Tang of Yin asked Xia Ji: “In the very beginning, were there things?” Xia Ji said: “If in the very beginning there were no things, how could there be things now? If people of later times were to say there are no things now, would that be right?” Tang of Yin said: “Then do things have no before and after?” Xia Ji said: “The ends and beginnings of things have never had any limit. A beginning may be an end, and an end may be a beginning; how can we know their order? But what lies outside of things, and what came before events, I do not know.” Tang of Yin said: “Then do above and below and the eight directions have a limit and an end?” Ji said: “I do not know.” Tang pressed him. Ji said: “If it is nothing, then it is limitless; if it is something, then it has an end. How can I know? But beyond the limitless there is no further limitless, and within the endless there is no further endless. There is no limitless beyond the limitless, and no endless beyond the endless. From this I know that it is limitless and endless, but I do not know that it has a limit and an end.” Tang asked again: “What is there beyond the four seas?” Ji said: “Much the same as the Central Land.” Tang said: “How can you prove it?” Ji said: “I have traveled east as far as Ying, and the people there are just like these. I asked what lies east of Ying, and it is again just like Ying. I have traveled west as far as Bin, and the people there are just like these. I asked what lies west of Bin, and it is again just like Bin. From this I know that the four seas, the four wildernesses, and the four extremities are no different from here. Thus the great and the small contain one another without end or limit. What contains the myriad things is like what contains heaven and earth. Because it contains the myriad things, it is inexhaustible; because it contains heaven and earth, it is limitless. How do I know that beyond heaven and earth there is not a greater heaven and earth? That too is something I do not know. Yet heaven and earth are also things. Things have their deficiencies, and so in ancient times Nüwa smelted stones of five colors to patch the gaps in the sky, and cut off the legs of a giant turtle to set up the four pillars at the ends of the earth. Later Gonggong fought with Zhuanxu to become emperor, and in his rage he butted Mount Buzhou, breaking the pillar of heaven and snapping the cords of the earth. So the sky tilts to the northwest, and the sun, moon, and stars move toward it; the earth sinks in the southeast, and so the hundred rivers and floodwaters flow there.” Tang asked again: “Are there great and small among things? Long and short? Same and different?” Ji said: “East of the Bohai Sea, who knows how many hundreds of millions of li away, there is a great gulf, a truly bottomless valley, with no floor beneath it; it is called Guixu, the Returning Ruins. The waters of the eight bounds and nine regions and the stream of the Heavenly River all pour into it, and yet it neither rises nor falls. In it there are five mountains: the first is called Daiyu, the second Yuanjiao, the third Fanghu, the fourth Yingzhou, and the fifth Penglai. These mountains are thirty thousand li in height and circumference, and the level ground on their summits is nine thousand li across. The mountains stand seventy thousand li apart, and they count one another as neighbors. The terraces and towers on them are all of gold and jade; the birds and beasts on them are all pure white. Trees of pearl and precious stone grow thickly, and their flowers and fruits are all delicious; whoever eats them never grows old and never dies. The people who live there are all of the race of immortals and sages, and those who fly back and forth between them in a day and a night are too many to count. But the roots of the five mountains are attached to nothing; they always rise and fall and drift back and forth with the tides and waves, never standing still for a moment. The immortals and sages were distressed by this and complained to the Supreme Emperor. The Supreme Emperor feared that the mountains would drift to the far west and the immortals and sages would lose their homes. So he ordered Yuqiang to make fifteen giant turtles lift their heads and carry the mountains on them, taking turns in three shifts, changing once every sixty thousand years. Only then did the five mountains stand firm and unmoving. But in the land of the Dragon Earl there was a giant who, in no more than a few strides, reached the place of the five mountains. With one cast of his line he hooked six turtles in a row, slung them all on his back, and hurried home to his country, where he burned their shells to divine by the cracks. Thereupon the two mountains Daiyu and Yuanjiao drifted to the far north and sank into the great sea, and the immortals and sages who were displaced numbered in the hundreds of millions. The Supreme Emperor was furious; he shrank the land of the Dragon Earl to make it narrow, and shrank the people of the Dragon Earl to make them short. Yet by the time of Fuxi and