Pathway to Japanese Literature

*Yu Xuanji*

Yu Xuanji killed someone and was imprisoned.
The rumors swiftly spread among Chang'an's elite, and not a single person remained unshocked by the event's unexpectedness.

During the Tang dynasty, Taoism flourished.
This occurred because Taoists seized upon the imperial Li clan's surname as an opportunity, proclaiming Laozi as their ancestor and rendering their veneration of Lord Lao akin to that of imperial ancestral rites.
Since the Tianbao era, Chang'an—the Western Capital—had housed Taiqing Palace, while Luoyang—the Eastern Capital—contained Taiwei Palace.
Moreover, every major city maintained Zijigong Palaces where solemn ceremonies were conducted on appointed days.
Beneath Taiqing Palace in Chang'an stood numerous tower pavilions.
Taoism possesses its temples just as Buddhism maintains its monasteries; monks dwell in the monasteries while Taoist priests inhabit the temples.
Among these temples was one called Xianyi Temple, where the female Taoist priest Yu Xuanji resided.

Xuanji had long been renowned as a beauty.
Rather than being called Zhao the Thin, she was a woman who should more aptly be named Yang the Plump.
One might think that because she had become a female Taoist priest, she would disdain cosmetics that marred one's complexion—but that was not the case.
In her daily life, she habitually applied elaborate makeup and adorned her appearance.
When she was imprisoned, it was the ninth year of Emperor Yizong’s Xiantong era, and Xuanji had just turned twenty-six.

Xuanji had not been known among Chang'an's literati solely as a beauty. This woman excelled at poetry. That verse reached its zenith during the Tang dynasty requires no elaboration. After Li Bai of Longxi and Du Fu of Xiangyang had plumbed poetry's depths, Bai Juyi of Taiyuan arose in their wake—his Ballad of Everlasting Sorrow and Song of the Lute capturing human sentiments so perfectly they came to grace every household's lips. In Dazhong's inaugural year, when Bai Juyi breathed his last, Xuanji stood but five winters old—already reciting dozens of verses by Bai himself and Yuan Zhen, his literary counterpart, spanning ancient and modern forms alike. At thirteen she crafted her first seven-character quatrain; by fifteen, enthusiasts were copying verses attributed simply to "the Yu family's maiden."

That such a beautiful poetess had killed someone and been imprisoned—it was only natural this would shock the sensibilities of society at the time.

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The house where Yu Xuanji was born stood on a small street that turned off from a main avenue of Chang'an. It was what they called a pleasure quarter, where every household kept singing girls. The Yu family was also one of those entertainment households. When Xuanji expressed her desire to study poetry, her parents readily consented and invited an impoverished scholar from the neighboring street to their home to teach her the rules of tonal patterns and rhyme schemes—all because they harbored hopes of one day making this child their golden asset.

It was the spring of the 11th year of Dazhong.
Several courtesans from the Yu household were frequently summoned to a certain tavern.
The guest was Wen—scion of Prime Minister Linghu Tao's house and regular attendee at Linghu banquets—who, having been mocked by two fair-faced youths, found himself made the butt of jests by courtesans that had previously ridiculed him; yet now these women gradually drew near Wen, one by one then two by two, until they finally surrounded him in rapt attention.
From this time onward, the courtesans grew close with Wen.
Wen would borrow the courtesans' qin to play or take up their flutes to blow.
His skill in wind and string instruments surpassed anything the courtesans could achieve.

When the courtesans returned to the Yu household and frequently gossiped about Wen, Xuanji heard this and told the scholar she had taken as her teacher, whereupon the man exclaimed in surprise:
“The one they call Wen Zhongkui is likely Wen Qi of Taiyuan.
He is also known as Tingyun, with the style name Feiqing.
In the examination hall, if he crosses his hands eight times, an eight-rhyme poem is completed—hence he also bears the nickname Wen Bazha (Eight-Cross Wen).
The name Zhongkui comes from his grotesque features.
Among contemporary poets today, none surpass him except Li Shangyin.
They speak of these two along with Duan Chengshi as the three greats, but Duan is somewhat inferior.”

