《刘子》Vol. 2

“Could you not have killed him? Why injure your own body for no reason? How would that bring you closer to Xiangzi?” Yu Rang, a man of the state of Jin in the late Spring and Autumn period who once sought revenge for Zhibo, replied, “How could someone accept another man’s stipend and then harbor the intention to kill him? I will not do such a thing.”

Later, Yu Rang waited until Xiangzi went out, hid beneath a bridge, and prepared to assassinate him. When Xiangzi reached the bridge, his horse suddenly shied. Xiangzi said, “Could that be Yu Rang?” He sent people to search, and they found Yu Rang.

Xiangzi reproached him: “Earlier, you hid in a latrine and tried to assassinate me. I spared you. Now you have come to try again. By rights, your crime deserves death. You once served the Fan and Zhongxing clans. When Zhibo destroyed them, why did you not kill Zhibo for their sake? Why insist on killing me?”

Yu Rang replied: “When I served the Fan and Zhongxing clans, they treated me as an ordinary man, so I repaid them as an ordinary man would. Zhibo, however, treated me with the courtesy due to a man of exceptional standing in the state. So I wished to repay him with that same courtesy, and I will have no regrets even in death. I ask only that Your Majesty give me the clothes you are wearing, so I can strike them with my sword. Then I can go to my death.”

Xiangzi took off his clothes and gave them to him. Yu Rang widened his eyes and cried out loudly as he struck the garment with his sword. Having struck the clothes, he had fulfilled his wish. Before long, he died. Xiangzi felt troubled as Yu Rang struck the garment, but afterward his feelings gradually settled.

Yu Rang’s fame became renowned, and his honor spread throughout his age. Though he had damaged his own body in the lands of Wei and Zhao to repay his former lord’s kindness, he still felt he had not fully repaid the gratitude owed to one who had truly recognized him. “Leaving the left seat empty” refers to clearing the left-hand seat in a carriage as a mark of respect. “The treatment due to a man of exceptional standing in the state” refers to Zhibo treating Yu Rang with the courtesy owed to such a man.

Some people in the world will risk their lives without hesitation. If they are willing to give up their lives for a small reward, they are like a blind person longing to see or someone with disabled feet longing to walk: the eyes cannot open after all, and the feet cannot stretch out. All they can do is grieve in vain.

Recommending the Worthy, Chapter Nineteen

A state needs worthy people just as a cart depends on wheels and a boat on oars. A cart cannot move without wheels, and a boat cannot cross the water without oars. A state without worthy people cannot be governed.

When a state has many worthy people, it is like entrusting a cart to Zaofu, the skilled charioteer of King Mu of Zhou, or a boat to a Yue native skilled in sailing. People need not toil to cross a great river, nor walk on their own feet to travel a thousand miles or even reach Penglai, the legendary island home of immortals in the sea.

If the court lacks worthy people, it is like a phoenix that has lost its wings: though it would lift its back to brush the blue sky and thrust its breast into the red clouds, it could never do so. A towering mountain is not piled up from a single stone, a lofty pavilion is not built from a single beam, and a white fox fur robe is not made from the fur beneath just one fox’s foreleg. In the same way, governing all under Heaven cannot be accomplished by relying on a single worthy person.

For this reason, rulers of old always gathered worthy people and invited recluses to serve. Their ministers, in turn, recommended talent and put forward people of insight. During the reign of Tang Yao, eight worthy men were appointed in succession, earning renown for harmony between ruler and ministers. King Wu of Zhou was supported by ten capable ministers, and later generations praised his court for its wealth of talent.

When Confucius was in the state of Wei, Zhao Yang of Jin had planned to send troops against Wei. On learning that Confucius was there, he abandoned the plan. When Duan Ganmu, a worthy man of Wei, lived in that state, the people of Qin likewise stopped their military campaign.

Duan Ganmu was a worthy man of the state of Wei. Marquis Wen of Wei often visited his home to ask his advice on governing the state. When the state of Qin planned to attack Wei, people close to the Qin king urged him, “Wei has a worthy man, Duan Ganmu. Marquis Wen visits him every day to discuss affairs of state. Wei should not be attacked.” The Qin king then called off the campaign and did not attack Wei.

While Gong Zhiqi was still alive, Duke Xian of Jin dared not invade the state of Yu. Gong Zhiqi was a prince of Yu. Duke Xian wanted to attack the state of Guo, so he prepared to give the ruler of Yu fine horses from Chuiji and jade discs in exchange for passage through Yu on the way to Guo. Gong Zhiqi advised him, “Guo is Yu’s shield. Once that shield is gone, Yu will be like teeth without the protection of the lips, and will be hard to save.” People in Jin told Duke Xian, “Gong Zhiqi is timid and weak; he will not be able to keep up his remonstrance. Even if he does, the ruler of Yu may not listen to him. Promise him plenty of treasure, and the matter will surely succeed.” Duke Xian sent people to promise a generous gift of treasure. The ruler of Yu coveted the wealth and accepted. Gong Zhiqi then left Yu. The Jin army destroyed Guo, and on its return destroyed Yu as well, before going home.

While Ziyu was still alive, Duke Wen of Jin could not sit at ease. He had once fought the Chu general Ziyu and defeated him soundly, yet he still turned pale and sat uneasily, worried that so talented a man as Ziyu might devise another strategy to deal with him.

These examples show that establishing laws and commands, governing a state, resolving crises, and bringing disorder under control are all results of employing worthy people. Yet the jade disc valuable enough to ransom a city concealed its brilliance in Mount Jing. This jade disc belonged to the state of Zhao; the king of Qin once tried to trade ten cities to Zhao for it.

The luminous pearl lay submerged in Yu Lake, its radiance concealed. Jade has no wings, yet it can be recommended and rise to prominence; a pearl has no hollow core, yet it can be celebrated and passed from hand to hand. Their fame spread through Zhanghua Terrace, and they shone in splendid halls—all because rulers recommended them.

Some worthy men plainly possess talent but refuse to enter public service. Their abilities are buried in remote mountain valleys, and their wisdom is spent among the firewood. This is because they are poor at recommending themselves, and no one recommends them on their behalf. In ancient times, people eagerly recommended those they knew and actively introduced worthy people of their own kind. If someone’s ability suited the work of governing the state, no one asked about their family background. If their resourcefulness could get things done, why should anyone mind that they had once held a lowly occupation? In the past, rulers selected unusual talents from among prisoners and promoted capable people from among butchers and merchants.

King Wen of Zhou employed Jiang Taigong (Jiang Shang), who had once made a living slaughtering cattle in Zhaoge. Emperor Gaozu of Han employed Fan Kuai, who had once killed dogs and sold meat. Lord Xinling, Wei Wuji, employed Zhu Hai, who had worked as a butcher. Guan Ying had once sold silk goods, but was later employed by Emperor Gaozu of Han. These are all examples of people from butcher and merchant backgrounds who were appointed to office.

When recommending someone from within one’s household, there is no need to exclude one’s own son. When recommending someone from outside, there is no need to hold back just because one has a grievance against them.

Qi Xi, a senior official of Jin during the Spring and Autumn period, recommended his son within the court and, from outside it, recommended someone with whom he had a grievance. Thus, when recommending someone from one’s household, there is no need to exclude one’s son; when recommending an outsider, there is no need to conceal that one has a grievance against them.

Those who recommend worthy people are rewarded for doing so, and their good reputation endures. In the past, Zigong asked Confucius, “Who is truly worthy?” Confucius replied, “In Qi, there was Bao Shu; in Zheng, there was Zichan.” Zigong asked, “Did Qi have no Guan Zhong, and Zheng no Zichan?” Confucius said, “I have heard that one who can recommend worthy people is worthy; one who rejects worthy people is unworthy.”

If a person resembles their ancestors in flesh and appearance but not in words and conduct, it is said that they have failed to inherit their ancestors’ character.

Bao Shuya recommended Guan Zhong, and Zipi recommended Zichan, yet there is no record of them presenting these two worthy men as their own replacements. Recommending the worthy is itself a virtue. Even if the person being recommended is more capable than oneself, how could one suppress a worthy person and keep him from rising? Thus Qianxi would rather have smashed his own head to prove Baili Xi’s worth, while Beiguo Sao would rather have taken his own life to show that Yan Ying was innocent.

Beiguo Sao was poor and could not support his parents. Yan Zi (Yan Ying) recognized his virtue and often shared some of his grain with him. Later, when Yan Zi was driven out by the ruler of Qi, Beiguo Sao took his own life at the ruler’s court to show that Yan Zi was innocent. As a result, the ruler reinstated Yan Zi and restored him to the office of chancellor of Qi.

Some people recommend worthy men for the state and give their lives for it, without regret even at the end. This is the utmost expression of loyalty, and a virtue difficult to attain. Zang Wenzhong did not bring Zhan Qin (courtesy name Ziliu, later known as Liuxia Hui) to prominence, so Confucius called him a “thief of office”—someone who held a post but failed in his duty to recommend the worthy.

Zhan Qin served three times as shi shi, an official responsible for criminal justice, and showed no pleasure at his appointments. He was dismissed three times as well, yet showed no resentment. Confucius understood his upright character and married his own niece to him. Only then did people of the time begin to recognize his virtue.

Gongsun Hong did not recommend Dong Sheng (Dong Zhongshu), and Ji An, a minister of the Han dynasty, therefore accused him of burying a worthy man. Gongsun Hong knew Dong Zhongshu was capable but did not recommend him; Ji An regarded this as harming a worthy man.

Yu Qiu, the chancellor of Chu, did not recommend Shu Fang, so Fan Ji denounced him as unworthy. Once, King Zhuang of Chu spoke with Yu Qiu for a long time and returned to the palace only after dark. Fan Ji came down the steps to greet him and asked why he had left court so late. The king replied, “I was speaking with a worthy man, so I returned late.”

King Zhuang of Chu said, “I was speaking with a worthy man just now, and that is why I was delayed.” Fan Ji asked, “Who was the worthy man?” The king replied, “Yu Qiuzi.” Fan Ji covered her mouth and laughed. “Though I am not especially capable, I have been fortunate enough to oversee the affairs of the palace. I have recommended ten women, all of humble birth like myself. Yu Qiuzi has served as prime minister for ten years, yet those he recommends are either his own nephews and sons or his brothers. He monopolizes the ruler’s favor and usurps the ruler’s authority. He knows Sun Shuao is talented but has not recommended him. That is not worthy conduct. How can he be called a worthy man?”

King Zhuang told Yu Qiuzi what Fan Ji had said. Yu Qiuzi admitted his fault and recommended Sun Shuao for the office of prime minister. The good government of Chu was due to Sun Shuao’s efforts.

Mr. Shu Xian failed to recognize men of talent and virtue, and later walked home along the road.

Mr. Shu Xian had once served as prime minister to the Marquis of Qi. After being dismissed for an offense, he set out on foot. Someone asked him, “How did you come to be in such a state?” Shu Xian replied, “I held the rank of one of the Three Excellencies, yet failed to recommend a single talented person. I amassed a fortune of ten million, yet failed to help even one scholar in need. It is only right that I have come to this state.”

Seeking out treasures for the state is not as valuable as recommending worthy people. Those who recommend worthy people receive great rewards; those who bury their talents face severe punishment. This is the lesson left by wise prime ministers of earlier generations, and a clear warning to those who come after.

Making Things Visible, Chapter Twenty

When air is blown across a fire, heat rises and flames appear; when a mirror is polished, it can reflect images. Without air being blown across it, a fire gives off no visible flames; without polishing, a mirror cannot show images clearly. Thus, blowing makes the fire’s flames shine, and polishing brings out the mirror’s brightness. People living in the world, too, need a reputation to make their abilities known, just as fire and mirrors need blowing and polishing. Today, even if someone has Lou Li’s wisdom—the younger brother of King Hui of Qin, whose name was Zhuang—or Jia Sheng’s talent, ...

Ninglizi (the younger brother of King Hui of Qin, named Zhuang, who lived in Ningli) was witty, quick-minded, and highly intelligent. People of his time called him a “wise man.” Jia Sheng (Jia Yi, from Luoyang) was skilled at writing. People praised them, saying, “Jia Sheng is Luoyang’s gifted scholar; Zhong Jun is Shandong’s brilliant talent.”

When someone lives in a cramped, humble dwelling and has no close friend to speak on his behalf, his reputation can spread only nearby and cannot reach distant places. Had Liuxia Hui never met Zhongni (Confucius), his chaste conduct would not have become known, and he might well have been regarded as a man repeatedly dismissed from office who felt no shame. Had Ji Bu never met Cao Qiu, his reputation for keeping a promise worth a thousand pieces of gold would not have spread.

Ji Bu lived in the Han dynasty. When Cao Qiu went to see him, he said, “I would rather have a promise from Ji Bu than a hundred jin of gold.”

Without anyone to praise him, Ji Bu too might have been regarded as ordinary, incapable, and shameless. These two men were so widely respected for their De (Virtue) by people of their time, and their names have been handed down through the ages, because sages spoke on their behalf and brought their good qualities to light.

Long ago, someone took a fine horse to the market to sell, but for three days no one paid it any attention. He said to Bole, who was skilled at judging horses, “I am selling a fine horse, but no one at the market recognizes its worth. Please come and look at it. I will give you half its price.” Bole then went to the market. As he approached, he looked the horse over; as he left, he turned back to gaze at it again. That very day, the horse’s price rose to a thousand gold pieces. The horse had not been a poor one yesterday and suddenly become a fine one today. It was simply that no one had recognized its worth before or even glanced at it.