Shennong, the people of that country were still several dozen zhang tall. Four hundred thousand li east of the Central Land is the land of Jiaoyao, whose people are one chi five cun tall. At the far northeast there are people called the Zheng, who are nine cun tall. South of Jing there is the Mingling tree, for which five hundred years are one spring and five hundred years one autumn. In high antiquity there was the great Chun tree, for which eight thousand years were one spring and eight thousand years one autumn. On rotting soil there are mushrooms that are born in the morning and die by nightfall. In the months of spring and summer there are midges and gnats that are born with the rain and die when they see the sun. North of Zhongbei there is the Dark Sea, the Pool of Heaven. In it there is a fish several thousand li broad and of proportionate length, named the Kun. There is a bird named the Peng, whose wings are like clouds hanging from the sky and whose body is of proportionate size. How would the world know such creatures existed? Yu the Great saw them on his travels, Boyi knew them and named them, and Yijian heard of them and recorded them. Between the rivers and shores there are tiny insects called jiaoming, which fly in swarms and settle on the eyelashes of a mosquito without touching one another. They perch and lodge, come and go, and the mosquito does not notice. Lizhu and Ziyu, rubbing their eyes and raising their brows at midday to look for them, could not see their shapes; Chiyu and Shi Kuang, cleaning their ears and bending their heads in the middle of the night to listen for them, could not hear their sound. Only the Yellow Emperor and Rongchengzi, dwelling on Mount Kongtong, having fasted together for three months until their minds were dead and their bodies set aside, slowly looked with the spirit and saw them, massive as a slope of Mount Song, and slowly listened with the qi and heard them, booming like the roar of thunder. In the lands of Wu and Chu there is a great tree called the you, a green tree that thrives in winter, with red fruit of sour taste. Eating the juice of its peel cures the illness of choking and fainting. The Central Land prizes it, but when it is carried north across the Huai River it turns into the trifoliate orange. The mynah does not cross the Ji River; the raccoon dog dies if it crosses the Wen River; it is the qi of the land that makes it so. Nevertheless, though their forms and qi differ, their natures are equal, and none can be exchanged for another. Each is complete in its life, each sufficient in its lot. How then can I tell which is great and which small? How can I tell which is long and which short? How can I tell which are the same and which different?”
The two mountains Taihang and Wangwu, seven hundred li square and ten thousand ren high, originally stood south of Jizhou and north of Heyang. The Foolish Old Man of North Mountain, who was nearly ninety years old, lived facing these mountains. Vexed that the north side of the mountains blocked his way and made his comings and goings roundabout, he gathered his household and consulted them, saying: “Let us put all our strength into leveling the obstacle, so that a road runs straight to the south of Yu and reaches the south bank of the Han. Shall we?” They all agreed. His wife raised a doubt: “With your strength, you could not even reduce the hillock of Kuifu; what can you do to Taihang and Wangwu? And where will you put the earth and stones?” They all said: “We will throw them at the tip of the Bohai Sea, north of Yintu.” So he led his sons and grandsons, three men who could carry loads, to break up stones and dig up earth, carrying it in baskets and hods to the tip of the Bohai Sea. The widow of a man of the Jingcheng family, a neighbor, had a son, just old enough to lose his milk teeth, who skipped along to help them. Winter and summer changed places before they made a single round trip. The Wise Old Man of Hequ laughed and tried to stop him, saying: “How very unwise you are! With the years you have left and the strength that remains, you cannot damage even a single hair of the mountain; what can you do with its earth and stones?” The Foolish Old Man of North Mountain sighed deeply and said: “Your mind is so stubborn that it cannot be opened—you are not even as good as the widow and her little son. Even when I die, my sons will remain; my sons will beget grandsons, and the grandsons will beget sons; the sons will have sons, and the sons will have grandsons; sons and grandsons without end. But the mountains will grow no higher. Why worry that they will not be leveled?” The Wise Old Man of Hequ had no reply. The god who holds snakes heard of this, and fearing that he would never stop, reported it to the Supreme Emperor. The Supreme Emperor was moved by his sincerity and ordered the two sons of Kua'e to carry the two mountains on their backs, placing one east of Shuo and the other south of Yong. From then on, from south of Ji to the south bank of the Han, there has been no ridge to block the way.