From then on, whenever the courtesans returned from Linghu’s banquets, Xuanji would inquire about Wen.
The courtesans too began to speak of Xuanji whenever they met Wen.
And finally, one day Wen visited the Yu household.
He had become intrigued by rumors of a beautiful girl composing poetry.

Wen and Xuanji met.
To Wen’s eyes, Xuanji appeared like a peony bud about to bloom.
Though Wen frequented noble circles, he had already reached forty years of age with features justifying his “Zhongkui” epithet.
In the Kaicheng era’s early years he had taken a wife, and at home there was a child named Xian nearly Xuanji’s age.

Xuanji straightened her collar and respectfully welcomed Wen.
Wen, who had initially intended to approach her with the same manner he used toward courtesans, found himself involuntarily altering his countenance.
Now, upon exchanging words, Wen immediately realized Xuanji was no ordinary woman.
The reason was that in this fifteen-year-old girl who resembled a flower, there lingered not a trace of coyness, and her speech bore resemblance to that of a man.

Wen said.
“I have heard that you excel at poetry.”
“If you have recent works, please show them to me,” he said.

Xuanji answered.
"I have unfortunately yet to obtain a worthy mentor."
"How could anything among my recent works merit mention?"
"Now that I have gained a single glance from Bole, thoughts of galloping unrestrained to reach a thousand li arise."
"I pray you might assign a theme and put me to the test," she said.

Wen could not suppress a smile—he found this girl’s comparison of herself to a thousand-li steed profoundly ill-suited.

Xuanji rose and set brush and ink before Wen. Without ceremony, he wrote three characters: “Riverside Willows.” After brief contemplation, she produced this verse:

Poem on “Riverside Willows”

Emerald waves embrace desolate shores;
Mist-laden boughs reach distant towers.

Shadows drape autumn’s watery plain;
Blossoms crown anglers’ heads like rain.

Gnarled roots guard piscine domains;
Low branches moor travelers’ skeins.

Through night’s tempestuous refrain,
Startled from dreams—sorrows remain.

Wen recited it once and declared it excellent. Seven times he had entered examination halls, seven times witnessed dignified men strain yet fail to craft a single line. All proved inferior to this girl.

From this beginning, Wen frequently visited the Yu household.
Between the two of them, the exchange of poetry tubes became like woven fabric.

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In the first year of Dazhong, Wen left Taiyuan at thirty years old and took the jinshi examination for the first time.
His essays were completed before burning even an inch of candle, so upon seeing his neighboring examinees groaning in distress, he lent them a hand.
After that, each time he entered the examination hall, he composed essays for seven or eight examinees.
Among them, there were some who passed.
Yet Wen alone never managed to pass.

In contrast, his reputation beyond the examination halls stirred the capital, and even Linghu Tao—who became prime minister in the fourth year of Dazhong—summoned Wen for audiences and had him attend banquets on numerous occasions.
One day at a banquet, Tao posed a question about a certain classical allusion.
That was something found in Zhuangzi.
Wen’s immediate response was commendable, but his wording proved rather imprudent.
“That appears in Zhuangzi.
It’s not exactly an obscure text.
Your Excellency might find it advisable to occasionally engage in reading during your leisure from governing the state,” he said.

Moreover, because Emperor Xuanzong cherished the lyrics of Bodhisattva Barbarian verses, Linghu Tao composed lyrics and presented them.
In truth, he had made Wen ghostwrite them while ensuring his silence.
However, Wen drunkenly divulged this matter to others.
Moreover, he had once remarked, "A general seated within the Secretariat Hall."
He had derided Linghu Tao's lack of scholarly refinement.

