Chapter 5

When you feel you are about to climb Mount Taihang with snow filling the mountains

43

When you feel you are about to climb Mount Taihang with snow filling the mountains

Liu Guozong

Mr. Lu Xun said, a person's greatest sorrow is that after waking from a dream, there is no road to walk. Every person, from the beginning of life, longs to walk.

From the moment one begins to walk, one longs to walk farther, to walk a longer road. To see more, better, more beautiful scenery. Walking on, one finds the road is not good. Then one fears the hardships of the journey and does not want to walk. Some sit down and watch others walk; some slowly move forward; some even want to turn back; some, finding no road ahead, are lost and do not know where the road lies?

The theme song of the TV series Journey to the West sings: You carry the load, I lead the horse, greeting the sunrise, seeing off the morning glow. Dare to ask where the road lies? The road is under your feet. The so-called "road is under your feet" means to persistently move forward along the initially chosen goal without rest.

When you feel "desiring to cross the Yellow River but ice blocks the river, about to climb Mount Taihang with snow filling the mountains," do you still think of "willows dark, flowers bright, another village appears"?

44

Also Discussing Personal Worth

Liu Guozong

The value of human life differs from that of other animal life in that: humans have thoughts, can create value, can create what this world lacks, and can serve others. Other animals, merely living, are only fulfilling a need to live, living just to live. Humans not only live, but also create. If humans regard living merely as a need to live, living just to live, then there is no difference from other animals. But not only living, and also creating—this is the meaning of human life.

What to create? Create what this world lacks, which can bring benefits to people on this earth. This is the meaning of human life. Living merely to live, all day eating, drinking, dressing, dazed and confused, living in drunken dreams, scraping by—where then is the value of this life?

Now nearly everyone in the world talks about "personal worth." And this personal worth often ties to money and power. This may be correct. The more money one has, especially if earned through one's own wisdom and sweat, the more it proves one's contribution. The greater the contribution, the more one gains, and the more one gains, the more it proves one's personal worth is greater. From a certain perspective of meaning, one who wishes to contribute nothing, does not spin or weave, does not till the fields, wanders all day, roams about—how could their personal worth compare to those who labor diligently? In the process of living, how one uses the energy and wisdom of life also relates to the value of life. To waste the energy and wisdom of life, to squander them uselessly—how could such a life have value?

In any society, it should be said that the higher the official rank, the greater the value of one's life. In ancient times there was the theory of studying to become an official. Ancient people measured a person's worth entirely by becoming an official; the higher the office, the greater one's personal worth. Not to be an official meant one's life had no value. That is, the "common folk," like roadside field weeds. Although the spring wind blows and they grow again, filling the eyes and the ground, everywhere, yet no matter how many, they are still burned by wildfire without pity. Because "the spring wind blows and they grow again." If one is like grass, what worth remains? But being an official is different—it allows even a small life to serve many people, even if corrupt or villainous officials, they still have personal worth. Without corrupt and villainous officials, how could one demonstrate honest officials? Moreover, those corrupt and villainous officials are not necessarily "corrupt" and "villainous" the moment they take office. Someone says, "The easiest thing in the world is to be an official." This saying is wrong—quite the opposite. I say, "The most difficult thing in the world is to be an official." Whether ancient or modern, whoever wants to be an official surely contributes more than others. High office, great contribution; low office, small contribution. Of course, those who do not want to be officials have made no contribution.

The so-called "Ten years of cold window hardship brings the fragrance of plum blossoms." Ten years of arduous effort—how many tens of years does one have in a lifetime? Therefore, those who envy others becoming officials are mistaken. For without having endured "ten years of cold window hardship," where would your "plum blossoms" come? Without plum blossom fragrance, naturally there is no personal worth.

