English Version – Love in Turbulent Times: A Critique of the “Anthology of Tang and Song Tales” – Volume Two
For the previous volume, please click on this link.
In this selected volume, many stories revolve around the theme of love. During the middle Tang Dynasty, China endured the An Lushan Rebellion, plunging the Tang Dynasty into economic and social decline. Legendaries shifted focus from possessing rare treasures or virtuous beauties to highlighting the lives of ordinary people during this era. These stories also bear traces of inevitable regrets that no one could soothe.
This legendary plot is quite simple, describing how a difficult LeetCode problem with vague descriptions was solved by several generations. If you’re a fan of the I Ching, you might find it particularly satisfying.
The story begins with the collapse of a tomb. A person happened to find a intact stone tablet in the ruins, inscribed with mysterious text. This individual recorded the content of the inscription and tasked his descendants with deciphering its meaning. Eventually, after three generations, the key figure to solve the puzzle was found by the grandson of the original person.
The grandson’s colleague in the government happened to be a hidden master of I Ching. On the very day he received the problem, the colleague promptly solved this LeetCode hard question while riding on horseback. His response stated that the inscription meant that on a specific date in the future, the tomb would collapse. This date happened to coincide with the day the ancestor found the tablet.
The author, Li Jifu, then exclaimed, “Ah, everything is predetermined! The person who inscribed this tablet hundreds of years ago was indeed a divine figure, able to accurately predict the day when the tomb would collapse due to heavy rain. Rain is such a random occurrence, yet it was foreseen. If such events are calculated, then surely one’s destiny is also predetermined.” He further questioned, “Since destiny is predetermined, why did past sages like Confucius and Mozi, upon knowing their fate, still strive so hard in life?” That’s an interesting question indeed.
I believe that living is not an easy task. Even if you know the outcome of your life, immersing yourself in the process is still worthwhile. It’s also possible that destiny gives people the illusion that if they work hard enough, they won’t be hindered by it.
Moreover, what struck me most in this piece is the remarkable speed at which these ancient literati could calculate the Chinese zodiac and the sixty stem-branches. They could do it mentally, almost like Americans converting between meters and feet. Of course, I feel that the skill of Americans to calculate feet is rather useless, and I hope to see this unit of measurement abolished in my lifetime.
Love in Turbulent Times: Like Willow Catkins, Bent and Broken – A Review of “The Tale of Miss Liu”
At first glance, I thought it might be a story of rekindled romance. I was wrong. It wasn’t until I came across this poem that I realized I might have heard of this story before:
“Zhangtai willow, Zhangtai willow, once green, now faded? Even if the long branches seem to hang as they did in the past, they should still be plucked by someone else’s hand.”
“Willow branches, fragrant blossoms, regretting the partings given year after year. A leaf carried away by the wind heralds the sudden arrival of autumn, even if you return, can you bear the separation?”
If the previous volume of legends suggested that any talented scholar who passed the imperial examination could rise to prominence, with beautiful women falling into their laps, then in this tale, such a law does not exist:
The story unfolds in the late Tianbao era, during the An Lushan Rebellion, a time of social unrest. The stunning beauty Liu Shi is kept by a wealthy man named Li Sheng. Unafraid of poverty, she is willing to leave Li Sheng’s home for the sake of the protagonist Han Yi’s talent, marrying him and managing all aspects of their lives. Han Yi is particularly promising and is selected as a top scholar in the imperial examination the following year. However, due to the poor state of the economy, Han Yi seems unable to secure any position in the capital, so he remains idle at home for a year. Eventually, he has to leave home and his wife Liu Shi to seek a minor official position through luck. During Han Yi’s absence, Liu Shi, without a source of income, has to sell off some of her dowry to support herself. After An Lushan’s rebellion reaches the capital, Han Yi and Liu Shi lose contact completely. “A person’s fate, of course, depends on one’s own efforts, but also must consider the course of history.” Their experience is truly lamentable.
Han Yi is also quite pathetic. Eventually, he returns to the capital and becomes a minor official, but by then, Liu Shi has been snatched away by General Shazha, a favorite of the emperor. In terms of wealth and power, Han Yi is powerless against General Shazha, so the two can only part ways. The scene where Han Yi cries alone at a banquet, realizing that he has lost his chance with the beauty forever, is quite poignant. Finally, a colleague at the banquet, Xu Jun, takes pity on him and helps him win back his wife. The scene where they “snatch” Liu Shi back is quite thrilling: Xu Jun is brave and resourceful, avoiding a violent conflict. But in the end, both Xu Jun and Han Yi, who did nothing wrong, still have to cautiously seek the favor of their boss – the minor official Hou Xiyi, and the big boss – the emperor.
The emperor, though reasonable, decides to return Liu Shi to Han Yi, but also compensates General Shazha with two million dollars for “snatching” her. Seeing this, I couldn’t help but sigh. Even if you’re a scholar who passes the imperial examination, if you’re born at the wrong time, you can only live meekly, unable to protect even your own wife. And Liu Shi is even more helpless. Despite her ability to face her emotions head-on, and her cleverness in disguising her beauty through tactics like cutting her hair, she ultimately cannot decide who owns her, forever being the appendage and possession of powerful men. Her beauty wins her the heart of her beloved Han Yi, but also brings a host of troubles.
This legend is quite different from previous Tang Dynasty legends like “The Fox Demon” and “The Record of The Old Mirror”. Although this story is fictional, the social background is real, and the characters seem as if they existed at the time, with their experiences being quite reasonable. The woeful fate of the characters in this legend mirrors the blueprint of modern realistic literature.
