Pathway to Japanese Literature

Around the third century BCE, during an autumn of the era that historians in Shina would come to call the Warring States Period, a middle-aged man named Zhuangzi lay resting on a bed of leaves near the Oak Shrine in the outskirts of Wei’s capital. He wore a considerably worn-out robe over his sturdy frame and had carelessly donned a birch bark crown.

His face had a leaden hue and lacked luster, while his sharply defined eyes held pupils that were clouded, as if overwhelmed by the exhaustion of deep thought. Yet his incongruously red lips and thick, curly hair suggested he was a man of passion. Conversely, his strong, prominent nose and rock-like forehead appeared willful in nature. Taken as a whole, it was a face where various elements were intricately intertwined and conflicting with each other.

The earthen slope bordering the millet field where Zhuangzi sat was situated along the highway that ran from Daliang, the capital of Wei, through Xinzheng, the capital of Han, to Luoyi of Zhou. As the sun began sinking westward, carriages quickened their pace and pedestrians hurried their steps—yet around the edges of the earthen slope and across the highway by the shrine, travelers still lingered at rest among local villagers whose clamorous voices carried through the air. The villagers often gathered here to relish hearing news from distant lands through these wayfarers. They could not help but cry out excitedly at their mingled anxiety and fascination with worldly affairs. Zhuangzi paid no mind to such commotion, his gaze fixed intently on the giant oak tree that jutted abruptly skyward beside the Oak Shrine. This oak surpassed what one might call an ancient tree—towering and immense, its broom-like crown bristling as it stabbed upward into the azure heavens. It bore neither lush grandeur nor majestic bearing—merely standing vacant and rigid, occupying space between heaven and earth. Could nature truly manifest such a form? Yet Zhuangzi extolled this tree from his conviction that when put to use, its wood proved unfit for ships or coffins—a tree so burdensome to humanity that it escaped mankind’s ax-wielding scourge, thereby preserving its innate nature to fulfill its heaven-ordained purpose. He muttered.

“If this tree were human, it would take the form of an Enlightened Master.” And the foundation of the sentiments he had expressed toward this tree was beginning to coalesce into coherent thought within his mind. "The Dao was neither something resplendent and dazzling to behold in human eyes, nor was it something one could clearly delineate and point to as 'this.'" Following natural transformations, those that obeyed their nature did so obediently, while those that should become tiles and stones or mosquitoes and horseflies entrusted themselves to change, accepting that transformation with equanimity. This should be the true "Dao." Striving for other purposes—fussing over white steeds and azure clouds—only obstructed the path of those seeking the true "Dao." Yet somehow, this conclusion still sat uneasily in his mind. People were eager to make their mark on the world, even if it meant stretching an inch into a foot. He too had been part of that very struggle until just recently. This habit was not something one could shed so easily. He once again looked up at the giant oak tree and sighed.

At that moment, a travel carriage came rumbling along its tracks from the direction of Daliang, but upon reaching Zhuangzi’s front, it abruptly halted, and a hunchbacked figure leaped down from beside the driver’s seat. As he drew near,

“Isn’t this Master Zhuang? It really is Master Zhuang!”

he said. This was Shilison—Zhuangzi’s patron and a wealthy merchant who traveled between various states. Shilison clambered up the earthen slope like a spider, settled down beside Zhuangzi, and let his words come gushing out. “When I called at your residence just now and heard you were here, I came immediately. “It’s been too long, Master! Where should I even begin—no, first tell me: why did you abandon both your official duties and scholarly pursuits to retire here without sending word?”

