Chapter Seven: A Father's Greedy Corruption Leaves No Legacy for His Sons; Unworthy Heirs Prove That the Unrighteous Cannot Endure

Greed and lust are the law he set — already the chill is in the air;

what shelter did he build for his fledglings? Scant moral guidance he gave.

Dog-like they scramble after petty fame; fly-like they fawn and creep along the wall.

From time out of mind, ill-gotten gains must at last be paid back;

since ancient days, those drowned in debauchery must surely come to ruin.

They say: "Model yourself on the worthy" — yet that only earns a laugh.

I envy instead those Five Osmanthuses, fragrant and flourishing day by day.

The Zuo Commentary says: "He who truly loves his son teaches him righteous ways and does not draw him into evil." The education of one's children is the foremost duty in life, for whether one's descendants prove worthy or unworthy bears not only on the happiness and sorrow of one's own lifetime but on the honour and disgrace of one's ancestors. The stakes could not be higher. Surely one cannot neglect one's mind in the matter of instruction and guidance?

A common saying runs: "Love lives in the heart; severity wears the face." Setting aside tigers and wolves, what creature lacks the bond of parent and child? But to love indulgently — feeding them well, clothing them richly, making them plump and rosy-cheeked, dressing them in brocade and silk, a pleasing picture — is only to produce walking cadavers. If they are dull-witted, they invite the contempt and ridicule of others and are a stain on their ancestors. If they are violent and fierce, they court disaster through arrogance. If they are wild and dissolute, they squander the family fortune. The blame lies entirely with parents who have neither foresight nor the capacity to educate their children. With the dull-witted, one must enlighten them and help them understand; with the timid and weak, one must rouse them and help them be decisive; with the violent and fierce, one must restrain and moderate them, teaching them patience; with the wild and dissolute, one must regulate and discipline them, teaching them circumspection. This is what is meant by working with each person's natural endowment and prescribing the medicine according to the disease. Even if one cannot transform the mediocre into the wise, one may at least elevate the inferior to the middling. As to the methods of education, the ancients had the practice of prenatal education — a sound idea, though difficult to carry out. What remains feasible is the principle that where there is a stern father, there tend to be virtuous sons, and the responsibility falls on the father.

Where there is a strict patriarch in the house, worthy sons tend to thrive;

willing to build and to lay the foundations, honour passes down through the generations.

A father educating his son may do so by example — making of himself a model for the son to observe. When he serves his own parents with filial devotion, tending to their comforts and fulfilling their wishes, holding nothing back in effort; when he treats his brothers with fraternal warmth, sharing their difficulties and dangers with wholehearted love and respect; when he lives with his wife in harmony, treating her as an honored guest, with never a sharp word; when he keeps faith with his friends, honing and polishing one another's virtue, loyal to old commitments never forgotten; when he serves the state as minister without thought for his own safety, caring nothing for self and family; when he conducts himself with integrity, yet without arrogance; when he bears himself with humility and generosity, yet without obsequiousness; when at home he is frugal, yet not squalidly miserly; when at home he is properly furnished, yet not extravagantly so; when he possesses great wisdom yet appears simple, great skill yet appears clumsy — neither slighted by the world nor resented by it — if his children are willing to emulate their worthy parent, they cannot go far wrong. Then there is instruction through words: guiding the children with speech and enlightening them. What is unclear in principle, he explains for them; what they do not understand of worldly affairs, he points out to them. When there are fine acts and fine persons, he urges them to follow the example; when there are harmful acts and harmful persons, he bids them take warning. He repeats himself again and again, diligent and encouraging without wearying of it.

Let your person be a model and a type; spare no effort in exhortation and guidance.

The turning from fool to sage happens in an interval — as a plank of wood is made straight by the inkline.

But if a man refuses to set a good example by his own conduct and his own words — how many among his sons and younger brothers will be able to correct their faults and rise to meet their obligations without any instruction at all? Such men can look forward only to the destruction of their family name.

