《伊川擊壤集》Vol. 14

Here is the translation of the text from Yichuan Jirang Ji (Volume 14) in modern vernacular interpretation:

In Occasional Writings, Shao Yong (courtesy name Yaofu) observes: "Enjoy delicacies in moderation, for overindulgence dulls their flavor; treat kind people with care, lest exhaustion diminish their goodness. When holding humble office, receiving visitors brings joy, but high-ranking positions make ceremonial bows feel shameful—these trappings of power are but external illusions, why let them trouble your heart?"

He reflects on those of talent yet ill-fated: "If one refuses to accept modest circumstances yet cannot endure poverty, they have yet to comprehend true principle." The dwelling of virtuous people exudes orchid-like fragrance that inspires admiration, while the abode of the wicked resembles a den of wolves that instills fear. An overbearing wife brings calamity to her husband, a domineering servant harms their master, and powerful ministers endanger their sovereign—just as a tail outgrowing its body or ice hardening beyond frost. Left uncorrected, such imbalances inevitably lead to ruin.

In gratitude for Wang Shengzhi's gift of scholar's treasures, Shao writes: "The Bronze Sparrow Inkstone I've often heard of, but this Golden Sparrow Inkstone is unprecedented—as if chiseled from immortal peaks' cloud-kissed roots and azure cliffs. When grinding ink, its surface flows like warm jade; writing by its light feels like moonlight at my window. This lavish gift shames my humble talent—only brushwork mighty as roof beams could match such treasure."

Another thank-you verse notes: "For this priceless Golden Sparrow Inkstone, my poems are poor recompense. Yet under spring sunlight streaming through windows, its ink blossoms with rare elegance."

Inscription on Fan Zhongxian's Portrait reveals: "Fan Zhongyan and I both dwelled in Luoyang, while Chen Tuan (styled Xiyi) retreated to Huashan. I inherited Fan's legacy, Chen being our elder. Our three visages share resemblance, two hermits' names forever linked with Lord Fan."

Observations on Nature unveils cosmic patterns: "Seasons rotate, plants wither and bloom, human fortunes rise and fall, dynasties thrive and perish—all move in eternal cycles." Chanting to Flowers laments: "Fine wine awaits guests, blossoms bloom freely—yet worldly haste makes men come and go, squandering spring's tender affection."

(Note: Shao Yong was a Northern Song Neo-Confucian scholar. "Jirang" alludes to an ancient fable of peasants beating clods in Emperor Yao's reign, symbolizing reclusive life. Xiyi refers to Daoist sage Chen Tuan; Fan Zhongxian is statesman Fan Zhongyan.)

Selected Passages from Yichuan Jirang Ji Interpreted:

On Righteousness and Profit: Human will matters less than moral principle (Dao), yet principle proves less tangible than material gain. Though profit can make men forget life and death, it ultimately falls short of principle's nobility—which in turn cannot match the purity of heartfelt intention. True sincerity can move heaven and earth.

Gratitude for a Friend's Poem: Thank you for your lengthy poetic gift—our neighborly exchanges span years. Each seasonal correspondence arrives like spring's herald, warming friendship into blossom.

On Cultivating Heart-Mind: The human heart resembles an inner sun, radiating through action. Yet beyond illuminating surroundings, the mind should mirror a polished lens. Poverty matters not when the household rests in peace; leanness hinders not when health prevails. Singing freely through Luoyang's streets, I smile at worldly bustle.

Inkstone Reflections: Arrogance in wealth wins no trust—know that riches fade like dew. Stillness reveals time's beauty, yet idleness breeds restless thought. Dawn breaks with the sun, winds stir waves without fail. Why seek shortcuts when level paths abound?

On Statecraft: Asked about governing the cauldron (metaphor for state), I dare not claim mastery. Like cooking—salt and plum (essentials) rarely suffice without ginger-cinnamon (supporting talents). Perfecting the imperial tripod's balance—how reconcile diverse tastes? Speak cautiously of state affairs—could we match sages like Yi Yin or Duke of Zhou?