This legend is truly captivating! There were several plot twists that caught me off guard.
The story introduces a new race: the Dragon Clan. The dragons belong to the divine category, with a lifespan of ten thousand years, living in places filled with treasures, and their responsibilities are directly governed by the Emperor of Heaven. However, the author’s attitude towards the Dragon Clan is quite peculiar. In his commentary, he uses the concept of “Five Vermin,” with humans being the foremost, and places dragons at the bottom, suggesting that they learned integrity from humans. Does this indicate that in ancient times, the status of the Dragon Clan was lower than that of humans? It’s akin to the worldview in “Delicious in Dungeon”: after all, they are monsters?
However, all dragons are classified as celestial beings, while humans are merely mortals. It seems that within the framework of this legend, apart from the hierarchy of the “Five Vermin,” there is also a hierarchy between the divine realm and the mortal world. Not only humans can become gods, but any animal from the “Five Vermin” can also become a deity. In other words, the divine realm not only hires humans but also various animals. It had achieved equality by diversity hiring.
Dragons are not creatures enjoying leisure all day; Dragon Kings hold public office and are responsible for the hydrology and meteorology of their respective regions, such as rainfall, floods, and irrigation, to ensure the survival of the beings in their area. From an organizational perspective, the Dragon King, as a director-level position, directly managed individual contributors who are level 0. Meanwhile, the Dragon King’s family can indulge in parties every day, and a single Dragon King can support an entire clan! Suddenly, the Dragon King seems like a fortunate laborer in modern tech, single-handedly supporting a family.
However, one of the protagonists in this story, the youngest daughter of the T’ung-ting Dragon King, still ends up in an arranged marriage: a female dragon from Hunan is married off to Shanxi to become the daughter-in-law of the Jingjiang Dragon King. As a result, the young daughter suffers abuse from her in-laws and cannot enjoy daily festivities. Instead, she is assigned to work at the Jing Palace as an individual contributor, responsible for feeding the flocks (responsible for rainfall). The other protagonist, Liu Yi, a failed scholar returning home from the imperial capital, coincidentally encounters the weeping T’ung-ting heiress who is feeding sheep (a creature to work on rains) alone, thus beginning a fateful encounter between humans and dragons.
In the story, the main dragon characters are the T’ung-ting Dragon King and the Qiantang Dragon King. The T’ung-ting Dragon King is depicted much like T’ung-ting Lake—large and tranquil. The Qiantang Dragon King, as the name suggests, resembles the Qiantang River—rushing and surging, given the river’s yearly tidal bore claims many lives. The portrayal of the Qiantang Dragon King is vivid and lifelike: “Suddenly, there appeared a red dragon over a thousand feet long, with lightning eyes and a blood-red tongue, vermilion scales, and fiery mane, with a golden lock around its neck, tied to a jade pillar. Thunder and lightning surrounded its body, and hail and snow fell all at once. Then, it split the blue sky and flew away. Yi feared that he might collapse.” Beforehand, the Qiantang Dragon King fought with a heavenly general, causing the flooding of five large mountains and resulting in his imprisonment for reflection in T’ung-ting Lake. Upon hearing the news of his niece’s being mistreated, he flew tens of thousands of miles in a fit of rage, surrounded by thunder and snow, to retrieve her. This demonstrates the fiery temperament of the Qiantang Dragon King.
The dialogue between the T’ung-ting Dragon King and the Qiantang Dragon King after the niece’s rescue is also interesting. “The king said, ‘How many have you killed?’ ‘Six hundred thousand,’ was the reply. ‘How much farmland have you damaged?’ ‘Eight hundred miles.’ Divine beings fighting casually resulted in the deaths of tens of thousands of innocent beings and the destruction of millions of acres of crops. The differing reactions of the two dragons depict T’ung-ting’s sympathetic character and Qiantang’s reckless but somewhat righteous demeanor vividly. Moreover, the author’s ability to briefly mention the perspective of ordinary people is quite commendable, sympathizing with the innocent lives affected by the events.
Another unexpected aspect of this story is the mutual affection between Liu Yi and the Dragon King’s daughter, although they did not initially come together. Liu Yi was hesitant to indirectly harm the husband and wife, but the matchmaker, the Qiantang Dragon King, was tactless in his approach, leading Liu Yi to feel offended and ultimately refuse the marriage. The Confucian moral is truly oppressive.
After many twists and turns, it was ultimately through the Dragon King’s daughter’s transformation into a human that they managed to be together. Despite the lack of explicit expressions of love between them, the Dragon King’s daughter even gave birth to a child before revealing her true identity. She thought if Liu Yi didn’t fancy her, at least there was the child to consider. The feudal era’s views on love and marriage were crystal clear. Marriage was merely for a man to alleviate loneliness or to expand his family’s economic and political power. Marriage didn’t equate to love. In mid Tang Dynasty legends, love between men and women often existed outside of marriage.
So, it seems like the emotional views of the mid-Tang Dynasty were quite… progressive? It was assumed that everyone engaged in multiple relationships, and having love didn’t necessarily lead to marriage, nor did marriage always indicate love. In the mid-Tang Dynasty, it appears that men sought marriage first to ensure the survival of the nuclear family and fulfill basic physiological needs, and then sought love to fulfill their metaphysical desires.