When a camphor tree has tangled roots and crooked branches, weak knots, worm-eaten bark, and bent, swollen wood, no one gives it a second look. But when a carpenter selects it and makes it into a palace hall, then coats it with red lacquer and decorates it with elaborate designs, princes and high officials all look up at it in admiration. The wood itself remains as it was. What made it lowly before and precious now was the skilled craftsperson who refined its outward appearance.

When Jingxi pearls and luminous jade discs—precious jewels—are presented to a lord or king, they are sure to be stored in a jade casket and sealed in a gold case. But if they are tossed carelessly to someone, that person may not gaze at them in delight; instead, he may draw his sword in anger.

A snake held a luminous pearl in its mouth and wanted to offer it to Lord Sui. If it suddenly dropped the pearl in front of him, Lord Sui would surely be startled, then angrily reach for his sword and might even try to kill the snake. This would be because the luminous pearl had arrived without any apparent reason.

Why would this happen? Precisely because it had come without any apparent reason. When an object reaches someone who needs it by an appropriate route, it will not be neglected. If a fine horse is brought to the market by someone skilled at recognizing horses, it will be appreciated. If fine timber is discovered, it will not rot in a remote mountain valley. If a precious pearl is offered properly, it will not be mistaken for a threat that calls for drawing a sword.

With the right means of introduction, a fine horse need only turn its head for a glance to be worth a thousand gold pieces. Camphor wood can adorn a palace, and a precious pearl can be kept in a jade box. Yet people today may possess wisdom for generations and still remain confined in their inner chambers, frustrated and unable to put their talents to use. Without someone to spread their reputation and recommend their virtue and ability, how could they make themselves shine and their names known? It would be like reaching out to touch empty space, trying to grasp the wind, or boiling soup in hopes of getting snow. How could it be done?

Yuan Xiaozheng’s commentary: A zu was someone in ancient times who brokered transactions. “Open ground” refers to the space through which horses pass. To touch empty space is to reach for something nonexistent; trying to grasp the wind is naturally impossible.

End of Volume Four of the Liuzi

Volume Five of the Liuzi

Annotated by Yuan Xiaozheng, Recorder and Adjutant of Bozhou

Chapter Twenty-One: Finding Support

Of all living things that contain breath, none fails to rely on circumstances beyond itself to secure its own advantage. Thus, frost scabs ride the autumn wind to flutter lightly, while the soaring serpent depends on the clouds and mists of spring, intent on rising into the open sky.

All things in the world rely on external conditions to bring their abilities to fulfillment more easily. Thus, frost-down—the light fluff that drifts on the autumn wind—can rise gently by drawing on the wind’s force. The flying serpent, a mythical divine snake, depends on the mists of spring and aspires to soar into the sky. The crouching mouse, a tiny creature mentioned in old books, can chase the sun with the help of a rabbit’s steps.

In the west there is a beast called the mouse. Its forelegs are short and its hind legs long. When it runs, the rabbit stops and carries it on its back. If the mouse is behind the rabbit, it cannot reach food on its own, so it must rely on the rabbit to carry it while they forage. Today, on Mount Xiawu in Guangwu County of Yanmen Commandery, there is an insect shaped like a rabbit but larger. They carry one another on their backs as they move together, and people call them crouching mice.

The blue creeper grows by clinging to green pines, and so flourishes as if reaching straight into the clouds. If birds, beasts, insects, and plants understand how to rely on wind and mist, and to climb by attaching themselves to higher things, thereby bringing their own capacities to fruition, how much more should people do so? People, too, need something to depend on in order to establish a reputation. Attach yourself to someone wise and outstanding, and your conduct will be made known and your name will become distinguished. Attach yourself to someone base and benighted, and you will fall into hardship and your reputation will decline.

At daybreak, the eye can see even faint smoke clearly; at the end of the year, wind can carry tumbleweed up into the clouds. The eye sees clearly because it draws on the sun’s light, and tumbleweed rises high because it draws on the wind’s force.

Tie coral to gold and iron and place it in a river or lake, and it will surely sink into the mud and sand. This is not because coral is heavy by nature or naturally sinks, but because what it is attached to is heavy. Load stones onto a boat and put it in a river or lake, and the boat can ride the wind and waves, drifting along a long waterway. This is not because stones are light by nature or naturally float, but because the boat they rely on can float.

A horsefly flies with all its strength, but can travel no more than a hundred paces. If it clings to the tail of a luan bird, in an instant it can fly ten thousand li. This is not because its wings are especially powerful, but because the creature it depends on flies swiftly. Lou Ji, a renowned runner of antiquity, had nimble legs and could chase fleeting shadows…

In ancient times, there was a swift runner named Lou Ji. He ran faster than the women of Yue, so people often used him as a comparison.

If a weak, exhausted horse pulls a cart, it cannot travel even twenty li in a day. The term “one she” refers to twenty li.

The problem does not lie in the distance, but in unsuitable conditions. From this we can see that in the right setting, even a heavy stone can float and short wings can carry a creature far. In the wrong setting, even a light feather will sink, and even a fast horse will be held back.

Swallows build nests on curtains, carrying mud in their beaks to mend them. The nest’s pattern is as fine as a silk ribbon. Even a potter using all his skill could not make one, so it can be called very sturdy. Yet when an army returns in triumph and the curtains are taken down, the nest is destroyed and the fledglings fall to their deaths. This is because the place on which the nest depends is unstable.

Quail build nests on reed stalks, fastening them with threads as fine as hair. The nests are rounded and finely patterned. Even a skilled woman working with her hands could not make one, so they can be called very sturdy. Yet a breeze blows, the reed breaks, and the eggs shatter. Why? Because the place on which the nest depends is fragile and cannot withstand the wind.

Thus, crows have an instinct for choosing trees to roost in, and fish choose suitable pools of water. They carefully choose where to roost and settle precisely because such places are suited to survival.

“The Hidden Heart,” Chapter Twenty-Two

Heaven and Earth—the “Two Forms,” meaning Heaven and Earth—are vast, yet they too can be measured by rulers and standards. Here, “course” refers to a measure of time: twenty-nine years make one course.

When the Three Bonds—the ethical principles governing ruler and subject, father and son, and husband and wife—undergo change, one can discern from them the measure of order within and without. The sound of thunder can be conveyed by bells and drums; the changes of wind and rain can be harmonized through musical tones. Thus, whatever has an observable image cannot conceal its shadow; whatever has a visible form cannot hide its traces; whatever has an audible sound cannot conceal its echo; and whatever has a discernible color cannot erase the appearance it reveals.

Although the changes of Yin and Yang in Heaven and Earth are difficult to understand, they can still be investigated through calendrical calculations and observed with the eyes and ears. As for human beings, the heart is hidden within the body, and emotions are concealed within the heart; they cannot be inferred through calculation. The human heart is more perilous than mountains and rivers, and harder to understand than Heaven’s intent. Heaven follows the cycles of spring, summer, autumn, and winter, and of morning and evening. People, however, may appear grave on the outside while keeping their feelings deeply hidden, making them difficult to see through.

Thus, some people are firm in heart but gentle in expression; fierce in appearance but weak in substance; seemingly sincere but slow to act; or impatient by temperament yet sluggish in their work. Some deliberately adorn their outward appearance to conceal their true feelings: joy does not necessarily mean affection, anger does not necessarily mean hatred, laughter does not necessarily mean happiness, and weeping does not necessarily mean sorrow. They conceal their emotions and disguise their conduct, making them truly difficult to see through.

The sun is outside the heavens and can illuminate all things; the human heart, however, lies within the body, beyond the reach of the light outside. Even those with wisdom and godlike insight may still develop artifice in their hearts. The heart lies within a person, and wisdom also resides in the heart; the spirit can observe itself. But from the outside there is no reliable evidence by which to verify what is in someone’s heart. How difficult, then, is it to discover a person’s true feelings?

Everyone feels ashamed when there is dirt on their face, yet people refuse to feel ashamed when their hearts are impure. The face is exposed to view, while the heart is hidden within. For this reason, those skilled at disguise can conceal their feelings and secretly employ treachery and cunning, remaining difficult to see through for their entire lives. Shaozheng Mao lived in the state of Lu at the same time as Confucius.

Confucius’s disciples repeatedly left him and returned, but Yan Hui alone never left, because he alone understood the virtue of a sage. When the disciples left Confucius and turned to Shaozheng Mao, it was not because they failed to recognize Confucius’s wisdom or Shaozheng Mao’s skill at flattery. Zigong said, “Shaozheng Mao is a renowned scholar in the state of Lu. After taking office, why did the Master deal with him first?” Confucius replied, “Ci, this is beyond your understanding.”

Shaozheng Mao harbored crooked intentions and behaved improperly. His words were slanted, yet he was skilled at sophistry; his arguments were slick and forceful. His words and actions were false, yet he could make them sound persuasive. His speech was shallow, yet packed with detail. He could even make what was wrong seem reasonable and pleasing to hear. Anyone who displayed these five kinds of falsehood could confuse a sage’s judgment. Even someone as intelligent and perceptive as Zigong might not see through him. This shows how difficult it is to discern another person’s true character.

It follows that flatterers can easily be mistaken for worthy people, deceit for sincerity, sophistry for wisdom, and blunt foolishness for candor. Shepherd’s purse can be mistaken for ginseng, just as snakebed grass can be mistaken for a fragrant herb such as gaoben. Gaoben is a medicinal plant.

A common attitude in the world is for everyone to exalt themselves and look down on external things, to value themselves and disparage others. Examined closely, this attitude does not arise because people truly wish to use ignorance to outdo wisdom, or weakness to surpass strength. It arises because the human heart is difficult to understand and cannot serve as a reliable standard of judgment. Unable to set themselves aside and imagine another person’s point of view, people use contempt to diminish the worthy and weakness to claim superiority over strength.

Thus, someone of ordinary appearance may think they are more beautiful than Xishi, while Duke Huan of Qi boasted of his Virtue and claimed to surpass Yao and Shun. When Zigong first began studying with Confucius, after a year he thought he had understood. Only after studying with Confucius for three years did he realize that his understanding still fell short of his teacher’s. If even someone as gifted as Zigong could not recognize the Virtue of a sage, how can we expect ordinary people to understand how to judge others by themselves and show them respect? So truth and falsehood become intermingled, and the worthy and the foolish are mixed together. Without wisdom and discernment, it is difficult to tell them apart.

When Confucius held the office of minister of justice in Lu, he learned that the Lu aristocrat Shaozheng Mao was stirring up disorder and misleading the people. He said to Duke Ding of Lu, “This man is courageous and resourceful. He will throw the world into disorder; my lord may have him executed.” Duke Ding of Lu then had Shaozheng Mao put to death.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Openness and Obstruction (the chapter title, meaning reaching through and being blocked).

A person’s fate may be favorable or difficult, and the circumstances they encounter may be blocked or open. Favorable and adverse conditions can turn into one another, while obstruction and openness each have their causes. When things go well and circumstances open up, success does not depend entirely on talent and quick wit. When adversity strikes and circumstances are blocked, one cannot simply blame a lack of intelligence or sharpness. Why? Favorable and adverse conditions depend on fate, while obstruction and openness depend on the circumstances one encounters.

When fate brings obstruction, even abilities that once flowed freely can be held back. Once circumstances open up, abilities that were held back can come into their own. Before things open up, a person cannot summon that change by personal effort alone. When obstruction reaches its height, can even strategy and cleverness turn it around?

When circumstances are blocked, a person’s mouth and eyes seem covered over. Once circumstances open up, sound and sight become clear and far-reaching. Shout loudly inside a cave, and your voice will be checked within a few dozen feet. Call out at length with the wind behind you, and the echo may carry for a hundred miles. Look at the sky from the bottom of a well, and you see only a round patch; climb to a high peak and gaze out, and your sight may reach to the edge of the clouds.

When people are down in a well or inside a cave, their voices have not suddenly grown hoarse, nor have their eyes suddenly gone blind. They cannot hear far or see broadly because the circumstances around them are blocked. When they ride the wind or climb a peak, their voices have not become as powerful as Meng Ben’s, a man of ancient times renowned for his strength, nor have their eyes become as keen as Li Lou’s, a legendary figure famed for his eyesight. Yet their voices carry far and their gaze extends into the distance because circumstances have opened up.

Mai Chen endured hunger, walking along as he sang. Wang Zhang endured the cold, sitting and weeping. Su Qin clutched an awl, his heart seething with resentment. Ban Chao held a writing brush, filled with fervor.

When those four men lost their standing and met with setbacks, their faces darkened and their spirits sank. Their words grew disordered, and their behavior seemed wild and out of control. Their grief showed openly: their faces were gaunt, their sighs rumbled like thunder, and their breath seemed to billow like clouds and mist.

They were like fine steeds capable of traveling a thousand li in a day, harnessed beneath a heavy cart, or nimble black apes shut inside a cage. It was not that they lacked the ability to travel a thousand li in a day or the agility to climb peaks ten thousand ren high. They were simply held back, unable to put their talents to use, and their circumstances made them seem no different from dull and incapable people. It was like living in a cave, where one’s voice cannot carry beyond it, or being trapped at the bottom of a well while longing for a broad view.

When fortune turned in their favor and their ambitions were fulfilled, some returned home in splendid robes, while others made their names known at court. Zhu Maichen was poor and lowly in his youth, earning his living by gathering firewood. Later, he became the governor of his home commandery under the Han dynasty and returned home in splendid robes. Wang Zhang was poor in his youth and once wept wrapped in a cowhide blanket. Later, he became the governor of the capital region under the Han dynasty and rose to be an important court official.

Others advocated vertical alliances among the Six States—a diplomatic strategy of uniting the states against Qin.

