Chapter Nineteen: The Usefulness of the Useless

Ever since that time, Liu Xian had departed from the Duke of Luoyang’s residence and moved to the Dongwu Villa, which was closer to Shouyang Mountain.

This had been arranged by his mother, Zhang Ximiao. After all, the journey from the family estate to Shouyang Mountain was far too long. From Dongwu, however, there was no need for horses or carriages; one only needed to wake at dawn, walk north for half an hour, and cross two small pine-covered hills to arrive at Ruan Manor.

The drawbacks, however, were equally apparent. His uncles and elders all held official positions and could not leave the capital, and his mother was often busy managing household affairs, allowing her to visit only occasionally. Aside from the First Lady, Fei Xiu, there was no one to accompany him in his studies for any extended period. Thus, in an instant, most of the people and things that had accompanied Liu Xian since childhood had vanished, leaving him to grow up in an entirely unfamiliar environment.

It is difficult for a person to escape the influence of their surroundings. For some, leaping from one environment to another feels almost like facing death. While Liu Xian’s situation was not quite so dramatic, he still felt a sense of loneliness in his heart.

After all, Dongwu was not as prosperous as Luoyang. There were no street performers, no exotic animals, and, in truth, not even a marketplace—it was merely an ordinary rural estate. With his mother and uncles rarely by his side, the only people he could converse with, besides Fei Xiu, were the tenant farmers. The lack of peers his own age made life feel truly tedious.

Under normal circumstances, such things would be bearable. When Liu Xian had studied under Chen Shou, he often spent the entire day reading and practicing calligraphy, and he had never found it monotonous. But after becoming a student of the younger Master Ruan, a sense of anxiety took hold of Liu Xian, which in turn exacerbated his other worries.

This was entirely due to his unsatisfactory academic progress.

When he first met the younger Master Ruan, Liu Xian had found him elegant, uninhibited, and heroic, and he had looked forward to his teachings with great anticipation. Unexpectedly, however, the ensuing studies left him deeply disappointed.

Ruan Xian was, after all, a hermit of the Bamboo Grove, unbound by rules. His daily life lacked any structure. When Liu Xian arrived early in the morning to pay his respects, Ruan Xian was often still fast asleep. By the time the sun was high, he would lazily drape himself in a loose robe, pick up his pipa, and head under the bamboo trees to amuse himself. Another half-hour would pass, and it would already be near lunchtime.

Only after the midday meal would he assume the air of a teacher to instruct Liu Xian on his own commentaries, *Laozi Zhu* and *Zhuangzi Zhu*. Yet, this would last for less than an hour before he would retire to his couch for a nap, and by the time he woke, it would nearly be time for dinner.

Liu Xian found this deeply perplexing. At an age where he himself did not require midday naps, he could not fathom such a degree of lethargy. To see someone like the younger Master Ruan, who could sleep almost from dawn until dusk, was something he had never before encountered. Yet, the reality was just so. The snoring of the younger Master Ruan was far more profound than his teachings; it was like the clapper used by the monks at Baima Temple to chant sutras, one strike after another, questioning the very meaning of Liu Xian's life.

Of course, the younger Master Ruan was not always sleeping. Due to his wide social circle and fame throughout the realm, every few days, two or three literary friends would come to visit. There were few unknowns among them, and many who were famous. There were old friends like Shan Tao and Liu Ling, and high-ranking officials such as Qin Xiu, Xun Xu, and Liu Yi. Once, Liu Xian even spotted his good friend, Shi Chao. The two of them, following behind their elders, were both startled upon catching sight of one another, never expecting to meet in such a place.

During these social gatherings, the younger Master Ruan would take all the children of his clan to go on outings with his guests. They would pick bracken and brew wine on Shouyang Mountain to discuss metaphysics; or they would fish and play the qin by the Luo River, composing essays and poetry. When the spirit moved them, they would even strip off their clothes to dance wildly among the mountain streams, letting out long, piercing wails like mountain spirits. Others, seeing this, were not surprised, calling it the "refined grace of a famous scholar."

Yet, such experiences made Liu Xian feel as though he were wasting his time. In his view, while people certainly need rest, it does not mean one can contentedly do nothing. If one were to spend a lifetime among the pipa and fine wine, as the younger Master Ruan did, it might be a happy life, but what was the meaning of such an existence? How would one be remembered?

Thus, Liu Xian thought that this was less about being uninhibited and more like a form of escapism—a way to avoid facing his own lack of accomplishments.

Holding such sentiments, Liu Xian naturally felt like he was sitting on pins and needles. He would constantly reflect on what he had actually learned, and this only added to his depression. The younger Master Ruan taught very little, and what he did teach were merely his own writings, such as the *Laozi Zhu* and *Zhuangzi Zhu*.