45

Two wolf-like "ghosts"

Liu Guozong

In elementary school textbooks, there are these four pictures: joy, anger, sorrow, delight. Students are required, according to the meaning of these four pictures of "joy, anger, sorrow, delight," to freely choose one and write an essay expressing their true feelings. I greatly admire the author who drew these four pictures and the person who set this essay topic. They have confined all human states of existence, living conditions, and emotions within "joy, anger, sorrow, delight." This is like nature's "spring, summer, autumn, winter"—human activities can never escape these "four seasons." Just as the saying goes: "You cannot run beyond heaven." Although now some people ride spacecraft, exploring and soaring in space, even temporarily residing there, they ultimately must return to Earth. Even in space, their thoughts and emotions remain consistent with humanity's. One can never escape the bonds and limits of "joy, anger, sorrow, delight."

"Joy, delight" summarize humanity's ultimate goals of activity and the results to be achieved through effort. "Anger, sorrow" summarize the desires that humanity and all life wish to avoid. All life wishes to live in "joy, delight." But this is an ideal humanity can never realize. Because "anger, sorrow" is what humanity eternally wishes to hide yet cannot avoid in reality. Whether you are ordinary or great, "anger, sorrow" are like two ghost-like "wolves" prowling beside you, watching your words and deeds, aiming at your back, occasionally "biting" you, making you "angry" or making you "sorrowful."

"Joy, effort, sorrow, delight"—how symmetrical, how even. Worry and joy mixed half and half—this is the reality of life, life within reality. No wonder Song dynasty poet Su Dongpo wrote: "People have joy and sorrow, parting and reunion; the moon has shade and brightness, fullness and crescence. This has always been hard to fulfill in ancient times." So, when you are bitten by one of those ghost-like "wolves," the "anger" wolf, you should "hold the sea in your mouth," "constantly reflect and think of your past faults," "remove the wicked mouth, abandon the fallacious talk"—then those two ghost-like "wolves" will drift away from you.

46

If everyone does not strive, how could this world become better?

Liu Guozong

In this world, everyone has their own way of living. Facing this world where money is the goal (this is the current mainstream, everyone lives for money), what better method can we have? What can each person say in the face of money? How can you dare to say? In the face of money, nearly everyone becomes smaller, shorter, all kneel at money's feet, turning into money's slaves. To the world, this is good—people worship money, which can bring order to a chaotic world. Especially in Western countries, people's all values and outlooks on life are nearly measured by money.

To die for money, to live for money. People die for wealth, birds die for food. This is an unchangeable reality. Taking gold as the sole purpose of life—this may perhaps better help the world develop toward good. The whole world is busy for money, making the world continuously move forward. If everyone had no goal, all slept in great sleep, awaiting death; or all were content with the status quo, some even—then they would betray God's beautiful intention for the world. God created the world to let it become ever better. If everyone does not strive, how could this world become better?

47

The blooming of a flower is not an easy matter

Liu Guozong

A successful person is like a flower. To know that a flower's blooming is not so easy, all its fragrance and beauty are obtained only after enduring wind and rain. Even if the flowering period is short, that brief beauty is the result of long accumulation. Human lifespan is much longer than any flowering period.

In the long years of human life, even an ordinary person's life will not pass peacefully throughout. Much less those who wish to stand out. Therefore, those who imagine themselves as beautiful as a flower must surely undergo wind and rain!

Life is an experience—experiencing wind, experiencing rain; experiencing sunshine, experiencing gloom. A life without experience is a pale life. "The days one wastes in life are like a shadow passing by—who knows what would benefit him? Who tells him what exists under sunlight after death?"