Su Qin, a diplomat of the Warring States period, had the courtesy name Jizi and was from Luoyang. In his youth, he and Zhang Yi both studied under Master Guigu, and each became known for his talent. At first, Su Qin traveled among the six states trying to persuade their rulers. After three years, he returned home with his money spent and no fame or status. His family saw how dejected he looked and ignored him: his sister-in-law would not prepare food for him, his wife would not rise from her loom, and his parents and brothers would not speak to him.

Su Qin stayed at home and studied military texts such as the Yinfu of Taigong. Several months later, he set out again to persuade the state of Zhao and eventually became its prime minister. At the time, the six states were relatively weak and often feared an attack by Qin, so they all considered joining forces. Su Qin advocated the vertical alliance of the six states against Qin, and the king of Zhao followed his advice. Su Qin then persuaded Wei, Yan, Qi, Zhao, and Chu to form an alliance and cease serving Qin. This arrangement lasted for twenty years.

After Su Qin died, Zhang Yi became prime minister of Qin and set out to persuade the six states. He said that Su Qin’s words were contradictory and distorted right and wrong, and that the six states’ alliance against Qin was no lasting solution. According to the principles of the Spring and Autumn Annals, a small state that did not serve a great state could not remain secure. The six states therefore dissolved their alliance and turned to the horizontal alliance, each seeking friendly relations with Qin. Qin later gradually annexed the six states. After Qin Shi Huang unified the realm, he burned works such as the Book of Odes and the Book of Documents and buried Confucian scholars alive. When Qin Shi Huang died, he was buried at Mount Li. The dynasty lasted until its third ruler, Ziying, who surrendered to Han Gaozu at Zhidao.

Someone hung banners beyond the Kunlun Mountains.

When Ban Chao was young, he was poor and of low standing, and once earned a living by copying books for others. Later, when the Han dynasty sent troops to campaign against the Xiongnu, Ban Chao put down his brush and joined the army. He took part in campaigns in the Western Regions and eventually distinguished himself, receiving the title Marquis of Dingyuan. Only after thirty years was he able to return home. He had left as a young man; when he came back, his hair had turned white.

When people are successful and things go smoothly, they look radiant and well, and their bearing and spirit seem relaxed and lively. Their words are as precious as gold and jade, and their conduct can serve as an example to others. Riding strong, well-fed horses and wearing light clothing, they feel calm and content. Their joy is like that of a light swan soaring on a strong wind, or a great fish swimming freely through deep, broad waters. This is like calling out with the wind behind you, or climbing to a height where the view opens wide and the spirit lifts.

The person is the same, yet their past and present seem utterly different. It is not that they were foolish before and are wise now, or that they were ugly before and have become beautiful. What has changed is whether their circumstances are constricted or open.

Water is clear by nature. When a dam blocks it, its waves churn, its flow stagnates, and in time it grows murky and foul. If the obstruction is cut through and the water allowed to flow, it follows the lay of the land and winds through mountain streams. Even decayed corpses and rotten matter in the water cannot make the flowing current foul. The water’s nature has not changed; what differs is whether its course is blocked or open. A person’s circumstances opening up are like water flowing freely. A person’s virtue is like a cool, clear spring: even if dust or sand occasionally falls into it, it cannot make the spring turbid. From this we can see that open or obstructed circumstances make a great difference to whether one’s appearance seems flourishing or worn.

On Meeting Good Fortune, Chapter Twenty-Four: This chapter discusses how a person’s ability to put their talents and virtue into practice, and whether they encounter favorable circumstances, affect their outward bearing and life fortunes.

Whether someone is worthy or capable depends on their enduring disposition; whether they encounter the right opportunity depends in part on fate. Wisdom and foolishness are rooted in a person’s nature, so they can be judged on that basis. Fate, by contrast, seems to be arranged by Heaven, and whether one will prosper or struggle is hard to predict. When fate is favorable, even someone in danger may escape calamity, and a foolish person may not fall into hardship. When fate is unfavorable, safety may bring no blessing, and even a worthy person may fail to rise to prominence. Thus, when people suffer the same calamity, some die and others survive; when their virtue is equal, some are honored and others disgraced. The reason lies in whether they encounter the right opportunity.

The bright spring sun cannot reach someone hidden away in a secluded place. Autumn frost blankets the earth, yet someone sheltered from it suffers no harm. This, too, shows the difference between encountering an opportunity and not encountering one.

Long ago, Han Zhaohou, ruler of the state of Han, got drunk while away from home and caught a chill. The official in charge of his clothing overstepped his authority by placing an extra garment over him. When Han Zhaohou awoke, he asked what had happened. Learning that the official had acted out of concern, he nevertheless punished him for exceeding his duties. Jiao Cheng of the state of Wei saw that a charioteer was driving recklessly and shouted from behind for him to stop, hoping to save someone from danger. He was not punished for it. The official who covered Han Zhaohou feared that his ruler would catch cold; Jiao Cheng shouted to stop the chariot because he feared his ruler would be hurt. Both acted out of loyalty and care, and both made the same mistake of exceeding their authority. One was punished and the other praised. This is the difference between encountering good fortune and not doing so.

The magpie’s dropping a rotten rat was not a deliberate slight by Yu Shi toward the knight-errant. Yu Shi was holding a feast upstairs with her sisters when a knight-errant happened to pass below. Just then, a magpie dropped a dead rat from the air. Yu Shi and the others were in high spirits, and they all burst out laughing. The knight-errant mistakenly thought that the people upstairs had deliberately thrown the rotten rat down to mock him. In a rage, he went upstairs and wiped out Yu Shi’s family.

The water spilling from a bottle onto the ground was not something She Gu did deliberately to dirty the place. These things happened unexpectedly and were not the fault of those involved. Yet the knight-errant’s fury brought Yu Shi’s family to ruin, while the ruler of Zhu’s fury brought no disaster upon She Gu.

Lord Zhu, the ruler of the state of Zhu, got drunk with She Gu. When they rose and went outside, the gatekeeper of Lord Zou’s residence demanded payment for the wine from She Gu, but She Gu did not pay. The gatekeeper resented him. Knowing that Lord Zhu had a quick temper, he poured a basin of water over the threshold. When Lord Zhu came out and saw it, he asked what had happened. The gatekeeper replied, “She Gu urinated there.” Lord Zhu’s temper flared, and he immediately ordered She Gu beaten to death with staffs, saying, “He fell into a fire pit and burned to death.” In this way, She Gu escaped execution.

This is an example of how people’s circumstances differ. Hua Shi of the state of Qi withdrew to the mountains, determined never to serve in office, yet Jiang Taigong had him killed. Duangan Mu of the state of Wei avoided the world and lived in seclusion, yet Marquis Wen of Wei held him in high regard.

Marquis Wen went to visit Duangan Mu where he lived. Someone said, “This is not Duangan Mu’s residence.” Marquis Wen replied, “I have heard that Duangan Mu refuses to serve me. How, then, could I fail to respect him? Duangan Mu possesses lofty virtue; all I possess is vast territory. Duangan Mu prizes what is right; all I possess is abundant wealth. Territory and wealth cannot compare with virtue and what is right. I treat Duangan Mu with the respect due a teacher. How much more should I simply honor him?” The marquis then granted Duangan Mu a generous stipend.

Later, when the state of Qin was preparing to attack Wei, its general, Tang Ju, urged it to reconsider: “Wei has a man like Duangan Mu, whose virtue and righteousness are profound. Marquis Wen also honors him, and so has won the people’s support. Wei must not be attacked.” Qin then called off its campaign.

Jiang Taigong was no less capable than Marquis Wen of Wei, and Duangan Mu’s virtue was not much greater than Hua Shi’s. Yet one man was honored while the other was killed; the reason lay in their different circumstances. Dong Zhongshu’s talent and virtue were unmatched in his age, yet his official rank rose only slightly above that of an ordinary scholar-official.

Dong Zhongshu was from Guangchuan. He was broadly learned and had read widely across the classics. When people asked him questions, he could answer almost anything. He served in the Han court and rose as high as Grand Master of the Palace.

Tian Qianqiu had no especially outstanding qualities, yet a single remark made him prime minister.

Tian Qianqiu, an elder of the local community in Huguan, was already eighty years old. In his later years, Emperor Wu of Han grew suspicious, fearing that his officials were using curses and spells to harm him. He therefore sent Jiang Chong to investigate cases of witchcraft and sorcery. Jiang Chong was at odds with the crown prince and feared that the prince would succeed to the throne after the emperor’s death. So he spread wild rumors, saying, “The crown prince…”

The Crown Prince buried a bronze figurine beneath the emperor’s bed. Jiang Chong’s sorcerers then falsely claimed that the palace was filled with the malign influence of gu, and reported this to the emperor. Jiang Chong was at odds with the Crown Prince. Fearing that the Crown Prince would succeed to the throne after Emperor Wu’s death, he seized the opportunity to conduct a search. Emperor Wu sent Jiang Chong to inspect the palace. Beneath the imperial bed, Jiang Chong dug up a bronze figurine and declared that the Crown Prince had used it to curse the emperor.

One of the Crown Prince’s retainers, a scholar, had fallen into disgrace. He said to the Crown Prince, “Jiang Chong and the sorcerers now claim they have found a bronze figurine. We have no way of knowing whether this is true. If you want to prove your innocence, you should seize Jiang Chong and the others, question them, and uncover the truth.” The Crown Prince then raised troops, attacked Jiang Chong, and burned him over a fire. Following Jiang Chong’s instructions, the sorcerers also claimed that the Crown Prince was plotting a rebellion.

At the time, Emperor Wu was at Ganquan Palace. Liu Qu Li hurried there to report that the Crown Prince had killed Jiang Chong in the course of a rebellion. The emperor immediately ordered troops to surround and attack the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince raised forces to resist, and the two sides fought in Chang’an. The Crown Prince was defeated and fled.

Three days later, Tian Qianqiu submitted a memorial defending the Crown Prince. He wrote, “Jiang Chong was cruel and unjust; he used the affair of gu sorcery to frame the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince had no intention of rebelling. He acted only to save himself, as a son might take up his father’s weapon. The Crown Prince is innocent. Please order that he be sought out.” In his old age, Emperor Wu missed the Crown Prince and sent people to search for him, but the Crown Prince was already dead. Grateful for Tian Qianqiu’s advice, the emperor appointed him chancellor. With just one sentence, Tian Qianqiu gained the office of chancellor.

Liu Qu Li commanded the troops of the Three Fu—the forces of Zuo Fengyi, You Fufeng, and Jingzhao Yin in the capital region—and fought against the Crown Prince. Defeated, the Crown Prince fled to the edge of the city and hanged himself. Later, when Emperor Wu learned that the Crown Prince had harbored no intention of rebellion, he built the Terrace of Longing for My Son to mourn him.

Though both women encountered rulers, one became esteemed and the other fell out of favor; the difference lay in whether they received the ruler’s affection. Zhuang Jiang married into the state of Wei. She was beautiful, yet unloved. Shou Liu married into the state of Qi. She was ugly, yet beloved.

In the state of Qi, a woman with a tumor on her body was gathering mulberry leaves in the fields. She encountered the King of Qi while he was out traveling. Everyone came to see him, but she alone did not look up. The king sent someone to ask her, “Everyone else has come to see me. Why are you the only one who does not?”

The woman replied, “I am carrying out my parents’ instructions: I am to gather mulberry leaves and not look at the king. So I dare not look at you.” The king said, “She is truly a virtuous woman,” and wanted to have a carriage take her back to the capital. The woman said, “If Your Majesty wishes to take me away, I dare not refuse. But if I left with you like this, I would be a woman who had run away in secret, so I cannot go.”

Later, the queen sent people with gifts to formally seek her hand in marriage. After she entered the palace, the women and attendants there heard that the king had taken a woman who gathered mulberry leaves and came to see her. When they saw that she was ugly and had a tumor, they all laughed. Yet in time, she became the Qi king’s most beloved consort.

Whether a person encounters an opportunity is determined by fate; whether they are virtuous is determined by their nature. Those who resent themselves for lacking virtue do not understand their nature. Those who grieve because they have not encountered an opportunity do not understand fate. If one can face danger without fear and live in poverty and low status without sorrow, one may be said to understand fate.

On Fate and Appearance, Chapter Twenty-Five

Life (ming) is the foundation of existence. Appearance (xiang) supports life and allows its distinctive qualities to become visible. Life does not always show itself directly, while appearance can be seen in outward form. Wherever there is life, there is appearance; wherever there is appearance, there is life. Both are bestowed by Heaven, depend on each other, and take shape together. A person’s life and appearance are linked to wisdom or foolishness, honor or low status, longevity or short life, good fortune or misfortune. These are formed when a person receives Qi and is conceived, and at birth. Especially extraordinary people are said to be born through correspondences with the Five Phases (Wuxing), the sun, moon, and stars; some are born after their mothers dream of a dragon’s tracks or respond to a dragon’s Qi. Such stories, too, express the idea that they receive their life from Heaven and that life and appearance accord with each other.

Ordinary people also receive their life from Heaven, and each belongs to a particular star. Under an auspicious star, they meet with good fortune; under an inauspicious one, with misfortune. A person’s life and appearance are fixed from the moment they first receive Qi. Thereafter, neither ghosts and spirits nor sages and wise people can alter or overturn them.

After Huaxu stepped into a giant’s footprint, she gave birth to Fuxi. Nüwa responded to the star Yaoguang passing across the sun and gave birth to Zhuanxu. Qingdu joined with a red dragon and gave birth to Tang Yao. Wodeng saw a great rainbow and gave birth to Shun. Xiuji saw a shooting star cross the sky and gave birth to Yu of the Xia. Fudu saw white vapor pass across the moon and gave birth to Tang of the Shang. Daren dreamed of a giant and gave birth to King Wen. Yan Zheng responded to the Black Emperor and gave birth to Confucius. Liu Ao responded to a red dragon and gave birth to the founder of the Han dynasty. These are legends through which people in antiquity explained how celestial signs corresponded with the births of sage kings.

