The Diligence and Integrity Chapter of Linchuan Culture | A True Gentleman of Loyalty, Filial Piety, Benevolence, and Righteousness — On the Personal Charisma of Tang Xianzu

   

Tang Xianzu was a towering literary figure of the late Ming period in China. To be regarded as a true master, profound literary skill alone is far from sufficient; what truly endears one to others is often an extraordinary, transcendent, and deeply moving personal charisma—like Su Dongpo, who, despite repeated demotions, never lost his joy, or like Liu Wendian, whose eccentricity and boldness never compromised his sense of justice. As a quintessential gentleman steeped in traditional culture, upholding loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness, Master Tang’s character likewise merits our careful contemplation. In matters of service to the ruler, he remained loyal without compromising his principles. “Loyalty” stands as the cardinal virtue demanded of the junzi in classical Confucian thought; as Zengzi famously declared, “I examine myself three times each day,” with the first question being, “Have I been disloyal in serving others?” Throughout subsequent dynasties, historical records consistently distinguished between the loyal and the treacherous: those listed among the loyal ministers were celebrated for eternity—for example, Yan Zhenqing and Wen Tianxiang—while those branded as traitors bore a lasting infamy, such as Qin Hui, who to this day kneels before Yue Fei’s tomb, enduring the scorn of passing visitors. Loyalty comes in many forms, varying in degree and wisdom; born in the twilight of the Ming, Tang Xianzu’s loyalty was that of a great patriot, defiantly standing against the decay of a crumbling age. This is most vividly illustrated by his memorial, submitted in the nineteenth year of the Wanli reign while serving as chief clerk of the Nanjing Hall of the Imperial Secretariat—a document that shook the court and stirred public opinion: the “Memorial on the Ministers and Censors.” In it, he boldly challenged even the Grand Secretary Shen Shixing, laying bare the pressing malpractices of the time: “Your Majesty has governed the realm for twenty years now. During the first decade, Zhang Juzheng, firm yet ambitious, allowed private cliques to foment chaos; during the second decade, Shen Shixing, gentle yet greedy, again permitted private factions to undermine governance.” Though this episode ended with Tang’s demotion to Xuwén, the very officials he denounced—Grand Secretary Shen Shixing and Vice‑Grand Secretary Wang Xijue—were soon granted retirement, while censors of the Ministries of Rites and Revenue were summarily removed. Thus, Tang’s act may well be seen as a heroic stand: “Unafraid to shatter my body into pieces, so long as purity remains in this world.” Yet after the twenty-fifth year of the Wanli reign, when the emperor ordered the opening of mines in Zhejiang and dispatched tax‑collecting eunuchs to plunder the people’s wealth, Tang wrote in his letter “To Magistrate Wu Ruzé”: “What manner of mountain‑searching envoys are these? Not a single inch of land knows peace; soon the earth itself will split apart.” He further observed, “Even the rain must lament the burden of taxation,” revealing the gravity of the abuses. Consequently, upon returning to the capital in the twenty-sixth year of Wanli to present his annual report, he angrily resigned and retired to his hometown. As Zou Diguang recorded in his “Biography of Mr. Tang of Linchuan”: “The gentleman, with his free‑spirited and unassuming nature, could neither bow nor kowtow, nor endure the disdainful glances of high officials; moreover, the affairs of mining and taxation had grown so vexatious that, on the day of his official review, he promptly submitted his resignation to the Ministry of Personnel. Though the minister in charge tried to retain him, though the selection office sought to keep him, and even the Censorate urged him to stay, he nevertheless departed with a resolute spirit, and no force could turn back his determined march.” It is thus clear that, despite his staunch loyalty, Tang’s uncompromising integrity would not permit him to acquiesce in the emperor’s corrupt policies; rather, he chose to resign in order to preserve his moral integrity.