In the present dynasty there lived in the Central Plains a certain official surnamed Lü. By nature he was extremely deferential toward those above him and arrogant toward those below. He did not scruple to ask others for money, and he was willing to spend a little on cultivating the right connections. Through two sentences of book-learning he had obtained the rank of provincial graduate. Once he had his degree, he threw his books behind him and gave himself over to wine and women. When others had desirable land, he schemed by every possible means to take it for himself. When others had desirable wives or concubines, he devoted himself to getting them into his hands. Common people feared him as they feared a serpent; even the authorities feared him like a scorpion. Past the age of forty, seeing that he could not advance through the examinations, he turned to purchasing office. Spending another thousand taels, he obtained the post of magistrate of Yizhen. Upon arriving in office, he met local gentry, provincial graduates, licensed students, and examination candidates with a face full of smiles. Gifts he returned in kind. Tax collection included surcharges precisely one and a half times the base rate. In lawsuits, plaintiffs, defendants, and witnesses alike were each assessed one to three taels. Goods purchased were paid for at three or four tenths of the tael per tael, and he expected a year's credit besides. Tax revenues disbursed were docked one or two taels per ten, and he required advance payment for the following year as well. Criminals caught were his stock-in-trade: one extracted today, another tomorrow, all released on payment. Inquiries into local bullies were his instrument of extortion: he seized one here and another there, releasing them once they had surrendered their property. He flattered the local gentry, fulfilled their requests, collected their debts for them — no matter what suffering this caused the common people. He pacified the licensed students by requiring them to write eulogies to his administration and leave him glowing accounts before his capital inspection, while the entire cost was wrung from the blood of the populace. In dealing with clerical staff, only those who presented substantial gifts received appointments or favorable rulings; everyone was squeezed. With his own office runners, those who paid their share received the best assignments; those who informed on others received the most lucrative duties — everyone had his use. To superiors who were corrupt he gave money; with those who were not, he worked through personal connections. His official evaluations consistently dressed defects as virtues; when inspections could be muddled through, they were; when they could not, he worked furiously to manipulate them. At every inspection — always shuffling the papers, always finding a replacement.

All marveled that heaven had no eyes; all were appalled that the earth had no skin.

Wolfish greed coupled with tiger-like ferocity — the whole county suffered calamity.

As for the examinations of licensed students — that most essential official duty — the top tier went to the sons of gentry families; the lowest tier went to his own financial backers. Those who paid tuition and gave festival gifts were placed in a middle tier. The poor but talented candidates were all left out. For a child of the common people to head the list and qualify for prefectural review, three hundred taels was required. Those within the top thirty who might hope to be selected at the prefecture were charged thirty taels. Applications for advancement to the licensed ranks and to the examination rolls all cost money. The gentry spoke one thing to his face and another behind his back; the resentment of the scholars and the people ran deep. Eight runners and the local garrison — to behave in office this way is to have not a single day's peace. Yet he was too well-connected to be unseated; relying on his impenetrable black-hearted shamelessness and his unbreakable thick-faced indifference to blows and curses, he spent three-tenths of his gains on cultivating the right people and pocketed the remaining seven. He kept his superiors' rituals and his Beijing connections in good repair. He thus muddled through five years of service, even managing within the Censorate to find someone who accepted a thousand taels as backing. He then spent several hundred more in the Board of Personnel, secured the right connection, and obtained a post in that Ministry.

Gold in abundance brings high reputation; wealth in the ascendant leads to promotion.

Finding the right doors, entering the right halls — it is all a matter of knowing how to push.

After cooling his heels at the Board for some time, he spent his connections to obtain an assignment to collect river transit duties at Jiujiang. The tollgate already had numerous brokers and hangers-on he had retained, plus the usual unofficial guards and inspectors — more than enough. He further dispatched his own men to scout the great vessels on the Yangtze; heavily laden ships were ordered to unload for inspection, subjected to harassment and required to pay double duties. If contraband was discovered, the penalty was tenfold — and they must surrender the goods outright, which was still not enough to satisfy him. The great merchants were all left crying injustice; the small traders were all left nursing grievances.

He sought profit even in trifles, begrudging no effort in his searches.

Who pitied the traveling merchants, toiling in peril through the waves?