Kuafu, not measuring his strength, wanted to chase the sun's shadow. He pursued it to the edge of the Yu Valley. Thirsty, he wanted a drink, and went to drink from the Yellow River and the Wei. The Yellow River and the Wei were not enough, and he was going to run north to drink from the Great Marsh. Before he got there, he died of thirst on the way. He cast aside his staff, and soaked by the fat and flesh of his corpse, it grew into the Deng Forest, which spreads for several thousand li.
Yu the Great said: “Between the six directions and within the four seas, the sun and moon illuminate it, the stars and constellations run through it, the four seasons order it, and the Great Year governs it. What the spirits give birth to takes different shapes; some die young and some live long. Only the sage can understand their way.” Xia Ji said: “Yet there are also things that are born without waiting for the spirits, take shape without waiting for yin and yang, shine without waiting for the sun and moon, die young without waiting to be killed, live long without waiting to be nurtured, eat without waiting for the five grains, are clothed without waiting for silk and floss, and travel without waiting for boats and carriages. Their way is what is so of itself, and it is not something the sage can understand.”
When Yu was regulating the waters and the land, he lost his way and wandered by mistake into a certain country. It lay beyond the northern shore of the Northern Sea, who knows how many thousands of myriads of li from the Central Land. The country was called Zhongbei, and no one knew where its borders lay. It had no wind or rain, frost or dew, and produced no birds or beasts, insects or fish, grass or trees. On all four sides it was level, surrounded by high peaks. In the middle of the country there was a mountain called Huling, shaped like a jar. At its summit was an opening shaped like a round ring, called the Nourishing Cave. Water gushed out of it, called the Divine Spring, whose fragrance surpassed orchids and pepper and whose taste surpassed fine wine and sweet liquor. From its single source it divided into four streams that flowed down the mountain and ran through the whole country, reaching everywhere. The qi of the land was harmonious, and there were no plagues or pestilence. The people were gentle by nature and went along with things, neither competing nor contending. They were soft of heart and weak of bone, neither proud nor jealous. Old and young lived together as equals, with no rulers and no subjects. Men and women mingled freely, with no go-betweens and no betrothal gifts. They lived along the streams, neither plowing nor sowing. The climate was warm and pleasant, so they neither wove nor wore clothes. They lived a hundred years and then died, neither dying young nor falling ill. The people multiplied beyond counting; they had joy and happiness but no decline, old age, grief, or suffering. By custom they loved music; they held hands and sang in turns, and their singing never ceased all day. When hungry or tired they drank from the Divine Spring, and their strength and spirit were restored to balance. If they drank too much they became drunk and did not wake for ten days. When they bathed in the Divine Spring, their skin became glossy and smooth, and its fragrance did not fade for ten days. King Mu of Zhou, traveling north, passed through this country and for three years forgot to return. When he came back to the Zhou court he longed for that country and was lost in melancholy; he took no wine or meat and did not summon his concubines, and it was several months before he recovered. Guan Zhong urged Duke Huan of Qi to travel to Liaokou so that they could go to that country together, and they very nearly set out. Xi Peng remonstrated, saying: “My lord, you would abandon the vastness of the state of Qi, the multitude of its people, the beauty of its mountains and rivers, the abundance of its produce, the splendor of its rites and righteousness, the beauty of its ceremonial robes, the charming women who fill your palace, and the loyal and good ministers who fill your court. When you shout, a million soldiers answer; when you look and wave, the feudal lords obey your commands. What is there to envy in that country, that you would abandon the altars of the soil and grain of Qi and go to a land of barbarians? This is the senility of Uncle Zhong; why follow him?” So Duke Huan stopped, and told Guan Zhong what Xi Peng had said. Guan Zhong said: “This is certainly beyond Peng's understanding. My only fear is that we cannot know that country. Why cling to the riches of Qi? Why heed what Xi Peng says?”
