Chapter 132: Rhapsodies and Ten-Thousand-Word Memorials

As the saying goes, poetry expresses intent, while *fu* (rhapsody) describes the physical world.

Among poetry, lyrics, songs, and *fu*, the *fu* occupies the lowest rank; yet, within the four sections of the Song Dynasty’s imperial examinations, the *fu* and poetry held the greatest weight.

Nowadays, poetry had also become secondary, relegated to a position behind the *fu*.

Now that Zhang Yue had entered the Imperial Academy to take the imperial examinations, his immediate difficulty lay in mastering the *fu*.

Among all the *fu* he had encountered, the one that left the deepest impression on Zhang Yue was undoubtedly, "The Six Kings were finished, the Four Seas united; Mount Shu stood bare, and the Efang Palace arose."

Of course, there was also a negative textbook example, which was Liu Ji's, "Heaven and earth are forged, all things sprout, the sages emerge."

Along with Ouyang Xiu's famous line, "The scholar stabs, the examiner strikes."

A *fu* is essentially half-poetry and half-prose.

This prose refers to essays, which are unrhymed and non-parallel writings.

However, a *fu* not only rhymes, but also changes rhyme schemes throughout, sometimes employing parallel phrasing, and sometimes not.

As for poetry, there are seven-character regulated verse, five-character regulated verse, and even three-character verse, but they are generally short in length, whereas the *fu* is typically quite long.

Therefore, the *fu* is praised as possessing both the qualities of poetry and prose.

Another characteristic of the *fu* is its lavish accumulation of colorful diction and literary embellishment, describing objects to articulate aspirations.

Take Sima Xiangru's *Rhapsody on the Upper Forest Park* as an example.

... The torrents press tight and splash, racing horizontally and turning back in adverse currents, swirling, leaping, and rushing with a mighty, surging, and overflowing force. The vaulting arches of the cloudy rafters curve and entwine in complex convolutions. Surpassing the waves, they rush toward the shallows, plunging noisily down the rapids, beating against the rocks and colliding with the embankments...

The entire *Rhapsody on the Upper Forest Park* was filled with such preparatory and descriptive passages.

Many Han dynasty *fu* were written in this manner. In reality, they rarely depicted actual landscapes; instead, Sima Xiangru wove landscapes conjured purely from his imagination into the scenery of the Upper Forest Park, bestowing upon the reader a sense of grandeur and loftiness.

This practice had not merely persisted for a generation or two; the *fu* of the Tang Dynasty had already assumed this form. When Han Yu initiated the "Classical Prose Movement," it was precisely because he felt that such *fu* were too illusory and false—to put it bluntly, pure "skill-flexing" by literati devoid of any substantial content.

They were considered to be "so exaggerated in their false images that they strayed far from reality, and so excessive in their extravagant diction that they contradicted actual facts."

By the Song Dynasty, this malady had returned. However, in the second year of Jiayou, with Ouyang Xiu serving as the chief examiner, the "Classical Prose Movement" was once again promoted; if anyone dared to write in the old manner, they would face Ouyang Xiu's "scholar stabs, examiner strikes."

The fate that befell Liu Ji, the foremost scholar of the Imperial Academy, was a clear example of this.

To learn the *fu*, one must first read and memorize rhyme dictionaries, and secondly, maintain a vast vocabulary.

If one felt confident in their command of classical prose vocabulary, they could attempt the reading comprehension of Sima Xiangru's *Rhapsody on the Master of Ruin* and *Rhapsody on the Upper Forest Park*.

Back then, when Emperor Wu of Han read Sima Xiangru's *Rhapsody on the Master of Ruin*, he sighed deeply and said, "If only I could have lived in the same era as this man!"

As it turned out, a eunuch from Shu standing nearby proudly replied, "This was written by my fellow townsman, Sima Xiangru."

After Emperor Wu met Sima Xiangru, the latter remarked that the *Rhapsody on the Master of Ruin* merely described the hunting excursions of feudal lords, and volunteered to write another piece for the Emperor concerning the hunting excursions of the Son of Heaven—namely, the *Rhapsody on the Upper Forest Park*.

Although both the *Rhapsody on the Master of Ruin* and the *Rhapsody on the Upper Forest Park* dealt with the subject of imperial hunting grounds, the two compositions shared virtually not a single identical phrase, which gave one a glimpse of the staggering breadth of Sima Xiangru's vocabulary.

Presently, Ouyang Xiu advocated the Classical Prose Movement, constantly attempting to replace the regulated *fu* of the examination halls with prose-style *fu*, yet he had never been entirely successful.

Even Ouyang Xiu himself, when writing his *Rhapsody on the Sound of Autumn*, had to balance both parallel and prose styles.

