Xie An-an idol of an age
Since the Three Kingdoms, two figures have been most revered by men of letters: Zhuge Liang and Xie An.
Many friends who pay little attention to Chinese literary history and traditional poetry may not know this man. Compared with Marquis Zhuge of Wu, whose fame swept China, Japan, Korea, and even Southeast Asia, his name recognition was worlds apart. Those who studied junior-high history should know the "Battle of Fei River" between Former Qin and Eastern Jin, right? The two idioms "cast enough riding whips to dam the river" and "the wind's howl and cranes' cries, every tree and blade of grass an enemy" both came from here. It was a magnificent, textbook example of the few defeating the many in the age of cold steel: 80,000 against 900,000 (870,000, to be precise). I remember some enthusiasts on a military forum once ranking ancient China's ten greatest elite forces. Eastern Jin's "Beifu Army" had the great honor of standing alongside Great Qin's iron army, Great Han's elite cavalry, and Great Tang's Divine Strategy Army, which gives some idea of its fighting strength.
The founder of the Beifu Army was Xie An. Its commanding general was his nephew Xie Xuan, who later rose to General of Chariots and Cavalry of Eastern Jin.
An exquisite, clear-spirited four-year-old
Huan Yi, father of Huan Wen, the Grand Marshal who later held power over all under heaven, was already a celebrated luminary himself. He was the sort who could point at some young fellow and say, "You've got extraordinary bones, you little punk," and send that person soaring to success, straight into the azure clouds. In those days, winning lavish praise from a great luminary was no easy thing. In A Humble Scholar of the Highest Rank, Chen Caozhi's being appreciated by Huan Yi and admired by Xi Jiabin really was a heaven-sent blessing.
Right, so the great luminary Huan Yi came to visit the Xie residence, and four-year-old Xie An came out to greet the guest with perfect composure. Huan Yi was delighted the moment he saw him and could not help exclaiming, "Exquisite in bearing and clear in spirit-in the future, he will be no less than Wang of Donghai!" This Wang of Donghai was Wang Cheng, another extremely famous figure of the time, a man of tremendous elegance. In other words, he was drop-dead gorgeous, a top-grade little bottom. Receiving praise like that at four seemed even flashier and more badass than being a child prodigy.
A meeting of minds with Murong Chui
Mr. Lu Xun recorded this story in Gleanings of Ancient Fiction. It said that when Xie An was a boy (perhaps eleven or twelve), he actually had a meeting of minds with Murong Chui, the mighty figure of Yan who later ruled over his own territory. As mentioned earlier, Xie An's name was already known throughout the lands east of the Yangtze when he was four, and by his early teens he had grown even more dashing. The women and young ladies of that time were quite a match for today's celebrity chasers. Whenever they saw a handsome, elegant young gentleman, they would give him fruit, scented sachets, and the like; basically, it was the same as fans asking for autographs today. When Pan An toured Luoyang, the fruit tossed to him filled his carriage; the delicate-skinned heartthrob Wei Jie was literally hounded to death by his frenzied fans' blazing enthusiasm. "Gazing Wei Jie to death" caused a sensation. Looks could kill, and Wei Jie was the proof. This top-grade little bottom also became the only man in Chinese history to go down in the annals-oh, no, the unofficial annals-just for being handsome. Even Pan An, the benchmark for male beauty, seemed streets behind Wei Jie. Don't trot out tired clichés like "as handsome as Master Pan" or "a pear tree's blossoms overhanging crabapple blooms" to insult our gorgeous Mr. Wei. I reckon even paragons of pure manliness like Brother Chun and Master Zeng would have stars in their eyes, clenched chrysanthemums, and lose control of their bladders and bowels upon seeing Brother Wei Jie.
Sorry, I wandered off topic. The Murong family were Xianbei aristocrats, the imperial clan of Great Yan. (Anyone who's read Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils knows that, right? You haven't? Guards, drag them out and beat them!) The Xianbei were still rather tragic back then, knocking around Liaodong and the Changbai Mountains. The northeast in those days wasn't covered in soybeans and sorghum as it is now; calling it a place where even birds wouldn't shit really wasn't malicious. So beside Xie An, who grew up amid the prosperity of Jiangnan, in grand mansions with fine clothes and exquisite food, Murong Chui really was a country bumpkin so rustic he shed dirt. Even so, the winds of culture still reached those mountain backwaters, and Xie An's great name traveled from fan to fan until it reached Murong Chui. This forebear of the young masters of the Murong family was delighted: even us rough fellows knew how to appreciate the finer things! So he sent someone to give Xie An a "White Wolf Fur Ornament." This was an ornament made from white wolf fur. Those who've read wish-fulfillment novels should know that white wolves are generally badass creatures that have attained supernatural powers, so wouldn't you call that a precious gift? It is worth mentioning that Murong Chui was seven that year, still a tiny little kid, so this meeting of minds really was marvelous.