The Yangtze carries great wind and water. He would hold up hundreds of large vessels at the toll station, blocking them at the gateway. Whenever a storm arose, the boats collided with one another. One day as he was detaining a passenger vessel, a sudden gale overwhelmed anchors and cables; the boats crashed against one another and several were smashed to pieces. More than several hundred people drowned — all because of his greed and extortionate practices. As for the merchants, not only could they make no profit, they could not even preserve their lives — yet this weighed not at all on his conscience. People said: if the punishment does not fall on him, it will fall on his children. After one year in the post, he had accumulated more than one hundred thousand taels of silver. Relying on his talent for flattery and his willingness to spend money, he expected after another two years to advance to the position of prefect — which would have meant the pinnacle. But what Heaven sanctions cannot easily be obscured. When the time came to leave his post, he did manage to find a few wandering idlers among the populace to weep and beg him not to go. Those who had suffered at his hands for nothing rightly loathed him as an enemy. When the time came, he also managed to find several crooked old examination candidates to erect a stele and establish a shrine in his honor. Those of genuine talent who had been wronged rightly hated him to the bone. The gentry who had put in favors on his behalf gave him somewhat of a pass — but once business was done and he was gone, they ceased to flatter him and refused to whitewash his conduct.

What is patched together will in time come apart; no foul trace goes long undetected.

Substance and reputation tend to match each other — the corrupt official's praises cannot last.

So the scholars and gentry made his misdeeds into a laughing matter and drew on them for entertainment; the common people turned his crimes into ditties and passed them from mouth to mouth, until inevitably word reached the right ears. At the next major civil assessment, he spent eight or nine days sending gifts to the regional inspectors, surveillance commissioners, circuit intendants, and the prefectural criminal warden, asking them to shield him. Only the county magistrate of the subordinate district harbored a grievance: Lü had taken two years' advance on his staff wages and collected several advance tax deadlines; had seized already-collected but unremitted revenues for years past; had swept back all items reserved for legitimate use; had taken the treasury funds that should have been remitted and substituted slips of paper that even this couldn't cover. Lü had in effect made this man work half a year for nothing and then some — hence the grudge. This man accepted Lü's gifts and wrote back promising to support him. But he quietly informed on Lü's chief clerks from time to time, produced evidence of past corrupt dealings, and at the major assessment submitted an honest report of the facts. A man who is out of office has diminished influence with those in power. Lü had used beatings, thumbscrews, imprisonment, and extortion — all were part of his record. Now it took only the single charge of corruption — a concession to those above him who protected him. As per standard procedure at the major assessment, he received the verdict: dismissed and returned to civilian status.

His household goods piled as high as a mountain; the people's resentment piled as high as a mountain.

One dismissal brings relief to all under heaven — yet there are those who regret he was not put to death.

When the verdict came through, he had just managed to arrange another favorable post. He could say "without me before, there'd be no opening now" — but such words are spoken, not acted on. He had no choice but to pack up and go home. What galled him was that he could no longer wear the gauze cap of office, no longer put on the round-collared robe of rank, no longer be addressed as a capital official or received by his superiors or invited to the township drinking ceremony. He could only stew at home. In the inner quarters he had numerous concubines, who had given him five sons. He called them the Five Phoenixes: the eldest Phoenix Beak, the second Phoenix Wing, the third Phoenix Claw, the fourth Phoenix Plume, and the fifth Phoenix Down. He consoled himself: "I have these five sons. Some may end up as wastrels, others may become officials. I'll now divide two or three thousand taels among each of them and have each one build a fine house with front garden and rear pond. I, the old man, will bring along singers and companions and make the rounds every five days, receiving their hospitality in turn. I can enjoy my remaining years in perfect comfort — a regular Lu Jia." Well-meaning friends said: "You have every right to be content. But these five young masters should really be placed with a good teacher and capable friends to study diligently and aim for the highest examinations." His concubines also urged the same.

Though the father sits in crimson and purple on the hall,

the sons still wear the plain cloth of commoners at his knee.

How much better to burn a calling card in earnest,

and send the great roc soaring ten thousand li away!

