Ziji — The Author’s Own Account自紀篇

Wang Chong was a man of Shangyu in Kuaiji, and his style name was Zhongren. His forebears were of one clan of Yuancheng in Wei commandery. A descendant of theirs, some generations back, once followed the army and had merit, and was enfeoffed at Yangting in Kuaiji. Within a single year the holding was suddenly cut off, and they made their home there. They took farming and the mulberry for their trade. The forebears of the line were bold and gave rein to their temper, and in the end none of them was well measured by others. When the harvest failed they blocked the roads, wounding and killing, and their enemies were many. It happened that the age fell into disorder, and fearing to be seized by their enemies, the grandfather Fan loaded the whole household on carts and went to the safety of Kuaiji. They stayed in Qiantang county and took trading for their work. He begot two sons. The elder was called Meng and the younger Song, and Song was Chong's father. The line had given rein to its temper for generations, and with Meng and Song it grew worse still. So Meng and Song, while in Qiantang, bore down on others with a bold force. At the last they made a feud with the powerful house of Ding Bo and others, and the whole household moved to Shangyu.

In the third year of Jianwu, Chong was born. As a small boy he roamed and played with his fellows, and did not care for rough mockery. His fellows liked to net sparrows, catch cicadas, gamble with coins and climb trees, but Chong alone would not. Song thought him remarkable. At six he was taught letters. He was respectful and willing, kind and obedient, full of ritual and reverence, grave and quiet, with the will of one who serves. His father never caned him, his mother never blamed him, and the village never rebuked him. At eight he went out to the writing school. The small boys in the writing school were more than a hundred, and all of them were stripped and punished for faults, or beaten for ugly writing. Chong's writing advanced day by day, and he had no faults. When his hand was formed, he took leave of his teacher and received the Analects and the Documents, reciting a thousand characters a day. When the classics were clear to him and his virtue was made, he declined his teacher and kept to his own study. He took up the brush, and the many thought him remarkable. The writings he read also grew broader and more numerous by the day. His talent was high, but he did not esteem careless composition. His mouth could argue, but he did not care for debate and repartee, and if a man was not the right man he would not speak with him all day. His discourses at first seemed to run counter to the many, but hear them out to the end and the many then held them right. So it was when he made writings with his brush, and so it was when he served his superiors by his conduct. In his county he rose to the post of clerk and merit officer; in the office of the commandant his post was also clerk and merit officer; under the grand administrator he was a ranked clerk, officer of the five bureaus and acting officer; and entering the province he became an attendant clerk. He did not care to seek a name in the age, and did not make himself seen by the general through gain or harm. He always spoke of the strong points of others and seldom of their short ones. He gave himself to recommending those who had not yet come through, and explained away the faults of those who had already risen. As for those he thought not good, he still did not praise them, and if they had a fault he did not explain away, he still did not push them down. He could excuse a man's lesser fault, and he grieved as well at a man's small wrong. He liked to keep himself whole and would not put himself forward. He worked to make conduct and integrity his ground, and was ashamed to be named for talent and ability. When many gathered at a sitting, he did not speak unless he was asked; when granted audience with lord or general, he did not answer unless it came to him. In his village he longed for the integrity of Qu Boyu; at court he coveted the conduct of Shi Ziyu. When he was fouled and hurt, he would not clear himself; when his post did not advance, he harbored no grudge. He was poor, with not one acre to shelter him, yet his will was more at ease than a king's or a duke's; he was lowly, with not a peck or a bushel of salary, yet his mind was as if he ate ten thousand measures. Getting office he did not rejoice; losing his place he bore no grudge. Dwelling in ease and pleasure, his desires were not let loose; living in poverty and hardship, his will did not tire. He read the old writings deeply and found it sweet to hear strange words. In the books of the age and the common sayings there was much that did not sit well with him, so he dwelt in a hidden place, living alone, and examined and discussed the true and the empty.