Initially, Zhang Yue was also a supporter of Ouyang Xiu's Classical Prose Movement.

However, he finally understood why the ancients used rhyme in poetry, lyrics, songs, and *fu*.

Rhyme was not employed merely for rhetorical purposes, but to facilitate memorization. The numerous poems in the *Classic of Poetry* were all preserved through oral transmission and singing before finally being recorded on paper.

No matter how wonderful a poem might be, if it was difficult to memorize, it lacked the conditions for survival.

After all, ancient times lacked the convenience of casually pulling out a search engine to flip through books; hence, committing things to memory through catchy, rhyming poetic forms was naturally the best approach.

In this way, even many years later, upon suddenly encountering a scene that stirred one's emotions, one could recite or sing a poem or song memorized in childhood.

Having understood this, Zhang Yue felt much less aversion toward the *fu*.

However, compared to the study of the classics, learning the *fu* truly depended on innate talent.

Even if the "Sage of Fu" Sima Xiangru had never met Emperor Wu of Han, he would still have been the Sage of Fu.

Zhang Yue now began to learn the *fu*. Fortunately, within the Imperial Academy, various residential halls engaged in academic debates around the hearth pavilions every day, and erudite scholars served as lecturers, providing Zhang Yue with avenues for study. This was unlike his past days in Wuxi, where finding a book was itself a challenge.

The system of the Imperial Academy was "lecture in the hall, study in the hall-dormitory."

The Chonghua Hall held lectures once every ten days, taught personally by the Erudite of the Directorate of Education, and regular examinations were also conducted in the Chonghua Hall.

As for daily studies, they took place within the residential quarters.

These residential quarters differed somewhat from school dormitories; they felt rather like a combination of seminar rooms, study rooms, and dormitories.

Every day, Zhang Yue was required to come to the hearth pavilion to participate in the gatherings.

This hearth pavilion was set up within each residential hall; because stoves could be lit there during the winter, it was named the hearth pavilion.

The hearth pavilion served as the study and seminar room for the quarters. In addition to lighting fires in the winter, the full-length windows on both the eastern and western walls were thrown open when summer arrived.

Walking into the hearth pavilion from the southern entrance, one would see the names of those from the residential hall who had passed the imperial examinations hanging beside the full-length windows on the eastern and western walls, with their examination tier, ranking, ancestral origin, and other details inscribed below in smaller characters.

The northern side was a solid wall upon which three wooden plaques were hung.

The central plaque was the most crucial of all, known as the "Guangzhai" (Illuminating the Quarters) Plaque.

This was a custom preserved since the Tang Dynasty: whenever an imperial scholar originating from a particular residential hall returned to the Imperial Academy to pay his respects after attaining official rank, he was required to perform the rite of illuminating the quarters at his former school.

Aside from performing the ceremony, he was also required to contribute a sum of money to the residential hall, known as "illuminating funds." If he attained the rank of chief councilor, top imperial laureate, or regional military and fiscal commissioner, he was required to present an additional batch of precious gifts to the hall, which would then be inscribed upon the Guangzhai Plaque.

As for the two plaques flanking the central one, the left plaque recorded the names, native places, and honorific styles (honors obtained within the Imperial Academy) of the students of that hall. After completing the rite of "entering the residential hall," Zhang Yue's name had already been inscribed upon this plaque, officially making him a member of the Yangzheng Quarters.

The right plaque inscribed the academy regulations and the Yangzheng Quarters regulations, accompanied by a seating chart of the hearth pavilion (a diagram of which could be found in the colored-egg chapter at the end of the text).

In the exact center of the pavilion stood a hearth stove, and the seats were arranged in a circle around it, numbering around twenty-four in total.

While the full capacity of a residential hall was thirty students, Zhang Yue could not quite understand why there were only twenty-four seats.

Still, compared to the monotonous lifestyle of shuttling solely between the classroom and the dormitory in the past, coming to the hearth pavilion daily for gatherings or private study was rather pleasant.

Zhang Yue usually studied the *fu* in the hearth pavilion. When Liu Ji, the head of the residential hall, was present, Zhang Yue would also consult him on how to write essays.

Within a residential hall of the Imperial Academy, the hall monitor enforced the academy and residential rules, while the hall chief oversaw general affairs. Although the hall chief had no duty to supervise studies or answer questions, Liu Ji was the "foremost scholar of the Imperial Academy." Perhaps because his fame was too great and he had made himself a target by standing out, he had been failed by Ouyang Xiu; yet, his talent was undeniably beyond question.

When Zhang Yue sought him out for guidance, Liu Ji remarked, "If you learn my writing style and are struck down by the examiners another day, do not blame me."

