《意林》Vol. 5

This passage contains two main sections: the first presents the governance philosophy from Zhou Shengli's Zhou Sheng Liezi, while the second discusses the rise and fall of nations in Xun Yue's Shen Jian.

The section on Zhou Shengli states: Zhou Shengli (courtesy name Wenyi), a native of Dunhuang, wrote this work with a grieving heart after the failed Yellow Turban Rebellion led by Zhang Jiao plunged the empire into chaos. He took the Dao of Yao and Shun as his foundation and the teachings of Confucius as his model. Just as losing rhythm in driving a chariot leads to its destruction, governing the world without principles leads to the fall of a state. The tyrannies of King Jie of Xia and King Zhou of Shang became stepping stones for the revolutions of Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou, while the failures of Qin and Xiang Yu paved the way for the Han dynasty's establishment. Without the stimulus of adversity, prosperity would hardly emerge.

Truly wise individuals cannot be judged by appearances—just as phoenixes cannot be caught in nets, nor qilin trapped in snares. Like Bole identifying fine steeds among lean horses, sages discern talent in ordinary people. Being skilled at settling lawsuits is inferior to preventing disputes altogether; excelling at quelling rebellions is less valuable than averting unrest before it arises.

The Son of Heaven should grasp the cosmic principles and wield authority to govern all things. The Three Dukes (highest officials of antiquity) must understand popular sentiment and comprehend heavenly will, while scholars should adhere to their duties and fulfill their roles. Seeking virtue at death's door is too late; crying for help when disaster strikes is futile. Endeavors with solid foundations succeed easily, while those without cause rarely find opportunity. A dove fitted with eagle's wings or a lamb clad in leopard skin may resemble the real thing but fundamentally contradict their nature.

Humans are heaven's spokespersons, and all things are vessels of the divine. Though heaven is high and earth thick, retribution may be delayed but never absent. Words are like the ruler's bow and arrows; education resembles the mechanisms of governance. Rewards should be as warm as spring, punishments as stern as autumn winds, ritual implementation as fierce as fire, and moral instruction as enduring as flowing water. Yielding an inch may gain a hundredfold, while contending for ten may lose nine.

The Shen Jian section by Xun Yue observes: The Dao of governance takes benevolence and righteousness as its root, with the Five Classics as its trunk and other texts as supplements. Ancient precedents are already clear—this work merely reiterates them.

He enumerates seven types of state ethos:

1. When ruler and ministers maintain close yet ritually proper relations, and officials cooperate without blind conformity, this signifies governance.

2. When rituals decay and the people murmur complaints, this marks decline.

3. When ruler and ministers contend for power, and high officials vie for fame, this shows deviation from the Dao.

4. When superiors harbor excessive desires while subordinates scheme cleverly, with laws unstable and policies inconsistent, this indicates chaos.

5. When competence is demonstrated by oppressing inferiors and feigned loyalty shown by currying favor with superiors, this reveals rebellion.

6. When petty officials compete for favor and high ministers struggle for authority, this endangers the state.

7. When the ruler neglects consulting ministers, officials withhold remonstrance, and state affairs are influenced by women's counsel, this foretells the nation's demise.

Those adept at enforcing prohibitions first restrain themselves before demanding compliance from others; the unskilled demand compliance from others while indulging themselves.

During the Qin dynasty's destruction of scholarly culture, books rotted within wall cavities while the Dao's principles were severed between court and commoners.

Even if one's study of the sages' path does not reach sagehood, it can still perfect one's life; even if the pursuit of longevity does not grant immortality, it allows one to fulfill their natural lifespan.

A noble person has three mirrors: the past as a mirror, others as a mirror, and a bronze mirror as a mirror.

If subordinates do not suppress speech and superiors do not block hearing, the truth may be known.

Reflecting on the ancient Yao and Shun, gazing upon Confucius of the middle ages, one realizes the shame of petty techniques; recalling Bo Yi of Shouyang Mountain and the Four Elders of Shang Mountain, one understands the disgrace of impure ambitions; remembering Zhang Qian's westward journey and Su Wu herding sheep by the Northern Sea, one sees the baseness of indulging in comfort.

In his Changyan (Ten Volumes), Zhongchang Tong states: Education must take ritual and righteousness as its guiding principles, and ritual and righteousness must take the classics as their foundation. The eternal Dao can be passed down for a hundred generations, while expedient measures are only useful for a time. Before Emperor Gaoxin, we only heard of people but not their writings; in the eras of Yao, Shun, and the Xia and Shang dynasties, we could see their writings but not their deeds in detail; from the Zhou dynasty onward, the records became fully preserved.

Later, foolish rulers, seeing that no one in the realm dared to oppose them, indulged their selfish desires—monarch and ministers openly engaged in debauchery, and high and low alike wallowed in vice. Their eyes were filled with gladiatorial spectacles, their ears drowned in decadent music; once they entered the palace, they lost themselves in women and never emerged; once they went hunting, they reveled without returning. They favored consorts and close confidants, unaware even as the dynasty's fate declined.

The fierce generals who raised banners, beat drums, and lit beacon fires on the borders were not the virtuous ministers who governed the state; the emperor's ceremonial chariots, cleared roads, and ritual displays were not things the barbarians could possess.

Dong Xian had neither blood ties to Emperor Ai of Han nor the ability to continue his lineage, yet through mere favor as a male consort, their intimacy became as inseparable as glue and lacquer.

During Emperor Jing of Han's reign, those who held the prestigious posts of provincial inspectors were all the sons of eunuchs—like setting wolves to guard meat or ghosts to tend the sick.

(Note: The phrase "曰在天之内在人之外" is unclear in meaning, possibly due to textual corruption or missing context.)