Zhuangzi was glad to see Shilison after so long, but found it slightly irritating to be questioned about it immediately. And so, he briefly explained his reasons for retiring. Around this time, the two sages Confucius and Laozi had passed away—though separated by approximately a century and a half—and what was called “study” began to be systematized by their disciples, while numerous schools of thought arose alongside them. Inheriting Confucius’s ethical idealism, Mencius put forth the theory of inherent human goodness. In contrast, Xunzi adopted the theory of inherent human evil and formed a faction advocating rule by law. Just as Mohism’s universal altruism—derived from Mozi’s teachings—seemed poised to gain popularity, Yang Zhu’s faction began loudly advocating individualistic hedonism. Among the notable developments was the rise of the sophist faction led by Gongsun Long, known for his paradoxical phrase “A white horse is not a horse.” There was also Liezi, who traced his lineage to Laozi. Though dates fluctuated somewhat, during this general period nearly every view of life that humans could conceive—centered around these years—not only appeared before the world adorned in full regalia, but also refined their principles and sharpened their rhetoric to contend against one another. The age was a turbulent era of seven states vying for supremacy. Ideological battles raged to the accompaniment of swords and spears dancing through the streets—a chaotic spectacle defying description, neither seven-petaled blossoms nor swirling flurries capturing its utter disarray.

Zhuangzi had studied the teachings of Confucius and Laozi from a young age, and through his brilliance wielded his knowledge so masterfully that he stood peerless in the scholarly world. Yet as he approached middle age, he gradually wearied of debate and turned inward, increasingly drawn to Laozi’s doctrines of yielding to nature and embracing passivity. But between the ideas of that ruddy-faced, white-haired elder—a six-foot-tall colossus bearing antiquity’s visage—and those of him, a man of poetic sensibility brimming with passion, lay an irreconcilable chasm. In the end, Zhuangzi followed none of the former sages’ paths and began forging his own way.

Zhuangzi turned this over in his mind once more, but no matter how much reverence Shilison might hold for him, he found no compelling reason to explain such details to the merchant before him. And so,

“The Dao may indeed take the pathless as its path.” “In other words, neither official service nor scholarly pursuits become one’s true treasure—they’re simply too trivial.” And now it was Zhuangzi’s turn to question Shilison about the state of the world from which he had grown distant after retirement. The more he listened to Shilison’s account, the more the world seemed to be changing. The Vertical Alliance formed by Zhao, Yan, Han, Wei, Qi, and Chu to oppose the mighty Qin began to crumble, and in its place, momentum grew for the Horizontal Alliance—where each state would separately submit to Qin. Therefore, people too were changing. Su Qin, the Vertical Alliance strategist who had borne the ministerial seals of six states upon his person and whose carriage procession was said to surpass even kings in grandeur, now sank daily deeper into ruinous fate, while Zhang Yi—newly appointed as Qin’s chancellor and mastermind of the Horizontal Alliance—saw his influence strike roots with startling vigor. Even the children of Luoyi chanted Zhang Yi’s name as the hero of the coming age.

The hunchbacked Shilison explained the state of the realm, vigorously moving his entire bent body. He who journeyed through various states year-round indeed held firm grasp of the world's true conditions. When he finished his explanation, he added these words.

“Everything changes as swiftly as a cat’s eyes.” “Yet amidst it all, one thing remains unchanging, wouldn’t you agree?” “That would be the beauty of Luoyi’s peerless courtesan Li Ji!” Shilison roared with laughter. His mirth carried a tone that savored the absurdity of discussing this woman—so utterly removed from their world—with these pedantic scholars.

However, Zhuangzi unexpectedly showed an eager expression on his face.

“How has Li Ji been faring of late?”

Even Shilison was taken aback by this. “How could a stiff man like you come to care about Li Ji?” he couldn’t help but ask. Zhuangzi answered plainly that she was a woman of some renown and that even his wife in Luoyi had been close with her, but his tone carried a suspiciously slippery quality. However, Shilison—who trusted Zhuangzi—nodded in understanding and then told him a recent anecdote about Li Ji that even scholars might find intriguing.