The people of the southern countries cut their hair and go naked; the people of the northern countries wrap their heads and wear furs; the people of the central states wear caps and robes. The resources of the nine lands support farming or trade, hunting or fishing, just as there are furs in winter and linen in summer, boats on water and carts on land. People acquire these ways without words and fulfill them by nature. East of Yue there is the country of Zhemu, where when the eldest son is born they cut him up and eat him, saying that this is good for his younger brothers. When a grandfather dies, they carry the grandmother on their backs and abandon her, saying: “One may not live with a ghost's wife.” South of Chu there is the country of the Yan people, where when a relative dies they strip the flesh and throw it away, and only then bury the bones, whereupon they become filial sons. West of Qin there is the country of Yiqu, where when a relative dies they gather firewood, pile it up, and burn the body. When the smoke rises, they call it “ascending afar,” and only then do they become filial sons. Those above take these as law and those below as custom, and they are not considered strange.
Confucius was traveling in the east when he saw two children arguing, and he asked them why. One child said: “I think the sun is close to us when it first comes out and far away at midday.” The other child thought the sun was far away when it first came out and close at midday. The first child said: “When the sun first comes out it is as big as a carriage canopy, and at midday it is only as big as a plate or a bowl. Isn't that because what is far away looks small and what is near looks big?” The other child said: “When the sun first comes out it is cool and chilly, and at midday it is like putting your hand into hot water. Isn't that because what is near is hot and what is far away is cool?” Confucius could not decide between them. The two children laughed and said: “Who says you know so much?”
Balance is the ultimate principle of the world, and it holds for things with form as well. When a hair bears an evenly balanced weight, it may snap under a light or heavy load, but that is because the hair is not evenly balanced. If it is evenly balanced, then where it would break it does not break. People think this is not so, but there are some who know it is so. Zhan He used a single silk filament from a cocoon as his line, a needle as his hook, a thin branch of thorn as his rod, and a split grain of rice as his bait, and pulled a fish that would fill a cart out of an abyss of a hundred ren in a rushing current, and his line did not break, his hook did not straighten, and his rod did not bend. The king of Chu heard of this and thought it remarkable, and summoned him to ask how it was done. Zhan He said: “I have heard my late father say that when Puqiezi shot birds with a corded arrow, using a weak bow and a fine cord, he let fly with the wind and brought down a pair of orioles at the edge of the blue clouds. His mind was concentrated and his hands moved evenly. I took his example and imitated it in learning to fish, and only after five years did I master the way of it. When I stand by the river holding my rod, my mind has no distracting thoughts, only thoughts of the fish. When I cast the line and sink the hook, my hand makes no movement either light or heavy, and nothing can disturb it. When the fish see my hook and bait, it is like sinking dust or gathered foam to them, and they swallow it without suspicion. That is how I am able to use the weak to control the strong and the light to bring in the heavy. If Your Majesty can truly govern the state like this, then the whole world can be turned in the palm of your hand. What more would there be to do?” The king of Chu said: “Good.”
Gong Hu of Lu and Qi Ying of Zhao were both ill, and together they went to Bian Que to ask for treatment. Bian Que treated them. When both had recovered, he said to Gong Hu and Qi Ying: “The illnesses you had before came from outside and attacked your organs; they were of the kind that medicines and needles can cure. But now you have an illness you were born with, which has grown along with your bodies. What if I treat it for you now?” The two said: “We would like first to hear what the signs are.” Bian Que said to Gong Hu: “Your will is strong but your qi is weak, so you are good at planning but poor at deciding. Qi Ying's will is weak but his qi is strong, so he is short on forethought and harmed by rashness. If I exchange your hearts, both of you will be well balanced.” Bian Que then gave the two men drugged wine, and they lay as if dead for three days. He cut open their chests, took out their hearts, exchanged them, and put them back; he applied a divine medicine, and when they awoke they were as before. The two men took their leave and went home. Then Gong Hu returned to Qi Ying's house and took Qi Ying's wife and children as his own, and the wife and children did not recognize him. Qi Ying likewise returned to Gong Hu's house and took Gong Hu's wife and children as his own, and they did not recognize him either. So the two households went to law with each other and asked Bian Que to settle it. Bian Que explained how it had come about, and the lawsuit was dropped.