Chong was pure and weighty as a man. In his going about he always chose his friends and did not care for careless company. If a friend's place was low and his years young, yet his conduct truly left the common run, he would surely be his friend. He liked outstanding friends and elegant company, and did not tie himself loosely to common talents. A common talent, taking hold of some small fault of his, sent up a slip against him and pushed him down, yet to the end he did not clear himself, nor did he blame or resent the man. Someone says, "You have fine talent and remarkable writings, and you were pushed down without guilt. Why do you not state your case? Yang Sheng and his sort polished their mouths and oiled their tongues; Zou Yang cleared himself, went into prison and came out again. If a man truly has whole and complete conduct, it is not fitting that others should find a flaw in him; and if he can already exert himself and speak out, it is not fitting that others should bend him." I answer: What is not clean does not show dust; what is not high does not show danger; what is not broad does not show cutting; what is not full does not show waning. When a gentleman has many mouths against him and is pushed down by others, it is perhaps fitting as well. A man who likes to advance therefore clears himself; a man who hates to withdraw therefore states his case. I have no likes and hates, and so I am silent and say nothing. That Yang Sheng slandered was perhaps someone's doing; that Zou Yang got free was perhaps someone's pulling. Confucius spoke of the decree and Mencius spoke of Heaven. Good luck and bad, safety and danger, do not lie with man. The men of old saw this, and so they gave it back to the decree and left it to the time, vast and untroubled, with nothing to resent or blame. When blessing comes they do not call it their own getting; when disaster comes they do not call it their own doing. So when the time advances the mind does not count itself rich, and when the time withdraws the will does not count itself lessened. He does not shrink from loss in order to seek fullness, nor shun danger in order to run to level ground; he does not sell his wits to fish for salary, nor decline rank to angle for a name; he does not covet advancement in order to clear himself, nor hate withdrawal in order to resent others. He holds safety and danger the same and makes death and life equal; he levels good luck and bad and makes defeat and success one; and meeting ten Yang Shengs he calls it no harm. His movement goes back to Heaven, and so he does not clear himself.

Chong was calm by nature and did not covet wealth and rank. When his superiors knew him and he was pulled up out of turn, he did not long for high office. When his superiors did not know him and he was demoted, cast out, held down and bent, he was not angry at a low place. One after another he was a clerk in the county, and there was nothing he chose or avoided. Someone says, "Your mind is hard and your conduct easy; you love friends of one will, yet in office you do not choose your ground. A muddy integrity harms conduct. How is the age to take it for a model?" I answer: There is no better model than Confucius. In Confucius's service there was nothing he avoided. When he was keeper of the flocks and clerk of stores, he felt no vexation; when he was minister of works and chancellor of state, he had no look of delight. When Shun plowed at Mount Li, it was as if he would never get free of it; and when he received Yao's abdication, it was as if he had come to it of himself. Grieve that virtue is not rich, and do not worry that rank is not honored; be ashamed that the name is not white, and do not hate that the place does not move. Chuiji jade and a roof tile may share one casket, and the bright moon pearl and a pebble one bag, but if there is truly the substance of the two treasures, it does no harm to be counted the same by the age. If the age can know goodness, then though a man be lowly he is still made plain; if it cannot tell white from black, then though he be honored he is still shamed. To dwell low and keep an integrity level with the high, to be low in place and match virtue with the noble, this is enough.

