive topics, their strategies succeeded, demonstrating excellence.

Metaphor
It is a fine way of expressing ideas in writing. As for Zou Yang’s writings about Wu and Liang, they are skillfully crafted and logically sound; thus, despite the risks involved, there is no fault. Jing Tong’s writings about Bao and Deng are detailed and complex in style, which is why they are rarely used.

The essence of effective writing lies in ensuring that it is timely and morally sound, enabling progress toward achieving goals while avoiding obstacles to one’s reputation. Unless it is meant to deceive enemies, loyalty and honesty are the only principles to follow. Presenting one’s heart and soul to the ruler, using eloquent language to aid communication—this is the foundation of good writing. Then why does Lu call it “deceptive and misleading”?

Praise: Ideas take shape through words, and when ideas are articulated, they become theories. The language reaches deep into the human heart and mind, reaching far beyond ordinary thoughts. Nothing escapes detection—neither yin nor yang, nor ghosts or gods. Such writing inspires and encourages.

Edicts and Commands, No. 19

When the emperor speaks, his words carry divine authority. From behind the imperial screens, his voice echoes throughout the land—this is nothing but an edict or command! In ancient times, during the reigns of Xuanyuan, Tang, and Yu, these were all referred to as “commands.” The meaning of “command” is to shape human nature. During the Three Dynasties, these were combined with proclamations and oaths. Oaths were used to train soldiers, while proclamations were used to implement policies. Commands came from heaven, hence they were used to appoint officials and bestow hereditary titles. The hexagram “Gou” in the I Ching states, “The ruler issues commands to all directions.” Commands influence the people like wind spreading across the world. By the time of the Seven States, they were also called commands. A command means to order something. When Qin unified the country, it changed the term to “regulations.” At the beginning of the Han Dynasty, four types of commands were established: 1) decrees, 2) regulations, 3) imperial edicts, 4) orders. Orders were sent to provincial governors, imperial edicts to officials, regulations issued as pardons, and decrees used to confer titles on kings and nobles. A decree is a brief statement; a regulation is a set of rules; an imperial edict is a notification; an order is a directive.

The Book of Songs says, “Reverence these brief decrees,” the I Ching says, “The gentleman uses regulations to set standards,” the Book of Rites speaks of “the divine commands,” and the Book of History refers to “the commands from heaven”—all these terms derive from classical texts. Using distant terms for imperial commands and closer ones for regular orders was a practice adopted from the Qin dynasty. The Records mention “silk and silk threads” as symbols of connection among rulers. In the Yu dynasty, those who offered advice were highly valued, and in the Zhou dynasty, those who spoke eloquently were esteemed. Thus, during the Han dynasties, the responsibility for issuing imperial edicts lay with the Secretariat. The words of the emperor were so significant that they entered historical records; once issued, they could not be withdrawn like sweat. That’s why when there were talented people in Huainan, Emperor Wu sent Sima Xiangru to review their writings; and since there were many scholars in Gansu, Emperor Guangwu paid special attention to their writings. This was not merely to appreciate beauty at the time but also out of respect and caution.

Before the reigns of Emperor Wen and Emperor Jing, the style of imperial edicts was varied and chaotic. When Emperor Wu promoted Confucianism, he selected words that were profound and meaningful. The decrees used to confer titles on the three kings had a style similar to classical texts; they were profound and elegant, setting examples for future generations. When Yan Zhu assisted in drafting imperial edicts, he said, “I am tired of inheriting the legacy of previous emperors,” indicating his preference for talented individuals.

It is a mark of grace. Emperor Xiaoxuan’s imperial edicts, which criticized Bo Yu of Chen Sui, were also an expression of loyalty to old friends. When Emperor Guangwu put an end to chaos and paid attention to culture, his occasional impulsive emotions sometimes led to arbitrary actions. He bestowed honors upon Deng Yu, calling him “Yao”; he reprimanded Hou Ba and even used terms as severe as those for a yellow halberd. Such actions clearly violated established rules. Emperor Mingzhang valued learning, and imperial edicts were issued from time to time. During the He’an era, discipline weakened, and there were few talented people in the imperial court, so imperial decrees often relied on external recommendations. At the end of the Jian’an era, literary excellence flourished—Pan Xu’s nine edicts were particularly elegant and outstanding. Wei Ji’s writings were brilliant and beyond comparison. From the Wei and Jin dynasties onward, the task of drafting imperial edicts fell to the Secretariat. Liu Fang and Zhang Hua both handled this duty, issuing orders that filled the air with their words. Emperor Wen of Wei’s edicts were full of profound meaning. Yet, the tendency to exert power arbitrarily was one of the many pitfalls. During the Jin dynasty’s revival, only Emperor Ming valued talent; because Wen Qing was highly accomplished, he was brought into the Secretariat. From then on, the practice of drafting imperial edicts became more in line with established norms.

The king’s words are meant to be profound and inspiring, so that all officials may follow them and all nations may trust them. Therefore, when assigning positions and selecting worthy individuals, the righteousness shines like the light of distant stars; when rewarding those who excel in writing, their writings carry the nourishment of wind and rain; when issuing commands and admonitions, the words emit the brilliance of stars; when managing military affairs, the voice carries the power of thunder; when granting pardons during disasters, the words bring the nourishment of spring dew; when imposing punishments and establishing laws, the words possess the severity of autumn frost. This is the general essence of imperial edicts.

Admonitions and commands are the most urgent aspects of imperial edicts. King Mu of Zhou ordered Jiafu to receive these instructions—this is an example of such practice. Emperor Wu of Wei said that commands should be clear and direct, without ambiguity, so that the essentials of governance can be understood. Emperor Wu of Jin’s commands informed all officials; he instructed military commanders about strategic matters, warned provincial governors to oversee their territories, alerted county magistrates to care for the poor, and directed palace guards to ensure security—all of which were part of established procedures.

“Admonition” means to be cautious. Yu said, “Admonition brings benefits.” The monarch holds the highest position, above all limits. Emperor Gaozu of Han’s “Instructions to the Crown Prince” and Dong Fangshuo’s “Admonitions to His Son” are also examples of such instructions left behind by rulers. Later, figures like Ma Yuan also left family admonitions. Ban Ji’s “Admonitions for Women” serve as an excellent guide for mothers and teachers.

“Instruction” means to set an example, so that the people will follow it. By promoting the five teachings, kings and lords could give guidance. In the past, Zheng Hong governed Nanyang and established detailed instructions, making things clear; Kong Rong governed Beihai, where cultural instruction was abundant but rarely applied in practice, resulting in ineffective governance. Figures like Zhuge Kongming, who was meticulous, and Yu Zhi Gong, who was decisive, both had sound principles and appropriate wording—these are examples of good instruction.

Below instruction comes the concept of “order.” The Book of Songs says, “Orders come from heaven,” emphasizing the importance of orders. The Rites of Zhou states, “The teacher reports to the king,” indicating that edicts are less important. Today, orders are considered more important than edicts—a change from ancient times to the present.

Praise goes thus: The emperor issues decrees, with solemn edicts that bind all. I have a few words, meant for the benefit of the people. With resounding words and noble actions, like a mighty wind that reaches far and wide. With righteous words soaring through the air, their great significance is made clear.

Proclamation No. 20

Thunder begins with lightning; troops are sent forth first through the sound of authority. Thus, one fears thunder when seeing lightning, and fears the might of soldiers when hearing their sounds. The use of troops precedes the sound of command, and this has been the case for ages. In ancient times, Yu began to warn his people within the state, the Xia kings first took oaths in the army, the Yin kings took oaths outside the military camps, while the Zhou kings took oaths as they prepared for battle. Hence, it is known that emperors warned their troops, and the Three Kings took oaths before their armies, instructing their forces—before even encountering the enemy. During King Mu of Zhou’s western expedition, Duke Ji and Minister Mou said, “In ancient times, there were orders based on authority, and those orders came with written declarations,” which is the origin of proclamations. During the Spring and Autumn period, when wars broke out, the feudal lords sent their troops, fearing that the enemy would not submit, so they needed a name for their campaign. To display this might and expose the enemy’s chaos was what Duke Xian of Liu meant by “informing them with written words and guiding them with military forces.” Duke Huan of Qi attacked Chu over missing reeds; Duke Li of Jin attacked Qin over burned vessels. Guan Zhong and Lord Lu used written declarations first, explaining their intentions in detail—these are the precursors to modern proclamations. During the Warring States period, they began to be called “proclamations.” A proclamation means clarity—it reveals things openly and clearly. Zhang Yi’s “Proclamation to Chu” was written on a board twelve feet long, with clear and straightforward text; it was also called a “public notice.” A public notice refers to something posted openly without sealing, for all to see and hear.

War is used to bring order to chaos, and no one dares to claim sole authority. When the emperor personally leads the troops, it is called “carrying out divine punishment”; when feudal lords lead their armies, it is said “to enforce royal punishment.” Thus, by dividing responsibilities and issuing declarations to condemn crimes, it is not only about achieving results with determination but also about using forceful language. The words should be like a gust of wind, the impact like a spear sweep, stirring up martial fury, gathering the guilty, seizing the moment when evil has run rampant, revealing the full extent of offenses, shaking the courage of evildoers, and instilling sincerity and caution. Even a hundred-foot-high tower can be brought down by a short letter; a city with ten thousand walls can collapse because of a single proclamation. Looking at Wei Xiao’s proclamation to overthrow the Xin dynasty, it exposed the three traitors. Though unadorned in style, its meaning was clear and direct—this showed the scholars of Gansu the proper form of a proclamation! Chen Lin’s proclamation to Yuzhou was powerful and forceful; although it exaggerated the cruelty of those who harbored villains, its bold and straightforward language dared to confront Cao Cao, allowing him to avoid punishment at the hands of Yuan Shao’s faction. Zhong Hui’s proclamation against Shu was very clear and convincing; Huan Wen’s proclamation against the Hu tribes was equally forceful—both were masterpieces of writing.

Generally, a proclamation either describes the virtues of one side or the cruelties of the other. It refers to celestial signs, examines human affairs, assesses strength and weakness, compares powers, uses divination as evidence from the past, and draws lessons from what has already happened. Though based on the truth of one’s own country, it often incorporates military tactics. Deception is used to convey messages, and brilliance is used to persuade. All these elements must be followed. Thus, it establishes righteousness and promotes...

Proclamations must be forceful and decisive. Feathers are added to indicate speed, so the prose must not be slow; plates are displayed to make the message clear to all, so the meaning must not be hidden. It is essential that the matter be made explicit and the reasoning clear, with vigorous expression and decisive language—this is the key. If it is overly intricate or cunning, there is no merit in such talent. Also, official orders issued by provincial governors are called proclamations, clearly serving to convey important messages.

“Moving” means changing things—changing customs and traditions, so that people follow suit. Sima Xiangru’s “Rebuke to the Old Man of Shu” uses vivid metaphors and extensive content, showing the essence of proclamations. Liu Xin’s “Order to the Grand Priest” features strong language and clear reasoning, marking the beginning of proclamations as a literary form; Lu Ji’s “Order to All Officials” is concise yet clear in its message, representing the core of military proclamations. Thus, proclamations serve both literary and military purposes; in times of war, rebels use proclamations, while those who obey orders rely on them—to purify people’s hearts and strengthen unity. Although their forms may differ slightly, their underlying meanings are similar, and since they are related to proclamations, they need not be discussed separately.

Praise: With three drives and spread nets, nine campaigns begin with words. The belt and mirror indicate fortune and misfortune; the yarrow and tortoise reveal success and failure. Crushing giants and subduing pests—changing customs and traditions, making grass bend and winds blow in the desired direction.

Fengshan Sacrifices, Chapter 21

The North Star represents the proper position, and facing south toward the light is meant to regulate the heavens and nurture the people. How could this be done without adhering to moral principles and virtues to establish imperial authority? The “Green Map” says, “All things transform under the influence of supreme virtue.” The “Red Book” states, “If righteousness prevails over desire, harmony follows; if desire prevails over righteousness, disaster ensues.” This emphasizes the need for caution and diligence. By being cautious, one can enhance virtue, and through supreme virtue, transformation can be achieved. Seventy-two rulers thus performed fengshan sacrifices.

In ancient times, the Yellow Emperor possessed divine powers, achieved great achievements, inscribed his deeds on Mount Qiao, and cast cauldrons on Mount Jing. Great Shun toured the mountains, as recorded in the “Yudian.” Emperors Cheng and Kang performed fengshan sacrifices, as mentioned in the “Lewei.” When Duke Huan of Qi sought imperial authority, Yi Wu advised against it, citing strange phenomena. It is clear that imperial records and inscriptions belong solely to emperors. Thus, discussions about plants from the west and east, grass from the south and millet from the north, are mere talk without evidence—only true virtue matters. That’s why Sima Qian described fengshan sacrifices in his eight books, highlighting these as special rituals, secret oaths, and magnificent acts of worship to heaven.

Emperor Qin Shi Huang inscribed his message on Mount Tai, written by Li Si. Its style reflects Legalist tendencies, lacking depth and richness. Yet it remains powerful despite its simplicity, representing the finest works of its time. Looking at the prosperity of the Han Dynasty, Emperor Wu performed fengshan sacrifices at Mount Suyan, while Emperor Guangwu toured various sites and praised virtues—these were truly outstanding works. Sima Xiangru’s “Fengshan Sacrifices” stands out as the foremost example. It describes imperial power, outlines the lineage of emperors, illuminates divine signs, and reflects great achievements. It brings ancient times into the present and elevates virtuous rulers above all others—a truly remarkable work.

With sacrifices and blessings, it was praised as a ritual of imperial pilgrimage; this text is indeed a work of innovation. When Emperor Guangwu erected steles, the inscriptions were written by Zhang Chun. It begins with solemn oaths and ends with prayers, drawing on prophecies, describing chaos, recounting military achievements, and narrating cultural virtues; its content is accurate and well-structured, rich in substance yet not overly ornate! Both of these works are based on actual events related to the imperial pilgrimages.

Yang Xiong’s “On Qin” and Ban Gu’s “Dianyin” are not inscribed on stones, but their style follows that of records of imperial pilgrimages. “On Qin” imitates the style of Chang Qing, using obscure and evasive language, thus incorporating elements of the supernatural; however, its structure is not very rigorous, and its language is not entirely coherent. Yang Xiong claimed to have exerted all his efforts in writing it. What is described in “Dianyin” possesses elegant charm; by drawing on previous works, it manages to grasp their essence, achieving a remarkable balance between meaning and style. Hence, it is said that “‘Fengshan’ lacks authenticity while being elaborate, and ‘On Qin’ is elaborate yet lacks authenticity”—isn’t it clear when looking back, and easier to achieve when following established patterns? As for Han Dan’s “Receiving the Mandate,” it tries to emulate earlier works, but its influence is weak; although its rhythm forms a hymn, its literary structure fails to stand out. Chen Si’s “The Virtues of Wei” uses a dialogue format between speaker and listener, with slow and cumbersome exchanges; despite being over a thousand words long, it lacks depth and impact.

This text serves as a model for the rituals of an era. At the beginning of establishing such rituals, it is important to clarify the overall framework, establish a solid structure within the context of established norms, and choose words that are both extensive and meaningful; so that the ideas remain ancient yet not obscure, and the language is modern yet not superficial. When meaning shines brightly and language is precise, then it becomes truly great. Even if the methods may eventually become exhausted, those who continue to innovate will surely surpass their predecessors.

Praise: The emperor’s achievements are recorded through inscriptions, reaching even the heavens. Their voices resound from lofty peaks, majestic and powerful. Inscriptions are carved on mountains high in the sky, and gold is used in places deep underground. The melodies are like dragons and serpents, full of grace.

Chapter 22: The Establishment of Offices and Division of Duties

Officials are appointed with specific roles, connected in hierarchy. The emperor listens attentively, while the princes present themselves with jade. Proposals are submitted in words, and merit is tested through actions. Thus, Yao consulted the Four Peaks, and Shun assigned duties to the Eight Elders. They declined repeated offers of appointment, but ultimately accepted them after careful consideration, all without the need for written documents. Therefore, submitting proposals in words is the meaning of memorials; testing merit through actions is the practice of granting titles. After Tai Jia ascended the throne, Yi Yin wrote admonitions, and when Si Yong returned to Bo, Yi Yin also wrote letters to praise him. Thus, the exchange of writings became evident. During the Zhou dynasty, these practices became even more refined. With deep bows and prostrations, they received the imperial edicts, daring to accept such honor. Although writing and speaking were not yet distinctly separated, expressions of gratitude could still be seen. By the time of the Seven Warring States, the ancient traditions remained unchanged; when addressing the king, people still referred to their submissions as “memorials.”

In the early Qin dynasty, official documents were called “zou.” When the Han dynasty established proper rituals, four categories were defined: first, “zhang”; second, “zou”; third, “biao”; fourth, “yi.” “Zhang” was used to express gratitude, “zou” for impeachment, “biao” for making requests, and “yi” for expressing dissent. “Zhang” meant clarity. The Book of Songs says, “To make things clear before heaven,” referring to clarity and brightness. In terms of cultural artifacts, red and white colors symbolized clarity. “Biao” meant marking or indicating. The Book of Rites contains sections on “biaoji,” meaning virtue is manifested through rituals. In terms of objects and designs, outlines and patterns represented “biao.” The names of “zhang” and “biao” derive from these concepts. According to The Seven Catalogs and Literary Works, songs and odes must be recorded; while “zhang,” “biao,” “zou,” and “yi” are crucial to state affairs, they were not compiled together because each had its own established procedures and was handled by specific officials.

Few surviving texts from the Former Han dynasty’s use of “biao” for expressing gratitude remain. During the Later Han dynasty, candidates undergoing the imperial examination were required to write “zhang” and “zou” as part of their tests. Zuo Xiong’s writings on “biao” and “yi” set standards for government offices; Hu Guang’s “zhang” and “zou” were considered the best in the land—both were masterpieces of their time. Looking at Bo Shi’s letter when visiting the imperial tombs, one can see the beauty of his formal writing style. In ancient times, Emperor Wen of Jin declined three offers of appointment, leading to the rule that three refusals were sufficient when using “biao” to decline an offer. Cao Cao said, “There’s no need for three refusals when writing a ‘biao,’” and also advised against excessive embellishment. Thus, in the early Wei dynasty, “biao” and “zhang” focused on being practical and straightforward, lacking elegance and beauty. However, Wen Ju’s recommendation letter for Heng was full of vigor and brilliance; Zhuge Liang’s letters to the Emperor were sincere and well-written. Though their styles differed, both were outstanding examples of “biao.” Lin Yu’s “zhang” and “biao” were highly praised at the time; Kong Zhang was regarded as skilled in this genre. Chen Si’s “biao” stood out among all talents. His writing was graceful in structure, with clear language and profound meaning; he adapted his style to different situations, creating interest wherever needed. He handled various situations adeptly, thus being able to respond appropriately to emergencies. In the early Jin dynasty, Zhang Hua was outstanding in writing. His three letters declining noble titles were well-structured, with concise language and appropriate references; his work was highly valued. Yang Gong’s letter announcing his appointment was praised for its excellence; Yu Gong’s letter declining a position in the central government was also considered beautiful compared to previous works. Their prefaces and organized structures showed elegance. Liu Kun’s letter encouraging progress and Zhang Jun’s self-introduction were both sincere and well-written, serving as excellent examples of descriptive writing.