These texts were not without literary merit—the *Zhuangzi Zhu* in particular was remarkable. Zhuang Zhou’s original writing was as vast and unrestrained as the sea, his spirit reaching to the heavens, and the younger Master Ruan’s annotations were equally profound, merging with the mysteries of the void. But what use were they?

Zhuangzi wrote in his essays, "As long as the sage does not die, the great thieves will not cease," criticizing the sages for misleading the hearts of men and forcing them to observe impossible standards of ritual, righteousness, and shame. He even borrowed the voice of a skull to say, "In death, there is no sovereign above and no subject below. There are no affairs of the four seasons. We are as free as the heavens and the earth throughout the ages. Even the joy of a king on his throne cannot surpass this." The implication was that being alive is not as happy as being dead.

These perspectives left Liu Xian utterly confused. Could it be that having a sense of shame is inferior to simply becoming a beast? Was the purpose of life merely to die as soon as possible?

He felt these words were utterly useless, far less meaningful than reading history with Chen Shou, and it was no wonder he felt such genuine loneliness.

Two months passed in this manner, and the initial enthusiasm Liu Xian had brought with him was ground away. At Ruan Xian’s home, he remained unhappy and felt like an outsider. His face, though yet to lose its youthful softness, had already developed a distinct sternness, which caused the other youths at Ruan Manor to hesitate to speak with him.

When the Winter Solstice arrived, a heavy snow began to fall, burying the withered grass and fallen leaves that had covered the mountains and plains in an endless expanse of white. Liu Xian went to Ruan Manor as he usually did. After paying his respects to his seniors and the mistress of the house, he sat beside a brazier, brewed a pot of tea, and began to read while warming himself.

Today, he was revisiting the *Records of the Grand Historian*, reading the *Biography of Wu Qi*. Seeing how Wu Qi had used his own death to scheme against the powerful nobles of the State of Chu, he could not help but yearn for such brilliance. He thought to himself: "The thing a person finds most difficult to control is their own death. That Wu Qi could even utilize his own demise to plot against his political enemies is a feat of heroism unprecedented in history. Those nobles of Chu were truly shortsighted and contemptible; had they not obstructed his reforms, perhaps it would have been Chu, not Qin, that achieved the great cause of unification."

After a long reverie, Liu Xian gathered his thoughts and suddenly sensed the faint sound of breathing above him. He turned to look, only to find the younger Master Ruan, wrapped in a crane-feather cloak, standing behind him with a smile on his face. Startled, Liu Xian quickly stood to bow and offer his greetings.

Ruan Xian waved his hand, signaling him not to stand on ceremony. Once Liu Xian stood up, Ruan Xian sat down naturally beside him and asked with a smile, "Why, is it strange to see me at this hour?"

Liu Xian hesitated, but finally spoke the truth: "Yes, I thought you would not wake for another hour, Teacher."

Ruan Xian slapped his knee and laughed. "It seems that in your heart, I am like the tortoise of Chu—either sleeping the day away or dragging my tail in the mud."

Liu Xian had not expected his teacher to be so blunt, but unwilling to answer dishonestly, he replied, "In this disciple’s humble opinion, the way you live, Teacher, truly has no redeeming qualities."

Ruan Xian had clearly anticipated this. Showing no sign of anger, he calmly poured himself a cup of tea, added a pinch of salt, sipped it thoughtfully, and then asked, "Tell me, why do you say there are no redeeming qualities?"

Did this even need to be asked? Liu Xian replied immediately, "To be human is to know faith, righteousness, and shame, and to harbor the world in one’s heart. Throughout history, the great heroes have all aimed to benefit the state and the people. If one merely eats his fill all day without a purpose, how is he any different from a beast?"

Having said this, Liu Xian glanced secretly at Ruan Xian, who remained smiling and silent, as if encouraging him to continue. Liu Xian went on: "Though I am untalented and lack great ambition, I still hope to be of benefit to others in the future, to achieve something, to help the people, and to leave behind some writings so that this life will not have been in vain. I truly do not wish to spend my days lying idle as you do, Teacher."

"Good, good. You are right; a person cannot live a life without accomplishment," Ruan Xian said, stroking his beard and laughing, though it was unclear whether he was praising or teasing. "But have you considered that you may not have any work to do in the future?"

"How could that be? My family is, at the very least, a ducal house. Even if I cannot serve as a provincial inspector, serving as a commandery governor should still be possible, should it not?"

"Not so, not so. Your situation is unique. If you were a child of an ordinary ducal house, it would not be strange for you to hold a high office. But you are the heir of the Duke of Anle, the bloodline of Liu Bei. There are countless remnants of the former dynasty across the land hoping for you to restore the country. As long as the Emperor has even a shred of reason, he will never give you a position of real power. At most, you will hold an idle, cold post, just like your father. What will you do then?"