The common nature covets advancement and makes light of withdrawal, gathers to success and casts off failure. When Chong was raised up and in place, the many clung to him like ants; when he was put aside and withdrew and lived in straits, his old friends turned away and left. He set his mind on how thin the kindness of common men is, and so, living at leisure, he made the twelve chapters of "Ji su" and "Jie yi". He hoped that common men would look at the book and wake of themselves, so he laid its meaning bare and gathered it in common words. Someone blamed him and called it shallow. I answer: Show the canon of the sages to a man of small refinement, explain in elegant words to the country folk, and they do not get what they can understand, and not one of them fails to turn against it. So Su Qin explained with great precision in Zhao, and Li Dui was not pleased; Shang Yang explained the kingly way to Qin, and Duke Xiao did not use it. When a man does not get what his mind and will desire, then though you exhaust the words of Yao and Shun it is still like giving an ox wine to drink and feeding a horse dried meat. So great, fine, deep and lovely words bear on the large and do not get through to the small. Heard by force, when there is no help for it, little of them enters the breast. Confucius lost a horse in the fields, and the countryman shut it up and would not give it back. Zigong praised him with subtlety and he grew angry; the groom spoke to him in jest and he was pleased. When the common man understands words laid open, to press deep and great writing on him is like blending the medicine of the immortals to treat a stuffed nose and a cough, or making a robe of sable and fox to gather firewood and greens. Moreover, in ritual there are things not waited for, and in affairs there are things not needed. To judge a case and know the guilt, one need not be Gao Yao; to blend mallow and leek, one does not wait for Di Ya; for the music of the lanes, the "Shao" and the "Wu" are not used; for the sacrifice of a village mother, the great offering is not waited for. There are things not needed, and there are also things not fitting. To cut a chicken with an ox knife, to gather mallow with a spread halberd, to trim chopsticks with an axe, to pour a cup from a tub, when great and small lose their fitness, few call it good. What makes argument? To liken the deep by the shallow. What makes wisdom? To liken the hard by the easy. The worthy and the sage weigh what is fitting to their material, and so their writing can have degrees of deep and shallow.

Chong hated the common feeling, and made the book "Ji su". He also pitied the ruler's government: it wished only to govern men, but did not get its fitness and did not understand its business, and though it wearied its spirit and worked its thought bitterly, it did not see where to go. So he made the book "Zhengwu". He also grieved that false books and common writings were often not true and sincere, and so he made the book "Lunheng". When the worthy and the sage were gone, the great meaning was split. It stumbled and ran different ways, and each man opened his own gate. Men of broad learning looked it over and could not fix and weigh it. What was heard from far off and handed down, written with the brush and taken by the ear, lies a hundred years back. As the days pass and it grows older, men take it for a matter of high antiquity and say that what it tells is near to right. Their belief enters the bone and cannot be undone of itself, and so he made the "Shi lun". Its writing is full and its argument contends, and there is no floating, flowery, empty or false saying that it does not settle clear. It sinks flowery and empty writing and keeps the thick and large plainness; it orders the manners that have drifted and been lost, and turns them back to the ways of Fuxi.

Chong's book is laid open and easy to look at. Someone says, "The man whose mouth argues, his words are deep; the man whose brush is quick, his writing sinks down. Look at the writings of the classics and the arts and the words of the worthy and the sage: they are great, weighty, ample and elegant, hard to understand and see at once. Those in the age who read them come down to them only through the old glosses. It is because the talent of the worthy and the sage is great that their writing and speech do not get through to the common. Jade hides among the rocks and the pearl is hidden in the belly of a fish, and none but the jade worker and the pearl master can dig them out and get them. A treasure is hidden and shut away and is not seen, and true words too should be sunk deep and hard to fathom. The book "Ji su" wished to wake common men, so it laid its meaning open and made a writing that divides and distinguishes. Why is the book "Lunheng" the same again? Can it be that the talent has a shallow limit and cannot cover deep? Why is the writing so plain to see, on a different track and rut from those classics and arts?"

I answer: Jade hides among the rocks and the pearl is hidden in the belly of a fish, and so they are deeply covered. But when the jade's color is split out of the heart of the stone and the pearl's light comes out of the fish's belly, are they hidden still? While my writing is not yet gathered on the tablets and slips and lies stored in my breast, it is like the jade hidden and the pearl in hiding; and when it comes out and shows, it is like the jade split and the pearl brought forth, bright as the lights of heaven shining, smooth as the veins of earth made plain, so that what is doubtful and hidden and fine can all be named and put in its place. And when the name is white, the matter settles itself.

The "Lunheng" is the balance of discourse. The mouth works to make its words clear, the brush works to lay its writing open. The elegance of a high gentleman is such that in his words there is nothing that cannot be understood and in his meaning nothing that cannot be seen. Those who look and read are as clear as a blind man opening his eyes, as bright as a deaf man whose ears come through. When a child blind three years at last sees his father and mother, if he does not know them plainly, how should he gladly rejoice? The great tree beside the road and the long ditch at the edge of the moat stand where all can see, and there is no one who does not know them. Make the tree small and hidden and the ditch short and out of sight, and show them to men so, and Yao and Shun themselves would be at a loss. The parts of a man's face and color are more than seventy. When the flesh of the cheek is bright and clean and the five colors are distinct, then hidden grief and joy can all be discerned, and those who read them by divination do not miss one in ten. Make the face dark and black and ugly, and the grime lie thick and cover the parts, and those who read them by divination miss nine in ten.