Serving one’s parents with filial piety without overstepping proper bounds. “Filial piety” is yet another virtue that traditional culture demands of the junzi; at times, during the Two Jin period, it even reached astonishing extremes. For instance, the Western Jin dynasty boasted its “Three Great Filial Sons,” but their excessive and often inhuman displays of devotion were largely performances aimed at pandering to public opinion and winning commendations for filial integrity. Take He Zeng, one of these “Three Great Filial Sons”: he rose to the post of Grand Marshal in the Western Jin, yet the History of the Jin remarks of him, “He was extravagant and ostentatious… outwardly generous but inwardly jealous.” When the powerful official Jia Chong wielded influence, He Zeng promptly “humbled himself and curried favor with him… a conduct condemned by those who prided themselves on uprightness.” By contrast, Master Tang was also deeply filial, yet his conduct conformed to ritual propriety and human nature—truly genuine and pure filial piety. The Biography of Mr. Tang of Linchuan records: “Living with his family, he was always cheerful and harmonious, mutually encouraging one another, smiling without ceasing, yet maintaining an air of serene composure. When dining with two elders, he displayed gentle demeanor and amiable countenance, anticipating their wishes and preemptively attending to their needs. Should there be even the slightest discord, he would grow anxious and apprehensive, as if bearing a grave burden.” Moreover, Master Tang’s way of serving his parents extended far beyond this: in the thirty-fourth year of the Wanli reign, on the occasion of his father’s eightieth birthday, Luo Dahong, a jinshi from Jishui who had served as an imperial censor in the Ministry of Rites, entrusted a disciple to bring him a celebratory preface. In it, he wrote: “It is said that the way to serve one’s parents requires neither offense nor concealment, with stern authority and dignified presence—qualities once held in high regard by the ancients. Yet to nourish them through color and expression is truly difficult! His righteousness and spirit dominated his entire life; yet within the confines of his own household, he moved with the grace of a young maiden, and moreover, he excelled at the subtle modulations of the bianguan and bianzheng melodies. Whenever singers performed his new compositions, it was no longer merely a matter of nurturing through appearance. Nourishing through color cultivates the will; nourishing through sound nurtures the spirit; and when the spirit listens, all becomes harmonious and tranquil. Sound is the voice of humanity; the human voice connects with the voice of heaven, and its subtle vibrations penetrate the valley‑spirit. The valley‑spirit is the path to immortality; attaining it allows one to live forever. Now, while philosophers and ascetics strive for the elixir of life, seeking the fabled Penglai Isles beyond the sea, this master, amidst laughter and wine, has already found it—how much more remarkable!” From “nourishment through color” to “nourishment through sound”—this progression not only reflects Tang Xianzu’s particular strengths as a dramatist, but also reveals the exquisite thoughtfulness and meticulous care with which he attended to his parents. Such a manner of practicing filial piety—sincere, respectful, and never overstepping proper bounds—is all the more moving and heartfelt.

He treated his subordinates with benevolence yet never abandoned the rule of law. In ancient times, the county was the grassroots administrative unit of the imperial court, directly affecting the well-being of the local populace; accordingly, the county magistrate was often called the “parental official” or the “official who is close to the people.” For instance, when Xie Lingyun served as the Internal Historian of Linchuan, the people reaped great benefits, and the locals hailed him as “Lord Kang, the Bodhisattva,” a title that has endured in their continued veneration to this day. Tang Xianzu was no different. Upon first arriving in Suichang, he inherited a dilapidated county rife with banditry—a veritable mess—so he acted with decisive vigor, enforcing the law without hesitation: “He had more than a dozen bandit leaders executed,” thereby “stirring the county into a measure of awe.” Yet he was far from a harsh or cruel official; in a letter to his friend Ye Shiyang, he wrote, “Born in the fourth year of the Pingchang era, I have never once detained a single woman… This is something I can vouch for before my elders and fellow villagers, and none would dare dispute it.” Such remarks reveal the leniency and compassion that characterized his policies at the time. Nevertheless, he believed this alone fell far short: strict governance could rectify official conduct, but benevolent administration could also shape the moral character of the people. Thus, in the twenty-fourth year of the Wanli reign, he astonished the officialdom with two remarkable gestures—the “sending prisoners home on New Year’s Eve” and the “allowing prisoners to attend the lantern festival.” In the Ming dynasty, New Year’s Eve and the Lantern Festival were the two most important celebrations of the year, with the Lantern Festival being especially vibrant. On the night of the Lantern Festival, families would go out together to admire the lanterns and solve riddles—an occasion of great festivity. Under the judicial conditions of the time, permitting prisoners to return home during such holidays to share in the festivities not only helped them reintegrate into their families and society but also exerted a powerful educational and moral influence on the broader community. At the same time, he generously donated his salary to found the Xiangpu Academy, dedicated to enlightening the people and encouraging them to pursue learning. Through the combined effects of education, benevolent governance, and the law, the region soon became clean and upright, to the point that the county government “received petitions twice each month, and this year has already settled over fifty lawsuits.” When he left office in the twenty-sixth year of the Wanli era, the people were deeply reluctant to see him depart, and they even erected a shrine in his honor, much as they had done for Xie Lingyun, the former Internal Historian of Linchuan.