Zhang Yue merely smiled.

Perhaps considering that Zhang Yue was a kinsman of Zhang Heng and Zhang Dun, or perhaps remembering the time Zhang Yue had helped him out of a tight spot with a young woman, Liu Ji gave Zhang Yue his wholehearted guidance in learning the *fu*.

Zhang Yue asked him whether Sima Xiangru's *Rhapsody on the Upper Forest Park* and *Rhapsody on the Master of Ruin* should no longer be studied, and whether they should instead turn to the essays of Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan, making their writing style plain and fluent in order to cope with the examinations.

Hearing this, Liu Ji stared at Zhang Yue for a long while before saying, "Study whatever style of writing you love. Can you succeed by blindly second-guessing the examiners' preferences?"

Zhang Yue was stunned for a moment. Liu Ji tapped his own chest and said, "Essays of the ages have their own inherent principle; you should consult this place, and nowhere else. Even if I am branded with the 'red silk belt,' I have no fear!"

Zhang Yue could not help feeling a sense of admiration.

The "red silk belt" referred to the red silk sash around the waist; scholars from Shu and Chengdu mostly loved to wrap a red silk belt around their waists.

When Liu Ji took the imperial examinations the previous year, he had been subjected to the "red silk belt."

Ouyang Xiu had not only humiliated him with the phrase, "The scholar stabs, the examiner strikes," but had also slashed through Liu Ji's essay from beginning to end with vermilion ink strokes, euphemistically calling it the "red silk belt."

After inflicting such humiliation, Ouyang Xiu wrote the three large characters "Gross Blunder" to criticize it, telling those around him that this must be Liu Ji's essay, and posted it in the tribute examination hall for all the examiners to admire. When the names were unsealed after the examination, everyone saw that it indeed belonged to Liu Ji.

If an ordinary person had suffered such humiliation, they would either have given up taking the exams or altered their literary style. But for Liu Ji to declare that he had no fear of it truly made Zhang Yue look at him with newfound respect.

Then, Liu Ji said with a solemn expression, "Sima Xiangru wrote the *Rhapsody on the Master of Ruin* during the reign of Emperor Jing of Han, but Emperor Jing did not care for rhapsodies, so Sima Xiangru remained depressed and unfulfilled. However, when the rhapsody-loving Emperor Wu of Han ascended the throne, Sima Xiangru seized the moment and rose to prominence. If Sima Xiangru had hastily altered his principles early on, could he have ever written a work like the *Rhapsody on the Upper Forest Park* later on? Since antiquity, we scholars must maintain our convictions; do not let your writing search for people—make people search for your writing!"

Doubtful, Zhang Yue asked, "If Scholar Ouyang remains the chief examiner next year, will the hall chief still submit your compositions in such a literary style without changing them?"

Liu Ji laughed heartily and said, "Precisely so."

Zhang Yue nodded inwardly; this truly was the character of a great man.

What Liu Ji pointed out made a certain degree of sense: why should one blindly study whatever literary style happened to be fashionable at the moment?

It was much like later generations constantly debating where the next economic windfall would be. One prominent figure famously said, "Even a pig can fly if it stands in the path of a great wind," yet another prominent figure countered, "Never mind where the wind is; just do your own work well, and one day the wind will blow upon you. Constantly chasing after the wind will only cause you to lose yourself."

It seemed Liu Ji was such a towering figure; he had seen through everything long ago, which was why he could remain steadfast and unshakeable.

Yet, after a few days, Zhang Yue learned that Liu Ji had changed his name to Liu Hui, and his style name from "Zidao" to "Zhidao." Not only that, but he had even altered his literary style—abandoning his previous diction and writing prose even more "classical" than the "classical prose" of Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan.

Upon learning this, Zhang Yue could not help cursing silently: *What utter nonsense! This man's words are as worthless as flatulence, wasting so much of my time.*

In the end, Zhang Yue had no choice but to pick up the writings of Han Yu, Liu Zongyuan, and Ouyang Xiu once again, reading them diligently to learn their literary style.

While vocabulary and prosody had to be memorized, essays were a different matter. Essay writing relied primarily on innate talent—much like composition tests in college entrance exams, where most people could practice for a lifetime and never score full marks.

Yet, was acquired effort useful? The answer was yes.

There was a saying: "Master Su's prose, eat mutton; Su's prose raw, eat vegetable soup." This meant that if one thoroughly memorized the writings of the Three Sus, they could afford to eat mutton (become an official); if they failed to memorize them, they could only drink vegetable soup.

However, reading the writings of the Three Sus as examination model essays was something that only happened after the Jianyan era; at present, their focus was on pondering the works of Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan.