Now writing comes out of speech. Some of it is shallow and open and divides things, some is deep and roundabout and ample and elegant. Which is the arguer? So a man speaks with his mouth to make his will clear, and fearing that the words will perish and be lost, he sets them down in written characters. Characters and speech run the same way. Why then should they still hide and shut up the meaning? In a case at law that touches a doubtful guilt, when a high officer settles a doubtful matter, if this one is muddled and hard to understand and that one is clear and can be known, which is the good clerk? Discourse by mouth takes clearness for fairness, argument by brush takes openness for getting through, and the writing of a clerk takes plain discernment for goodness. Deeply covered, canonical and elegant, with a meaning hard to see, that belongs to rhapsody and hymn alone. In the writings of the classics and commentaries and the words of the worthy and the sage, speech differs between old and new and talk differs among the four quarters. When they spoke of their affairs, they did not work to make them hard to know and to shut their meaning away. That later men do not understand them is because the ages lie far apart. This is called a difference of speech; it is not called greatness of talent. If a shallow writing is read and is hard to understand, it is called want of skill; it is not called brightness of knowledge. The First Emperor of Qin read Han Fei's book and sighed, "That I alone should not be of the same time as this man!" His writing could be understood, and so his matter could be pondered. Had it been deep and great and ample and elegant, so that one had to wait for a teacher before learning it, he would have thrown it on the ground. What sighing would there have been? He who writes with the brush wishes it to be easy to understand and hard to make; he does not prize what is hard to know and easy to put together. He who discourses with his mouth works to loosen and divide so that it can be heard; he does not work to be deep and roundabout and hard to see. Mencius judged a worthy man by whether the pupil of his eye was bright and clear; judge a writing by whether the meaning can be understood.

Chong's book runs counter to the common. Someone objects, "Writing is prized when it goes along with the mind of the many and does not cross men's will, so that a hundred read it and none blames it, and a thousand hear it and none finds it strange. So Guanzi said, 'Speak in the chamber and it fills the chamber; speak in the hall and it fills the hall.' Now your sayings are mostly not the same as the age's, and so your writing pricks the common and does not fit the many."

I answer: Discourse prizes what is right and does not work for flowers; a matter esteems what is so and does not exalt agreement. Discourse and argument sift the so from the not so. How then can they not turn the settled mind about and go against the common ear? When the mind of the many is wrong, it is not followed, so that their falsehood is lost and cast out and their truth is kept and fixed. If one were to go along with the mind of men, then he would follow the old and keep to the elegant, and recite and rehearse, no more. What argument is there in that? Confucius sat in attendance on Duke Ai of Lu, and the duke gave him a peach and some millet. Confucius ate the millet first and the peach after. It may be said that he had the order of eating right, yet those to right and left all covered their mouths and laughed, because they had been steeped in custom for a long day. Now I am truly like Confucius with his order of eating, and that common men go against me is like those to right and left covering their mouths. To sing the elegant songs well is taken in Zheng for a thing that grieves a man; the dance of ritual is taken in Zhao for no good thing. The canons of Yao and Shun the Five Hegemons would not look at; the books of Confucius and Mozi the Ji and the Meng would not read. The plan that makes danger safe is cast out in the lanes; the words that would order the age are reviled among the common sort. Here is a fine flavor, and common men do not relish it, but Di Ya eats it with pleasure. Here is a treasure of jade, and common men throw it away, but Bian He wears it at his belt. Who is right and who is wrong? Who is to be trusted? That ritual and custom turn their backs on each other, in what age is it not so? When Duke Wen of Lu made the sacrifice in reversed order, three men turned against it. It seems that words that are right alone are not let go by the high gentleman and are not liked by the common fellow, while books that lead the many astray are rejoiced in and hymned by the worthy, and fled from headlong by the foolish.