The final lines discuss human relations: If others love me, I love them; if others hate me, I hate them.

This passage critiques prevalent social vices and human weaknesses while outlining the proper conduct of noble individuals (junzi).

It first identifies three vulgar tendencies among scholars: judging people solely by family pedigree, befriending only the wealthy and powerful, and simultaneously fearing yet currying favor with authority. Three contemptible behaviors are further exposed: blind worship of empty fame, abandoning moral principles before wealth and status, and abandoning those in misfortune while clinging to the influential.

The text then reveals three forms of scholarly deceit: pretending to understand what one doesn't, plagiarizing others' ideas as one's own, and attributing obscure thinkers' insights to famous masters. It emphasizes that the chronic malady of empty rhetoric without action cannot be cured even by immortals (shenxian).

Regarding conduct, it proposes: Those sharing our views aren't necessarily admirable, nor are dissenters automatically detestable. True capability should accomplish difficult tasks. One shouldn't show favoritism to intimates nor neglect the distant. The text condemns the decadent practice of noble households maintaining excessive concubines.

Analyzing human weaknesses, it enumerates: Mountain-like steadfastness breeds stubbornness, strict integrity often wounds others, broad-mindedness risks indulgence, gentle caution lacks resolution, aloofness creates constraint, eloquence produces verbosity, steadiness slows action, conservatism resists adaptation, and courage invites recklessness.

Finally, it emphasizes self-cultivation essentials: Purify the heart-mind to maintain purity. Virtue (De), benevolence, and righteousness constitute human nature, requiring continuous refinement to flourish. In solitude, examine your faults; in company, praise others' merits. Repay kindness doubly; meet suspicion with heightened sincerity. Aid friends in hardship, share benefits with them. If a ruler distrusts you, your loyalty is insufficient; if friends doubt you, your righteousness falls short.

If parents do not value learning and discourage their descendants from studying, the descendants may still pursue education against their parents' wishes. If parents do not respect virtuous scholars and disapprove of their descendants associating with those of De (Virtue/Power), the descendants may still befriend such scholars despite parental objections.

Eloquent words gather like raindrops, and brilliant phrases emerge like clouds. The clash of love and hatred follows the natural order, while the joy of fulfilling one's aspirations aligns with human nature.

Practitioners of the Dao nurture life through "fetal breathing" (a cultivation method involving swallowing saliva). Those who attain the Dao may grow six wings on their arms and feathers on their abdomen, enabling them to soar beyond the heavens without steps, transcending worldly limitations.

People in the cold northern regions enjoy long lifespans, while those in the hot southern lands have shorter lives. This mirrors silkworms that spin thread longer when cold and hungry, but finish quickly when warm and well-fed.

After Xie, the virtuous minister of Shang Tang, came Qin Yi, who was the son of Gao Yao. The five-volume Dian Lun records: After Yao's death, Shun yielded to Yao's son by retreating south of the Nan River; after Shun's death, Yu yielded to Shun's son by withdrawing to Yangcheng; after Yu's death, Yi yielded to Yu's son by retreating to the northern slopes of Mount Ji.

Just as climbing mountains requires diligence to reach the summit, crossing seas demands perseverance to reach distant shores. Without diligent effort of the heart, success remains elusive. Ying Yang observed that humans are born with benevolent hearts—manifested as filial piety toward family and as ren (humaneness) toward all things. "Ren" embodies the substance of action, not an empty title. Goodness forms the foundation of the Dao and governs all virtuous conduct.

The preface notes: Treacherous officials corrupt governance, while personal biases and hatreds erode customs—when a state harbors these two conditions, its decline becomes inevitable. During the reigns of Emperors Huan and Ling of Han, eunuchs monopolized power above while commoners voiced discontent below. Office-seekers exhausted their wealth currying favor with the powerful, while fame-seekers groveled before authority. With power held privately and reputations determined by street gossip, divergent opinions emerged without standards, affairs proceeded without norms, selfish preferences flourished, and factional strife took root.

Guan Zhong (Yiwu) lived extravagantly while Bao Shuya remained frugal—this reflects differing aspirations. Zhang Song maintained personal integrity while Chen Zun indulged recklessly—this shows contrasting conduct. Rulers make three demands of the people: to labor for them, to die for them, and to live for them. Laws serve as the ruler's authority, while officials determine the people's fate. Laws should be clear and comprehensible; officials should be impartial and fair. The Book of Songs satirizes seductive wives, while the Book of Documents warns against women interfering in morning governance. Feng Fang's daughter, the Director of Retainers, possessed beauty to topple cities. While taking refuge in Yangzhou, Yuan Shu saw her from the city walls, became infatuated, married her, and doted on her excessively. His other concubines advised her: "The general's status is noble..."

This passage records several anecdotes of historical figures and philosophical insights on human conduct, vividly portraying the social customs and interpersonal dynamics of ancient times.

The story of the Feng family tells of a man who sought attention through exaggerated displays of grief, only to be exposed by an astute diviner and meet a fatal end. Yuan Shao's wife, Lady Liu, was notoriously jealous—after her husband's death, she murdered his five concubines and deliberately mutilated their faces, fearing they might still receive his affection in the afterlife.

When Wang Yan received an official title for his merits, his wife wept indoors, anxious that his newfound status might lead him to take additional wives or concubines. During Liu Biao's governance of Jing Province, his spoiled children devised cruel drinking games using specially crafted cups (the Boya, Zhongya, and Jiya vessels of varying sizes) and large needles to test guests' alcohol tolerance—inebriated participants would be pricked to check their responsiveness.