When Hu Ba played the zither, birds danced and fish leapt. Master Wen of Zheng heard of this, left his home, and followed Master Xiang to study. He set his fingers and tuned the strings, but for three years he could not complete a piece. Master Xiang said: “You may as well go home.” Master Wen put down his zither and sighed: “It is not that I cannot tune the strings or complete a piece. What I care about is not in the strings, and what I aim for is not in the sounds. If I cannot grasp it within my heart, it will not answer outside in the instrument, and so I dare not lift my hand to move the strings. Give me a little more time, and see how I do afterward.” Not long after, he came to see Master Xiang again. Master Xiang said: “How is your playing?” Master Wen said: “I have got it. Let me try it for you.” Then, though it was spring, he plucked the shang string to call forth the pitch Nanlü, and a cool wind suddenly came and the plants and trees bore fruit. When it was autumn, he plucked the jue string to stir the pitch Jiazhong, and a warm wind slowly circled and the plants and trees burst into bloom. When it was summer, he plucked the yu string to call forth the pitch Huangzhong, and frost and snow fell together, and the rivers and ponds suddenly froze. When it was winter, he plucked the zhi string to stir the pitch Ruibin, and the sun blazed fiercely and the hard ice at once melted away. As he was about to finish, he sounded the gong string, uniting it with the other four, and an auspicious wind soared, lucky clouds floated, sweet dew descended, and sweet springs gushed forth. Master Xiang then clapped his hand to his breast and leapt high, saying: “How subtle is your playing! Even the pure jue mode of Shi Kuang or the pitch pipes blown by Zou Yan could not surpass it. They would have to take their zithers and pipes under their arms and follow behind you.”
Xue Tan studied singing with Qin Qing. Before he had mastered all of Qin Qing's skill, he thought he had learned it all and took his leave to go home. Qin Qing did not stop him, but gave him a farewell feast at the crossroads outside the city. Beating time, he sang a sad song; the sound shook the trees of the forest, and its echo stopped the passing clouds. Xue Tan then apologized and asked to come back, and for the rest of his life never again dared speak of going home. Qin Qing turned to his friend and said: “Long ago Han E went east to Qi. When her provisions ran out, passing the Yong Gate, she sang to earn her food. After she had gone, the lingering notes circled the beams and rafters and did not fade for three days, so that those nearby thought she had not left. She passed an inn, where the innkeeper insulted her. So Han E wailed and wept in long drawn-out tones, and the whole village, old and young, was so grieved that they faced each other in tears and did not eat for three days. They hurried after her. When she came back, she sang again in long drawn-out tones, and the whole village, old and young, leapt with joy and clapped and danced, unable to restrain themselves, forgetting their sorrow of a moment before. Then they gave her rich gifts and sent her on her way. That is why the people of Yong Gate to this day are good at singing and wailing, imitating the notes Han E left behind.”
Boya was good at playing the zither, and Zhong Ziqi was good at listening. When Boya played with his mind on climbing a high mountain, Zhong Ziqi said: “Wonderful! Lofty and towering like Mount Tai!” When his mind was on flowing water, Zhong Ziqi said: “Wonderful! Vast and rolling like the Yangtze and the Yellow River!” Whatever Boya had in mind, Zhong Ziqi was sure to grasp. Once Boya was roaming on the north side of Mount Tai when he was suddenly caught in a violent rainstorm. He stopped beneath a rock, and feeling sad, he took up his zither and played. First he played a piece on the steady rain, then he composed the sound of a mountain collapsing. Each time he played a tune, Zhong Ziqi grasped its meaning completely. Boya then put down his zither and sighed: “Wonderful, wonderful is your listening! What you imagine is just what is in my heart. Where can I hide from you in my sounds?”