Chong's book cannot be purely beautiful. Someone says, "The mouth has no words to pick over, the brush no writing to pick over. Writing must be fine and pleasing, speech must argue and be deft. When words are clear to the ear, the matter is savory to the mind; when writing is plain to the eye, the chapter stays in the hand. So there is no argued word that is not listened to, and no fine writing that is not copied. Now your new book lies in discourse and likeness, and its explaining of the common goes crosswise; it is also not beautiful and pleasing, and gives no joy in the looking. When Shi Kuang tuned the notes, no tune failed to move to sorrow; when Di Ya blended the dishes, no morsel had a flat taste. So when a man of broad learning makes a book, the writing has no gap or foulness. The "Lüshi" and the "Huainan" were hung at the gate of the market, and of those who looked and read not one reviled a single word. Now yours has not the beauty of the two books, and though its writing is much and full, still there is much blame and reviling of it." I answer: He who nurses the fruit does not raise the blossom; he who tunes his conduct does not adorn his words. Rank grass has many flowers, a thick wood many withered branches. In making writing one wishes to make plain and white what one does. How can one make writing that has no blame or reviling? In putting out a fire and pulling out the drowning, right conduct cannot be pretty; in arguing right and wrong, words cannot be deft. Going into the marsh after a tortoise, there is no leisure to place the feet; catching a water dragon in the deep pool, there is no leisure to settle the hands. When words are crooked and speech is spare, the meaning is subtle and reaches far; when speech is sweet and writing is steep, the intent works at the shallow and small. Of a thousand measures of rice grain, chaff and husk are more than half; count out a hundred million cash and the strings break and ten thousand spill. The great broth must have a flat taste, the highest treasure must have a flaw and a stain, the great tablet must have a great good in it, the good workman must have his want of skill. So the argued word must have somewhere it gives way, and the writing of a man of broad learning must still have something to cast out. To call words gold arises from the rich house; to call writing dung comes of itself from the mean house. That the "Huainan" and the "Lüshi" have no burden or harm comes of this, that those they came from were rich in house and noble in office. Being noble, they could be hung in the market; being rich, they had a thousand gold for a prize. Those who looked and read were in dread and fear and taboo, and though they saw what was crooked and did not fit, how should they dare to blame one word?

Chong's book being finished, some measured it against the old and found it not like the men before. Someone says, "They call it dressing up the years and pairing off phrases, now straight, now roundabout, now bent, now stretched. They call it discoursing on the Way, but the real matters are petty and fussy and the writing gives sweet and sour. Match it with the classics and it is not borne out; gather it with the commentaries and it does not fit; examine it by Zichang and it does not answer; put it in with Yang Ziyun and it does not go in. The writing is not like what came before. How can it get the name of fine and be called skilled?" I answer: He who dresses his looks to force a likeness loses his form; he who tunes his words to work at resemblance loses his feeling. The sons of a hundred men do not share father and mother; born of different kinds, they need not be like one another, and each by what he has received is good in his own way. If writing must agree with something before it is called good, then it is as if a man were called skilled only when he took the carpenter's place at the axe and did not hurt his hand. The work of men of letters has each its own following. One tunes his words to make his writing skilled; another sifts the false to make matters true. If plan and thought must agree and phrases must follow one another, then the Five Emperors did not differ in their doings and the Three Kings did not differ in their works. Beautiful colors are not one face, yet all are fine to the eye; sorrowful tones are not one sound, yet all are pleasing to the ear. Ale and sweet wine differ in their air, yet drink them and all make drunk; the hundred grains differ in taste, yet eat them and all fill. To say that writing must agree with what came before is to say that Shun's brows should again have eight colors and Yu's eyes should again have double pupils.