The text offers philosophical observations: though people share similar physical forms and temperaments, those who toil excessively die young while the leisurely enjoy longevity; just as clear springs produce pure streams, upright roots yield flourishing branches. The relationship between noblemen (junzi) and commoners (xiaoren) is one of mutual dependence—without noblemen there would be none to govern, without commoners none to sustain society.

Practical wisdom also emerges: every person possesses redeemable qualities and every object has potential utility when properly understood. People often underestimate Mount Hua's seemingly modest height only to injure themselves climbing it, yet remain unharmed by the towering heavens they never attempt to scale. Rare bronze vessels become treasured artifacts while everyday cooking pots are overlooked.

The passage concludes with a cautionary parable: An ancient teacher frequently visited his ailing student, who each time rose to perform ceremonial greetings—eventually dying from exhaustion. This illustrates how even benevolent intentions and proper etiquette, when taken to extremes, can become harmful.

This passage from Yilin contains multiple philosophical maxims and metaphors:

When thin ice meets the blazing sun or fine fur approaches raging flames, even the desire to escape calamity becomes impossible due to circumstances. Like insects living on knotweed that survive there but perish when moved to mustard plants—this isn't because knotweed is merciful or mustard harmful, but because they've lost their fundamental living environment.

A proverb states: When you're right and others wrong, don't argue with their errors; when others are right and you wrong, don't contend with their correctness. The noble person maintains integrity both openly and privately, upholding the same principles in light and darkness. The path to wealth and honor resembles climbing steep stairs—fraught with hardship.

Confucius (Zhongni) never made contracts with the world, yet his virtue (De) illuminates past and present because he could discern good from evil. Just as a mirror revealing beauty and ugliness doesn't incur resentment, laws clearly distinguishing right from wrong won't provoke hatred.

The Renwu Zhi mentions: The essence among plants is called "Ying" (florescence), the leader among beasts is called "Xiong" (hero). Zhang Liang epitomizes "Ying," while Han Xin exemplifies "Xiong."

The Renzi states: Learning cultivates the self; teaching guides others. Joy finds expression in song and dance, anger in battle. One person's wisdom cannot surpass collective folly; a single eye's observation can't match communal clarity.

Those raised in peaceful times understand governance; those from chaotic eras comprehend disorder's roots—these are true noble persons. Those ignorant of order and chaos's causes remain ordinary people. Moral transformation affects people like spring sunlight warming all things—making them tread deep ice without feeling cold, tie slender branches without breaking them.

Heaven and earth's natural state: Heaven appears round yet can't be measured with compasses; earth seems square yet defies measurement by squares. Mountains necessarily undulate; rivers inevitably meander—even the Yangtze and Han Rivers' eastward flow contains countercurrents.

A tree without shade, a worthy without companions—thus the virtuous often find no place in worldly affairs. Ascending Mount Tai reveals the world's vastness but obscures minute details—this results from excessive distance; holding high office makes one aware of the ruler's dignity but neglects the lowly—this stems from self-satisfaction.

Only by cultivating oneself can one govern others; only by governing others can one rule the world. A sage emerging once per generation is normal; a worthy appearing once per thousand li isn't scarce. Water may evaporate but can't lose its moist nature; fire may be extinguished but won't change its burning essence; metal may soften but can't lighten its weight; stone may shatter but never forfeit its hardness.

There is a folk saying: "The wealthy naturally become extravagant without learning extravagance, while the poor naturally become frugal without learning frugance—this is human nature. Only sages can temper this inherent tendency."

Human temperament is influenced by the Qi of the Five Phases (Wuxing): those with abundant Wood Qi are courageous, those with strong Metal Qi are resolute, those dominated by Fire Qi are assertive yet impatient, those rich in Earth Qi are wise and magnanimous, while those with predominant Water Qi are impulsive and prone to extremes.

The divine dragon does not linger where fishing nets are cast; the phoenix does not fly where snares are set. The virtuous do not enter doomed states, nor do the wise serve chaotic rulers.

Xiao He established laws and institutions, while Cao Shen governed with leniency and tolerance. As successive chancellors, they brought peace to the realm. Emperor Wu of Han, valuing military achievements over people's lives, expanded palaces and increased taxes. Though territories grew, benevolence and virtue dwindled.

Huan Tan of the Eastern Han observed: "Assisting a sagely ruler is easy; serving a hegemon is difficult."

Regarding human nature: Water inherently overcomes Fire, yet when separated by cauldrons, Fire grows stronger while Water weakens. Human nature can conquer desires, yet when distracted by profit, desires flourish while nature wanes.

To discern true character, observe one's conduct in the community; to select talent, examination by policy questions proves most effective. If we claim no worthy candidates exist today, that the court lacks virtuous ministers, must we wait for sages like Ji and Xie from antiquity to govern properly?

The Du lineage traces back to Emperor Yao, known as Tang Du during Zhou, producing luminaries like Du Zhou, Du Qin, and Du Du in Han times. Du Ji (style Bohou) appears in the Records of Wei. His eldest son Du Li (style Wuzhong), precociously perceptive, was aptly named "Li" (Principle); the younger Du Shu (style Wubo). When serving in Hedong, Du Shu deliberately avoided his father's former residences. Du Shu's son Du Yu (style Yuankai) is recorded in the History of Jin.

The truly virtuous stand firm as mountains and profound as gathering clouds. For those of great De (Virtue), minor flaws matter not; for monumental achievements, petty faults deserve no scrutiny. Even the legendary Suihou Pearl cannot be flawless.

A minister should emulate Earth—bearing all things without complaint, receiving filth without disdain, nurturing vegetation without claiming merit.

Human conduct manifests honor or disgrace. The nobleman dwells only among virtuous communities and befriends only worthy scholars.