Weizi responded to the Oxherd star; Yan Yuan, to the Central Platform star; Zhang Liang, to the Fox star; Fan Kuai, to the Wolf star; and Laozi, to the Fire star. Sages and worthies such as these were believed to have been born bearing auspicious signs bestowed by Heaven. Appearance can be read in the flesh and bones, as well as in the voice and face. Wisdom or foolishness, honor or low status, long life or early death, good fortune or misfortune all have outward signs that can be observed.

The Five Sacred Peaks rise high and rugged, displaying steep and upright forms; the Four Great Rivers run clear and bright, displaying the flowing shapes of rivers. The five colors flourish in splendor, radiant as clouds and rosy mists; the five tones ring clear and pleasing, like the music of bells and stone chimes. A skilled observer can discern a person’s features just as Feng Hu, expert at judging swords, assessed blades, or Sun Yang, expert at judging horses, recognized fine steeds.

Sun Yang, who was skilled at judging horses, was known as Bole (an expert at recognizing fine horses).

Isn’t it difficult to examine the subtleties of such appearances closely? Fuxi had horns; the Yellow Emperor had a dragonlike face; Emperor Ku had a raised mass of flesh on his shoulder; Zhuanxu’s eyebrows met; Yao’s eyebrows had eight colors; Shun had double pupils; Yu’s ears had three openings; Tang had two elbows; King Wen of Zhou had four nipples; King Wu of Zhou had teeth joined together like a pastry; Confucius’s crown sloped backward; Yan Hui also had double pupils; and Gao Yao’s mouth resembled a crow’s beak. All these people were sages, born with unusual appearances.

Shun’s double pupils were a sign of exceptionally keen vision, but Xiang Yu and Wang Mang also had double pupils. King Goujian of Yue had a long neck and a crow’s beak, said to be signs of an untimely end; Xia Yu, too, had a long neck and a crow’s beak. Though Wang Mang had double pupils, he was like an inferior horse with only one strand of a fine horse’s mane: that alone did not make him a fine horse. Though Xia Yu had a long neck and a crow’s beak, he was like a dragon with only one snake scale: that alone did not make him a snake.

Ordinary people, too, can have their fortunes read from their appearance. Thus, when Guzi had a full chin, Shu Xing knew that he would have descendants.

Guzi was the son of the ruler of Lu. “Gu” was his surname. When he was born, his forehead took the form of the Dui trigram, and his chin was full. Shu Xing, skilled in physiognomy and divination, examined him and said, “This person has the appearance of nobility.” Guzi later did indeed become king in Lu. Dui and Feng are both names of hexagrams in the Zhouyi (Book of Changes).

Wei Qing had a square forehead, and Jing Tu saw from this feature that he would become wealthy and eminent.

Wei Qing’s father had an affair with a maid in a princess’s household, and Wei Qing was born from it. When he grew up, members of the princess’s household treated him like a servant and bullied him, making him herd horses alongside other enslaved men. Jing told Wei Qing, “Your forehead is square. In the future, you will attain high rank.” Wei Qing replied, “I am only a servant now. How could I speak of high rank?” Later, Wei Qing became skilled in horsemanship and archery. When the Han dynasty launched a campaign against the Xiongnu, he volunteered to join the expedition. For his military achievements, he was appointed Grand General and given his own headquarters.

The lines on Zhou Yafu’s forehead (a famous general of the Western Han and Zhou Bo’s third son) ran vertically. After examining his face, Xu Fu (a person renowned for reading faces) predicted that he would starve to death. Later, Zhou Yafu was imprisoned over an incident and died after going seven days without food, just as Xu Fu had foretold.

When Yang Fen of the Yangshe clan was born, his grandmother, Shu Ji, heard that the child’s cry sounded like a jackal’s howl. She concluded that he would one day bring disaster upon the whole clan, so she did not go to see him. As an adult, Yang Fen stirred up unrest in the state of Jin. He was later executed by Jin in the fifth lunar month, and his entire clan was destroyed as well.

A person’s fate, and the good or ill fortune revealed by their appearance, seem to be ordained by Heaven. Someone destined for poverty and low status may enjoy a brief rise to prominence, but will still meet with calamity. Someone destined for wealth and high status may be targeted by others, yet they may not be able to harm him.

While hunting on Mount Ji, Kong Jia of the Xia dynasty was caught in a gale. As the sky darkened, he went into a household to shelter from the wind. The homeowner’s wife had just given birth, and a divination declared, “This child was born later than the others. That is inauspicious; when grown, he will surely bring disaster.” Kong Jia took the child away, saying, “Since he is my child, who would dare let calamity befall him?” When the child grew up, an axe severed his left foot while he was chopping wood. He later became an official in charge of administering punishments. Kong Jia sighed, “Alas, this disability was ordained by fate.”

Emperor Wen of Han once dreamed that he had fallen into a well and that Deng Tong (a favored attendant at court) had rescued him. He therefore showed Deng Tong exceptional affection. A face reader, however, predicted that Deng Tong would die poor and starving. The emperor said, “Whether he is wealthy or honored is up to me. How could he become poor?” He then granted Deng Tong a copper mine and allowed him to mint coins there on his own. Later, Deng Tong lost his fortune and had to rely on others for food and clothing. In the end, he died while living in someone else’s home.

When Ziwen was born, he was considered an inauspicious child, so his family abandoned him.

Yun, a legendary clan name, was originally descended from Zhurong, though her birth surname is unknown. Ziwén was the son of Bo Bi, a nobleman of the state. Bo Bi’s father died when he was very young, and he followed his mother back to her parents’ home. When he grew up, he had a secret affair with the daughter of his maternal uncle, Yunzi, and she bore him a son, Ziwén. Because his daughter had given birth before marriage, Yunzi’s wife felt disgraced and abandoned the child in the mountains.

While out hunting, Yunzi saw a tiger nursing a child. He returned home and told his wife. She said, “This is the child my daughter bore after her affair with Bo Bi. I was so ashamed and angry that I left him in the mountains.” Yunzi brought the child home and raised him, then arranged for his daughter to marry Bo Bi. The people of Chu called Ziwén “Guwutu.” He later rose to become Chu’s chief minister.

A tiger nursed Ziwén, and Yunzi adopted him; in time, he became chief minister of Chu. A maidservant of the king of the state of Baoli became pregnant, and the king wanted to kill her. She said, “I conceived because a breath descended from Heaven.” After the child was born, he was cast into an enclosure surrounded by walls, where the breath within the walls wafted over him. Later he was thrown into a stable, where the horses also breathed upon him. The child did not die, and eventually became king of the state of Fuyu.

Thus, a person’s goodness or evil and their fate may seem to descend from Heaven or arise from the Earth. They cannot be calculated by ordinary reasoning or methods of divination, nor attained through wisdom or strength. People today do not understand that fate has its own limits, yet greedily seek more. Though destined for poverty and low status, they rack their brains in pursuit of wealth and rank; though destined for a short life and an early death, they wait until danger is upon them before seeking longevity. These are all profoundly deluded actions.

This concludes Volume Five of the Liuzi.

Volume Six of the Liuzi

Annotated by Yuan Xiaozheng, Registrar of Bozhou

Chapter Twenty-Six: Faults and Flaws

The Dao of Heaven is whole and undifferentiated, without form and silent. It cannot be seen or heard; it cannot be sought through images or sounds, nor judged by blame or praise.

Beyond this, it is difficult for things in the world to be perfect in every respect, and for a reputation to reach its height in every way. Even the vastness of Heaven and Earth, the brightness of the sun, moon, and stars, and the wisdom of sages and worthies cannot escape criticism. In the heavens there are signs of fissures, and on Earth there are traces of collapse. The sun and moon undergo eclipses, and the five planets show unusual signs, such as comets. Yao was accused of lacking compassion; Shun was slandered as having imprisoned his father; Tang of Shang was said to have banished his ruler; and King Wu of Zhou was reproached for killing his ruler. Duke Huan of Qi was accused of craving women, while Duke Wen of Jin was said to have failed to uphold a subject’s proper place. Yi Yin suffered the charge of betraying his ruler, and Guan Zhong bore the reputation of usurping his ruler’s authority.

Though Heaven, Earth, the sun, and the moon are wondrous, they still suffer flaws. Though Yao, Shun, Tang of Shang, and King Wu of Zhou were sages, they could not avoid suspicion and slander. And though Duke Huan of Qi, Yi Yin, and Guan Zhong were worthy men, they could not avoid even the smallest faults. Given this, how could people in the world escape resentment and slander altogether and remain without regret? Thus, even the beautiful jade in Mount Jing must conceal tiny flaws, and the luminous pearl beneath a black dragon’s jaw has minute spots.

Beneath the jaw of the Dragon King of the Sea lay a bright moon pearl. The dragon lived below nine layers of deep waters. Once, a child from a family living by the sea happened upon the gate of the Dragon Palace as it stood open and went inside. He also happened to find the dragon asleep, so he secretly took the moon pearl from beneath its jaw. The pearl was worth a fortune. Fearing that the child might enter the ninefold depths again and be harmed by the dragon, the seaside man smashed the pearl before the child’s eyes.

Those whose reputations have endured for a thousand years and who were esteemed by the feudal lords also had a few minor faults. Such faults were not enough to diminish their great virtue and talent. Yet today, some people envy others’ small shortcomings and deliberately conceal their strengths. To recruit worthy people this way is like trying to write in the air or find a road across the surface of water: in the end, nothing will come of it. Ministers capable of bringing stability to a state each have their own shortcomings. A ruler retains them because he does not let minor faults obstruct great ability. To use small failings to obscure great strengths is no way to seek worthy people.

Yi Yin, an aide to Tang of Shang, was once a cook responsible for preparing food under the Xia dynasty. Fu Yue, an aide to King Wu Ding of Shang, was once a convict sentenced to forced labor. Baili Xi, an aide to Duke Mu of Qin, had once become a slave after his state was destroyed. Duan Ganmu, the worthy man revered by Marquis Wen of Wei, was a great sage of Wei.

Duan Ganmu was from Jin. He had once made his living through trade, but later lived in seclusion and refused to enter office. Marquis Wen of Wei knew of his talent and virtue, so he went in person to invite him to serve. Duan Ganmu remained seated and did not rise. Marquis Wen nevertheless stood respectfully to one side, careful not to show any impatience, and eventually persuaded him to become chancellor. Later, when Duke Jian of Qin planned to attack Wei, he heard that Duan Ganmu was serving as chancellor under Marquis Wen. Fearing that Duan Ganmu’s support would make it difficult to carry out his plans, he withdrew his troops.

These four men were not lacking in worthiness; it was simply that some part of each man’s past or status had been less than honorable. A reputation cannot be illustrious everywhere, and one’s conduct can hardly be perfect in every respect. In the past, Marquis Wen of Wei asked Li Ke, “What sort of man is Wu Qi?”

Wu Qi was a native of the state of Wei who sought a career in the state of Chu. He bit his mother’s arm and swore an oath, promising to obtain an official post within nine years. His wish was not fulfilled, and his mother died. Chu’s ministers told the king, “Wu Qi’s mother died, yet he did not return home to bury her. That is unfilial. How can someone like him serve as a prime minister?” Wu Qi therefore returned home and observed mourning for three years. When the mourning period ended, he went to the state of Wei to seek office. Marquis Wen of Wei appointed him governor of Xihe. Before this, Qin had seized five cities from Wei, and Wu Qi recovered them for Marquis Wen. Later, Wu Qi attacked Qin and reclaimed five Wei cities. He also campaigned north against Yan and Zhao, bringing those territories under Wei’s control. These were all Wu Qi’s achievements.

Ke said, “Wu Qi was greedy and lustful, but skilled in warfare. Even Sima Rangju, the upright and renowned general of Qi, could not match him.” Wu Qi was therefore appointed a general. He captured five cities from Qin and defeated Yan and Zhao to the north; both were among his achievements.

Wei Wuzhi recommended Chen Ping to the King of Han. Someone slandered him, saying, “Though Chen Ping is a man, he is handsome only in appearance, like a precious jewel set in a hat. He may not have any real ability. I have also heard that he had an affair with his sister-in-law and accepted bribes.” The King of Han consequently distanced himself from Chen Ping and reprimanded Wei Wuzhi. Wei Wuzhi said, “I recommended him for his ability to devise surprising stratagems. As long as they truly benefit the state, that is enough. Besides, how could his minor faults obstruct the great affairs of the state?” The King of Han then promoted Chen Ping to commander of the guards, enabling him to put his strategies into practice. Later, Fan Zeng died when a poisonous sore flared up, and Chu was subsequently destroyed. Que Shi opened the defensive line, allowing the Han army to survive. These were all results of Chen Ping’s strategies.

Fan Zeng was a minister of Chu. When Xiang Yu’s army surrounded the city where the King of Han was staying, Chen Ping devised a plan and sent many precious treasures to the King of Chu and his general. When the King of Chu learned of this, he wanted to kill the general. Fan Zeng urged him, “This is Chen Ping’s stratagem. Your Majesty must not kill him.” The King of Chu said, “…”

Chen Ping devised a scheme to sow discord among the enemy. He secretly used treasures to bribe Xiang Yu’s officers, causing them to lose their loyalty and betray their commander. Later, Fan Zeng turned against Xiang Yu and died when an abscess broke out.

