Mediation of Legitimacy in Early China: A Study of the Neglected Zhou Scriptures and the Grand Duke Traditions 9780231555036

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MEDIATION OF LEGITIMACY IN EARLY CHINA

TA NG CE NTE R SE R IE S IN EARLY CHI NA

TANG CENTER SERIES IN EARLY CHINA Editors Li Feng Anthony Barbieri-Low The dramatic increase of information about China’s early past made possible by recent archaeological discoveries has reenergized the study of Early China. The Tang Center Series in Early China, sponsored by the Tang Center for Early China at Columbia University and published by Columbia University Press, presents new studies that make major contributions to our understanding of early Chinese civilization and break new theoretical or methodological grounds in Early China studies, especially works that analyze newly discovered paleographic and manuscript materials and archaeological data. The disciplinary focus of the series includes history, archaeology, art history, anthropology, literature, philosophy, and the history of science and technology. The time period covered spans from the Neolithic to the end of the Han dynasty (220 ce) or to the end of the Tang dynasty (907 ce) for titles in archaeology. Modeling Peace: Royal Tombs and Political Ideology in Early China, Jie Shi Kingly Splendor: Court Art and Materiality in Han China, Allison R. Miller Many Worlds Under One Heaven: Material Culture, Identity, and Power in the Northern Frontiers of the Western Zhou, 1045–771 bce, Yan Sun Kingly Crafts: The Archaeology of Craft Production in Late Shang China, Yung-ti Li

Mediation of L ­ egitimacy in Early China A S T U DY O F T H E N E G L E C T E D Z H O U S C R I P T U R E S A N D THE GRAND DUKE TRADITIONS

Yegor Grebnev

Columbia University Press New York

Columbia University Press wishes to express its appreciation to the Tang Center for Early China for funding and editorial support in the publication of this book.

Columbia University Press Publishers Since 1893 New York  Chichester, West Sussex cup.columbia.edu Copyright © 2022 Columbia University Press All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Grebnyev, Georgiy, 1983–author. Title: Mediation of legitimacy in early China: a study of the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions / Yegor Grebnev. Description: New York : Columbia University Press, [2022] | Series: Tang Center series in early China | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021053941 (print) | LCCN 2021053942 (ebook) | ISBN 9780231203401 (hardback) | ISBN 9780231555036 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Yi Zhou shu. | Yi Zhou shu—Criticism, Textual. | Transmission of texts— China—History—To 1500. | Taoism—China—History—To 1500. | Legitimacy of governments— Religious aspects—Taoism. | China—History—Zhou dynasty, 1122–221 B.C.—Historiography. | China—Intellectual life—To 221 B.C. Classification: LCC DS747.13.G74 2022 (print) | LCC DS747.13 (ebook) | DDC 931/.03—dc23/ eng/20220208 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021053941 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021053942

Columbia University Press books are printed on permanent and durable acid-free paper. Printed in the United States of America Cover design: Noah Arlow Cover image: Zheng Xiao

CONTENTS

L I ST O F I L LU ST R AT IO N S   v i i L I ST O F TA B L E S   i x AC K N OW L E D G M E N T S   x i CHRONOLOGY  xiii

Introduction  1 Chapter One The Structure of the Yi Zhou shu and Its Formation History  20 Chapter Two Understanding Early Chinese Scriptures  58 Chapter Three Appropriated and Created Scriptures  91 Chapter Four Royal Colloquies as the Main Text Type in the Yi Zhou shu 101 Chapter Five Daoist Scriptures of the Grand Duke  130

vi CONTENTS

Chapter Six Heirloom Treasures, Scriptures, and Legitimacy  178 Conclusion  217 Appendix One Scenic, Formalistic, and Alarming Contextual Settings  225 Appendix Two Summary of the Zhou shu in the Shi lüe  235 Appendix Three “Sequential Outline of the Zhou Scriptures”  239 Appendix Four Permutations of the Chapter(s) “Shifa” (Order of Posthumous Names)  245 N O T E S   2 53 B I B L IO G R A P H Y   32 1 INDEX 343

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Figure 1.1: St. George’s Cathedral in Yuryev-Polsky: current view.  21 Figure 1.2: St. George’s Cathedral in Yuryev-Polsky: reconstruction by ­Sergey Zagraevsky.  21 Figure 6.1: The ding vessel from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan.  185 Figure 6.2: The fanghu vessel from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan.  185

LIST OF TABLES

Table 1.1: Records related to the Zhou shu and the Jizhong Zhou shu in the bibliographic chapters of the standard histories  24 Table 1.2: Composition of the Yi Zhou shu 42 Table 2.1: Sequences of posthumous names of the kings of Western Zhou (mid-eleventh to tenth centuries bce) and the rulers of Chu (eighth to sixth centuries bce) 80 Table 3.1: Properties of chapters in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu presented as future-projected instructions  97 Table 3.2: Properties of dramatic speeches in the Shang shu 98 Table 4.1: Summary of the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies  103 Table 4.2: Formulaic cluster at the conclusion of royal colloquies  113 Table 4.3: Use of the patterns “何X非Y” and “何A何B何C” in the Yi Zhou shu chapters  118 Table 5.1: Texts related to the Grand Duke mentioned in the Sui shu, Jiu Tang shu, Xin Tang shu, and Song shi and their present state  132 Table 5.2: Intact and fragmentary recensions of the Liu tao 137 Table 5.3: Western Han excavated manuscripts with counterparts in the historically attested Grand Duke traditions  138 Table 5.4: Textual authority in the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke t­ raditions  175 Table A.1.1: Instances of scenic contextual setting in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu 225 Table A.1.2: Instances of formalistic contextual setting in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu 228 Table A.1.3: Instances of alarming contextual setting in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu 232

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book would have never come to being without the encouragement of Mark Ulyanov, who suggested the Yi Zhou shu as an interesting research project during my undergraduate studies at Moscow State University. I am also greatly indebted to Dirk Meyer, who supervised my PhD research at Oxford and who has been exceptionally supportive as a colleague and a friend ever since, and to Rens Krijgsman, whose friendly and competent presence was a comparably important part of my Oxford education. Robert Chard, Peter Ditmanson, Barend ter Haar, and Richard Parkinson offered much useful advice during my PhD work, and Lothar von Falkenhausen, Christoph Harbsmeier, Lea Kantor, Maria Khayutina, Robin McNeal, Frank Sanders, Edward Shaughnessy, Ondřej Škrabal, Corina Smith, Kai Vogelsang, and the anonymous reviewers provided much useful feedback during the subsequent stages. Numerous times, I greatly benefited from the advice and assistance of the extremely competent people whom I was fortunate to meet in different countries: Dega Deopik and Konstantin Tertitsky of Moscow State University; Sergey Dmitriev of the Russian Academy of Sciences; George Starostin of the Russian State University for the Humanities; David Schaberg of the University of California, Los Angeles; Chen Jian, Liu Jiao, Liu Zhao, and Zhang Fuguan of Fudan University; Chen Wei of Wuhan University; James Benson, Henrietta Harrison, Robert Mayer, Jessica Rawson, Anna Sehnalova, and Joshua Seufert of Oxford University; Hirase Takao, Kotera Atsushi, and Suzuki Mai of Tokyo University; Yanaka Shin’ichi of

xii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Japan Women’s University; and Tang Jigen and Zhou Yongming of ­SUSTech. I am particularly grateful to Martin Kern, whose critical remarks were instrumental in helping me develop some of the more daring claims of this book. Li Feng, the editor of the Tang Center Series for Early China, offered much invaluable assistance during the final stage of my work. Throughout this long project, I have received generous support from a number of institutions, to whom I remain deeply grateful: the Chinese government, which funded my formative study visits to China during the undergraduate and MA years; the Clarendon Fund and Wolfson College, Oxford, which made my study in Oxford possible; the Chiang Ching-Kuo Foundation, whose grant allowed me to spend an academically rewarding term at Tokyo University in 2015–2016; and the Confucius Institute, which enabled me to conduct a series of visits to the Center for Research on Chinese Excavated Classics and Paleography at Fudan University in 2017–2018. After the completion of my PhD, I was given the luxury to rethink and elaborate my research within the extremely supportive environments of Merton College, Oxford, and SUSTech in Shenzhen. Having received all this support is a privilege, and one can only hope that the resulting book, at least to some extent, justifies the impressive multicultural effort on which it builds.

CHRONOLOGY

Late Shang 商 (ca. 1300–ca. 1046 bce) Western Zhou 西周 (ca. 1046–771) Eastern Zhou 東周 (770–256): Spring and Autumn 春秋 (770–454) Warring States 戰國 (453a–222) Qin 秦 (221–206) Western Han 西漢 (202 bce–9 ce) Eastern Han 東漢 (25–220) Three Kingdoms 三國 (220–280) Jin 晉 (265–420):b Western Jin 西晉 (265–316) Eastern Jin 東晉 (317–420) Liu Song 劉宋 (420–479) Southern Qi 南齊 (479–502) Liang 梁 (502–557) Chen 陳 (557–589) Sui 隋 (581–619) Tang 唐 (618–907) Five Dynasties 五代 (907–979) Song 宋 (960–1276): Northern Song 北宋 (960–1127) Southern Song 南宋 (1127–1276) Yuan 元 (1271–1368) Ming 明 (1368–1644) Qing 清 (1644–1912) a

I draw the boundary between the Spring and Autumn and the Warring States periods in 453 bce, the year that the state of Jin 晉 was partitioned into Hann 韓,Wei 魏, and Zhao 趙. b I omit the Northern States during the periods of partition in 420–589 and 907–979 from this chronology to keep it simpler and more focused: despite the doubtless historical importance of the Northern States, they are not significant in the context of this book.

MEDIATION OF LEGITIMACY IN EARLY CHINA

Introduction

This book began as a modest study of a group of chapters of the Yi Zhou shu 逸周書 (Neglected Zhou Scriptures).1 It was not until late in the project that I realized—with no little surprise—its broader significance. The Yi Zhou shu is normally regarded as a by-product of the courtly traditions that produced China’s official canon, and I originally envisioned my research as a side note to the history of these traditions. However, as I accumulated more evidence, the project turned out to be an inquiry into the origins of Daoism, and my investigation of rarely read paracanonical texts gradually unfolded into an exciting history of intense competition between the early Daoist lineages and their more institutionalized rivals, showing how these groups developed their texts and rituals as a solution to one of the greatest problems of the Warring States rulers—troubled legitimacy. Not only does Daoism emerge out of this study as a side branch of courtly traditions, but the canonical state-endorsed texts also appear to have been profoundly influenced by esoteric Daoist practices. A reader with specialist knowledge of Early China will probably take these statements skeptically. We have been taught that the state-endorsed traditions have little to do with Daoism (let alone esoteric Daoism, which is supposed to have emerged only in the Eastern Han period), and some of the main propositions of this book obviously go against the grain. I sympathize with this cautious skepticism, and I have tried to elaborate my argument carefully, putting the evidence ahead of speculative interpretations, in order

2 INTRODUCTION

to avoid exciting but shaky conclusions. I invite the reader to retrace my intellectual journey, progressing from specialist issues at the beginning of the book to the fascinating discoveries dealing with broader themes in Early China’s intellectual and religious history in the final chapters. The study begins with an overview of the current state of scholarship on the Yi Zhou shu (introduction), a survey of the collection’s textual history (chapter 1), and an inquiry into its relationship with the texts attested in the better-studied canonical Shang shu 尚書 (Venerated Scriptures; chapters 2–3). This is followed by an analysis of the collection’s most characteristic chapters (chapter  4), which turn out to be closely connected to previously misclassified early Daoist texts, pushing the history of religious Daoism several hundred years back into antiquity (chapter 5). These texts, conceived as a variety of mystically empowering heirloom treasures, appear to have played a key role in establishing the legitimacy of rulers—something that would have been difficult to explain without insights from anthropology (chapter 6). APPROACHING THE YI ZHOU SHU

The Yi Zhou shu is one of the texts that, despite having been continuously preserved in the tradition, have been dismissed for a long time, surviving only on the brink of oblivion.2 Despite its antiquity, it has not entered the canon, and its influence on the literature and intellectual debate in China has been insignificant. Furthermore, for several centuries it was considered a likely forgery whose title did not match its contents, further diminishing its appeal and surrounding it with an undeserved aura of doubt.3 This neglect has been rather unfortunate. The Yi Zhou shu could fill many blanks in Early China’s intellectual and religious history, helping to explain how textual experts evolved into a force that could at times challenge the authority of monarchs and clarify the early history of esoteric textual communities that later developed into religious Daoism. But this potential has not been realized. The odds may have turned in the Yi Zhou shu’s favor in the twentieth century, when scholars in both China and the West became interested in reexamining ancient sources for the study of the history of Chinese philosophy. This textual collection, with its fifty-nine chapters of unexplored material, could have been useful in that enterprise. Alas, the rehabilitation did not happen. The Yi Zhou shu could not be identified with any of the “schools of thought” of antiquity, and therefore it could not easily fit into the narratives

3 INTRODUCTION

about the intellectual battles that shook China around the fifth to third centuries bce.4 To this day, it remains safe to completely disregard this and other early texts not attributable to specific individuals when studying intellectual history informed by the “schools of thought” paradigm.5 Thus, according to both the priorities of the Chinese tradition and the scholarly habits of the last century, the Yi Zhou shu does not appear particularly important. It would appear safe to dismiss it entirely were it not for its connections with the canonical Shang shu, also known as the Shu jing 書經 (Canon of Scriptures).6 (I explain the rationale for my translation of shū as “scriptures” in chapter 2.) This latter collection, however, comprising speeches and some narratives involving the rulers of mythical and early historical antiquity, is also poorly understood, despite having been elevated to the status of a canonical text already in the second century bce.7 Its history is obscure, and its chapters—difficult or entirely abstruse—have received conflicting interpretations in both traditional and contemporary scholarship.8 Besides, the exact relationship between the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu is a mystery. For example, on several occasions, texts from around the fifth to first centuries bce, such as the Zuo zhuan 左傳 (Zuo Tradition) and Zhanguo ce 戰國策 (Stratagems of the Warring States), quote aphoristic expressions with counterparts in the received Yi Zhou shu, referring to shū 書 (lit. “writings”) in the same way that they quote passages matching the Shang shu.9 Furthermore, in the extensive bibliography “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 (Treatise on Arts and Literature) preserved in the dynastic history Han shu 漢書 (History of Han, completed in 111ce), the Zhou shu 周書, an early precursor to the received Yi Zhou shu, is listed alongside the Shang shu, which speaks to their close connection. An ancient commentary that may have been written by Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–78 bce) suggests that this Zhou shu consists of the less significant chapters dismissed by Confucius as he edited the Shang shu.10 Nevertheless, much of the material preserved today in both the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu postdates the historical Confucius.11 For this reason, it becomes necessary to take a serious look at the Yi Zhou shu to elucidate the very foundations of the Chinese textual tradition. REDISCOVERING A FOUNDATIONAL TEXT

The last decades have seen important progress in the study of the Yi Zhou shu. The valuable studies of Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 (1893–1980) and Edward Shaughnessy have shown that one chapter of the Yi Zhou shu, the “Shi

4 INTRODUCTION

fu” 世俘 (“Hauling of Prisoners” or “Great Capture”), may be genuinely archaic, possibly even outmatching much of the canonical Shang shu in its antiquity and preserving a unique insight into early Chinese history.12 In recent decades, scholars have identified archaic features within other chapters of the Yi Zhou shu, arguing—often too optimistically—that they were composed in the eleventh to sixth centuries bce, a period from which textual evidence is particularly scarce. By the end of the twentieth century it had become clear that the Yi Zhou shu holds a much higher value than was believed traditionally and therefore deserves comprehensive reconsideration. However, for many people, this realization came only after the publication of the collection of bamboo strips looted from a tomb in central China and acquired by Tsinghua University in 2008.13 From the first published Tsinghua (Qinghua) materials, it became apparent that, around the third century bce, when these manuscripts were likely interred, some texts currently assembled in the Yi Zhou shu were transmitted together with the texts today attested in the Shang shu, as well as with other related but previously unknown materials.14 Despite the scholarly and ethical problems intrinsically related to unprovenanced artifacts,15 the publication of the Tsinghua manuscripts promoted an important awareness of how little we know about the history of China’s foundational texts. Intriguingly, the heterogeneous Tsinghua collection, which includes material matching both the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu, seems to align with the evidence from ancient philosophical works that cite passages transmitted in both collections in the same way, attributing them to shū. It seems evident that for the composers of these philosophical works and for the community behind the Tsinghua manuscripts, texts attested in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu were part of an undivided larger body of authoritative material. But what exactly brought these diverse texts together? Why were they appreciated? Who circulated them? And why did only part of them eventually enter the canon? Having answers to these questions is important not only to evaluate the mysterious Yi Zhou shu but also to understand the history and significance of the canonical Shang shu, which, in light of recent research and new manuscript evidence, turns out to be a surprisingly little-known text. However, no satisfying answers have been proposed so far. This is not to say that the Shang shu has received insufficient attention—the scholarship on it is voluminous. However, the discussion of the early histories of the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu has so far been heavily tilted toward the canonical Shang shu. This is not surprising considering the text’s centrality

5 INTRODUCTION

in the Chinese tradition and the abundance of difficult, unresolved problems related to the Shang shu alone, sufficient to occupy even the most brilliant minds for much of their careers. Such excellent scholars as Liu Qiyu 劉起釪 (1917–2012), Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國 (1898–1986), and Chen Mengjia 陳夢家 (1911–1966) all mention the Yi Zhou shu, but their observations are presented only as marginal notes in discussions focused on the Shang shu.16 This prioritization of the canonical part of the shū corpus inevitably leaves many questions unresolved. It may be fruitful to approach the problem from the opposite end and question the formation of the early shū texts from the angle of the Yi Zhou shu; strictly on numerical grounds, it contains more relevant material (59 chapters as opposed to 28 or 29 in the Shang shu) that can be used in the study of the broader textual body from which both collections seem to have emerged.17 Such a shift in focus has clear advantages. For example, one can avoid descending into the dark labyrinth of obscure scholarly lineages that transmitted competing interpretive traditions of the Shang shu during the Western and Eastern Han periods.18 No such information is available for the Yi Zhou shu, which forces us to take a fresher perspective, prioritizing critical analysis of primary source evidence, and the conclusions derived from such a critical study can improve our understanding of both the Yi Zhou shu and the Shang shu. An investigation of the Yi Zhou shu, however, presents its own problems. To expect all its chapters to be as excitingly ancient and rich in unattested historical detail as the one chapter surveyed by Gu Jiegang and Shaughnessy would inevitably lead to a bitter disappointment: only a small part of it describes historically significant events. The collection is a diverse assemblage of textual types with no apparent connections in terms of subject matter, language, or compositional properties.19 The situation is not helped by the apparent discontinuity of the exegetical tradition, which leaves scholars without any firm consensual interpretations to rely on. Only forty-two chapters contain commentary (traditionally attributed to Kong Chao 孔晁, who lived in the third century ce), and even when present, this commentary is often cryptic and offers dubious interpretations.20 Furthermore, several uncertainties surrounding the Yi Zhou shu’s textual history and contents have led to an unfortunate proliferation of speculative theories that perpetuate the old tradition of doubt and uncertainty. It is worth examining these uncertainties in some detail before proposing a strategy to overcome the confusion.