Swallows before the halls of Wang and Xie
"The swallows once before the halls of Wang and Xie now fly into ordinary homes"-unless you're illiterate, you've probably heard that line, right? The houses of Wang and Xie here referred to Wang Dao's Langya Wang Clan (represented by Wang Dao, Wang Xizhi, and Wang Xianzhi) and Xie An's Chen Commandery Xie Clan. They were the most illustrious figures of their respective clans. The two most famous chief ministers of Eastern Jin were Wang Dao and Xie An. That shabby little court, huddled in a remote corner, managed to survive so many years under pressure from the northern foreign peoples entirely because these two fellows held things together one after the other. Otherwise, the Five Hu of the north would have finished it off long before. Of course, in the age of cold steel, the Yangtze's natural moat really was something to rely on.
The first "xiaosa"
Wang Xizhi's son Wang Xianzhi was a lifelong fan of Xie An. Later, when Xie An became chief minister, he went to serve as chief clerk in Xie An's staff. One day, when the two were pleasantly tipsy, Wang Xianzhi suddenly got carried away in company and said to Xie An, "I think you're the most effortlessly elegant man." This was probably the earliest recorded instance of the characters "xiao" and "sa" being used together with a clear meaning.
Xie An wrote an excellent running script and played the qin beautifully, making him a man of unusually varied talents. He was a great calligrapher, a musician, and a poet. In retirement, he could roam at leisure with courtesans, attend the Orchid Pavilion Gathering, host the Dongshan Gathering, and become a model for celebrated scholars throughout the realm; in office, he could bring peace to the state and govern the world. What all the world's men of letters desired throughout their lives, he alone could achieve.
Lord Xie had his own Dongshan courtesans
The "Dongshan courtesans" were a very famous literary allusion, probably rather more refined than the "Yangzhou slender horses" currently all the rage in Jiangnan. Courtesans in those days mostly sold their accomplishments rather than their bodies, though that certainly didn't rule out a one-night stand with some high official or nobleman who caught their eye. Li Bai, that freakish genius who appeared only once in China's five thousand years, set his sights above everyone and thought exceedingly highly of himself, yet he admired Lord Xie enormously. At one point, he was so envious that he brought his own singing girls to Dongshan and even wrote a poem for Xie An, who had been dead for centuries: "My courtesans today are flowers and moonlight; his lie in ancient graves, cold with wild grass."
Master Xie was henpecked too
Xie An's wife came from the eminent Liu Clan and was the younger sister of Liu Tan, a celebrated luminary of the time. She was a witty, amusing delight of a woman. Let me recount her exploits at leisure.
Fond of eavesdropping: while Xie An was still living in seclusion at Dongshan, a celebrated scholar named Sun Chuo came to visit him. Xie An greatly admired his talent, so he asked him to stay the night, and the two discussed philosophical principles until dawn. Who knows whether Lady Liu was still young then and brimming with desire, but her husband had gone off to engage in lofty discussion and ignored his lovely wife, leaving her deeply displeased, so she hid behind the door and listened in. The next day, Sun Chuo left. Knowing she had eavesdropped all night, Xie An asked her, since she had listened for so long, what she thought of the guest. To his surprise, Lady Liu said disdainfully that Sun Chuo's thinking was muddled and his arguments unclear-what was there to admire? Her brother Liu Tan had never had friends like that. That insult caught both Xie An and Sun Chuo in the same net. Helpless, Xie An could only give a wry smile and admit defeat.
Prone to jealousy: for a time, Xie An had his eye on a young woman and wanted to take her as a concubine. Knowing his wife would certainly refuse, he wanted to test the waters first. Too embarrassed to raise it himself, he occasionally let a hint slip to Xie Xuan and his other sons and nephews. The young gentlemen understood at once. They were all men, after all, and so many private matters were universal-a graceful, virtuous maiden was a gentleman's fine match. Their uncle really had it rough. So they discussed it and agreed to work on their aunt.
The lads went to Lady Liu and began putting on their act. One held a copy of the Book of Songs and began reciting "The Ospreys," actually reading out lines like "A graceful, virtuous maiden is a gentleman's fine match." Lady Liu quickly saw through her nephews' scheme. Without betraying anything, she let them keep performing. Then another began: the Preface to the Songs said that "The Ospreys" expressed no jealousy, rejoicing in finding a virtuous maiden to match the gentleman, with no wish to harm goodness.