Chen Ping also made wooden figures, dressed them in splendid silk robes, and placed them on the city wall. He claimed they were beautiful women from the Han who were to be presented to the Xiongnu chanyu. When the chanyu’s wife, Yanzhi—a title for the wife of a Xiongnu ruler—heard this, she grew jealous and feared that the chanyu would favor the women. She therefore opened the encirclement, allowing the Han army to leave the city. These were all stratagems devised by Chen Ping.

Gaozu, Emperor Gao of Han, did not hold Chen Ping’s minor faults against him and adopted his six ingenious schemes.

Emperor Gaozu of Han overlooked one minor fault of Chen Ping and accepted his six excellent strategies for bringing peace to the realm. Marquis Wen of Wei likewise forgave Wu Qi’s small mistakes and made use of his achievement in capturing five cities. If these two rulers had focused only on their men’s minor faults and cast such talent aside, it would be hard to say whether Wei could have endured, or whether Han or Chu would have prevailed. Wu Qi might have been buried in obscurity for his whole life, while Chen Ping might have been implicated in charges of bribery and theft.

Ordinary people judge talent this way: when they see someone act cautiously and attend to details, they call him gifted; when they see someone with great ambition who neglects his appearance and pays no heed to minor matters, they say he is unfit for service. This is like finding a wormhole in a red tangerine and cutting down the whole tree, or spotting a tiny stain on brocade and destroying the entire length of cloth.

Duke Huan of Qi knew Ning Qi, a senior official of Qi, very well and planned to appoint him to oversee government affairs. His ministers advised him: “Ning Qi is from Wei, which is not far from Qi. You could send someone to investigate him. If he is indeed worthy, you can appoint him afterward.” Duke Huan replied: “That is not how it should be. People worry that others may have small faults; once they learn of a minor mistake, they forget that person’s great virtues. This is precisely why the world loses talented people.” So he lit torches at night, bestowed a noble rank on Ning Qi, and appointed him chief minister. Duke Huan repeatedly brought the feudal lords together and restored order to the realm; he was surely skilled at seeking out talent.

When Confucius saw one strength in another person, he could forget many of that person’s faults. When Bao Shuya heard of a single mistake someone had made, he remembered it for life. Confucius’s heart was so broad, while Bao Shuya’s seemed narrow by comparison. From this we can see how far apart the capacities of sages and wise men can be.

A muddy hollow left by a cow’s hoof cannot produce fine thread for weaving, and a nest beneath the eaves cannot hold a magpie’s eggs. High mountains and great marshes do not refuse to receive all things because they contain filth; able men who help govern the world are likewise not constrained by flaws in minor aspects of their conduct. Why? A narrow capacity cannot contain great things, while a broad capacity is not hindered by small blemishes. Everyone’s temperament has its subtle shortcomings. If a person is good overall, small faults are not enough to become a burden; if a person is not good overall, even if…

People with broad minds and great generosity do not reject others over a minor flaw. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses in character. As long as someone is sound in the main, a few small shortcomings are not enough to hold them back. If they are fundamentally unsound, humble origins and a dwelling in a poor alley cannot change that. Minor details alone do not suffice to judge matters of great importance.

Fan Kuai and Guan Ying once earned their living as butchers and peddlers. Xiao He and Cao Can, too, began as ordinary clerks, poor and struggling to make ends meet. In his youth, Ying Bu was convicted of a crime and subjected to tattooing—a punishment in which characters were carved into the face and inked. He later served in a lowly post as a gatekeeper. He once laughed and said that the fortune-teller had been right: he had first been tattooed, and later became a king. When Xiang Yu and Emperor Gaozu of Han fought for control of the realm, Ying Bu was enfeoffed as the King of Jiujiang. Zhou Bo, too, had once worked as a performer, earning his living through song, dance, and comic acts.

“Baiyou” (comic performers who entertained people with song and dance) was the name of a performing art. In the Jin dynasty there was Youyou, and the Biographies of the Witty in the Records of the Grand Historian mentions You Meng. Both were renowned for their skill as performers. The Jijiu pian says, “Singing makes one an entertainer; comic acting makes one laugh.” Baiyou were two names for the same art: performances of folk music, dance, and acrobatics, using humorous speech to amuse the audience.

In his youth, Zhou Bo came from the ranks of comic performers and was also a knight-errant. He excelled at playing the xiao flute and various wind and string instruments. He often performed as a comic entertainer at funerals for others, and came from humble origins. Later he became the Right Chancellor under Emperor Gaozu of Han. His abilities surpassed those of everyone else at court; no one could match him. His conduct accorded with proper standards, yet in essence he possessed the talent of a general and statesman.

Zhang Jingyang had once been a licentious man in Ying, the capital of Chu, yet he was able to command the respect of the feudal lords. Yan Zhuozou was a notorious bandit from Liangfu, but later became a meritorious servant of the state of Qi. Zou was a native of Qi. He had once been a Red Eyebrow bandit in Daliang, but later became a minister to Duke Jing of Qi. Men like these, though each had their shortcomings, largely relied on their own abilities to achieve lasting fame.

Yuan Jingmu was from Chu. Once, while he was desperately hungry on the road, a man gave him food. Yuan Jingmu asked, “Who are you, and why are you giving me food?” The man replied, “I am a bandit from Huqiu.” Yuan Jingmu said, “Since you are a bandit, I will not eat this unrighteous food.” He braced himself with both hands on the ground, vomited up what he had eaten, and eventually died.

Bao Jiao.

Bao Sheng, also known as Bao Jiao, wore neither silk nor hemp clothing and ate no grain. He carried a shoulder pole and a basket, gathering fruit from the trees to stave off hunger. When Zigong passed by, he asked, “How did you come to this?” Bao Jiao replied, “I have heard that seeking office without being appointed damages one’s conduct; when a ruler will not employ you, yet you refuse to stop pursuing office, you damage your integrity. To damage both one’s conduct and one’s integrity, yet continue chasing profit, is something I find shameful.”

Zigong said, “I have heard that those who do not approve of the present age do not enjoy its benefits, and those who judge a ruler’s character to be corrupt do not enter his domain. How much more should they avoid eating even a little of its vegetables?” Bao Jiao said, “I have heard that the worthy regard advancement to office as important and withdrawal as insignificant; the honorable would rather endure hardship than fear death.” He then abandoned his life, stood beneath a bridge, and drowned himself in the Luo River.

Lu Zhonglian commented, “Bao Jiao could not live at ease in the world and instead sought his own death. This was not done for the sake of others. He held fast to his principles and refused to eat unrighteous food, but in the end he starved to death without achieving anything or helping those in peril. He failed to preserve the lesser obligations, and so damaged the greater ones as well.”

Boyi and Shuqi were pure and noble in conduct. They believed they should not inherit the throne of the state of Guzhu, so they refused to eat the grain of the Zhou dynasty and eventually starved to death on Mount Shouyang. Yang Zhu, by contrast, advocated preserving oneself and nurturing one’s nature in order to avoid harm and gain. Someone asked him, “If plucking one hair from your body could benefit all under Heaven, would you do it?” Yang Zhu replied, “The affairs of all under Heaven cannot be settled by a single hair.” Mozi, meanwhile, made practicing benevolence his duty and was willing to wear himself down from head to foot for the benefit of all under Heaven. Though these two men acted differently, they won the same renown.

People differ in their abilities, and the tasks suited to them differ as well. What is beautiful is not always valuable, and what is inferior should not be cast aside forever. The pelts of sable and white fox make fur robes of rich color and splendor, beautiful as auspicious clouds and white as jade. They are the finest of garments. Rain capes and hats woven from sedge and other grasses are sparse and plain, with dull colors; among woven grass garments, they are coarse and inferior.

Though fur robes and rain capes differ, both serve to cover the body. They may differ in appearance, but each is equally valuable when suited to its purpose. In a splendid dwelling, a rain cape is no match for a fur robe; in snow and driving rain, a fur robe is in turn no match for a rain cape. This shows that the use of one’s abilities depends on the time and the task: each has its proper place.

At festive gatherings for occasions such as the winter and summer solstices, people sing songs like “Gathering Water Chestnuts.” When hauling stones or towing boats, they sing work chants. “Yinsuo” refers to the act of pulling a rope; some also interpret it as the rope used to steady a boat.

Even the most beautiful song has times when it is unsuitable. Sounds such as “hush” and “oh” can have stirring, moving tones, but when heavy loads need to be hauled or a blade drawn for action, they are less fitting than a forceful shout.

When Bian Zhuangzi, a warrior of the state of Lu in the Spring and Autumn period, entered the courtyard of the Yin people, his jade ornaments chimed softly, his steps were unhurried, his expression gentle, and his speech calm. But when he fought a tiger, he had to roll up his sleeves, bend his arms and exert himself, open his eyes wide, and shout loudly. These actions were not as graceful as gentle, modest conduct, but they were clearly better suited to bringing a fierce beast under control.

The prodigy of Anling was a handsome young man famous throughout the country. If, during an ensemble of instruments, he were made to play with a loud, grating sound, then despite his striking appearance, he would be less suited to performing and pleasing an audience than blind musicians and dwarfs—people of short stature.

Legend has it that Lord Sui once saw an injured green snake on the road. He took it home, treated its wound with medicine, and fed it meat. Once the snake had recovered, he let it go. Three days later, the snake came before Lord Sui carrying a precious pearl as bright as the moon. At first, Lord Sui thought it meant to harm him and drew his sword to strike it. Looking closely, he realized that the snake had brought the pearl to repay his kindness.

Even a treasured jade handed down through generations or a luminous moon pearl is less effective than a clay pellet when thrown at crows. The Tangxi sword, famed as the sharpest in the world, is less useful for cutting rice stalks than a sickle. These four examples show that fine things are not precious in every circumstance, and ordinary or inferior things are not always useless. What matters is whether something suits the task at hand.

Long ago, a countryman refused to listen to the elegant, persuasive words of Zigong, a disciple of Confucius, but was willing to hear the stable hand’s plain, direct explanation. While Confucius was traveling in the hills of Mu, his horse broke loose and ate the villagers’ crops. The villagers seized the horse and would not return it. Confucius first sent Zigong to retrieve it. Zigong tried to negotiate in refined, elaborate language, but the villagers ignored him. Confucius then sent the stable hand, who spoke plainly: “From the East Sea to the West Sea, all the crops are yours. If the horse does not eat your crops, what else can it eat?” On hearing this, the villagers returned the horse.

When the King of Yue obtained seedlings and grain from the Western Sea by the shore, he said that this was food fit for a ruler. Someone replied, “If horses do not eat this, what can they eat?” On hearing this, the King of Yue took the grain and fed it to the horses. The horse keeper was responsible for raising them.

Later, the King of Yue no longer enjoyed the sound of the flute, and instead came to prefer the rough, rustic sounds of the countryside. This does not mean that Zigong was inferior to the horse keeper, nor that flute music must be inferior to rustic sounds. Fine things do not necessarily suit everyone’s tastes; they are valued because different things each have their own uses.

Water, fire, metal, wood, earth, and grain are six distinct resources, yet each can serve a purpose. The compass, square, steelyard, balance, level, and ink line are six tools with different forms and uses, and each has its own function.

Thus, when Yi Yin, a renowned minister of the Shang dynasty, undertook construction work, he had long-legged people tread the earth-packing tools, strong-backed people carry soil, people with poor eyesight hold the leveling line, and people with bent bodies spread the ground coating. He assigned work according to what each task required, putting everyone’s abilities to good use so that each could fulfill their role and contribute to the achievement.

A man named Xiao Qi first sought official service in Qi by pretending to be a merchant. When he met Duke Huan of Qi, he tapped a cow’s horn and sang: “The spring waters flow in abundance, the fish swim at ease; though one who cherishes De does not enter office, he has let a general find shelter.”

The guest who came at cockcrow…

Feng Huan was a retainer in the household of Lord Mengchang. Lord Mengchang was a prince of the state of Qi and kept three thousand retainers. The highest-ranking retainers were served meat, those of the middle rank were served fish, and those of the lowest rank could eat only vegetables. Feng Huan lived among the lowest-ranking retainers for three years, and Lord Mengchang never learned who he was.

Feng Huan began plucking his zither and singing, “A true man should go home: there’s no fish with the meals.” When Lord Mengchang heard this, he ordered that Feng Huan be served fish. Later, Feng Huan sang again, “A true man should go home: there’s no carriage for going out.” Lord Mengchang then arranged a carriage for him.

Later, Lord Mengchang went to the state of Qin, where the king imprisoned him and even planned to have him killed. Lord Mengchang sent someone to ask the king’s consort for help. She said, “Lord Mengchang once presented the king with a fox-fur robe, made from the pelt of a white fox. If you give me another robe, I will persuade the king to let you leave.” The messenger returned and relayed her words. Lord Mengchang said, “I had only one fox-fur robe, and I already gave it to the king. Where could I possibly get another?”

At that moment, Feng Huan slipped into the Qin palace at night, stole the fox-fur robe, and delivered it to the king’s consort. Astonished and delighted, she said to the king, “Lord Mengchang is a prince of Qi. If you kill him, you will make an enemy of Qi. You would do better to let him return home.” The king took her advice and released Lord Mengchang.

After leaving the palace, Lord Mengchang feared that the theft of the robe would be discovered, so he fled back to Qi that very night. When they reached the Qin border gate, dawn had not yet come and the gate was still closed. Feng Huan imitated a rooster’s crow, and the nearby roosters all began to crow. Then he imitated a dog’s bark, and the dogs began barking too. Hearing the roosters and dogs, the guards thought dawn was near and opened the gate. Lord Mengchang had traveled thirty li beyond the gate when the Qin king finally sent men to pursue him, but they could no longer catch up.