6 INTRODUCTION

THE FIRST POINT OF CONFUSION: MURKY TEXTUAL HISTORY

Let me say a few words about my use of the word “medieval” in this book. I understand it as referring to the long period between the end of the Eastern Han period and before the beginning of the Ming period (third to thirteenth centuries ce). Conveniently, this period corresponds to the time when virtually all identifiable textual-historical developments in the Yi Zhou shu took place. On some occasions, when I talk specifically about the earlier part of this period, I employ the term “early medieval,” which I understand as the time between the Eastern Han period and the Tang period (third to sixth centuries). All scholars of the Yi Zhou shu face the challenge of explaining its transmission history and proposing an orderly classification of its mixed contents. Neither problem has been solved in a satisfying way. A cursory study of the collection is sufficient to reveal that the received Yi Zhou shu represents a puzzling assemblage of texts of different themes, lengths, degrees of complexity, and states of preservation. Confused by this cacophony and trying to understand its causes, one turns to historical evidence, such as records in ancient and medieval bibliographic catalogs. Disappointingly, instead of solving questions, these records raise new ones. It turns out, for example, that versions of today’s Yi Zhou shu seem to have circulated throughout the seventh to eleventh centuries ce under two different titles. One of these recensions was known as Zhou shu in eight juan 卷 (scrolls) accompanied by Kong Chao’s commentary,21 while another was called Jizhong Zhou shu 汲冢周書 (Zhou Scriptures from the Tomb-Mound at Ji County) in ten juan, with no mention of a commentary. How these medieval recensions relate to the Zhou shu in seventy-one chapters mentioned in the Han shu is unclear. The received recension contains chapters with commentary and without commentary. This provokes a series of questions: Did the received recension result from a merging of the two earlier ones by some medieval editor? How did these two earlier recensions emerge? The title of one of them, Jizhong Zhou shu (Zhou Scriptures from the Tomb-Mound at Ji 汲 County), points unambiguously to the famous discovery of “several dozen cartloads” of bamboo manuscripts around 280 CE—does this mean that the larger recension was recovered from excavated manuscripts?22 If it was, how much of the received Yi Zhou shu comes from these manuscripts and how much from continuous transmission? And to what extent did the two recensions overlap, if at all?

7 INTRODUCTION

The field is far from developing consensual answers to these questions. An amazing variety of incompatible theories has been proposed, and surveying them helps one understand how little firm knowledge has been accumulated so far. In a valuable reassessment of the discovery at Ji published in 1960, Zhu Xizu 朱希祖 (1879–1944) argues that the entire Zhou shu in seventy-one chapters was extracted from the tomb.23 In an essay written in 1964, Chen Mengjia counters this opinion, arguing that the tomb at Ji is not related to the received Yi Zhou shu at all, but contained some other eponymous text in ten scrolls that was probably lost by the early Tang period (seventh century ce).24 Huang Peirong 黃沛榮, in the first comprehensive modern study of the collection made familiar to Western readers in Edward Shaughnessy’s bibliographic overview of the Yi Zhou shu,25 arrives at a similar conclusion: the Jizhong Zhou shu in ten juan could not have come from the Ji tomb, and therefore the title Jizhong Zhou shu is a misnomer.26 Jiang Shanguo, however, believes that a significant part of the Yi Zhou shu does indeed come from the Ji tomb: of the seventeen chapters without a commentary, fifteen must have been transcribed from unearthed bamboo strips.27 Huang Huaixin 黃懷信 postulates that the Zhou shu had been edited as a fixed book by the fourth century bce but has reached us through two witnesses: one preserved in continuous transmission and another excavated from the Ji tomb in the third century ce. Both contained otherwise lost parts of the original.28 Luo Jiaxiang 羅家湘 reiterates the opinion of Jiang Shanguo, arguing that at least fifteen chapters in the received edition originate from the Ji tomb, having been combined with forty-two chapters with commentary from the eightjuan edition.29 Zhou Yuxiu 周玉秀, in a linguistically focused study, reverts to Chen Mengjia’s opinion and denies a connection with the Ji tomb, arguing that the received text must come from a merger of the forty-two chapters with commentary and chapters that circulated in standalone editions.30 Wang Lianlong 王連龍 maintains that the Yi Zhou shu does partly originate from the Ji tomb; however, the text extracted from that tomb was not a Zhou shu, but rather a version of the Liu tao 六韜 (Six Sheaths). According to Wang, “Confucian” editors disliked the “Daoist” features of the excavated text and replaced the unorthodox main protagonist of the Liu tao, the Grand Duke 太公, with the more acceptable figure of the Duke of Zhou 周公. The resulting chapters were appended to the Zhou shu, thus creating the recension in ten juan.31 Commenting on this extraordinary variety of opinions, Zhang Huaitong 張懷通 suggests that the disagreement is caused by the scarcity of reliable sources.32 Indeed, even though there is some evidence that the Ji tomb

8 INTRODUCTION

contained material related to the Zhou shu, apart from a couple of obscure citations (discussed in chapter 1), we know next to nothing about the exact contents and size of those texts. The patchy medieval evidence leaves plenty of room for arguments from silence, allowing scholars to create imagined entities that offer “simple” solutions to complex textual-historical problems. Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信一, a Japanese scholar who has published a series of well-reasoned studies of the Yi Zhou shu, offers a more cautious approach.33 Stopping short of solving the problems for which the existing evidence is insufficient, he observes that the received Yi Zhou shu may be substantially different from the Zhou shu mentioned in the Han shu, but it seems largely similar to the medieval Zhou shu attested in citations in the works composed in the seventh to eleventh centuries ce, despite the differences in individual passages. As for the connection with the Ji tomb, Yanaka finds it unlikely that a complete text was found there, although the exact development of this association remains unclear.34 Such uncertain conclusions may appear disappointing, but in fact they are superior to unfounded speculative suggestions. The evidence at our disposal is scarce, and before a more reliable methodological strategy is developed, our knowledge will remain limited, no matter how many tentative theories are invented. THE SECOND POINT OF CONFUSION: WHAT DOES THE YI ZHOU SHU CONSIST OF?

Considering that there is no agreement among scholars on the Yi Zhou shu’s textual history, it is not surprising that the classification of its chapters is an equally unsettled matter. This situation is partly caused by academic biases: those scholars whose study of the Yi Zhou shu is informed by the Shang shu have been preoccupied with identifying chapters similar to the canonical collection, paying little attention to the rest. For example, Jiang Shanguo selects ten chapters that he thinks had “equal value” to the universally acknowledged archaic chapters of the Shang shu such as the “Da gao” 大誥 (Great Announcement): “Ke Yin” 克殷 (Conquest of Yin), “Da ju” 大聚 (Great Convergence), “Shi fu,” “Shang shi” 商誓 (Harangue Concerning Shang), “Duo yi” 度邑 (Making Measurements of the City), “Zuo Luo” 作雒 (Establishment of the City at Luo), “Huang men” 皇門 (August Gate), “Wang hui” 王會 (Royal Assemblies), “Zhai gong” 祭公 (Duke of Zhai), and “Rui Liangfu” 芮良夫.35 The disadvantage of this selection—and other similar

9 INTRODUCTION

attempts—is that it is primarily based on intuition and is therefore impossible to prove right or wrong.36 Li Xueqin 李學勤 (1933–2019), in prefaces to the works of his student Huang Huaixin (individual and coauthored), has proposed a rough outline of his own analytical framework for the Yi Zhou shu. He believes that “Shi fu,” “Shang shi,” “Huang men,” “Chang mai” 嘗麥 (Tasting of Wheat), “Zhai gong,” and “Rui Liangfu” are credible Western Zhou works. In addition, he acknowledges that there is a coherent group of chapters characterized by a preponderance of numerical lists that may date to the Spring and Autumn period (771–453 bce). However, Li does not develop this tentative suggestion and does not produce a full list of chapters that belong to this group.37 Luo Jiaxiang combines thematic and chronological criteria. He divides the collection into thematic blocks—“historical,” “political,” “military,” and “ritual”—further arranging them in chronological order within each block.38 Although his argument is more detailed than the lapidary list of Jiang Shanguo, it still suffers from the same subjective attitude.39 Huang Peirong made the first attempt to classify the Yi Zhou shu chapters based on objective criteria. The main focus of his PhD dissertation is the “main genre” (zhuti 主體) of the Yi Zhou shu, encompassing thirty-two of the fifty-nine chapters, which he believes “were written by the same person, or at least were edited by the same person” 是一手之作, 至少也同經一手 整理.40 The criteria that Huang relies on in his identification of the core chapters are (1) frequent use of anadiplosis, when the first character (or two) of a new clause repeats the last character(s) of the preceding clause; (2) frequent use of four-character phrases; (3) frequent use of numerical lists; (4) similarity of chapter titles; and (5) rhyming.41 Apart from the “main genre,” Huang discusses the Yi Zhou shu chapters that he identifies as “relatively early” (the familiar “Ke Yin,” “Shi fu,” “Shang shi,” “Zhai gong,” and “Rui Liangfu” chapters), another group of chapters which he dates to the Warring States period, and yet another group of chapters that have counterparts in other collections.42 Huang’s study is based on a sound observation, as there is doubtlessly a large group of generically related chapters in the Yi Zhou shu that deserve to be studied together. This observation is the more noteworthy considering that these chapters are not seen as ancient and therefore are often overlooked. Unfortunately, of the thirty-two chapters that Huang identifies as the “core,” only two match all his five criteria, while the rest contain between two and four of the identified features. The two most common ones

10 INTRODUCTION

are particularly problematic: the four-character phrases are widely attested in the literature of the period and cannot be used as a primary marker of a genre relationship, while the “similarity of chapter titles” refers not to the texts but to their titles, which may have been composed after the texts. Besides, Huang’s understanding of the similarity of titles is also loose, and many chapters in the Guanzi 管子, for example, can be said to follow the same pattern. Eliminating these two unreliable criteria would collapse Huang’s entire system. Zhou Yuxiu offers a study whose advantage is falsifiable linguistic analysis. Although some of her assumptions regarding the evolution of ancient Chinese language can be questioned, her evidence is explicit, making it possible to reproduce and revise the chain of reasoning. Each of the three main chapters of her study, focusing on grammatical, phonological, and rhetorical features, respectively, concludes with a summary concerning the dating of individual chapters. Her conclusions based on phonological analysis are particularly insightful. For example, her study of the rhymes of “Shi xun” 時訓 (Seasonal Instructions) leads her to acknowledge that, in its present form, this text dates to the Eastern Han dynasty (25–220 ce), calling into question the widely held assumption that the Yi Zhou shu includes only preimperial texts.43 Zhou confirms that popular candidates for an early date such as “Ke Yin,” “Shi fu,” “Shang shi,” and “Huang men” do not contain features that would indicate their composition after the Spring and Autumn period, although she does not go so far as to argue that these texts were composed in the Western Zhou period.44 For many other chapters, however, she proposes pessimistically late dates. Although Robin McNeal does not propose a comprehensive classification in his valuable study of the military chapters, by identifying these chapters as one group, he in effect relies on a combination of form-critical and thematic approaches. His monograph is particularly useful for understanding a peculiar type of didactic chapter that contains catalogs of military knowledge, mostly from the first juan of the collection.45 Galina Popova, a Russian scholar who has recently published a series of studies on the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu, proposes to distinguish between “liturgical,” “pseudo-liturgical,” and “philosophical” texts within the Yi Zhou shu, suggesting that the “liturgical” texts are the earliest and the “philosophical” are the latest.46 She complements this general distinction with a genre grouping based on an analysis of the chapters’ contents and structural features.47 Some of Popova’s observations are in line with my earlier study, where I proposed to distinguish between “dramatic” and

11 INTRODUCTION

“nondramatic” speeches in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu, the former of which can be imagined in the context of liturgical performance.48 In this preliminary classification, however, I did not explore the full range of rhetorical and compositional features that can be used to divide chapters into convincing generic groups. It appears necessary to refine this approach to make it practically more applicable in the analysis of the Yi Zhou shu, Shang shu, and other related texts.49 This is one of the goals of the present book. TOWARD HISTORICAL CLARITY: RETHINKING THE YI ZHOU SHU IN TERMS OF MANUSCRIPT CULTURE

To overcome the uncertainty surrounding the Yi Zhou shu and avoid the temptation of excessive speculation, it is important to understand the methodological problems of previous studies and propose a sound alternative. In terms of textual history, much can be elucidated if we reconsider the Yi Zhou shu as a product of manuscript culture, which is characterized by openness and variation as opposed to fixation and the lack of change. The tendency to discuss the collection in terms of print culture, as a book that ossified after its initial compilation, inevitably leads to anachronistic distortion. This is seen, in particular, in the fruitless discussions of the date of its composition as a book (chengshu 成書) or its compilation (bianji 編輯) in the form of a book.50 For those scholars who approach the collection adopting a static perspective, any change in its structure is perceived negatively as a sign of corruption or deliberate forgery that erodes the book’s authority.51 Subsequently, it provokes an apologetic zeal to defend the authenticity and value of the Yi Zhou shu by dismissing or explaining away the factors of change. This shared preconception is one of the causes of the various mutually exclusive opinions just surveyed. Redefining the Yi Zhou shu as an open manuscript collection opens a clear path to explaining its puzzling historical instability.52 Indeed, for a textual collection that remained relevant to medieval audiences, variation or variance, as discussed by Cerquiglini, would be the natural state.53 Growth and shrinkage, co-circulation in different versions, interpollination with other collections, and absorption of new texts are all normal and expected developments.54 It should be noted, however, that the emphasis on textual openness and the continuous evolution of ancient texts adopted in this study should not be understood as an attempt to question or deny their value as sources of ancient history. On the contrary, it is only after we acknowledge

12 INTRODUCTION

the continuity of textual evolution that it becomes possible to assess the patterns and extent of this change and understand how much ancient material may have been reliably preserved. As I show in chapter 1, within the Yi Zhou shu, some texts seem to have undergone relatively few changes, while others were extremely fluid. Contemporary practical relevance was one of the factors that contributed to this fluidity: a text with high reference value was more likely to undergo changes than an obscure ancient composition of undeterminable import. In their openness to structural change and the continuous evolution of individual texts, the Yi Zhou shu—or rather the medieval Zhou shu and the Jizhong Zhou shu—appear to continue in the line of the ancient shū collections, whose circulation in multiple and often contradictory versions during the preimperial period does not seem to have undermined their highly authoritative status.55 The canonical Shang shu, another offspring of the ancient shū, did not completely ossify either. During the period from the second century bce to the eleventh century ce, it also circulated in multiple versions and evolved in confusingly complex ways. The state of variation, characterized by continuous multidirectional evolution, is therefore not an exclusive feature of the Yi Zhou shu. In antiquity and the medieval period, texts and textual types traveled across different manuscript assemblages, and we should be prepared to encounter relatives and spin-offs of the Yi Zhou shu chapters under other titles that emerged from the same environment of manuscript cross-pollination. However, in order to identify such connections, we need a method that will allow us to do it in an objective and falsifiable way. This is where form criticism becomes indispensable. TOWARD FALSIFIABILITY: AN APOLOGY FOR FORM CRITICISM

The basic assumption of form criticism is that the form of a text is a product of specific social practices.56 Numerous examples of such socially conditioned textual forms surround us in everyday life. For example, we will never confuse a record of court proceedings with a newspaper advertisement because we have seen examples of such texts before; we know under what circumstances they are composed, what goals they pursue, and what structure they follow. An occasional creative subversion of the conventional form in a newspaper advertisement (an unusually large box! a funny personal catchphrase!) will draw our attention and surprise us but will hardly make us doubt that what we see is still a newspaper advertisement.