The supreme art of governance lies in establishing an invincible state, implementing infallible policies, perpetually cultivating De (Virtue), issuing decrees as from an inexhaustible granary, and creating a society free from contention.

This passage from Yilin compiles several philosophical fragments, which I'll interpret in modern vernacular:

Using a metaphor to illustrate the ruler-subject relationship: The common people are like water, while the nobleman is like a boat. Water can both carry the boat forward and overturn it. This reminds those in power to value popular sentiment.

Next comes a scholar's self-reflection: I'm by nature carefree, seeking only basic sustenance. My home contains some books that I've skimmed. When my father passed away, I failed to observe many mourning rites properly, thus gaining no reputation for filial piety. Later appointed as Palace Attendant and Imperial Secretary, when colleagues asked about my aspirations, I replied: Observing ministers debate—some favoring faction A while disparaging faction B's allies, others defending faction B while slandering faction A's associates—I maintain neutrality and thereby avoid slander.

On land and people: Great trees extend their roots, saplings spread their branches. Land is like humanity's mother, hence our attachment to native soil. Houses can be bought with money, but good neighbors are hard to find.

A clothing metaphor for character: Wearing Emperor Yao's (sage-king) hat while acting like Emperor Jie's (tyrant) deeds makes one still Jie at heart; dressed in Jie's robes but performing Yao's virtues, one remains truly Yao. Like wearing gentleman's attire in bustling markets while practicing wisdom among petty men—it shines like pearls at night.

Wisdom from observing nature: Spiders weaving webs and bees building hives demonstrate remarkable skill—how much more so humans? Accumulating gold can't match obtaining one virtuous talent. People without shame are like clothes without form or food without flavor.

A brief anecdote: Guo Linzong asked Qiu Jizhi if he'd ever erred. Jizhi replied: At dusk when the ox refused feed, I struck it once. This shows the value of self-reflection.

Judging others resembles appraising jade: Clay lumps aren't jade, yet commentators assign value. Such judgments carry personal bias. Excessive wisdom consumes Qi (vital energy) like thick lamp wicks—bright but fuel-wasting; slender wicks glow dimly yet conserve oil, enduring longer.

Character discernment techniques: Loud voices with shifty eyes often indicate deceit; hurried speech with deep tones suggests sincerity.

Final admonitions: Qin Shi Huang's Great Wall construction exhausted the people—a ballad lamented: "Don't raise sons, feed daughters well, see how corpses prop the Wall." Alchemists mixing plant ash with metal for smelting saw the ash burn away while metal fell (symbolizing futility). Taixuan Jing's fourteen volumes were written by Yang Quan (courtesy name Deyuan) of Liang. Anger resembles harsh winter, joy feels like warm spring. Phoenix fledglings perch on high branches, hidden in deep forests, refusing foul food (symbolizing noble integrity).

This passage from Forest of Thoughts gathers wisdom sayings from various philosophers, using vivid natural imagery to illustrate life's principles.

Maintain inner purity while remaining outwardly adaptable, like a precious jade wrapped in tattered cloth. When the road is rugged, oxen and horses naturally lower their heads and slow their pace—just as celestial bodies rotate left while stars move right, embodying the cyclical interplay of Yin and Yang. Those who are excessively domineering invite their own downfall, much as fierce winds arise from agitated Qi (vital energy), murky mist condenses into snow, and clear dew freezes into frost.

Those mired in filth often refuse to believe in the existence of clear, deep waters. One must balance movement and stillness: act with the ferocity of a tiger striking, yet remain as hidden as fish scales in deep waters; be capable of brilliance and prominence, yet also of quiet restraint. Just as birds fold their wings before taking flight and beasts retract their claws before pouncing, one should cultivate silence before speaking and embrace simplicity before displaying literary refinement.

To understand a person, observe their companions. When fields are overrun with thistles, good seedlings find no room to grow; when courts are filled with sycophants, loyal ministers have no place to stand. Those who understand discretion do not spend the night in a widow’s home, nor take a single grain from a rice steamer, even when hungry.

Though water has the nature to flow, without channels, it cannot reach its destination; though humans possess innate wisdom, without teaching, they cannot attain clarity. Learning is like cultivation—neglect leads to barrenness. The precise harmony of Heaven and Earth’s Yin and Yang governs the seasons, just as a tightly built house shelters against wind and rain.

Five thousand li southeast of Mount Kunlun lies the Divine Land (Shenzhou), where there is a place called the Harmony Stew Village, spanning three thousand li, encircled by the Five Sacred Mountains. It is a treasured land where emperors establish their capitals and sages are born. Cang Jie created writing: forms with shape are called "patterns" (wen), those with sound are called "characters" (zi), and when inscribed on bamboo or silk, they become "books" (shu).

Standing idly while yearning for distant lands is inferior to setting out at once; gazing enviously at birds in flight is less fruitful than mending one’s own wings. These maxims all teach the same lesson: inner cultivation and outward action must go hand in hand; in navigating the world, one must understand the balance of firmness and flexibility, and in life, the wisdom of advancing and retreating.

Solitary contemplation in pursuit of wisdom pales in comparison to the steady accumulation of learning when seeking attainment.

The true noble person does not lament the passing of years, but rather fears the slackening of resolve. Seeking the Dao (the Way) is fundamentally simple—unlike the arduous tasks of mining gold or carving jade. Without treacherous paths, one cannot discern the excellence of a steed; without weighty responsibilities, one cannot recognize a person's capabilities.