The purpose of “zhang” and “biao” is to present one’s thoughts to the royal court and to express one’s true feelings clearly. They not only reflect the writer’s talent but also add splendor to the nation. “Zhang” was used to address the emperor, with its style reflecting propriety and clarity; “biao” was used to submit proposals, with its content shining with brilliance. Following the name’s meaning, substance should be emphasized, with writing as the foundation. Therefore, “zhang” should be bright and splendid, with content based on classical models; it should be concise yet thorough, clear yet profound. “Biao” often encompasses many aspects, with emotions frequently changing. It requires elegant principles to guide its style and refined language to enhance its beauty. Yet, sincere expressions should come from the heart, while extravagant ones should be restrained by reason. The balance between complexity and simplicity, as well as between elegance and substance, must be maintained so that the writing remains in harmony with the rules. Zigong said, “The heart controls it, and words bring it to completion”—this describes the essence of writing. Xun Kuang believed that one can judge a person’s character by their words, which are as beautiful as ornate decorations—this can also be applied here.

In praise: Letters sent to the imperial court express gratitude and suggestions. The words must be honest and clear, with meanings grand and profound. With solemnity and proper structure, they follow a logical sequence. A gentleman who masters writing delivers speeches with grace.

Memorandum No. 23

In ancient times, officials of the Tang and Yu dynasties presented their opinions in memorials; those who assisted in the Qin and Han dynasties submitted written reports. They discussed government affairs, proposed rituals, reported urgent changes, and criticized faults—collectively known as memorials. A memorial is a means of presenting one’s views; words are conveyed downward, while sentiments rise upward.

The Qin dynasty first established the practice of memorials, and Legalist writings lacked refinement. Wang Kuan’s memorials praised virtues with straightforward language and moral clarity; Li Si’s memorials regarding Lishan Mountain were brief yet misleading. Governance lacked warmth and grace, as evident in these writings. Since the Han dynasty, such documents have sometimes been called “memorials to the emperor,” with Confucian elegance continuing, offering diverse and noteworthy styles. For example, Jia Yi’s recommendations on agriculture, Chao Cuo’s discussions on military affairs, Kuang Heng’s proposals for setting boundaries for sacrifices, Wang Ji’s advocacy for proper rituals, Wen Shu’s calls for leniency in judicial matters, and Gu Yong’s advice against immortality practices—all had profound reasoning and clear expression, demonstrating a thorough understanding of essential principles. The scholars of the Later Han dynasty left behind many valuable insights. Yang Bing expressed concerns about disasters, Chen Fan was indignant over unfair measures, and others voiced their grievances with conviction. Zhang Heng discussed historical responsibilities, while Cai Yong outlined court procedures, both showing broad knowledge and clarity. During the Wei dynasty, notable officials emerged, each contributing to literary and intellectual development. Gao Tang discussed astronomy, Huang Guan spoke on education, Wang Lang emphasized frugality, and Zhen Yi focused on evaluating performance—all demonstrating dedication to governance.

Writing memorials requires sincerity, honesty, and integrity as foundations, with clear analysis and logical expression as priorities. Strong determination is needed to accomplish tasks, extensive knowledge to understand principles, and the ability to draw from history to guide the present, simplifying complexity—this constitutes the essence of such writing. As for critical memorials, they serve to uphold laws and purify the state. In ancient times, the Grand Steward of Zhou Dynasty identified faults and corrected errors; the Qin dynasty had censors responsible for enforcing laws; the Han dynasty appointed central supervisors to handle accusations. Thus, their roles involved strict oversight, requiring powerful writing that could shake the wind at the tip of the pen and freeze frost on the pages. For instance, Kong Guang’s memorial against Dong Xian exposed his deceitfulness, while Lu Cui’s memorial against Kong Rong slandered him as wicked. Confucian scholars and those who pursued dangerous paths certainly had different intentions. Fu Xian wrote with firmness and depth in his accusations, while Liu Wei was direct but his criticism was somewhat superficial—each reflecting their own purposes. Later, those who wrote accusations carefully considered new ideas while still adhering to traditional standards. Yet those who sought to harm others aimed to destroy them completely, using harsh methods. The Book of Songs condemns slanderers as those who throw people to wolves and tigers; the Book of Rites criticizes those without propriety, comparing them to parrots and apes. Mozi, though not a Confucian, regarded pigs and sheep as inferior; Mencius mocked Mozi, comparing him to beasts. Since the Book of Songs, the Book of Rites, Confucianism, and Mohism all held such views, it is inevitable that strict accusations in memorials would exist. Therefore, when people write, they often compete in slander, nitpicking flaws and exaggerating shortcomings, resembling those who excel at cursing, losing balance in judgment. If one can establish guidelines based on rituals, set standards for righteousness, then those who cross boundaries will suffer consequences, and those who take shortcuts will face disaster. There is no need to rush into harsh words and excessive criticism! Thus, establishing models and principles is essential. Reason must be grounded in precedents, and language must follow proper patterns—combining the precision of Legalism with the elegance of Confucianism, unafraid of oppression, with a spirit akin to that of Mozi, free from deceitful tactics, and with an impact beyond mere words—only then can one be considered outstanding and upright.

“Qi” means to open. Emperor Gaozong said, “Qi is the heart; it nourishes my heart,” taking its meaning from this. Emperor Xiaojing avoided using the character “Qi,” so it was not used during the Han dynasties. It was not until the Wei dynasty that records began to use the term “Qi Wen.” At the end of reports, one might write “Jin Qi.” Starting from the Jin dynasty, the use of “Qi” became more widespread, serving both as a title and for presenting reports. When discussing policies or expressing gratitude for honors, it was also used separately. The writing must be concise and well-structured, with clear and light tones, elegant yet not extravagant—this is also the general principle behind “Qi.”

Furthermore, precise reports were called “Zhen Yan.” “Zhen” means to correct errors. When the royal way deviates from its proper path, it needs to be corrected, hence the term “Zhen Yan.” Emperor Xiaocheng praised Ban Bo’s “Zhen Yan,” emphasizing the importance of honesty. Since the Han dynasty, eight specialized officials were appointed to submit confidential reports sealed in black bags, hence the term “Feng Shi.” Chao Cuo received instructions and then submitted his own recommendations. In later generations, recommendations were often attached to “Feng Shi” to ensure confidentiality. A loyal subject must speak frankly and honestly, as matters concern the well-being of others, so there is no need for vague expressions.

Praise: Those who uphold justice with integrity purify social norms. Their pens are sharp like Ganjiang’s sword, and their ink is pure as fine wine. Though they may have flaws, they never compromise on principles. They present policies and suggestions effectively, always meeting their responsibilities.

Discussion and Debate, Chapter 24

“The Zhou dynasty sought advice,” which is what is meant by “discussion.” “Discussion” refers to considering what is appropriate and examining matters carefully. The “Jie” hexagram in the I Ching states, “The gentleman uses systems and numbers to discuss moral conduct.” The Book of Zhou says, “Discussing matters according to established rules prevents governance from going astray.” Discussion values restraint, which is a fundamental principle in classical texts.

In ancient times, Guan Zhong mentioned that Emperor Xuanyuan had a system for discussions, showing how long this practice has existed. During the flood disaster, Yao consulted the Four Mountains; Shun selected five people to assist him. In the Three Dynasties, even commoners were consulted. During the Spring and Autumn period, when Song faced difficulties, Duke Huan of Lu participated in discussions. When Zhao Ling adopted Hu-style clothing, his uncle debated the issue; when Shang Yang implemented reforms, Gan Long engaged in debates. Although there were countless regulations, the similarities and differences are worth noting. It was not until the Han dynasty that formal debate systems were established. “Bo” means mixed, as mixed discussions lack clarity, hence the term “bo.” From the Han dynasty onward, standards became clearer, and many scholars spoke freely. For example, Jia Yi was outstanding in discussions across generations. Others such as Wu Qiu, who debated archery, An Guo, who discussed the Xiongnu, Jia Juan, who spoke at Zhu Ya, and Liu Xin, who debated ancestral matters—although their styles varied, they grasped the essence of the matter. Zhang Min judged cases of disrespect, Guo Gong discussed arbitrary executions, Cheng Xiao debated administrative matters, Sima Zhi discussed currency issues, He Zeng abolished the tax on women, and Qin Xiu resolved accusations against Jia Chong—all based on solid facts, demonstrating mastery of discussion. In the Han dynasty, Ying Xie was the best at debate; in the Jin dynasty, Fu Xian was the foremost in discussion. However, Zhong Yuan had extensive knowledge of history, while Chang Yu understood governance well.

The accompanying words are overly elaborate. Lu Ji’s judgments were sharp and incisive, yet his verbose expressions did not undergo refinement, somewhat burdening the structure of his writing. Each had its own merits, with distinct styles intact.

To act first requires careful consideration and thorough examination; this is how one can handle affairs with diligence and adjust governance strategies accordingly. Thus, the foundation for such efforts must lie in the classics, drawing on past experiences and observing current changes. Principles should not be distorted through excessive embellishment, nor should words be used frivolously for decoration. Sacrificial rites must be thoroughly understood according to ritual norms, military affairs must be well-versed in tactics, agricultural matters require knowledge of farming practices, and judicial decisions must be based on legal principles. Only then can meaning be clearly expressed, language be properly structured, writing be valued for clarity rather than complexity, and actions be praised for precision rather than obscurity—these are the essential guidelines. Those who fail to understand governance systems and instead indulge in mere literary fancy, constructing disjointed texts with clever twists, will surely be rejected by reality; even if they have some logic, it will be overshadowed by superficial rhetoric. In ancient times, a woman from Qin married into Jin; she came with her attendants dressed in elegant attire. The people of Jin valued the attendants more than the woman herself. Similarly, pearls from Chu were sold as part of a box filled with fragrant cinnamon; the people of Zheng bought the box but returned the pearls. If literature outweighs principle, with the secondary surpassing the primary, then such cases as those of the Qin woman and the Chu pearls would still occur today.

Answering imperial questions is about presenting policies in response to edicts; presenting essays is about investigating matters and offering opinions. When speech aligns with reason, it is like hitting the target in archery. Though the two forms differ, they represent different aspects of discussion. In ancient times, scholars were selected based on their abilities and words. During the Han Dynasty, under Emperor Wu, the system of selecting worthy individuals began, with Chao Cuo standing out among those who answered imperial questions. As Emperor Wu became more discerning, he sought talented individuals; those who excelled in answering questions rose to high positions, while those who excelled in essay writing entered official service through top rankings—this was indeed an effective method for selecting the worthy. Examining Chao Cuo’s answers shows how they aligned with ancient wisdom and contemporary realities, with precise language and comprehensive content, clearly demonstrating why he ranked so high. Zhong Shu’s answers drew upon the “Spring and Autumn Annals,” based on the principles of yin and yang and examining changes across dynasties; they were detailed yet not cluttered, because the principles and facts were clear. Gongsun’s answers were concise though not extensive; overall, they emphasized simplicity, with relevant content and sincere expression—this is why he ranked lower while the emperor promoted others. Du Qin’s answers were brief yet pointed, using language to convey governance principles without excessive ornamentation. In the Later Han Dynasty, Lu Pi’s answers were simple and sincere, earning him a high ranking despite his modest style. All five of these exemplify the fine standards of previous generations. Since the Wei and Jin dynasties, there has been a tendency toward ornate writing, using literature to record facts—this has led to many losses. When selecting candidates later on, they claimed inability to meet the standards; even if they tried to write eloquently, it was not possible. Hence, during the Han Dynasty, scholars gathered in the hall like pheasants; during the Jin Dynasty, those who excelled in essay writing rose to prominence—there is nothing strange about this; it is simply a difference in selection methods. Debates involve partial arguments, each side holding different views; while answering imperial questions involves promoting governance principles clearly. One should delve deeply into governance strategies and be thorough in understanding current affairs, combining various elements to shape society—not engaging in vague or overly complex discussions; one should manage changes effectively to improve society—not relying on harsh or false arguments; the style should be grand yet not excessive, truly reflecting the excellence of imperial responses. How difficult it is for scholars to develop such talents! Some excel in governance but lack literary skill, while others are skilled in writing but indifferent to governance. Those chosen for answering imperial questions are truly versatile, with aspirations that extend beyond mere writing—how rare are such individuals!

Praise goes: In deliberations on governance, names and realities are examined. Judgment must be firm, and speech should never be timid. When presenting strategies before the king, harmony is sought at all times. Governance is upheld with high principles, and elegant humor spreads far and wide.

Chapter Twenty-Five on Writing

Great Shun said, “Writing is for recording knowledge!” It is used to document current events. The words of sages and virtuous men are compiled into books; writing serves as a medium to convey words. Yang Xiong said, “Words are the voice of the heart; writing is the image of the heart. Through these voices and images, the difference between gentlemen and commoners becomes clear.” Thus, writing is a means of expressing oneself—spreading one’s words on scrolls, drawing upon symbols to convey clarity and decisiveness.

During the Three Dynasties, literary works were relatively sparse. As envoys became more frequent during the Spring and Autumn period, written communications grew in number. Envoys presented strategies to rulers, scholars exchanged letters with Zhao Xuan, Wu Chen left messages for his son Fan, and Zi Chan advised Fan Xuan. Examining these four sets of letters shows that their language seems as if spoken face to face. Additionally, Zi Shujing and Zi Jin sent condolence letters to the Lord of Teng, proving that messengers often relied heavily on written communication. By the time of the Seven States, elaborate and ornate writings abounded; from the Han dynasty onward, letters became increasingly varied in style. Reading Shi Qian’s “Reply to Ren An,” Dong Fang’s “Visit to Gongsun,” Yang Yun’s “Response to Hui Zong,” and Zi Yun’s “Reply to Liu Xin” reveals their distinct spirits and unique qualities—all expressed through written words, reflecting the depths of their hearts. Among the writings of the Later Han dynasty, Cui Yuan was particularly outstanding. Yuan Yu of the Wei dynasty was renowned for his elegance; Wen Ju always recorded half of his letters; Xiu Lian took great interest in literature, though he ranked slightly lower. Ji Kang’s “Breaking Off Friendship” demonstrates lofty aspirations and magnificent prose; Zhao Zhi’s account of separation reflects the passion of youth. As for Chen Zun’s letters, each carried its own meaning; Mi Heng’s letters were appropriately tailored to the relationship between senders and recipients—these are examples of exceptional talent in writing.

In summary, the purpose of writing is to fully express oneself. Words serve to relieve distress and showcase one’s style, so they should flow freely to convey emotions, while also being gentle enough to soothe the heart. Clarity and grace in expression are also forms of conveying the voice of the heart. When it comes to hierarchical relationships, writing should be solemn and orderly. Before the Warring States period, rulers and subjects wrote to each other equally; during the Qin and Han dynasties, formal procedures were established, with memorials becoming common. Memorials submitted by princes within their domains were also called “memorials.” Zhang Chang’s memorial to Empress Jiao is an excellent example. By the Later Han dynasty, there were established standards for different types of writings—memorials submitted to the imperial court and letters sent by regional officials. Memorials express one’s aspirations, presenting one’s own views. Letters serve as expressions of feelings, clarifying one’s intentions. Cui Shi’s memorials to the imperial court exemplify the virtue of humility; Huang Xiang’s letters to Jiangxia reflect utmost respect. Gong Gan’s letters were both beautiful and instructive, but since Zi Huan did not discuss them, they have been overlooked by the world. If we focus on substance rather than form, then writing can be compared to poetry. Liu Yi’s letter of gratitude was sincere and heartfelt, while Lu Ji’s self-explanations were thorough and skillfully crafted—these are examples of what makes letters beautiful.

Also. The original notes are recorded as formulas; they allow one to glance upward at the surface and downward at the text, fostering respect without intimidation, simplicity without arrogance, purity and beauty to enhance one’s talents, and grandeur to enrich one’s writings—this is the purpose of such notes.

Writing is extensive, covering various matters; there are numerous types of documents from ancient to modern times. To govern the people, there are registers and records; for medicine, astronomy, and divination, there are techniques and formulas; for laws and military affairs, there are statutes and regulations; for official communications, there are tokens, contracts, and letters; for officials to inquire about matters, there are dispatches and memorials; for the common people to express their wishes, there are petitions, essays, and proverbs—all expressing ideas in the heart and putting them into words. Though considered lower forms of literature, they are essential for governance.