It was a summer evening. Li Ji was strolling along the edge of the pond in her mansion’s rear garden. The pond had been newly stocked with carp. Li Ji drew near the water’s rim to observe the fish. The carp fled to distant depths upon seeing a human shadow. Water splashed onto her skirts. Li Ji—her face having flushed crimson for some time—soon—

“What rude fish!” “I’ve never been treated with such cold indifference by anyone before!” “Even ignorant fish shouldn’t be this cruel!”

Having finished recounting the rumor of her throwing a childish tantrum like a mischievous kid, Shilison laughed even more uproariously, as if rolling on the ground. “What do you think? A woman who even complains to fish.”

And with that, he laughed again. Zhuangzi also forced a polite laugh, but traces of suppressed excitement were visible beneath his melancholic expression.

Shilison adjusted his collar and stood up.

“I must take my leave.” “This time, I’m too occupied to while away hours leisurely at your home.” “I shall make certain to call upon you next time.” “By then, I trust you’ll have forged some doctrine so startling it renders the world speechless.”

The rumble of the wheels of Shilison’s traveling carriage faded into the distance beyond the earthen slope. The day faded unnoticed. The Giant Oak Tree of the Li She carved its grotesque form jet-black against the sky sinking into slumber. Countless hundreds of birds that roosted in this tree clamored around it. The birds’ cries sounded like distant surf. Over the fields, the evening mist hung low, drifting over the scattered woods and making them seem like floating islands. The hedgerows of the nearby village became only scattered points of light, while within the streak of blackness that was likely Daliang on the horizon, lights like gold dust mingled.

Zhuangzi returned home with two stones cast into his heart. Both Su Qin and Zhang Yi had been companions who wandered Luoyi with him during their study days. The closeness between the two had been renowned even among their companions. Yet now—though this was the way of the Warring States—they stood divided as enemy and ally, scheming against each other…… Zhuangzi’s eyes still retained their former figures: Su Qin with his heroically ruddy face and Zhang Yi with his nervously pale countenance standing side by side, bathing in the setting sun as they cast shadows upon Luoyi’s thick city walls while returning from an excursion. The two men now contending for supremacy in the imperial court seemed like entirely different people. This matter sank even more deeply into the reality-avoidance tendency that had already been gnawing at Zhuangzi. What a wretched world this was. He felt it was truly, utterly a wretched world.

Yet whenever matters concerning Li Ji arose, Zhuangzi’s heart would naturally tense. Before his reclusive life, when he had dwelled in Luoyi, he had often met her—sometimes together with his wife Tian Shi—at banquets and other occasions. Unyieldingly genuine and self-indulgent, she lived each day with all her strength and spirit, her mind ever taut as a polished mirror, without so much as a hair’s breadth of doubt. If humans could live like that, then things like philosophy and thought would hardly be necessary. Li Ji—who sometimes made Zhuangzi recall her with aching poignancy—was originally the sole daughter of a general who had overseen Qin’s frontier defenses. By a common practice of the Warring States period, her father the general had been framed with false accusations by political enemies over a minor misstep and met with the King of Qin’s punitive execution. Li Ji, left behind with her mother, had still been a child at that time. There were those who had informed the King of Qin of a rumor: people sensed that this heaven-made beauty—still a bud—would bloom into a peerless flower of rare splendor, its fragrance already permeating outward to foreshadow its future glory. And so, before long, Li Ji—who had lost her mother as well—was taken in and raised within the imperial harem. While it had still been thought she would soon become a powerful favored concubine—perhaps even the king’s second consort—this king passed away, and through the machinations of high-ranking ministers, Li Ji was dispatched to the distant capital of Luoyi to live as a courtesan. At that time in Luoyi, among the courtesans, there were those of renown who went by names such as Daji, Baosi, and Xi Wangmu—names of famous seductive women from antiquity or legendary celestial maidens. They welcomed guests ranging from nobles to hundred-chariot and thousand-chariot lords, residing in grand mansions and keeping dozens of servants to live like female aristocrats. As for how Li Ji, having entered their ranks, effortlessly surpassed those three in an instant—one might ask whether she possessed some extraordinary skill that set her apart. Yet it could be said that the opposite was true. She was so willful and self-indulgent that if something displeased her, she would kick up her legs before nobles and send the white peonies in low-standing pots flying with the crescent-moon tips of her golden shoes. When her spirits rose, she would call for musicians herself without waiting for any request from her guests and stand up to dance. When sadness came, she would wail and wail at the top of her voice even before kings and lords. She didn’t care that the crimson eye makeup drawn with tears dripped down her cheeks and flowed to her chin. Then she would suddenly stop moving before anyone and fall into a trance for a while. She would direct her unfocused eyes forward, arms supplely following her slightly arching posture as she maintained this form for a time—if someone were to ask, “What do you see? What do you ponder?” I would first recall my mother. After my father was slandered, my mother—deeply feeling the unfathomable ways of the world—even watched migratory birds crossing the sky while fretting over their fates.