He threw back his head and laughed loudly: "Study books? Study books? As long as you have silver, books are useless. Three hundred taels buys a licensed student; four hundred, a licensed commoner through the Imperial Academy; three thousand, a provincial graduate; ten thousand, a metropolitan graduate. Is there an examiner today who doesn't sell licensed degrees? Who doesn't listen to personal connections? An Imperial Academy student is a direct cash transaction. At the provincial examination, the chief examiner sells places; the assistant examiners, who are circuit inspectors if serving inside the examination hall, charge five hundred taels per connection. The regional commissioner who fixes the inner and outer examination staff charges a thousand taels if he has any shame at all. Selling provincial degrees is now accepted as business as usual. Once word leaks outside and censors begin reshuffling the examining officials, they simply reswap among themselves — no one refuses to sell, as long as the money is there. Once you have three thousand in hand, then ten thousand, you have your degree. You grit your teeth and put on a soft-kneed show of fawning and kneeling, and you put on a hard-faced show of beating and bullying — and the money comes in. Loosen your grip a little toward the top, share a portion with your superiors, and naturally they leave you alone. Loosen your grip a little toward the bottom, leave something for the underlings, and naturally they will bring it to you."

Throw open the road to fortune, leap into the arena of fame —

in the world as it is, only Master Cash holds sway.

"When the time comes, the return is ten times the investment. Bring the silver home, buy land and estates, keep concubines, and enjoy half a lifetime of pleasure — that is a worthy son. Study books? If you rely on two sentences of book-learning and a writing brush, I guarantee you'll die of old age with white hair and nothing to show. Look at the record — men of talent end up in desperate poverty; upright officials always fail to leave descendants. Why study books? Why be a clean official?"

At home he still kept up the appearance of learning — one teacher for the classics, one for the local curriculum. The classics teacher sat in the schoolroom; the students were at the brothels and gaming houses. The local teacher sat in the schoolroom; the students were in their nannies' rooms. The elder sons were old enough that while he himself was a capital official, half their money and half his connections got them into the licensed student ranks. At the provincial examination, the chief examiner still had standards and dared not provoke him; the unplaced scholars were excluded. At the general intake, each son spent eighty taels to approach an assistant examiner to buy essay topics and key phrases. Knowing the sons couldn't manage it themselves, Lü sought model essays, had a teacher revise them, and had the sons memorize them — hoping one might strike the target by luck. The eldest son, shrewd enough, knew he couldn't remember even what he'd been given and couldn't hope to hit the target. He paid six or seven taels himself, went on his own to the examination supply depot, and was escorted through the first gate by an inside contact. Once in, he slept soundly for a full day and two and a half nights. Gruel and rice-soup were provided, along with essay question sheets, steamed buns, and pastries. Guards accompanied him; he made it through all three sessions with name and person intact. The second son, less clever, was let through the third gate, but his number fell wrong. He had memorized the essay and was waiting for his assigned topic — only to find it didn't match. He said the topic was wrong and the essay was right, and wrote out two pieces anyway. Later he forgot what he'd memorized and had nothing to write; he had to stop, and produced only blank wall-posting before the results. The assistant examiner inside ended up with a headache searching for the paper, even going to other examiners' rooms without success. After the session, the buyer blamed him for non-delivery of the promised connection; the seller said he'd wasted the topic assignment. One said no matching ink-and-red copy could be found; one said it was obviously posted, so how could they say it went wrong? They argued back and forth and came to a partial settlement — but four or five thousand taels had been spent for nothing.

Scrape and scrape to gather the fat of the land;

squander it wildly in pursuit of a degree's name.

It came from nowhere in the first place —

it departs just as cleverly as it arrived.