As for the aftermath, Liu Yi received the Dragon Princess’s gift of a thousand-year lifespan and lived as an immortal in T’ung-ting (it’s just a slight increase in household size for the T’ung-ting Dragon King), encountering his brother, who was getting old and dying while working as a civil servant in another place, and telling him, “It’s not good to stay in the human world for too long and suffer.” This shows that the socio-economic situation declined in the mid-Tang Dynasty. Even if someone like Liu Yi, or his brother with a stable job, had money, life on Earth wasn’t as good as before, so it was better to avoid the world and become an immortal.
However, it’s worth noting that many people spend their whole lives practicing Tao but still don’t become immortals. Yet Liu Yi, an ordinary person who followed the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, had no Taoist background whatsoever. Just by marrying a goddess, he automatically became an immortal and even extended his brother’s lifespan. It feels like the same logic used in various countries for expedited immigration through marriage.
In “The Tale of Li Zhangwu,” it’s mentioned right at the beginning that Li Zhangwu is quite good-looking, which is quite rare. Generally, in these legends, if a male character is described as a scholar or going to become an official, it’s already assumed that he will be favored by women. But during the mid-Tang Dynasty, these official positions seemed to have inflated, just like how everyone on LinkedIn is a “lead engineer” or “lead designer”… There were too many literati and officials, and without any other outstanding qualities, they weren’t worth the attention of women.
In this story, Li Zhangwu, the man, valued physical intimacy, while Wang, the woman, valued emotional harmony. The two had completely different priorities in their intimate relationship. What’s crucial here is that the one seeking physical intimacy happens to be an intellectual elite in feudal society, while the one seeking emotional connection happens to be an ordinary beauty in feudal society. Consequently, the female character is very humble, lowering her posture significantly. She even feels extremely happy to receive a bit of attention and memory from the other party beyond physical intimacy. For example, when Li and she parted after a night of passion, he composed a poem to remember the occasion, which deeply moved Wang, prompting her to take the risk of returning to the mortal world once again for a farewell. Although talent doesn’t spread through physical contact, the idea that talented men can attract the hearts of beautiful women has long been ingrained. Further speculation suggests that if Li Zhangwu had completely forgotten about Wang, it would have turned into something like “Letter from an Unknown Woman” in the Tang Dynasty.
Moreover, I always felt that Li Zhangwu liked the treasures from the fairy realm that Wang gave him more than he liked Wang herself. He went to great lengths to find a skilled jade craftsman to carve a rather useless treasure that he could wear every day. However, after knowing Wang for seven or eight years, they both died of lovesickness without exchanging a single letter or meeting again…
This article is said to be a type of “merging of the fairy and the courtesan” in Tang Dynasty legends: the courtesan’s transcendence into a fairy and the fairy’s debasement into a courtesan. The author portrayed Wang, who had an affair with Li (the courtesan), as ascending to heaven after death, transforming into a fairy, and breaking through the constraints of time with her longing for Li. Ancient literati always depicted women’s status in romantic relationships as extremely humble, while men, even if they forget about the women, always enjoyed their worship and admiration. It seems that harem literature under patriarchy has a long history… The cultural prosperity and elevated ideological realm of the mid-Tang Dynasty, but the imagination of equality remained barren.
I’m really looking forward to reading a story where a confident woman can effortlessly manipulate various handsome men. I wonder if we’ll get to see that in the future?
This is yet another tale of a lovesick woman, recounting the emotional entanglement between the scholar Li Yi and the famous courtesan Huo Xiaoyu in Chang’an, and it’s also a legendary story that’s so renowned it was adapted into a play by Tang Xianzu.
Li Yi, though not particularly attractive, was highly self-regarding due to his literary talent. During his wait for the imperial examination in Chang’an, he made every effort to find the company of an extraordinary beauty. That’s when he encountered Huo Xiaoyu. She was once a beloved daughter of a noble family, but after her father’s death and due to her mother’s lowly status, she was expelled from the royal palace and reduced to becoming a courtesan. During their courtship, Li Yi wrote many declarations of his unwavering love for Huo Xiaoyu and made numerous vows, causing a sensation in Chang’an. However, after he obtained an official position, he was betrothed to someone from a comparable background, and quietly abandoned Huo Xiaoyu.
Perhaps the most despicable aspect of Li Yi’s behavior lies in his inability to express himself in love—a characteristic of avoidant personality. When faced with situations where he might offend the other party, he chose to use cold violence—disappearing and feigning death, hoping that Huo Xiaoyu would learn to read his mind, understand his desire to break up, and let him go. This series of actions forced Huo Xiaoyu, who was originally mentally healthy, into a severe anxiety disorder. Huo Xiaoyu spent all her savings from her days as a palace daughter to gather information about her lover, to the point where she couldn’t even afford rice; later, knowing that he was in the same city, she still couldn’t arrange for Li Yi to meet her, suffering immensely from the agony of avoidance, until she was on the brink of death. Fortunately, a mysterious yellow-clad guest appeared and brought the faithless Li Yi to the dying Huo Xiaoyu, allowing them to meet one last time.
Unlike Wang, the protagonist in , Huo Xiaoyu wasn’t as submissive. She loved openly and hated decisively, cursing Li Yi on the spot before passing away from rage. After this incident, Li Yi’s romantic endeavors or marriages were all fraught with difficulties, living a lifetime steeped in suspicion and irritability towards intimate partners, forever deprived of the sense of security in intimate relationships. In summary, all that’s left is desire; he could no longer love.