This has become a riddle. Life is a riddle—who can know the answer to their own riddle? No one will know the answer to their own riddle. Precisely because no one knows their own riddle's answer, yet everyone wants to uncover their own riddle's answer—this is the reason people live. Some regard living as peeling an onion, layer by layer peeling down, peeling to the end—what would they see? Nothing at all. As the poet Liuhe said: "Only in death does one know all is empty." "Empty emptiness, all things are emptiness." Since life is emptiness, why then still toil? That is to live. "Because a living dog is stronger than a dead lion." As long as one lives, one can know the answer to life's riddle. The answer to life's riddle is good or bad, entirely in one's experienced events, all one's deeds, all one's words—this is tomorrow's riddle's answer. When one lives, "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave you must go, there is no work, no planning, no knowledge, also no wisdom." Those who wish to work should, while alive, seize the time to work; those who wish to gain wisdom should seize the time to study; otherwise, in the grave, they will see nothing, becoming fools.

48

In the fleeting years like flowing water, what have we grasped?

Liu Guozong

Outside the window, cold stars dot, rooster crows sound. Looking, the red sun is about to rise in the east, a new day is about to begin. I do not know how to face. Facing this colorful, enchanting world; I also do not know what color I could add to this colorful, enchanting world, or rather, what color I am? Fleeting years like flowing water, flowing water like fleeting years.

In the fleeting years like flowing water, what have we grasped? Is it fame? Is it profit? What are this fame and profit? No ancient people in front, no future people behind. What else can we grasp? Where are those who have grasped fame and profit now?

In the dust of history, in the folk sayings of the common people. When Xiang Yu burned the Afang Palace of Qin Shihuang to ashes, why did he not dismantle a brick of the ten-thousand-li Great Wall? Because the Afang Palace was Qin emperor's personal pleasure palace; the ten-thousand-li Great Wall is the barrier of laboring people against wind and rain. One person's thing, no matter how good, will be destroyed; what belongs to all under heaven can endure eternally—this is the instruction ancient people left us. Of course, no one will lack Qin Shihuang's talent and ability to build the ten-thousand-li Great Wall and Afang Palace. But it is not hard to imagine that in today's world, who would not have the ambition of Afang Palace? Now those luxurious villas—how much could they differ from Afang Palace?

49

The Story of Zhuangzi Dreaming of a Butterfly

Liu Guozong

Zhuang Zhou, that is Zhuangzi, a great thinker and literary figure of the Warring States period. He lived a life indifferent to fame and profit, fond of strange ideas. When young Zhuangzi studied, one day after school, little Zhuangzi walked by the green little riverbank. The lush, verdant trees by the riverbank, the air filled with flower fragrance, how delightful and refreshing to the eyes and spirit! Watching butterflies dance up and down among flowers and grass, small birds freely soaring in the groves, happy little Zhuangzi sank into deep contemplation and fantasy: sages always say humans are the spirit of all things, noble animals on earth, yet why cannot humans be like those bees, butterflies, birds by the riverbank, in sunlight, in nature, harmonious, friendly, equal? Sometimes humans, for the sake of their inner **, scheme against each other, deceive and cheat, deceive the world and steal names, even use violence to massacre each other, causing fields to become barren, villages to decay, people unable to live. How heavy humanity lives! Thinking thus, by the riverbank's flower fragrance and bird song, Zhuangzi fell into a dazy slumber and slept. In that hazy dream, he became a beautiful butterfly—

In the flower and grass clusters, fluttering with light wings, together with other butterflies chasing and playing. He flew over the vegetable flower clusters, passed through the small grove, whispered with bees, conversed with small birds. When tired from flying, he rested on the fragrant flowers by the small riverbank, admiring his own beautiful reflection in the clear river water. How free, how at ease!

A boy's dream is always strange and innocent!

Suddenly, a wind and sandstorm blew across the sky and earth, blowing him down from the fragrant beautiful flowers. Little Zhuangzi's dream awakened; the dream's beautiful grassland, the flower clusters on the grassland, the clear river water by the grassland's edge—all were swept away by that merciless wind and sand. He—Zhuangzi, one who wished to lift his own head, to escape the mundane world—had returned to cruel reality, to the merciless human world.