Wen's name at last reached even Emperor Xuanzong.
This occurred when one day the Emperor obtained a poetic line and sought its matching couplet among examination candidates; Wen countered His Majesty's "golden hairpin" with "jade bracelet," earning effusive imperial praise.
Yet Emperor Xuanzong maintained a habit of traveling incognito, and shortly after learning of Wen's reputation, encountered him at a roadside pavilion.
As Wen failed to recognize the sovereign's visage, during their brief exchange he let slip arrogant and discourteous words.

Thereafter at the examination hall, once Shen Xun assumed the position of chief examiner, they seated Wen separately with an empty space placed beside him.
His poetic fame grew ever greater; though both the Emperor and Prime Minister cherished his talent, they despised the man himself.
Wen’s sister, who had become Zhao Zhuan’s wife, entreated those in power on her brother’s behalf, but it proved utterly futile.

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Among Wen’s friends was a man of means named Li Yi.
He was about ten years younger than Wen and possessed considerable understanding of classical poetry and prose.

It was the spring of the first year of Xiantong.
Having long been away in Xiangyang, Wen had returned to Chang’an, so Li visited his residence.
In Xiangyang, Wen had served as a minor official under Governor Xu Shang for quite some time, but eventually growing weary, he resigned.

On Wen’s desk lay Xuanji’s poetry manuscript. Li saw it and praised it admiringly. Then he asked what sort of woman she was. Wen informed him she was a flower-like girl he had been teaching poetry to for three years. Upon hearing this, Li inquired in detail about the street where the Yu household stood and—with an air of preoccupation—hurriedly rose from his seat.

Li left Wen’s residence, went straight to the Yu household, and proposed taking Xuanji as his concubine. Xuanji’s parents were swayed by the lavish gifts.

Xuanji came out and met Li. She was already eighteen that year. The beauty of her features now bore no resemblance to when Wen had first met her. Li too was a fair-skinned handsome man. Li earnestly pleaded, and since Xuanji did not outright refuse, their arrangement was immediately settled. Several days later, Li welcomed Xuanji into a forest pavilion beyond the city walls.

At this moment, Li felt as though his abruptly voiced desire had been abruptly gratified. Yet there an unforeseen impediment arose. When Li sought physical closeness, Xuanji would evade him; should he press insistently, she would break into anguished sobs. The forest pavilion became a site where Li ventured at dusk bearing hopeful expectations, only to return at dawn stripped of all ardor.

Li began to suspect Xuanji might harbor some physical defect. Yet had that been true, she ought to have refused his proposal from the outset. Nor could he convince himself she bore him aversion. When weeping overtook her, she would first shrink away only to then lean trembling against Li and lament as one overwhelmed by unendurable torment.

Li was frequently driven by desires he had never fulfilled, frittering away his spirit in vain, until in his daily comings and goings—sitting and lying down—he became as if lost in a trance.

Li had a wife.
The wife noticed her husband's unusual behavior and began closely monitoring his movements.
By making the servant talk, she learned that Xuanji was at the forest pavilion.
The husband and wife became estranged.
One day, the father-in-law came to his son-in-law’s home and rebuked Li, and Li finally vowed to cast out Xuanji.

Li went to the forest pavilion and urged Xuanji to return to the Yu household.
However, Yu would not listen.
Even if the parents were to show leniency, she declared she could not endure the scorn from female companions.
Thereupon, Li invited Taoist priest Zhao Lianshi, with whom he had previously associated, and entrusted Xuanji's welfare to him.
It was through such circumstances that Xuanji entered Xianyi Temple and became a female Taoist priest.

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Xuanji was a woman who excelled in talent and intellect.
Her poetry possessed craftsmanship of composition surpassing others.
Since becoming Wen’s student to study poetry, she had devoted herself on one front to exploring classical texts and on another to refining phrases with such intensity that she nearly forgot to eat or sleep.
Simultaneously, her yearning for poetic renown gradually intensified.

This occurred before Li proposed marriage to her.
One day, Xuanji visited Chongzhen Temple where she saw names inscribed by the Zhuangyuan top candidate and other Jinshi examination candidates upon the South Tower. Moved by profound emotion, she composed a poem.