“But when I think of my fretful mother,” she continued, “I immediately reconsider—no, no! I shall live through this world as I am, true to my nature!” And with that, she would fall into ecstasy—her laughter radiant as she spoke. Whether that excuse was true or false, people called Li Ji’s state “Li Ji’s Divine Wandering.” At that moment, Li Ji’s beauty—her pale, thin skin layered with flesh of faint peach-pink, thick and heavy like quicksilver—swelled with particular abundance. Li Ji again made quite unreasonable demands of her clients. Shilison, Zhuangzi’s patron, was by no means her patron with romantic intentions—but precisely because of that, she was all the more able to indulge her caprices. At one point, she pleaded with a famous doll maker from the Western Capital to create a lifelike effigy in her exact likeness. Then she also pleaded to have someone bring and show her a live Winged Fish dwelling in the Eastern Sea. The fish was a rare creature said to dwell perpetually in the Western Sea yet nightly commute to the Eastern Sea—or so the tales claimed. Let us extract a chapter from the *Classic of Mountains and Seas* that describes this fish: “Form akin to a carp; fish body yet bird wings; azure patterns with crimson head and beak; ever traversing the Western Sea, wandering the Eastern Sea; soaring across seas; its cry resembling a rooster-phoenix.”

But keeping that rare fish alive for dozens of days—departing from Gusu near the East Sea, crossing the Yangtze River, clinging to the middle reaches of the Huai River to ascend its banks, and transporting it to Zhou’s Luoyi—was nearly impossible. Yet Shilison enlisted an old man possessing miraculous skills to fulfill Li Ji’s wish. It is said, however, that this old man never revealed the mechanism inside the water tank used for its transport.

Zhuangzi was eating a supper dominated by silence with his wife Tian Shi under a small candle while musing absently on such matters. The more he pondered her existence, the more mysterious Li Ji became. The more willful she grew, the more her beauty shone forth…… Was not the Dao rather to be found where there was no Dao? Could it be that true life’s ecstasy lay in realms free from constraint—as with her……

“You—has Mr. Shilison brought some new strange story about Li Ji again?” Zhuangzi started at his wife’s words, though he could hardly claim to have ever considered that a mere woman’s existence might relate to his “Dao.” “Nothing particularly strange—he only said she remains as mischievous and beautiful as ever.” He answered, tacking on what sounded like an excuse before adding the story of Li Ji resenting the escaped pond fish, laughing lightly with feigned nonchalance. Yet shrewd Tian Shi had largely discerned her husband’s inner thoughts; moreover, seeking to align with the rhythm of his feelings as ever, she too responded with a light laugh.

"Oh ho ho, she remains as adorable a girl as ever." But Zhuangzi could not bring himself to laugh again at this; he continued moving his chopsticks through the supper with the same listless air of finding it tasteless.