People’s talents each have their proper uses and should not be cast aside lightly. Had the retainers of Lord Mengchang, a nobleman of the State of Qi during the Warring States period, been sent to tend horses, they might well have been captured by pursuing troops and suffered the humiliation of imprisonment. And had the retainer skilled at imitating a cock’s crow been asked to assist Duke Huan of Qi, a ruler of the Spring and Autumn period, he could hardly have helped him achieve hegemony and bring the feudal lords together nine times. To deceive the guards at a pass at night, nothing was more suitable than imitating a cock’s crow; to help a hegemon accomplish great things, nothing was more suitable than the Merchant’s Song, a kind of song in ancient times. The Merchant’s Song was refined, while a cock’s crow was coarse. Though they differed in quality, their usefulness was the same when each was applied appropriately to deal with a situation and resolve a difficulty.

A market thief in the State of Chu was renowned throughout the realm as a great bandit. Whenever he fought a fierce tiger, he would roll up his sleeves, bend his arms, glare, and shout loudly. His manner may not have been as pleasing as gentleness and humility, but rolling up his sleeves and flexing his arms was better suited to subduing a wild beast. The prodigy of Anling was outstanding in both appearance and talent. Yet if he were asked to play and punctuate the sounds in an ensemble of many instruments to entertain an audience, he would be less effective than blind musicians and dwarfs.

The Pearl of the Marquis of Sui, the legendary luminous pearl received by the ruler of Sui, came about in this way. On the road, the marquis saw a green snake that had been injured. He took it home, treated its wound with medicine, and fed it meat. When the wound had healed, he let the snake go. Three days later, the green snake came before him carrying a luminous pearl in its mouth, to repay his kindness. At first the marquis thought it meant to harm him, and drew his sword to kill it. Only after looking closely did he realize that it had come to offer the pearl in gratitude.

A treasured jade passed down through generations is no more effective for striking crows than a mud pellet. The Tangxi sword, famed throughout the realm, is less useful for cutting grain than a sickle. These examples show that fine things are not always precious or useful, and that coarse things should not be cast aside forever. Every thing has its time and place for being put to use.

Long ago, a countryman dismissed Zigong’s eloquence, though he valued what a groom had to say. Confucius once traveled to Mount Mu, and his horse was startled and ran off, trampling the villagers’ crops. Alas, the passage goes on to explain why the countryman valued the groom’s words more highly.

When Confucius was traveling in Mount Mu, his horse wandered off and ate a local farmer’s crops. The farmer caught the horse and refused to return it. Confucius sent Zigong to ask for the horse back. Zigong tried to persuade the farmer with elegant, ornate words, but the farmer would not agree. Later, Confucius sent the horsekeeper to ask for it. The horsekeeper spoke plainly to the farmer: “All the crops from here to the Western Sea belong to you. If the horse cannot eat these, what can it eat?” Hearing this, the farmer returned the horse. The horsekeeper was the person responsible for managing the horses.

The King of Yue gave up the sound of the lai, an ancient musical instrument, and came to favor the rough, rustic sounds of the countryside. This does not mean that Zigong was inferior to the horsekeeper, or that the music of the lai was inferior to rustic sounds. Rather, refined beauty does not necessarily suit everyone’s tastes. Things are valued because each has its own use.

Water, fire, metal, wood, earth, and grain—the six kinds of things—are all different, yet each serves a purpose. The compass, carpenter’s square, balance, weights, level, and ink line—the six tools—also have different forms and distinct functions. Things are valued because each has its own use.

When Yi Yin undertook construction work, he assigned people with long legs to tread down the earth, those with strong backs to carry soil, those with poor eyesight to align the ink line, and those with hunched backs to smooth the ground. He assigned work according to what each task required, allowing people to use their strengths and act with ease, so that each could fulfill their duties and earn merit.

There was a man named Xiao Qi who made his living singing merchants’ songs. At first, he served as an official in Qi. Disguised as a merchant, he went to see Duke Huan of Qi, tapping his ox horn as he sang. His song went: “The spring waters flow wide, the fish swim at ease. Though I possess virtue, I do not enter office; I must make my home at a general’s gate.”

There was also a guest who crowed like a rooster.

Feng Xuan was a retainer of Lord Mengchang, a nobleman of the state of Qi who kept three thousand retainers in his household. The senior retainers ate meat, those of middle rank ate fish, and the junior retainers ate vegetables. Feng Xuan remained among the junior retainers for a long time. Three years passed, and Lord Mengchang still did not know him.

So Feng Xuan plucked his zither and sang, “A worthy man should go home: there is no fish with his meals.” When Lord Mengchang heard this, he ordered that Feng Xuan be given fish. Later, Feng Xuan sang again: “A worthy man should go home: there is no carriage when he goes out.” Lord Mengchang arranged a carriage for him. Feng Xuan later sang the same song once more, and Lord Mengchang continued to provide him with fish and a carriage.

Later, Lord Mengchang went to the state of Qin, where the king had him imprisoned and planned to kill him. Lord Mengchang sent someone to plead for help with the king’s consort. She said, “Lord Mengchang once presented the king with a white fox-fur robe. If he gives me another one, I will persuade the king to let him go.” The messenger returned and told Lord Mengchang. He replied, “I had only one white fox-fur robe, and I already gave it to the king. Where could I possibly get another?”

That night, Feng Xuan slipped into the Qin palace, stole the white fox-fur robe, and gave it to the king’s consort. Startled but delighted, she said to the king, “Lord Mengchang is a nobleman of Qi. If you kill him, you will make an enemy of Qi. You would do better to let him return home.” The king took her advice and released Lord Mengchang.

After escaping, Lord Mengchang feared that the theft of the robe would come to light, so he hurried back to Qi under cover of night. When he reached the Qin border pass, it was still dark, and the gates had not yet opened. Feng Xuan imitated a rooster’s crow, and the roosters near the pass all began to crow in response. He then imitated a dog’s bark, and the dogs joined in. Hearing the roosters and dogs, the guards thought dawn had come and opened the gates. Lord Mengchang had traveled thirty li beyond the pass before the king of Qin sent men after him; by then, they could no longer catch him.

People’s abilities each have their uses and should not be cast aside lightly. If Feng Xuan had not had the chance, as a retainer, to put abilities such as imitating a rooster’s crow and a dog’s bark to use, Lord Mengchang might well have been caught by his pursuers and suffered the humiliation of continued imprisonment.

People’s abilities serve different purposes. One should not discard a skill just because it seems undignified. If Mengchang Jun’s retainers, skilled at raising children and attracting guests, had been sent to imitate the crowing of a rooster or the snatching of a dog—petty arts such as faking a rooster’s call or stealing—they would likely have faced the disgrace of being pursued and imprisoned. And if Duke Huan of Qi had relied on a man who could crow like a rooster to help him build his hegemony, that man could never have helped him achieve supremacy and convene the feudal lords as effectively as the songs of merchants did. When one must pass through a guarded gate in an emergency, no method is better than a rooster’s crow. When one must help a hegemon accomplish great things, no ability is better than the songs of merchants. The songs of merchants are refined, while the rooster’s crow is lowly. Though they differ in rank, they follow the same principle: adapting to circumstances and overcoming danger.

In the state of Chu there was a man who stole from the marketplace, a notorious thief throughout the realm.

The ruler of Qi attacked Chu, and the King of Chu sent Zifan with troops to resist. The king and his ministers discussed their plans, but could find no way to drive back the Qi army. In his youth, Zifan had admired chivalrous men. A marketplace thief from Chu came to see him and said, “I hear that you admire chivalrous men. I am a notorious marketplace thief throughout the realm.” Zifan heard this and hurried out to greet him in person, without even taking time to put on his hat. He then spoke with him and sent troops to attack the Qi army. The King of Chu was so taken aback that he did not know what to do.

The thief quietly slipped into the Qi camp, stole the Qi general’s canopy, and gave it to Zifan. Zifan sent someone to return it to the Qi camp. The following night, the thief went back into the camp, stole the general’s hairpin, and gave it to Zifan; Zifan then returned it to the King of Qi. One night later, the thief went straight into the Qi camp, stole the general’s robe, and gave it to Zifan. Zifan returned the robe to the general as well. A messenger told the general, “You must withdraw tonight. If you do not leave, he will come for your head tonight.” Terrified, the general immediately led his army home.

This was how the marketplace thief drove back the Qi army. Even if Sun Hao had commanded the troops, the Qi army would certainly have fought him; they would not have fled at the first rumor. Shu Yu of Jin was a treacherous and wicked man in his state, yet he was able to make Jisun return …

The state of Lu sent Jisun to pay a court visit to the Marquis of Jin. The marquis believed Jisun had committed a crime and detained him in front of the other lords. Later, after it was established that Jisun was innocent, the marquis intended to let him return home. But Jisun crouched on the ground and refused to get up. He said to the marquis, “At first, you declared me guilty in front of the other lords and had me arrested. Now that it has been established I am innocent, you should summon the lords and publicly declare me innocent. Only then will I agree to return. Otherwise, I will not go back.”

The Marquis of Jin was embarrassed and could think of no way to get Jisun to return home. Jin had a minister named Shuyu, who was extremely cunning and deceitful. He pretended to be on friendly terms with Jisun and said to him, “I feel very uneasy.” Jisun asked, “Why are you uneasy?” Shuyu replied, “I hear the Marquis of Jin has built a residence elsewhere and intends to make you live there.” Jisun believed him and escaped back to Lu under cover of night. Though Shuyu was extraordinarily devious, he thereby enabled Jisun to return home.

Even if Gansu had been sent to persuade Jisun, Jisun would certainly have argued with him and would not have been frightened into submission. Here, “subdued” means to be disheartened and afraid, and so to yield.

Even those who have once fled and later returned should not be cast aside lightly. Great bandits and slanderous, treacherous people may bring harm to the people and seem useless, yet if they possess even one skill, they may still benefit the state and eliminate its harms. How, then, can wise and capable people be rejected merely because they once committed robbery?

The “Ospreys” (“Guanju”) begins with birds and stands at the head of the “Airs of the States” (“Guofeng”), praising the birds’ devotion to one another and the distinction between them. “The Deer Call” (“Luming”) begins with animals and opens the “Minor Odes” (“Xiaoya”), praising deer who, after finding food, call their companions to share it. Even birds and beasts, simply for possessing one admirable quality, are praised in song by the poets. How, then, could people who do good be cast aside and ignored?

Once timber has been cut and shaped, large pieces can serve as pillars and beams, while smaller ones can be made into rafters. Straight pieces suit the carpenter’s line; curved ones are fit for making hooks. When each piece is used according to its qualities, none need be discarded. Thus, a noble person skilled at selecting talent rejects no one, just as an excellent craftsperson skilled at using timber wastes no material. Worthy people and those suited to a task work together, each contributing their strengths to achieve great things. The Book of Songs says, “Though you already have silk and hemp, do not discard the sedge and rush; though you have women of the Ji and Jiang clans, do not disdain those whose looks have faded.” This is the very principle being expressed.

A compass is used to draw circles; using it to cut out squares would be unsuitable. A carpenter’s square is used to make right angles; using it to make a round mirror would go against its purpose. A wheel is meant to travel over land, but it would sink if put in water. A boat is meant to cross rivers, but it would be a hindrance on land. Why is this so? Because squares and circles have different shapes, and boats and carts serve different purposes.

Though their shapes differ and their uses are distinct, each is equally useful when suited to the need at hand. In the sweltering heat of midsummer, people need a cool breeze; in the freezing depths of winter, they need to live in warm rooms. Not wearing felt clothes in summer does not mean disliking felt clothes; it is simply because the weather is too hot. Not sleeping on a mushroom-fiber mat in winter does not mean resenting the mat; the cold is already severe enough. The gradual warmth of spring does not lead people to destroy their winter furs, nor do autumn dews wetting the plants lead them to tear up their summer mats.

When war is intense and blades and spears clash, civil governance is no match for military preparedness. Once the fighting has ended and the weapons have been put away, people should cultivate ritual and music; at that time, military force is no match for civil governance. One must not abandon military preparedness just because the realm is at peace and its borders are secure, nor reject scholars just because wars are raging in every direction. Different abilities each have their proper time and place; neither side should be neglected. The Five Phases have different qualities, yet each can be put to use. Literary talent and military strategy each have their strengths, and both can play an important role.

This is like the people who fight fires: some carry basins and earthenware vessels, while others use bottles that hold only a dou. Though these tools differ in shape and size, in name and material, their effects are the same so long as they can hold water and put out the fire. A kite flyer leans backward, while an angler bends forward. Their postures differ, but both are trying to obtain what they need. A weaver advances step by step, while a farmer moves backward step by step. They move in different directions, yet both accomplish their work effectively. When Mozi went to save the state of Song, he hurried along carrying heavy equipment…

Mo Di was a man of the state of Song. He was well versed in the Nine Classics and, in private, trained in various skills. When the state of Lu attacked Song, it ordered Gongshu Luban to build siege ladders in preparation for storming the city. Within the city, Mozi made weapons that used fire for defense and burned Gongshu Luban’s siege ladders. Whenever Lu attacked, it relied on Gongshu Luban’s exceptional skill; Mozi, in turn, always defended with composure. Though Gongshu Luban possessed unmatched ingenuity, he was ultimately outmaneuvered by Mozi. Mozi hurried back and forth across the city of Song, continually rushing to aid places in danger, until thick layers of callus formed on his feet.

Gan Mu, in the state of Wei, never left his home.

There was a recluse in Wei named Duan Ganmu. Marquis Wen of Wei went to his home and spoke with him, sitting together all day. The muscles in the marquis’s legs began to ache, yet he did not dare stretch them. He said to his attendants, “In wealth, I cannot compare with Ganmu; in virtue, he surpasses me. That is why I dare not stretch my legs.” When Qin heard that Wei had Ganmu, it stopped its troops and did not dare attack Wei.