Faced with Ruan Xian’s interrogation, Liu Xian fell silent. It was not that he had never thought of this. The former royal family members who were reused by the new dynasty were at most from distant branches. For a direct bloodline like his, there was truly no precedent in history. But he still held onto a glimmer of hope; after all, as long as the problem had not arrived, no one could say for certain there was no solution.

Ruan Xian continued, "Of course, this is just a hypothesis of mine. But often, things develop in ways that are not to our satisfaction. Take your current situation, for example: you think my life is worthless, yet why did you not speak your mind to me before?"

"I was afraid you would be angry, Teacher."

"Exactly. If you offered advice, logically, I should accept it gladly. But you were unwilling to speak because it is more likely that I would be angered, even if you felt you were right. Human affairs and principles often exist in such contradictory relationships." Ruan Xian’s smile deepened. He asked again, "Just like the *Biography of Wu Qi* you were reading—why did the nobles of Chu not support his reforms, but instead plot to destroy him?"

"Because they cared only for their own petty gains and ignored the greater good of the country."

"But petty gains are tangible, while the greater good is invisible. Sigh, Piji, though I study metaphysics, I know that no one in this life escapes death. Decades pass in the blink of an eye. Once I am dead, how can I concern myself with the living? The ideals of serving the country you spoke of are excellent, but I am already over fifty. In a few years, I will be old and dead. If I don't stay at home playing the qin to amuse myself, what else can I do? Go to the front lines to kill the Hu? That is impossible."

Liu Xian began to understand. His teacher was telling him that while the principles in books are indeed sound, whether they can be used to accomplish things depends on one’s own experience. But he still did not understand how a book like *Zhuangzi* could help with life.

Ruan Xian did not hide his knowledge. He took the *Records of the Grand Historian* from Liu Xian’s hand and flipped to the section in the *Hereditary House of Confucius* where Confucius and Laozi converse.

Back in Luoyang, when Laozi bade farewell to Confucius, he said: "Those who are intelligent and deeply observant are close to death, for they like to discuss others. Those who are widely learned and eloquent are in danger, for they like to expose the faults of others."

Ruan Xian then said slowly, "You say *Zhuangzi* is useless, and you are not wrong. The tens of thousands of words in *Zhuangzi*, in what they describe and write, are actually the same as Laozi’s advice to Confucius: a person’s strengths are also their weaknesses; ideals can also lead to bad endings. A person, even if they harbor the world in their heart, may sometimes have to bow their head for a single meal or a single coin. A person feels very important in their own eyes, but in the eyes of others, they are not worth mentioning."

"Living in this world, if one does not understand this, and only thinks of realizing one’s ideals, one will encounter great disaster. Even Confucius, though he understood this, often found himself in life-threatening situations and suffered when his ideals could not be realized. If a person feels pain and anxiety, they cannot calm their heart, nor can they face danger, recognize it, and overcome it with a strong will."

"Only by first realizing that one is not important, that one's joys and sorrows are but floating clouds, and by grasping the great wisdom of being unmoved by the 'eight winds,' can one face the difficulties that lie ahead while simultaneously persisting in one’s ideals. Only then can one achieve a great career."

Liu Xian began to understand. Although *Zhuangzi* did not teach any practical knowledge for governing the world and often belittled human nature and morality, this was only on the surface. Zhuangzi’s true intention was to teach people to break free from their own limited perspective, to not be happy with material gains or sad for personal losses, and instead to examine life from a grander, cosmic view. This was a science of cultivating the heart and nature—what is known as the "usefulness of the useless."

Seeing the thoughtful look on Liu Xian’s face, Ruan Xian knew he had grasped the meaning. Deeply gratified, he laughed and said, "But come to think of it, I did not know your nature before, nor did I know your strengths and weaknesses. Thus, regarding your education, aside from *Laozi* and *Zhuangzi*, I had no place to start and could only observe. Now, it seems I roughly know what you need to learn."

By this point, Liu Xian was truly convinced. He quickly asked, "What do you intend to teach me, Teacher?"

Ruan Xian returned the *Records of the Grand Historian* to Liu Xian and said, "You are young, yet able to settle your heart to read—that is truly rare. But as I said before, no matter how many books you read, principles remain just principles. If you want to apply these principles to the secular world, you must learn the methods of the secular world. You are currently lacking in this regard."

"And that is?"

"First, you must strengthen your body; second, you must cultivate your character; and third, you must become well-versed in human affairs." The younger Master Ruan held up three fingers and said leisurely, "So, from today on, I will teach you horseback riding, swordsmanship, archery, music, and of course, the study of metaphysics. You are not allowed to complain."