Wandered the South Tower of Chongzhen Temple.
Beholding the place where newly passed scholars inscribed their names.

Cloud-capped peaks fill the eye beneath spring’s radiant skies.
Vivid silver hooks spring forth beneath fingertips.

I lament these silk robes obscuring my verse.
Lifting my gaze, I vainly envy names upon the roster.

That Xuanji possessed a man’s spirit within a woman’s form could be inferred even from this poem.
Yet precisely because this vessel was female, it was not that she lacked yearning for noble men.
This was a heart like ivy clinging to a tree trunk—not the carnal desires of the bedchamber.
It was because Xuanji held him that she accepted Li’s proposal.
Because this was absent, the nights at the forest pavilion were desolate.

Already Xuanji had entered Xianyi Temple.
Li had separately furnished her with wealth sufficient to avoid privation of food and clothing, so Xuanji was able to live securely within the temple.
When Zhao bestowed Taoist texts upon her, Xuanji gladly read them.
For this woman, expounding sutras and perusing histories were as commonplace as daily meals; thus Taoist teachings gratified her heart that sought novelty and strangeness.

At that time Taoism maintained a custom of practicing what was called Zhongqi Zhenshu.
Twice monthly on the first and fifteenth days, they would first observe a three-day fast before practicing the so-called Four Eyes and Four Nostrils method.
Under inexorable discipline Xuanji practiced this for over a year before suddenly attaining enlightenment.
Xuanji truly became a woman and came to know things she had not known during her days at Li's forest pavilion.
This occurred in the spring of Xiantong's second year.

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Xuanji grew close to one of the somewhat literate female Taoist priests who practiced alongside her, shared bed and board with this woman, and laid bare her innermost thoughts to her.
This woman was named Caipin.
One day there existed a poem that Xuanji wrote and sent to Caipin.

To the Neighbor Woman

Shamed by daylight, I veil myself with silk sleeves.
Grieving spring, I languish at dressing my face.

Easy to find a priceless treasure.
Hard to obtain a devoted man.

Tears fall stealthily upon the pillow.
Amidst blossoms, my heart breaks unseen.

Since I can gaze upon Song Yu myself,
Why must I resent Wang Chang?

Caipin was small in stature and impulsive.
Moreover, being sixteen years old—younger than Xuanji, who was already nineteen—she remained constantly restrained by the grave Xuanji.
Whenever the two quarreled, Caipin would always lose and weep.
Such occurrences happened daily.
Yet they would swiftly reconcile.
Among their fellow female Taoist priests, this manner of intimacy was termed “same-sex companionship,” mocked from the sidelines.
In this mingled both envy and spite.

When autumn came, Caipin suddenly disappeared.
This coincided with the departure of a traveling artisan who had been crafting statues at Zhao’s quarters after announcing his leave.
When the women who had previously mocked their same-sex companionship told Zhao that Xuanji was feeling lonely, he laughed and said, “The duckweed drifts free, while the orchid dwells in solitude.”
Xuanji had the courtesy name Youwei and was also called Huilan.

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Zhao bound them with discipline only during religious observances and did not strictly regulate comings and goings at the temple buildings.
To Xuanji's quarters came many people seeking writings as her poetic fame had gradually increased.
Such visitors would sometimes give Xuanji money.
They would sometimes present her with gifts.
Among them were those who visited under pretext of requesting calligraphy after hearing of Xuanji's beauty.
When one scholar arrived bearing wine intending to make Xuanji drink, she summoned a servant and had the man expelled beyond the gate.

However, after Caipin’s disappearance, Xuanji’s attitude underwent a complete transformation; when scholars with some literary knowledge came requesting poems or writings, she would detain them, serve tea, and sometimes spend hours in laughter and conversation.
Those once entertained would invite friends and return again.
The rumor that Xuanji welcomed guests spread among Chang'an's literati before long.
Even if they now came bearing wine, there was no longer any fear of being driven away.