Though people act in different ways, each can preserve the state in their own manner. Civil officials assist in governing through civil affairs; military commanders repel enemies by force. Each has its own principles for advancing and withdrawing, yet both can bring about stability.

At the end of the Qin dynasty, the realm fell into chaos and fragmentation. Emperor Gaozu of Han personally took up his sword to secure a chance of survival for the people. He crossed mountains and rivers, braved arrows and stones, and endured repeated brushes with death, seeking a livelihood for the people while also contending with rival powers for the realm. He fought boldly and held firm in his resolve, determined to settle the outcome in a short time. In such a period, to wear a zhangfu, the cap worn by ancient Confucian scholars, and a fengye, a long robe with wide sleeves, would be… These wide-sleeved garments are what we now call long-sleeved robes.

A gold helmet would be better suited to battle if it were fitted with rhinoceros-hide armor. After the Qin dynasty and Xiang Yu’s forces were overthrown, the realm was at peace. The Han dynasty established its rule through military strength, then used civil governance to bring an end to war. It summoned Confucian scholars from the Zou and Lu regions to devise rites, restored the music of earlier dynasties, and received the homage of all nations at Xianyang. At that time, those who valued civil governance rose to prominence, while those skilled in arms temporarily fell from favor. Within a single generation, the standing of civil and military pursuits can shift in turn. This shows that times of peace and times of disorder call for different approaches: people should be selected according to the needs of the age. Today, those who practice martial skills dismiss civil governance, while those who esteem learning mock military affairs.

“Mock” means to ridicule. People each cling to their own strengths and judge one another as right or wrong. This is like using the gong note to mock the jiao note, or using white to deny black. Such judgments do not reflect the practical assessment of people’s abilities, nor do they fit the facts.

Matching Responsibilities

Objects differ in width and narrowness, capacity, and the coarseness or fineness of their materials. So when assigning them light or heavy tasks, one must respect each object’s limits and avoid mismatching it. A great tripod with a capacity of ten thousand shuo cannot hold just one ladleful of water, and a bell weighing one jun should not be used to hold spring water. A tree ten arm spans around cannot be covered with a thatched roof, and a pillar made from thorny brushwood cannot support a vast hall. Why? Small vessels cannot contain large things; large vessels are unsuited to small purposes. Heavy things cannot be entrusted to what is light, and light things should not bear an excessive load. Using a large vessel for a small quantity leaves its size and purpose out of proportion. Putting a large quantity into a small vessel makes it tip over and spill. Placing a heavy load where it cannot be borne causes damage; making something light and flimsy carry a heavy load crushes it.

Thus gulls and Pengs—the Peng being a great bird of legend—cannot be judged by the same standard. With a single flight, the great Peng travels ninety thousand li, beating its wings as it soars straight into the blue sky, seeming to tread upon floating clouds as it crosses the vast heavens.

“Liao” means spacious and open; “kuo” means vast.

There is a kind of bird that can bear the blue sky on its back, tread upon drifting clouds, and fly on six wings. The “leaping” mentioned here is the name of a divine horse.

“Yaoguo” is a divine horse that rises in a shimmer of light and can gallop ten thousand li. The “Yaoguo horse” is also a descendant of the dragon and a divine horse; its offspring are called “ji.” A fine steed races so swiftly that it leaves the dust behind, and even the smallest things are soon far behind it—proof of its speed.

To envy the soaring flight of a bird with the wings of a sparrow, or to hope to match the sun’s pace with the hooves of a dog or sheep, is plainly impossible. A benfeng cannot transform into a “leizhu,” a worm that feeds on bean leaves, but it can transform into a “mingling,” a worm that feeds on mulberry leaves. Chickens from Yue cannot hatch swan’s eggs, while chickens from Lu can. Leizhu and mingling are both insects, and the Lu and Yue chickens are both birds, but whether they can transform or hatch eggs depends on their natural endowments: leizhu is larger, while the Yue chicken is smaller.

Dragons and snakes are born with the ability to coil and soar, so they can ride the clouds and drive through the mist. Worthy and capable people possess the De needed to govern, so they can make use of the times and hold office. However dense the clouds and mist, ants and earthworms cannot rise into them, for they lack the necessary endowment. However high the office, the mediocre and dull cannot govern well, for they lack the necessary De. Thus, those of limited ability cannot plan great undertakings, and those with insufficient De cannot shoulder extensive responsibilities. Entrusting great undertakings to limited ability invites danger; assigning heavy responsibilities to those with shallow De inevitably leads to failure.

When Ziyou governed Wucheng, Confucius remarked, “Why use an ox-cleaver to kill a chicken?” He wondered whether such effort was excessive for the task. Zichan, in turn, urged Zipi not to appoint Yin He as the magistrate of an estate. Yin He had no experience in government, so Zichan used tailoring brocade as an analogy: if someone does not yet know how to handle the tools, how can they be expected to cut brocade well?

Giving a weighty office to someone whose De is insufficient is called “overreaching”; assigning only a minor duty to someone whose De is ample is called “demotion.” Of these two mismatches, it is better to appoint someone too low than too high. A junzi should therefore assign offices according to ability and determine rank according to office. In this way, the ruler will not hand out posts to unsuitable people, and officials will not be burdened with tasks beyond their abilities. This avoids both exhaustion from carrying too heavy a load and failure caused by insufficient capacity.

The sun and moon are the adornments of the sky; mountains and rivers are the adornments of the earth; words are the adornments of human beings. When the sky’s adornments go awry, calamities such as solar and lunar eclipses occur. When the earth’s adornments go awry, disasters such as collapsing mountains and dried-up rivers follow. When people’s words go awry, they too can bring harm to the body.

The mouth is the gateway for speech, and the tongue is like the key that opens it. When the key turns, the gateway opens; when the gateway opens, words come out. Speak good words, and people a thousand miles away will respond; speak evil words, and people a thousand miles away will oppose you. Once words have left your mouth, you cannot stop others from hearing them. Feelings revealed nearby are likewise difficult to keep from spreading far away. Thus, the noble person carefully guards this gateway and keeps close control over speech.

Words held in the mouth are like a sharp blade held between the teeth; they should not be used lightly. Once the blade is moved, it will wound the throat and tongue. The harm caused by speaking carelessly is more serious than an injury from a blade. For this reason, there is a star in the sky called “Rolled Tongue,” and on earth there are inscriptions warning people to keep silent and speak with care.

At the Temple of the Duke of Zhou, a golden figure was once cast with its mouth sealed by three fastenings. On its back was engraved: “I am one of the ancients who spoke with care.” This was meant to warn people against speaking rashly and to prevent errors of speech.

The mouth is a gateway through which calamity enters and a source of ruin and disgrace. Words reflect a person’s character and bear on their very life; they are also bound up with their safety and peril. Once spoken, words may bring disaster in their wake. A single misspoken remark can even lead to death. The dead cannot return to life, and words spoken in error cannot be taken back.

It is like shooting an arrow: while the bow’s mechanism has not yet released it, one can still stop; once the arrow leaves the string, there is no way to make it fly back, however much one may wish to. The Book of Changes says that words are the key that sets things in motion; the Book of Songs, in turn, censures flaws in speech. Once a word is spoken amiss, it cannot be rubbed away like a stain. Once words have left the mouth, how could they be chased down like lightning and brought back? These are lessons the sages of old took particular care to observe, and warnings later generations should heed. The wise speak with care and so do not misspeak; the foolish speak carelessly and bring calamity upon themselves.

In the past, Zhi Bo’s careless remark brought the disaster of a flood upon him. Zhi Bo joined Han Xuanzi and Wei Wuzi in attacking Zhao Xiangzi, diverting water to flood Zhao Xiangzi’s city and besieging it for three years. As Zhi Bo and the leaders of the Han and Wei families stood on high ground surveying the waters, he casually remarked, “The Yellow River could be used to flood Anyi, and the Fen River could be used to flood Pingyang.” Hearing this, Han Xuanzi nudged Wei Wuzi with his elbow, and Wei Wuzi nudged him with his foot, secretly signaling that they should leave. Han Xuanzi said to Wei Wuzi, “Zhi Bo intends to attack us with water. Once Zhao is destroyed, we will be next. We should deal with him first.” The Han and Wei families then sent word to Zhao Xiangzi, arranging to attack Zhi Bo the next day at the mao hour, while their forces struck from both sides. Zhao Xiangzi ultimately killed Zhi Bo, had his head lacquered, and made it into a vessel for holding refuse. This is an example of how careless speech invites calamity.

Wei Wuzi once let a secret slip in front of a hero, causing Liu Xuande (Liu Bei) to drop his chopsticks.

Cao Cao was Cao Cao, Emperor Wu of Wei. In the late Eastern Han dynasty, the realm was weakened and rival warlords raised armies of their own. Yuan Shao raised troops east of the Hangu Pass, Sun Quan occupied the lands of Wu, and Liu Zhang held Sichuan. Cao Cao, too, sought to contend for the realm. Liu Bei, whose courtesy name was Xuande, shared the same great ambition. He once visited Cao Cao. As they ate together, Cao Cao said, “The heroes of the realm are only you and me. Men like Yuan Benchu (Yuan Shao, whose courtesy name was Benchu) are not worth mentioning.” Hearing this, Liu Bei was startled and worried that Cao Cao had already seen his own ambition to contend for the realm. During the meal, the chopsticks in his hand fell to the ground. He then left Cao Cao and went to Xu Province, later moving on to Jing Province. In the end, he defeated Liu Zhang and declared himself king in western Shu. Cao Cao became king in the north, and Sun Quan became king in the south. Thus the realm came to be divided among three kingdoms.

Careless speech, then, is like placing one’s head amid filth: it can bring calamity. Xu Province fell into division, and later the realm was split among the two Jin dynasties; Min and Shu were also destroyed. These lessons, born of heedless speech, became the subject of generations of laughter and talk throughout the realm. After speaking with the Duke of Tangxi, Marquis Zhaohou of Han even slept alone for an entire night.

“Marquis” was Han Zhaohou’s rank. Tangxi was a place name, and “Duke” was a noble title. In conversation with the Duke of Tangxi, Han Zhaohou was told, “If a ruler’s words are divulged to those around him, it is like setting precious jade on a banquet table for everyone to see and touch.” Han Zhaohou therefore slept alone all night, afraid that his wives and concubines might hear what he said in his sleep.

Kong Guang, a Han dynasty minister who once served as Grand Minister of Works, refused to answer a question about the trees in the Warm Chamber because he feared that the conversation would be overheard by those around him. Someone asked what trees were planted before the palace’s Warm Chamber courtyard. Kong Guang changed the subject and did not answer. He acted this way because he did not want affairs of the palace to reach the outside world.

The sharp swords produced in Yue must still be forged with a hammer and anvil to become the renowned sword Pure Hook. The sturdy timber produced in Chu must likewise be straightened with a bow-shaping frame before it can be made into a slingshot or a diao bow, the bow used by the Son of Heaven.

Even when people are naturally intelligent, they need suitable conditions and guidance to correct their shortcomings and develop their strengths.

Although human nature is intelligent, it still needs sound words to cultivate De. A hammer and anvil are used to smooth rough things; a straightening tool is used to make crooked things straight; and helpful words can correct what is unkind.

People cannot see their own faces, so they use a mirror to check their appearance. It is difficult to comb one’s own hair neatly, so people use a comb to arrange it. The mind is difficult to examine on its own, so people rely on the words of others to encourage themselves to take pleasure in doing good. A mirror makes the face visible; a comb deserves credit for putting the hair in order; helpful words assist in making one’s conduct admirable. A mirror and comb bring modest benefits by improving one’s appearance, while helpful words bring greater benefits by cultivating De.

Everyone likes a mirror that shows their face, yet pays little heed to worthy people who reveal what is in their heart. They want a comb to arrange their hair, yet are unwilling to hear helpful words that guide their feelings and intentions. To give up the great benefit of De for a minor convenience—is that not to mistake what is fundamental for what is secondary? When having clothes and headwear made, people know that if they cannot make them themselves, they should go beyond their village and ask someone else to do it. Yet when it comes to cultivating themselves, they do not know to rely on others’ words to correct their conduct. They value their clothing and headwear more than themselves—is that not absurd?

A gentleman prizes the benefit of upright words above the gift of a precious jade ornament. He takes greater pleasure in hearing about his own faults than in gaining a reputation for virtue and righteousness. Thus King Zhuang of Chu thought little of a state with a thousand chariots, yet treasured a single remark from Shen Shulian.

Zhengshu of Chen rebelled and killed the ruler of Chen. When King Zhuang of Chu heard the news, he led his troops to Chen, killed Zhengshu, and then planned to make Chen a Chu commandery and appoint his own son to govern it. His minister Shen Shulian said, “Your Majesty has now punished the wicked Zhengshu on Chen’s behalf, but you intend to seize Chen’s land, make it a commandery, and appoint your son to govern it. When the lords of the four quarters hear of this, they will not say that Your Majesty rid Chen of evil; they will say that he attacked Zhengshu in order to take Chen’s land. Why not send envoys throughout the land to seek out a descendant of Chen’s royal house, install him as ruler, and restore stability and order to the state?” King Zhuang accepted his advice, found a descendant of Chen’s royal house, and installed him as ruler.

Fan Xian believed that ten thousand mu of farmland were worth less than a single remark from a boatman.

Fan Xian was a high-ranking official in the state of Jin. He had killed Le You, another Jin official, and later planned to travel. Fearing that Le You’s son would seek revenge, he asked the boatman as they reached the ferry, “Have you seen Le You’s son?” The boatman replied, “When you return to Jin, if you put the government’s policies in order, what could Le You’s son do to you, even if he came? But if you travel without restraint and neglect the affairs of state, how are the people on this boat any different from Le You’s son? Why ask about him in particular?” Fan Xian then rewarded the boatman with ten thousand mu of farmland, showing how highly he valued the man’s words.