Tian Shi, his wife, had come from the Tian clan—a prominent family of Wei—to marry him during Zhuangzi’s early days as an emerging scholar, captivated by his brilliant intellect. Even after Zhuangzi began losing his way along the “Dao,” resigned from his post as a Qiyuan official, and retreated from his glittering academic life to enter one of poverty and obscurity, she continued living with him without voicing a single complaint, as though she had utterly forgotten her former luxurious upbringing. Her features, though thin, were beautiful. Zhuangzi also loved this wife. Yet even in this wife’s virtuousness, Zhuangzi felt an ordinary dissatisfaction. In other words, virtuousness that resembled virtuousness was not something supremely precious to Zhuangzi, who had grown weary of the conventional “Dao” as it was conventionally understood. The astute Tian Shi, dimly aware even of her husband’s psychological state toward her, refrained from showing any discontent.

After having a servant help clear the dining table, Tian Shi adjusted her sleeves and—letting the sound of bamboo rustling in the night wind permeate her being—spoke nonchalantly to avoid stimulating her husband’s emotions.

“Hey, you. Why don’t you go out to Luoyi for a change of scenery once in a while? Staying cooped up in this countryside every day, lost in your thoughts—it can’t be good for your health.”

Tian Shi moved even closer to the candle flame and added in a manner that caused the silver hairpin in her hair to sway slightly.

“Now, before Mr. Shilison departs on his next business trip, you must go to Luoyi—I’ve already made arrangements there.” “And do meet that guileless Li Ji again after all this time.” “Who knows—your spirits might lift unexpectedly, and the path of your studies could broaden anew.”

Zhuangzi fixed his gaze intently on his wife’s face. He understood all too clearly that his wife was by no means urging him to meet Li Ji out of spite or veiled mockery. Even so, beyond a simple feeling of profound gratitude for her words, Zhuangzi continued staring at her face with a strange wonder—as though this woman had been tailored to the very pattern of virtuousness.

The sound of several ducks flapping their wings incessantly, shut into the night coop, could be heard coming from the hushed rear garden.

About a month later, following his wife’s ardent urging and with the prearranged invitation from Shilison now in place, Zhuangzi at last departed on his journey toward Luoyi.

As autumn neared its end, even the gaudy capital of Luoyi had taken on a patina of desolation. Though the Zhou royal house—once hailed as hegemon under heaven—had declined into a mere ceremonial entity, its capital Luoyi still occupied the heart of China at the time, leaning westward geographically yet sustained by the inertia of its long prosperity. A crossroads for all states’ traffic, it remained a convenient stage where itinerant rhetoricians and strategists circulated amid song-filled banquets, and the scheming advisors of feudal lords conducted clandestine plots.

Zhuangzi had been led by Shilison to Li Ji’s residence in Luoyi when evening had already passed. The two were shown to one of the many rooms surrounding the central courtyard. It was a star-bright night, with tiny gleams linking hands across the entire sky. The grove of trees in the garden was skillfully arranged so that, through the courtyard, the rooms could not overlook one another. Lamps were lit in every window, and willow threads hung down like desolate cold rain. As the two began drinking with the maidservants as their companions, the "Fly’s Wing Performer" entered. A brawny man, bare from the waist up to display his muscles, entered carrying a thin-bladed axe. Afterwards, a beautifully adorned girl entered with a dab of white clay applied to the tip of her nose. The thinness of the white clay was, in Chinese-style terms, about as thick as a fly’s wing. The girl approached the guests and, without letting them touch the white clay, showed only its thinness before lying supine on the floor spread-eagled. The brawny man bowed to the guests and stood rigidly beside the girl. The axe carved two or three great circles through the air with a resonant ring. With a sharp cry, the white clay on the tip of the girl’s nose flew off, struck the wall, and clattered to the floor. The girl immediately stood up and laughed charmingly. The thickly white nose remained calm, as though unaware of the axe’s peril. The brawny man made a motion of stroking the nose with his palm and said, “Important nose. Important nose.” Shilison and the maidservants all burst into laughter. In the Warring States era, even banquet entertainments were enlivened by such murderous-tinged performances.