King Mu of Zhou made a tour of inspection in the west. He crossed the Kunlun Mountains but did not reach Mount Yan. On his way back, before he reached the central states, someone on the road presented him with a craftsman named Yanshi. King Mu received him and asked: “What can you do?” Yanshi said: “I will try whatever Your Majesty commands. But I have already made something that I would like Your Majesty to see first.” King Mu said: “Bring it with you another day, and we will look at it together.” The next day Yanshi came to see the king. The king received him and said: “Who is this you have brought with you?” He replied: “This is a performer that I have made.” King Mu looked at it in astonishment. It walked quickly and slowly, bowed and raised its head, exactly like a man. When the craftsman tilted its chin, it sang in tune; when he raised its hands, it danced in time. It had a thousand changes and ten thousand transformations, doing whatever one wished. The king thought it was a real man, and watched it together with Lady Sheng and his palace women. When the performance was about to end, the performer winked and beckoned to the king's attendants and concubines. The king was furious and wanted to have Yanshi executed at once. Yanshi was terrified and immediately took the performer apart to show the king. It was all made by fitting together leather, wood, glue, and lacquer, painted white, black, red, and blue. The king examined it closely: inside there were liver, gall, heart, lungs, spleen, kidneys, intestines, and stomach; outside there were sinews and bones, limbs and joints, skin and hair, teeth and hair of the head—all artificial, yet complete in every detail. When they were put back together, it was again as it had first appeared. The king tried removing its heart, and its mouth could not speak; removing its liver, and its eyes could not see; removing its kidneys, and its feet could not walk. King Mu then was delighted and sighed: “Can human skill really equal the work of the Maker and Transformer?” He ordered it loaded onto a following carriage and taken back with him. Now Ban Shu's scaling ladder and Mo Di's flying kite were considered by their makers the height of ability. When their disciples Dongmen Jia and Qin Guli heard of Yanshi's skill and told the two masters, the two did not dare speak of their craft for the rest of their lives, and kept to their compasses and squares.
Gan Ying was a great archer of ancient times; when he drew his bow, beasts lay down and birds dropped from the sky. His disciple, named Fei Wei, learned archery from Gan Ying and surpassed his teacher in skill. Ji Chang in turn learned archery from Fei Wei. Fei Wei said: “First learn not to blink, and then we can talk about archery.” Ji Chang went home and lay on his back under his wife's loom, keeping his eyes on the treadle as it moved. After two years, even if the point of an awl came right at his eye, he did not blink. He told Fei Wei, and Fei Wei said: “Not yet. You must learn to see, and then you will be ready. When you can see the small as large and the faint as plain, then tell me.” Chang hung a louse from his window by a yak hair and gazed at it facing south. Within ten days it was gradually growing larger; after three years it was as big as a cartwheel. When he looked at other things, they all seemed like hills and mountains. Then he took a bow of Yan horn and an arrow of northern Peng bamboo and shot at it, piercing the heart of the louse without breaking the hair it hung from. He told Fei Wei, and Fei Wei leapt high, beat his chest, and said: “You have got it!” When Ji Chang had mastered all of Fei Wei's art, he reckoned that there was only one man in the world who could match him, and so he plotted to kill Fei Wei. They met in the countryside, and the two shot at each other. Their arrowheads met in midair and fell to the ground without raising any dust. Fei Wei's arrows ran out first, while Ji Chang had one arrow left. He shot it, and Fei Wei parried it with the tip of a thorn, without the slightest miss. Thereupon the two wept and threw down their bows, bowed to each other on the road, and asked to become father and son. They cut their arms and swore an oath never to teach their art to anyone else.
Zaofu's teacher was called Taidou. When Zaofu first began to learn charioteering from him, he conducted himself with great humility, but for three years Taidou taught him nothing. Zaofu conducted himself with even greater care, and then Taidou told him: “An ancient poem says: ‘The son of a good bowmaker must first learn to make baskets; the son of a good smith must first learn to make fur coats.’ First watch how I move my feet. When your steps are like mine, then you can hold the six reins and drive six horses.” Zaofu said: “I will do as you command.” Taidou then set up wooden posts as a path, each just wide enough for a foot, spaced by paces, and walked along them, running back and forth without slipping or missing a step. Zaofu learned it and mastered the skill in three days. Taidou sighed: “How quick you are! You grasped it so fast! All charioteering is like this. Just now, as you walked, you grasped it with your feet and your heart responded. Applied to driving, it means coordinating at the point where rein meets bit, adjusting the pace through the feel of the horses' mouths, setting the right measure within your breast, and keeping the rhythm in the grip of your hands. When you grasp it inwardly in your heart and it matches outwardly with the horses' will, you can advance and retreat as straight as a plumb line and turn and wheel as true as compass and square, taking the road to far places with strength to spare. That is truly to have mastered the art. What is grasped at the bit is answered in the reins; what is grasped in the reins is answered in the hands; what is grasped in the hands is answered in the heart. Then you do not look with your eyes or urge with the whip. Your heart is at ease and your body upright, the six reins are not tangled, and the twenty-four hooves fall without error; turning, wheeling, advancing, retreating, all are in perfect rhythm. Only then can you make it so that there is no room beyond the carriage's wheel tracks and no ground beyond the horses' hooves. You will never notice the steepness of mountains and valleys or the evenness of plains and marshes; you will see them as one. My art is exhausted; remember it well!”