In contrast, when those lured merely by her reputation as a beauty—uncultured sorts said to lack discernment—came, Xuanji showed not the slightest mercy, subjecting them to insults before driving them out.
Uneducated scions of nobility who came accompanied by regular guests, even if fortunate enough to escape verbal abuse, would—amidst seated guests either composing linked verses or tuning melodies—perceiving their own inadequacies, steal away from the gathering alone and return home.

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Xuanji, who had bantered with guests, remained sullen and joyless after their departure.
Though night deepened, she lay sleepless with tear-filled eyes.
On such nights would she compose poems addressed to Wen during his travels.

To Feiqing

※（土へん＋皆）砌乱蛩鳴。
Courtyard trees; mist and dew clear.

In moonlight, neighboring music resounds.
On the tower's upper level, distant mountains glisten.

A cool breeze reaches the precious bamboo mat.
The jade zither bears hidden sorrow; resentment arises.

Ji Jun neglects correspondence.
What thing consoles autumn’s sorrow?

After sending out the poetry tube, Xuanji waited day and night for Wen’s letter to arrive.
When Wen’s letter finally arrived after days had passed, Xuanji appeared disappointed.
This was not the fault of Wen’s letter.
Xuanji had something she sought, yet did not herself know what that thing was.

One night, as was her custom, Xuanji sat beneath the lamp with furrowed brows, lost in deep thought. But gradually growing restless, she rose from her seat, paced about the room, and repeatedly picked up objects from the desk only to immediately set them down again. After some time had passed, Xuanji spread out paper and wrote a poem. It was a poem addressed to the musician, a certain Chen. A certain Chen had come to Xuanji’s quarters just once about ten days prior, accompanied by a few noble young men. He was a youth of imposing build with gentle features, spoke little, and constantly wore a smile as he gazed intently at Xuanji's every movement. He was younger than Xuanji.

Sentiments Addressed to Someone

Resentment lodges upon vermilion strings,
Contained emotions overwhelm the heart.
Had I known our tryst would come,

I would not have awakened this orchid heart.
Radiant are both peach and plum blossoms,
No hindrance for the noble visitor’s approach.

Verdant pines and cassias,
Still I envy worldly reverence.
Moonlight cleanses courtyard steps,

A singing voice deepens within the bamboo courtyard.
Before the gate lies a carpet of crimson leaves,
Unraked, awaiting a kindred spirit.

The following day, Chen obtained the poem and came directly to Xianyi Temple.
Xuanji dismissed the others to grant him a private audience and ordered the servant to turn away visitors.
From Xuanji’s study came only the faint sound of low voices.
After the early night had passed, Chen took his leave and departed.
From then on, Chen would enter Xuanji’s study without announcing his name, and each time Xuanji received him, she would turn away guests.

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As Chen’s visits to Xuanji grew frequent, guests increasingly found themselves turned away.
Those who sought writings had to content themselves with merely offering gold to obtain them.

About a month later, Xuanji dismissed her servant and resolved to employ one elderly maidservant.
This unsightly, perpetually sullen old woman scarcely spoke to anyone, so the temple’s circumstances remained little known to the world, allowing Xuanji and Chen to avoid being unduly troubled by others.

Chen sometimes traveled.
During such times, Xuanji did not receive guests but secluded herself, composing many poems which she sent to Wen to seek counsel.
Each time Wen received and read these poems, he would notice how the verses increasingly overflowed with the tender sentiments of a boudoir-dwelling woman while containing scarcely any Taoist philosophical musings, tilting his head in puzzlement.
The entire account of how Xuanji had become Li’s concubine, parted with Li not long after, and entered Xianyi Temple to become a female Taoist priest had been conveyed in full from Li’s own lips to Wen’s ears.

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About seven years passed uneventfully.
At that time, an unimaginable calamity befell Xuanji.