This story is perhaps the nightmare of avoidant personality. In intimate relationships, one must learn to speak up; the mouth is not just an organ of desire but also serves the function of communication. If one does not make an effort to communicate, they won’t find happiness.
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这本书是我和对象在图书馆的新书推荐区意外碰到的。当时对象拿起了书架上这仅剩的最后一本“Rental Person Who Does Nothing”，正在翻看时，另一位书友从远处风风火火地走过来，留下一句：“It’s an interesting book. Very funny. Very interesting.” 随即飘然而去。我们第一次经历这种来自美国友人的、突如其来、面对面的安利。出于好奇，对象把这本书带回了家。
rental person补充道：“有时和亲近的人交往，需要有来有往，保持平衡。”在与友人的交往中，如果说了太多自己的事情，即有可能打破平衡，在对方心中变成索取无度的一方。如此需要小心翼翼地维持的所谓交往的“平衡之道”，我深以为然。而相反地，客户们和rental person讲述自己的故事时可以不需要顾虑任何事。rental person does nothing，他不需要被迫作出有价值的回应；而相应地，客户也不期待任何有意义的回应。这样的关系简单且轻松——双方都不需要维持那互相猜疑且易碎的社交的平衡感。
While this book is a work of non-fiction, this review may touch upon its content, potentially affecting the experience of first-time readers. Therefore, if interested, please read the original book before proceeding with this article.
Encountering this book was serendipitous for my spouse and me as we browsed the new releases section of the library. My spouse picked up the last copy of “Rental Person Who Does Nothing” from the shelf, and as she flipped through it, another person hurried over, leaving us with a cryptic remark: “It’s an interesting book. Very funny. Very interesting.” Then she vanished as swiftly as they appeared. It was our first encounter with such spontaneous, face-to-face recommendations from an American acquaintance. Out of curiosity, my spouse brought the book home.
Initially disinterested, as an unwillingly-unemployed person with ample time and plenty of anxieties, I casually opened the book at home. Little did I expect to be completely engrossed after the first paragraph: a Tokyo-born and bred Japanese person advertise himself as a “do-nothing person” to rent out his time and energy almost for free. What kind of stories would emerge from this setup? And who are the people in need of renting such a person? The preface and afterword even mention that the rental person isn’t the author; he only responded to the questions posed by the organizer, with the actual writing of the book done by someone else, truly living up to the philosophy of “do nothing.”
This book isn’t particularly literary—perhaps due to being a translated text or the rental person’s philosophical adherence to doing nothing—the writing throughout is quite straightforward. Moreover, the final two chapters contain a lot of repetition, which can be tiresome. However, the creativity behind “doing nothing” as a way of life and the stories it spawns have given me much to ponder: relationships, friendships, and the meaning of the existence of people who do nothing in the world. Herein lies a record of some musings I had during my reading journey.
Confessions
Before delving into this book, I assumed that everyone’s ideal confidant would be someone they have a connection with: like close friends with similar values or partners and family with strong emotional bonds. How could anyone want to hire a stranger to listen to their innermost thoughts? What’s the point of confiding in a stranger? However, this book has reshaped my understanding of “human confessions.”
It mentions that there are things people are reluctant to share with those close to them. Instead, they prefer to confide in strangers they may only meet once in their lifetime. For instance, one of the rental person’s clients confided in him about his experience as a member of the Aum Shinrikyo cult. He felt that everyone in the cult was kind and believed that the Tokyo sarin attack was orchestrated by the government. This client harbored deep-seated secrets that they couldn’t share with anyone but the completely unknown rental person.
The rental person adds, “Sometimes, in relationships with close friends, there needs to be a balance.” In interactions with friends, if one shares too much about themselves, it can potentially upset the balance and make them appear overly demanding. This so-called “balance of interaction” that needs to be carefully maintained resonates deeply with me. Conversely, when clients tell their stories to the rental person, they needn’t worry about anything. The rental person does nothing; they don’t need to offer valuable responses, and correspondingly, clients don’t expect any meaningful responses. This relationship is simple and easy—neither side needs to maintain the delicate balance of mutual suspicion and fragility that comes with social interactions.
A tweet quoted in the book mentions that often people are unwilling to confide in acquaintances or pay for someone to listen because when “relationships” and “money” come into play, the listener always tries to “clarify the confessor’s situation” for them, something that most of the time, people don’t need. Some even say that “clarifying things” only makes everything more confusing—giving personal opinions and advice can cause more harm than good. This observation is spot-on: forcefully trying to organize someone else’s life and offering unwanted advice based on one’s own perspective and experiences has become quite irritating nowadays. In the Chinese context, this behavior is often referred to as “daddy behavior.”
Upon reflection, some relationships on social networks can also be likened to the relationship between “confessors” and “strange listeners.” If there’s no real-life connection beyond the online network, then a simple and bland relationship can be maintained: enjoy together or disband. Isn’t this relationship similar to that between the rental person and their clients? Whether or not one maintains relationships with strangers online, it ultimately doesn’t have much impact on their real-life social networks.
It makes me wonder, sometimes people post on social networks not expecting interaction or advice, but merely seeking a feeling of “being seen.” Of course, if you don’t want to be seen, why post publicly online? Just knowing that you’re being seen can give you immense power. And just by seeing, regardless of interaction, you’re already empowering the other person. Humans, complex yet simple.