Among noble individuals, relationships should not merely encourage mutual improvement in virtue, but also aid each other in correcting faults. Without eliminating bad habits, good conduct cannot flourish. The best way to relieve summer heat is to approach clear waters; the surest defense against winter's chill is to don thick furs; the most effective means to quell slander is self-cultivation.

A skilled angler does not alter the depths of the pond to catch fish, just as a noble person does not abandon their seat to forcibly demand righteousness. Petty men feel shame when their looks fall short of the ancient beauty Zidu, while noble individuals reflect on themselves when their conduct does not match that of sage-kings like Shun and Yu. Thus, petty men prize superficial glamour, while noble ones revere profound truth.

Archery harmonizes the will, charioteering steadies the emotions, reading organizes affairs, and teaching untangles vexations. Those skilled in clever rhetoric are like storms—reckless of right and wrong, concerned only with dominating debate. True disputation seeks to distinguish truth from falsehood, not to overwhelm the virtuous with glib tongues.

Sages weave the fabric of their teachings like master weavers, aligning the warp and weft of proper timing to ensure all things find their place and human relationships are set right. A banner raised on high is seen from afar; a bell swung with the wind carries its sound great distances—not because the colors are brighter or the chime louder, but because they are well-positioned. How much more, then, does the influence of the noble and prosperous spread when they enact governance?

A good farmer does not fret over unmarked field boundaries, but worries instead about untimely weather. A noble person does not despair over the failure to establish virtue, but concerns themselves with awaiting the right moment. In the age of sages, deliberate friendship was unnecessary; only after the decline of Zhou dynasty rituals did the custom of seeking companions flourish. The ancients valued closeness in friendship; moderns prize reputation.

If selecting talent disregards local assessment, and judging character ignores family tradition—if those with many friends are called worthy and those with few are deemed unworthy—then how can true worth be measured? A horse must be ridden to cover long distances; a physician must be summoned to treat illness; a person of ability must be employed to realize their potential.

Just as a great vessel sails swiftly downstream, those who follow the proper path will not lose their way. A towering tree reaches a hundred zhang in height because its roots run deep; the vast ocean attains depths of ten thousand ren because all rivers flow into it. Profound wisdom arises from long accumulation.

The essence of learning lies in practice. A true nobleman wears virtue (De) as his crown (symbolizing identity and cultivation) and rides upon virtue as his chariot. If one ventures out without this crown (lacking moral principles), he dares not act; if one walks without this chariot (bereft of moral guidance), he cannot take a step.

Some cannot even show filial piety to their own fathers or respect to their elder brothers, yet presume to comment on the ethical relationships between others’ family members. This is like how flocks of fierce falcons drive away the auspicious phoenix, or how the rise of petty men forces noble individuals into retreat.

As the saying goes: No amount of makeup can conceal an ugly face, and no oil can revive withered grass. The ancients knew how difficult it was to see themselves clearly, so they used mirrors to reflect their appearance; understanding how hard it was to restrain themselves, they relied on ritual propriety to regulate their conduct.

A true nobleman does not alter his integrity in dark surroundings or change his demeanor when night falls. Those who achieve great fame inevitably bear worldly burdens, and those of extraordinary character are bound to face slander. Just as bones can be carved to resemble ivory, or fish eyes mistaken for pearls—from a distance, truth and falsehood often blur.

Fortune and misfortune transform into one another; benefit and harm give rise to each other, like a rolling ring. Their signs are elusive, their beginnings unknowable. An excellent general resembles a deep mountain pool—no one can discern his sorrow or joy. In warfare, one cannot dispense with banners and drums, for they are the eyes and ears of the army.

Sudden glory is not coveted by the wise; those who hoard wealth without generosity are mere slaves to money. Those who engage in strife are easily wounded, and those who meddle in others’ affairs often meet misfortune.

To seek whiter than snow or brighter than sunlight is impossible. Consider this question: Why does one wine, rich in flavor, fail to intoxicate, while another, light in taste, brings drunkenness? The answer lies not in the wine but in the drinker’s nature. I would rather be plain in appearance yet radiant within, just as in writing, I would rather lack eloquence than substance.

Most distant and unfathomable is the will of heaven; closest yet hardest to penetrate is the human heart. Just as an axe is needed to fell branches, and branches are needed to craft tools, planting a single grain yields a thousandfold harvest, and nurturing one virtuous heart cultivates all virtues.

A needle, though small, sinks in water; a feather, though large, floats—this is determined by their intrinsic nature. So too does the humble plum, small as it is, quench thirst and stir the senses.

Figures like Yi Yin, Lü Wang, Fu Yue, Ji Zi, Bo Yi, Shu Qi, Liu Xia Hui, Yan Hui, Zhuangzi, and Ruan Ji—had their circumstances been reversed, each could have achieved what ordinary men could not. Among them, Ruan Ji stands apart: filial to his parents, loyal to his ruler, wise yet unharmed, seemingly foolish yet never disrupting governance. Since Zhuangzi, he alone may truly be called a great man of his age.

This gentleman (referring to the author of Yilin) lived during the Jin Dynasty and authored the sixteen-volume Treatise on the Principles of Things.

The text states: Attempting to govern the realm while employing petty men is like trying to catch elk with a torn net—utterly impossible. Burning one's clothes in anger causes great loss, just as overturning a pot before the rice is cooked wastes everything. The ancient saying goes, "When those above are not upright, those below become crooked"—hence wise rulers of old never deceived the people. Exploiting the rich to feed the poor is as absurd as starving plough oxen and fine steeds while fattening guard dogs, or discarding precious swords to polish lead knives.

The Analects records the sage's highest teachings and a ruler's essential instruction. Its "Village Community" chapter documents court rituals and diplomatic protocols, while the "Yao Said" section preserves accounts of imperial abdication. Literary refinement to humans is what blossoms are to plants and trees. Just as heaven and earth bring spring before autumn, rulers should implement rites before punishments.