At the end of the 8th year of Xiantong era, Chen went on a journey.
Xuanji remained behind and spent her days in loneliness.
Around that time, among the poems sent to Wen were the lines: "満庭木葉愁風起、透幌紗窓惜月沈"
Among them was an unprecedentedly tragic line that read:

In the early spring of the 9th year, while Chen had still not returned, the elderly maidservant died.
The old woman, who had no relatives to rely on and had even prepared her coffin in advance, meant that Xuanji arranged the funeral and sent her off.
In her place came an eighteen-year-old maid named Lüqiao.
Her face was not beautiful, but she possessed intelligence and an alluring charm.

Chen returned to Chang'an and came to Xianyi Temple during the radiant days of the third month.
Xuanji's feelings in welcoming him were like those of a parched person reaching a spring. For a time, Chen came with scarcely a day missed.
During this time, Xuanji often saw Chen teasing Lüqiao.
However, Xuanji paid no mind at first.
The reason was that in Xuanji’s eyes, Lüqiao scarcely existed as a woman—one might say not at all.

Xuanji had turned twenty-six this year.
Her finely featured face possessed a noble beauty too radiant to behold directly, emitting an amber glow when freshly emerged from the bath.
Her ample skin was like flawless jade.
Lüqiao had a face with a low forehead and short chin resembling a lapdog’s, her limbs coarse and large.
Collar and elbows were perpetually smeared with greasy grime.
It was only natural that Xuanji harbored no aversion toward Lüqiao.

Before long, the relationship among the three became slightly complicated. In the past, when Xuanji’s conduct failed to meet expectations, Chen would grow reticent or fall completely silent—yet now when Chen found himself in such moods, he would often converse with Lüqiao. Moreover, during such times, Chen’s words were exceedingly gentle. Each time Xuanji heard this, she felt as though her chest were being pierced.

One day, Xuanji was invited by fellow female Taoist priests and went to a certain tower temple. When leaving the study, she had informed Lüqiao of the temple’s name beforehand. When evening came and she returned, Lüqiao came out to the gate to greet her and said: “Mr. Chen came while you were away.” “When I told him where you had gone, he said ‘I see’ and took his leave.”

Xuanji's countenance changed.
There had been many instances of Chen coming during her absences before, but Chen had always entered the study to wait.
Moreover, today he had known she was nearby yet left without waiting—so it was said.
Xuanji sensed that some secret existed between Chen and Lüqiao.

Xuanji silently entered the study and sat for a while, sinking into deep thought.
Suspicion gradually deepened, and resentment steadily intensified.
It began to seem to her that Lüqiao’s face, which had greeted her at the gate, bore a look of contempt never normally present.
Chen’s voice coaxing Lüqiao with gentle words began to resound distinctly in her ears.

At that moment, Lüqiao lit the lamp and brought it in.
The woman’s seemingly casual face appeared profoundly sinister to Xuanji.
Xuanji suddenly stood up and locked the door.
And with a trembling voice, she began her interrogation.
The woman merely said, “I don’t know, I don’t know.”
To Xuanji, this seemed utterly cunning.
Xuanji pushed down the woman kneeling on the floor.
The woman was terrified, her eyes wide open.
“Why won’t you confess?” Xuanji shouted as she seized the woman’s throat.
The woman merely thrashed her limbs.
When Xuanji released her grip and looked, the woman was dead.

―――――――――――――――――――

The fact that Xuanji had killed Lüqiao remained undetected for quite some time.

When Chen came the day after the killing, Xuanji had expected him to inquire about Lüqiao. However, Chen did not ask. When Xuanji finally said, “That Lüqiao has been missing since last night,” and peered at Chen’s expression, he merely replied, “Is that so?” appearing entirely unconcerned. Xuanji had carried Lüqiao’s corpse to a spot behind the temple where there was a hole from excavated soil, pushed it into the pit, and covered it with earth—all during the previous night.

