Tang Xianzu’s Story | Taking His First Steps by Writing “After the Turmoil”

A First Attempt at Writing “After the Chaos”

Although Tang Xianzu is best known for his dramatic works, he also composed more than two thousand poems over the course of his life; the earliest surviving one is a five-character ancient-style poem titled “After the Turmoil.” Behind this poem lies a poignant episode from Tang Xianzu’s own bitter past.

The era in which Tang Xianzu lived was already the late Ming dynasty, a time of political turmoil and recurrent disasters—truly a period when “the mansions of the rich reeked of wine and meat, while on the roads lay frozen corpses.” Sparks of rebellion smoldered everywhere, and there was not a single year without peasant uprisings; the country was beset by crises at every turn. Less than thirty years after Tang Xianzu’s death, the Ming dynasty, which had endured for more than two hundred and eighty years, came to an ignominious end.

When Tang Xianzu was eleven years old, militia forces from the Two Guangs, taking advantage of unrest in Fujian, invaded Jiangxi, capturing one county after another—Guangchang, Xincheng (present-day Lichuan), Nancheng, Nanfeng, Le’an, Yongfeng—and pressing all the way to Linchuan. The people of Linchuan fled in panic, and Tang Xianzu’s entire family joined the exodus, leading a life of wandering and displacement. It was only after the rebellion was quelled the following year that they returned to their hometown. This year-and-a-half of flight and upheaval brought about a sudden maturation in the young Tang Xianzu, transforming his earlier explorations at the desk into a more socially conscious mode of thought.

After the calamity, everything felt heavy. On that New Year’s Eve, the crackling of firecrackers—both in the city and beyond—was sparse and faint, utterly devoid of the usual festive cheer. Even the fireworks seemed to linger only fleetingly, their bright bursts casting a lonely glow against the sky. The Tang Xianzu family gathered for the reunion dinner, yet none among them could summon much spirit. After a few cups of wine, Father Tang Shangxian grew a little restless and turned to his son, who was eating: “My boy, it’s the New Year, and we’re still reeling from that great disaster. There’s hardly any place in town or country where one can find merriment; even the firecrackers are few and far between, and the wine tastes nothing like it used to. Why don’t you compose an impromptu poem to lift our spirits?”

No sooner had Tang Shangxian finished speaking than his grandmother, his uncle, his mother, and the others gazed eagerly at Tang Xianzu, their eyes filled with both hope and concern. After a moment’s thought, Tang Xianzu composed a poem on the spot, reciting it line by line. The verse captured the family’s profound sense of relief after surviving calamity, blending vivid imagery with heartfelt emotion in just the right measure. His father, Tang Shangxian, and the others slapped the table in approval; a few cups of wine went down in one go, and before long they were all slightly tipsy. To them, this was the finest gift they had received that New Year. It is only a pity that the poem has not been passed down to posterity.