Friendship
Regarding friendship, the book mentions an intriguing example. One client received a wedding invitation from a friend, but she felt she wasn’t close enough to the couple to invest time and money in attending the wedding. Simply fabricating an excuse not to attend someone’s wedding is considered quite guilt-inducing in East Asian society. So, the client chose to reach out to the rental person and arranged to meet him on the day of the wedding. By doing so, the client effectively had a prior engagement and could politely decline the wedding invitation. However, to free up her schedule for the day, the client also hoped the rental person would send her a message in the morning of the wedding, canceling their meeting. This way, the client wouldn’t technically be lying and could save her time for the day. Perhaps this could alleviate her sense of guilt.
But was this really a lie? On the morning of the wedding, the rental person completely forgot to send a message canceling the appointment, resulting in the client using the excuse not to attend the wedding—a lie. This incident reminded me of the various formalities that need to be followed in interpersonal relationships in East Asian contexts and the unpleasantness that pervades to maintain a series of relationships. Going to such lengths to find excuses is evidently a way to avoid potential conflicts. If this client had simply stated that she didn’t want to attend the wedding, in a culture where “marriage is a major life event,” it might have strained her friendship with the friend. Interpersonal relationships cannot always be handled as one wishes.
In response, some expressed gratitude to the rental person on Twitter: clients only need to spend a small amount of money to confide in him for a few hours. And because there are no intertwined interpersonal relationships in reality, there’s no need to worry about the wording. Counterintuitively, friendship requires a significant investment of time and money to maintain.
There are some other interesting observations here: friendship requires careful handling. When a friend lends you some of her favorite books or media, you always need to give some feedback during the return process. If your opinions happen to differ, you still need to be cautious in your choice of words. Not to mention that sometimes you may have some unpleasantness due to uncomfortable communication methods.
If we were to calculate it economically: deep friendships require a person to invest a great deal of value in terms of time, money, and emotions to maintain. Frictions, different life trajectories, or one party’s retreat can turn everything both parties have invested into sunk costs, whether large or small.
Gender
Additionally, there are some reflections on certain labels attached to the rental person: “male” and “married.” Being a married man has made many clients (whom I believe are predominantly female) express trust in him and be willing to rent him to do things together. It inevitably brings to mind the service of renting “uncles” in Japan, which has been going on for twelve years. The rental person is not the only one renting themselves out. Upon careful consideration, it’s challenging for women to provide such “renting oneself” services. The rental person mentioned that some clients expressed sexual demands when he didn’t initially disclose his marital status. I imagine if he were a woman, she would undoubtedly receive more similar requests.
The decision of another woman to marry this man gave other women a sense of security—this gender-specific aspect is not mentioned in the rental person’s book, but it’s a poignant detail upon closer reflection. I’m not sure about the gender ratio of clients, but judging from the pronouns used in many stories mentioned in the book, there are indeed many female clients.
However, on another note, in Japan, it’s not uncommon for women to rent another person to do things together. This fact also surprised me. Is it cultural pressure that often requires women to have companionship in public activities?
Love
One of my favorite requests, and also the one with the most retweets, interactions, and likes when it was posted, was from a dog owner.
The dog owner mentioned that every time she walk her dog, the dog wants to interact with everyone because it loves people. However, being considerate, the dog owner doesn’t want to inconvenience strangers, so she try to pull the dog away. This makes the dog sad every day. To cheer the dog up, she invited the rental person to the usual walking spot and pretended to be a stranger who wanted to pet the dog and interact with it.
The rental person arrived as agreed and petted the dog, making it very happy. Afterward, the dog owner even gave him a wet wipe to clean his hands. She said she always carries them for strangers who stop to pet the dog… such a thoughtful owner. After he left, she sent him a private message saying the dog was sad, watching him walk away, with its tail tucked tightly.
The rental person said: This is a service that only humans can provide, AI cannot replace it. And what makes this request so touching is that it reflects the love a owner has for her pet.
As my thoughts wander, standing by the window, watching the crows flying up and down with food they found on the roadside, I also think of how much my partner enjoys feeding crows. At that moment, all my partner needs is a crow there to accept her food, nothing more. Feeding crows, an act devoid of social value, is also something only humans would do. Perhaps it’s the fact that the crows are willing to accept her goodwill that brings her joy. And in return, the crows don’t need to provide any material value—they simply enjoy the expired nuts. The willingness of other creatures to accept her offering is enough to satisfy her.
Sometimes, the love humans give to others is selfless—it doesn’t stem from a desire to extract value from the object of affection or to project a powerful “self” outwardly; it simply comes from the existence of others themselves. In today’s materialistic world, these occasional moments of brilliance within the human collective are like finding gold in the waves, shining brightly and movingly.
The Society Is A Jungle
One of the most thought-provoking aspects is when the rental person talks about why he became a “person who does nothing.” When he was still a worker in society, he found himself doing similar tasks year after year, which made him feel bored. Not only that, every time a new task came, he had to complete it at a faster pace and with higher standards, like a tool evolving constantly. When he wrote his resume to switch jobs, he had to package himself with similar past experiences and show enthusiasm to get new opportunities. Moreover, during changes in the company structure, he had to adapt to even more challenging tasks that he had never anticipated, such as transitioning from a regular content writer to a project manager guiding others in writing. If one couldn’t adapt to the challenges like him, they had to endure the boss’s insults: “What use are you!”
The rental person’s career journey started as a textbook writer, then he resigned due to the inability to cope with role changes, became a freelance writer, took on a lot of repetitive work, and ultimately ended his life as a worker—doing nothing, seemed like a silent rebellion against the mainstream work culture in capitalist society.