Reflections on Ancient Poetry: Reading old verses at leisure, I taste ancient hearts. Though eras differ, human feelings stay unchanged—joy and sorrow, poverty and wealth. How poignant that emotion renders us all so alike.

Bookworm: Tiny fish-shaped pest, devouring texts with zeal. Darting through book-chests, never touching lakes or streams. Ruining countless scrolls, yet boasting no achievement. Still clinging stubbornly when summer sun exposes your nest.

Contentment in Poverty: Lean years don't thin the spirit; poor homes hold Dao-rich hearts. Who'd guess between heaven and earth lies this splendid hidden realm?

Life's Truth: Below lies yellow springs, above—the sky; our hundred-year span passes swift. Know this: each wasted day dies ten thousand deaths, as if one never lived at all. Seek pearls? Plunge the deep. Jade? Scale famed peaks. First exhaust worldly matters, then speak of transcending them.

"Ode to Seeking Reflection":

To truly see oneself, observe still water rather than flowing streams. Moving water has no constant form, while still water maintains its shape. If water cannot reflect your inner self, then look to others—while water mirrors only your appearance, others reveal your spiritual essence (Shen).

"Ode to Buddhist Study":

Days of material comfort are rare, yet we squander them in idle sorrow. In youth we chase fame through Confucian rites, in old age turn to Buddha's door. The more we sever worldly ties, the tighter they bind; seeking cures often worsens the disease. Life resembles calm rivers suddenly churned—even the crystalline Yangtze, windless, knows unexpected waves.

"Ode to Frost and Dew":

Heaven and Earth's nourishing breath becomes sweet dew when warm, turns harsh frost when cold. Dew makes all things flourish, frost makes all wither. Though born of the same Qi (vital energy), temperature transforms this moisture into either grace or severity.

"Ode to Heavenly Mandate":

Fate may be entrusted, but the Dao must be followed. Nothing under heaven happens by chance—all phenomena follow inevitable patterns.

"On Nature and Disposition":

Cultivate character through outward conduct, temper emotions by sages' models. The worthy emulate predecessors' paths; sages directly apprehend their original nature.

"Ode to Heart's Traces":

Sages penetrate their fundamental heart-mind (original Shen), the worthy comprehend worldly principles. Understanding the heart yields infinite wisdom; grasping principles enables boundless action.

"Ode to Contemplation":

When thought remains unstirred, not even spirits detect it. This germination of intention—who but the self could be its source?

"Reply by Letter to Old Court Friends":

In youth I delved into texts, witnessed the empire's splendor. Though never retiring to mountain forests, I never forgot rustic joys. Even deer have aspirations; swans follow their course. Recalling these matters now provokes deep reflection.

"Ode to Winter Seclusion":

Not that I shun outings—winter days are cruelly brief. Age fears garrulous speech, cold dreads belated returns. My mountain friends' bond runs deep; if you must invite me, wait for spring's approach.

"Observing Phenomena":

Earth achieves squareness through stillness; heaven attains roundness through motion. Movement and stillness each find proper measure, revealing the true nature of square and round. Ultimate stillness generates moisture (like water); extreme motion produces radiance (like fire). Water needs vessels to contain it; fire requires fuel to transmit it. Water's essence existed before heaven and earth formed; fire's function manifested before creation began.

"Ode to Family and State":

Though wicked and upright minds differ, both dwell within the family-state system. Wickedness brings decline; uprightness fosters prosperity.

"Ode to Wicked and Upright":

(Content parallels preceding "Ode to Family and State," both elucidating how moral character affects nations)

The virtuous delight in uprightness, while the deceitful revel in crooked paths. Those who favor devious ways will contend with one another, whereas those who cherish integrity will live in harmony.

The "Ode to Righteousness and Profit" states: The noble pursue righteousness, while the petty chase profit. The pursuit of profit breeds chaos, while upholding righteousness brings peace.

"Ode to Heavenly Timing" writes: Human effort can achieve great deeds, but timing is decreed by Heaven. Opportunities, once missed, are hard to reclaim; events, once passed, cannot be retrieved.