Thus, “registers” imply comprehensiveness. They record generations and events in detail; the Zheng family’s annotations on the Book of Songs draw from this concept. “Books” imply borrowing. They record the labor of the people each year on tablets; the Spring and Autumn Annals’ records of personnel fall under this category. “Ledgers” imply organization. Plants and trees are classified, and documents are grouped together; Zhang Tang and Li Guang used ledgers as officials to distinguish truth from falsehood. “Records” imply compilation. Ancient histories like The Book of Origins were compiled on bamboo slips, listing names and numbers, hence called records. “Formulas” imply specialization. Medicine targets specific diseases, focusing on particular aspects, hence medical techniques are called formulas. “Techniques” imply methods. Mathematics and astronomy explore numbers; understanding these methods brings clarity; The Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art is considered a technique, as are works like Huainanzi and Wanbi. “Divination” implies observation. Stars move and hide; one must observe them to see them, as stated in the Book of Documents, hence called divination. “Formulas” imply rules. Yin and yang, the five elements, may change, but there are rules by which they can be studied. “Laws” imply fairness. The yellow bell sets the tone, and the five tones regulate order; laws govern the people, and the eight punishments ensure balance; the name “law” comes from its fairness. “Orders” imply commands. Orders and prohibitions seem to come from heaven; Guan Zhong issued orders like flowing water to guide the people. “Rules” imply patterns. Military strategies have patterns of offense and defense, hence called rules. “Regulations” imply formulation. Authority flows from above to below, like a craftsman shaping objects. “Tokens” imply trustworthiness. They are used to verify authenticity and rely on genuine trust. In the Three Dynasties, jade tokens were used; in the Han Dynasty, gold and bamboo tokens were used; in later periods, they were simplified to written documents. “Contracts” imply binding. In ancient times, simple ropes were used to bind agreements; today, tribes use seals, and merchants use contracts—remnants of those traditions! “Letters” imply binding. They clearly define agreements to prevent fraud; since their format is half-sized, they were called judgment documents in the Zhou Dynasty. In ancient times, iron contracts were used to strengthen oaths; Wang Bao’s story about his slave using a contract is an example of this. “Memorials” imply distribution. They organize items and summarize key points; thus, short letters are called memorials. “Controls” imply closure. Entry and exit require careful control through gates; government affairs need thorough management of access. Han Fei said, “Sun Danhui was a wise minister, yet he paid attention to local details”—this refers to this concept. “Criticism” implies communication. Poets used criticism, and the Rites of Zhou included three forms of criticism, ensuring clear communication, like a needle passing through knots. “Explanations” imply clarification. They resolve ambiguities and address issues directly. “Dispatches” imply leaves. Short slips are arranged like leaves on branches; cutting reeds gently is similar to this practice. Since policies are not yet finalized, short dispatches are used for consultation. The most confidential dispatches are called secrets. “Secrets” imply delicacy. “Petitions” imply appearance. They describe facts and origins, based on the actions of sages.

Proverbs are concise expressions with significant meaning. “Listing” means presenting things clearly so they are readily visible. Words spoken are expressions from the tongue, used to convey one’s thoughts to others. Zi Chan’s eloquent words were relied upon by the feudal lords and could not be dispensed with. Proverbs are straightforward statements. Even words spoken in times of mourning lack embellishment, which is why such speeches are also called proverbs. Casual talk on market streets is simple and sincere, without pretense. Duke Mu of Zou said, “A leaking bag empties its contents,” which falls into this category. The “Oath of the Herdsmen” states, “The ancients said, ‘A hen has no shame at dawn.’” The “Great Odes” say, “People also have their say,” “Only experience can teach,”—all of these are ancient proverbs cited in the “Book of Songs” and the “Book of History.” As for Chen Lin’s admonitory writings, which use the metaphor of “covering one’s eyes while catching sparrows,” and Pan Yue’s lamentary writings, which employ expressions like “holding pearls” and “a devoted couple,” they both draw on common sayings to craft their texts. Among all forms of writing, nothing is more vulgar than proverbs; yet the sages in the “Book of Songs” and the “Book of History” included them in their discussions. How much more serious should we take those that go beyond this!

Looking at all these examples, as summarized in the writings: sometimes the subjects are related, but the expressions differ; sometimes simplicity is emphasized, while other times elaborate language is used. The key lies in precision—missing a single word can obscure the meaning, while an extra word can disrupt the flow. There are also practical matters to consider, which casual writing often overlooks. Yet those with great literary talent often neglect detailed writing, like a horse with swift legs who doesn’t know whether it is male or female. Words reflect one’s character, and truth is a blessing for a nation. Scholars in the imperial academy must think deeply and carefully.

Praise: The flow of literary expression depends on writing. Those skilled in writing can also handle administrative tasks. Their reputation endures through the ages, and their influence spans vast distances. With numerous affairs to manage, books provide clarity.

Divine Thought, Chapter 26

The ancients said, “The body may be above rivers and seas, but the mind resides beneath the imperial palace.” This refers to divine thought. In writing, the mind reaches far beyond. Thus, in quiet contemplation, one’s thoughts span thousands of years; in subtle emotions, one’s vision reaches thousands of miles. Through chanting and recitation, one emits sounds like pearls and jade; before one’s eyes, scenes of wind and clouds unfold—such is the depth of thought! Therefore, profound thought is wonderful, as the spirit wanders among things. The spirit resides in the chest and mind, with aspirations controlling its flow; things come through the senses, and words govern their expression. When the channels are unobstructed, nothing remains hidden; when the pathways are blocked, the spirit retreats.

Thus, cultivating literary thought requires tranquility, purifying the internal organs, and cleansing the spirit. Accumulate knowledge to store treasures, refine reasoning to enrich talent, study thoroughly to gain insight, and practice diligently to refine language. Only then can the master of understanding determine the rhythm of writing, and the artisan of insight shape ideas through words. This is the fundamental skill in mastering writing and the key to composing texts.

When the mind is at work, myriad ideas emerge; patterns take shape in empty spaces, and intricate designs arise from nothingness. When ascending a mountain, one’s emotions are filled with the mountain; when gazing at the sea, one’s thoughts overflow with the sea. My own talents, though limited, will surely rival those of the winds and clouds. When I pick up the pen, my vigor doubles; yet before completing a piece, my heart is already half-sorrowful. Why? For ideas can soar high and be easily extraordinary, but words must be grounded in reality and are hard to make ingenious. Thus, ideas are given to thought, and words to ideas—when close, there is no boundary; when distant, it seems like thousands of miles. Sometimes the truth lies within reach, yet we search far away; sometimes the meaning is right before us, yet our thoughts are separated by mountains and rivers. Therefore, one should cultivate the heart and refine one’s skills without need for excessive worry, keeping the essence within and not straining the mind.

On Nature of Talent, Chapter 27

Emotions give rise to words, and principles manifest as literature—this is the process of moving from the hidden to the visible, from the inner to the outer. Yet talents vary in excellence, temperaments in strength or gentleness, learning in depth or shallowness, and habits in elegance or vulgarity. All these are shaped by one’s nature and influenced by upbringing, which explains why literary styles are so diverse and complex. No matter how ordinary or outstanding one’s talent may be, it cannot change one’s style; no matter how strong or gentle one’s temperament, it cannot alter one’s flair; no matter how deep or shallow one’s understanding, it rarely deviates from one’s learning; no matter how elegant or vulgar one’s habits, few go against them. Each follows their own path, differing greatly from one another. If we summarize them all, there are eight main styles: first, elegance; second, profundity; third, conciseness; fourth, clarity; fifth, complexity; sixth, grandeur; seventh, novelty; eighth, frivolity. Elegance combines the forms of classics and Confucian texts, following the traditions of Confucianism. Profundity features rich expressions and intricate language, delving into profound principles. Conciseness involves careful selection of words and sentences, analyzing every detail. Clarity means straightforward language with clear meanings, easily understood and satisfying. Complexity involves extensive use of elements, creating a lush and elaborate style. Grandeur features lofty discussions and magnificent structures, shining with unique brilliance. Novelty rejects the old in favor of the new, pursuing unusual and daring styles. Frivolity consists of superficial writing and weak expressions, tending toward vulgarity. Thus, elegance and novelty are opposite, profundity and clarity differ, complexity and conciseness contrast, and grandeur and frivolity clash—these form the roots and branches of literature.

As these eight styles evolve over time, skill comes from learning, while talent originates from one’s natural disposition. Temperament is strengthened by firm resolve, and resolve shapes one’s words. The expression of brilliance always stems from one’s nature. That’s why Jia Yi had exceptional talent, resulting in clean and pure prose; Wang Changqing was proud and unrestrained, leading to elaborate ideas and abundant words; Zi Yun was calm and reserved, giving rise to subtle and profound works; Zi Zheng was simple and straightforward, producing clear themes and extensive content; Meng Jian was elegant and refined, with meticulous structure and flowing thoughts; Pingzi was well-versed and thorough, with comprehensive consideration and rich expression; Zhongxuan was impetuous and sharp, delivering brilliant and decisive works; Gonggan had a narrow temperament, resulting in forceful but startling words; Sizong was spontaneous and free-spirited, creating elegant and distant tones; Shuye was bold and heroic, producing lofty and passionate works; Anren was quick-witted and agile, delivering sharp and rhythmic expressions; Shi Heng was proud...

Heavily burdened, emotions are complex and words obscure. By drawing analogies, inner and outer aspects must align—isn’t this an inherent natural quality, a fundamental aspect of talent?

Talent comes from innate endowment; learning requires careful initial practice. Just as shaping wood or dyeing silk, success lies in the initial stages; once the tool is formed, it’s hard to change it. Thus, when children carve, they must first follow elegant patterns, tracing roots to leaves, allowing thoughts to develop naturally. Though the eight literary styles differ, if one grasps their underlying principles and reaches the core, they will complement each other. Therefore, one should imitate these styles to establish proper practice and cultivate talent according to one’s nature. This is the guiding principle for writing.

Praise: Talents and temperaments vary greatly, and literary styles are diverse and intricate. Words are like skin, while true intentions are like bone marrow. Elegance and refinement exist, as do excessive complexity and garishness. Practice must focus on authenticity, and efforts should progress steadily.

Style and Substance, Chapter 28

The Book of Songs encompasses six literary elements, with “style” being the foremost—this is the origin of artistic inspiration and the reflection of one’s aspirations. Thus, when expressing emotions with melancholy, one must begin with style; when crafting words with deliberation, nothing precedes substance. Words depend on substance just as the body depends on bones; emotions embody style just as form contains energy. If the conclusion is straightforward, then the literary structure is solid; if the spirit is bold and lively, then the literary style is clear. If embellishments are excessive but style lacks vigor, then the brilliance fades, and the expression loses strength. Therefore, when composing, one should strive to maintain integrity and strength, so that the radiance remains fresh. In writing, this is like equipping a bird with wings.

Those who hone their style focus precisely on words; those deeply versed in style express emotions clearly. Words are firm and unchanging, and the rhythm is cohesive without stagnation—this is the power of style and substance. If meaning is weak while words are excessive, leading to chaos and lack of coherence, then there’s no sign of substance. If thoughts are not coherent and expressions lack vitality, then there’s no evidence of style. In ancient times, Pan Xu, serving the Wei dynasty, sought to emulate classical works, and his talents were truly outstanding—this showed the strength of his substance. Sima Xiangru, in his immortal-themed writings, had a spirit that soared like clouds, becoming a master of rhetoric—this demonstrated the power of his style. Those who understand these principles can determine the quality of writing; if these methods are ignored, there’s no need for excessive embellishments.

Thus, the literary critic of the Wei dynasty said, “Writing is governed by spirit; the clarity or turbidity of spirit has its own standards and cannot be forced.” When discussing Kong Rong, he said, “His spirit was exquisitely refined,” when discussing Xu Gan, he said, “He had a spirit of balance,” and when discussing Liu Zhen, he said, “He had a carefree spirit.” Gong Gan also said, “Kong Rong was truly outstanding, possessing a unique spirit; the nature of his writing was almost beyond description.” All emphasized the importance of spirit. Birds like peacocks have vibrant colors and can fly hundreds of steps, thanks to their plump bodies and strong strength; eagles and falcons lack such coloration, yet...

Soaring high into the heavens, one needs strong bones and fierce spirit. Literary talent and skill are similar in this regard. If there is a lack of grace in the style, then one is like a hawk gathered in the Hanlin Academy; if there is a lack of grace despite some flair, then one is like a pheasant scurrying through the literary garden. Only those who shine with elegance and soar high can truly be regarded as the phoenixes of writing.

To master the patterns of the classics and apply the techniques from various historical texts, to thoroughly understand emotional nuances and clearly discern literary styles—only then can one create original ideas and craft extraordinary words. A clear style ensures novelty without chaos, while an understanding of variation ensures that words are striking without being vulgar. If one’s style and diction are not yet refined, yet they attempt to break old rules and create something new, although they may achieve clever ideas, failures are also common. How can one simply assemble strange words and make them seem like classics? The Book of Zhou says, “Words should prioritize substance over mere novelty,” to prevent the abuse of writing. Yet there are many aspects to literary art, each suited to different tastes. Those who understand it do not teach it, and those who study it do not seek guidance from experts. As a result, people pursue superficial elegance and lose their way. If one can firmly establish proper standards, making writing both elegant and robust, then the style will be clear and the work radiant. With careful consideration, what distance remains?

Praise: Emotions and spirit go hand in hand, words and style are intertwined. When writing is elegant and robust, it becomes worthy of recognition. The power of style is evident, and the strength of structure is clear. Talent shines brightly, and expression is vivid.

Chapter 29: On Change and Adaptation

The forms of writing have fixed patterns, but the ways of adapting them are endless. How can this be understood? Poems, odes, essays, and records all follow established principles—these are the fixed patterns. The strength and vitality of language change over time through adaptation—these are the endless possibilities. Since principles are fixed, writing must rely on established traditions; since adaptation is endless, it must take into account new expressions. Thus, one can explore endless paths and draw from an inexhaustible source. Yet those with limited resources struggle to satisfy their needs, and those who are exhausted give up. It’s not that the rules of writing have run out, but rather that the skills of adaptation are lacking. Therefore, discussing the principles of writing is like comparing plants: their roots and trunks grow from the same soil, sharing the same nature, but their scents and flavors vary under different sunlight.

Thus, the songs of the nine dynasties all followed certain literary norms. The Huang dynasty’s songs were simple and straightforward; Tang dynasty songs were more elaborate than those of the Huang dynasty; Yu dynasty songs were more refined than those of the Tang dynasty; Xia dynasty songs were more ornate than those of the Yu dynasty; Shang and Zhou dynasty poems were even more splendid than those of the Xia dynasty. As for prefaces and chronicles describing times, they all followed the same principles. The Sao poetry of the Chu dynasty followed the patterns of the Zhou people; the odes and praises of the Han dynasty imitated the style of the Chu dynasty; the writings of the Wei dynasty admired the style of the Han dynasty; the literary works of the Jin dynasty looked to the style of the Wei dynasty. In general, the Huang and Tang dynasties were simple and honest, the Yu and Xia dynasties were simple but distinct, the Shang and Zhou dynasties were elegant and refined, the Chu and Han dynasties were extravagant and colorful, the Wei and Jin dynasties were superficial and ornate, and the early Song dynasty was awkward yet innovative. From simplicity to awkwardness, the quality gradually declines. Why? Because people increasingly prefer modernity over antiquity, leading to a weakening of artistic taste and spirit.

Those who are truly talented today deliberately study literature, often neglecting Han texts and following Song dynasty models. Though they read both ancient and modern works, they end up being close to the latter and distant from the former. Just as indigo is produced from blue plants and cinnabar from madder roots, even if they surpass their original colors, they cannot revert to them. Lord Huan Shan said, “I see new writings that are beautiful but lacking in depth; yet when I read Liu Yang’s works, I often find something valuable.” This is proof of it. Therefore, when refining indigo or washing cinnabar, one must return to blue plants and madder roots; when correcting errors or simplifying complexity, one should return to the classics. By considering the balance between substance and form, and hovering between elegance and vulgarity, one can discuss changes and transformations.

Exaggeration in style and expression reached its peak in the early Han dynasty. Since then, it has continued in cycles—though some may try to break free from conventions, they ultimately end up within those limits. Mei Cheng wrote in “Seven Odes,” “Gazing across at the East Sea, where the rainbow pierces the blue sky.” Sima Xiangru wrote in “Shanglin,” “It has no beginning when viewed, no end when examined; the sun rises from the eastern marshes and sets in the western ponds.” Ma Rong wrote in “Guangcheng,” “Heaven and earth are like a rainbow with no beginning or end; the bright light emerges from the east and enters the west.” Yang Xiong wrote in “Xiaoli,” “The sun and moon come in and out, merging heaven and earth.” Zhang Heng wrote in “Xijing,” “The sun and moon enter and exit here, resembling Fusang in the misty waters.” All these describe extreme states, yet the five writers follow similar patterns. Such examples show how things follow one another, evolving through changes.

Therefore, when establishing literary principles, one should focus on the broader framework. First, one must read widely and thoroughly, grasp the overall structure, and understand the essentials; then expand the pathways, set key points, and guide the writing with ease, adapting to emotions and circumstances. The writing should be like a rainbow unfurling its mane, shining like a phoenix spreading its wings—that is true excellence in writing. Those who stick to narrow interpretations or become overly rigid in their approaches are like those moving around a courtyard, not those taking long strides across vast distances!

Praise: The laws of literature evolve continuously, with new achievements emerging daily. Change ensures longevity, while understanding ensures abundance. One must act decisively to keep up with the times and seize opportunities without hesitation. We should create new styles today while drawing on ancient methods to establish rules.

Principle Thirty: Emotions and expressions vary, and literary techniques differ. All writing is based on emotions, which in turn shape the style. Style is about utilizing advantages to create structure. Just as an arrow shoots straight from a bowstring and streams flow in curves, this is the natural tendency. Round shapes rotate on their own, while square shapes remain stable. This is how literary styles and trends work.

Thus, those who follow the classics achieve elegance; those who imitate the “Songs” achieve gracefulness; those with simple and straightforward ideas often lack depth; those with concise language tend to lack complexity. It’s like water rushing forward without ripples.

Withered wood has no shade—such is the way of nature.

Thus, in painting and coloring, when words express emotions fully, colors blend yet dogs and horses retain their distinct forms; when emotions intersect, elegance and vulgarity take different paths. Each style follows its own model, with specialized craftsmen at work. Though there are no strict boundaries, it’s hard to surpass them. Yet those deeply versed in literature grasp all these styles; though opposites like the unusual and the conventional exist, one must understand both to be comprehensive; though qualities like strength and softness differ, one must adapt accordingly to the situation. If one favors classics over ornateness, the principle of comprehensiveness is skewed—like people in the Xia dynasty competing for bows and arrows; holding just one won’t allow shooting alone. If one mixes elegance and vulgarity in the same work, the unity of style is lost—like people in Chu selling spears while praising shields; it’s difficult to sell both simultaneously.

Therefore, by combining various styles, the skill lies in discernment—using appropriate tones and colors according to the context. For official documents and memorials, one should aim for elegance; for odes, songs, and poems, for clarity and grace; for letters and dispatches, for clarity and decisiveness; for historical writings, critiques, prefaces, and annotations, for precision and importance; for inscriptions and elegies, for grandeur and depth; for rhetorical essays and seven-part compositions, for artistry and charm. This is how styles are followed to create effects, and adaptability leads to success. Though elements may intermingle, it’s like a multicolored brocade, each color serving as the base.