Unlike most East Asians, he chose to follow his heart and refused to integrate into the mainstream society. Perhaps this choice stems from the experiences of his siblings: his brother lost confidence in life due to failing the entrance exam and became a “loser” at home for decades; while his sister, after graduating from college, couldn’t find a job for over a year, lost hope, and chose suicide. The consensus of society doesn’t need to be explicitly stated: “a person who does nothing” is not accepted by society, and “a person who does nothing” is considered “useless waste.” This societal pressure subtly suppresses everyone, leaving those involuntarily detached from the mainstream at a loss. Even though his siblings are loved by family, friends, and partners, and they hope they can live happily, they ultimately cannot accept being considered “useless” by society’s default standards and end up completely crushed mentally, choosing to permanently leave this society.
Exploring whether a person who doesn’t provide social value can continue to survive in society and how long they can survive. That was his original intention for starting this experiment.
In the midst of enduring various rejections from society, feeling so “useless” that I couldn’t do what I wanted to do, this book gave me some comfort and reflection: everyone isn’t as special as they think, but they are indispensable. Perhaps we are all just surviving in such moments of value fluctuation, and we don’t need to be entangled in which moment I am an indispensable “me,” rather than just a symbol of a person. Being human still allows us to do some things that only humans can do, and perhaps that is enough consolation.
At the end of the book, the rental person mentioned that his newborn child brought him a lot of contemplation. Babies do nothing, yet they still receive food, shelter, and the resources necessary for survival, as well as human love. Babies can just be themselves: for example, spitting out food they don’t like directly or crying loudly when unhappy. But at some point, they accept the rules of society for survival, grow up to become adults, and break through their once simple and sincere shells. He hopes everyone can survive like children, so he can also live on like the mainstream, “doing nothing,” without any criticism.
Although this wish is attractive, it is highly idealized. I can’t help but think of those babies who are abandoned by their parents immediately after birth, discriminated against because of their disabilities, or bullied because they seem weak… The development of human civilization is still unable to escape its jungle attributes: achieving material equality for everyone is always a pipe dream, and achieving spiritual equality is also extremely difficult. Even if the desire beneath the surface seems beautiful, underneath the iceberg, the jungle of wild competition still exists.
However, it is the existence of these normalized dark sides that makes the occasional bright sides shine so brightly. These two complement each other and will continue to exist regardless of human will. Nevertheless, thanks to this book for bringing these good aspects to such a perilous jungle, for bringing these thoughts, and even for bringing such adventurous experiments of “producing no social value.” Whether giving up or striving, the rental person has given me some motivation to continue surviving.
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English Version – Impressions from Thousands of Years Ahead: A Critique of the “Anthology of Tang and Song Tales” – Volume One
Recently inspired by my Mastodon friends, I’ve delved into the collection of Tang and Song legendary novels. Initially, I treated it as casual bathroom reading, but unexpectedly, a mix of old memories and new impressions flooded my mind as I delved deeper. After finishing each section, I couldn’t resist sharing these stories with my significant other, who provided some witty commentary. As a result, I’ve decided to jot down these reflections. The writing may not be meticulously crafted, so consider it more of a casual critique.
Feels like the second time reading this article. The vivid portrayal of the ancient mirror, described as “eight inches in width, with a nose resembling a crouching unicorn, adorned with images of tortoises, dragons, phoenixes, and tigers,” brings the magical world to life. The use of the mirror for divination based on lunar phases adds a touch of profound Taoist symbolism. The intriguing competition for supremacy between the ancient mirror and another precious sword, along with Su Chuo’s divination about the mirror’s whereabouts, adds a dynamic layer, foreshadowing the story’s conclusion.
The millennia-old fox spirit has quite a tough life, transforming into a woman but facing the tragic fate of Chinese women – marriage, escape, abduction, and abandonment. Her poignant song, “Precious mirror, oh, my lamentable fate! Departing from my form, how many lifetimes remain? Though life may bring joy, death won’t inflict pain. Why cling to the past, guarding this small realm?“
What is there to cherish in being human? Perhaps it’s the reluctance to look back. The fact that she can say “Though life may bring joy” amid such a tragic existence reflects the fox spirit’s resilience.
Additionally, Wang Du, the owner of the mirror, seems to use it reasonably – combating evil spirits and aiding the suffering. The mirror, however, deems saving numerous commoners unnecessary and complains about the burden of work. Yet, after lending the mirror to his brother, Wang Ji, the applications he came up with seemed like a high-performing individual contributor encountering a bad manager, initiating projects with massive impact but ultimately useless. He immediately targeted the articulate Turtle Spirit and White Ape Spirit, causing their untimely demise. What did they do wrong? Following that, in a bizarre turn of events, he decided to cross the river in turbulent waters, asking the ancient mirror to perform a Moses act and part the sea – quite energy-inefficient, to say the least. Not to mention the mirror being misused as bear repellent in the wilderness. Well, after numerous attempts to reason, the wise mirror spirit resorted to dream communication, urging the brother to return home. He stayed at Wang Du’s place for a few more months before finally returning to the heavens. It’s evident that a bad manager can be a significant drain on a high-performing IC.
【Note: IC refers to Individual Contributor in the corporate context, and the analogy is used to describe the mirror’s role as an active, high-impact entity.】
This is my first time diving into this story, and right off the bat, the title is quite absurd. Jiang Zong, supposedly the close friend and deputy of Chen Dynasty’s last emperor, Chen Houzhu, spent their time not attending to official matters but rather writing sexual poems together. The title suggests Jiang wrote a piece called “The Tale of The White Ape,” and this anonymous author is here to supplement another part of it. However, Jiang Zong never wrote “Biography of a White Ape“, making this article entirely fabricated.