"Reflections on Righteousness" mentions: The deepest affection belongs to family, the greatest duty to one's sovereign. Only when both kindness and righteousness are attained can one be considered truly human.

"Strolling in Leisure" laments: Who can be called a true confidant? A kindred spirit is truly hard to find. Without the discerning ears of Shi Kuang (the legendary music master), how could one appreciate the zither artistry of Bo Ya? Though advanced in years, one still clings to the noble aspirations of pine and cassia. Walking alone along moonlit embankments, each step is accompanied by resonant recitation.

"Meditations by the Seat" says: All creation manifests in human form, yet requires profound cultivation. Why fashion precious mirrors from refined gold? Only thus can one reflect true nature. Drink wine as sparingly as tea, compose poetry with the rigor of historiography. Like Yan Yuan (Confucius' disciple) content in his station, worldly affairs cannot disturb the heart.

"Reflections on Snow" depicts: Fine wine and delicacies accompanied by music, celebrating a bountiful year through the night. Do those behind noble gates realize that millions still sleep exposed to the elements?

"Self-Inscription at Sixty-Five" (Xining 8th Year) writes: My home stands in Luoyang city, near the Tianjin Bridge. Now sixty-five years old, I live in the golden age of Song. Southern gardens border main roads, northern courtyards overlook twin palaces. Though dwelling in the capital, it feels like mountain streams. Clear springs flow through channels, lush trees pierce the clouds. Cool breezes whisper through bamboo groves, bright moons glow between pine boughs. Before me are orchids of noble character, around me no fickle companions. Joy graces my seat constantly, conflict never troubles my heart. Neither winter nor summer draws me out, heat and cold pass me by. Fame and shame don't enter my mind, wealth and rank are empty names. I loathe hearing of wickedness, delight in tales of goodness. Without action, how could hesitation arise? Without medicine, why should dizziness come? Who claims metal and stone are hardest? Sincerity can break them. Who says spirits are most potent? Ultimate sincerity can move them.

"Six-Character Chant of the Carriage" says: Ancient people rode with dignity, modern folk travel in haste. Since predecessors left warnings of caution, are there no overturned carts to heed? Before departure, tea calms the spirit; before mounting, robes are properly arranged. Poetry scrolls hang by the carriage side, wine jars dangle near the shafts. Wheels roll slowly through fragrant grass, canopies dip beneath willow boughs. Crossing water demands special care, passing through flowers requires steadiness. Mornings often find me on Lüdao Lane, evenings frequently see me at Pingkang Lane.

This passage from Yichuan Jirang Ji reveals the life philosophy and spiritual realm of its author Shao Yong (courtesy name Yaofu) during his reclusive years in Luoyang.

The first section depicts autumnal scenes from his leisurely dwelling: admiring the moon before the Five Phoenix Tower, enjoying cool breezes on Tianjin Bridge, observing flowing waters in Golden Valley Garden and bamboo groves along Prince Wei's Embankment. In tranquil solitude, he contemplates the passage of time and observes myriad worldly phenomena—farmers tilling fields, silkworm gatherers picking mulberry leaves, wild grasses growing freely, thorns coexisting with orchids, domestic fowl mingling with rare birds. He perceives good and evil coexisting without mutual harm, as naturally as Mount Hua's towering majesty and Huangpi Lake's vast expanse. As a true man, even in old age one should embody the essence of heaven and earth, never wasting these leisurely Luoyang days.

The second part, Ode to Contentment, portrays his lifestyle: this self-styled "Master Contentment" spent thirty years recluse by the Luo River, preserving his romantic appreciation of wind-and-moon and free-spirited rivers-and-lakes temperament. Transcending wealth and poverty, he never curried favor with the powerful, living simply yet spiritually abundant—composing poetry by his basin-pond, sleeping soundly beneath his jar-window (a humble dwelling with pottery jars as windows), touring in a small cart, expressing himself through calligraphy. Sometimes wearing a headscarf and short sleeves, he strolled through woods and along waterways. He delighted in virtuous people and deeds, feeling wicked acts like thorns in his flesh while good news resembled wearing fragrant herbs. Never fawning upon monks or Daoists, he traveled the cosmos in spirit without leaving home, viewing fame and fortune as passing clouds—remaining a joyful man at sixty-five.