Without even blinking as he intently watched the performer’s movements, Zhuangzi marveled deeply and asked.

“Is there some knack to this?”

The brawny man answered without hesitation. “The knack lies rather in this partner girl here.” “This girl has never known the terror of blades since birth.” “She remains unperturbed even when facing an axe.” “That’s why I can swing the axe so effortlessly.”

Zhuangzi, while pondering the efficacy of "no-mind," glanced at the girl. The girl received half a pomegranate from one of the maidservants and spat its seeds onto a tray. When she finished eating it, she was accompanied by the brawny man and went out to proceed to the next room.

With a fragrant incense stand preceding her entrance, Li Ji came in. The room abruptly brightened. She positioned herself near the candle to make her beauty readily visible to all. Born with the delicate allure of E Miman and further employing sophisticated cosmetics secretly obtained from Mediterranean coastal regions through then-existing trade routes, even an unsettling Romanesque passion brimmed in the arch of her brows. Her famed arrogance that had swiftly resounded through Luoyi nevertheless deferred to Zhuangzi—the rare scholar of their age. She demurely knelt before Zhuangzi.

“You have done us the honor of visiting.” “It has indeed been far too long since I last beheld you.” “Having secluded myself in the countryside, I have neglected all social obligations.” “Yet it heartens me to find you unaltered.”

“Yes, thank you very much.” “Thanks to your kindness… And how fares your esteemed wife at your noble residence?”

“She has been slightly unwell of late, but it is nothing of consequence. It’s likely her heart has grown somewhat gloomy from being unaccustomed to rural living.” “Please convey that she might kindly visit the capital for a time.”

“Thank you for your thoughtful concern—I shall convey it to her in full.”

However, the ceremonious exchange of words between Zhuangzi and Li Ji ended there. Soon Li Ji forgot everything and began letting her very passions take flight through the air. Zhuangzi had come to meet Li Ji precisely because he longed to witness that realm of being. With his heart elated, he tried to join her within those soaring passions. “...When waves surge across the sea, they say that fish spreads its wings and flies a hundred, two hundred yards over the swells.”

She kept repeating it over and over. At first Zhuangzi wondered what she was talking about—but it turned out to concern the live winged fish she had recently made Shilison procure through unreasonable demands all the way from the East Sea. She lamented that even after going through such trouble to have it brought alive before her, in the square tub measuring one zhang that she had commissioned from a Luoyi craftsman, the fish remained utterly incapable of performing its natural leaps, instead drooping its wings listlessly in the water. Thus she mimicked with gestures and pantomime even how that fish must have leapt across the East Sea’s waves—partly to distract herself, partly to vent pent-up frustrations over desires she could never express to others.

“When waves rise upon the sea, that fish spreads its wings and flies a hundred, two hundred yards across the waves, they say.”

After saying this several times, she laughed brightly, her voice echoing off the golden carvings of the railing. But when she fixed her gaze on Zhuangzi after laughing, she turned to Shilison and spoke earnestly. “Master Zhuang has changed.” “When he resided in Luoyi before, he never deigned to listen so earnestly to my idle talk.” “Either he would deign to offer some sharp retort or engage in conversation with others.”

“Oh, there’s no need to take it so seriously.” “Since retiring to the countryside, the Master has remained ever subdued.” “If you say that, then even his once so beautiful face has taken on a leaden gloom… And yet why does the Master deign to invite someone like me and put on such an affected air of being moved by these foolish antics?” Shilison, awkwardly glancing at Zhuangzi—who wore a wry smile—was agonizing over how to respond, but since Li Ji kept relentlessly pressing for an answer, he finally blurted out.

“Master… The truth is… He came because he wanted to witness your caprices.” “Huh? *My* caprices?”

“That’s right—he kept saying he wanted to see your world-class caprices and made me guide him here.”