In the current dynasty, one only needed to study Ouyang Xiu.

Aside from poetry, *fu*, and essays, the topic most frequently discussed by the imperial students in the hearth pavilion was affairs of state.

Just as Xiang Qi had previously remarked, "With hair uncropped, they are monks in the monastery; though lacking official rank, they act as the Censorate." The life of the imperial students was indeed impoverished, yet they were relentless in their critiques of court politics.

Some argued that it was precisely because the imperial students lived such hard lives that they relentlessly criticized court politics, which also contained a grain of truth.

Despite the benevolent favor of the reigning Emperor, because the Imperial Academy—from Sun Fu and Shi Jie in earlier days down to Hu Yuan and Li Gou who supported Fan Zhongyan's reforms—had always been marginalized and even regarded by some as a den of the "faction of gentlemen," the funds allocated by the court to the Imperial Academy were repeatedly delayed or subjected to various intentional and unintentional obstructions.

The imperial students inevitably harbored a bellyful of resentment.

It was now July, a time of searing summer heat, and most of the imperial students were preparing for the Directorate of Education's provincial examinations.

Sitting in the hearth pavilion, Zhang Yue held a cattail leaf fan in one hand while reading Han Yu's essays. Suddenly, he heard a fellow student say, "I have come across a fine essay; let us share and appreciate it together."

The others asked, "Whose essay is it?"

Zhang Yue yawned. He had seen too many essays touted by imperial students, and operated under the preconception that aside from Ouyang Xiu, there were few writers whose works were worth referencing for himself.

Therefore, he found it far more invigorating to read the essays of Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan.

Then he heard the other student say, "It is the ten-thousand-word memorial presented to the Emperor by Wang Jiefu, the Surveillance Commissioner of Jiangdong, when he returned to the capital to report on his duties."

Upon hearing the name Wang Jiefu, Zhang Yue instantly choked off his half-completed yawn and thought to himself: *It's Wang Anshi's essay? Well then, I am no longer sleepy.*

"This essay overflows with the ambition to reform the age and transform vulgar customs. Reading it makes one want to slap the table in sheer amazement. Over the past few days, all the high ministers in the capital have been discussing this piece."

Hearing this, one person laughed and said, "Wang Jiefu's writing is good enough, but I hear the man himself is utterly impractical. When he was serving as Drafting Official of the Secretariat, the Emperor invited a group of ministers to fish in the imperial gardens. While the other ministers fished with serene composure, Wang Jiefu actually went ahead and ate all the fish bait! The incident caused a huge joke."

Upon hearing this, everyone burst into laughter, while a few others expressed doubt: "That must be hearsay, surely? How could anyone mistake fish bait for food, let alone a dignified state minister? Absurd!"

Another person said, "It is not absurd at all. I have heard of this matter as well. The very next day, the Emperor discussed it with several chancellors, remarking that if someone accidentally ate a single piece of fish bait, that would be one thing, but to consume an entire dish of it—how could anyone be so devoid of common sense? The man must be a fraud!"

"This is absolutely true. My uncle was on duty nearby and heard it with his own ears."

Meanwhile, several others found excuses for Wang Anshi.

One person argued that Wang Anshi was prime ministerial material, while another countered that if such a man were made prime minister, the realm would surely fall into distress.

While they were in the midst of their heated debate, Zhang Yue walked up to the speaker, bowed with cupped hands, and said, "May I borrow this essay to read?"

The imperial students were all busy arguing, and no one was reading the essay at the moment.

Thus, Zhang Yue eagerly took the essay and began reading it immediately. This piece was later praised by Liang Qichao as "the greatest piece of prose since the Qin and Han Dynasties."

Zhang Yue wanted to see just how good it truly was!

Reading word by word, Zhang Yue muttered, "Your foolish and unworthy subject, favored with grace, was tasked with overseeing a circuit. Now, favored once again with grace, I am summoned back to the imperial court to take up new responsibilities, and must report on my official mission to Your Majesty..."

While Zhang Yue was reading, his fellow students had split into two factions and were arguing fiercely once more.

Generally speaking, the political views of the imperial students leaned toward supporting the New Policies initiated by Fan Zhongyan in the past.

Later generations often said that nearly half of the successful imperial examination candidates were disciples of Hu Yuan, and that Wang Anshi employed none other than Hu Yuan's disciples when carrying out his reforms—claims that were not without foundation.

Disputes over political views were the most tedious of all. Zhang Yue cared little for such arguments; his priority was to read a fine essay first, and memorize it after falling asleep.

Just as Zhang Yue finished reading and raised his head, he caught sight of someone staring directly at him.

The person was none other than Wu Anchizhi.