Jilu, also known as Zilu, a disciple of Confucius, kept in mind five admonitions on acting with care. Zhao Meng, meanwhile, wore nine maxims. A maxim is a saying meant to offer counsel and warning. The nine maxims were: do not speak harshly or disrupt order; do not casually relax the laws; do not presume upon favor; do not agree blindly; do not violate ritual propriety; do not let frugality undermine the proper means and capacity to act; do not grant forgiveness indiscriminately; do not punish the virtuous; and do not act against what is right.

In light of this, how could precious jade disks and fiefs be worth as much as good counsel? Duke Huan of Qi ignored a Yue man’s warning and eventually fell ill with a disease that penetrated to the marrow.

Bian Que of Yue came to the state of Qi and saw that Marquis Huan was ill. “Your illness can be cured,” he said. Marquis Huan replied, “This old doctor wants to claim I am ill when I am not, just to prove how skilled he is.” Bian Que left.

The next day, Bian Que came to see Marquis Huan again and said, “Your illness can be treated.” Marquis Huan replied, “I am not ill; I need no treatment.” Later, when Bian Que came to see him once more, he turned and left as soon as he saw him. After Bian Que had gone, Marquis Huan’s condition worsened. He sent someone to look for Bian Que and ask him to come treat him. When Bian Que arrived, Marquis Huan asked, “When I was not ill, you wanted to treat me. Now that I am seriously ill, why have you left me and gone away?”

Bian Que said, “The first time I saw you, the illness was in your skin and could be cured with acupuncture and moxibustion. The second time, it had penetrated into your muscles, but could still be cured with medicinal decoctions. When I saw you again, it had reached below the region known as gaohuang—the area between the heart and diaphragm, which people in ancient times believed medicines could scarcely reach. It could no longer be treated, so I left.” Marquis Huan said, “You truly are a fine doctor.” He then saw Bian Que off with the proper ceremony. After that, Marquis Huan died.

King Wu ignored Mei Cheng’s advice and eventually suffered the disaster of his state’s destruction.

Mei Cheng was a minister of King Wu and the father of Mei Gao. When King Wu was plotting a rebellion, Mei Cheng repeatedly urged him to desist, but the king would not heed him. As a result, the state was destroyed.

When people are about to fall ill, they often find that fish and meat have lost their flavor. When a state or an individual is about to decline, they likewise often refuse to heed loyal advice. Thus, those nearing death say that a good doctor delayed their end; those on the verge of ruin say they had no upright ministers who dared to remonstrate. Yet refusing to hear helpful words is like being deaf: the ears are not truly blocked, but loyal advice cannot enter the heart.

The wise accept admonition before a problem appears and take advice before calamity strikes. Following good counsel is as smooth as a ball rolling; casting off bad habits is like laying down a heavy burden. Once sound words reach the ears, harm can be kept far away.

In ancient times, Emperor Yao set up a drum to summon those who would remonstrate; Emperor Shun raised a wooden board on which people could criticize the affairs of state; Tang of Shang appointed officials to point out faults; and King Wu of Zhou established rites to keep himself mindful of warning. A tao was a small drum sounded by shaking it on a cord. The sagely and wise understood how things worked and could discern the faintest signs, so they should not have been liable to the slightest error in judgment. Yet they still opened wide the means of hearing advice and kept the channels for helpful words clear. Did they not thereby set an example for later generations of valuing frank counsel?

If even the sages of antiquity could take advice from the words of ordinary people, how much more should ordinary people value helpful counsel? Ministers may offer fitting suggestions to their rulers and correct their errors through tactful remonstrance; children may do the same with their fathers. Among close friends, too, there is a principle of mutual refinement and helping one another flourish. If a gentleman listens to advice as an echo answers and follows what is good as readily as water flows downhill, he can remain safe and secure for a long time. His Virtue will flourish like pines and cypresses, his name resound like metal and stone, and his reputation endure for a thousand years.

On the Harm of Slander, Chapter Thirty-Two

Praise is an important means of proclaiming good deeds; slander is a means of spreading evil.

Praise is essential to promoting good conduct; slander is a means of spreading a bad name. Sincere praise for good deeds comes from a generous and kindly nature, while deliberate talk that magnifies wrongdoing arises from narrow, extreme feelings. A generous heart is always inclined to help others succeed, whereas a narrow one seeks only to harm them. So when praising a good person, people often make that person’s virtues sound as great as possible; when slandering someone, they make that person’s faults sound as terrible as possible. Why? Because people in the world enjoy hearing extraordinary things, and will not listen unless a story is sensational enough. If praise does not make someone’s good qualities stand out even more, listeners are not satisfied; if slander does not make someone’s faults seem even worse, listeners are not satisfied either.

There are few good people in the world and many bad ones. As a result, words of praise find few listeners, while slanderous talk never stops. Some people scrape away dirt and then search for traces of it; they part the hair to hunt for flaws. They claim something exists when it does not, call white black, make the light seem heavy, and exaggerate an inch into a foot.

When Mozi (Mo Di) saw pure white silk being dyed different colors, such as blue-green and yellow, he wept. In the same way, a good person struck by slander may come to be called wicked.

Yang Zhu was from the state of Song. Once, while traveling with others, he suddenly saw a fork in the road and wept in sorrow, because the road had split and he could not know how many people had gone astray.

The ancients compared slanderous talk to green-headed flies. Duke Wu of Wei believed such slander, and a poem mocked him: “Buzzing green flies settle on the fence; may the genial, peaceable gentleman never believe slander.” When green-headed flies land on something white, they blacken its pure surface; slander, too, distorts a person’s reputation.

That is why eloquent speakers are likened to swords: their words are sharp enough to wound. A single remark can make white seem black. “Zi” means black.

Sharp swords and blades can injure whatever they strike. There are four kinds of threats, then, that must be guarded against. Crows, with bent necks and interlocking claws, are feared by birds. Wild beasts fear those with square muzzles and hooked claws. Fish fear those with saw-edged mouths. And people who are eloquent and fond of spreading slander are feared by everyone.

Those who are jealous and delight in speaking ill of others always want to hear what is bad about them and dislike hearing what is good. They envy those whose talent and wisdom surpass their own, as well as those of higher rank who live in wealth and comfort. When they see such a person, it is as if something were lodged in their throat, and they wish they could swallow it; or as if a film clouded their eye, and they wish they could remove it. The deeper their jealousy, the more they slander and malign. Thus, a woman with beautiful features is envied by an ugly woman, and a person of chaste conduct is resented by the wicked.

In the past, Zhi Buyi, a man of the Western Han, had no elder brother. Yet slanderers claimed that he had an affair with his sister-in-law. Since he had no elder brother, where could he have found a sister-in-law to have an affair with?

Wulun, a man of the Eastern Han, once married three orphaned girls. Yet slanderers claimed that he had once beaten his father-in-law.

Some people listen in a hollow place and then ask for an echo; they gaze at an empty space and then demand a shadow. This runs counter to ordinary feeling and reason, and is truly absurd. Given the virtue and ability of the two men, they had done nothing improper and had treated no one with arrogance or disrespect, yet they could not escape the slander of the world. Is this not because wild beasts loathe traps, and people loathe those in high positions?

Slanderous and perverse talk can cloud the minds of good people, just as the sky, bright by day, disappears from view when dense fog rises, and the bottom of a stream, though clear, becomes invisible when the water is muddied. The clear and bright nature of things cannot show itself because it is obscured by mist and turbid water. Orchids and sweet flag may wish to flourish, but autumn winds will harm them; wise and upright people may wish to uphold what is right, but those who wound them with slander will destroy them.

Those who spread slander know only how to harm and envy others; they do not know that slander can also injure themselves. Even if they understand that slander harms the person being discussed, they do not realize that in the end it will turn back and harm them. Thus, when the slanderous courtier Fei Wuji spread false accusations, Zichang suffered defamation, and both Fei Wuji and Zichang ultimately lost their lives.

Wuji was surnamed Fei, a man of Chu who once served as a high official in Jin. Zichang was surnamed You and had also served as a high official in Jin, working alongside Wuji. The ruler of Jin wanted to visit Zichang’s home. Wuji lied to Zichang, saying, “The ruler of Jin likes troops and horses and is coming to your home tomorrow. You should station elite soldiers inside the gate. When the ruler arrives and sees them, he will be delighted.” Zichang believed him and arranged for soldiers to wait inside the gate.

The ruler of Jin indeed arrived at Zichang’s gate. Wuji said to him, “This must be investigated. Let me go in and look first.” Wuji entered, then came straight back out and reported, “Zichang has stationed elite soldiers inside the gate in ambush, intending to attack you.” The ruler of Jin flew into a rage and killed Zichang. Later, someone told the ruler that this had actually been a trap set by Wuji, so the ruler killed Wuji as well. Thus Zichang suffered defamation, and both Zichang of the You family and Wuji of the Fei family lost their lives as a result.

The harm caused by slanderers and flatterers can reach such terrible proportions. Alas, how could gentlemen of later generations fail to be cautious?

“Careful Array,” Chapter Thirty-Three: A fault is a step toward resentment; resentment is the seed of calamity.

The harm caused by slanderers and flatterers has reached such an extreme. Alas! How could the exemplary people of later generations fail to take this as a warning?

Be Cautious in Battle, Chapter Thirty-Three

A fault is a step toward resentment, and resentment is where calamities gather. Calamity must have its source in accumulated resentment; faults often begin with neglect of small matters. Small faults often arise unexpectedly, and resentment often accumulates beyond what anyone anticipates. So regretting a fault only after it occurs is too late; trying to guard against resentment only after it has built up is difficult to remedy. If resentment is not checked with sufficient care, harm will follow.

Thus, one may climb a steep slope without falling because one is cautious about the great danger; one may step across an ant mound buried long ago (a mound built by ants; the raised earth is called a “mound” and is about an inch high)…

People who stumble easily often do so because they overlook small things underfoot. If you walk carefully, you can keep your footing even on uneven ground; if you step carelessly, you may stumble even on a smooth road. The wise understand that even the smallest details can bring harm. They guard against hidden dangers with care and remain constantly alert, as though driving a spirited horse with a rotten bridle.

Feathery things as light as goose down can sink a boat when piled up; silk, light and thin as it is, can break an axle when heaped layer upon layer. Small, light things can destroy boats and axles because they accumulate. A wall often begins to collapse at a crack, and a fine sword may be damaged or broken because of a tiny flaw. An earthworm, though small, can bore through an embankment and flood an entire city; a single spark escaping from a chimney may burn down a thousand homes.

At first, resentment is as slight as a crack in a wall or a flaw in a sword. Once it causes harm, however, the loss can exceed that of a collapsed wall or a broken sword. The calamities it brings may be more severe even than a city flooded or homes burned. So guard against trouble as soon as it begins to take root; do not wait until it becomes as hard to contain as water or fire. The Xia Documents say, “Where does resentment exist only in plain sight? Be watchful and guard against it even where it cannot be seen.” The danger of resentment does not come from Heaven’s will, nor should it be dismissed because it is still small. If a faint flame is not put out, it can burn Mount Kunlun; if a tiny stream does not cease flowing, it can grow into a great river.

There is no single way to predict what will give rise to resentment, and it is hard to foresee how far a calamity will spread. Sometimes deep resentment brings only minor consequences; sometimes a slight grievance leads to great disaster. What is grave and obvious is not necessarily dangerous, while the faintest, most hidden beginnings must not be overlooked. Consider the wind: a gale can scatter clouds, lift stones, churn the water, and batter trees, yet leave a person’s blood vessels unharmed. The wind that blows from a passage beneath the ground in Zheng is so light that it cannot stir dust or move a hair, yet it may penetrate the skin and cause serious illness. Strong winds often disperse in every direction, while gentle ones can strike in a concentrated stream. That is why a great wind may do no harm, while a small one can make a person sick.

For this reason, Han Gaozu pardoned Guan Gao, the chancellor of the King of Zhao, who had plotted a rebellion. Guan Gao had once planned to assassinate Gaozu at Zhuren Station.

Guan Gao was the prime minister of the King of Zhao. He once planned to kill Liu Bang, the founding emperor of Han, at Zhiren Pavilion. When Liu Bang reached Xiangren Pavilion and prepared to spend the night there, he suddenly felt uneasy and asked those around him what the pavilion was called. They replied, “This is Zhiren Pavilion.” Liu Bang said, “Zhiren means a place where one is stopped and forced into trouble.” So he traveled through the night and escaped, avoiding Guan Gao’s plot.

Later, someone told Liu Bang, “Guan Gao once planned to kill you at Zhiren Pavilion.” Guan Gao’s twenty followers all took their own lives. Guan Gao said, “Now that they have all died, no one can testify that the King of Zhao is innocent.” So one person reported the matter to Liu Bang. Liu Bang handed Guan Gao over to the prison officers for interrogation. They beat him more than a thousand times, but he never yielded and continued to say that the King of Zhao had not rebelled. Liu Bang then questioned Guan Gao himself and established what had really happened. Guan Gao explained that the King of Zhao had not rebelled, so Liu Bang released both the king and Guan Gao.

Guan Gao said, “I once tried to kill Your Majesty. How could I have the face to accept your stipend and serve as your subject?” He was then buried alive and died.

Empress Wei Avenges Zhang Xiu

Here, “Empress Wei” refers to Cao Cao. Cao Cao and Yuan Shao contended for control of the realm. Zhang Xiu was a general under Yuan Shao. He had once fought Cao Cao and captured Cao Cao’s beloved son …