Refusing acupuncture to save an infant's life, then causing death with improper medicine—what difference is there in abolishing corporal punishment only to execute more prisoners? Though mutilating penalties might sever feet, they still allowed procreation. After Zhang Cang abolished them, tens of thousands were executed yearly; when Zhong Yao reinstated them, two thousand lives were spared annually. Such penalties resemble placing beasts on a butcher's block.

Emperor Wen of Han's abolition of mutilating punishments reflected commoner's mercy, not true benevolence. He couldn't bear bodily harm yet tolerated executions—this is "petty kindness." Were a beloved child condemned, any compassionate father would choose mutilation over death, trading disability for life. Shouldn't enlightened rulers treat subjects likewise? Like warriors severing snake-bitten hands to survive, though maimed.

Cao Xi remarked: "Tethering foals with silk threads, controlling stallions with rotten reins"—such is governing people with lenient penalties today. All know Guan Zhong borrowed the world's ears (seeking counsel), yet forget Emperor Yao first won hearts before employing their eyes and ears.

Once in Yan-Zhao, three men shared one wife. After bearing four children, they brought their dispute to court. The Chief Justice presided over the case...

This passage from Yilin explores the relativity of ethical principles through multiple anecdotes and metaphors. Several key examples are highlighted:

A man named Guan Qiuyang, while fleeing disaster with his younger brother and a companion, faced starvation and killed the companion to survive. Later debates arose about the morality of this act—Kong Wenrong argued it was a survival instinct akin to animals eating each other, while Xun Shizhong countered that it remained fundamentally murder.

The text employs vivid analogies to distinguish between superficially similar yet essentially different things: a gourd hanging on a tree is not the tree's fruit, and a fur coat draped over one's back is not grown from the skin. Similarly, caring for parents but starving them one day out of ten cannot be called filial piety, whereas doing the same to horses isn’t considered unethical—demonstrating how ethical standards differ between humans and animals.

Two extremes are noted: some exaggerate details like plugging an ant hole to prevent a dike breach, while others act as carelessly as adding a pin to a wheel hub and expecting it to prevent overturning. The author suggests that laws should focus on core principles.

Finally, it points to mutual biases between Confucianism and Daoism: Confucians mock Daoists for their unrestrained behavior, while Daoists ridicule Confucians for rigid adherence to rituals—both failing to grasp the essence of the other’s philosophy. Just as one cannot discern a tiger’s stripes from a single hair, or eliminate echoes by chasing sound or capture substance by pursuing shadows, such efforts are futile.

Collectively, these examples illustrate that moral judgments cannot rely on fixed standards but must consider specific contexts. Like the mourning rites for stepfathers in Zhou rituals, which may not have originated from ancient sages but were later added by Confucian scholars after the Qin dynasty’s book burnings.

Fu Xuan (styled Xiuyi) remarked that scholars like Mencius and Xunzi, had they been disciples of Confucius, might not only have ranked alongside Ziyou and Zixia as ordinary students, but could have become distinguished disciples like Ran You or Min Ziqian.

This is akin to lighting a fire beneath a mountain of firewood—when the flames are still small, a single cup of water can extinguish them. But once the fire rages and the wind howls, even pouring the waters of rivers and seas cannot quench it. King Zhao of Qin was the one who lit the fire beneath the pile, the First Emperor of Qin fanned the flames, and the Second Emperor unleashed the gale (a metaphor for the escalating tyranny of the Qin dynasty).

The Qin people viewed the common folk of the six conquered states as a tiger eyeing a flock of sheep, utterly without restraint. Fan Li (styled Shaobo), a native of Sanhu in Chu, assisted the state of Yue in conquering Wu and afterward sailed away on a small boat across the Five Lakes. The King of Yue ordered his portrait painted and worshipped it daily. The Liexian Zhuan records him as a native of Xuzhou.

The Fu clan traces its ancestry back to Fu Yue from the era of Emperor Yao. Fu Xuan, styled Xiuyi, had a son named Fu Xian, styled Changyu, who was recorded in the Book of Jin. During the conflict between Chu and Han, someone compiled the Shi Ben, chronicling history from the Yellow Emperor to the end of the Han dynasty. Ban Gu’s Book of Han was actually built upon the work of his father, Ban Biao, yet unlike Sima Qian, he did not openly acknowledge his father’s contribution.

In my reading of Ban Gu’s Book of Han, I find that when assessing state affairs, he embellished the faults of rulers while diminishing the merits of loyal ministers. In narrating moral teachings, he praised those who were tactful while belittling those of upright integrity. In recording contemporary events, he prioritized literary flourish over factual accuracy—hardly the mark of an exemplary historian.

The highest form of filial piety lies in fulfilling one’s parents’ wishes; the next is caring for their physical well-being. To satisfy their hearts requires warmth and attentiveness; to care for their bodies demands reverence and diligence. Those who pursue only their own interests invite the hatred of all under heaven, while those who extend consideration to others win the hearts of the world. Treat others with sincerity, and all will trust you; but if even your own family doubts you, how can you serve a ruler faithfully? A noble person cultivates virtue and takes office not for fame or profit, but to embody benevolence and righteousness.

People know to cleanse their utensils but not to purify their minds. A noble person must first understand the guiding principles before studying, and grasp the underlying truths before acting. Learning should aim at comprehending the Dao, not at attaining high status. Zhang Heng became prime minister for his poetic talent, and Zhang Yu became the emperor’s tutor for his eloquence—these are the glories of Confucian learning.