13 INTRODUCTION

Things are more difficult when we encounter texts from antiquity. Most of the time we have limited awareness of their contemporary settings. We are occasionally given some guidance by the tradition, which tells us, in an authoritative way, what purpose a text serves and how we are expected to understand it. But usually the tradition does not explain where its knowledge comes from, and there is always a chance that an authoritative interpretation was put together in retrospect by students not too different from ourselves. How do we make sure that what we read is a lyrical poem and not a liturgical hymn? A historical record and not an improvised didactic story? A philosophical treatise and not a laundry list? Well, distinguishing between a laundry list and a philosophical treatise is not a problem: a bit of common sense and intuition will suffice to avoid confusion. This is where the real danger comes. Encouraged by our ability to distinguish between obvious forms, we become overconfident about our capacity to intuitively perceive more subtle distinctions. Before long, we find ourselves bogged down in a mire of misinterpretations—or, even more tragically, get drowned in them without ever becoming aware of it, for many a didactic story has been misinterpreted as a historical record. Form criticism offers a tool to rein in our imagination, observe the easily overlooked structural and linguistic details characteristic of specific textual types, and direct our attention toward the diverse ancient social settings that may have produced these textual types. It encourages us to ask questions that would have never occurred to us at an intuitive reading: Why was a text composed using a particular form, and not another? What purposes do its individual structural units serve? To what extent does it simply pay tribute to the conventional form, and where does its unique message begin? These questions provide an excellent starting point for a critical inquiry. Having thus become accustomed to observe and analyze characteristic details that distinguish between different textual types, we may develop a new outlook on individual texts and the textual corpus at large. We may start noticing connections between texts that previously appeared unrelated, in turn asking new questions about their sequence in history and the specifics of the moments that led to their creation. Our reading becomes more accentuated as we learn to differentiate between the patterned fabric of the textual type and the unique ornament of an individual composition. However, the present moment is arguably the worst chosen to promote the advantages of form criticism. Even the most ardent proponents of this method agree that the days of its glory are over.57 As a late offspring of the

14 INTRODUCTION

Romantic age, it bore its main fruits and dispersed its unfulfilled promises mainly in the beginning and the middle of the last century. Since then, the form-critical enterprise in biblical studies seems to have been stuck in a methodological dead end, giving way to more nuanced methods, such as rhetorical criticism and other approaches under the broad umbrella of “literary criticism.”58 Nevertheless, while form criticism has reached its limits in biblical studies, having produced convincing inventories of textual types in some cases and fanciful speculations in others, for the studies of Early China, its constructive potential remains woefully underexplored.59 It is foreseeable that the method will bear ample fruit before it reaches equal maturity in our field. It may appear surprising, but in certain ways the field of Early China studies is better positioned for the form-critical enterprise than biblical studies. In the latter field, the existence of short textual units on which the longer texts supposedly build remains an assumption (no matter how probable).60 Conversely, in our field, such short texts are available in abundance, forming the bulk of many preimperial textual collections, including the Yi Zhou shu, and a significant part of recently excavated manuscripts. Unlike colleagues in biblical studies, we are freed from the necessity to speculate, with inevitable argumentative shortcomings, about the brief early compositional forms from which longer written texts have presumably been composed—in our case, such shorter texts are readily available. Of course, even such texts may have complex histories and can be further scrutinized on the microlevel, but the problem of identifying compositionally complete units has been mostly solved for us. (I am not speaking here about the longer works, such as the Lü shi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 [Master Lü’s Annals] or the Shi ji 史記 [“Records of the Grand Historian” or, more literally, “Scribal Records”], for which an inventory of textual types based on the analysis of preimperial collections of shorter texts may provide a reliable means to identify earlier components within them.) Overall, the very nature of early Chinese textual material safeguards us from the more dangerous speculative applications of the formcritical method while still keeping us entitled to its benefits. When we have two or more texts that belong to the same textual type, we can deduce and study the common features that are representative of this type. In some cases, we may be able to compare typologically early and late instances of a single type, gaining insight into the logic of its evolution.61 In this study, I trace such connections between the texts attested in the Yi Zhou shu and what I call the “Grand Duke traditions,” an overlooked body of texts

15 INTRODUCTION

holding great promise for elucidating the early history of Daoism. Without the form-critical method, it would have been impossible to detect the link between the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions. A brief remark on terminology is due here. “Genre” is sometimes perceived as one of the key terms in form criticism, but in most of this book I avoid using it. Although in many form-critical studies “genre” and “textual type” (or “literary type”) are treated as synonyms, I find it better to keep them separate. For me, a “textual type” is a compositional matrix, a combination of recurrent structural and linguistic features that can be objectively identified in multiple texts. As for “genre,” I understand it as a set of compositional norms defined by the composers’ exposure to similar texts performed on similar occasions. In a community where the composition of texts is primarily defined by performative contexts and not by scholarly reflection on prior examples, such norms are mostly implicit. Therefore, talking about genre becomes inseparable from discussing the text’s performative setting— its Sitz im Leben, which, for antiquity, is inevitably speculative. Discussion of “textual types,” however, can be objective: as we systematically describe the features of an individual type, we can keep such descriptions separate from subjective interpretations. Thus, even though I propose some speculative ideas regarding the performative contexts and the evolution of specific genres in the final two chapters and the conclusion of this book, I prefer to operate with “textual types” so as not to impose my interpretations on the reader. It should also be noted that, although genres and textual types are historically closely related, it would be wrong to assume that every textual type can correspond to only one performative setting, and vice versa. Textual types can move between genres, and the same performative settings can allow for multiple textual types.62 This is another reason that I prefer to keep my discussion of these two entities separate. Form criticism works well when several texts exhibit shared features, but it becomes less useful when we only have single witnesses of textual types. The particular chapters that I examine in chapter 4 are convenient because they share many formally identifiable structural and linguistic features. However, there are chapters in the Yi Zhou shu for which this method would produce modest results. Form criticism is therefore not a solution to all sinological problems, but it can be extremely useful in freeing our inquiry from the tight boundaries of received collections, allowing us to trace, in a methodologically sound way, historical connections across different received texts, recently excavated manuscripts, and epigraphic sources.

16 INTRODUCTION

SCOPE OF THIS STUDY

Although it is necessary to survey the entire Yi Zhou shu to provide an overview of its history and composition, it would be unwise to study its entire contents at once, with inevitably superficial results. In this book, I focus on one philologically meaningful unit, a group of ten-odd chapters with shared features that I call royal colloquies. While examining this group of chapters in depth, I also trace their intertextual connections, which manuscript culture has scattered far and wide. For example, the formal features characteristic of the royal colloquies can be identified in the “Lü xing” 呂刑 (Lü’s Punishments) chapter of the canonical Shang shu; the “military” collection Liu tao, which represents a formerly large family of the Grand Duke traditions; and the bronze inscriptions from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan 中山王𰯼 dated to the late fourth century bce. The most revealing is the connection of royal colloquies to the Grand Duke texts—an overlooked but centrally important page in the history of early Daoism, with clear links to medieval religious traditions. This connection prompts us to question the conventional understanding of early Daoism as emphatically detached from worldly concerns, for the shū traditions— including the related Grand Duke texts—are focused on royal power and appear to emerge from courtly circles. The Grand Duke traditions appear to have been instrumental in the formation of the Daoist conceptions of ecclesiastical authority, while the ritual of esoteric textual transmission embedded in some of these texts suggests that they may have contributed to the construction of Daoist traditions centered on transcendent textual revelation. Both the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu and the related Grand Duke texts demonstrate a shared concern with royal empowerment and legitimization through efficacious texts. They advance what I call the mediating authority of textual experts as opposed to the authority of monarchs; this idea of textual authority appears to have profoundly influenced not only the Daoist tradition but also the state-recognized official learning in imperial China. One of the recurrent tropes in both the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions is the self-referential presentation of texts as precious material artifacts. This centrally important phenomenon of “treasure texts,” already observed by the scholars of medieval religious traditions, remains largely unknown to the scholars of Early China.63 By surveying a range of textual and epigraphic evidence—including the fascinating long inscriptions on the bronze vessels excavated from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan—and

17 INTRODUCTION

elucidating it through anthropological theory, I argue that some chapters of the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke texts should be considered as part of the broader notion of legitimizing heirloom treasures, which were purportedly created by the sage rulers of antiquity and transmitted within competing lineages of textual experts, who thereby acquired significant social weight and power. These competing lineages differed in their understanding of the principles of legitimacy and traced themselves to different authoritative traditions: that of official scribes in the case of the Yi Zhou shu and that of esoteric teachers of the primeval sage rulers in the case of the Grand Duke texts. The rivalry between them underlies the dichotomy between state-endorsed and esoteric learning, which runs throughout the millennia of China’s intellectual and religious history. STRUCTURE OF THE BOOK

I shall now summarize the contents of the individual chapters of this book. Chapter 1, “The Structure of the Yi Zhou shu and Its Formation History,” provides a brief textual-historical introduction to the Yi Zhou shu. It ventures to clarify the text’s formation history by reassessing the internal and external evidence regarding its composition and transmission. This chapter identifies traces of editorial emendations in the Yi Zhou shu and establishes a sequence of previously unnoticed medieval developments that the collection underwent after its initial formation in antiquity. The Yi Zhou shu is thus reintroduced not merely as an ancient anthology, but also as an evolving product of manuscript culture that continued to adapt to the changing environment centuries after its composition. Chapter 2, “Understanding Early Chinese Scriptures,” proposes a definition and a hypothesis regarding the formation history of the authoritative shū or “scriptures,” venerated texts ancestral to both the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu. The chapter analyzes how the shū were understood and appreciated according to sources from the fourth to third centuries bce. Combining this evidence with the study of formal features in later shū texts, it offers a new interpretation of scriptures as empowering texts bequeathed by the sage rulers (shengwang 聖王),64 the ultimate source of textual authority in preimperial China. This understanding of the authoritative shū as scriptures is similar to the conventional use of this term in reference to the Bible, in that the unity of such texts is derived from the reverential attitude of audiences, subsuming material with different formal properties. It helps to explain the

18 INTRODUCTION

remarkable genre diversity of the canonical and paracanonical scriptural collections (Shang shu, Yi Zhou shu), which otherwise appears very confusing. Chapter 3, “Appropriated and Created Scriptures,” draws a boundary between the “appropriated scriptures” borrowed from earlier performative contexts and the typologically later “created scriptures” that were produced deliberately as future-projected testaments of the sage rulers. The first type is predominant in the Shang shu, while the latter is characteristic of the Yi Zhou shu, although each collection includes both types. The chapter develops a transparent falsifiable framework for the classification of scriptures using formal analyses of introductory passages that define the time, place, and circumstances of the events presented in texts. Despite their outward similarity, the introductory passages in scriptural texts employ several patterns that differ in their constituent elements and the way they are arranged in a sequence. These patterns in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu correlate with other formally identifiable features, showing that introductory passages are an intrinsic part of the overall structural schemata. Chapter 4, “Royal Colloquies as the Main Text Type in the Yi Zhou shu,” takes the formal analysis of structural patterns a step further and examines the predominant group of scriptural texts in the Yi Zhou shu with shared features. These texts were composed in roughly the fifth to fourth centuries bce, but they contain discourses ascribed to the three legendary founding kings of the early Western Zhou dynasty and their contemporary, the Duke of Zhou, who lived and reigned in the mid-eleventh to tenth centuries bce.65 Such texts prioritize the exposition of rigidly structured knowledge as opposed to the emotionally laden speeches characteristic of the appropriated scriptures in the Shang shu. Notably, royal colloquies clearly emphasize the transgenerational transmission of textual knowledge, in line with the overall conception of scriptures as testaments bequeathed by the sage rulers of the past. Some of these texts appear to justify insurrection against the formally superior but politically weak suzerain, which explains their probable appeal to the rulers of the Warring States no longer willing to submit themselves to the authority of Zhou kings. Chapter 5, “Daoist Scriptures of the Grand Duke,” steers the discussion of the scriptures in a new direction by identifying a group of related texts in a textual collection known as the Liu tao, which is usually classified under the “military” rubric. The chapter demonstrates that this collection—or rather, the broader body of the Grand Duke texts from which it emerged—contains parts of an early scriptural tradition. Following the record in the “Yiwen zhi,”

19 INTRODUCTION

where a text named Taigong (太公) is put under the “Dao jia” 道家 rubric, I examine the manifold ritual and conceptual connections of the Grand Duke texts with later religious Daoism. I propose that the Grand Duke traditions preserve vestiges of a formative tradition of early Daoism identified with the Yellow Thearch 黃帝 and the Grand Duke, a mysterious sage of unknown provenance. Considering the multiple overlaps and even copycat borrowings between the Grand Duke traditions and the Yi Zhou shu, I suggest that the former were developed as a transcendentalist response to earlier scriptures identified with the Western Zhou kings and their blood relative, the Duke of Zhou. Chapter 6, “Heirloom Treasures, Scriptures, and Legitimacy,” explains how certain texts, as a variety of heirloom treasures, came to be seen as media of royal legitimacy. I combine my survey of received sources with a case study of the inscriptions on bronze vessels excavated from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan, which, in their form, language, and prevailing concerns, evince a close connection to the scriptures, in particular, the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu. Through this analysis, I demonstrate that the scriptures played an important role in the negotiation of power among the highest elites during the Warring States period, making it impossible to study them simply as detached works of contemplative philosophy, while ignoring their political and mystical dimensions. In the conclusion, I discuss the factors that may have contributed to the parting of ways of the Shang shu, the Yi Zhou shu, and the Grand Duke texts and their development into distinct and seemingly unrelated genres. I also demonstrate how the esoteric practices developed within the stream of created scriptures were continued in medieval Daoist communities, while also leaving an imprint on official historiography, as demonstrated by Sima Qian’s 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 87 bce) Shi ji. Although this book does not include full translations of the Yi Zhou shu chapters that I discuss in chapter 4, they are available on the companion website https://yizhoushu.phoenixterrace.com.

Chapter One

THE STRUCTURE OF THE YI ZHOU SHU AND ITS FORMATION HISTORY

This chapter examines the textual history of the Yi Zhou shu, combining a reappraisal of external textual evidence with a critical examination of the contents of the collection. The Yi Zhou shu underwent complex transformations during the medieval period, including conflation of different recensions, loss of material, and multiple rearrangements of the chapter sequence. These complex developments are partially concealed as a result of antiquarian restoration, which gave the collection a semblance of conformity with the ancient bibliographic record of the Han shu. Different parts of the collection were affected to different extents. The complex dynamic evolution of individual chapters and the collection as a whole makes it impossible to assume that all the material in the Yi Zhou shu was faithfully transmitted from antiquity. A TEXTUAL CHIMERA?

In the 1460s, the Grand Duchy of Moscow suffered the loss of St. George’s Cathedral in Yuryev-Polsky. This church, one of the finest from before the Mongol invasion, collapsed under its own weight. A merchant, Vasiliĭ Ermolin, was commissioned to conduct its restoration. According to the chronicle record, Ermolin successfully rebuilt the cathedral in 1471, putting it together “as it was before.” However, it is hard to agree with the chronicler’s optimistic conclusion when observing the cathedral today. The confusing, stumpy

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shape of the building and the stone carvings on its walls—exquisite works of art now aligned in the most cacophonic patterns—reflect the despair of the fifteenth-century restorers, who arranged the carved stones “in total disorder and turned the cathedral into a kind of mystery in stone” (figures 1.1, 1.2).1 The Yi Zhou shu—which, alongside the canonical Shang shu, is one of the two collections associated with Chinese archaic scriptures—creates a similar impression. At first glance, it looks like a coherent, if partially corrupt, book. However, closer study leads to the realization that the current arrangement has little to do with antiquity. Instead, it was shaped by medieval editors, mostly anonymous, some of whom were driven by the desire to restore the text to its ancient state but paradoxically changed it even further. Like St. George’s Cathedral, the Yi Zhou shu is a chimera; it is a book composed of genuinely early fragments rearranged several times in such a way as to make the original design untraceable. The confusion begins with the names under which the book was known throughout its history. It is first attested as simply the Zhou shu 周書 (Zhou Scriptures) in the “Yiwen zhi” chapter of the Han shu, which is based on an earlier bibliographical work, the Qi lüe 七略 (Seven Summaries) by Liu Xin 劉歆 (d. 23 ce).2 The name “Zhou shu” is identical to that of the last section of the Shang shu, which contains chapters related to the Zhou period. Considering that the Zhou shu was put in the same section of the “Yiwen zhi” bibliography as the Shang shu, it is clear the two texts were seen as related. In the medieval period, one recension of this collection was known as the

FIGURE 1.1.  St. George’s Cathedral in Yuryev-Polsky: current view.  Photo by Ludvig14@Wikipedia, licensed under CC BY 3.0.

FIGURE 1.2.  St. George’s Cathedral in Yuryev-Polsky: reconstruction by Sergey ­Zagraevsky.  Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

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Jizhong Zhou shu 汲冢周書 (Zhou Scriptures from the Tomb-Mound at Ji County), a title that referred to the famous paleographic discovery in the late third century ce.3 This identification is doubtlessly wrong: the Zhou shu continued to circulate and was cited multiple times in the centuries preceding the Ji discovery. There was no need to “recover” it from a tomb, although it cannot be ruled out that a few chapters of paleographic origin may have penetrated into the received text. The name that is most commonly used in scholarship today, Yi Zhou shu, first appears in the Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 (Explaining the Symbols and Analyzing the Characters) by Xu Shen 許慎 (ca. 58–147 ce).4 Xu may have coined it to avoid confusion with the “Zhou shu” section of the Shang shu, which is also cited in his work.5 The modern use of the title Yi Zhou shu, however, begins with a Ming dynasty scholar Yang Shen 楊慎 (1488–1559), who decided to “restore the ancient name” 復其舊名 in his edition of the text to eliminate the confusion caused by the title Jizhong Zhou shu.6 There are at least two complications when using the Yi Zhou shu as a source for the study of Chinese antiquity. First, as mentioned in the introduction, the Yi Zhou shu includes texts from different times and contexts, and it may have been a very mixed bag already at the time of its initial compilation. Second, during the medieval period the text underwent a number of developments: editorial changes were introduced, commentary was added, different recensions were conflated, and some of the original material was lost. When studying the Yi Zhou shu, it is important to understand such medieval developments in order to avoid simplistic assumptions and anachronistic judgments. Therefore, the goal of this chapter is to provide a clearer overview of the Yi Zhou shu’s formation history. THE ZHOU SHU IN ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORDS

I shall begin by summarizing the more frequently discussed evidence from ancient and medieval bibliographies. In the second part of this chapter, I shall argue that the information from medieval bibliographies reflects only the later stage of the Yi Zhou shu’s formation history, and that without a consideration of the somewhat more fragmentary evidence from early medieval texts, as well as a critical examination of the collection itself, an understanding of this history will remain incomplete and distorted.