In the end the eldest son was shrewd enough to say: "Father originally told me not to study. He said three thousand for a provincial degree, ten thousand for a metropolitan. Now that these are beyond us, let's just take the simplest route — seventeen hundred taels for a Board Secretary." Old Lü said: "That's a bad investment. Better to spend a little more on the provincial degree; then later you can maneuver into county magistrate or assistant prefect, and the returns are much larger." The eldest said: "That won't work. We'd have to wait until the next examination cycle and sit through another annual review. You'd be spending money, I'd be working hard. If you say the Board Secretary costs too much — then four hundred taels for a nominated scholar will get you an administrative post. Those with money go for Board Secretary because it has more prestige. If you won't agree, and insist on buying the provincial degree, then once you've bought it, I simply won't go in to sit the examination — and you'll lose the silver." Unable to argue, Lü relented, and the eldest was enrolled as a Board Secretary. This at least changed his appearance and let him move among the official gentry. The second son went on trying for the provincial examination. Fearing he couldn't manage it, they spent two hundred taels bribing the roll-registration clerk to link their examination papers together in a set of seven. One hundred taels per essay, more money paid after passing. They also paid a copyist to transcribe the papers with special care, and spent more to have the papers assigned to an assistant examiner's room where connections had been arranged. Unfortunately they ran into a fraudster who turned up with a fake "guaranteed connection" and pocketed several dozen taels. The examination ended with no result; they had already burned through a thousand taels. Lü was furious and wrote this son off as useless. The son, happy enough to be done with it, turned out to be clumsy with books but sharp with accounts, and went off to do money-lending and business on his own.

Noble rank has its own bones;

a farming man can be his own master.

What is the point of this wretched quill?

It only adds to the sorrow of falling low.

Happily, the third son — born of a favorite concubine — had been genuinely clever and handsome as a child. His mother pressed hard for him to study, lavishly supplied his teacher, and had him write compositions. By the age of fourteen or fifteen he had produced passable writing; the teacher loudly proclaimed him a rare and prodigious talent. He composed some essays and scraped together a few coins, then entered the licensed student ranks early. This success made him arrogant and conceited: he dismissed recently published essays as unworthy, dismissed established scholars as pedantic and stale. At the annual and quarterly examinations, confident of his genius, he naturally placed in the top tier — no need for effort. Father and mother breathed easy; secretly they lobbied on his behalf. When he placed high, they took it as their own doing and boasted all the more. He ceased to follow his teacher and took to forming literary societies instead. The endemic vice of these societies is mutual flattery and back-scratching. The shrewder members openly mocked his arrogance — yet lavished encouragement on him. He took it seriously, had a few high-sounding essays of his printed as calling cards, paid for eminent old scholars and great literary names to write prefaces for them. Day after day he went about in scholar's cap and jade ornaments, riding a fine sedan chair with a canopy overhead, followed by servants carrying felt-wrapped packages — calling on literary men, sending gifts, hosting banquets. His friendships with the famous were all one-sided extravagance, forced warmth.

Friendship requires gold; when the gold runs out, the reputation begins.

Yet still one fears those shallow, frivolous types who use me merely for amusement.

At home they saw his many connections and believed his grand self-promotion, taking him for a man of genuine talent. When he sometimes failed to sustain the performance and his results fell below expectations, he blamed the examiner for blind eyes rather than reproaching himself. At home they wanted to buy him a stipend, but he said: "If I'm going to pass at all, what do I need a stipend for? With my abilities, I certainly won't end up in the drummer's field." His father did not believe him and spent a hundred taels to maneuver him into the second examination slot. He said this was no more than his due, yet privately resented his father for wasting the money.

A pose of wild conceit and nothing more within —

great words uttered without fear of anyone,

a face ten layers thick.

As the examination approached, he said: "My two elder brothers each burned several thousand taels at every sitting. I don't need you to buy me a provincial degree — just give me several thousand for spending money while I'm in the provincial capital." His father gave him a thousand taels and went with him to the capital. The official-issue formal robes were not good enough, he said; his own he didn't deign to wear. At home he found one fine Beijing-woven set and one light summer set to hold in reserve. He also brought a great deal of fine cloth, rhinoceros-and-jade accessories, cups, silver vessels, and various ornaments — gifts for the chief examiner — plus several hundred taels for incidental expenses. After the first session he told his father: "A first-place provincial degree is as good as guaranteed." He saw all three sessions through without incident, then took his companions and attendants off to find catamites and beautiful courtesans for his amusement. The night the results were announced, old Lü and a few of his companions drank through the night, doors flung open, waiting for news. The young man himself was at a courtesan's house, also drinking through the night, waiting for news. Those who knew the family's history of manipulation all came first to report. Those who hated the family used the pretext of bringing news to smash the window lattices and furniture. When the list was posted, his great name was nowhere on it.