“Oh, why would the Master want to see my caprices now of all times…?”

At that moment, an indescribably complex expression—neither quite sorrowful nor exactly bashful—flitted across Li Ji’s face. Shilison had never before seen such an expression appear on her face. But Zhuangzi, having closed his eyes in deep meditation with his arms crossed, missed that expression.

Another month or so had passed.

It was a perfectly clear day with the first chill of autumn.

A travel carriage appeared near the Giant Oak Shrine where sunlit spots abounded, and came to a stop before Zhuangzi’s gate. Emerging from the carriage was Shilison, who had his attendant carry a large bundle of gifts. Beside the withered-leaved peonies at the base of the low earthen wall, short orchid leaves—still vivid with lingering dampness from the morning frost and dew—showed two or three clusters in the shaded spots. Though the hour neared noon, the interior of Zhuangzi’s house lay utterly silent. Shilison gestured briefly to restrain the attendant who had clomped through the gate behind him. As he intently gauged the atmosphere within, the small door leading to the rear garden opened, and Zhuangzi’s wife Tian Shi emerged, wiping her damp hands with a cloth.

“Oh! I thought someone was here—if it isn’t Honorable Shilison! Please, do come in.”

Shilison was ushered to the wooden table in the earthen entryway. “Were you occupied with water chores, Madam? Though I had heard your health was ailing.” “No, it’s nothing of consequence—with this fair weather, I thought to do some laundry.” “Has your life grown so straitened that you must even tend to laundry yourself?... No, no—I shan’t permit this state to endure. Soon I shall see about stationing a robust maidservant at your side.”

“Oh, not at all—when I say my condition is poor, it’s nothing serious. A bit of rinsing laundry suits me perfectly these days, especially when I consider my husband’s recent state.” “In that case, how fares Master Zhuang today?” “Oh ho ho—have you not noticed it yet? That sound… that rhythm from the rear garden… It’s my husband splitting firewood.”

“What? Master Zhuang splitting firewood?… That’s quite the eccentric pursuit he’s taken up.” “Ever since returning from Luoyi that time—and speaking of which, I must thank you again for your most gracious hospitality during our visit—afterward, he spent some time deep in thought, but then suddenly took up that peculiar labor. From then on, his days gradually brightened: that sluggard now weeds the garden barefoot, draws fertilizer, splits firewood… He declares he particularly adores splitting firewood—claims there’s no greater satisfaction than when his thoughtlessly swung axe cleanly splits a dried log with perfect rhythm.”

“If he spends his days like that and does his reading and writing at night... Well, I just hope it doesn’t take a toll.” Tian Shi hesitated slightly before resolutely saying: “Though it pains me to say this even to you, Honorable Shilison, who holds my husband in such high regard… The truth is, he has nearly ceased all reading and writing of late.” “Just the other night, he declared that the books he’d been reading had become an eyesore and promptly set about tidying them away. Then, as a substitute for nighttime study, he summoned the local villagers to begin consultations on pig farming.” “He says he might even end up sleeping in the pigsty some nights depending on how things go, and has begun researching pig breeds and designing the sty—splitting planks himself, helping with the roofing…”

“Hmm.” Shilison groaned and sipped the tea Tian Shi had poured out—now lukewarm from being left untouched. Tian Shi, though reserved, wished for Shilison—the only person to whom she could now confide her thoughts—to at least hear her out. “One night I timidly asked if he’d abandoned his study of the Dao to become a village schoolmaster here—whereupon my husband replied rather cheerfully that he was just beginning to perceive that very Dao.” “When I—aghast—found myself staring at his face, he said, ‘The Dao seems to be everywhere.’” “‘There is no place without the Dao.’” “‘The Dao exists even in ants.’” “‘The Dao exists even in weeds.’” “‘The Dao exists even in roof tiles and bricks.’” “‘The Dao exists even in excrement and urine.’” “Then he sprawled out and declared, ‘Even as I lie here like this, I walk the path of non-action and naturalness!’”