As I reached the end, I was left with a head full of question marks. The child of this white ape is surnamed Ouyang and is also skilled in calligraphy. Could it be… Ouyang Xun? A quick check confirmed that this article was written by some enemy back then to satirize Ouyang Xun. Apparently, when Ouyang Xun aged, he became thin, resembling a “macaque.” In a time when Tang Dynasty valued plumpness, he was considered unattractive. Humans are quite terrible; not only do they mock others for their appearance, but they also go the extra mile to write a novel specifically to ridicule them. Suddenly, Ouyang Xun’s life seemed quite miserable.
Because Ouyang Xun was deemed ugly, when he attended the funeral of Empress Changsun, he encountered a governor Xu Jingzong, who was recording national history at the time. Xu Jingzong burst into laughter upon seeing Ouyang Xun’s ugliness and was later accused and demoted by a censor. This person was quite unprofessional, but maybe during early Tang, with an open culture and a thriving economy, talented individuals with blemishes could still secure employment. Xu Jingzong was eventually promoted and even reached the level of prime minister. There’s a temple in Taiwan dedicated to him, similar to a literary deity.
Not only was he ridiculed by colleagues, but the second Emperor of Tang, Li Yuan, also commented, “I never thought Ouyang Xun’s reputation would be so great that even the distant barbarians know about him. When they see Ouyang Xun’s handwriting, they must think he is a well-built figure.” Clearly, in the emperor’s eyes, his appearance didn’t match his title as a calligraphy master. He just didn’t say it out loud.
Thinking that he faced ridicule due to his looks was already sad, but upon closer inspection, Ouyang Xun was quite adept at mocking others. Out of the three poems included in the Complete Tang Poetry, two were written to satirize others. Humanity is indeed terrible; these so-called calligraphy masters aren’t much better in terms of character.
Ouyang Xun’s life had its ups and downs. Coming from an official family, his father’s rebellion led to the family’s downfall. As Ouyang Xun was still young, he was spared due to Jiang Zong’s appreciation for his wit, expressed through charming yet indecent poems. After surviving the downfall of Southern Chen and the Sui Dynasty, he finally secured a stable bureaucratic position in the Tang Dynasty. What a tumultuous journey.
The fourth son, Ouyang Tong, was groomed by his mother, Mrs. Xu, to inherit his father’s legacy, earning him the nickname ‘Little Ouyang‘ or ‘Ouyang Junior‘. Fortunately, Little Ouyang was spared from being ridiculed for his appearance; it seems Xun’s wife, Mrs. Xu must have been quite beautiful. Because he opposed the appointment of Emperor Wu’s family members as crown princes, he was imprisoned and beaten by Wu Zetian’s lackey Lai Junchen. Despite being beaten, no evidence of a crime was found. So, they decided to imprison people Ouyang Tong knew, force confessions accusing him of treason, and then execute them. Although he was later exonerated, Little Ouyang’s background was indeed quite tragic. In ancient times, being a principled intellectual and civil servant was exhausting. One had to adhere to Confucian values, bravely speak out, and face the unfortunate fate of being killed if the emperor wasn’t pleased with the advice.
My first encounter with this story happened to be in a children’s picture book, “Zen Ghosts,” and the experience was not very good. Firstly, I found the story to be loosely connected with Zen. Secondly, having read numerous books from the Zen series, I felt a slight aversion to these picture books that almost mechanically reproduce the original stories. While these picture books serve the purpose of reaching audiences with reading difficulties, such as children, their high prices limit their accessibility. Additionally, I believe they should credit the original authors and include the name of the illustrator. Adaptations like “Zen Ghosts” find it challenging to escape the realm of plagiarism just because the original work is in written form, while the adaptation is a children’s picture book. Is it not still considered plagiarism?
The author of the children’s picture book claims to have read the original work, a Japanese Zen story titled “<Sei and Her Soul Separate>.” So, I decided to read that story myself for enlightenment but still found it quite forced. It wasn’t until I came across “An Account of the Detached Soul” that it clicked in my mind: Ah! So, it’s this Tang and Song dynasty legendary novel! After finishing it, I concluded that using this story for Zen meditation is akin to practicing Zen with a towel — not that helpful. I’ve previously borrowed a Japanese Zen book that used many Tang and Song poems for meditation, most of which were picturesque descriptions or even some love poems, which I found rather odd. The approach to Zen meditation in Japan seems quite different from that in China. While thousands practice a thousand ways, as someone raised in Chinese culture, I don’t see the focus of this novel on enlightenment.
This story primarily delves into the issues of free love during feudal times. A quick online search reveals that Yuan Dynasty writer Zheng Guangzu adapted it into a drama titled “<The Enchanting Soul Separation>,” which significantly influenced Ming Dynasty playwright Tang Xianzu’s “<The Peony Pavilion>.” Both of the latter works mention the plot where a woman separates her soul to pursue the one she loves, mirroring this story. However, Tang Xianzu added more twists and turns, making the narrative more intriguing.
Yet, in various variations of this story, why is it always the female who separates her soul to pursue the male? Moreover, the male must pass the imperial examination, achieving significant success in feudal society. Perhaps the authors believe that a man who doesn’t pass the imperial examination isn’t worthy of these daring and love-pursuing women. It seems that the woman can only find fulfillment if the man achieves success in the feudal hierarchy. Otherwise, the elopement of a beautiful woman with an ordinary man wouldn’t evoke the sympathy and sorrow of the public.