Mozi’s doctrine of "universal love" effectively abolishes familial bonds, and his advocacy of "brief mourning" disregards grief. When Yi Yin tilled the fields in the state of Youxin, who knew he was not just an ordinary farmer of the Xia dynasty? When Jiang Ziya fished in the Wei River, who knew he was not merely a common fisherman of the Shang? Only upon meeting enlightened rulers like Tang of Shang and King Wen of Zhou did their extraordinary talents come to light.

When facing diverging paths, people worry about losing their way; gazing upon towering mountains inspires aspirations to soar through the skies. Some ride horses while others take carriages, yet all eventually reach Qin—demonstrating that different forms can share the same essence.

Ancient texts claim boats only appeared during the Yellow Emperor's reign—then what purpose did the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers serve in Fuxi's era (one of the Three Sovereigns)? Those crossing vast oceans may never glimpse the shore for years, just as those plumbing the depths of abysses may never touch bottom in a lifetime. Thus, those with limited vision cannot comprehend profound matters.

The Han Dynasty dismissed lightweight carriages as insignificant, yet today we treasure them. Pairing azure with crimson creates "wen" (elegant patterns), matching scarlet with white forms "zhang" (brilliant designs), combining white and black yields "fu" (ceremonial robe embroidery), while blending black and azure produces "fu" (ritual garment motifs). When all five colors intertwine, we call it "xiu" (embroidery).

In the First Emperor's mausoleum, craftsmen installed mechanized crossbows that automatically fired at approaching intruders, while lamps fueled by mermaid oil burned eternally. Hounds chasing rabbits remain single-minded throughout the day—even spotting elk won't distract them.

Emperor Gaozu of Han (Liu Bang) governed with lenient laws, prompting later generations to value honesty and simplicity; Emperor Guangwu (Liu Xiu) ruled with meticulous statutes, making posterity emphasize ritual propriety; Emperor Wu of Wei (Cao Cao) imposed strict governance during turmoil, causing society to prioritize legal order.

When posture stands upright, shadows straighten without conscious effort; when voices sound harmonious, echoes respond naturally; when virtue shines brightly, reputation spreads effortlessly. Westerners claim storax resin comes from beast droppings, while Central Plains folk assume animal waste must be foul—thus they disbelieve upon hearing of fragrant western excrement.

If only Kunlun jade qualifies as treasure, then the uncut jade of Mount Jing (material for the Heshi Bi) would lack its nocturnal glow; if only southern pearls deserve collection, then the Marquis of Sui's pearl would be unworthy of its "moonlight" epithet.

The First Emperor toured the Four Seas only to perish at Sand Hill Terrace; interred at Mount Li, his tomb was soon plundered. Today's lead-tin ingots, even forged a hundred times by Ou Yezi (legendary swordsmith), cannot match a tile cutter's sharpness; inferior steeds, even when driven by Zaofu (renowned charioteer), cannot outpace thoroughbreds—such is the nature of things. Clay cannot become iron, yet fired properly it transforms into tiles.

Physiognomists observe: the "Three Terraces and Nine Positions" (face-reading terms) manifest within a square foot of facial features, while wisdom or folly, courage or cowardice reveal themselves in mere inches of ocular expression. The "Celestial Granary and Golden Cabinet" (physiognomic zones) distinguish poverty from wealth, nobility from baseness.

When Emperor Guangwu rose in Nanyang, his movement resembled a phoenix spreading wings—even sparrows transformed into mythical yuanchu birds. The ministers of both Han dynasties achieved splendor rivaling the sun, moon, and stars.

This passage from Yilin contains multiple allusions and discussions, which I'll explain in modern terms:

Regarding natural phenomena: When Mercury (Chenxing) approaches the constellation Changtian, the piled-up bones of soldiers at Changping resemble heavy frost on autumn grass—this is simply the working of natural laws.

The text then discusses extraordinary human appearances: Legends speak of giants several zhang tall whose bodies span nine mu of land, with two necks facing opposite directions and four arms sharing one skeletal frame. There are elders with horns growing from their heads and cases of men and women transforming into each other. But what significance do such bizarre phenomena hold for distinguishing wisdom from folly? Would the supreme deity Taiyi (the highest Daoist divinity) ever sit on a commoner's stool? Would stellar deities like the Big Dipper's Kuigang ever dwell in ordinary women's homes?

In evaluating historical figures: Fu Xuan (a Wei-Jin period thinker) remarked that Zhuge Liang was indeed a rare talent who governed both state and army methodically, achieving merit by seizing opportune moments. Fully aware of Shu's weak foundations, he adopted cautious strategies, whereas Jiang Wei's eagerness for quick victories made him brave but indecisive.

The text introduces master craftsman Ma Jun (courtesy name Deheng): This renowned artisan improved looms by simplifying their complex structures—reducing mechanisms requiring fifty or sixty heddles to just twelve. His practical innovations allowed woven patterns to spontaneously form infinite variations of Yin-Yang transformations. He also reconstructed the south-pointing chariot described in ancient texts. When court officials dismissed it as legend, he insisted "practice surpasses empty talk" and eventually reproduced it under Emperor Ming of Wei's decree. While living in Luoyang, he invented the chain pump (an ancient waterwheel) to irrigate vegetable gardens—a device children could operate with hundredfold efficiency.

On governance essentials: Establishing hierarchy requires proper office arrangements; national revitalization hinges on talent; coordinating internal and external affairs demands clear boundaries; moral education thrives best through schools. Grasp the guiding principles and details fall into place; secure the roots and branches follow naturally. Rewarding one good deed inspires universal virtue; punishing one evil act deters all wrongdoing.