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The evidence from ancient and medieval bibliographies in standard dynastic histories is brought together in table 1.1. The difference between seventy-one pian 篇 (fascicles) in the Han shu and eight or ten juan 卷 (scrolls) in later bibliographies should not confuse us: although sometimes these units are used synonymously, here the pian probably refer to thicker and bulkier bamboo-strip fascicles, while juan correspond to thinner scrolls of silk and paper that allow one to record more text on a single scroll. The comparison between the records of the Sui shu 隋書 (History of Sui), the Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書 (Old History of Tang), and the Xin Tang shu 新唐書 (New History of Tang) suggests that during the period of the seventh to eleventh centuries ce, the Zhou shu circulated in two different recensions: one was known as simply the Zhou shu in eight juan, while the other was identified with the famous paleographic discovery in the late third century ce at Ji county 汲郡; it was called the Jizhong Zhou shu and consisted of ten juan. Of these two recensions, the one in eight juan was usually mentioned together with the commentary by Kong Chao 孔晁 (third century ce). The last record from the Song shi 宋史 (History of Song) is contemporaneous with the earliest preserved block print edition of the Jizhong Zhou shu, engraved in the fourteenth year of the Zhizheng 至正 era (1354), and, in terms of its contents and structure, must refer to the same text.7 This early block print edition is divided into ten juan and called the Jizhong Zhou shu, but it also contains a number of chapters with Kong Chao’s commentary. It is tempting to propose that it was created by merging the two different recensions mentioned in the earlier bibliographies: the chapters without commentary in the ten-juan version may have been supplemented or replaced using chapters containing commentary from the eight-juan version.8 Nevertheless, such a conclusion would be mistaken, and the reality is more complex. A recension that included both chapters with commentary and chapters without commentary seems to have already been in circulation by 631 ce, when the Qunshu zhiyao 群書治要 (Essential Extracts on Governance from Various Books) was composed (see the following discussion). Assuming that the eight-juan and ten-juan recensions, which coexisted in parallel until the eleventh century, could have initially been distinguished by the presence or absence of commentary, it seems that the cross-pollination between them had begun much earlier, and the Jizhong Zhou shu in ten juan recorded in the Sui shu may have already been, to some extent, a hybrid composition. It may have been rather fragmentarily preserved, as hinted by Yan Shigu’s 顏師古 (581–645) commentary to the Han shu, roughly

TABLE 1.1 Records related to the Zhou shu and the Jizhong Zhou shu in the bibliographic chapters of the standard histories Source

Date

Main record

Commentary

“Yiwen zhi” of the Han shua

Composed by Ban Gu 班固 (32–92 ce) based on the earlier works Bie lu 別錄 (Separate Listings) by Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–78 bce) and Qi lüe 七略 (Seven Summaries), probably composed in 6 bce by Liu Xin 劉歆 (d. 23ce).b

周書七十一篇。 Zhou shu in 71 chapters.

周史記。 Records of Zhou scribes. Yan Shigu’s 顏師古 (581–645) commentary: 劉向云：周時誥誓號令也，蓋孔子所 論百篇之餘也。今之存着，四十五 篇矣。 Liu Xiang says: Announcements, harangues, commands, and decrees from the Zhou time. Must be the remnant of the hundred chapters mentioned by Confucius. There are only 45 chapters preserved today.c

“Jingji zhi” of the Sui shud

The bibliographic chapter composed by 656.e

周書十卷。 The Zhou shu in ten juan.

汲冢書，似仲尼刪書之餘。 A book from the tomb at Ji. Seems to be what remained after Confucius’s editing of the [Shang] shu.

“Jingji zhi” of the Jiu Tang shuf

Based on Wu Jiong’s 毋煚 bibliography composed soon after 721.g

周書八卷。 The Zhou shu in eight juan.

孔晁注。 Commentary by Kong Chao.

“Yiwen zhi” of the Xin Tang shuh

Completed in 1060.

汲冢周書十卷。 . . . 孔晁注周書八卷。 Jizhong Zhou shu in ten juan. . . . The Zhou shu, commentary by Kong Chao, in eight juan.

“Yiwen zhi” of the Song shii a

Completed in 1343.

汲冢周書十卷。 Jizhong Zhou shu in ten juan.

Han shu 漢書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 30.1705. For insightful discussions of the history of the Bie lu and Qi lüe and their somewhat obscure connection with the “Yiwen zhi,” see P. van der Loon, “On the Transmission of Kuan-Tzŭ,” T’oung Pao 41 (1952): 358–66; Michael Hunter, “The ‘Yiwen Zhi’ 藝文志 (Treatise on Arts and Letters) Bibliography in Its Own Context,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 138, no. 4 (2018): 763–80. c Han shu, 30.1706. It is difficult to draw a boundary between the words of Liu Xiang cited by Yan Shigu (from the Bie lu?) and the words of Yan Shigu himself. However, it is most likely that the last phrase belongs to Yan Shigu. Otherwise, we would have to assume that Liu Xiang produced a confusing self-contradictory record, first mentioning a Zhou shu in 71 chapters, and then commenting that only 45 chapters have been preserved. The activities of Liu Xiang and Liu Xin involved comprehensive revision of texts that would often lead to the change in the number of units: Michael Nylan, “Manuscript Culture in Late Western Han, and the Implications for Authors and Authority,” Journal of Chinese Literature and Culture 1, nos. 1–2 (2014): 159. It therefore appears unlikely that they would record the number of units in the text before—and not after—their editing. d Sui shu 隋書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1973), 33.959. e van der Loon, “On the Transmission of Kuan-Tzŭ,” 368, fn. 1. f Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975), 46.1993. g van der Loon, “On the Transmission of Kuan-Tzŭ,” 368. h Xin Tang shu 新唐書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975), 58.1463. i Song shi 宋史 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1977), 203.5094. This record is identical to the one in Chongwen zongmu 崇文總目 (Congshu jicheng 叢書集成 ed.), 11.57. It was completed in 1041. This text has not survived in its earliest form; see Stephen Owen, “The Manuscript Legacy of the Tang: The Case of Literature,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 67, no. 2 (2007): 298–300. b

25 T H E S T R U C T U R E O F T H E Y I Z H O U S H U A N D I T S F O R M AT I O N H I S T O R Y

contemporaneous with the Sui shu record, which mentions that only fortyfive chapters existed at his time (today’s Yi Zhou shu contains fifty-nine chapters).9 Since Yan Shigu may have consulted the unpreserved eight-juan recension, we cannot be certain regarding the extent of textual loss in each of these two recensions. This alternative recension in eight juan is a source of much frustration: the evidence about it is incomplete, and the preserved fragmentary records discussed in this chapter allow us to make only tentative suggestions. Another record useful for the study of the (Jizhong) Zhou shu in the medieval period is preserved in Liu Zhiji’s 劉知幾 (661–721) Shitong 史通 (Principles of Historical Writing). It follows immediately upon Liu Zhiji’s discussion of the Shang shu:10 又有《周書》者，謂世所傳汲塚《周書》。與《尚書》相類，即孔氏 刊約百篇之外，凡為七十二章。上自文、武，下終靈、景。 There is also a Zhou shu, which refers to what is currently transmitted as the Jizhong Zhou shu. It is similar to the Shang shu, that is to say, extra to the hundred chapters selected by Confucius. There are seventy-two chapters overall.11 It starts from [kings] Wen and Wu [eleventh century bce] and ends with [kings] Ling [r. 575–545] and Jing [r. 544–520].

The Sibu congkan reprint of a 1602 edition of the Shitong by Zhang Dingsi 張 鼎思 (1543–1603) that I am citing here mentions seventy-two chapters. An edition of the Shitong with an extended commentary by Pu Qilong 浦起龍 (1679–1762) called Shitong tongshi 史通通釋 (Principles of Historical Writing with Comprehensive Explanations) records seventy-one chapters, consistent with the Han shu record quoted in table 1.1, but it acknowledges that another edition (or editions) mentions seventy-two.12 Although the record in the Sibu congkan version of the Shitong may be erroneous, it seems to be corroborated by a similar mention of Zhou shu’s seventy-two chapters made earlier by Cai Yong 蔡邕 (132–192):13 《用書》七十二篇，而《月令》第五十三。 The Zhou shu14 has seventy-two chapters; the “Monthly ordinances” is number 53.

The seventy-two chapters mentioned by Liu Zhiji and Cai Yong contradict the authoritative record in the “Yiwen zhi,” which indicates that the Zhou

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shu has seventy-one chapters. However, the number seventy-two deserves serious consideration. It corresponds to the seventy-two microseasons (jie 節), a common way to divide the year since the Han period. Since it was customary to arrange textual collections into cosmologically significant numbers of units, seventy-two appears to be a better choice than seventy-one.15 Although it is often assumed that the total number of chapters in the Yi Zhou shu never changed since the composition of the “Yiwen zhi,” the reality may be more complex. The evidence from the standard histories and the scholarly notes, such as the ones by Cai Yong and Liu Zhiji, can be complemented with information from private bibliographies. Unfortunately, most private bibliographies that mention the (Jizhong) Zhou shu were composed after the eleventh century, when the received text had mostly taken its current shape. However, they occasionally contain valuable details.16 The record in the Zhizhai shulu jieti 直齋書錄解題 (Annotated Book Catalog from the Zhizhai Studio) by Chen Zhensun 陳振孫 (ca. 1183–1262) is perhaps the most informative:17 《汲冢周書》十卷 晉五經博士孔晁注。太康中，汲郡發魏安釐王冢所得竹簡書，此其一 也。凡七十篇，序一篇在其末。今京口刊本，以序散在諸篇，蓋以倣 孔安國《尚書》。相傳以為孔子刪書所餘者，未必然也。文體與古書 不類，似戰國後人依倣為之者。

Jizhong Zhou shu in ten juan Commented by Kong Chao, Erudite of the Five Canons, who lived during the Jin dynasty. During the Taikang era [280–289], bamboo manuscripts were discovered at Ji county in the tomb of King Anli of Wei 魏安釐王 [r. 276–243 bce]. It is one of these books. There are seventy chapters altogether and a “Sequential Outline” at the end. Today, the Jingkou block print edition has its “Sequential Outline” dispersed among individual chapters, probably to imitate the Shang shu by Kong Anguo. It is commonly believed that it contains what was left after Confucius had edited the [Shang] shu, but this is not necessarily true. Its style is different from the old writings and seems to be an imitation made later by someone from the Warring States period.

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This record shows that during the twelfth century, the Jizhong Zhou shu was still available in at least two different arrangements. Unfortunately, we cannot know whether the mysterious Jingkou 京口 edition corresponded to the recension in eight juan and whether it had any other significant differences from the received recension. Chen appears to be one of the latest Song scholars to claim that the entire text came from the tomb at Ji. His older contemporary, Li Tao 李燾 (1115–1184), who seems to have contributed greatly to the shaping of the received text, already had serious doubts on this point. Here is his “Chuanxie Zhou shu ba” 傳寫周書跋 (Postface to a Manuscript Copy of the Zhou shu):18 晉孔晁注《周書》十卷。按隋唐《經籍志》、《藝文志》，解稱此書 得於晉太康中汲郡魏安釐王冢。孔晁注或稱十卷、或稱八卷，大抵不 殊。若此，則晉以前初未有此也。然劉向所錄及班固，并著《周書》 七十一篇，且謂孔子刪削之餘。而司馬遷《史記》武王克殷事蓋與此 合，豈西漢世已得中秘，其後稍隱，學者不道，及盜發冢，幸得出 邪？篇目比漢但闕一耳，必班、劉、司馬所□者已！擊之汲冢，失其 本矣！書多駁辭，宜孔子所不取。戰國處士私相綴續，託周為名，孔 子亦未見。古章句或舛訛難讀，聊復傳寫，以待是正。 巽巖李燾。 Zhou shu in ten juan, commentary by Kong Chao of the Jin dynasty. [Li Tao’s] note: The bibliographic chapters “Jingji zhi” and “Yiwen zhi” in the dynastic histories of Sui and Tang all explain the title of this book by its provenance from the tomb of King Anli of Wei discovered at Ji county during the Taikang era. [The text with] Kong Chao’s commentary is sometimes said to be in ten juan and sometimes in eight juan, but generally they do not differ. If so, this book had not existed before the Jin dynasty. However, in Liu Xiang’s listings that were transmitted to Ban Gu, a Zhou shu in seventy-one chapters is recorded, further mentioning that it consists of what remained after Confucius’s editing.19 In addition, the record of King Wu’s conquest of Yin in Sima Qian’s Shi ji also accords with this book. Could it have been acquired for the imperial library during the Western Han, later somewhat concealed and not mentioned by scholars until discovered fortuitously when a tomb was looted at Ji? Its table of contents only lacks one chapter compared to the Han [version], and it must be what was [seen]20 by Ban [Gu], Liu [Xiang] and Sima [Qian]. To identify it with the tomb at Ji is to totally miss the point! The book contains many arguable statements, so it may well be what Confucius did not select [when editing the canonical Shang shu]. The reclusive gentlemen of

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the Warring States period may have privately continued and expanded [this book] under the name of the Zhou [dynasty], and Confucius never saw it. The ancient commentary is at times wrong and incomprehensible, and it has been copied carelessly until the present emendation. [Written by] Li Tao, also known as Xunyan.

For Li Tao, the recensions in eight and ten juan “generally do not differ.” This statement is intriguing but insufficient for drawing definite conclusions. It is not clear how well Li Tao studied the two recensions, and he remains silent about the supposedly minor—but historically important—features that still made them different. One can tentatively suggest that, by the twelfth century, the two recensions may have been edited against each other in such a way as to have become practically interchangeable. Although Li Tao cannot fully explain how the book came to be identified with the Ji discovery, he is adamant that it could not have originated from the tomb because it had been cited by Han dynasty authors. This line of reasoning was continued by later scholars who found more references to the Yi Zhou shu in texts composed during the centuries immediately before the Ji tomb discovery. Li Tao’s skepticism concerning the Ji tomb connection is embraced by Ding Fu 丁黼 (?–1236), who created a revised edition building in part on Li Tao’s work. Here is the more informative second half of Ding Fu’s “Ke Zhou shu xu” 刻周書序 (Preface Composed During the Carving of the Zhou shu on Wooden Blocks):21 班固志《藝文》，書凡九家，有《周書》七十一篇。劉向云：周時誥 誓號令，蓋孔子所論百篇之餘也。以兩漢諸人之所纂記推之，則非始 出於汲冢也明矣。惜乎後世不復貴重，文字日就舛訛。予始得本於李 巽巖家，脫誤為甚。繼得陳正卿本，用相參校，修補頗多，其間數篇 尚有不可句讀；脫文衍字，亦有不容强解者。姑且刻之，俟求善本， 更加增削，庶使流傳，以為近古之書云。嘉定十五年夏四月十一日， 東徐丁黼謹識。 In Ban Gu’s “Treatise on Arts and Literature,” there are nine traditions of “Scriptures,” and there is a Zhou shu in seventy-one chapters. Liu Xiang says: “Announcements, harangues, commands and decrees from the Zhou time— [these] must be the remnants of the hundred chapters mentioned by Confucius.”22 Considering the compositions of various authors from the two Han

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dynasties [mentioning it], it is clear that it could not have originated from the tomb at Ji. Unfortunately, the people of later generations no longer paid it enough respect, and the text became more and more corrupt. I first acquired a copy from Li Tao (known as Xunyan), but the omissions and mistakes were extreme. Then I also acquired a copy of Chen Zhengqing’s [fl. 1173]23 edition to collate them against one another. The corrections and emendations [that I made] were numerous. However, several chapters still cannot be segmented into phrases in a meaningful way; the [many] omissions and superfluous characters also do not allow for [even] a forced interpretation. I print it as is for the time being, and if a good edition is found, more emendations and deletions would be necessary. Hopefully, this will make it spread more broadly as a book from recent [i.e., Zhou dynasty] antiquity. Respectfully presented by Ding Fu of Dongxu on the eleventh day of the fourth month of the fifteenth year [1222] of the Jiading era.

Ding Fu’s account is essential for understanding the formation of the received Yi Zhou shu. He consulted two earlier editions, including the one  by Li Tao, who had already made many emendations of his own. Despite these efforts, Ding Fu acknowledged that many chapters still could not be read in a meaningful way. (This is doubtlessly true: some chapters of the Yi Zhou shu are in a notoriously corrupt state.) Although such emendations may have helped to increase the text’s appeal to contemporary readers, ensure its broader circulation, and thereby rescue it from oblivion, they may have done more harm than good in terms of the quality of the text. As the comparison between the received Yi Zhou shu and Gao Sisun’s 高似孫 (1158–1231) summary of its contents in the Shi lüe 史略 (Outline of Historical Works) shows (see following text), there are misguided emendations in the received Yi Zhou shu, in all probability introduced during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and it does not seem possible to undo them because the editors did not indicate where exactly they had made “improvements.” From Li’s and Ding’s self-confident tones, it seems that the somewhat careless editing of badly preserved ancient texts may have been a common approach during their time. These late Song collations should be understood as the final major development in the Yi Zhou shu’s long formation history. The earlier editions still accessible to Li Tao and Ding Fu soon became extinct, leaving us with only those that ascend to unscrupulous Song emendations.

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POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS WITH THE MANUSCRIPT DISCOVERY AT JI AND THE “GRAND DUKE” TEXTS

Ding Fu opposed the idea of the book’s paleographic origins as much as did Li Tao, pointing out that it had been consulted by authors from the Han dynasty shortly before the tomb at Ji was looted. He does not enumerate the “compositions of various authors from the two Han dynasties,” but we can get more information from later studies. Consider the following discussion in the Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao 四庫全書總目提要 (Annotated Catalog of the Complete Collection of Books of the Four Sections):24 司馬遷紀武王克商事，亦與此書相應。許慎作《說文》，引《周書》 “大翰若翬雉”，又引《周書》“豲有爪而不敢以撅”。馬融注《論語》引《周 書·月令》。鄭康成注《周禮》，引《周書·王會》，注《儀禮》引《周 書》“北唐以閭”。皆在汲冢前，知為漢代相傳之舊。李善《文選注》所 引，皆稱《逸周書》，知唐初舊本尚不題汲冢。其相沿稱為《汲冢》 者殆以梁任昉得竹簡漆書不能辨識以示劉顯，顯識為孔子刪書之餘。 其時《南史》未出，流傳不審，遂誤合汲冢竹簡為一事，而修《隋 志》者誤采之耶。 Sima Qian [ca. 145–ca. 87 bce] in his records of the events of King Wu’s conquest of Shang also has correspondences with this book.25 In his Shuowen jiezi, Xu Shen [ca. 58–ca. 148] cites from the Zhou shu: “the big hàn bird is similar to the colored pheasant,” and in another place, citing the Zhou shu: “the porcupine has paws but does not use them for digging.”26 Ma Rong [79–166] in his commentary to the Lunyu cites from the “Yue ling” [Monthly Ordinances] of the Zhou shu.27 Zheng Kangcheng [or Zheng Xuan, 127–200] in his commentary to the Zhou li [Zhou Rituals] mentions the “Wang hui” [Royal Assemblies] of the Zhou shu,28 and in his commentary to the Yili [Ceremonies and Ritual] cites from the Zhou shu [the following phrase]: “the Northern Tang presented the animal lǘ.”29 All the above-mentioned works were composed before [the discovery] of the tomb at Ji, so it is clear that it [the Zhou shu] was an ancient text transmitted throughout the Han. In the citations included in his commentary to the Wenxuan, Li Shan [630–689] calls it the Yi Zhou shu,30 so it is clear that, at the beginning of the Tang dynasty [618–908], the book had not yet been called “from the tomb-mound at Ji county.”31 The tradition of calling it “from the tomb-mound at Ji county”

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probably starts with Ren Fang [460–508] of the [Southern] Liang [502–557] dynasty, who procured texts on bamboo strips inscribed in lacquer [in a script] that he could not recognize, which he showed to Liu Xian [481–543]. [Liu] Xian identified them with the remnants of the scriptures left aside by Confucius. At that time, the histories of the Southern Dynasties had not yet been published, and the circumstances of transmission were not clear. Therefore, it may have been mistakenly identified with the bamboo strips from the Ji tomb, and the editors of the bibliographical chapter of the Sui shu may have mistakenly accepted this.