At this, Lady Liu thought, I can't be bothered to keep wrangling with you brats. Smiling, she said, "Then let me ask you, who wrote this Preface to the Songs?" One replied, "The Duke of Zhou, of course." Lady Liu nodded. "All right, then if the old lady of Zhou had written this Preface to the Songs, what would she have said?"
This was the origin of the later, extremely famous saying, "The old man has his reasons, and the old woman has hers."
An idol to men of letters
Across China's vast five thousand years, there was one man who sang long songs in place of weeping, whose laughter, anger, and curses all became literature. Wine entered his belly; half became wine fumes, half brewed into moonlight. One opening of his embroidered mouth, and there was half the High Tang. You've surely guessed: this was Li Bai, the Immortal Poet. At the time, there was a man called He Zhizhang, who styled himself the "Mad Guest of Siming." He was tutor to the crown prince, a favorite before the emperor, a writer of brocade-like prose, and so famous he could frighten an ox to death. When Li Bai came to Chang'an, the two met in an upscale bar. As everyone should know, men of letters always had to hang around bars and such to stir their creative inspiration; halfway between drunk and sober, their nonsense became new poems. The Immortal Poet was even fiercer: "Li Bai, drunk on wine, composed a hundred poems." No wine, no inspiration. So these two fellows, whose wild arrogance knew neither heaven nor earth, met. After a few exchanges, they were shooting the breeze, holding forth on the world's literature with something of Cao Cao and Liu Bei discussing heroes over warmed wine. Li Bai seized the chance to produce one of his poems. Old He took one look and was instantly shocked half sober, replying, "This poem could make ghosts and gods weep!" Delighted, Li Bai offered up his treasured masterpiece, "The Hard Road to Shu." Old He was simply dumbstruck and cried, "Truly, you are an immortal banished to earth!" How could a mere mortal write something like this? You ** were a Martian, not even from the same planet as us! As it happened, neither had brought any silver that day, so Old He pawned the Jade Goblet at his waist, bestowed by the emperor himself, and the pair went out with their arms around each other's shoulders. That was how the Immortal Poet acquired the name "Banished Immortal."
As for Du Fu, whose fame equaled Li Bai's, he was a lifelong fan of the Immortal Poet, tagging along with Brother Bai for food and drink for years and writing many poems in praise of him. There was "Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup," for example, and supposedly more than twenty poems titled "To Li Bai" alone. My favorite was "Drinking deep and singing madly, idling away the days; for whom do you swagger, so proud and unrestrained?" Fenghuo once quoted it in his book. Very good.
Sorry, I wandered off topic. After all, everyone surnamed Li under heaven was one family, and with such an outrageously badass fellow in our old Li family, I couldn't resist boasting a little more. The Immortal Poet admired two men throughout his life: Meng Haoran and Xie An. This humble fellow found the following poems:
"Anshi dwelt on Dongshan, with no thought of saving the world. Once risen, he stemmed the raging flood; his work complete, he was elegant and carefree again."
"Anshi sailed the boundless seas, returning with a lone cry on the long wind. His untrammeled spirit stirred the ocean; his lofty feeling rose beyond the human world."
"Only employ Xie Anshi of Dongshan, and amid talk and laughter he will quell the Hu sands for you."
"Anshi spent thirty springs on Dongshan, proudly leading courtesans beyond the dusty world."
Besides Li Bai, another master so famous it could kill also wrote poems praising Xie An: Mr. Dongpo.
"Lord Xie possessed a noble magnanimity; the fortunes of his age were beset with hardship... He let his heart roam beyond worldly things, lingering to play with clouds and springs."
"Anshi was by the eastern sea, his temples startled by autumn as he took up office. In middle age, parting from kin and friends was hard; silk strings and bamboo pipes eased the sorrow of farewell. Once success and fame were won, he planned to return east by sea, yet entered Xizhou bearing illness. His lofty aspirations were trapped by carriage and cap of office; his lingering regret was entrusted to the river isles."
Then there was Xin Qiji, Mr. Jiaxuan, that extraordinary talent who could govern the country with his pen and bring peace to the state with his sword. A formidable man who had raised a rebel army, carried out terrorist attacks, and tried his hand at decapitation strikes. His lines follow:
"Like the sons of the Xie family, upright in cap and robe; like Xiangru's courtyard, with carriages and horsemen in stately grace."
"Yet I recall Anshi's grace, his late years on Dongshan, tears falling to the mournful zither. All deeds and honors he entrusted to the younger generation; his long days passed only over the chessboard."
All right, I've written far too much from beginning to end. I'm tired, so let's leave it there.
Before you continue