Chong's book is heavy in writing. Someone says, "Writing is prized when it is brief and its meaning gets through; speech is esteemed when it is spare and its drift is clear. The words of a man of argument are terse and reach their end; the phrases of a man of letters are few and yet plain. Now the new book you have made runs past ten thousand words. It is crowded and not cut down, so the reader cannot get to the end of it; its chapters are not one, so the transmitter cannot hold them all. It takes the name of a restless man, and makes much into a thing not good. When speech is brief it is easy to say; when writing is heavy it is hard to get. Jade is little and stone is much, and what is much is not held precious; dragons are few and fish are many, and what is few is of course held divine." I answer: There is that in these words. It may be that essential words are never many and flowery writing never few. What is of use to the age does no harm at a hundred chapters; what is of no use adds nothing in a single section. If all are of use, then the many is above and the few below. Pile up a thousand gold and set it beside a hundred: which is the rich man? It seems that in writing the much beats the little, and in wealth the little is the poorer. The age has not one roll and I have a hundred chapters; men have not one character and I have ten thousand words. Which of them is the worthy? Now they do not say that what is said is wrong, but say it is far too much; they do not say the age does not love goodness, but say it cannot hold it all. This, it seems, is why my book cannot be cut down. Where houses are many the land cannot be small; where households are many the registers cannot be few. Now the matters that have lost their truth are many and flowery and empty sayings are many. Words that point to the real, settle what is fitting, and argue and contend, how can they be brief and take a short road? Han Fei's book has not one item that differs, yet its chapters are numbered by tens and its words are counted by ten thousands. When the body is large, the coat cannot be narrow; when matters are many, the writing cannot be narrow. Matters many and writing ample is water great and fish many. In the emperor's capital the grain is much; in the king's market shoulder rubs shoulder. Though the book be heavy in writing, the things it discusses are a hundred kinds. Look at Taigong Wang of old and Dong Zhongshu of late: the commentaries and books they made are more than a hundred chapters, and my book too barely passes a hundred, yet they say it is far too much. It seems this means that what it came from is slight, and those who look and read cannot help blaming and scolding. Set the waters of the Yellow River, rolling on, beside the many streams: which is the great one? Say of the worm's cocoon, heavy and thick, how much silk it gives: which is the one that gives much?

Chong in office often did not find his match, and merely wrote a book to record himself. Someone said in jest, "What makes great talent prized is that in office it finds its match and fits, the man is taken in and his sayings accepted, matters are gained and merit is set up, and so it is high. Now you, sir, have crossed the age in ruin. In office you have often been cast out and driven off; your talent is not yet drilled in affairs and your strength not yet spent on your duty. So you only think in the dark and string writing together, making records and fine words. What does it add to you? With so much, what do you mean to shift?" I answer: In greatness of talent there is none above Confucius. Confucius's talent was not taken in. He was driven out and chased off; a tree was felled over him; he caught up his rinsing rice and left; he was surrounded; his tracks were wiped away; he was starved in straits in Chen and Cai, and his disciples had the color of herbs. Now my talent does not reach Confucius, and the hardship of finding no match is not yet equal to his. Can that alone be made light of? Moreover, the man who gets through need not have knowledge, and the man in straits need not be a fool. He who meets his time gets it; he who does not meet it loses it. So when the decree is thick and the salary good, a common man is honored and made plain; when the decree is thin and the salary bad, the rare and outstanding man goes to ruin. If by matching and fitting one called out talent and measured virtue, then the men who hold a city to themselves and eat its land would be worthier in talent than Confucius and Mozi. When the man is noble and the name is mean, then his dwelling is clean and his conduct is black. To eat a salary of a thousand measures and have not one good point of virtue, that may indeed be jested at. But to be high in virtue and white in name, low in office and thin in salary, is no fault of talent and ability, and is not enough to be counted a burden. A gentleman would rather share a hut with Yuan Xian than long to share a carriage with Zigong; he is glad to travel in company with Bo Yi and does not covet matching tracks with Robber Zhi. What the high gentleman prizes is not level with the common, and so his name and repute are not the same as the age's. That my body should rot together with grass and trees while my voice shines together with sun and moon, that my conduct should match Confucius in straits and my writing be paired with Yang Ziyun, this I count my glory. To be free in the body and in straits in knowledge, great in office and thin in virtue, is glory to them and a burden to me. To match and fit and be taken in and accepted, honored in person and at ease in body, and then a hundred years after to perish along with things, the name not flowing down to a single heir, the writing not left on a single tablet, though office should tip the granary, the virtue of letters is not rich, and it is not what I hold good. Virtue broad and deep and lovely, knowledge brimming and overflowing, a brush that runs and pours and gathers like rain, speech that swells and comes forth like a spring, talent made rich and knowledge to spare, conduct made noble and the will held high, the body ranged in one age and the name handed down a thousand years, this is what I call being out of the common.