It is clear that the Zhou shu was consulted by the authors throughout the second century ce.32 This argument can be further strengthened if we consider that at least one chapter, “Shi xun,” contains rhymes characteristic of the Eastern Han period,33 and it could not have possibly been extracted from a Warring States tomb. The hypothesis about the provenance of the entire Yi Zhou shu from the Ji tomb is obviously incompatible with the textual evidence. Nevertheless, there is another possibility: only some of the Yi Zhou shu chapters may have come from the Ji tomb. Or, in an even more cautious scenario, the discovery of similar texts in the Ji tomb have led to a mistaken but not entirely groundless identification of a particular edition of the Zhou shu with this famous discovery. Although the available evidence does not appear sufficient to resolve this problem unequivocally, it provides some tantalizing hints. The list of book titles supposedly recovered from the Ji tomb, recorded in the biography of Shu Xi 束皙 in the Jin shu 晉書 (History of Jin), is the most relevant source for tracing the possible connection between this tomb and the Zhou shu. Jin shu was completed in 648, more than 350 years after the Ji discovery:34 初，太康二年，汲郡人不準盜發魏襄王墓，或言安釐王冢，得竹書數 十車。其《紀年》十三篇.  .  .  . 其《易經》二篇，與《周易》上下經同。 《易繇陰陽卦》二篇，與《周易》略同，《繇辭》則異。《卦下易經》 一篇，似《說卦》而異。《公孫段》二篇，公孫段與邵陟論《易》。 《國語》三篇，言楚、晉事。《名》三篇，似《禮記》，又似《爾 雅》、《論語》。《師春》一篇，書《左傳》諸卜筮，“師春”似是造 書者姓名也。《瑣語》十一篇，諸國卜夢妖怪相書也。《梁丘藏》 一篇，先敘魏之世數，次言丘藏金玉事。《繳書》二篇，論弋射法。

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《生封》一篇，帝王所封。《大曆》二篇，鄒子談天類也。《穆天子 傳》五篇，言周穆王游行四海，見帝臺、西王母。《圖詩》一篇，畫贊 之屬也。又雜書十九篇：《周食田法》，《周書》，《論楚事》，《周穆 王美人盛姬死事》。大凡七十五篇，七篇簡書折壞，不識名題。









Previously, during the second year [281] of the Taikang era, a man from Ji county named Buzhun looted a tomb of King Xiang of Wei [r. 318–296] (some say it was the burial mound of King Anli),35 having extracted several dozen cartloads of bamboo manuscripts. 1. The Jinian [Annals], 13 fascicles. . . .36 2. The Yijing [Canon of Changes], 2 fascicles. The same as the first and second parts of the canonical text of the Zhou Changes. 3. The Yizhou yinyang gua [Yin-Yang Hexagrams of the Lines of the Changes], 2 fascicles. Roughly the same as the Zhou Changes, but the line statements are different. 4. The Guaxia Yijing [Sub-Trigram Canon of Changes], 1 fascicle. Reminiscent of Explaining the Trigrams, but different. 5. Gongsun Duan, 2 fascicles. Gongsun Duan and Shao Zhi discussing the Changes. 6. The Guoyu [Discourses of the States], 3 fascicles. Talking about the affairs of Chu and Jin. 7. The Ming [Names], 3 fascicles. Reminiscent of the Records on Ritual. Also reminiscent of the Erya and the Analects. 8. Shi Chun, 1 fascicle. Recording various divinations in the Zuo Tradition. Shi Chun seems to be the name of the composer of the text. 9. The Suoyu [Fragmentary Sayings], 11 fascicles. Interpretations of dreams, supernatural stories, and physiognomic treatises from various states. 10. The Liang qiucang [Treasures of the Burial Mound of Liang], 1 fascicle. First narrates the number of generations of Wei [rulers], then talks about the affair of depositing precious metals and jades into the burial mound. 11. The Zhuoshu [Stringed Arrow Writings], 2 fascicles. Discussing the method of shooting with stringed arrows. 12. The Shengfeng [Births and Enfeoffments], 1 fascicle. The enfeoffments made by thearchs and kings. 13. The Dali [Great Calendar], 2 fascicles. Master Zou discussing the types of heaven.

33 T H E S T R U C T U R E O F T H E Y I Z H O U S H U A N D I T S F O R M AT I O N H I S T O R Y





14. The Mu tianzi zhuan [Tale of Mu, the Son of Heaven], 5 fascicles. Talking about the travels of King Mu across the four seas, his visits to the pavilion of the [Yellow] Thearch and to Queen Mother of the West. 15. The Tushi [Verses on Pictures], 1 fascicle. Belongs to the type of laudatory comments on artistic works. 16. Also, miscellaneous writings, 19 fascicles: the method of provision and field [allocation] of Zhou; the Zhou writings discussing the Chu affairs [or: the Zhou scriptures; discussion of Chu affairs]; the story of the decease of Sheng Ji, King Mu’s favorite.37 Overall, 75 fascicles; 7 fascicles of bamboo manuscripts are damaged, and the titles are not known.

The entry that seems to be the most pertinent to our discussion is the obscure Zhou shu lun Chu shi 周書論楚事. There is disagreement about whether it refers to a single text, the “Zhou Writings Discussing Chu Affairs,” or two different texts, the “Zhou Scriptures” and a “Discussion of Chu Affairs.”38 Opting for the second reading would allocate a place for some texts related to the Zhou shu among the Ji tomb manuscripts. There is some evidence in support of this reading. The biography of Wei Heng 衛恆 (d. 291) in the Jin shu preserves a citation from a preface to his Siti shushi 四體書勢 (Dynamics of the Four Calligraphic Styles). In this preface, Wei Heng seems to mention a separate text called Lun Chu shi (Discussion of Chu Affairs):39 太康元年，汲縣人盜發魏襄王冢，得策書十餘萬言. . . . 古書亦有數種， 其一卷《論楚事》者最為工妙。 In the first year of the Taikang era, people of the Ji county looted a tomb of King Xiang of Wei and extracted books on bamboo strips, over a hundred thousand characters.  .  .  . There were several varieties of ancient calligraphic script there, of which the one fascicle with the Discussion of Chu Affairs is the most splendid.

However, one could still argue that the Lun Chu shi mentioned by Wei Heng is simply an abbreviated title of the text whose full name was Zhou shu lun Chu shi. This possibility effectively brings us to square one. Since the texts

34 T H E S T R U C T U R E O F T H E Y I Z H O U S H U A N D I T S F O R M AT I O N H I S T O R Y

in question have been lost, it would perhaps be most sensible to leave this problem unresolved. The group of “miscellaneous writings” comprising the last entry in the list of the Ji tomb manuscript finds is another obvious candidate for a connection with the Zhou shu. However, there are still other possibilities. The Treasures of the Burial Mound (no. 10 in the list) may have also contained some material later integrated into the Yi Zhou shu. Luo Jiaxiang 羅家湘 has recently suggested that the last chapter in the collection, “Qifu” 器服 (Utensils and Robes), may be a tomb inventory list, a textual type that is indeed very common in tomb manuscript finds.40 Although the identification of “Qifu” with this textual type is uncertain,41 and the artifacts mentioned in “Qifu” are too diverse to be summarized as “precious metal and jades,” the connection with the Treasures of the Burial Mound cannot be entirely excluded. The Fragmentary Sayings (no. 9), which contains “interpretations of dreams,” is yet another possibility. As I shall discuss in chapter 6, the motif of dream revelations is important in scriptural traditions, and it is not clear whether records of such revelations could have been included among the twelve fascicles of the Fragmentary Sayings. In sum, the list of manuscript discoveries in the Jin shu leaves us with more questions than answers. It does not prove that the Zhou shu is related to the Ji tomb discovery, but it does not disprove it either, instead providing several hypothetical possibilities of such a connection. There is, however, more specific and reliable evidence suggesting that the Ji tomb discovery indeed contained some material that can be related to the Zhou shu. It comes from a record on a stele commemorating the legendary adviser of the early Western Zhou kings, the Grand Duke (Tai gong 太公). This record is known as “Tai gong Lü Wang biao” 太公呂望表 (Stele of Grand Duke Lü Wang). As I shall demonstrate in chapter 5, the texts identified with the Grand Duke are closely connected to the Yi Zhou shu and are highly important for the study of scriptural traditions. This stele was erected soon after the manuscript discovery in the tenth year of the Taikang era (289) by Lu Wuji 盧無忌, who served as head of Ji County, where the tomb had been discovered, and who claimed to be a descendant of the Grand Duke. Here is the opening part of this inscription:42 齊太公呂望者，此縣人□□□□□天其□□大晉受命□□□□四海一 統。太康二年，縣之西偏有盜發冢，得竹策之書。書藏之年，當秦坑 儒之前八十六歲。其《周志》曰：文王夢天帝服□𧟄 以立於令狐之

35 T H E S T R U C T U R E O F T H E Y I Z H O U S H U A N D I T S F O R M AT I O N H I S T O R Y

津，帝曰：昌，賜汝望。文王再拜稽首，大公於後亦再拜稽首。文王 夢之之夜，大公夢之亦然。其後文王見大公，而叫之曰：而名為望 乎？答曰：□□望。文王曰：吾如有所於見汝！大公言其年月與其 日，且盡道其言，臣此以□□也。文王曰：有之！有之！遂與之歸， 以為卿士。 Grand Duke Wang of Qi was a man from this county. . . . Heaven. . . . When the Great Jin received the Mandate  .  .  . the territories within the four seas were united. In the second year of the Taikang era, in the western part of this county, a tomb was looted by robbers, and writings on bamboo strips were extracted from it. The year when these writings were interred must have been eighty-six years before Qin buried Ru scholars alive [298 bce]. Its “Zhou Records” say: “King Wen saw the Heavenly Thearch in a dream, who, having put on . . . rong vestments, stood at the Linghu ford. The Thearch said: ‘Chang, I give you Wang.’ King Wen bowed twice touching the ground with his forehead, and then the Grand Duke also bowed twice touching the ground with his forehead. On the night when King Wen dreamt about it, the Grand Duke also had the same dream. Later King Wen met the Grand Duke and called him saying: ‘Your name is Wang, isn’t it?’ He replied: ‘. . . Wang.’ King Wen said: ‘It feels as if I have seen you somewhere.’ The Grand Duke told him the year and the day and confirmed his words in all details: ‘Yes, this is how . . .’ King Wen said: ‘I have found him! I have found him!’ Then, he returned together with him having appointed him as a minister.”

Notably, the text quoted in this inscription, the Zhou zhi 周志 or the “Zhou Records,” does not have a direct match in the long list of manuscript finds in the Jin shu. Although the Zhou zhi is indeed mentioned in preimperial sources, and some passages attributed to the Zhou zhi have counterparts in the Yi Zhou shu, the exact relationship between the Zhou shu and the Zhou zhi remains unexplained.43 It is not clear whether this “Zhou zhi” may have been hidden behind the “miscellaneous writings” or some other part of the Jin shu list. The story of an encounter between King Wen and the Grand Duke cited in this stele may look like a fantastical record that would not appear out of place among the Fragmented Sayings from the Jinshu list. However, it seems to be more directly relatable to the scriptural and parascriptural literature if we consider its similarity to the opening chapter “Wen shi” 文師 (King Wen’s Instructor) in the Liu tao 六韜 (Six Sheaths). Liu tao, which is a collection of

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texts featuring the Grand Duke as the protagonist, is closely related to the Yi Zhou shu, as I shall show in chapter 5:44 文王將田，史編布卜，曰：田於渭陽，將大得焉。非龍非螭，非虎非 羆，兆得公侯。天遺汝師，以之佐昌，施及三王。文王曰：兆致是 乎？史編曰：編之太祖史疇，為禹占，得皋陶，兆比於此。文王乃齋 三日，乘田車，駕田馬。田於渭陽，卒見太公，坐茅以漁。 King Wen was about to go hunting. Scribe Bian announced the results of divination saying: “If you hunt on the northern bank of the Wei River, you will have a great catch! It will be neither a dragon nor a hornless dragon, neither a tiger nor a brown bear, nor will45 you acquire a hereditary lord, but Heaven has left for you an Instructor to assist you, Chang, and extend the merits [of this acquisition] to three [generations of] kings.” King Wen said: “Does the auspicious outcome of the divination extend that far?” Scribe Bian said: “My great ancestor, Scribe Chou, conducted divination for Yu [the Great], and he acquired Gao Yao. The [current] auspicious sign rivals with that.” Then King Wen, having fasted three days, mounted his hunting chariot and drove his hunting horses. As he was hunting on the northern bank of the Wei River, he finally saw the Grand Duke, who was sitting in the reeds fishing.

This is followed by a rather profound conversation between King Wen and the Grand Duke not directly relevant to our discussion, so I shall jump straight to the conclusion: 文王再拜曰：允哉！敢不受天之詔命乎？乃載與俱歸，立為師。 King Wen bowed twice and said: “Truly so! How dare I do not receive the Mandate announced by Heaven?” Then they climbed the chariot and returned together, and he appointed him as his Instructor.

It is not difficult to notice that the citation from Zhou zhi on the Stele of Grand Duke Lü Wang and the opening chapter of the Liu tao provide two versions of the same event: the extraordinary acquisition of the sagely Grand Duke by King Wen. Although the specific details are different, the main point is identical: this encounter was an ultimate expression of Heaven’s goodwill toward King Wen and a pledge of the imminent rise of the house of Zhou. In the

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Liu tao, this text is unique—it comes at the very beginning of the collection, the remainder of which does not contain any similar stories, only recording narrowly focused question-and-answer sessions, some remarkably similar to certain chapters of the Yi Zhou shu. The unique position and contents of this chapter make it stand out as the only narrative introduction to the variegated bits of situation-specific wisdom assembled in the Liu tao. We cannot know whether the passage cited in the Stele of Grand Duke Lü Wang served a similar role as an introduction to a larger group of texts related to the Grand Duke among the Ji tomb manuscripts, but it would have certainly fit this purpose. There is more evidence suggesting that, in the third century ce, the texts attributed to the Zhou shu sometimes featured the Grand Duke and not only the Duke of Zhou, the main protagonist in the received Yi Zhou shu. As pointed out by Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信一, Yan Shigu’s commentary on the Han shu quotes a passage borrowed from a Western Jin scholar, Chen Zan 臣瓚, who refers to it as chapter “Duo yi” 度邑 (Making Measurements of the City) of the Zhou shu. “Duo yi” is one of the two Yi Zhou shu chapters that appear to have been cited by Sima Qian.46 However, the version of the text consulted by Chen Zan is clearly different from the Yi Zhou shu and the text cited in the Shi ji. It records a dialog in which the Grand Duke, and not the Duke of Zhou, features as King Wu’s interlocutor:47 《周書·度邑》篇曰：武王問太公曰：吾將因有夏之居，南望過于三 塗，北瞻望于有河。 Chapter “Duo yi” of the Zhou Scriptures says: “King Wu asked the Grand Duke saying: ‘I would like to commence from the dwelling-place of the Xia [so that] looking southward I would transcend the Three Marshes, and gazing northward I would see beyond the [Yellow] River.’ ”

The text cited by Chen Zan does not simply substitute the Duke of Zhou for the Grand Duke. The degree of recomposition is greater. While in Chen Zan’s citation the passage comes from the beginning of the text, anticipating a question-and-answer session in what follows, in the Yi Zhou shu version it appears at the very end, concluding King Wu’s announcement concerning the future city at the Luo River. Here and below, citations from the Yi Zhou shu follow Huang Huaixin 黃懷信, Tian Xudong 田旭東, and Zhang Maorong 張懋鎔, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu 逸周書彙校集注 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007):

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叔旦恐，泣涕其手。王曰：嗚呼！旦，我圖夷茲殷，其惟依天，其有 憲，今求茲無遠，慮天有求繹相我不難。自洛汭延于伊汭，居陽無 固，其有夏之居。我南望過于三塗，我北望過于有嶽丕，願瞻過于 河，宛瞻于伊洛，無遠天室。其曰茲曰度邑。 Uncle Dan was greatly perplexed and soaked his sleeves with tears. The king said: “Wuhu! Dan! I plan to placate these Yin [people]. If they are supported by Heaven, then they will have order. Now I ask that this would not be far. If you think how to implore Heaven to seek to assist us by putting things in order, it will not be difficult. From the place at the confluence of the Luo to the place at the confluence of the Yi, if one dwells on the northern banks, there are no steep places. There is the dwelling-place of Xia there. If I look to the south, I extend beyond the Three Marshes. If I look to the north, I extend beyond the mountain hamlets. If I look back above, I move to the Yellow River, and if I look to the side, I extend to the Yi and the Luo rivers. This is not far from the Heavenly chamber.” They named this [text] “Making Measurements of the City.”