Unexpectedly, the literal meaning of “The World Inside a Pillow” refers to the story that unfolds within a pillow. Upon reaching the end, awakening to find the yellow rice not yet cooked, I suddenly realized that this is the origin of the phrase “fanciful dream of wealth and rank“. I always thought I encountered this story in my youth, but my impression was one of wealth and grandeur, waking up to emptiness, leaving both the protagonist and me disheartened. Yet, after reading it this time, it turns out that the dream was not that great. Lu Sheng, the dreamer, experiences a rollercoaster life within the dream, even uttering, “My family in Shandong has five acres of fertile land, enough to ward off cold and hunger. Why seek an official position? But now, I think of the short brown robe, riding a green steed, traveling the road to Handan, unattainable!” At the end, Lu Sheng echoes the old Taoist, expressing gratitude and claiming to have attained enlightenment. Reading this passage in middle age is truly a reflection on life.
Similar stories always remind me of an idiom, “delusion of grandeur,” and I discovered that Lu Xun had also evaluated these two novels, considering the prototype of “The Governor of Nanke” , to be superior. I immediately went to read it. After finishing, I found it strangely familiar; I had read it before.
In “The Governor of Nanke“, the main character, Chunyu Fen, too, experiences a grand dream, and upon waking, he actually found the Huai’an Country from his dream. It is where he enjoyes wealth and glory, undergoes life’s ups and downs, and even the prophecies of the dream correspond one by one to reality. In the end, he discovers that the two friends he met in Huai’an Country have also mentally disintegrated in reality.
The story concludes with Chunyu Fen, who used to live aimlessly, embracing Daoism, renouncing wine and women. However, destiny is predetermined, and despite his newfound life in the dream, he passes away when the prophesied three years has come. This story is indeed more fascinating than “The World Inside a Pillow” due to the precise correspondence between dream and reality, leaving one uncertain whether the present is a dream or the dream is the present. While Lu Sheng in “The World Inside a Pillow” might have the potential for a happier, more awakened life, the conclusion of “The Governor of Nanke” adds a touch of sorrow, as Chunyu Fen’s entry into Daoism cannot alter the inevitable outcome of his impending death. Of course, I hope he experiences a peaceful and serene final three years of life.
Moreover, I’m surprised to find English versions of both novels. Is it because these two stories are so well-known, or is Wikipedia just that powerful? The English version of Wikipedia isn’t even a summary; it appears to be a full translation. These two stories will undoubtedly be used by Zen scholars worldwide for meditation. If interested, one can explore the English versions through the provided links.
This story is quite extensive, portraying an atypical romantic relationship between Ren, a fox woman, Miss Ren, and a human, Zheng Liu. It begins with a one-night stand between Ren and the poor and unattractive Zheng Liu, leading to the development of a stable and intimate relationship. Zheng Liu’s wealthy official friend, Wei Yin, attempted to rape Ren Shi. However, Ren Shi persuaded him to abandon the assault, and he learned to respect her instead. The narrative progresses to a harmonious relationship involving all three characters, with Ren repaying Wei Yin’s kindness and helping Zheng Liu make some extra money. Eventually, the story takes a tragic turn due to Zheng and Wei’s disbelief in the prophecy, leading to Ren’s demise. The entire plot is filled with twists and turns, and aside from a somewhat distasteful segment where Ren repays Wei Yin through acquiring other beautiful women, I found the rest of it quite engaging.
This novel somewhat resembles the originator of fox woman stories, “ushering in an era that endows fox spirits with beautiful images“. Moreover, when Wei mentions other beautiful women to Ren, she claims they are her relatives (meaning other foxes), creating a world that envisions the coexistence of fox women and humans (although it seems there are no fox men).
Ancient fox women indeed had a tough time due to their racial identity, relegating them to the lowest social strata, living in dilapidated houses, and relying on illusions to appear as regular homes. When a commoner like Zheng Liu expresses affection for Ren and becomes infatuated with her, she is determined to repay his kindness. If this were a contemporary love story between a beauty queen-level minority and an ordinary white person from a big rural village, I can’t even imagine. While it’s crucial not to assess anyone’s value using any criteria, I can’t help but wonder how many would express dissatisfaction online about Ren’s choice of a partner, deeming it unworthy. Considering the circumstances, it adds another layer of complexity to the situation.
The author indicates that Zheng Liu, being a rustic fellow, couldn’t comprehend the subtleties of Ren’s inner world and failed to record anything about her, silently lamenting the waste of Ren’s attachment to Zheng Liu. It is ridiculous. This bias is evident, as the author wishes for a literati politician to win Ren’s heart, believing that only then could her story be properly documented and her reputation restored.
However, can a literati politician be more devoted to Ren than Zheng Liu? Why doesn’t he consider what Ren truly desires? Oh, because in ancient times, a woman’s thoughts were deemed unimportant, and her compatibility with her ideal lover was judged by literati and scholars. In conclusion, this evaluation is quite laughable.
The upcoming volumes will be divided into separate articles by volume. Stay tuned for more.
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Lastly, I am currently in search of software engineering opportunities in North America, particularly in Seattle. If any of you have suitable positions available, please feel free to reach out. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated!
If you found this article helpful, please feel free to use the links below to support this site. Thanks!