Wealth and rank may be fated,

but talent and learning still count for something.

Your family is thoroughly mediocre and second-rate —

do you really expect to mount the golden stage?

At the courtesan's house he cursed the chief examiner at length. His father invited him to come home; he refused. He said: "I have no face to return to my hometown. Just leave me several thousand taels — I'll stay away a while to clear my head." Old Lü had no choice but to hand over the entire remaining sum. The young man stayed on, pursuing famous courtesans, frequenting gambling dens. When the silver ran out he wrote promissory notes and borrowed at crushing rates — nine-tenths on the tael, five-tenths per period — but spent every penny as soon as it came. Old Lü and his concubine discussed the matter and hurried to arrange his marriage, hoping to rein him in. But habit had become nature; he could not be reined in.

The fourth son had been born during Old Lü's years in office. Seeing how easily money flowed, he had grown accustomed to extravagance. He had never progressed in his studies; what he had learned was a certain swagger. His daily food and drink needed only to be sumptuous — he had no concern for the cost. His clothes needed only to be new — he had no concern for the price. His father, seeing that the first three sons had come to nothing, wanted him to study. He said: "My three elder brothers don't study — why should I alone study?" A teacher was especially engaged for him, at good rates, supposedly to get him reading. He simply didn't go; he made the teacher accompany him on excursions and drinking parties instead. The teacher was a man of conscience who felt uneasy about eating the household's grain for nothing. When the teacher summoned him to discuss texts and write compositions, the young man flew into a rage: "You eat my family's rice and take my family's school fees — isn't that enough? Why do you keep hounding me?" His father came to examine the coursework; the teacher could not cover for him any longer, and said only that the young master was indeed a majestic figure after the fashion of Yan Hui — given to outward appearances, without much attention to the books. When this reached the young man's ears, he cut off the teacher's meals and starved him for two days, until the teacher resigned and left.

If sweet wine is no longer provided, how long will Mu Sheng remain?

Pitiful it is — the unlearned son, silk-robed but no better than a horse or ox.

His particular obsession was architecture and furniture. Day after day he had construction underway — building reception halls, raising pavilions, opening ponds, piling rockeries. After months of work, terraces and kiosks, winding paths and secluded lanes were all in order. Then he disliked some detail, tore it down and rebuilt from the start — there was never a day of rest. Having the hall and pavilion, he needed furnishings for the hall and pavilion; having a study, furnishings for the study; having a garden, furnishings for the garden. Chairs, tables, screens — each place had its proper style, in every size and height. Lacquer gilded and lacquer black, Hunan bamboo and Dali marble, each in its chosen color. Then there were paintings and curios, bronze vases and incense tripods, potted landscapes and flowering trees — all acquired at the mercy of fraudsters and swindlers, all in the interest of fashioning the appearance of an elegant, cultured gentleman. At first old Lü had wanted the garden ponds and rockeries for his own pleasure in old age, and had come to offer advice and lend his support. But when he saw the silver being spent, he found it painful. He tried to make the boy stop; it was too late to stop. He was by nature a man who loved to eat well, and though he didn't eat alone — he liked to entertain guests. But these weren't proper guests, only a circle of cronies — he feasted them every day nevertheless. He also recruited singers and selected entertainers to form a theatrical troupe in proper theatrical costumes. Watching from the sidelines, he grew eager himself and began to think about appearing on stage. His physique was small and his face rather nondescript: too ugly for female roles, not romantic enough for young scholar roles, not imposing enough for military hero roles, not formidable enough for painted-face warrior roles — only the comic role suited him. And the comic role, as he happened, had no very demanding arias; his throat could manage. He practiced hard for five or seven days and learned one or two scenes. The Yiyang-tune melody "Zhu Yun Fei" was especially easy and pleasant to perform — he played the innkeeper of a roadside shop, with the company of companions to fill out the scene. Fortunately, this face of his needed no makeup; he could kneel and bow on cue with perfect naturalness. This became the one great performance of his life. Whenever the household staged a play, he had to perform this scene. One day, right in the middle of his performance, his father arrived unexpectedly. Seeing from a distance, the old man was enraged and strode onto the stage to rebuke him. The young man, perfectly composed, stared at the painted face in front of him and said: "What you've always said, Father — grit your teeth and put on a soft-kneed show of kneeling and fawning. Today I'm rehearsing — and I'd say all you people in office have faces more painted than mine on the dais, and softer knees than mine behind closed doors. When you're playing a scene, why take it for real?" Old Lü's face darkened and he raised his hand to strike; the young man was gone in a flash.