The comparison of the two distinct versions of “Duo yi” shows that during the late third century ce, different variants of the Zhou shu texts were in circulation. Some featured the Duke of Zhou, while others celebrated the Grand Duke. Even the names of chapters were at times identical, but the texts with identical names could still be strikingly different in structure. The creation and perpetuation of such variants were hardly a matter of idle antiquarian interest. As the erection of a commemorative stele to the Grand Duke suggests, his cult attracted much attention, and it may have been important for a community of his admirers to have a body of texts that would promote their hero. As I shall discuss in chapter 5, the Grand Duke is a figure of key importance in the history of Chinese esoteric traditions, which later evolved into what is known as “religious Daoism.” A rich body of texts attributed to the Grand Duke existed in the medieval period, and the received Liu tao is but a humble remnant of that formerly diverse textual family. There are multiple connections between these texts and the Yi Zhou shu. At least some of the textual collections attributed to the Grand Duke were referred to as the “Zhou shu” or contained material that has close parallels in the Yi Zhou shu. There seem to be examples of such texts in the citations preserved in Li Shan’s 李善 (530–589) commentary to the Wenxuan 文選 (Selections of Refined Literature). Many of the citations in this commentary attributed to the “Zhou shu” have counterparts in the received Yi Zhou shu.48 However,

39 T H E S T R U C T U R E O F T H E Y I Z H O U S H U A N D I T S F O R M AT I O N H I S T O R Y

it also contains several citations from a Guwen Zhou shu 古文周書 (Zhou Scriptures in Ancient Script) and the Zhou shu yin fu 周書陰符 (Zhou Scriptures: Secret Tallies), unpreserved texts whose titles suggest a possible connection with the tradition of Zhou scriptures represented by the Yi Zhou shu. The second text is known to belong to the family of the Grand Duke collections, and it is not surprising that the two citations from it mention the Grand Duke (see chapter 5).49 However, there is also one citation attributed to the “Zhou shu” with the Grand Duke as the protagonist.50 In light of Chen Zan’s reference to a Grand Duke version of the “Duo yi” chapter, we should not assume too quickly that it comes from the Zhou shu yin fu rather than from some early recension of the Zhou shu that contained material related to the Grand Duke. As for the Guwen Zhou shu, it seems to have recorded supernatural stories rather different in contents and style from the received Yi Zhou shu or other transmitted texts related to it—although, of course, we cannot be entirely sure that earlier recensions of the Zhou shu did not include such material:51 《古文周書》曰：穆王田，有黑鳥若鳩，翩飛而跱於衡，御者斃之以 策，馬佚，不克止之，躓於乘，傷帝左股。 The Zhou Scriptures in Ancient Script says: “King Mu was hunting. There was a black bird similar to a dove. It fluttered and sat on the horizontal drawbar in the front part of the chariot. The charioteer killed it with his whip. The horses scampered and it was impossible to stop them. They got tangled in harness and injured the thearch’s left thigh.” 《古文周書》曰：周穆王姜后晝寢而孕，越姬嬖，竊而育之，斃以玄 鳥二七，塗以彘血，寘諸姜后，遽以告王，王恐，發書而占之，曰： 蜉蝣之羽，飛集于戶。鴻之戾止，弟弗克理。皇靈降誅，尚復其所。 問左史氏，史豹曰：蟲飛集戶，是日失所，惟彼小人，弗克以育君 子。史良曰：是謂闕親，將留其身，歸于母氏，而後獲寧，冊而藏 之，厥休將振。王與令尹冊而藏之於櫝。居三月，越姬死，七日而 復，言其情曰：先君怒予甚，曰：爾夷隸也，胡竊君之子。不歸母 氏，將寘而大戮，及王子於治。 The Zhou Scriptures in Ancient Script says: “Queen Jiang, [the wife of] King Mu of Zhou, gave birth when she was having a nap. Yue Ji was [the king’s] favorite concubine. She stole [the child] and nurtured it [as her own]. [She]

40 T H E S T R U C T U R E O F T H E Y I Z H O U S H U A N D I T S F O R M AT I O N H I S T O R Y

killed twenty-seven swallows, smeared them with wild boar’s blood, put them near Queen Jiang, and hurriedly told the king. The king was frightened. He opened the books and divined about it. [The book] said: ‘Mayfly’s wings have flown and amassed at the door. If gadflies inhibit and stop them, the younger brother would not be able to manage. The August Spirit will send down a punishment, and the venerated will return to their place.’ [The king] asked his Left Scribes, and Scribe Bao said: ‘The insects flying and amassing at the door mean that today [someone] has lost their position. As for the petty person, she will not be able to nurture the noble man.’ Scribe Liang said: ‘This means that the one who lacks a familial connection will be spared her person and she will return to her maternal clan, and only then acquire peace. Record this and preserve [the record]—in her rest, she will be agitated.’ The king and his Prime Minister recorded it and deposited [the record] in a chest. After three months, Yue Ji died. After seven days, she resuscitated and told about her experiences, saying: ‘The former lords were very angry with me. They said: “You, a slave from the Yi people! How dare you steal your lord’s son! If you do not return to your maternal clan, we will attend to this matter and cruelly punish you!” ’ So she passed over the royal son in an orderly manner.”

With the possible exception of the “Zhai gong” 祭公 chapter, no chapters of the received Yi Zhou shu deal specifically with King Mu.52 On the other hand, the Ji tomb discovery is known to have contained the famous Mu tianzi zhuan (item no. 14 in the Jin shu list of manuscript finds), which records King Mu’s fantastic adventures. It is possible that the two stories about King Mu partially preserved in the previous citations, with their strong supernatural overtones, were somehow related to the Ji discovery. Interestingly, the second story seems to contain a historically incongruent detail: the title of King Mu’s prime minister, lingyin 令尹, is considered to originate from the southern kingdom of Chu 楚 and is not attested in the sources from northern China.53 One may suggest that the story was a haphazard Warring States composition or otherwise a product of the early medieval imagination at a time when the Western Zhou and Chu appeared equally archaic and remote. Although a single detail provides a shaky foundation for far-reaching conclusions, this incongruency suggests that the Guwen Zhou shu may have been an early medieval composition inspired by the fantastic narrative of the Mu tianzi zhuan. To summarize, although the exact connection between the Yi Zhou shu and the Ji tomb discovery is unclear, it is likely that the bamboo

41 T H E S T R U C T U R E O F T H E Y I Z H O U S H U A N D I T S F O R M AT I O N H I S T O R Y

manuscripts recovered from the tomb contained material that was similar in form to some of the Yi Zhou shu chapters. It is possible that some of the Ji tomb manuscripts were integrated into the collection, although there is not enough evidence to suggest that any particular chapter comes from the Ji tomb. Furthermore, as demonstrated by the citations in Li Shan’s commentary to Wenxuan, the name Zhou shu in the early medieval period was not restricted to a particular book. Rather, it could refer to a family of texts believed to originate from the Zhou era. Such texts featured different protagonists (Duke of Zhou or the Grand Duke) and covered a variety of genres. It seems that the shū—at least those of them that had not been canonized—remained an open and contested stream of the manuscript tradition, susceptible to changes, losses, and new additions. I shall discuss the intellectual diversity, generic heterogeneity, and continuous adaptability of the shū traditions in more detail in chapter 2. In the next sections of this chapter, I shall examine how the continuous dynamic developments during the medieval period defined the contents of the received Yi Zhou shu. I shall begin with the analysis of the compositional patterns and traces of editorial intervention in the received text of the collection. I shall then illustrate the complexities of the collection’s textual history using the example of the “Shifa” 謚法 (Order of Posthumous Names) chapter, one of the most frequently cited in the medieval period. I shall conclude with a reappraisal of the fragmentary evidence relating to the different recensions of the Zhou shu attested in that period. STRUCTURE OF THE YI ZHOU SHU

The fifty-nine chapters (seventy if the missing chapters are counted) of the Yi Zhou shu are divided into ten juan. The chapters are not distributed randomly. There are important regularities in both the kinds of texts grouped into specific juan and how they are sequenced within them. A quick glance at table 1.2 gives an overview of such regularities, which will be more thoroughly explained in the next sections. Some chapters of the Yi Zhou shu have commentary, while others do not. This commentary is conventionally attributed to Kong Chao, although, as I shall show, the blanket attribution of the commentary in all chapters to a single author is problematic. The texts with and without commentary tend to form continuous clusters. For eleven chapters, only titles have been preserved, while the main text has been lost.54 Such lost chapters also tend to form continuous clusters.

TABLE 1.2 Composition of the Yi Zhou shu Shi lüea

Comm.b

Du xun 度訓 Ming xun 命訓 Chang xun 常訓 Wen zhuo 文酌 Di kuang 糴匡 Wu cheng 武稱 Yun wen 允文 Da wu 大武

解 解 解 解 解 解 解 解

注 注 注 注 注 注 注 注

9

Da ming wu 大明武

解

注

10

Xiao ming wu 小明武

解

注

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

Da kuang A 大匡 Cheng dian 程典 Cheng wu 程寤 (missing) Qin yin 秦陰 (missing) Jiu zheng 九政 (missing) Jiu kai 九開 (missing) Liu fa 劉法 (missing) Wen kai 文開 (missing) Bao kai 保開 (missing) Ba fan 八繁 (missing) Feng bao 酆保 Da kai 大開

解 解

注 注

#

Juan

Title

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

1

2

3

–

Seq. outl.c

Hist. cluesd

– – – – –

+ +

+ +

23

Xiao kai 小開

+

24 25 26 27

Wen jing 文儆 Wen zhuan 文傳 Rou wu 柔武 Da kai wu 大開武

注 注 注

+ + + +

28

Xiao kai wu 小開武

注

+

29 30 31 32

Bao dian 寶典 Feng mou 酆謀 Wù jing 寤敬 Wu shun 武順

解 解 解 解

注 注 注 注

+ + +

Wu mu 武穆

解

注

He wu 和寤

解

注

+

35

Wu wu 武寤

解

注

+

36 37

Ke yin 克殷 Da kuang B 大匡

解 解

注 注

–

+ +

38

Wen zheng 文政

解

注

–

+

39

Da ju 大聚

解

注

40

Shi fu 世俘

解

注

41

Jizi 箕子 (missing)

42

Qi de 耆德 (missing)

33 34

4

–

+ –

+

43 T H E S T R U C T U R E O F T H E Y I Z H O U S H U A N D I T S F O R M AT I O N H I S T O R Y

TABLE 1.2 (continued) #

Juan

Title

43

5

Shang shi 商誓

Shi lüea

Comm.b

Seq. outl.c

Hist. cluesd +

44

Duo yi 度邑

45

Wǔ jing 武儆

46

Wu quan 五權

47

Cheng kai 成開

解

注

+

48

Zuo Luo 作雒

解

注

+

49

Huang men 皇門

解

注

+

50

Da jie 大戒

解

注

+

51

6

+ –

+ +

Zhou yue 周月

+

52

Shi xun 時訓

+

53

Yue ling 月令 (missing)

–

54

Shifa 謚法

解

55

Ming tang 明堂

+

注

+

56

Chang mai 嘗麥

+

57

Ben dian 本典

+

58

7

59

Guanren 官人

+

Wang hui 王會

解

注

+

Zhai gong 祭公

解

注

+

61

Shi ji 史記

解

注

+

62

Zhi fang 職方

解

注

Rui Liangfu 芮良夫

解

注

+

64

Taizi Jin 太子晉

解

注

+

65

Yu pei 玉佩

解

注

66

Yin zhu 殷祝

解

注

67

Zhou zhu 周祝

解

注

Wu ji 武紀

解

○

69

Quan fa 銓法

解

○

70

Qifu 器服

解

○

60

63

68

8

9

10

+

a

解 Chapters whose titles contain jiě 解 in the Shi lüe; – chapters not mentioned in the Shi lüe. 注 Chapters with commentary. ○ Chapters in juan 10 with significantly divergent descriptions; – chapters missing from the “Sequential Outline”; chapters with joint descriptions. d + Chapters with historical clues, such as date and time, mention of individual rulers, or the “ritual” contents that can be associated with the Duke of Zhou. b c

The Yi Zhou shu is accompanied by a “Zhou shu xu” 周書序 (Sequential Outline of the Zhou Scriptures), a chronologically arranged summary of chapters, mainly describing the historical circumstances of each chapter’s creation. I refer to it as the “Sequential Outline.” Compositionally and structurally, it is similar to the “Lesser Sequential Outline” (“Xiao xu” 小序) of the

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Shang shu, although the latter does not survive as a separate text but is interspersed between individual chapters of the canonical collection, perhaps similar to the arrangement of the “Sequential Outline” in the unpreserved Jingkou block print edition mentioned in Chen Zhensun’s bibliographic note.55 Not all chapters of the received Yi Zhou shu have matching descriptions in the “Sequential Outline.” Conversely, there are some chapters whose descriptions have been preserved in the “Sequential Outline,” although their text has been lost. For a complete translation of the “Sequential Outline,” see appendix 3. The chapters that do not contain historical clues—that is, information linking them to a date, historically significant location, or historical characters—tend to be positioned either at the very beginning or at the very end of the collection: the entirety of juan 1, one of the three chapters in juan 8, two of the five chapters in juan 9, and the entirety of juan 10. The only exception is chapters 32–33 in the middle of the collection. Other than these, the ordering of chapters is based on the chronological principle.56 If a particular juan contains both preserved and missing chapters, the missing ones tend to be positioned at its end. This is clearly seen in juan 2 and 4. Consequently, either the missing chapters were lost as a result of the damage to continuous parts of the manuscript, or the juan were intentionally rearranged in such a way as to group all the lost chapters toward the end of the juan. The latter is more probable, because such grouping is not unique to the Yi Zhou shu: the Guanzi 管子 also tends to position missing chapters toward the end of the juan, as observed by van der Loon.57 An even earlier example of such grouping of presumably lost texts is the Shi jing (the socalled missing odes).58 The sequence of chapters in juan 6, where the missing chapter “Yue ling” occurs in the middle, and not at the end, deserves a separate mention. In the earliest preserved block print edition from 1354, the title of the missing chapter in juan 6 is mentioned at the very end of juan 6, consistent with the pattern of juan 2 and 4. This placement effectively puts the chapter under no. 57, although in the table of contents at the beginning of juan 6, the chapter comes under no. 53. This contradiction suggests that the sequence has been manipulated, and the missing chapter “Yue ling” may have been relocated to its current position to harmonize it with the second-century statement by Cai Yong that “Yue ling” goes by no. 53 (see Cai Yong’s passage quoted previously). This appears to be one of several traces of antiquarian restoration

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of the text informed by ancient records. Indeed, considering the many changes the collection underwent throughout the medieval period, including the addition and loss of chapters and the intentional rearrangement of their sequence (see following text), the ordinal number of “Yue ling” must have necessarily changed. Acknowledging the possibility of an intentional manipulation of the chapter ordering is the simplest way to explain why the current recension still conforms with Cai Yong’s record. If a particular juan contains a significant number of chapters with and without commentary, the chapters without commentary tend to be positioned at the beginning of the juan. This is clearly seen in juan 3 and 5. Juan 7 follows the same pattern, although it has only two chapters.59 This pattern suggests that the juan may have been intentionally rearranged in such a way as to group the chapters without commentary at the beginning of the juan. Quite a few chapters missing from the “Sequential Outline” tend to be positioned in the final part of the juan: chapters 11–15 in juan 2, and chapter 40 in juan 4. They either overlap with the missing chapters (chapters 13–20 in juan 2) or are positioned immediately before them (chapters 41–42 in juan 4). This pattern, however, is not universal: the chapters 37–38 in juan 4 and chapter 45 in juan 5 that are also missing from the “Sequential Outline” are located in the middle of the juan. I propose explanations for these regularities below. COMMENTARY AND THE QUESTION OF JIE 解 IN CHAPTER TITLES

One striking feature of the Yi Zhou shu is the character jiě (“explained”) appended to the titles of all preserved chapters. One could expect it to serve a purpose similar to chapter titles in the Guanzi: the chapters marked by this character contain detailed line-by-line commentary.60 However, in the Yi Zhou shu, chapters both with and without commentary contain this character, which is puzzling. Although the received text is not useful for solving this problem, valuable evidence can be extracted from the Shi lüe, a work written by Gao Sisun with a preface dated to 1225 (see appendix 2).61 The Shi lüe contains a bibliographic outline of the Zhou shu; this outline mentions the title of each individual chapter and follows that with a citation of a passage from this chapter or, alternatively, with a short summary of its contents.62

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Notably, some of the titles and some of the quoted passages differ from the received Yi Zhou shu.63 Li Shaoping 李紹平 has observed an interesting correlation between the use of jiě in chapter titles in the Shi lüe and the presence of commentary in corresponding chapters of the Yi Zhou shu: it is predominantly the chapters with commentary whose titles contain this character, while it is missing from the titles of chapters without commentary (table 1.2).64 Thus the Shi lüe confirms that jiě, at some point, was used to mark chapters with commentary.65 This statement accords with Gu Jiegang’s observation that jiě in the chapter titles of the Yi Zhou shu is reminiscent of Guoyu jie 國語解 (Discourses of the States Explained), a version of Guoyu with commentary composed by Wei Zhao 韋昭 (201–273). Wei Zhao was a contemporary of Kong Chao, the commentator of the Yi Zhou shu, and it is likely that they followed the same naming conventions when creating commented works.66 Li’s observation is corroborated by the Qunshu zhiyao, a collection of book extracts completed in 631 ce under the supervision of Wei Zheng 魏徵 (580–643). It includes material from a relatively early edition of the Zhou shu.67 In the Qunshu zhiyao, extracts from chapters “Wen zhuan jie” 文傳解 and “Rui Liangfu jie” 芮良夫解 include commentary, while the extract from the chapter “Guan ren” 官人 (no jiě in the title!) contains no commentary. In the received Yi Zhou shu, “Wen zhuan jie” and “Rui Liangfu jie” also contain commentary, while “Guan ren jie” does not. Thus the extracts in the Qunshu zhiyao support Li Shaoping’s argument.68 The presence of material both with and without commentary in the Qunshu zhiyao complicates the picture of the Yi Zhou shu’s textual history that emerges from the bibliographic records in standard histories, which seems to suggest that the medieval recensions of the Zhou shu may have differed mainly in terms of the absence or presence of commentary. Contrary to this impression, it appears that at least one recension (the one consulted by the compilers of the Qunshu zhiyao) contained chapters both with and without commentary already in the seventh century. Lushi 路史 (Macro History), a historical work composed by Luo Mi 羅泌 (1131–1189), contains a number of citations from the Zhou shu with chapter titles. The use of jiě in these citations is mainly consistent with the pattern previously outlined: “Chang mai” 嘗麥 (Tasting of Wheat) and “Zhou yue” 周月 (The First Month of the Zhou Calendar) match the chapters without