Huan Tan said, “Writers have their own preferences—some love extravagance without considering substance, others value quantity without seeing the essentials.” Chen Si also said, “Among writers, some prefer elaborate language and rich details, while others favor precise and clear expression; their approaches differ, and their goals vary.” This shows the diversity of styles. Liu Zhen said, “There is a difference in strength within literary styles—having words exhausted yet still having residual impact is something unique in the world.” Gong Gan’s views also touch on this aspect. However, in literature, strength can be expressed in various ways; it doesn’t necessarily require bold or passionate language to be considered strong. Lu Yun said of himself, “In the past, when discussing literature, I emphasized words before emotions, valuing style over charm. But after reading Zhang Gong’s views on literature, I wanted to follow his approach.” Emotions indeed come before words, but style truly requires charm—one could say he was initially confused before learning to follow the better path.

In modern times, writers often prefer cleverness and trickery. Rooted in changing styles, they dislike old patterns, so they invent new ones. Examining their intentions, it seems difficult, but in reality, there’s no other method—just reversing things. Thus, literature lacking reversal becomes dull, while words with reversal become novel. To achieve novelty, one must reverse sentence order—placing upper characters lower, moving middle words outward, and making arrangements irregular—this creates a fresh look.

Straight roads are smooth, yet many take shortcuts because they’re closer. Clear and straightforward writing often uses reversed expressions because it suits popular tastes. Those who seek subtlety achieve cleverness through novel ideas, while those who seek difference become strange by losing proper form. Experienced writers uphold correctness to control novelty; those newly learned pursue novelty at the expense of correctness. If trends don’t reverse, literary styles will degenerate. With such principles and techniques, how can one not think?

Praise goes: Form gives rise to momentum, with beginnings and ends connected. Turbulent currents resemble compasses; swift arrows are like ropes. Making use of advantages to control rhythm, the essence is refined through concentration. Imitating others’ steps leads only to failure.

Essence and Refined Expression, Chapter 31

The writings of sages and virtuous men are collectively called literature—how else could they be described? Water’s nature is empty yet it forms ripples; wood is solid yet its flowers sway. Literature depends on substance. Tigers and leopards lack ornamental patterns and thus are no different from dogs and sheep; rhinoceroses and elephants have hides, but their colors depend on dyes—substance requires refinement. As for expressing one’s innate spirit and depicting external forms, weaving thoughts into the patterns of birds and weaving words into the nets of fish—such excellence is what gives literature its brilliance and richness.

Thus, there are three principles in creating literature: first, visual elements, represented by the five colors; second, auditory elements, represented by the five tones; third, emotional elements, represented by the five human traits. The combination of the five colors creates elaborate decorations; the harmony of the five tones produces beautiful music; the expression of the five traits yields literary works—these are the principles of the divine order.

The Book of Filial Piety sets an example, stating that expressions of grief should not be overly ornate; hence we know that the ordinary words of a gentleman are never crude. Laozi despised falsehood, hence he said, “Beautiful words lack credibility,” yet his five thousand profound words show he did not reject beauty. Zhuangzi said, “Elaborately decorating all things,” referring to embellishment. Han Fei said, “Vivid and eloquent,” meaning gorgeousness. Gorgeousness comes from vivid expression, and embellishment from elaborate decoration—these represent the extremes of literary style.

By studying The Book of Filial Piety and Laozi, we understand that substance and form are tied to one’s nature; by examining Zhuangzi and Han Fei, we see that excessiveness and extravagance outweigh substance. If one chooses from the right paths and follows the correct guidelines, then literary elegance can be mastered. Lead and kohl are used to adorn the face, and charm arises from natural grace; literary expression is used to adorn speech, and elegance stems from true emotion. Thus, emotion is the warp of literature, while words are the weft of reason; only when the warp is proper can the weft be formed, and only when reason is clear can words flow smoothly—this is the foundation of literature.

In ancient times, poets created literature to express their emotions; writers composed odes and songs to give form to their emotions. How can this be understood? The emergence of folk songs and elegant verses arose from pent-up emotions, as people chanted to express their feelings and criticize those in power—this is creating literature to express emotion. Philosophers, on the other hand, lacked such pent-up emotions; they merely exaggerated and embellished their words to gain fame and influence—this is creating emotion for the sake of literature. Those who express emotions do so concisely and truthfully, while those who create literature tend to be extravagant and excessive. Later writers often prioritize embellishment over truthfulness, abandoning the essential.

Elegant in style, close to the styles of ancient poets, the expression of true emotions gradually faded, while the focus on individual verses grew stronger. Thus those who aspired to high positions would simply chant about the natural world; their minds preoccupied with worldly affairs, they merely spoke vacuously about things beyond human concerns. When the true essence was lost, they turned away.

Peaches and plums need not speak to create a path—there is substance within them; a man who plants orchids yet sees no fragrance lacks true sentiment. If even humble plants rely on substance to express their nature, how much more should literature, which aims to convey one’s aspirations, do so? If words and aspirations are at odds, how can literature serve as a reliable guide?

Therefore, by combining words and selecting appropriate expressions, one seeks to clarify principles. But if excessive or obscure language is used, the meaning becomes even more obscured. It is well known that colorful baits only end up losing the fish. “Hiding glory and wealth” likely refers to this situation. Hence, “wearing fine clothes” is criticized as overly ornate prose; emphasizing vivid imagery while neglecting simplicity values returning to fundamentals. One must establish frameworks to organize principles and use metaphors to reflect one’s thoughts. Only when the mind is settled can words be properly arranged, and only when principles are correct can prose be refined, ensuring that literature does not lose its essence, that breadth does not overwhelm the mind, and that colors shine brightly within proper bounds, with other hues balanced against reds and purples. Only then can one truly be considered a refined gentleman.

In praise: Words carry meaning through literature—this truth is indeed evident. Once one’s thoughts are expressed, brilliance follows. Wu’s fine fabrics may be pleasing, but Shun’s elegance is mere superficiality. Excessive ornamentation with little genuine emotion will inevitably lead to boredom.

Molding and Cutting, Chapter Thirty-Two

Principles and emotions are established, with literary style flowing within them. Strength and flexibility form the foundation, while adaptability keeps pace with the times. A solid foundation ensures coherence, though preferences may vary; lacking direction in adapting to the times leads to complicated language. The role of molding and cutting is to integrate principles and emotions and refine literary style. Defining the fundamental structure is called “molding,” while trimming unnecessary words is called “cutting.” Through cutting, clutter is avoided; through molding, clarity is achieved—just as ropes and lines define boundaries, and axes shape forms. Extra fingers or limbs arise from excessive nature; redundant or awkward additions stem from excessive form. Multiple meanings emerging from one idea is a flaw in logic; repeating the same words or sentences is redundancy in prose.

When thoughts first arise, language tends to be chaotic. Without careful consideration, emphasis shifts unpredictably. Thus, when beginning to write, three standards should be set first: at the start, establish emotions to define the structure; in the middle, select appropriate examples based on context; at the end, condense words to highlight key points. Only then can one unfold richness alongside substance, arrange sections properly. Beyond these guidelines, once the material is properly shaped, the whole piece becomes cohesive and well-structured. Without such a clear approach, if one follows words blindly, various flaws will arise, leading to excessive redundancy.

Once the three criteria are established, the next step is to examine the words and sentences. If there are parts in a sentence that can be removed, it shows its looseness; if no words can be omitted, then its precision is evident. Concise discussions use extreme brevity; elaborate expressions employ extreme complexity. Whether something is complex or brief depends on personal preference. Extended, two sentences can form a chapter; condensed, one chapter can be reduced to two sentences. Those with rich imagination excel at expansion, while those with precise judgment excel at reduction. Those skilled in reduction remove words yet retain the meaning; those skilled in expansion use different wording yet preserve the essence. Removing words results in a lack of meaning, making it insufficient and imprecise; using excessive wording makes it verbose and unworthy.

In ancient times, Xie Ai and Wang Ji were scholars from Xihe. Zhang Jun believed that “Ai’s writing was too complex to be simplified, while Ji’s was too concise to be expanded.” These two men could be said to understand the art of refinement and to discern between complexity and conciseness. As for Shi Heng, though talented, his prose was particularly elaborate; Shi Long, less imaginative, preferred simplicity and clarity. When discussing literary style, he often lamented its excessiveness but still said, “When freshness and clarity coexist, it isn’t a flaw,” showing his admiration for such qualities. Just as fine brocades used in clothing must have proper proportions—no matter how beautiful their patterns, they shouldn’t overwhelm the overall design—so too, skill makes it difficult to overcomplicate things, let alone for those lacking skill. Yet the “Rhapsody on Literature” suggests that “untamed elements need not be trimmed, as ordinary melodies suffice,” indicating an understanding, but also a desire to eliminate complexity. All elements together form a coherent whole, contributing to its beauty and coherence; all artistic expressions stem from language and emotion. If emotions are expressed fully without excess, and language is used appropriately without abuse, how else can this be achieved except through refinement?

Praise: Chapters are like windows and doors, overlooking each other. Words flow like rivers; if they overflow, they cause chaos. Weighing gains and losses, adjusting intensity and subtlety—removing redundancy and clutter lightens the burden.

Prosody, Chapter 33

The origin of music lies in human voices. Sounds correspond to the musical scales, stemming from human breath and vitality. Ancient rulers utilized this to create music and songs. Thus, instruments merely reflect human voices; sounds are not learned from instruments. Speech is the key to writing, the core of expression—producing rhythms is simply a matter of lips and tongue. In ancient times, singing was taught by first establishing rules: shouting quickly produced the middle pitch, while speaking slowly produced the middle-high pitch. The higher pitches belong to the middle and high notes, while the lower pitches belong to the lower notes. Differences in throat posture, tongue movement, lip tension, and tooth engagement are clearly distinguishable. If a zither is out of tune, one knows to adjust its strings; yet when writing is out of rhythm, one fails to recognize what needs adjustment. The sound comes from the strings, yet harmony is lost when the sound arises within the heart. Why? Because external sounds are easier to perceive, while internal sounds are harder to discern. External sounds can be measured, but internal sounds cannot be traced through words.

All sounds have rises and falls, and echoes have repetitions. When repeated sounds occur between words, they often go wrong; when rhymes repeat within sentences, they inevitably clash. When there’s a fall, the sound stops abruptly; when there’s a rise, the sound continues without returning. When these elements interact continuously, it leads to problems, just as in literature. The problem of flawed writing stems from a desire for novelty and uniqueness, causing confusion in pronunciation. To resolve this, one must make decisive cuts. If obstacles arise on one side, seek solutions on the other; if delays occur at the end, address them at the beginning. Then the sound will flow smoothly from the lips, clear like jade being shaken, and the words will sound pleasant to the ear, like beads strung together. Thus, whether the sounds are beautiful or not depends on how they are pronounced; the flavor of the text flows into the next line, while the strength of the rhythm is determined by the harmony of the rhymes. Different sounds coming together is called harmony, while similar sounds echoing each other is called rhyme. Once the rhyme pattern is established, the rest of the sounds can be easily handled; but with varying rhythms, it’s difficult to achieve perfect resonance. Writing skillfully is easy, choosing appropriate rhymes is extremely difficult, crafting precise texts is challenging, yet creating rhymes is quite simple. Though subtle nuances and variations are hard to describe in detail, their essence lies within these principles.

As for the grand harmony of musical notes, it’s like playing a flute; adjusting them to achieve balance resembles tuning a zither. A zither requires adjusting its strings, so sometimes it deviates from harmony; a flute has fixed pipes, so it remains consistent everywhere. Chen Si and Pan Yue were like those playing the flute; Lu Ji and Zuo Si were like those tuning the zither. By generalizing these examples, one can see patterns.

Poets often use clear and precise rhymes. The “Chu Ci” uses Chu-style rhymes, hence there are many errors in them. Zhang Hua said that Shi Heng used too many Chu-style rhymes, and “Wen Fu” also mentioned that they shouldn’t be changed. This shows that they carried on the style of Ling Jun but lost the true harmony of the Huang Zhong scale. Precise rhymes flow smoothly like a circle; incorrect rhymes are even more chaotic than square shapes. Avoiding such chaos means avoiding major mistakes. Those with sharp talent and deep insight can analyze characters and sounds, understand their nuances, and adapt to the sounds encountered, just like a strong wind passing through reeds or Nan Guo playing the yu. In ancient times, people wore jade pendants with left-side Gong tones and right-side Zheng tones to keep their steps in rhythm, ensuring no disorder in sound. Sound must follow musical rules—how can this be ignored!

Praise: Expressing emotions aims for distance, while matching sounds seeks proximity. Playing musical scales comes from the heart, while tuning bells relies on the lips. When sounds are well-balanced, they’re smooth like salt and plum; when they’re not, they’re rough like elm and hibiscus. Discarding inconsistencies makes it hard to hide musical errors.

Chapter 34

Emotions have their place, and words have their roles. The place for emotions is called a chapter, and the role for words is called a sentence. A chapter brings clarity; a sentence defines boundaries. Sentences connect words to divide sections, while chapters bring meaning together to encompass the whole. Though their functions differ, they still allow communication. When people write, they create sentences from words, form chapters from sentences, and eventually complete works from chapters.

A chapter shines with excellence when its sections are flawless; a section is clear and bright when its sentences are spotless; a sentence is pure and refined when its characters are appropriate. By establishing the foundation, the details follow naturally, and understanding one aspect encompasses all others.

In the art of writing, chapters vary in length; sections and sentences have different rhythms—some slow, some fast. Adapting to changes without fixed rules, there seems to be no set standard. Sentences consist of words that come together to form meaning; sections convey a unified theme, requiring thorough consideration to take shape. Controlling emotions and logic, and coordinating transitions, is like the graceful movements in dance, with precise moments for pauses, or the melodious flow of song, with appropriate intervals.

When imitating poets, even by taking excerpts from their works, the sections and sentences remain part of the overall piece, like threads drawn from a cocoon—beginning and end must be connected, ensuring coherence. The words in a passage should reflect the theme of the middle section; the final words should echo the meaning of the preceding sentences. Thus, the exterior form may be intricate, but the internal meaning remains consistent, with each part linking seamlessly to the whole. If the words are disconnected, it’s like being a wanderer without friends; if the structure is disrupted, it’s like living in instability. Therefore, care must be taken to avoid reversing sentence order, and maintaining proper sequence is essential—this is the guiding principle for both emotion and style in writing.

Though sections and sentences may vary, characters still follow certain patterns: four-character phrases are tight yet not rushed, six-character phrases are well-structured yet not slow. Sometimes three or five characters are used, depending on the situation. Generally, four-character verses are the standard in poetry; however, in works like “Praying to the Father” and “Initiating Sacrifices,” two-character sentences are used. Two-character sentences originated in the Yellow Emperor’s era, as seen in the song “Playing the Bamboo Flute.” Three-character sentences emerged during the Yu dynasty, as in the poem “The Head of the State.” Four-character verses became widespread in the Xia dynasty, as in the song “Songs by the Luo River.” Five-character verses appeared in the Zhou dynasty, as in the chapter “Walking in the Dew.” Six- and seven-character verses appeared in the “Book of Songs” and “Odes”; these two forms became common in the Western Han dynasty. As emotions and themes evolved, they adapted to different eras.

Changing rhymes to suit the rhythm helps regulate the tone of the text. Jia Yi and Mei Cheng changed rhymes frequently; Liu Xin and Huan Tan rarely did, each having their own approach. In ancient times, Cao Cao criticized excessive use of rhymes but favored using them appropriately. Lu Yun also said, “It’s best to use four sentences per turn.” Their approaches to rhymes were similar to those of Mei and Jia. However, frequent rhyme changes can make the sound somewhat chaotic, while never changing rhymes can strain the speaker. Though talented writers may express their thoughts vividly, it’s better to strike a moderate balance to avoid mistakes.

Poets often use the character “xi” within sentences; it appears in “The Songs of Chu,” while outside sentences, it serves as a grammatical element. The character “xi” follows a sentence, functioning as a filler sound. Shun used it extensively in his poem “The South Wind,” but Cao Cao disliked it because it didn’t enhance the meaning. Phrases like “Fuwéi gài gù” are used at the beginning of a verse; “Zhī ér yú yǐ” is an old style for connecting sentences; “Hū zāi yì yě” are commonly used at the end. They seem casual in use but are actually essential. Skilled writers…

Reordering words and adjusting the style can help, even with just a single word added after a few sentences. It’s difficult to make mistakes with external words, let alone in whole passages or sentences.

Praise goes like this: A fragmented passage still has structure, but a series of sentences lacks consistency. Logic must align with the main theme, and diction should avoid mismatched pairs. Emotions and rhythms intertwine, evolving naturally. Differences and similarities are combined to fully express one’s capabilities.

The Thirty-Fifth on Elegant Diction

Nature gives form to things, ensuring that all parts come in pairs; spiritual principles guide actions, so nothing exists in isolation. Thoughts give rise to words, and various considerations are considered—high and low elements complement each other, naturally forming pairs. In the times of Tang and Yu, diction had not yet reached its peak, yet Gao Yao said, “In cases of doubt about crime, err on the side of leniency; in cases of doubt about merit, err on the side of severity.” Yi Chen further stated, “Arrogance brings loss, while humility brings benefit.” Was it merely for the sake of elegant diction that these words were spoken? The “Wen” and “Xi” sections of the I Ching reflect the profound thoughts of sages. When describing the four virtues of Qian, each sentence connects smoothly; when dragons and tigers are mentioned, each word pairs harmoniously; when Qian and Kun are discussed, they follow a logical sequence; when the sun and moon are referenced, they fit together across lines. Though sentences and words may differ, their underlying meaning remains consistent. As for poets who compose occasional verses or officials who link words together, the patterns of odd and even arrangements emerge naturally without effort. From the time of Yang Xiong, Ma Yuan, Zhang Heng, and Cai Xiang, elegant diction flourished, much like fine paintings and exquisite craftsmanship—elegant sentences and profound expressions coexisted, sharing the same artistic spirit. During the Wei and Jin dynasties, scholars analyzed sentences more meticulously and paired words with care, examining every detail. Yet those who truly grasped the essence were skilled, while those who relied on superficial tactics achieved nothing.