Outside the door leading from the earthen entryway to the rear entrance, Zhuangzi’s cough could be heard. It resonated through the clear day’s air. Tian Shi stood up with a smile.

“It seems my husband has arrived, but please refrain from appearing overly acquainted with his recent state from the very beginning. I would ask that you gently ease into the conversation.” “Otherwise, there’s no telling what contrary notions he might take to next.” “Understood.”

When Shilison began adjusting his formal bearing, a dignity emerged despite his stooped posture. Zhuangzi awkwardly opened the door and stepped into the earthen-floored entryway. Having breathed the crisp air of that cloudless day, his face—flushed with vigor, skin glowing with vitality—appeared to recover a trace of the beauty he had borne during his residence in Luoyi. “The appointed hour has come.” “I shall warm wine and prepare proper seating in the upper chamber to receive you.”

As Tian Shi departed to the kitchen while saying this, Zhuangzi took her place and sat down on the now-vacated stool. Zhuangzi first expressed gratitude for Shilison’s warm hospitality during their recent time in Luoyi. Then, without a word, he held out his palm and stroked several calluses lining the bases of his upturned fingers, showing them to Shilison.

Shilison said in a calm voice: “You spend your days contentedly splitting firewood, yet discontent has arisen in Luoyi.” “Huh? What do you mean, Mr. Shilison?” “Li Ji—she’s changed utterly since then.” “What? Li Ji?” “Has something befallen Li Ji?” “It began when you visited her and left Luoyi.” “She keeps repeating how ashamed she is of her former willfulness.” “Fretting over her hairstyle, agonizing over her speech.” “Now she cares what others think—no longer the Li Ji of old.” “What could have caused this?” “And so she’s lost favor in Luoyi altogether.” “That girl’s charm lay precisely in her capriciousness.” “So I told her—” “When people said Master Zhuang came to observe your willfulness, it was your unbridled way of living he admired—how it even aided his Daoist pursuits.” “I implored her—‘Don’t feel shame over misunderstandings’—but to no avail.”

Zhuangzi rested his arms, closed his eyes, and sank deep into thought; finally, he said in a somber tone: “However, even that may be a path of transformation through heaven’s grace—there is no remedy for it.” “Just as I discarded my books and brushes to take up the firewood-splitting axe.” Shilison stared intently at Zhuangzi’s face for a while, then spoke in a slightly hurried tone: “Though I don’t yet fully comprehend everything myself, I did tell Li Ji such things as well.” “In the Southern Sea, there was an emperor named Shu.” “In the Northern Sea, there was an emperor named Hu.” “The two visited Emperor Hundun of the Center.” “Hundun welcomed them and treated them with great hospitality.” “So the guests discussed how to repay his kindness: ‘All people have seven orifices.’” “‘Thus they see, hear, eat, and breathe.’” “‘But Hundun lacks these.’” “‘Why don’t we bore seven orifices into this bald-headed Hundun?’” “So each day they drilled one orifice into him.” “Then on the seventh day, Hundun died.” “See? The very notion of testing one’s innate nature—such judgment is flawed.” “If Master Zhuang heard this, he would only grow more bitter.” “Having explained all this to her without receiving any reply, she retrieved the ‘lifelike doll of Li Ji’ I once crafted and said: ‘When you next visit Master Zhuang’s home in Oak Village, present this to him and his wife.’” “‘Tell them it’s a memento from when they still cherished me...’”

Shilison, holding a large bundle in the corner of the earthen entryway, glanced at his crouching servant and had him undo the multiple layers of wrapping. Li Ji’s lifelike doll, backlit by the light outside the door, abruptly leapt out into the dimly lit earthen entryway. “Oh! Li Ji!…”

The one who let out a cry of shock was Tian Shi, who had just then brought in a tray of wine cups.