Drizzling淫rain has fallen for over half a month, Zhuangzi's household's little stored grain has already been eaten up. This rain still does not stop falling—where to go to get some food to relieve hunger? Hungry Zhuangzi, gazing at the window's wind and rain, pondered: go to friends' Guanhe Hou to borrow some grain, wait until the sky clears, I will sell my woven straw sandals, then go to the riverbank to fish, and repay him. Guanhe Hou, before taking office, in many aspects, I had once given him much instruction and help. Guanhe Hou once patted his chest and said: "When I, little Guan, become an official and have my day to rise, if you have difficulties, I will say one word—'not,' not a person who exploits people!"

Although common folk say Guanhe Hou is a corrupt official, he surely cannot treat his benefactors and friends all as "corrupt"? In Zhuangzi's imagination: holding office is human, the rich are human; not holding office is human, the poor are human.

This Zhuangzi is too much of a bookish scholar. Does he not know that officials and non-officials are different? Not holding office is human, holding office becomes "official," especially corrupt officials, who even more take office as office; people and wealth are not the same. Poor and rich—how could they be equated? This, Zhuangzi does not know.

When Guanhe Hou understood Zhuangzi's intention to come borrow grain, this shameless villain instantly put on a difficult expression, saying to Zhuangzi: "My days are also not easy now! Friend, your favors, my favors—I truly cannot help you!" Zhuangzi saw before him this "chameleon": your family's grain store piled up like mountains—just sprinkle a little, enough for me to eat for a year. Now you see me poor, you think I am of no use to you. Truly, there exists such a villain who repays kindness with hatred! Zhuangzi felt in his heart boundless shame and embarrassment: How could I bow and scrape before such a villain?

Carrying a heart full of shame and embarrassment, Zhuangzi left Guanhe Hou's gate, walked into the vast rain. The boundless merciless wind and rain rushed upon the hungry, cold Zhuangzi. In the boundless wind and rain, Zhuangzi walked while thinking: Why do people study? For fame? For profit? I have read a bellyful of books, full of plans for governing, yet not recognized by the world, even unable to support myself—"ten thousand words not worth a cup of water"—what use is reading this book? Like Guanhe Hou, who cannot recognize a single character in a bamboo basket, yet managed to obtain a half-official position with the appearance of a person and the form of a dog. As a scholar, if one's studies cannot serve society, one may starve to death. Thus, while walking and thinking in the misty wind and rain, in hunger and cold, Zhuangzi actually recalled the butterfly he had dreamed of—just like Andersen's "The Little Match Girl" on the snowy, windy New Year's Eve, that hungry, cold little girl dreaming of cake and sparkles. Zhuangzi did not dream of cake and sparkles, but of the butterfly in the flower clusters—and that butterfly was himself transformed—before the wind and rain, they turned into golden vegetable flower clusters by the riverbank, a beautiful butterfly flying, flying, flying over spring's height, flying above the wind and rain. There was no scheming, no intrigue, no greed, no slaughter, no **, no fornication, no theft, no false testimony, no mockery—only fragrance and beauty.

All the way wind and rain, all the way dream. In wind and rain and dream and dream, Zhuangzi came to his own home's gate.

Arriving home, Zhuangzi thought of being mocked by Guanhe Hou and of the butterfly dream on the way back—like a fox that cannot reach grapes and says they are sour. Why could I not eat grapes? I am not a fox; I, Zhuangzi, am somewhat knowledgeable, understand principles—if I cannot become an official to deceive the people, then I will rely on my craft to support myself! Originally, Zhuangzi, as a child, followed others to learn weaving straw sandals—then I would weave straw sandals to sell. I would sweat my own sweat, eat my own rice. From then on, this Zhuangzi began weaving straw sandals, doing straw sandal business; when tired, he would fish, study, write articles.