A delinquent wife, a degenerate son — there is no cure.

The regret lies in the past: the instruction was never given. This is now the result.

As for the fifth son — foolish and muddled from birth, aside from knowing how to scrounge for pears and dates, he was clever enough at nothing. He could read only "The Hundred Family Names," and even a single sentence took him a full day. As he grew he was as dull as a donkey, knowing nothing of the ways of the world. In company he couldn't get out a single sentence. When greeting someone he needed a servant to prompt him through the ritual. At wine parties and drinking games, all he could do was accept his forfeit cups. Yet his wife, whom he somehow came to marry, was vivacious and beautiful — able to read accounts, write, and compose poetry. Meeting this lump of immovable clay was a source of endless frustration for her. Moreover, his dull vulgarity was oppressive: whenever he opened his mouth, people wished he'd stop; whenever he moved, people took offense. In bed there wasn't a moment of pleasure. At first she had only her grievances for company. Later, seeing that this fool could be deceived and controlled, she exploited his weakness. He loved wine, so she would ply him until he was dead drunk, knowing nothing. He was also lecherous, sneaking around with the maidservants and pestering the young male servants. She deliberately put two or three maids and servants at his disposal so she could pursue her own pleasures freely. With the master of the house so dim-witted, household affairs naturally fell apart. With her own hidden affliction, she couldn't exercise real authority either. The rents and revenues of the family estates were left to the servants, and losses accumulated day by day.

That the avaricious long enjoy their gains — there is no such justice in heaven.

That without educating your sons they will still turn out virtuous — there is no such logic among men.

Within five or seven years, the Board Secretary son — following his father's teaching in the capital, assiduous in flattering others and spending money to cultivate connections — became the leading collector of subscriptions in his department: keeping busy with the distribution of invitation lists, arranging banquets, managing congratulatory scrolls, sending off-money and gifts. His own contribution to these subscriptions he could never escape by so much as a penny. He ended up day after day eating, drinking, and bowing among the official gentry, with nothing to show for it. He also maneuvered for a position at the Grand Secretariat, working on the Veritable Records and official compilations — all of which required silver. Half the family fortune was spent in this way. Then, hoping to borrow the prestige of an imperial envoy, he sought a mission to Jiangxi. Traveling to Jiujiang, a gale arose and wrecked his boat; he drowned.

The gale swept the great Yangtze white in broad daylight;

the waves ran wild — no spreading sail remained.

Riding the whale, gone never to return —

gone below to announce the long-delayed soul.

The second son, following his father's word that only money mattered, refused to spend it on food, clothing, or comfort. He drove his household servants out to manage the farmsteads, allowing not a hair's breadth of lenience for short rents or bad debts. He also employed several disreputable servants who harbored vagrant and lawless men on the estates to carry on businesses that required no capital. The second young master, greedy for small gains, took their monthly payments as his cut to protect them. When the matter came to light, the servants, afraid of a search, stored everything on their master's property. The second young master imagined that being the son of a dismissed official still carried some prestige and could keep things covered — and so he accepted the goods. He thought: if we get off, we walk away clean; if the things are found, they belong to me. He did not foresee that when the authorities applied the rod and extracted confessions, everything pointed back to his house. The county magistrate happened to be a provincial examination candidate who had not been passed under old Lü's tenure, and he applied the law strictly. By receiving stolen goods, the second young master was sentenced to prison and never left it.

A thief hides behind rank and office — a full purse may then go unscathed.

A thief relies on snatching and stealing — how can he escape his crime?