Chong is of a slight clan and a lonely gate. Someone mocked him, saying, "Your ancestors left no ground of purity and beauty, and your family's brush and ink left no chapters or records behind. Though you make great and fine discourses, you have no steps received to climb by, and in the end it does not make you high. When a breath comes suddenly with no gradual approach, it is called a mutation; when a thing is born wildly with no kind of its own, it is called a strangeness; when what is not always there shows all at once, it is called a portent; when a thing goes against the many and juts out, it is called a monster. Whom do you take for an ancestor? Your forebears are not on record. Still less have you ever trodden the path of ink or come out of the Confucian gate, yet you spew out discourses of many thousand words. Fitly this is a portent and a mutation. How can such writing be held a treasure and called much worthiness?" I answer: Among birds there is no phoenix by descent, among beasts no unicorn by breed, among men no sage or worthy by ancestry, among things nothing always fine and precious. That high talent meets with bending is the doing of the time it meets. Because a gentleman is precious he rises alone; because a thing is precious it is born by itself. When was writing ever a matter of copying the worthy? That would be to say that the sweet spring has an old source and the fine grain an old root. When a bent and remarkable gentleman appears, outstanding phrases are born. His measure does not fit with the common, and the horns of the common sort cannot gauge him. Therefore tracks that are rarely made are written in the tablets and registers, and things that rarely come forth are cut in the inscription on the cauldron. The Five Emperors did not rise in one age; Yi Yin and Taigong Wang did not come out of one house. A thousand miles have different tracks, a hundred years a different rising. A gentleman prizes elegant talent and rises with care; he does not make himself plain and get through by leaning on a high station. The dam is black and the calf red, yet it does no harm to the victim; the forebears are muddy and the offspring clear, yet that does not shame the remarkable man. Gun was evil and Yu a sage; Gusou was stubborn and Shun divine. Bo Niu lay sick and Zhonggong was clean and whole; Yan Lu was common and dull and Hui was outstanding beyond his kind; the ancestors of Confucius and Mozi were fools and Qiu and Di were sage and worthy; the house of Yang did not get through and out of it stood Yang Ziyun; the Huan family were of the sort one may look into and turning about there came out Junshan. It is from the prime that a man takes his endowment anew, and so he can make writings.

Because his household moved, Chong was called out to Danyang, Jiujiang and Lujiang in the province of Yangzhou. Later he came in as officer of the center. His talent was small and his charge large, and his duty lay in cutting and carving, so that his thought for brush and tablet slept and lapsed for years. He left the province and lived at home. His years drew on toward seventy, and it was time to hang up the carriage. The road of office was cut off, and his will was in straits with nothing it could do. In affairs there is the not so and the so; in the body there is gain and harm. His hair went white and his teeth fell out; sun and moon passed further on; his fellows grew ever fewer, and there was little to lean and rely on. He was poor and had no keeping, and his will had no delight or ease. The reckoning of the years crept on to the border of geng and xin. Though he feared that he would die at the end of it, his folly still ran over, and so he made the book "Yang xing", sixteen chapters in all. Nurse the breath and keep to yourself, take wine when the time is fit, shut the eyes and stop the ears, spare the essence and keep yourself whole, and help it fitly by taking medicines and drawing the breath. So he hoped that nature and the span might be lengthened, and that for a little while he might not grow old. It was already late and there was no going back, so he handed down his book to show those who come after. Only, the nature and span of man have their term of long or short. Man too is a creature and a thing, and dying and living are of one time. The years are but written down; who can make them stay? Still he enters the Yellow Springs and melts away into earth and ash. From the Yellow Emperor and Tang Yao above, down to Qin and Han and after, he weighed it by the way of the sage and looked into the pattern by a talent that gets through, level as the balance, open as the mirror. Young and old, living and dying, old and new, there is nothing he has not set out in full. The span is not lengthened. Alas, and how sorrowful!