Xuanji had been declining visitors for several years now for the sake of the "living secret." Yet now, harboring fear over this "dead secret," she thought that if she were to decline visitors, those inquiring about Lüqiao’s disappearance might fix their attention upon the temple grounds. Therefore, when there were those who earnestly sought an audience, she resolved not to forcibly refuse them.

In early summer came a day when two or three visitors arrived at Xianyi Temple.
One among them sought cool air behind the temple and found fresh soil filling what resembled an excavation pit beneath its walls—green-glinting flies swarming over its surface.
The man felt vague suspicion and casually mentioned this discovery to his attendant.
The attendant relayed it to his elder brother.
This elder sibling served as a prefectural constable.
Years prior during dawn’s first light,
this very constable had witnessed Chen departing Xianyi Temple.
Seizing what he deemed an exploitable opportunity,
he attempted extortion from Xuanji—only for her laughter to dismiss him.
Resentment festered within him thereafter.
Hearing his younger brother’s account now,
he sensed connection between
the vanished maid and
the putrid stench rising from that earthen pit.
Gathering fellow constables bearing spades,
they stormed into Xianyi Temple
and excavated that hole’s depths—
unearthing Lüqiao’s corpse buried beneath mere inches of soil.

Metropolitan Governor Wen Zhang had Yu Xuanji arrested based on the constables’ accusation.
Xuanji offered no defense and submitted to the charges.
Musician Chen underwent judicial interrogation but was released as someone unaware of the circumstances.

Beginning with Li Yi, all court and commoner figures who had known Xuanji lamented her talent and sought to save her.
Only Wen Qi alone had become an official in Fangcheng and was far removed from the capital, so he could not exert efforts on Xuanji’s behalf.

The Metropolitan Governor could no longer bend the law, as the matter had become too exposed.
When the time of Beginning of Autumn arrived, he finally submitted a memorial to Emperor Yizong and had Xuanji executed by beheading.

―――――――――――――――――――

Many mourned Yu Xuanji’s execution, but none was more deeply heartbroken than Wen Qi in Fangcheng.

Two years before Xuanji’s execution, Wen had wandered off to Yangzhou.
Yangzhou was where Linghu Tao—who had been dismissed as chancellor in the thirteenth year of the Dazhong era—served as governor.
Resenting that Linghu Tao knew of him yet never employed his services, Wen refrained from even presenting his name card until one night, drunk at a brothel, he was struck by a Yu Hou, sustaining facial wounds and broken front teeth—in fury, he filed a complaint.
When Linghu Tao confronted Wen and Yu Hou, Yu Hou vehemently recounted Wen’s misconduct and was found innocent.
The matter reached the capital.
Wen personally went to Chang’an and submitted a petition to high officials explaining his position.
At this time Xu Shang and Yang Shou served as chancellors. Xu protected Wen, but Yang refused to listen and dispatched him to Fangcheng to perform official duties.
The edict read: “The Confucian school prioritizes virtuous conduct above literary talent. Since you lack virtue, how can your writings merit praise? You bear unbridled gifts ill-suited for timely use.”
Wen was later transferred to Sui County where he died.
Both his son Xian and younger brother Tinghao received official posts during the Xiantong era, though Tinghao was killed in Xuzhou during Pang Xun’s rebellion.
This occurred three months after Xuanji had been executed.

References

I. Yu Xuanji

三水小牘 南部新書

Taiping Guangji Beimeng Suoyan

続談助 唐才子伝

唐詩紀事 全唐詩（姓名下小伝）

全唐詩話 唐女郎魚玄機詩

II. Wen Feiqing

旧唐書 漁隠叢話

新唐書 北夢瑣言

全唐詩話 桐薪

唐詩紀事 玉泉子

六一詩話 南部新書

滄浪詩話 握蘭集

Yanzhou Shihua Jinquan Ji

*San Shan Lao Ren Yulu Han Nan Zhen Gao*

Xuelangzhai Riji Wen Feiqing Shiji

(Taishō 4th Year, April [1915])