5o

Cao Cao and Lu Xun

In youth I read Cao Cao's "Short Song": "……Blue collar, patient heart. But for your sake, I ponder to this day……." I then took Cao Cao as

a sentimental poet. You see, this poet before us: standing by the window, thoughts soaring, head raised gazing at the moon, silver brilliance dazzling the eyes; the vast expanse of space

middle that wheel of ice-blue jade pure, how like the one I constantly think of: desirable yet unattainable! "Stars sparse, moon bright, crows southward. Circling the tree three times, which branch

can depend on?" Since that distant beauty cannot be touched; the lonely poet, unable to retract his imagination, faces before him that "few stars, bright moon"

"Beneath the Moon, Magpies Fly South": Magpies beneath the moonlight, why do you fly to and fro in the woods? Have you still not found a nest to entrust your roosting to?

When I read these lines back then, I also rejoiced for those birds "circling the tree three times": Oh magpies seeking a place to perch, there is someone beneath the moonlight watching over your fate and whereabouts!

That someone is Cao Cao, our Great Poet Cao!

At that time I was young and ignorant, born in a remote backwater village, narrow-minded and ill-informed, unable to distinguish right from wrong. I read those few lines of Cao Cao's poetry, felt a stir in my heart, and took the great writer Lu Xun's appraisal of Cao Cao as "the patriarch who transformed literature" and worshipped him as a "patriarch." Later, after reading stories like Romance of the Three Kingdoms, that poet-image of Cao Cao was thoroughly trampled: Cao Cao was no "patriarch," but an executioner, a pitiable worm, hateful and living only for himself, who said "I would rather betray the world than let the world betray me." Please read on:

Once, to escape Dong Zhuo's pursuit, Cao Cao traveled day and night from Luoyang toward his home county of Qiao. When he reached Sishui Town in Yingyang, Henan, night had already fallen. Cao Cao, hungry and thirsty, "in hardship one thinks of friends." His good friend Lü Boshe lived at Sishui Dam Town. "Why not go to a friend's house to rest a while, take shelter, find a drink, get something to eat?"

When Cao Cao arrived at Lü Boshe's home, it so happened Lü Boshe was out. Lü Boshe's sons, hearing their father's friend had come, were overjoyed. "Father isn't home, but we absolutely won't slight him. Bring out the best in the house to entertain Father's friend!"

In those chaotic, war-torn years, what could a household have? Wasn't there still a pig? So Lü Boshe's sons decided to kill the pig to entertain Cao Cao. The whole family bustled — some boiling water, some sharpening knives. The still-shaken Cao Cao, seeing Lü Boshe's sons bustling about, grew suspicious: "What are these people up to? Reporting me to the authorities? 'Tie it up and kill it!'"

"Fine! So you're going to tie me up and kill me? How could I let you kill me! I'll kill you all first!" Cao Cao drew his sword, burst out the door, and killed everyone he saw. In the blink of an eye, Lü Boshe's five sons, before they could even understand what was happening, became ghosts under Cao Cao's sword. Only after Cao Cao had killed his friend's five sons did he realize: he had killed the wrong people. It turned out Lü Boshe's sons had been discussing: "Tie it up and kill it" — not referring to Cao Cao, but to tying up the pig and killing it for Cao Cao to eat. Cao Cao had misunderstood. Knowing he had killed the wrong people, Cao Cao only said one line: "I would rather betray the world than let the world betray me." Where is the "patriarch who transformed literature" here? He is simply an executioner who cannot tell good from bad and repays kindness with enmity! Lu Xun said Cao Cao "had great courage; his writing gained considerable force from being unconstrained, and when writing he had no scruples, writing whatever he wanted to write." This was Lu Xun speaking only from the aspect of Cao Cao's writing — referring to the writing, not the man. Are the man and the writing two separate things? I seem to have heard that master say "the writing reflects the man." Lu Xun saying Cao Cao "had great courage" refers not only to writing but also to Cao Cao's skill at killing. I am a "person who fears treading on ants when walking"; my courage is the smallest "category" among men. From then on, I not only regarded Cao Cao's poetry as the "devil's" voice, but also became half-believing, half-doubting toward the words of great writers, great stars, and great masters!