Though old Lü still ranked as local gentry, as a dismissed official he could not properly appear before a magistrate. He paid to engage intermediaries, but the county magistrate would not be moved; this son, though alive, was as good as dead.

The third son, under the spell of a fascination he could not break, was lost in brothels and gambling dens. Brothels, at least, had some limit — on a bad day, a few coppers; even on a poor showing, there was only so much damage. But gambling — a single throw, as Liu Yi's bet of a hundred thousand in an instant — could destroy a family in a moment. In his gambling frenzy, he began to stake fields and houses against his bets. One stake lost a few acres; another stake lost a few rooms, until all was lost. Moreover, because he had spent all his time there and had done no reading, at the next annual examination his licenses were revoked.

Old Lü did not encourage reading, and so even his sons who could have studied did not study.

Long unplayed, the vermilion string grows stiff, as if among thorns.

Learning not renewed day by day — how then to avoid being removed from the rolls?

The fourth young master's gardens, ponds, and pavilions were by now all complete and in order — but the trunks and chests grew emptier day by day while the collection of antiques grew, and his hands grew emptier still. Having cultivated this capacity for flattery and servility, he had nowhere to use it without an official position. Happily, the cronies before his door — absent in lean times — came less to take advantage of him; there were fewer to sponge off him. But there were those who would live on his premises and eat at his table who could not bear to watch the antiques without being able to lay hands on them.

Who says this wood-and-stone disaster is only a disaster for the structures?

It is also a disaster for the man himself.

A room just large enough for one's knees is sufficient.

What, in the end, is achieved by towering grandeur?

The fifth young master, too foolish and dull to study, too ignorant to manage a household, unable to amuse himself with zither or chess, unable to enjoy mountains or water to pass the long days — his wife, wanting to live her own life, left him to his own devices. Wine never left his mouth; women never left his side. Even a body of flesh and bone must in time break down under such treatment; he developed a wasting illness and died young, leaving no children.

He crouched in the crab's shell in secret,

leaning against the kingfisher's beauty, savoring his years of light.

How much blood and flesh can a man hold?

Day by day carved away by twin axes.

Old Lü in his day had scraped the brains from the skulls of so many common people and merchants. He had five sons at home, and truly thought himself as light as a feather — no office to bind him — and as rich in blessings as five sons could bestow. But because he himself was greedy and grasping, shameless and without conscience — setting no worthy example — and would not have his sons study, he produced the result that he did.

Huang Tingjian said: "If a gentleman goes three days without reading, his face becomes repulsive and his speech becomes dull." For the sons of a proper family, a little book-learning imparts the understanding of principle and the ability to respond appropriately; they are not crude in company. Even for the young, the discipline of books can restrain and collect their hearts and minds, keeping them from wild thoughts and from entering improper places. Therefore the first duty of those who raise children is to have them read. To refrain from having them study, and instead to scheme and maneuver on their behalf — this only increases their laziness, and brings the disasters of ruin upon the family. This is especially to be avoided.

Old Lü himself set no good example; he refused to have his sons study. He had believed his money and his children would let him enjoy his remaining years going about among his five sons like Lu Jia. He did not foresee that those five sons — some dead, others ruined — left him with only desolation wherever he looked. There was no contentment to be found. He blamed Heaven for not protecting him, not knowing that it was all of his own making.

How little virtue was accumulated; how little foresight was exercised.

When a man falls short, how can Heaven be blamed?

And so the ancients said: "A chest full of gold is not worth teaching a son one classic." The poor man, unable to support himself by any other means, has only books and the observance of his proper lot as the means to establish himself. The sons of the wealthy and comfortable, habituated to arrogance and extravagance, easily sink into foolishness and dissipation. For them, too, only books and the following of right principles can preserve the family. Wealth gained by rightful means and transmitted to worthy descendants — rightful gain and rightful preservation — may endure long. Wealth gained by rightful means yet transmitted to unworthy descendants — rightful gain, contrary preservation — may at least survive for a time. But a man who follows only his own greed and violence, and is succeeded by unworthy descendants in turn — there has never been a case that did not end in ruin.