Making friends with righteousness while never losing one’s sense of propriety. Confucius said, “The gentleman seeks harmony without uniformity; the petty person seeks uniformity without harmony.” Throughout his life, Tang Xianzu cultivated a wide circle of friendships—ranging from Yuan Hongdao, the talented scholar of Gong’an, to the renowned monk Daguan, and even the celebrated thinker Li Zhi. Yet it was his friendship with Xu Wei, one of the Three Great Talents of the Ming dynasty, that best exemplified Tang’s noble demeanor. Though the two never met in person, their shared aloofness and integrity, their individualistic pursuit of self‑expression, and their similar life circumstances enabled them to appreciate each other deeply through their correspondence alone. In the seventh year of the Wanli era, Tang Xianzu had already suffered three unsuccessful attempts at the capital examinations. Overcome by frustration, he selected and edited a collection of his poems, titled “Wenji Tang Post‑Poems,” and sent it to Xu Wei, thirty years his senior, asking him to offer commentary. In his reply, Xu Wei remarked: “In reading ‘Wenji Tang Collection’ among your guests, I must confess that I have never encountered anything quite like it. So I composed a poem to express my sentiments—there is much here worth treasuring.” The accompanying verse, “Orchid vines and jade birds sing in rhythm; who can fathom the celestial music echoing over Dongting Lake? Playing the zither surely invites the scorn of visitors; only now, wielding the whip, do I find some solace in my life,” clearly conveys his high regard for Tang Xianzu. In turn, after reading Xu Wei’s “Four‑Tone Monkeys,” Tang Xianzu commented: “‘Four‑Tone Monkeys’ is a flying general on the poetic stage; I have repeatedly recited and performed it. How I long to bring Wen Chang himself into being, to pluck out his tongue!” In their exchanges, Xu Wei sometimes praised Tang’s poetry, declaring, “Truly an extraordinary talent—hardly ever seen in a lifetime. His five‑character poems are roughly comparable to those of the Two Xies and the Two Lu.” Yet when he found something he disliked, he did not mince words: regarding Tang’s “Broad Intent Rhapsody,” he wrote, “Its tone presses against the style of the Sao; yet it seems more like that of an interpreter, using foreign languages instead of Chinese—a sign that lofty ambition has prevailed”; and about Tang’s “Rhapsody on the Unfulfilled Scholar,” he observed, “It employs archaic characters but no modern ones, ancient expressions but no contemporary ones… This seems as if Master Tang were composing in the languages of the four barbarian tribes, and then translating them himself. What value could there be in such a translator within the Bureau of Barbarian Affairs?” True friendship, however, reveals a profound spiritual affinity even across vast distances. In his later years, Xu Wei’s mental state deteriorated sharply, with bouts of madness recurring; yet when he composed the seven‑character ancient‑style long poem “Fishing Joy,” he still noted, “I no longer recall who first conceived it; recently, upon seeing Master Tang Xianzu, I was moved to study under him.” Upon learning of Xu Wei’s passing, Tang Xianzu, deeply concerned that his legacy might be left in a state of desolation and gloom, wrote personally to Yu Yaopu, the magistrate of Shanyin, requesting that Xu Wei be accorded some measure of care. His letter was earnest and heartfelt: “Your Excellency, esteemed teacher, we have already submitted a petition to rename his memorial shrine… After Xu Tianchi, all will surely fall into neglect; his disciples, amidst leisurely songs and melodies, might at least inquire once. Let the idle hearts beneath the trees take note of this. With deepest respect.” Confucius taught, “There are three kinds of beneficial friends: a friend of uprightness, a friend of sincerity, and a friend of extensive learning—these are truly beneficial.” Is not the resolute, principled friendship between Tang and Xu precisely the kind of gentlemanly bond we so ardently aspire to? Throughout his life, Tang Xianzu endured hardship and adversity, his thought refined through the interplay of Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism. Yet he steadfastly upheld the gentlemanly virtues of loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness, and instructed his descendants with the “Four Fragrances Precepts” and the “Words to Depart from the World,” passing these teachings down through generations and thereby establishing the distinguished family tradition of the Tang clan of Linchuan, Jiangxi.