Thus, there are four types of pairing in elegant diction: matching words is easy, matching events is difficult; opposite pairings are superior, while direct pairings are inferior. Matching words involves comparing empty phrases; matching events involves citing real examples; opposite pairings involve contrasting ideas with similar outcomes; direct pairings involve different events with the same meaning. Wang Chang’s “Rhapsody on Shanglin” says, “One cultivates grace in the ritual gardens and thrives in the scholarly courtyards”—this is an example of matching words. Song Yu’s “Rhapsody on the Divine Maiden” says, “Mao Jiang’s sleeves are not enough to serve as a standard; Xi Shi covering her face pales in comparison”—this is an example of matching events. Zhong Xuan’s “Ascending the Tower” says, “Zhong Yi’s music is subtle, while Chu’s melodies are bold; Zhuang Zi’s footsteps are quiet, while Yue’s songs are loud”—this is an example of opposite pairings. Meng Yang’s “Seven Sorrows” says, “Emperor Gaozu thought of Fuyu, while Emperor Guangwu thought of Baishui”—this is an example of direct pairings. In general, matching words is easy because it relies on immediate expression; learning is necessary for matching events, as it requires evidence; opposite pairings are superior because they convey contrasting yet related ideas; direct pairings are inferior because they involve different events with the same meaning. Moreover, when matching events, there are positive and negative aspects—by identifying these categories, everything becomes clear.

Zhang Huashi said, “Wild geese fly side by side; returning swans know how to join their wings.” Liu Kun wrote, “Xuanyi mourned the loss of the unicorn; those who hunted in the west wept for Confucius.” Such repeated use constitutes paired phrases.

Thus, it is considered beautiful when phrases are matched, with emphasis on precision; when matching events, appropriateness is crucial. If two phrases are paired but one is superior and the other inferior, it’s like having a fine horse on the left and an inferior one on the right. If an event stands alone with no counterpart, it’s like a one-legged Kui trying to walk. If the style lacks uniqueness and the writing lacks distinction, with merely superficially beautiful words, it only confuses the senses. One must ensure that the logic is sound and the details are thorough, combining elements like precious gems in the text. Alternating between odd and even structures, along with varied embellishments, is what truly matters. By thinking in this way, the essence becomes clear.

In praise: The structure must consist of two parts, with words paired harmoniously. One part leads and the other supports, carrying both subtlety and depth. They shine together like connected flowers, calm as a mirror reflecting its image. Like smooth jade flowing in two streams, just as fine ornaments do.

On Simile and Allusion, Chapter 36

Poetry is profound and comprehensive, encompassing the six virtues. Mao Gong described the “Traditions,” emphasizing only “simile and allusion.” Isn’t it because “wind” relates to “odes” and “simile” is evident while “allusion” remains hidden? Thus, simile means attachment; allusion means initiation. Attachment involves relating things closely to convey meaning, while initiation uses subtle hints to suggest ideas. Initiation establishes the poetic form by arousing emotions, while attachment generates similarity through comparison. Simile stores anger to express criticism, while allusion uses circumstantial comparisons to convey satire. Since the purposes vary with time, poets have different aspirations.

Looking at allusions used for instruction, they are expressed gently yet effectively. Naming is minor; drawing parallels is significant. “Guanju” shows distinction, thus symbolizing virtuous wives; “Shigou” represents fidelity, thus symbolizing noble women. Fidelity is valued in birds, without doubt; distinction is prized in raptors, without objection. It is clear yet not fully understood, so explanations are needed to make it apparent. What then is simile? It involves describing objects to convey ideas, using words to address matters directly. Thus, gold and silver represent virtue, jade and agate symbolize outstanding people, pests are used to emphasize moral teachings, cicadas and grasshoppers depict calls to action, washing clothes symbolizes the heart, and rolling up mats represents firm resolve—these are all examples of simile. As for phrases like “cotton clothes like snow” or “two carriages moving like in a dance,” these also fall under simile. King Xiang of Chu believed slander, while the Three Lüs remained loyal—using poetry to create “Sao,” combining both simile and allusion. Although the Han Dynasty was prosperous, poets became boastful, and poetry lost its critical function. Thus, odes and praises took precedence, leading to the proliferation of simile-based styles, overwhelming the traditional forms.

Metaphors
When it comes to using metaphors for expressing meaning, the methods vary: sometimes based on sound, sometimes on appearance, sometimes on emotions, and sometimes on events. Song Yu’s “Gao Tang” states, “Its delicate cries sound like those of a yu flute,” which is an example of using sound as a metaphor; Mei Cheng’s “Tu Yuan” says, “It sparkles and flutters like white clouds among dust,” which is an example of using appearance as a metaphor; Jia Yi’s “Fu on the Crow” writes, “Misfortune and fortune are no different from entangled ropes,” using objects to illustrate abstract concepts; Wang Bao’s “Dong Xiao” describes it as “gentle and soothing, like a kind father nurturing his child,” using sound to represent emotions; Ma Rong’s “Long Flute” compares its melody to the intricate arguments of Fan and Cai, using sound to represent reasoning; Zhang Heng’s “Nan Du” likens its movements to those in Zheng dances, using actions to represent objects. Such examples are common in literary works—daily use of metaphors leads to neglect of inspiration, focusing on trivialities while abandoning the profound, which is why literature declined compared to that of the Zhou dynasty. By the time of Yang Xiong and Ban Gu, and those after them, when depicting mountains and rivers and portraying clouds and landscapes, they all employed metaphors to enhance their writings, captivating listeners and inspiring admiration. An Ren’s “Fu on Fireflies” says, “Gold flows in the sand,” and Ji Ying’s “Miscellaneous Poems” states, “Green branches resemble clusters of jade”—these are all examples of such metaphors. Although there are many types of metaphors, those that are most relevant and meaningful are the most valuable; trying to force a goose to imitate a crow offers no merit.

Eulogy: Poets use metaphors and inspiration to observe things comprehensively. No matter how different the objects may be, when combined they become closely related. By depicting appearances to convey emotions, they dare to make decisive statements. Their songs and poems flow like rivers.

Exaggeration, Chapter 37
That which lies beyond form is called the Dao, while that which has form is called a vessel. The essence of the Dao is difficult to capture, and precise words cannot fully express it; forms and vessels can be easily described, and grand words can convey their true nature. It’s not about the quality of one’s talent, but rather the complexity of the concept. Since the creation of heaven and earth, expressions involving sounds and appearances have been widespread in literature, with exaggeration always present. Even the elegant language of the “Book of Songs” and “Book of History,” meant to teach moral lessons, often goes overboard in description. Thus, when speech is grandiose, it seems as if Mount Song reaches the heavens; when discussions are narrow, it seems as though rivers cannot hold boats; when stories involve numerous descendants, it seems as though there are billions; when few are mentioned, it seems as though no one remains. Xiang Ling uses exaggerated descriptions, yet their meanings remain harmless. After all, can the ugliness of a croaking frog change just because it’s in a beautiful garden? Can the bitterness of tea turn into sweetness just because it’s from the Zhou plains? Deep praise and admiration lead to exaggerated expressions. The great sages recorded these to set standards, as Mencius said, “Those who interpret poetry should not let the style harm the meaning, nor should the meaning be obscured by the style.”

Starting with Song Yu and Jing Cha, exaggeration became more prevalent; Sima Xiangru further exaggerated it. Thus, in the palaces of Shanglin, shooting stars and rainbow arcs entered the halls; among the birds captured, there were Fei Lian and Jian Ming. By Yang Xiong’s time, in “Gan Quan,” he further exaggerated...

Aftereffects. When language is extravagant, it resorts to using precious gems like those on jade trees; when it becomes overly harsh, it leads to absurdities akin to those of ghosts and gods. As seen in works like “Xi Du” and “Xi Jing,” when reasoning is examined, there’s nothing left to verify; when embellishment is pushed to its limit, even then, the embellishments remain unexhausted. Moreover, Zi Yun’s “Fei Ye” depicts whipping Mi Fei to feed Qu Yuan; Zhang Heng’s “Fei Ye” shows trapping Xuan Ming in the northern wilderness, alongside the gods of the Luo River. Since these are neither demons nor evil spirits, yet such exaggerated descriptions are used, isn’t that rather careless? This is an attempt to exaggerate power and adorn stories, which is contrary to proper principles. As for descriptions of mountains, seas, palaces, and their grandeur—their dazzling brilliance, their radiant splendor, their seemingly imminent movement—it’s all done through exaggeration to create a vivid image. Thus, talented writers, inspired by this, strive to soar high, eager to fly, unwilling to move slowly; their words shine brightly, surpassing even the most vivid descriptions; their expressions are so intense they seem about to come alive. All of this serves to exaggerate and create wonders through embellishment. As a result, later generations, inspired by this, try to match such brilliance, eager to soar and avoid stagnation.

However, when embellishment goes too far, it distorts true meaning; when exaggeration exceeds reason, it separates name from reality. If one can draw upon the profound teachings of the “Book of Songs” and “Book of History,” and moderate the excessive elements from works like those of Ma, so that exaggeration remains restrained and embellishment does not deceive, then that can indeed be considered virtuous.

Praise: Exaggeration is used in writing, but why must words follow strict rules? Words must soar like the roc, not progress gradually like the wild goose. It’s like overturning the sea to find pearls or digging deep to obtain precious stones—vast yet not overflowing, luxurious yet without blemishes.

Category 38: Matters and Examples

Matters and examples refer to something beyond mere writing—using events to illustrate meanings and drawing on ancient examples to support modern ones. In ancient times, King Wen used the “I Ching” to interpret its hexagrams. For example, in the ninth line of “Ji Ji,” he referenced King Gaozong’s military campaigns; in the sixth line of “Ming Yi,” he cited Ji Zi’s loyalty. These are brief references to historical events to illustrate moral principles. Other examples include Yin Zheng summoning Xi He and citing the teachings from “Zheng Dian”; Pan Geng addressing the people and quoting Chi Ren’s words. Here, entire passages are quoted to clarify principles. Thus, clarifying principles relies on complete passages, while illustrating meanings uses historical events—this is the great wisdom of sages and the universal standard of classics. The image in “Da Xu” states, “A gentleman should be well-versed in past words and deeds,” which also encompasses this concept within writing.

Looking at the works of Qu Yuan and Song Yu, though they are categorized as poets, they do not use existing texts when referencing ancient events. Only Jia Yi’s “Fu on the Crow” first employed the story of the crows wearing crowns; Sima Xiangru’s “Shang Lin” briefly cited Li Si’s writings—these are extremely rare instances. Later, Yang Xiong’s “Admonitions to Officials” drew heavily from the “Book of Songs” and “Book of History”; Liu Xin’s “Fu on Suichu” recounted various events in detail.

Yu Ji’s writings gradually incorporated various elements. As for Cui, Ban, Zhang, and Cai, they gathered materials from classics and histories, creating works rich in both elegance and substance. They established models for later generations through their writings.

Jiang and Gui derive their pungency from nature; literary talent comes from learning, though innate ability also plays a role. Talent emerges from within, while learning develops externally. Some become exhausted in learning yet lack talent, while others possess great talent but insufficient learning. Those with limited learning struggle with principles and ethics, while those lacking talent toil with words and expressions—this is the difference between internal and external factors. Thus, when composing literature, the mind and pen work together: talent is the leader, and learning serves as a support. When these combine harmoniously, literary excellence is achieved; if either is lacking, even beauty yields little impact. With Zi Yun’s talent, he initially claimed not to have studied, but after reading in the Stone Chamber, his writing became magnificent. Inner and outer elements complement each other—this principle remains true throughout history. Therefore, Wei Wu criticized Zhang Zi’s writing as clumsy, citing his shallow knowledge and limited perspective, as he merely copied minor works by Cui and Du. His writings were not truly difficult, yet their origins were unclear—this was the flaw of ignorance.

The classics are profound, and the vast body of written works represents the deepest realms of language and the highest grounds for creative insight. From Yang Xiong and Ban Gu onward, all drew from them, exerting effort to cultivate their skills, exploring freely, and wielding their talents effectively to produce outstanding works. To enhance one’s talent, it is essential to have broad knowledge—just as a fox cannot be warmed by a single fur, or a chicken cannot be fed with just a few grains. Therefore, comprehensive learning is crucial; selecting topics should be concise, refinement must be meticulous, details must be verified, and multiple beauties should be combined to bring out their full effect. Liu Shao wrote in “Ode to Zhao Capital”: “The prince’s guests commanded the warriors of Chu to swear an oath; the clerks in the treasury ordered the envoys of Qin to play musical instruments.” Using such examples shows that principles and essentials are properly addressed. Even small achievements, when based on these essentials, are like using a short ruler to make wheels or a short pivot to operate gates. Sometimes, mentioning subtle or beautiful stories in inappropriate places is like adorning one’s ankles with gold and jade or applying makeup to one’s chest—unnecessary and superficial.

Using old examples appropriately is like speaking from one’s own mouth; using incorrect examples, no matter how long ago they occurred, remains a flaw. Chen Si was a genius among writers. In his letter to Kong Zhang, he wrote: “The music of the Ge Tian era had thousands singing and tens of thousands joining in, causing listeners to dismiss the ‘Shao’ and ‘Xia’ melodies.” This is an error in citing examples. In fact, the Ge Tian songs involved only three people singing in response to each other. Sima Xiangru wrote in “Shanglin”: “Performing the dance of Tao Tang and listening to the songs of Ge Tian, with thousands singing and tens of thousands responding.” It was Sima Xiangru who exaggerated the numbers to thousands and tens of thousands. Such excessive use of the Ge Tian example led to this error in his writings. Lu Ji wrote in his poem “Garden Sunflower”: “Sunflowers protect feet with equal wisdom, while plants serve different purposes.” Sunflowers can protect feet, but this is used to mock Bao Zhuang; ivy protects roots, but this is used for self-complacency. If sunflowers are compared to ivy, the example is incorrect; if protection is claimed to be better than defense, the description becomes inaccurate—this is another sign of lack of precision. Even people as sharp-witted as Zi Jian and as meticulous as Shi Heng made mistakes. How much more so can we laugh at Cao Hong’s errors about Gao Tang! Mountains and trees are measured by skilled craftsmen, and classics are selected by literati. Beautiful wood is shaped by axes, and beautiful ideas are refined by writing. Those who ponder deeply should not look down on craftsmen like Shi Shi.

Praise goes thus: The classics are rich in content, with meanings spanning far and wide. Clear as rivers and seas, profound as mountains and forests. Words and expressions are gathered together, like precious pearls exchanged as gifts. Treating others as oneself—such wisdom has never been lacking since ancient times.

Practice of Characters, No. 39

When the symbols of writing were arranged and ropes were used for recording, when bird tracks became clear and writing systems emerged—these constituted the form of language and the foundation of literature. When Cangjie created them, even ghosts wept and grains flew; when the Yellow Emperor utilized them, governance and oversight of the people were improved. The ancient kings transmitted their teachings through written texts, ensuring uniformity in characters. Envoys traveling between regions recorded different dialects, which led to the standardization of characters to unify pronunciations. According to the “Rites of Zhou,” the Baoshi were responsible for teaching the six types of writing. When Qin destroyed the old systems, officials became teachers. Later, Li Si revised the Zhoushu script, giving rise to the Qin seal script, while Cheng Miao invented the clerical script, causing the ancient scripts to fall out of use.

In the early Han dynasty, laws were clearly established. Imperial scholars taught the eight styles of writing. Moreover, when officials or commoners submitted petitions, errors in characters would lead to punishment. Thus, even a missing stroke in a character could cause Shi Jian to fear death—showing how highly characters were valued at the time. During the reign of Emperor Wu, Sima Xiangru composed literary works. Under Emperors Xuan and Ping, efforts were made to collect and study elementary writing. Zhang Chang passed on correct pronunciation methods, while Yang Xiong compiled explanations using unusual characters. They also studied the “Yi” and “Song” texts, thoroughly understanding their phonetics and meanings. All those who studied under them had thorough knowledge. Additionally, many poems described imperial gardens, making use of pictographic and phonetic elements. As a result, early Han elementary writings often contained intricate characters, not only unique in form but also difficult to understand. In the later Han dynasty, elementary writing became less systematic, with meanings becoming obscured, and judgments about it also became mixed.

During the Wei dynasty, writing rules became more standardized, but looking back at Han writings, they seemed increasingly obscure. Hence, Chen Si said, “The works of Yang Xiong and Sima Xiangru are profound and subtle; readers without guidance cannot decipher their words, nor can those without extensive knowledge grasp their meanings.” This was not only due to differences in talent but also because of the obscurity of the characters. Since the Jin dynasty, characters have generally been simplified. With the popularity of easy-to-learn characters, who would choose difficult ones? Today, if a single character is strange, it can shock entire sentences; if three people do not recognize it, it seems almost magical. What is understood by later generations may be easy today but difficult then, and what is abandoned in certain times may become difficult later. One must carefully consider these differences.

The “Erya” was compiled by Confucius’ disciples and serves as a guide to the “Book of Songs” and the “Book of History.” The “Cangjie” script was compiled by Li Si and represents the legacy of the historical Zhoushu script. The “Erya” provides detailed explanations based on origins, while the “Cangjie” script offers unique literary expressions. These different forms complement each other, like shoulders, arms, and legs, allowing one to understand the past while gaining new insights—and they can also be used in writing. As for meanings and interpretations, they vary across time, with different uses depending on circumstances. Character forms can be simple or complex, beautiful or ugly. Since thoughts are expressed through words, and words take shape through characters, when reciting, one follows musical rhythms; when reading texts, one can understand the forms of the characters.

Therefore, when arranging characters in a text, careful selection is necessary: first, avoid strangeness; second, consider character connections; third, be mindful of repeated characters; fourth, pay attention to the simplicity or complexity of characters. By “strangeness,” it refers to characters with peculiar forms. Cao Zhi’s poem reads, “Why not desire such a journey? A narrow heart detests such perils.” These two characters are strange and constitute a major flaw in what should otherwise be a fine piece of writing. How can such things be considered acceptable beyond that? “Character connections” refer to cases where half of the characters share the same form. This is often used to describe mountains and rivers throughout history; when applied in ordinary texts, it creates inconsistencies and flaws. It may be possible to use this technique up to three times, but beyond that, it becomes chaotic. “Repeated characters” refer to instances where the same character appears multiple times. In the Book of Songs and The Odes, this was acceptable, but in modern times, it is avoided. If both characters are necessary, then their repetition is to be avoided. Those skilled in writing have a wealth of expressions but lack even one character—because avoiding repetition is difficult. “Simplicity or complexity” refers to the thickness or thinness of character forms. Thin characters, when used repeatedly, make the text appear sparse and inferior; thick characters, when used excessively, make the text dull and unclear. Those who know how to use characters well combine simplicity and complexity, resulting in a smooth and elegant flow like pearls. Although these four principles are not always necessary in writing, they are still important for maintaining proper structure. If one fails to understand them, it indicates a lack of deep insight.