Finally, discussing bureaucratic evolution: In simpler eras, offices were few (Emperor Shun established fifty positions); as rituals grew elaborate, officials multiplied (Xia dynasty: one hundred; Shang: two hundred; Zhou: three hundred). When state institutions decay like abandoned duty standards, and positions remain undefined, proper order collapses. Selecting officials by reputation shifts power downward, fostering factions, while promoting by merit....

A virtuous person may not necessarily gain recognition, while mediocrity often finds employment. The true noble individual cultivates inner character, maintaining an open and humble attitude in interactions, while outwardly establishing clear principles and steadfastly upholding them. People today often praise the abundance of sages in ancient times while lamenting the lack of talent in the present, yet they never reflect on themselves—indulging in empty talk their whole lives. Isn't this truly foolish?

Human nature is like water: placed in a round vessel, it becomes round; placed in a square vessel, it becomes square. When still, it remains clear and transparent; when agitated, it turns turbid and flows. The ancient sage-kings understood that human nature is easily influenced and disordered by external factors, so they tailored their teachings to individual characteristics, establishing appropriate norms based on different inclinations.

Just as a dragon boat requires synchronized rowing—something even Wang Liang (an ancient master charioteer) could not control—or as galloping steeds running side by side would be too much for a Yue native (unskilled in horsemanship) to handle, all things in the world have their proper domain. To build a towering structure, one must first select skilled craftsmen before choosing materials; to govern a state, one must first appoint virtuous ministers before settling the people.

Learning is like drinking from rivers and seas when thirsty—the more you drink, the more you gain; the less you drink, the less you gain. Broad knowledge reveals great principles, while narrow vision perceives only trivialities. Though gold is precious and can be crafted into objects, and copper coins are convenient for circulation, neither can satisfy hunger when food is scarce.

Using grain to purchase official titles is tantamount to openly selling government positions; using wealth to redeem crimes is equivalent to condoning wrongdoing. In times of prosperity, currency circulates quickly, so private coin minting must be banned; in times of poverty, currency circulates slowly, so destroying coins must be prohibited.

The greatest waste in the world lies in women’s adornments. A single hair ornament may be worth a thousand gold pieces, while the garments of maids and concubines are laden with treasures from across the land. High-ranking officials carve stone steles and statues, displaying them along major thoroughfares—a practice that not only exhausts the people and squanders resources but also fosters hypocrisy. To sound the warning bell of the fallen Qin dynasty while indulging in the decadent music of Zheng and Wei, and still hope to revive the nation—isn’t this an impossible task?

Rewards should not exclude the distant or the lowly, nor should punishments spare the close or the powerful. Nobility and baseness each have their proper roles; high and low each have their place. With Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue) as the warp, benevolence and righteousness as the weft, and ritual law as the loom, only then can a well-structured system be established. When selecting the filial, incorrupt, and talented, some rush from a thousand miles away upon hearing the call—resulting in fewer who value practical ability and more who chase empty fame.

Upon hearing good words and deeds, one should hasten to emulate them, fearing it may be too late; upon hearing evil words and deeds, one should flee immediately, fearing it may not be soon enough. If a thousand gold pieces are hung in the marketplace, none dare take them, for ownership is clear; if a single coin is dropped on the road, children will scramble for it, for ownership is uncertain.

The Three Sovereigns (Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor) revered the great Dao (the Way) and emphasized De (Virtue/Power). The Five Emperors (Shaohao, Zhuanxu, Diku, Yao, and Shun) first implemented benevolent governance before pursuing righteousness. The Three Kings (Yu of Xia, Tang of Shang, and King Wen of Zhou) prioritized righteousness before establishing rituals.

A single feather dropped into water will sink because it lacks support, while ten thousand pounds of gold placed on a boat can float by relying on the vessel's buoyancy.

The "Admonition on Speech," modeled after the "Inscription on the Golden Man," states: The Shen (spirit) communicates with humans through resonance, while thoughts find expression through speech. Blessings arrive with omens, and calamities manifest with signs. Do not indulge emotions recklessly, nor speak carelessly. An ant hole can breach a mighty dike; trickling streams can erode towering mountains. Illness often enters through the mouth; misfortune frequently stems from words. The pivot between life and death lies in the opening and closing of speech. The mouth and heart influence each other—this is the foundation of safety and peril. Once words leave the lips, honor or disgrace follows inevitably.

Those who harbor public-mindedness will inevitably act justly. One who loves oneself cannot fail to love others; one who despises oneself cannot help but loathe others. When people prosper, they settle contentedly, respecting superiors and following teachings. In poverty, they grow restless, neglecting homes and gathering to defy authority. Few indeed can refrain from wrongdoing when starving and freezing.

When I desire battle while my opponent resists, my drumming advance will be like mountains collapsing and rivers bursting—those meeting it head-on will be crushed, those encountering its edge will crumble. This is the so-called "swift thunder leaving no time to cover ears"—who could withstand it?

Wu Qi sucking poison from a soldier's ulcer demonstrates accumulating De (Virtue/Power) to inspire loyalty. The Records of the Grand Historian documents Wu Qi's act. In daylight battles, troops coordinate through sight; at night, through sound. They share gains collectively and rescue each other in adversity.

Dry-field harvests depend on heaven's will—even with utmost effort, floods or droughts can nullify a year's toil. Paddy fields allow human control—diligent farming fully harnesses the land's potential.

Master Fu observes: The sages' Dao operates with the constancy of heaven and earth, while the Hundred Schools' theories differ like the four seasons. Though seasons contrast, heaven and earth embrace them all.

Human existence resembles weiqi—without complete grasp of principle, all face dead ends, differing only in degrees of misfortune.