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commentary in the received text,69 while chapters “Wang hui jie” 王會 解 (Royal Assemblies Explained), “Yin zhu jie” 殷祝解 (Yin Incantation Explained), and “Shi ji jie” 史記解 (Scribal Records Explained) correspond to chapters with commentary.70 Not all medieval evidence, however, is consistent with Li’s observation. One important exception is the citations preserved in the Yuzhu baodian 玉燭寶典 (Treasured Statute of the Jade Candle), a collectanea on seasonal activities for the different months of the year compiled by Du Taiqing 杜 臺卿 and presented to the court at the beginning of the Kaihuang 開皇 (581–600) era.71 While most of Du Taiqing’s citations come from the “Shi xun” chapter, he also mentions “Chang mai jie” 嘗麥解 and “Zhou yue jie” 周月解.72 These titles contain jiě, although the corresponding chapters in the received text do not include commentary. Whether the versions of these chapters in his edition contained commentary is unclear.73 Thus it is possible that Du Taiqing’s edition employed jiě differently from the Qunshu zhiyao, Lushi, and Shi lüe, and that the jiě character in it had already lost its meaning, as is the case in the received Yi Zhou shu. Despite the case of Yuzhu baodian, for which I presently do not have a satisfactory explanation, it generally seems that jiě was used to distinguish between material with commentary and material without commentary. Although this distinction has been lost in the received text, it can be observed in several medieval sources dating from the seventh to the twelfth century: Qunshu zhiyao, Lushi, and Shi lüe. Considering that jiě in the received Yi Zhou shu has lost its likely original meaning and does not serve any analytical purpose, I have chosen to drop it from chapter titles in the following discussion, unless it appears necessary in specific contexts. EDITORIAL INTERFERENCE IN THE “SEQUENTIAL OUTLINE” AND THE MAKING OF A CONFLATED TEXT

While the Yi Zhou shu is a multilayered anthology, the “Sequential Outline” is a multilayered text. There are traces of editorial interference in it, suggesting that it was intentionally harmonized with the contents of the collection. The prevailing pattern used in the descriptions of most chapters in the “Sequential Outline” can be schematized as having three components: (1) the individual protagonist; (2) circumstances of the creation of the text; and (3) the act of composition. Here is an example of a

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description of chapter 24, “Wen jing” 文儆 (King Wen’s Distress), following this pattern: (1) 文王 (2) 有疾，告武王以民之多變，(3) 作文儆。 (1) King Wen (2) was gravely ill. He made an announcement to King Wu regarding the many changes of the commoners. (3) Thus was composed the chapter “King Wen’s Distress.”

Entries for chapters 68–70 from juan 10 diverge from the predominant pattern of the “Sequential Outline” to the greatest extent. In fact, they appear to have been drafted according to a completely different pattern that is characterized by no mention of protagonists (either individual or collective), many negations, and a consistent number of characters per entry (eleven): 武以靖亂，非直不剋，作武紀。積習生常，不可不慎，作銓法。車服 制度，明不苟踰，作器服。 [Chapter 68] [When using] warfare to calm the chaos, [those who] are not forthright will not succeed. Thus was composed [the chapter] “Martial Discipline.” [Chapter 69] [With regard to] the ingrained habits and life routines [one] cannot be incautious. Thus was composed [the chapter] “The Appraisal Method.” [Chapter 70] The regulations concerning chariots and robes are obviously not to be carelessly transgressed. Thus was composed [the chapter] “Utensils and Robes.”

These three entries—along with the entire juan 10 that they describe—may have been appended to the text at a relatively late stage. Notably, the titles of these three chapters in the Shi lüe contain jiě, despite there being no commentary in these chapters in the received Yi Zhou shu. Thus the deviant descriptions in the “Sequential Outline” are matched by a deviant pattern in the naming of chapters. The editor may have misunderstood the meaning of the jiě character in chapter titles and employed it indiscriminately. Furthermore, when editing the “Sequential Outline,” the editor failed to convincingly imitate the predominant pattern of this text.

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An even more telling trace of editorial interference in the “Sequential Outline” is its lacunae, the series of blank squares marking the missing descriptions (or parts of descriptions) of certain chapters. Here is an instance of such a lacuna from the part corresponding to chapters 45, “Wŭ jing” 武儆 (King Wu’s Distress), and 46, “Wu quan” 五權 (Five Balances): 武王疾 此有脫簡□□□□□□□□□□□

命周公輔小子，告以正要，作五權。 [Chapter 45] King Wu was gravely ill . . . [Commentary in small characters:] There are missing characters here. [Chapter 46] . . . He ordered the Duke of Zhou to assist his little son and announce to him the essence of governance. Thus was composed the chapter “Five Balances.”

The explicit statement “There are missing characters here” is confusing and superfluous: the sequence of blank squares conveys the idea clearly enough. However, it becomes meaningful if understood as an evaluative judgment: “There must be missing characters here.” Having declared his verdict, the editor marked the “missing” part with a sequence of blank squares. Removing this artificially inserted lacuna would result in a perfectly intact description of chapter 46, “Wu quan.” In fact, this description would make better sense: chapter “Wu quan” is a testamentary charge given by King Wu to the Duke of Zhou in a state of grave illness, which agrees with the first part of the description before the lacuna. “Wŭ jing,” on the contrary, is a dialog triggered by King Wu’s dream. Nothing in the text suggests King Wu’s waning health. Apparently, the insertion of this lacuna was driven by somebody’s strong desire to accommodate the chapter “Wŭ jing,” which had not been mentioned in the “Sequential Outline.” A similar artificial lacuna appears to have been inserted in the description of chapter 39, “Da ju” 大聚 (Great Convergence), to accommodate chapters 37 and 38, “Da kuang” 大匡 (Great Rectification) and “Wen zheng” 文政 (Cultured Government). These three chapters roughly belong to the same historical moment when King Wu had already defeated Shang and was reestablishing order in his newly conquered realm. Considering their historical proximity, it is easy to see why the chapters “Da kuang” and “Wen zheng”

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would be inserted in this location. The original description of the chapter “Da ju” had to be torn apart to create room for them: 武王作克商，建三監以救其民，為之訓範 此有脫簡□□□□□□□□□，作大聚。 King Wu, having conquered Shang, established the Three Overseers in order to aid their commoners and to conduct for them instruction in models [for appropriate behavior]. [Commentary in small characters:] There are missing characters here. . . . Thus was composed the chapter “Great Convergence.”

A similar lacuna is found in the descriptions corresponding to chapters 11–16: 穆王遭大荒，謀救患分，□大匡 此有脫簡□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□ 作九間。 [Chapter 11] King Mu encountered a great famine. He made plans how to rescue those who suffer and to divide . . . “Great Rectification” . . . [Chapters 12–15] [Commentary in small characters:] There are missing characters here. [Chapter 16] . . . Thus was composed the chapter “Nine Intervals.”

At first sight, it looks like a poorly preserved description of chapter 11, “Da kuang” 大匡 (Great Rectification), followed by a lacuna and the last few characters of the description of a missing chapter 16, “Jiu jian” 九間 (Nine Intervals), whose name is alternatively spelled as “Jiu kai” 九開 (Nine Openings) in the main text. However, the description does not match the contents of “Da kuang.” It mentions King Mu, though the chapter deals with the reign of King Wen. How exactly King Mu appeared in this description is difficult to explain, and the text may be corrupt.74 Against the background of the two previous cases, it appears that the lacuna may have been used here to free up space for extra chapters, and this entire passage may have been created by breaking apart an intact description of the chapter “Jiu jian” (the two characters da kuang 大匡 probably belong to the editor’s hand). Admitting that chapters 11–12 are an insertion would

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bring more congruence to juan 2, which would then consist entirely of the material without historical clues. Another lacuna at the very end of the juan corresponds to chapter 40, “Shi fu” 世俘 (Hauling of Prisoners). It comes immediately before the missing chapters 41 and 42. Although the text of these chapters is lost, their descriptions are preserved in the “Sequential Outline”: 此有脫簡□□□□□□□□□□□

武王既釋箕子囚，俾民辟寧之以王，作箕子。 武王秉天下，論德施□而□位以官，作考德。 [Commentary in small characters:] There are missing characters here. When King Wu had released Jizi from captivity, he made the commoners condole him in a lord-like fashion as a king. Thus was composed the chapter “Jizi.” King Wu took control of All-Under-Heaven. [He] discoursed on the Devirtue and implemented . . . and . . . the positions with official appointments. Thus was composed the chapter “Examination of the De-virtue.”

This lacuna is similar to that of juan 2, where chapters 11–12 (and the titles of the missing chapters 13–15) may have been inserted immediately before the missing chapters 16–20 mentioned in the “Sequential Outline.” Overall, there is remarkable orderliness in the positioning of the missing chapters related to the lacunae in the “Sequential Outline.” It calls for an explanation, and I shall now propose a tentative hypothesis. The received Yi Zhou shu is a conflated text. It combines a recension whose contents agreed with the “Sequential Outline,” which I call host recension, with another that included chapters absent from the “Sequential Outline,” which I call guest recension. The host recension already had missing chapters at the end of juan 2 and 4. Finding a place for the chapters from the guest recension was a problem. It was addressed in two ways. (1) Some guest chapters contained historical clues that related them to the historical moments already covered in some host chapters. In such situations, the new material was inserted next to the relevant host chapters, and artificial lacunae were created in their descriptions in the “Sequential Outline” to accommodate the insertion (chapters 37–38, 45). (2) Some newly inserted chapters were positioned immediately before the chapters at the end of juan 2 and

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4 that were already missing in the “Sequential Outline.” This allowed the editor to “patch up” the collection with new insertions at the locations of the most apparent losses; this is the case of chapters 11–12 (and the missing chapters 13–15) and chapter 40. Such a choice was also partially informed by historical clues. Chapter 12, “Cheng dian” 程典 (Statute at Cheng), as well as the missing chapter 13, “Cheng wu” 程寤 (Dream Revelation at Cheng), was put next to “Da kuang,” which mentions the locality Cheng 程. Chapter 40, which is related to King Wu’s conquest of Shang, was put immediately before the lost chapter “Jizi,” named after the legendary sage freed by King Wu from imprisonment after the conquest.75 Among the chapters possibly originating from the guest recension, one can mention the following chapters: 11, “Da kuang,” 12, “Cheng dian,” 37, “Da kuang,” 38, “Wen zheng,” 40, “Shi fu,” and 45, “Wŭ jing.” Interestingly, two chapters with the identical name “Da kuang” might have been added to the collection in this way.76 To avoid confusion, I shall call chapter 11 “Da kuang A” and chapter 37 “Da kuang B.” With only one exception (“Wŭ jing”), these chapters contain a commentary. Although they may have come from the recension in eight juan mentioned in medieval bibliographies, the evidence about this recension and its own doubtlessly complex formation history is too fragmentary to allow for certain conclusions.77 We can only say that the host recension served as the foundation of the received text in ten juan, now known as the Yi Zhou shu.78 Although we do not know when exactly the two recensions were conflated, this may have happened sometime during or after the seventh century ce. The recensions circulating at that time appear to have contained significant differences. Some important information is preserved in Yan Shigu’s commentary to the Han shu. In the commentary to chapter 6, “Wu di ji” 武帝紀 (Annals of Emperor Wu), he gives a citation from the “Sequential Outline of the Zhou Scriptures.” Notably, this citation has no match in the received “Sequential Outline,” reminding us that medieval recensions of the Zhou shu probably contained chapters that the received text does not mention even among those missing.79 In the commentary to the bibliographic chapter “Yiwen zhi,” Yan Shigu mentions that only forty-five of the seventyone original chapters of the Zhou shu have been preserved.80 As the received Yi Zhou shu contains fifty-nine chapters (not including the “Sequential Outline”), it is clear that the edition consulted by Yan Shigu was even less complete.81 Yan Shigu’s comments provide a valuable hint at the extent of differences between the alternative medieval recensions and the amount of conflated material in the received text.

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HISTORICAL FLUIDITY OF THE YI ZHOU SHU: THE CASE OF CHAPTER 54, “SHIFA”

The Zhou shu remained open and fluid after the creation of the edition mentioned in the Han shu. As already mentioned, chapter 52, “Shi xun” 時訓 (Seasonal Instructions), uses the rhymes attested in the poetry of the Eastern Han period, and therefore is unlikely to have been part of the Zhou shu at the moment of its initial cataloging. Some chapters in the Yi Zhou shu were more fluid than others. This is especially true of chapters that could be used as reference works. Apart from “Shi xun,” which was valued as a calendrical and divinatory manual,82 medieval collectanea, leishu 類書, contain many citations from the manual for the assignment of posthumous names “Shifa” and the bipartite geographical catalog “Wang hui” 王會 (Royal Assemblies) whose more extensive first part enumerates the gifts presented to the court of King Cheng of Zhou 周成王 (ca. late eleventh century bce) by his subjects from various parts of All-Under-Heaven.83 Not only were these texts frequently consulted, but they were also detached from the collection and circulated in standalone editions. This detachment, in turn, contributed to an even greater change. Of these texts, the most illustrative example of historical fluidity is “Shifa.” It served a dual function. In the first place, it was an authoritative practical reference used in the assignment of posthumous names to the newly departed members of the elite. Secondly, it was an exegetical tool providing moral evaluations of historical characters by their posthumous names.84 Judging by the number of citations in medieval sources, it may have been the most frequently used text in the entire collection. More specific information about its permutations is available than for any other chapter, such as the record composed by Shen Yue’s 沈約 (441–513), which is preserved in Yuhai 玉海 (Ocean of Jade) by Wang Yinglin 王應麟 (1223–1296). I have examined this evidence in detail in appendix 4, and here I will summarize the most important observations. As a text of high referential value, “Shifa” evolved continuously. Shen Yue mentions a summary note concerning the number of entries in “Shifa” by an earlier scholar; however, other copyists had since modified the text, and Shen Yue’s own count yielded a different number. Shen Yue mentions a version of the Zhou shu with chapter 42, “Shifa,” and another version—clearly imperfectly preserved—with chapters 56 and 57, “Shifa I” (諡法一) and “Shifa II” (諡法二), of which “the first chapter contains ten-odd posthumous names, while the second chapter

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only contains the ordinal number, but no posthumous names.” The received Yi Zhou shu contains only one chapter, “Shifa,” under the ordinal number 54, which differs from both editions mentioned by Shen Yue. It appears that the ordering of chapters had been substantially modified at least once before Shen Yue (otherwise he would have had no information about two arrangements with different chapter sequences), and at least another time before the received text acquired its current form. Curiously, Shen Yue’s description of the incomplete chapter 56, “Shifa I,” which only preserved “ten-odd” entries, seems to match the final section of “Shifa” in the received Yi Zhou shu, which contains a fragmentary list of structurally distinct entries that partly duplicate and partly contradict the fuller catalog in the main part of the text. Thus the extant “Shifa” appears to be a conflation of at least two earlier texts: one full and one fragmentary. A recension of the Zhou shu in which the incompletely preserved “Shifa I” was still a separate chapter survived until as late as the eleventh century.85 We learn about it from Su Xun 蘇洵 (1009–1066), who created a revised catalog of posthumous names based on a critical study of six earlier catalogs in 1063, including the one by Shen Yue.86 Like Shen Yue’s preface, this text is also only preserved in the Yuhai:87 按治論謚者起于今文《周書·謚法》之篇。今文既以鄙野不傳，其《謚 法》之上篇獨存，又簡略不備。 The practice of deciding on [one’s] posthumous name according to one’s actions in governance begins with the “Shifa” chapter of the Zhou shu. The modern script [recension of it] has fallen out of circulation due to its wretched condition. Only the first chapter of “Shifa” survives in it, but it is fragmentary and incomplete.