As for the obscurities in classical texts, the confusion in various records, damaged scrolls and silk, and changes in characters due to copying, sometimes caused by pronunciation errors or textual alterations. In the teachings of Zi Si, there were differences in pronunciation, such as “Yu Mu bu si.” In the historical records of the Jin dynasty, there was an error like “three pigs crossing the river,” which was a result of textual alteration. The Great Transmission of the Book of History contains “separate winds and Huai rains,” while The Annals of Emperors states “disordered winds and excessive rains.” Words like “separate,” “disordered,” “Huai,” and “excessive” seem to have undergone subtle changes over time. “Excessive” and “disordered” have appropriate meanings but are not unusual, while “Huai” and “separate” have illogical yet novel meanings. Fu Yi already used “Huai rains” in his elegies; Yuan Chang also used “separate winds” in his prefaces. It is clear that the desire for novelty has remained constant throughout history. Historians were cautious about missing words in texts; if they abandoned novelty in favor of logical meaning, then the texts could be considered authentic.

In praise: Seal script and clerical script blend together, presenting elegance and refinement. The styles of different eras differ greatly, with distinctions between beauty and ugliness. Characters are not easily changed, and it is difficult to manipulate the flow of text. The sound and form of characters are clearly defined, with vibrant ink and color.

Hidden Elegance, No. 40

The workings of the mind and emotions are profound, and the variations in literary expression are deep. With origins that are complex and branches that spread out, and roots that are strong and sharp, literary works exhibit both elegance and hidden depths. “Hidden” refers to the deeper meanings beyond the surface of the text; “elegance” refers to the outstanding elements within the text. Hidden depth is achieved through subtle expression, while elegance comes from standing out uniquely. This represents the fine achievements of traditional literature and the harmonious combination of talent and creativity.

The essence lies in concealment; meaning arises beyond the surface of words. Secret resonances connect subtly, hidden beauties emerge imperceptibly—like the interchanges of trigrams in the I Ching, or pearls and jade hidden within rivers. Thus, through the interchanges of trigrams, the four symbols are formed; when pearls and jade lie beneath water, ripples create patterns of circles and squares. Beginning with order and ending with uniqueness, inner clarity paired with outer smoothness—enough to delight those who contemplate it endlessly, and never cause weariness in those who savor it.

When waves arise among the words, that is called elegance. Delicate hands and beautiful voices evoke an air of grace, like mist hovering over distant mountains or the lovely faces of young women. Yet the mist forms naturally, requiring no makeup; their beauty is innate, needing no artifice. Deep and shallow elements each possess their own uniqueness; rich and slender aspects both display wonder. If tried to capture them fully, there remains more; yet if attempted to encompass them all, it proves insufficient.

Those who strive for originality aim to create something extraordinary, constantly seeking inspiration in the depths of silence. Those skilled in language seek perfection, always pondering beauty and grace. They pour their hearts out, yet words fall short to express their depth; they spend years refining their craft, yet struggle to convey the true hardship. Thus, they hide their brilliance behind ordinary words, confusing those with limited vision; they reveal their sharpness beyond the surface of text, astonishing those with discerning minds. This allows those who are thoughtful to find joy in hidden meanings, while those who are sharp-hearted find delight in elegance. It’s like crafting clouds and rosy hues, rivaling even divine craftsmanship; or carving flowers and plants, comparable to the work of master artisans. If a piece lacks such subtleties, it’s like a learned scholar lacking knowledge—unable to express themselves upon simple inquiry. If its sentences lack elegance, it’s like a wealthy household lacking treasures—disappointed even after repeated questions. Such works lack both talent and literary grace.

To explore subtlety, one might refer to certain passages: the farewell poems in ancient poetry, or those about the Great Wall in Yuefu songs—filled with deep sorrow and employing metaphor and allegory. Chen Si’s “Yellow Sparrow” and Gong Gan’s “Green Pine” have a strong and vigorous style, excelling in satirical expression. Shuyue’s “Farewell to a Traveler” and Sizong’s “Reflections” offer a profound and serene atmosphere, embodying tranquility. Shi Heng’s unrestrained style and Peng Ze’s boldness reflect clear thoughts and magnificent expressions.

To discern elegance, consider these lines: “I fear autumn will come, with cold winds taking away the heat”—a sad sentiment expressed in gentle words, typical of a woman’s boredom. “By the river, I wash my long ribbon, thinking of you with longing”—a noble aspiration expressed in powerful words, characteristic of an unfulfilled man’s heartache. “In the east, there’s nowhere to go; I wander helplessly”—a lonely heart filled with fear, representing extreme grief in a woman’s chamber. “The northern wind stirs the autumn grass; the border horses long to return”—a chilling atmosphere reflecting the sorrow of a traveler.

Among all collected writings, there are barely eleven outstanding pieces, while there may be a hundred or so elegant sentences. These come together naturally, not through deliberate effort. Some may appear profound due to obscurity, but if not truly subtle, or cleverly crafted, though beautiful, they lack elegance. True natural excellence is like flowers shining with their own brilliance; adding embellishments for beauty is like dyeing silk red or green. Dyed silk appears deep and vivid; blooming flowers shine brightly but superficially. It is for this reason that subtle passages illuminate the literary world, and elegant sentences enrich the writings of scholars.

Praise goes like this: The prose is profound and rich, with lingering charm. The words are interwoven in various forms, resembling changing hexagrams. It is exquisitely expressed, uniting all thoughts. It moves the heart and astonishes the ears, like the melodious sound of a sheng flute.

Pointing Out Flaws, Chapter 41

Guan Zhong said, “Sound flies without wings; emotion endures without roots.” Thus, sound can fly easily without wings, and emotion can endure firmly without roots. When applying this to writing, shouldn’t one be cautious? Throughout history, literary talents have competed across eras. Some excel through brilliance and speed, while others through meticulous thought—yet few avoid flaws or imperfections. Chen Si’s writings stand among the finest, yet in his “Eulogy for Emperor Wu,” he writes “the noble spirit remains in eternal dormancy,” and in his “Ode to Emperor Ming,” he says “the sacred body is light and floating.” Being light and floating resembles butterflies, while eternal dormancy seems more akin to insects. Applying such descriptions to the most revered figures—is it appropriate? Zuo Si’s “Seven Satires” preach filial piety but deviate from the proper path to such an extent that they are not worth considering. Pan Yue was talented, especially in writing elegies, but when mourning his elder brother, he wrote “filled with sorrow,” and when grieving his younger brother, he said “my heart is filled with doubt.” The language used in rituals is meant for the highest reverence, yet here it is applied to lower matters. Though the words may evoke sorrow, their meaning is distorted.

As for gentlemen who personify others, they must do so within appropriate contexts. Cui Yuan’s “Eulogy for Lord Li” compares him to the ancient sages Huang and Yu, while Xiang Xiu’s “Ode to Ji Sheng” compares him to Li Si. Although these mistakes might not be outright improper, they greatly deviate from the style of lofty and profound poetry.

Crafty language is easy to identify, while clumsy expressions are hard to conceal. These flaws in writing are as evident as white jade. There are too many examples to list, so only four are briefly mentioned.

The essence of writing lies in characters and meaning. Characters clarify meanings, and meanings convey ideas. Yet in the writings of the late Jin dynasty, such principles were rarely followed. There were phrases like “prizes reaching extraordinary heights” at the beginning and “patting, knocking, responding, and exchanging words” at the end. Each time a single character was cited, it was used to represent emotion. But prizes and rewards have nothing to do with understanding emotions, nor does patting or holding anything to do with emotional logic. Such practices were unheard of in the “Book of Odes” and “Book of Hymns,” and not used in the Han and Wei dynasties. While it might seem plausible at first glance, it fails to convey true meaning and is actually a distortion of reality, leading to poor quality in writing. Since the Song dynasty, talented writers have continued this practice, turning it into a common custom over time.

Modern writers often harbor suspicions, resorting to crude comparisons and seeking flaws in language. Though they disdain the ancients, they still make choices in their own work. Moreover, some imitate other writings, and it would be appropriate to revise such works. Instead, they steal others’ good expressions and claim them as their own.

A large bow is ultimately beyond one’s reach. To write it out fully would require opening a bag, and to pick it up casually would mean reaching into a pouch; yet those who live in distant times treat it as too trivial, while those in the same era do even worse.

Commentaries are written to clarify proper principles, but errors arise from insufficient research or hasty judgments. The “Rhapsody on the Western Capital” mentions categories such as “Zhonghuang, Yu, and Ying,” yet Xue Zong mistakenly labeled them as “eunuch officials”—a person who has never even handled a carved tiger. Also, in the “Rites of Zhou” regarding taxes on wells, there was originally a mention of “one horse per unit”; yet Ying Shao interpreted “per unit” by counting heads and hooves—how can this be considered essential for distinguishing things? In ancient times, proper nomenclature meant two vehicles paired with one horse, with “per unit” referring to two horses used together for pulling. Since there were two vehicles for riding and pairs of horses for pulling, and there were more than just one pair, the names had to be dual. Once the name became standardized, even a single horse was referred to as “per unit.” Ordinary men and women also followed this pairing principle. Though these are minor details related to vehicles and horses, no dynasty understood them properly; in literary works dealing with contemporary affairs, significant errors occurred even over long distances. How could one avoid mistakes when studying the classics? Counting heads and hooves to determine “per unit” or choosing brave individuals while employing eunuch officials is utterly unreasonable, hence it is cited as a warning. Paintings shine brightly at first but fade over time, while writings grow more radiant with the passage of years. If one can achieve excellence in a single generation, they can have no regrets for thousands of years to come.

Praise: Yi’s inaccurate shooting led to the failure of his chariot in the eastern fields. Though he had talent, his many mistakes brought regret. Such a flaw remains unchanged for thousands of years. To have no faults in one’s writings is also second only to excellence.

Nurturing Vital Energy, Chapter 42

In ancient times, Wang Chong wrote the chapter “Nurturing Vital Energy” based on his own experiences—was it not fabricated? Ears, eyes, nose, and mouth serve for sensing the world; the mind, thoughts, and speech are functions of the spirit. If one follows their natural inclinations and maintains harmony, then reason flows smoothly and emotions are expressed freely. But if one overexerts oneself, the spirit becomes fatigued and vital energy declines—this is the natural law of human nature.

During the era of the Three Sovereigns, simplicity prevailed, and the mind was detached from refined ideals. In the imperial era, eloquence became valued for its ability to convey ideas. During the Three Dynasties and the Spring and Autumn period, although styles became more elaborate over time, they still remained within reasonable bounds, not exceeding the limits of human capability. In the Warring States period, deceitful tactics and fancy rhetoric flourished. From the Han dynasty to the present, writing styles constantly evolved, with people competing to outdo each other in brilliance—by then, human effort had reached its limit. Thus, simple language stands in contrast to flowery prose, with a gap of a thousand years between them. Following one’s natural inclinations leads to the full expression of emotions, while forcing oneself results in a huge difference between effort and rest. This is why the ancients had more leisure, while later generations were constantly busy.

Generally, children have shallow understanding but strong aspirations, while adults have firm knowledge but declining vital energy. Those with strong aspirations think keenly to overcome difficulties, while those with declining vital energy overthink, exhausting their spirit. These are the natural differences among people, shaped by the passage of time. As for human capabilities, they are limited...

Endless; or like a duck standing awkwardly or a crane standing still, words are poured out as thoughts are engraved. Thus, the vital energy is directed inward, akin to the waves by the shore; the mind is affected outwardly, just like the trees on Niushan Mountain. The severity of anxiety can also be inferred from this.

As for Zhong Ren, who used an inkstone to organize his thoughts, and Shu Tong, who carried a pen to focus on his work—both were tested by the passage of time and the pressures of daily life. That’s why Cao Cao feared that writing could harm one’s health, and Lu Yun lamented that deep thought could strain the mind; these were not empty words.

Study requires diligence, hence there are those who pierce their thighs to spur themselves on; those who are devoted to writing seek ways to express their pent-up emotions. Therefore, one should act with ease, following one’s natural inclinations, adapting flexibly to circumstances. To strain one’s spirit and suppress one’s natural disposition, using writing as a means to push through age or to suppress one’s true nature—this is certainly not the pure heart of sages nor the straightforward principle of literature!

Moreover, thinking has its moments of clarity and confusion, times of openness and blockage. When troubled, the mind may even deviate from normality; when the mind is confused, it becomes increasingly reckless. Thus, when engaging in literary pursuits, it’s important to regulate one’s expression, to calm the mind and harmonize the energy. Give up when overwhelmed, and write freely when inspired. When the logic is clear, continue writing; when not, put down the pen and rest. Find leisure in one’s talents, and balance one’s literary vigor, so that the mind remains sharp and unobstructed. Though this isn’t a universal method like innate wisdom, it is still a way to maintain mental health.

Praise: How varied are all things! How exhausting are countless thoughts! The subtle mind should be cherished, and the pure energy should be nurtured. Water remains still to reflect clearly, and fire calms down to shine brightly. Let there be no disturbance in literary concerns, so that the spirit remains clear and alert.

Appendix 43

What is “appending”? It refers to organizing the structure of a text, coordinating beginning and end, deciding what to include and what to omit, and bringing all elements together so that they remain orderly despite their diversity. It’s like building a house, which requires a foundation, or sewing clothes, which needs stitches. Those who are learning literature should establish a proper structure: take emotions as the essence, principles as the core, eloquence as the surface expression, and rhythm as the musical quality. Then, evaluate the content, distinguish between good and bad, and make adjustments accordingly—this is the constant standard for organizing thoughts.

In general, great works have many branches and sub-branches. Those who organize them follow the source, while those who develop them follow the main trunk. Thus, by connecting words to meanings, one must grasp the overall framework, guiding all aspects toward unity, ensuring that despite complexity, nothing is misplaced, and despite abundance of opinions, nothing becomes chaotic. Support the positive aspects and bring them to the forefront, while concealing the negative ones. Ensure consistency from beginning to end, with unity within and without—this is the art of appending. Just as a painter carefully shapes forms yet easily alters them, an archer aims precisely yet may miss.

Walls, though finely crafted and precise, must still follow a unified structure. Therefore, it is necessary to adjust inches to match feet, and bend feet to align with hands, abandoning mere cleverness in favor of true beauty—this is the essence of composing texts.

Writing varies endlessly, with ideas often mixed and chaotic. Too strict a structure leads to a lack of meaning, while excessive breadth causes the language to become disjointed. As a result, many errors arise, acting like obstacles in writing. Moreover, talents differ, and thought processes vary; some arrange the beginning to connect with the end, while others link one unit to another. Yet those who achieve proper connection are few, while those who merely attach things together are numerous. If the overall structure is lost, the language will become disordered; if the logical flow is disrupted, the writing style will be uneven. Only by carefully organizing ideas can the text be properly structured, just as glue binds wood or stones fit together with jade. Thus, although horses have different strengths, they can still be controlled together like strings on a zither—this is similar to the method of handling writing. Deciding what to keep or remove depends on one’s judgment, and controlling the length lies in one’s hands; simply aligning the steps is all that’s needed.

Those who excel at connecting ideas do so in a way that their thoughts are as closely related as liver and gallbladder, while those who struggle do so in a way that their words sound similar but are not truly harmonious. Rewriting chapters is harder than creating an entire piece, and changing words is more difficult than replacing sentences—this is proven experience. In the past, Zhang Tang’s drafts were rejected twice, and Yu Song’s memorials were criticized repeatedly, due to unclear logic and mismatched wording. But when Ni Kuan revised them and Zhong Hui changed the words, Emperor Wu of Han marveled at their excellence, and Emperor Jing of Jin praised them, because the logic was sound and the wording appropriate. From this, we can see how great the difference is between skillful and clumsy connections!

As for ending a piece abruptly, it’s like rowing a boat by moving oars; connecting words logically is like pulling reins and waving a whip. To achieve a successful conclusion means conveying deep meanings and distant ideas. If the beginning celebrates glory while the subsequent sentences are weak, the overall effect becomes dull and unfulfilling. This is what the Book of Changes refers to as “having no skin on the buttocks, making movement uneven.” Only when the beginning and end support each other can the art of connection reach its fullest potential.

Praise: The structure of a text is interrelated, with emotions and patterns repeating frequently. Starting from the beginning and ending at the end, the elements are arranged systematically. The meanings complement each other, and the threads connect naturally. It’s like the harmony in music, where heart and voice work in harmony.

Chapter 44: General Principles

In modern usage, there are terms like “writing” and “prose,” with those without rhyme considered “prose” and those with rhyme considered “writing.” Writing serves to express ideas, incorporating the principles from The Book of Songs and The Book of History. These separate names came about only in recent times. Yan Yannian believed that “prose is the form of speech; classics are speech but not prose, while biographies are prose but not speech.” This is like taking away their spear to attack their shield. Why? Isn’t the “Wenyan” section of the Book of Changes also a form of written speech? If prose is speech...

Wen must not be said to be outside the realm of classics merely because it is not written with a pen. One intends to establish an argument, yet the argument itself has not been established. In my view: speech expressed through the mouth is called “word,” writing with a brush is called “pen”; the constant truths are called “classics,” and those that explain the classics are called “commentaries.” The essence of classics and commentaries lies in transforming words into writing; the pen serves as a tool for words, which can be used forcefully or gently. The Six Classics are regarded as profound and unchangeable not because of differences in language or writing style. In ancient times, Lu Xun’s “Rhapsody on Literature” was considered comprehensive, but although it covered many details, it failed to encompass the true essence. Thus, it is clear that there are endless variations, and it is difficult to select the best expressions.

Those who carefully craft their writings strive for novelty and elegance, often aiming for refined language, yet few bother to study the underlying techniques. Fine jade may sometimes be mixed with stones; ordinary stones may occasionally resemble jade. Those who are meticulous are concise, while those who lack precision are also sparse; those who are knowledgeable are thorough, while those who are careless are overly complex; those who are eloquent are clear, while those who are superficial are obvious; those who are profound are hidden, while those who are deceitful are intricate. Sometimes the meaning is rich but the expression weak, or the logic is simple but the writing lacks grace. It is known that tuning bells is not easy, nor is playing the zither straightforward. Musicians do not need to fill every part of the instrument when playing in harmony; performers do not necessarily need to master the entire melody from beginning to end. Wei Wen compared literary works to music, and this comparison holds true. Without examining the root of a problem, one cannot determine whether a tool is effective; without analyzing the intricacies of writing, one cannot identify true talent. To possess true talent, one must understand the techniques; without a clear standard and proper guidelines, how can one control the flow of emotions and excel in literature?