The third section, Jar-Window Ode, uses the "jar-window" symbolizing austere living: though possessing only a few rooms and acres, using basins as ponds and broken jars for windows, his coarse quilts warmed him and simple meals sufficed. Yet his spirit could encompass the universe, his writings illuminating the human world. Understanding contentment brings joy, he advanced by retreating. Neither disturbing his mind recklessly nor making casual friendships, nor yielding to material temptations, he dwelt peacefully in simplicity. Even when others gossiped, he maintained his fundamental nature, constantly reading sages' texts (Xi-Xuan referring to Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor, representing classical wisdom).

These passages from The Yichuan Collection of Beating Earth Songs reveal the leisurely contentment and spiritual pursuits of Daoist reclusive life.

The first passage depicts an ideal state of living: discussing the Dao of sage-kings like Yao and Shun without empty talk, maintaining a serene mind that delights in harmony with heaven and earth. Reciting carefree verses, drinking joyful wine—a century of peace is no accident, and remaining hale at seventy is not considered particularly long-lived.

The second passage, "Ode to the Basin Pond," captures the charm of daily life through a small courtyard pool: carved into precious land within the capital, it allows one to admire river and lake scenery without traveling far. Vivid images unfold—lotus leaves, water plants, tadpoles—with water now clear, now rippling. A breeze stirs duckweed, bringing coolness, and here one may quietly observe all things, forgetting worldly cunning, embodying the simplicity of Fuxi’s ancient era.

The third passage, "Ode to the Small Cart," expresses the joy of settled life: the happiness of having a home, riding out in a small cart when the Lingtai (the "spiritual terrace," or the mind) is pure. How fortunate to be a son of the Central Plains dwelling in Luoyang, an ancient capital preserving the grandeur of Han and Tang, where sages once flourished. One might visit the Golden Valley Garden, float a boat beneath the moon, or pass through Lüdao Lane, savoring mist, glow, breeze, and moonlight, composing poems and songs while lightly intoxicated.

The fourth passage, "Ode to the Great Brush," portrays the realm of creation: preserving an unadorned nature, free from rigid striving. Feet planted on the earth (Tiangen, the "root of heaven"), hands reaching toward the moon’s palace (Yueku, the "lunar cavern"), one pours forth the insights of the heart in sweeping strokes. Ink flows like shifting wind and clouds, like sudden thunder and rain, achieving an ethereal artistic state between drunkenness and sobriety.

This passage paints a vivid picture of universal harmony and vibrant vitality between heaven and earth. The scenes that alternately appear and vanish are like dust being swept away, revealing a vast, clear sky and radiant sun. Luan birds and phoenixes soar high above, while dragons and serpents coil upon the ground. Spring blossoms compete in splendor, and autumn mountains stand majestic and towering.

Two contrasting scenes of life are depicted here: on one side, three thousand Confucian scholars (symbolized by "hairpins and robes") humbly follow Confucian teachings; on the other, a million fierce soldiers (represented by "mythical beasts") gaze upward, awaiting military orders. Pine and cassia trees form dense groves, while auspicious herbs and orchids fill the courtyards. The brocades of Shu first gleam with color, and the morning sun's glow just begins to shine.

A pair of flawless white jade discs and a hundred yi of gold (yi being an ancient unit of weight) are mentioned—Wang Xizhi (the Eastern Jin calligrapher) comes seeking them, while Du Mu (the Tang dynasty poet) arrives to beg for them. This hints at a spiritual exchange beyond material concerns ("divine communion beyond the physical"), where worldly affairs have already reached fulfillment. Observing these scenes can sober one from drunkenness ("dispelling intoxication"), and collecting these treasures can even cure illness.