Hei Luan of Wei killed Qiubing Zhang out of a private grudge. Qiubing Zhang's son Lai Dan plotted to avenge his father. Dan's spirit was very fierce, but his body was very frail; he counted his grains when he ate and could walk only with the wind behind him. Angry though he was, he could not take up arms to avenge himself. Ashamed to borrow strength from others, he vowed to kill Hei Luan with a sword in his own hand. Hei Luan was more ferocious than anyone, strong enough to resist a hundred men; his joints, bones, skin, and flesh were not those of an ordinary human. He would stretch out his neck to receive a blade and bare his chest to take an arrow; the edges and points would bend and break, and his body would show no mark. Confident in his strength, he looked on Lai Dan as a mere fledgling. Lai Dan's friend Shen Ta said: “Your hatred for Hei Luan is extreme, and Hei Luan's contempt for you is excessive. What do you plan to do?” Lai Dan wept and said: “I wish you would make a plan for me.” Shen Ta said: “I hear that the ancestor of Kong Zhou of Wei obtained the treasured swords of the emperor of Yin; with one of them a mere boy could drive back a force of three armies. Why not ask for one?” So Lai Dan went to Wei and saw Kong Zhou. He behaved with the courtesy of a servant and a groom, and asked to hand over his wife and children as hostages first before saying what he wanted. Kong Zhou said: “I have three swords; choose whichever you like. None of them can kill a person, but let me first describe them. The first is called Hanguang, Light-Enfolding. You look at it and cannot see it; you wield it and do not know it is there. What it touches it passes into without any boundary; it goes through things and they do not feel it. The second is called Chengying, Shadow-Receiving. At the meeting of dark and light just before dawn, or at the boundary of dusk and light at evening, if you face north and examine it, faintly there seems to be something there, but no one can make out its shape. When it touches something there is a faint sound, and it goes through things without their feeling pain. The third is called Xiaolian, Night-Glimmer. In broad daylight you see its shadow but not its gleam; at night you see its gleam but not its form. When it touches things, it passes through with a swish, and they close up again as it passes; one feels pain, but the blade draws no blood. These three treasures have been handed down for thirteen generations but never put to use. They are kept in their cases and have never been unsealed.” Lai Dan said: “Nevertheless, I must ask for the lowest of them.” Kong Zhou then returned his wife and children to him and fasted with him for seven days. At dusk, kneeling, he handed him the lowest sword, and Lai Dan bowed twice, received it, and went home. Lai Dan then took the sword and went after Hei Luan. At that moment Hei Luan was lying drunk under a window. Lai Dan slashed him three times from neck to waist, and Hei Luan did not notice. Lai Dan, thinking Hei Luan was dead, hurried away. At the gate he met Hei Luan's son and struck him three times, as if striking empty air. Hei Luan's son laughed and said: “Why are you so foolish as to beckon at me three times?” Lai Dan knew then that the sword could not kill anyone, and went home sighing. When Hei Luan sobered up, he raged at his wife: “You let me lie exposed while I was drunk, and now my throat hurts and my waist is stiff.” His son said: “Earlier Lai Dan came and met me at the gate and beckoned at me three times, and it has also made my body ache and my limbs stiff. He must have put a curse on us!”
King Mu of Zhou launched a great campaign against the Western Rong. The Western Rong presented him with a Kunwu sword and cloth washed in fire. The sword was one chi and eight cun long, of refined steel with a red edge; it cut jade as if it were mud. As for the fire-washed cloth, to wash it one had to throw it into the fire; the cloth took on the color of the fire, and the dirt took on the color of the cloth. When it was taken out of the fire and shaken, it was dazzling white, like snow. The crown prince thought there were no such things and that those who reported them were lying. Xiao Shu said: “How firm the crown prince is in his own beliefs, and how firm in slandering the truth!”