Therefore, mastering techniques to guide one’s writing is like a skilled player who knows all the strategies; abandoning techniques and relying solely on intuition is like gambling, where success depends on chance. In such cases, the writing relies on cleverness, and though there may be initial success, it is hard to sustain it. With little to connect the parts, and even more so when there is no idea of what to cut, confusion arises regarding quantity, let alone quality. But in the case of well-structured writing, there are fixed strategies, followed in an orderly manner to match the emotions, adapting to circumstances while staying true to principles. When strategies reach their peak and timing is perfect, meaning and flavor emerge vividly, and language becomes rich and varied. Seen, it resembles colorful paintings; heard, it sounds like silk strings; tasted, it is sweet; worn, it emits a fragrant scent. The power of a well-crafted piece lies in these aspects.

Even if a horse is fast, a long leash can hinder it, causing it to fail even after traveling a long distance due to minor obstacles. Moreover, literary styles involve various techniques that complement each other; when one element combines with another, its integrity is lost. Hence, elements are arranged in a single piece to fully express all emotional nuances, like thirty spokes forming a wheel. Though not perfect, this is still the perspective of an ordinary person.

Praise: In the world of literature and writing, there are techniques and methods. One must first focus on the overall structure, thoroughly understanding its origins. By grasping the essence, one can manage complexity. Thoughts may not have fixed patterns, but principles always remain constant.

Seasons, Chapter Forty-Five

As times change and qualities evolve, how can the sentiments and principles of ancient and modern times be described? In the days of Tao Tang, virtue flourished and culture thrived; old men spoke of strength, while children sang songs of ignorance. Yu the Great continued this tradition, bringing prosperity to the people, with songs of joy sung by the nobles and hymns of praise by his ministers. What was the essence of all this beauty? It lay in joyful hearts and harmonious sounds. When Yu the Great spread civilization, people praised his achievements through songs; King Tang, out of reverence, composed odes of admiration. During the reign of King Wen, the “Zhou Nan” poems reflected diligence without resentment; under King Wu’s rule, the “Bin Feng” poems expressed joy without excess. In times of darkness and chaos, songs like “Ban” and “Dang” expressed anger; when King Ping’s power waned, “Shu Li” conveyed sorrow. Thus, it is clear that songs and literary works evolve with the times—like winds above that stir waves below.

After the Spring and Autumn period, heroes fought with weapons, the Six Classics lay neglected, and various schools of thought flourished. At that time, Han and Wei emphasized military power, while Yan and Zhao pursued authority. The “five pests” and “six vermin” led to strict laws in Qin; only Qi and Chu had significant literary traditions. Qi built grand palaces, while Chu expanded its imperial complexes. Mencius served as a guest, Xun Kuang governed a region—thus, Jixia became a center of intellectual excellence, and Lanling developed rich cultural traditions. Zou Zi gained fame for his philosophical discussions, Zuo Shi became renowned for his literary skills, Qu Yuan’s works shone like the sun and moon, and Song Yu’s writings dazzled like clouds and wind. Their brilliant works overshadowed even the “Ya” and “Song” poems, showing how extraordinary creativity could arise from unconventional ideas.

By the Han dynasty, after the burning of books, Emperor Gaozu valued martial prowess and dismissed Confucian scholars. Although rituals and laws were still in their infancy, and the “Book of Songs” and “Book of History” had not yet been fully developed, songs like “Da Feng” and “Hong He” were still masterpieces created by nature’s inspiration. Under Emperors Xiaohui and Wenjing, scholarly studies flourished, but poets were not given important roles—Jia Yi was suppressed, and Zou Mei fell from grace. When Emperor Wu honored Confucianism, he enhanced the imperial legacy, with rituals and music competing in brilliance, and poetry flourishing. Poems were composed for court banquets, and songs were written to comfort the people. Mei Cheng was summoned with honors, Shen Zhufu received generous rewards, Gongsun Zhou excelled in debates, Ni Kuan was praised for his proposals, Mai Chen carried firewood yet wore fine clothes, and Sima Xiangru cleaned utensils while wearing embroidered garments. Historians like Shi Qian and writers like Yan Zhenqing emerged, providing countless works of great quality. During the reigns of Emperors Zhao and Xuan, the legacy of Emperor Wu continued, with literary gatherings held in the Stone Channel Hall, where talented writers gathered to create magnificent works. Writers like Wang Bao waited for imperial appointments. From Emperor Yuan to Cheng, there was a focus on books and refined discussions. Zi Yun wrote thousands of poems, and Zi Zheng studied the Six Arts—both were already remarkable achievements. From the Han dynasty to the reigns of Emperors Ai and Pingling, although times changed and poets evolved over time, they generally followed the traditions of the “Chu Ci,” with Qu Yuan’s influence still evident. After the decline of the Ai and Pingling dynasties, Emperor Guangwu revived Confucianism, though he somewhat neglected literature. Yet Du Fu and Xian Zhao wrote eulogies to avoid punishment, and Ban Biao contributed to official documents—though not seeking alternatives, they did not abandon traditional methods. During the reigns of Emperors Ming and Zhang, Confucianism was highly valued, with rituals practiced in the Jade Hall and literature discussed in the Tiger Pavilion. Meng Jian wrote history, and Jia Kui composed hymns. Dongping excelled in literature, and the Prince of Pei promoted insightful theories. The emperor himself set an example, and their brilliance complemented each other. From the reigns of Emperors He and An onward, until the reigns of Emperors Shun and Huan, there were writers like Ban, Fu, the three Cuis, Wang, Ma, and Zhang.

Cai Yong was an upright and erudite scholar, never lacking in talent, yet his writings were often overlooked. After the restoration of the dynasty, many scholars began to deviate from previous traditions; they emphasized superficiality over substance, carefully selecting words from classical texts. This was due to political pressures, and gradually the scholarly spirit declined. By the time of Emperor Ling, there was a preference for rhetorical artistry—new scripts were created, and odes were composed. People like Yue Song gathered those with shallow knowledge, so Yang Xiong was given the derogatory title “Huan Dou,” while Cai Yong was compared to actors. The remaining literary works were of little value.

After Emperor Xian was displaced, literature suffered greatly. By the end of the Jian’an era, the country was slowly recovering. Emperor Wu of Wei, as prince regent, had a keen interest in poetry; Emperor Wen, as co-ruler, excelled in prose; Chen Si, as a nobleman, wrote with great eloquence. All of them possessed outstanding personalities, leading to a surge in talented individuals. Zhong Xuan went to southern Han, Kong Zhang submitted to northern Han, Wei Chang served in Qingtu, and Gong Gan went to the coastal regions. De Lian combined his brilliant thoughts, while Yuan Yu expressed his graceful style. Scholars like Wen Wei and Xiu Bo, along with Yu Shu and De Zu, held themselves with dignity at banquets and discussions, using their writing to create beautiful songs and their ink to fuel lively conversations. The literature of that era was characterized by generosity and passion, stemming from years of chaos and social unrest. Their deep aspirations and lengthy writings gave their works a forceful and energetic tone.

When Emperor Ming took control, he established rules for poetry and music, recruited talented writers, and founded institutions to promote literature. Talents like He and Liu shone brightly one after another. With successive young emperors, only those of noble and elegant character stood out, speaking with wisdom and depth. At that time, the influence of the Zhengshi era remained, with lighter styles of writing, while Ji, Ruan, Ying, and Miao thrived in the field of literature.

When the Jin dynasty was founded, Jingwen continued this tradition, emphasizing scholarly elegance and profound knowledge. Emperor Wu sought innovation, continuing the peaceful era, but he was preoccupied with literary pursuits rather than state affairs. By the time of Emperors Huai and Min, their reigns were brief. Although the Jin dynasty was not particularly literary, it still produced many talented people: Mao Xian’s writing was like scattered pearls, Tai Chong’s work was like woven brocade, Yue Zhan’s writings shone like gemstones, and Ji Yun stood out among the outstanding. Scholars like Ying, Fu, San, and Zhang, along with Sun Zhi and Cheng Gong, created elegant and refined works. Previous historians believed that in the later stages of a dynasty, people did not fully realize their potential—a truly lamentable situation.

During Emperor Yuan’s reign, literature was revived, and schools were established. Liu Diao and Li were favored for their administrative skills, while Jing Chun was promoted for his literary talent. When Emperor Ming came to power, he loved literary gatherings. As emperor, he devoted himself to the arts, refining his skills through imperial edicts and enhancing his literary prowess. Yu Xin became even more skilled with his pen, while Wen Xin grew more accomplished in his writing. They promoted the literary tradition, much like Emperor Wu of Han. During the Cheng and Kang eras, emperors lived short lives, but Jianwen emerged with a clear and rigorous style, using subtle language and profound ideas. His writings were both simple and rich in expression. When Emperor Xiaowu succeeded him, the era came to an end. In terms of history and literature, there were figures like Yuan, Yin, Cao, Sun, and Gan. Though their talents varied in depth, they were all useful.

As the central government emphasized metaphysics, the Jiangdong region flourished. The lingering influence of these ideas shaped literary styles. Thus, even in times of decline, the language remained peaceful and harmonious. Poetry reflected the principles of Confucianism, while essays conveyed the teachings of Laozi. This shows that literature changes according to the trends of society.

Rise and fall depend on the passage of time; beginning and end are connected, and even after a hundred generations, it can be understood.

Since Emperor Wu of the Song dynasty loved literature, and Emperor Wen was elegant and refined, embodying the virtues of literature, Emperor Xiaowu was talented and radiant. Starting from Emperor Ming, the balance between literature and reason shifted. Among the nobles, many emerged like colorful clouds. Wangs and Yuans united with imperial splendor, while Yans and Xies shone with phoenix-like brilliance. Those like He, Fan, Zhang, and Shen were also countless in number. Having heard of these in the world, I briefly outline the main points.

During the reign of the Imperial Qi dynasty, prosperity and peace prevailed: Emperor Taizu ruled with sage strength, Emperor Shizu continued the legacy with wisdom, Emperor Wen displayed his talents through his writings, and Emperor Gaozong revived the dynasty with profound wisdom. Civilization flourished from heaven, extending the dynasty’s glory. Now, as the holy era progresses, literary talent shines brightly; gods descend from mountains and seas, and outstanding talents emerge, riding dragons in the skies and steeds for thousands of miles. Classical texts and rituals surpass those of the Zhou and Han dynasties; the literature of the Tang and Yu dynasties reaches its peak! With such grandeur, my humble words dare to express this; I praise the times and entrust my thoughts to the wise!

Praise: It shines through ten generations, with varied expressions. Its influence spreads endlessly. Quality and style change with the times, and their rise and fall depend on selection. Though ancient times are far away, they seem as close as before.

Subject 46

As spring and autumn alternate, yin and yang shift, and the changes in nature affect our hearts. When yang energy awakens, black horses start to move; when yin energy grows strong, red birds become shy. Even insects are influenced by these changes, showing how deeply seasonal shifts affect living things. Those with noble hearts shine with purity, and their elegance attracts others—how can anyone remain calm? Thus, as the new year begins in spring, joy fills our hearts; in the hot summer months, gloom settles over us. When the sky is high and the air clear, our thoughts become distant; when snow covers everything, solemnity deepens. Each season has its own characteristics, and emotions change with them, leading to expressions in words. Even a single leaf can evoke emotions, and the sounds of insects can touch our hearts. How much more so when there’s a gentle breeze and bright moon on the same night, or sunshine accompanying the spring forest!

That’s why poets are moved by nature, finding endless ways to connect ideas. They linger among all phenomena, pondering sounds and sights. They describe natural scenes in detail, adapting to the objects they depict; they use colors and sounds to reflect their emotions. Thus, “zhaozhao” describes the freshness of peach blossoms, “yiyi” portrays the appearance of willows, “gaogao” depicts the sunrise, “shishai” resembles rain and snow, “jiejie” imitates the songs of yellow birds, and “yaoyao” mimics the sounds of insects. “Jiaorri” and “wuruo” convey meaning in just a few words; “cencici” and “wuruo” describe shapes succinctly. In this way, they capture everything in few words, leaving no detail unexpressed. Even so, thoughts continue...

After a thousand years, how easy is it to seize it? When The Lament arose, it expanded by drawing on similar themes; the myriad aspects were hard to encompass, so descriptions repeated themselves. Thus terms like “lofty” and “massive” gathered together, and expressions of lushness multiplied. With poets like Wang Changqing, their styles were intricate and their language magnificent—they depicted mountains and rivers, with each word arranged in sequence. This is what is meant by poets using elegant yet concise language, while lyricists employ vivid but elaborate phrases.

As for The Odes, it describes the hibiscus as “some yellow, some white”; The Lament speaks of autumn orchids with “green leaves” and “purple stems.” In general, when describing the five colors, it’s important to show them at appropriate times; if green and yellow appear frequently, it becomes excessive rather than precious.

Since modern times, literature has valued vivid imagery, delving into emotions and landscapes, focusing on the appearance of plants and trees. What emerges from poetry should convey profound thoughts, with exquisite depictions and close adherence to reality. Thus, words are used skillfully to capture details, like ink in a seal—no further carving is needed to depict even the smallest things. This allows one to visualize scenes through words and discern the time period from the text. Yet, while objects have constant forms, thoughts lack fixed patterns—sometimes they are created spontaneously, other times through careful reflection, which may lead to vagueness. Moreover, The Book of Songs and The Lament focus on essential elements, so later writers hesitate to compete with them. They instead draw on existing styles to create novelty, adapting to circumstances to achieve excellence—thus making the old seem fresh again. As the seasons change, simplicity is valued in inspiration; despite the abundance of descriptions, concise language is preferred, allowing flavors to linger lightly and emotions to be refreshed. Throughout history, poets from different eras have built upon one another, evolving through innovation and adaptation. Those who exhaust all descriptions yet still have lingering emotions truly understand the essence.

As for forests, mountains, and fields, they represent the depths of literary inspiration—brief mention falls short, while detailed description becomes cumbersome. So perhaps Qu Yuan’s ability to deeply understand the emotions expressed in The Book of Songs and The Lament was also aided by the natural scenery?

Praise: Mountains stack upon mountains, waters surround them; trees mix with clouds. The eyes look back and forth, and the heart breathes in rhythm. Spring days drag on, autumn winds blow fiercely—emotions flow like gifts given, and inspiration responds like replies.

Talent and Strategy, Chapter 47

The literature of the Nine Dynasties was rich and flourishing; its eloquence and brilliance can be briefly mentioned or elaborated upon. During the Yu and Xia dynasties, there were Gao Yao’s six virtues and Kui’s arrangement of the eight tones. Yi had his odes, and the Five Sons composed songs—their language was gentle and refined, serving as a model for generations. In the Shang and Zhou dynasties, Zhong Hui left his instructions, Yi Yin imparted his teachings, and poets like Ji Fu wrote The Book of Songs and The Odes—whose meanings became classics, and whose styles were worthy of emulation.

During the Spring and Autumn period, statesmen refined their rhetoric for diplomatic gatherings—like gardens full of luminous gems or shops brimming with fine fabrics. They selected the proper rituals of the State of Chu and followed the customs of the State of Jin. Zhao Cui outshone his guests with his eloquence, while Guo Qiao excelled through refinement.

Those who left official positions to engage in writing—Zi Taishu was handsome and talented in literature, while Gongsun Hui excelled in rhetorical skills; both were renowned for their literary prowess.

In times of war, military men held prominence, yet scholars never ceased to exist. The philosophers sought wisdom through their teachings, while Qu Yuan and Song Yu brought forth the “Chu Ci” with their literary talent.

Le Yi’s letters were clear and righteous in content, Fan Xu’s memorials were concise and effective, Su Qin’s speeches were persuasive and powerful, and Li Si’s self-presentations were elegant and compelling. If they had lived in an era focused on literature, they would have been on par with Yang Xiong and Ban Gu. Xun Kuang followed their traditions, creating works that combined vivid descriptions with profound meaning—a true expression of a great scholar’s spirit.

During the Han dynasty, Lu Jia was the first to showcase remarkable literary talent; he wrote “Meng Chun” and later “New Discourses,” demonstrating great eloquence. Jia Yi was exceptionally gifted, his writings swift and incisive, full of clarity and depth—truly extraordinary! Mei Cheng’s “Seven Stimuli” and Zou Yang’s memorials were rich in expression, with vivid imagery and powerful language. Zhong Shu specialized in Confucianism, while Zi Chang focused on history; both created elegant and refined works, akin to those of poets expressing sorrow. Sima Xiangru loved literature, learning from Qu Yuan and Song Yu, and achieved fame as a master of eloquent prose. Yet when examining the essence of his work, the logic often fell short of the rhetoric; hence Yang Xiong said, “Xiangru excels in elegance but lacks depth in substance”—truly a wise observation! Wang Bao crafted his works with intricate details, using subtle techniques to create a pleasing effect. Zi Yun’s writings were profound in meaning, with deep insights and elaborate expressions; he exhausted his talents in his efforts, resulting in logically sound and firmly articulated texts.

Huan Tan wrote many treatises; he was highly praised by Yi Dun and recommended by Song Hong. He was compared to Sima Xiangru, but his “Ji Ling” essays were superficial and lacked true talent. Thus, it is clear he excelled in satire but fell short in terms of elegant prose. Jing Tong had a keen interest in literary expression, yet living in troubled times, his “Xian Zhi” preface can be seen as a product of adversity. The two Bans and the two Lius continued this literary tradition. Traditional views hold that Ban Gu’s works were superior to those of Biao, due to his deeper learning and greater dedication. However, “Wang Ming” was clear and eloquent, while “Xin Xu” was comprehensive and well-structured—like precious gems found in remote mountains, hard to surpass. Fu Yi and Cui Teng were equally talented, with Yuan Shi following in their footsteps, continuing this literary tradition. Du Du and Jia Kui also made names for themselves in literature; in terms of talent, they were considered lesser than Cui and Fu. Li You wrote essays and inscriptions, aspiring to achieve greatness, but his talent was insufficient to allow him to fly. Ma Rong was a great scholar, with broad knowledge and high insight; his writings combined beauty with substance. Wang Yi was erudite and accomplished, but lacked vivid expressiveness. Yan Shou carried on his legacy, standing out with his unique style; he excelled at depicting objects and scenes—wasn’t this a continuation of Mei Cheng’s techniques? Zhang Heng was versatile and capable, while Cai Yong was refined and elegant; their literary and historical works stood out across generations. Just as bamboo and cypress may differ in form but share the same integrity, gold and jade may vary in texture but are both treasures. Liu Xiang’s memorials were meaningful yet measured in tone; Zhao Yi’s essays were complex but poorly structured. Kong Rong had great vigor in his writing, while Zhang Heng was sharp in his prose—each had their own strengths. Pan Xu relied on classical texts to showcase his talent, thus standing out among others. Wang Lang expressed his aspirations through passionate writings, also achieving excellence in prefaces and inscriptions. Yet before Xiangru and Yuan, many relied solely on their natural talent without formal education; after them, many used books to enhance their writings. This represents a significant difference between these two approaches, and their roles must not be confused.

Wei Wen’s talent was truly outstanding and elegant. Old critiques downplayed him, saying he fell short of the greats by a thousand miles; yet Zi Jian had quick thinking and exceptional talent, with poems that were beautiful and free-spirited. Zi Huan was thoughtful but lacked vigor, so he couldn’t compete with those who rose first. His Yuefu poems were clear and melodious, and his writings in “Dian Lun” were concise and insightful, using varied lengths skillfully without confusion. However, the common emotions expressed were monotonous and uniform, leading Emperor Wen to underestimate his talent due to his high status, and Prince Si to overvalue it because of his limited opportunities—these weren’t thorough evaluations. Zhong Xuan had abundant talent, quick wits, and the ability to express complex ideas clearly. His writings excelled in many aspects with few flaws. If we consider his poems and essays, he stands at the top among the Seven Masters! Lin Yu became famous for his official documents; Xu Gan distinguished himself through his essays and discussions; Liu Zhen had lofty sentiments and a rich vocabulary; Ying Rong excelled academically and achieved literary mastery. Lu Cui and Yang Xiu showed great skill in writing notes; Ding Yi and Handan also possessed fine rhetorical abilities—each worthy of recognition.

Liu Shao’s “Zhao Du” matched the works of earlier masters; He Yan’s “Jing Fu” outshone later writers. Xiu Lian’s style reflected his aspirations in “Bai Yi”; Ji Fu’s literary structure was perfected in “Lin Dan”. Ji Kang expressed his thoughts through his writings, while Ruan Ji infused his poems with his spirit—different styles yet harmonious in effect, like birds with different wings flying together.

Zhang Hua’s short essays were bright and clear. His poem “The Magpie” contained profound meanings, similar to Han Fei’s “Shuo Nan”. Zuo Si had extraordinary talent and deep insight, excelling in “Three Capitals” and standing out in “Odes to History”, putting in every effort possible. Pan Yue was quick-witted, with smooth and harmonious prose, excelling in “Western Expedition” and skilled in writing elegies. Lu Ji sought depth in his thoughts and breadth in his language, allowing him to achieve sophistication without becoming overly complicated. Shi Long was straightforward and disciplined, enabling him to create fresh and clear works, especially in short pieces. Sun Chu organized his thoughts clearly and directly; Zhi Yu expressed his feelings in a refined and gentle manner. Their evaluations and classifications were well-structured. Fu Xuan’s writings often served as models; Chang Yu’s writings adhered to principles of balance. Both had solid talents but were not as ornate as others. Cheng Gongzi An selected essays that were timely and beautiful; Xiahou Xiaoruo wrote comprehensively yet subtly. Cao Lan’s long essays were clear and elegant, while Ji Ying’s short verses were incisive—each had their own strengths. Meng Yang and Jing Yang both had exquisite talents and were comparable, akin to the governance of Lu and Wei—brothers in literature. Liu Kun’s works were noble and full of passion, while Lu Chan’s expressed emotions clearly and logically—both shaped by their times.

Jing Chun’s works were elegant and outstanding, fitting well for the revival period. His “Ritual Ode” was grand and magnificent, while his “Immortal Poems” were ethereal and soared above the clouds. Yu Yuangui’s official writings were meticulous and leisurely; Wen Taizhen’s notes followed logical patterns and were clear and smooth—both were masterful writers. Sun Sheng and Gan Bao excelled in literature as well as history, adhering to classical standards. Though their approaches differed, their writing styles were similar. Yuan Hong pursued lofty ideals, thus standing out but sometimes being one-sided; Sun Zhe followed established rules, resulting in orderly but less distinctive works. Yin Zhongwen’s solitary expressions and Xie Shuyuan’s leisurely sentiments both broke away from conventional forms, creating vague and floating tones—though full of charm, they lacked depth in meaning.

In the Song dynasty, talented writers abounded, and the era was easy to understand, so no further evaluation was needed.

Looking at the pool of talents in the Later Han dynasty, it can compare to that of the Western Capital; the literary circles of the Jin dynasty are comparable to those of Ye City. Yet in the Wei era, people always cited Yuanfeng as the pinnacle; since the Song dynasty, fine discussions also referred to Jian’an as a model. Why is this? Is it not because these were times of great reverence for literature and excellent opportunities to attract talent? Alas! This is why the ancients valued their times so much.

Praise: Talent is indeed rare! Natural endowments vary from person to person. What is compiled in one era becomes a masterpiece that endures for a thousand years. I wander through these works, finding their lingering influence. Though they may seem complex, they are clearly discernible.

The Forty-Eighth on True Friends

True friends are truly hard to find! It’s difficult to recognize true friendship, and even harder to encounter such friends—perhaps one in a thousand years! Throughout history, true friends often shared humble backgrounds yet yearned for the past. As the saying goes, “They move forward day by day without restraint, longing for each other from afar.” When “Chushi” was first written and “Zixu” completed, Emperor Qin Shi Huang and Emperor Han Wu lamented not living in the same era; yet when they were in the same era, Han Fei was imprisoned while Ma Qing was dismissed—how could they not see the inferiority of those around them? As for Ban Gu and Fu Yi, though their writings were of equal quality, Ban Gu mocked Fu Yi for being unable to stop writing. When Chen Si discussed talent, he also strongly criticized Kong Zhang, respectfully asking him to refine his work, considering it a fine example. Ji Xu liked to slander others; comparing him to Tian Ba shows his true nature. Thus, Wei Wen’s remark that “writers belittle each other” was not empty talk. As for officials who try to discuss literature, they claim that “Shi Qian wrote his books with Dongfang Shuo’s advice”—and then people like Huan Tan would laugh at them. Those are mere charlatans who speak carelessly and slanderously; how can writers engage in such reckless talk? Therefore, those who have clear insight and value the past over the present are these two rulers; those with outstanding talent but who elevate themselves at others’ expense are Ban Gu and Cao Cao; those whose knowledge falls short of their literary skills and confuse truth with falsehood are Lou Hu. How unfortunate are such opinions!

The unicorn and phoenix are utterly different from ordinary birds, just as pearls and jade differ vastly from stones. The sun shines upon them, revealing their forms. Yet the people of Lu considered a unicorn an ordinary animal, the people of Chu regarded a pheasant as a phoenix, the people of Wei thought night-lit stones were strange rocks, and the people of Song saw common stones as precious pearls. Physical objects can be easily identified, yet mistakes still arise; literary works are hard to judge—how can they be easily distinguished?

Writings are mixed and chaotic, with substance and form intertwined. People have different preferences, and no one can understand everything comprehensively. The passionate strike rhythms against the melody, while the reflective ones remain aloof and elevated. The clever ones are captivated by elegance, while those who love the unusual are amazed by the strange. Those who agree with themselves praise, while those who disagree reject—each adhering to their own interpretation, trying to grasp all possible variations. This is what is meant by “looking east but failing to see the west wall.”

One must practice a thousand tunes before understanding sound, and observe a thousand swords before recognizing their quality. Thus, to achieve thorough insight, one must first engage in broad observation.

Qiao Yue built embankments with earth, and shaped dikes by measuring the waves. Remaining impartial regarding what is slight or heavy, and unbiased in love or hate, one can then judge things fairly like with a balance and understand words as clearly as in a mirror. Therefore, when examining the emotions expressed in a text, one should first consider six aspects: first, the structure of the work; second, the choice of words; third, flexibility in expression; fourth, the balance between the unusual and the conventional; fifth, the meaning and purpose; sixth, the rhythm and harmony. Once this method is applied, distinctions between good and bad become evident.

Those who write are moved by emotion, and their words flow from that emotion. Those who read delve into the text to understand the emotions behind it, tracing the origins even in the most subtle aspects. Though one may not see the person’s face in distant times, their heart can be understood through their writings. It is not enough for a piece to be well-written; what matters is whether the understanding of it is deep. If one’s aspiration lies in landscapes, the zither expresses those emotions—how then can truth be hidden at the tip of the pen? Thus, the mind’s understanding of truth is like the eyes’ perception of form: when the eyes are sharp, no form remains hidden; when the mind is keen, no truth goes undiscovered. Yet those misled by vulgar standards discard depth in favor of superficiality—this is why Zhuangzi mocked “Zheyang” and Song Yu lamented “Bai Xue.” In ancient times, Qu Yuan said, “My writing blends substance and form, but few recognize its uniqueness.” Only true connoisseurs can appreciate such uniqueness. Yang Xiong claimed to prefer profound, magnificent writings, which shows his disdain for superficiality. Only those with deep insight and appreciation will truly delight in them, just as people gather joyfully at a spring festival or stop to enjoy delicious food on the way—just as orchids are considered the fragrance of a nation and become more fragrant when worn; books are the splendor of a nation and become more beautiful when studied carefully; only discerning gentlemen will take interest in them.

Praise: The great bell weighs ten thousand jun; its pitch is determined by Kuai. Fine books fill boxes, but only exquisite mirrors can truly assess their quality. Those who indulge in vulgar styles will never hear the true sound. Only this standard remains unerringly correct.

Chapter 49: Judging Literary Works

The “Book of Zhou” discusses scholars by comparing them to timber—what matters is both utility and aesthetic appeal. Thus, after rough cutting, red lacquer is applied; once walls are built, carvings are added. But modern writers focus on appearance at the expense of substance. Hence, Wei Wen said, “Scholars throughout history tend not to pay attention to minor details.” Wei Dan’s evaluations further criticized many talented individuals. Later generations followed suit, blending everything together—a truly sad situation!

A brief look at the flaws of writers: Sima Xiangru stole a wife for money; Yang Xiong was fond of wine and often made reckless decisions; Jing Tong lacked integrity; Du Fu made endless demands; Ban Gu flattered Dou to gain power; Ma Rong allied with Liang to amass wealth; Wen Ju was arrogant and thus executed early; Zheng Ping was foolish and killed as a result; Zhong Xuan was rash and competitive; Kong Zhang was careless and imprudent; Ding Yi was greedy and begged for money; Lu Cui was shameless; Pan Yue used deceitful tactics to gain favor; Lu Ji leaned toward Jia and Guo.

Fu Xuan was narrow-minded and slandered his superiors; Sun Chu was stubborn and sued in court. Those of this kind are all flaws associated with scholars. Since such flaws exist among scholars, they should also exist among warriors.

In ancient times, generals and ministers had many faults. For example, Guan Zhong was accused of filial impropriety; Wu Qi was known for his greed and lust; Chen Ping was involved in intrigues; Jiang Gan was slanderous and jealous. The list goes on, too numerous to count. Kong Guang held high positions but fawned over Dong Xian. Not to mention Ban and Ma, who held humble posts, or Pan Yue, who occupied low-ranking positions. Wang Rong held high ranks at the founding of the dynasty but engaged in corrupt practices by selling official positions; not to mention Ma Du, who was in dire straits, and Ding Lu, who was poor. Yet Zixia was not inferior to renowned scholars, and Jun Chong remained untainted despite living among them—this is because their reputations were high, so their criticisms were less severe. As for Qu Yuan and Jia Yi, who were loyal and upright; Zou Yan and Mei Yao, who were astute; Huang Xiang, who was extremely filial; and Xu Gan, who was reserved—can it be said that scholars must necessarily have flaws?

People are endowed with five kinds of talents, and their strengths and weaknesses vary in application. Unless one is a supreme sage, it’s difficult to possess all qualities. Generals and ministers, due to their high positions, often face criticism, while scholars, because of their lower status, are more subject to ridicule. This is why rivers surge forward while trickles dry up quickly. The rise and fall of reputations is thus determined by these factors, and the advancement or obstruction of careers also depends on them. Scholars are employed to accomplish tasks. In the state of Lu, Jing Jiang was merely intelligent as a woman. But if we consider her strategic acumen in governing the country, how could a man study literature without understanding governance? Those like Yang Xiong and Ma Yuan had literature but lacked substance, which is why they ended up in low positions. In the past, Yu Yuangui had outstanding talent and reputation, yet he wasn’t renowned in literature; if it weren’t for his achievements in military affairs, it would have been his literary talent that brought him fame. Both literary and martial skills are necessary. Xi Liu valued literature, so he was appointed as marshal—not because he favored literature over martial arts. Sun Wu’s military treatises were written in exquisite language—was it because he focused on martial arts and didn’t understand literature?

Therefore, a gentleman hides his talents and waits for the right time to act. To carry out his ambitions, he must first cultivate his inner strength and use various skills to enhance his abilities. His character should be like that of fir or nanmu trees, with a trunk as strong as that of Yuzhang wood. His literature should serve the state, and when bearing heavy responsibilities, he should be capable of taking on leadership roles. In times of hardship, he should cultivate himself and leave behind literary works; in times of prosperity, he should serve the times and achieve great things. Such a scholar truly deserves to be called a “Zi Cai” type of person.

Praise: Look at those who came before us, with their noble virtues and literary excellence. Their fame spread far south of Chu, and their influence reached beyond the north of Liang. Though they were not used as practical tools, their integrity served as an example for others. They may not have adorned themselves, but they illuminated the nation.

Preface to Volume 50

“The heart of literature” refers to the dedication required in writing. In ancient times, Juan Zi wrote about the “heart of the zither,” and Wang Sun wrote about the “heart of skill”—what beautiful concepts! That’s why they were put into practice. Throughout history, literary works have been shaped through meticulous craftsmanship; it wasn’t about adopting the trivial and superficial writings of those who merely tried to imitate the style of dragons.

Indeed. The universe is vast and boundless, with myriad beings of diverse natures; standing out among them depends solely on wisdom and skill. As time passes swiftly and human nature remains ever-changing, achieving prominence relies on creativity and effort. Humans are shaped by heaven and earth, endowed with five innate talents; they imitate the senses through sight and sound, and resonate with wind and thunder. To surpass all other things means possessing true spirituality. Though their forms are as fragile as those of plants and trees, their reputations surpass even that of metals and stones. Thus, when a gentleman engages in society, he cultivates virtue and offers wise counsel—why would he seek eloquence? It’s only when necessary!

I began dreaming at the age of seven of colorful clouds like brocades, and I would climb up to pick them. By the time I was old enough to stand, I dreamed at night of holding ritual vessels made of cinnabar and lacquer, traveling south with Confucius. Waking up in the morning, I felt overjoyed—how great! The sages are so rare to see, yet here was such a dream for a mere child! Since the beginning of humanity, no one has been like the Master. To expound on the sage’s teachings, nothing surpasses annotating the classics. Scholars like Ma and Zheng have refined this work to great extent, but even with deep insights, it isn’t sufficient to establish a complete system. Only literature truly serves as an extension of the classics; the Five Rites rely on it to take shape, and the Six Archives depend on it for practical application. It is through these that rulers and subjects can shine brightly, and that military and state affairs can be conducted clearly. Tracing their origins, everything stems from the classics. Yet, as time has passed since the sages, literary styles have become fragmented. Writers prefer the unusual, favoring flowery and obscure language, adorning their writings with embellishments, drifting further and further from their roots until distortion and corruption set in. The “Book of Zhou” discusses rhetoric, emphasizing its essence; Confucius’ teachings condemn heresy—thus, the profundity of rhetorical instruction should be grasped through its essence. That’s why I picked up a pen and ink to begin discussing literature.

There are many discussions on literature from modern times: for example, Wei Wen’s commentary on the classics, Chen Si’s preface to books, Ying Rong’s literary essays, Lu Ji’s “Rhapsody on Literature,” Zhong Zhi’s “Classification of Styles,” and Hong Fan’s “Hanlin Essays.” Each covers only a small aspect, rarely providing a comprehensive view. Some evaluate the talents of their time, some assess the works of earlier scholars, some discuss the differences between refined and vulgar styles, and some summarize the themes of individual texts. Wei Wen’s commentary is detailed but incomplete; Chen Si’s preface is persuasive but inaccurate; Ying Rong’s essays are elegant but superficial; Lu Ji’s rhapsody is clever but disorganized; “Classification of Styles” is precise but lacks depth; “Hanlin Essays” is shallow and lacks substance. Moreover, writers like Jun Shan and Gong Gan, as well as Ji Fu and Shi Long, discuss literary themes in general terms, often failing to delve deep enough to trace origins or understand fundamentals. Failing to convey the teachings of the ancient sages is of no use to future generations.

The “Art of Writing” is based on the Dao, guided by the sages, rooted in the classics, informed by supplementary texts, and influenced by the Songs. It represents the core of literature, reaching its pinnacle. As for discussing literature and writing techniques, it involves distinguishing categories, tracing origins to explain outcomes, defining terms to clarify meanings, selecting texts to form chapters, and organizing principles to establish coherence. In the upper sections, the framework becomes clear. As for analyzing emotions and styles, organizing elements systematically—covering “spirit” and “nature,” “trends” and “forces,” “connections” and “unity,” “sounds” and “characters”—evaluating changes over time, praising or criticizing based on talent, expressing longing for kindred spirits, considering limitations in abilities, and always keeping in mind the purpose of each chapter—these aspects become evident in the lower sections. By establishing principles and naming elements, the system aligns with the principles of the Great Yian. In total, there are forty-nine chapters for practical use in writing.

To write a preface is easy; to synthesize various opinions is difficult. Even if one examines every detail and delves deep into the essence, there are still countless subtle nuances that words cannot capture. When such synthesis takes shape in written form, some aspects may resemble earlier discussions—not out of coincidence, but because it’s inevitable they should be similar; others may differ from previous theories—not arbitrarily, but because the principles involved simply cannot be the same. Whether similar or different, regardless of time periods, the goal is to find a balanced approach by analyzing thoroughly. The literary style employed here is elegant and rich in embellishments, almost complete in every regard. Yet words cannot fully convey meaning—a challenge even for sages. With limited knowledge, how can one hope to achieve perfection? The distant past lies beyond my understanding; as for the future, who knows what will be.

Praise: Life has limits, but wisdom knows no bounds. Pursuing external things is difficult, while relying on one’s nature is easy. Proud as rocks and springs, I ponder over texts and meanings. If literature truly reflects the heart, then my heart finds solace therein.

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