Su Xun’s mention of the “modern script” Zhou shu should not be understood as the opposite of the Zhou Scriptures in Ancient Script mentioned in Li Shan’s commentary to the Wenxuan. More likely, Su Xun borrows the “ancient script” and “modern script” distinction from the jinwen 今文 and guwen 古文 recensions of the Shang shu.88 Thus the “modern script” Zhou shu may refer to an alternative recension of the Zhou shu—contrasted to the one related to the Ji tomb and therefore conceived as “ancient script” (this is also the recension of the received Yi Zhou shu). The alternative jinwen recension may correspond to the one in eight juan with Kong Chao’s commentary

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mentioned in medieval bibliographies, although the scarcity of specific information about it does not allow us to make any confident suggestions. CONCLUSION

Su Xun’s discussion of the different recensions of the Zhou shu in terms of “modern” and “archaic” script is illuminating. What it clarifies, however, is not the origin of the two recensions, but rather the ideas that accompanied their circulation. The received text based on what I have identified as the host recension was known as the Zhou Scriptures from the Tomb-Mound at Ji County in ten juan. The alternative recension in eight juan may have been conceived by Su Xun as the “modern script” text preserved in continuous circulation. As the example of “Shifa” suggests, the attribution to a paleographic discovery, paradoxically, seems to have facilitated textual innovation in the received text: while the “modern script” version was left in its corrupt state, the “ancient script” version identified with the Ji tomb discovery was revised and updated according to the expectations of contemporary audiences. In light of the history of the “modern” and “archaic” recensions of the canonical Shang shu, this appears less surprising. For several centuries, the canonical text was mainly consulted in the “archaic script” recension allegedly recovered from a wall in Confucius’s residence.89 This recension contained the entirety of the “modern script” text, plus a number of extra chapters. Thus the idea that a paleographic discovery could produce an expanded edition of a known book did not appear surprising until the eleventh century, when the first doubts regarding the authenticity of the “archaic script” chapters of the Shang shu were raised. Li Tao’s postface expressing doubt about the paleographic origin of the Jizhong Zhou shu was written in the twelfth century, soon afterwards. Although the alternative recensions of the Yi Zhou shu co-circulated for several hundred years, by the twelfth century the difference between them seems to have shrunk as a result of ongoing harmonization. Li Tao mentions that the recensions in eight and ten juan are “largely the same” 大抵不殊. Considering the many traces of editorial interference in the received text, it is possible that the recension in eight juan also underwent similar changes. Nevertheless, the most important developments in the text of the Yi Zhou shu happened earlier. Although the Song editors had left a significant impact on the received Yi Zhou shu, it was during the second to eighth centuries ce when the Zhou shu, in its different recensions, underwent its most profound

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transformations. The evidence that we have about this period is fragmentary. Nevertheless, the scattered citations and traces of editorial interference in the text provide insightful clues regarding the extent of changes, losses, and additions. These transformations occurred in the dynamic environment of medieval manuscript culture, where the Zhou shu circulated and evolved along with other manuscript collections, some of which were also considered part of the ancient tradition of the Zhou scriptures (see the discussion in chapter 5). The fluidity characteristic of manuscript culture is most visible in chapters with high reference value, such as “Shifa,” which was continuously updated in a manner not entirely dissimilar from Wikipedia articles, although most medieval editors were not sufficiently disciplined to leave records of the changes they had made. However, the manuscript variation was not the only driving force behind the Yi Zhou shu’s formation. It was balanced by the antiquarian pursuit of integrity aiming to restore the text’s conformity with ancient records. Consequently, the received Yi Zhou shu, on the surface, is surprisingly close to the ancient record in the Han shu: it still catalogs seventy-one chapters (including the lost chapters and the “Sequential Outline”), and even the sequence of chapters seems to agree with the second-century statement by Cai Yong, who mentions that chapter “Yue ling” comes under no. 53. The less frequently observed details, however, complicate this initial impression, suggesting that the intact preservation is improbable. Traces of editorial interference in the “Sequential Outline”—a veritable backbone defining the collection’s ­structure—show that the sequence of chapters has been manipulated intentionally. This is confirmed by Yan Shigu’s citation of an unpreserved entry from the “Sequential Outline,” reminding us that this text has evolved since the seventh century ce. The repeated changes in the relative position of the chapter (or chapters!) “Shifa” show that the collection had been changing dynamically during the earlier period of the second to fifth centuries ce. Finally, more than one medieval source mentions seventy-two chapters in total, casting doubt even on the “canonical” number seventy-one. The only convincing way to accommodate this evidence is to acknowledge that the received Yi Zhou shu is a product of someone’s effort to restore the collection “as it was before,” bringing it into compliance with the Han shu record and Cai Yong’s citation. This antiquarian restoration has concealed an extremely complex history, which we are only beginning to unravel and which we may never be able to understand in full.

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Our inability to explain all the complexities in the Yi Zhou shu’s formation should be taken as a call for caution rather than despair. Even if we had the original Western Han arrangement of the Zhou shu, that would not free us from the necessity of identifying texts that belong to different earlier contexts. Already at that time, grouping the texts by genre and composition date would have required a serious philological effort. As McNeal observes, “The language of the chapters of the Yi Zhou shu must be examined individually, and then perhaps in small groups of related chapters.”90 Indeed, given the complexity of the collection’s formation history and the heterogeneity of its contents, one should focus on the systematic study of similar chapters that may originate from the same or related performative environments. This is what I shall do in the following chapters, focusing on the large formally and thematically consistent group of Yi Zhou shu chapters that I call royal colloquies. Together with their relatives among the Grand Duke texts discussed in chapter 5, they hold much potential for clarifying and even transforming our understanding of early Chinese intellectual and religious history.

Chapter Two

UNDERSTANDING EARLY CHINESE SCRIPTURES

This chapter proposes a new interpretation of ancient Chinese foundational texts known as the shū 書, which I translate as “scriptures.” These texts were understood as textual bequests created by the sage rulers of antiquity for future rulers. Despite being generically diverse, they were believed to have emanated from the same authority and therefore were treated with the same reverential attitude, a point that makes them comparable to the scriptures in Western religious traditions. After the establishment of centralized empires, the shū came to be seen increasingly as counterparts of the documents publicly disseminated by emperors; this role obscured their complex origins and early performative contexts. – THE WORD SHU IN ITS GENERAL SENSE AND AS A TECHNICAL TERM

In discussing the shū, it is critically important to distinguish between the use of this word in its general sense (“to write” or “writing”) and its use as a technical term referring to a specific group of authoritative texts that lie at the foundation of the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu. On the most basic level, shū *s-ta1 is a verb meaning “to record” or “to write,” but it is also attested in nominal uses (“records” or “writings”) already in the Western Zhou epigraphy. It is useful to examine an early example of such nominal use in order to understand how it differs from the use of shū as a technical term, which is

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only attested in much later Warring States texts. Consider the opening part of the text on the Song ding 頌鼎 vessels (JC: 2827–29),2 dated to ca. 825 bce:3 唯三年五月既死霸甲戌，王在周康卲宮。旦，王各大室，即位。宰引 右頌，入門，立中廷，尹氏受王命 書 ，王呼史虢生冊命頌。 ．．． In the third year, the fifth month, when the brightness of the moon had died, on day jia-xu [11/60], the king was at the Kang-Shao palace at Zhou. At dawn, the king came to the great hall and assumed his position. Superintendent Yin assisted Song as he entered the gate and stood in the middle courtyard. The Overseer received the record of the king’s decree [boldface added]. The king ordered Secretary Guosheng to announce a decree to Song.

The ceremony depicted in this text involved the presentation of a written document.4 Although a document issued at the royal court is doubtlessly important, the word shū in this context refers simply to “writing,” and not to a special group of venerated texts. In addition to this general meaning, in the texts from the fifth to third centuries bce, the word shū emerges as a technical term referring to specific authoritative texts and a discipline of elite learning associated with them. In this sense, shū appears as part of the compound shīshū 詩書 (lit. “Odes and Writings”) and an even broader set of four disciplines of elite learning: shī, shū, lǐ 禮 (Ritual), and yuè 樂 (Music).5 Consider the following passage from chapter “Wang zhi” 王制 (Royal Establishments) of the Li ji 禮記 (Records on Ritual):6 樂正崇四術，立四教，順先王詩書禮樂以造士。春、秋教以禮樂， 冬、夏教以詩書。王大子、王子、群後之大子、卿大夫元士之適子、 國之俊選，皆造焉。凡入學以齒。 The Director of Music held the four arts in high esteem and established the four disciplines, following the Odes, Writings, Ritual, and Music of the former kings to educate gentlemen. In spring and autumn, they would be instructed in Ritual and Music; in winter and summer, they would be instructed in Odes and Writings. Heir Apparent, other royal sons, the eldest sons of hereditary rulers, the eldest sons from the main wives of the highest officials and the king’s officers, as well as the outstanding and chosen men of the state—all would be educated this way. They would all start learning according to their age.

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In the context of disciplines of elite learning, shū doubtlessly refers to special writings—the shū—and not just writings in general.7 However, even when the word shū is mentioned alone, often the context makes it clear that the passage refers to a narrow body of authoritative texts. Consider the following passage from chapter “Zheng lun” 正論 (Rectifying Discourses) of the Xunzi 荀子:8 刑稱罪，則治；不稱罪，則亂。故治則刑重，亂則刑輕，犯治之罪固 重，犯亂之罪固輕也。書曰：刑罰世輕世重，此之謂也。 When punishments are commensurate to offenses, there is order; when they are not commensurate to offenses, there is chaos. That being the case, in the times of order, punishments are heavy, and in the times of chaos, punishments are light. An offense committed against an orderly [state] is inherently heavy, while an offense committed against a chaotic [state] is inherently light. As it is said in the “Writings”: “Punishments and penalties are light for some generations and heavy for other generations.” This is what it means.

The shū passage cited in the Xunzi can be found in chapter “Lü xing” 呂刑 (Lü’s Punishments) of the canonical Shang shu. In this particular example, the matching text has been preserved and the passage can be identified. On other occasions, the shū texts mentioned in sources have been lost. However, whenever they are preserved, they usually have counterparts either in the Shang shu or the Yi Zhou shu, suggesting that these two collections succeed the ancient shū of the shīshū pair. Such citations were commonly used to strengthen one’s point.9 For example, the Xunzi passage refers to the “Lü xing” as if it had already contained, in a nutshell, the idea that Xunzi elaborates a step further.10 Passages from the shī were also frequently cited in this way, and both categories of elite learning were commonly used as repositories of authoritative maxims that could reinforce almost any argument.11 Although the canonical Shang shu was put together only in the second century bce,12 citations in the texts produced in the fourth and third centuries bce make it clear that the shū texts had already enjoyed a privileged status during the preceding centuries. It is also clear that they were treated by the authors of philosophical texts as belonging to an earlier and more authoritative layer of literature, similar to how the Bible was quoted by medieval Christian scholars. It is unclear when exactly shū began to be used as a technical term. This use can be traced from the Warring States period, and it is unlikely that it

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appeared much earlier. Therefore, the history of this term should not be confused with the history of the texts that it refers to, many of which originate from the Spring and Autumn period, and some to the Western Zhou period. In all likelihood, the term shū was applied retrospectively to an already existing body of texts. If so, this story is similar to that of the variegated compositions that we call the Bible—in their most important part composed centuries before the Hellenistic Jewish communities adopted the Greek word τὰ βιβλία or “the books” as a technical term to refer to them. Some of the writings that were incorporated into the shū category had been inherited from the tradition of Zhou royal scribes. The early uses of these texts are unclear, and the reconstructive interpretations offered by contemporary scholars often differ: while some prefer to see the shū as administrative or historical records, others emphasize their ritual and religious contexts. As there was no distinction between the secular and religious spheres in traditional China, these approaches perhaps should be understood as complementary, and not contradictory. Nevertheless, there is some danger in prioritizing one dimension to the extent of dismissing others, and the scholarship of the shū has been somewhat stymied by the tendency to interpret them as objective historical records produced by secular-minded officials. Consider the following words by Li Ling 李零, one of the most erudite contemporary scholars of Early China:13 The emergence of “writings” [i.e., literary texts—my note] is a major event in the world’s history: all the great sages, great religions, and great philosophies relied on them; this is what Jaspers calls “the axial age.” But China’s “axial age” is perhaps somewhat different from that in other parts of the world. Our “axial age” mainly emerges not from religious transcendence, but from secular transcendence. . . . For example, the earliest ancient texts known in the Warring States period, such as “Odes,” “Writings,” and “Changes,” were directly extracted from the official repositories of documentary records and music, and they originate from document archives.

The ideas formulated by Li Ling are widespread, particularly in Chinese scholarship, but seldom expressed so succinctly.14 They have far-reaching implications. They reinforce the belief in the objectivity of ancient sources, which were put down in writing by professional scribes, thus giving us an “external perspective” on the protagonists depicted in texts. They imply that the texts’ composition was regulated by the ethical and professional principles

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of the ancient scribal community, and not just by individual whims of scribes or their masters. This ancient community of professionally trained literate men becomes the precursor of modern scholars, who inherit their texts through an uninterrupted line of succession, with an entitlement to read and interpret them as part of their communal and cultural service. It would be simplistic and misleading to consider this attitude simply an expression of contemporary nationalism. Although it aligns with the nationalist agenda, it has deeper roots and deserves greater respect. What seems to be at stake is the continuity of the communities of literacy and learning, which transmit essential historical memories and ensure the cultural unity of China across the many centuries of its existence.15 The idea that the earliest texts in the Chinese canon had been composed by official scribes as part of their day-to-day duties also spread into Western sinology. In particular, it influenced James Legge (1815–1897), who had initially translated the Shang shu as the Book of History but later changed his mind, calling it the Book of Historical Documents, a choice based on an interpretation of the concept of shū congenial with Li Ling’s ideas. Legge clearly states that he was influenced by the Chinese views on the subject. In his translations, he aimed to faithfully transmit the ideas of Chinese classical texts close to how they were understood among the learned Chinese at his time. Having adopted this approach, “he preferred, wherever it was possible, to abide by views that had occurred to some native scholar, rather than start new ones of his own.”16 With this sympathetic attitude, challenging the tradition was both unnecessary and undesirable. But despite this deliberate abstinence from critical inquiry, Legge’s description of the realities that he imagined behind the creation of the Shang shu is insightful. Speaking of the Zhou li 周禮 (Zhou Rituals), a text that we can now identify as a Warring States composition projecting onto the Western Zhou period an image of a well-regulated and sophisticated bureaucratic universe,17 Legge observes: “These passages clearly show that under the Zhou dynasty, from its commencement in the eleventh century before our Christian era, there was provision made for the compilation and preservation of imperial charges and ordinances, of records of the operations of the general government, and of histories of the different States; and, moreover, for the preservation and interpretation of documents come down from more ancient times.”18 Continuing his discussion of the possible existence of similar institutions during the earlier Shang and Xia 夏 dynasties, whose historicity he did not doubt, Legge still concludes optimistically, despite the scarcity of available evidence: “There can be no doubt

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that about 2000 years before our era the art of writing was known in China, and that it was exercised in the composition of Documents of the nature of those which we read in the Shu Jing [italics added].”19 To most scholars today, both in China and abroad, this view would appear implausible: writing in China was probably only invented shortly before 1300 bce, and the shū texts that claim to originate from the Xia dynasty were most likely among the latest to be composed.20 However, the understanding of the shū summarized and promoted by Legge still continues to influence scholars. Few would agree today with the existence of scribal offices during the Xia dynasty; the shū texts dealing with this period are certainly retrospective compositions, and their purposes cannot be bureaucratic. As for the Western Zhou period, despite the presence of a well-developed and literate administrative apparatus,21 the few shū texts that may have originated during this period may have been preserved for their commemorative and liturgical value, and not as by-products of secular administration. Historically, they are predominantly related to the circumstances of the Zhou conquest of Shang and the first two reigns after the conquest—the quintessentially important foundational period continuously reflected upon in later history. Retrospective commemoration has clearly informed the selection and even composition of some shū—most obviously in the texts dealing with the mythical rulers and the Xia dynasty. This understanding clearly contradicts the understanding of the shū as bureaucratic documents, supposedly composed during or shortly after the events that they record. Nevertheless, it remains influential, and Legge’s later interpretation of the shū as “documents” remains the preferred English translation.22 The main problem with this understanding is the tendency to prioritize the few texts that may originate from official contexts—while treating everything else with suspicion as deviations or forgeries. It also encourages a simplistic attitude to the shū, lumping together the history of the technical term and the histories of the diverse texts that it encompasses. As I shall argue, the references to the shū in the texts from the Warring States period— around which time shū was likely introduced as a technical term—and a close analysis of the shū texts themselves reveal that they were understood in a different way, representing a more complex phenomenon than genuine or imitative bureaucratic records. Coming from different time periods and different genres, these diverse compositions were appreciated by the Warring States audiences not for their factual accuracy as official documents, but for their didactic and empowering properties. They were attributed to the ancient sage rulers, whose undisputed authority helped to blend this

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variegated textual mix together. This understanding, on which I elaborate in the rest of the chapter, may give us valuable insight into the nature of the more archaic textual sources from ancient China, the social environments of their production, their value, and ultimately the way we read and understand them. For example, the chapter “Hong fan” 洪範 (Great Plan) of the Shang shu can be read either as a documentary record of a king’s conversation with his adviser or as revelation from Heaven materialized in writing. Admitting this latter interpretation for a cornerstone text of the tradition makes one doubt whether ancient China was indeed the kind of secularized exception in human history as suggested by Li Ling. The connection to royal archives (or rather, treasuries), which Li Ling understands as a testimony to the texts’ secular nature and objectivity, invoked almost opposite connotations in the Warring States imagination, pointing at the texts’ mystical legitimizing properties. I shall discuss this issue in chapter 6. Before I proceed with my alternative interpretation of the authoritative shū texts, I shall briefly summarize an important study by Zhang Ning 章寧, whose analysis of their diachronic evolution provides an excellent foundation for my further discussion. – HOW THE AUTHORITATIVE SHU TEXTS WERE UNDERSTOOD DURING THE WARRING STATES PERIOD

Zhang observes that “during the pre-imperial period, the understanding of shū-type texts was not so much focused on their form, as on their social function and impact.”23 It was only in the Han sources that the shū texts were first described in terms of their formal features as “ancient commands and decrees” 古之號令.24 In this light, it may be misleading to define shū as a strict formal genre based on what is considered the most representative shū texts, namely, the archaic chapters of the Shang shu.25 This approach inevitably dismisses many chapters in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu that do not contain the “typical” features. However, the Warring States sources do not appear to make this distinction. Chapters of the Yi Zhou shu such as “Da kuang” 大匡 (Great Rectification), “Cheng dian” 程典 (Statute at Cheng), “Chang xun” 常訓 (Lesson on Constancy), “Wen zhuan” 文傳 (King Wen’s Bequest), “Wù jing” 寤儆 (Distress at Awakening), “He wu” 和寤 (Peaceful Awakening), and “Da jie” 大戒 (Great Admonition), while not reminiscent of the “typical” Shang shu chapters in either their form or language, seem to be treated as shū in Warring States texts.26

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Zhang Ning observes that the shū-type texts (shu lei wenxian 書類文 獻) were not understood as official records or valued as such during the Warring States period. He writes, “Although they had preserved traces of archival documents to different extents, in general they had already departed from their functional sphere, and were known and referred to exclusively as literary texts.”27 Zhang Ning further warns against the static view of the shū texts as a “stable closed system” that ignores the complexities, ambiguities, and overlaps inherent to the process of formation of this “literary type” 文類.28 As an alternative to such a static view, he identifies “three layers” in the historical evolution of the shū-type texts: the early Western Zhou understanding, the Warring States understanding, and the understanding in contemporary scholarship. During the Western Zhou stage, some shū were created as “official records,” which Zhang considers the source of the shūtype texts, although he also observes that such early shū were inseparable from the ritual practices of the period. For Zhang, not every text that demonstrates the formal features of such official records should be considered shū. For example, the text on the famous Mao gong ding 毛公鼎 (JC: 2841), which contains many phrases identical to the received Shang shu, is not a shū text.29 As a technical term referring to a specific group of authoritative texts, shū only emerges in the Eastern Zhou sources. This corresponds to the “second layer” in Zhang’s framework. Zhang observes that, during this period, shū texts with different formal properties were understood as belonging to the same group. At the same time, the shū gradually distanced themselves from ritual. The “imitative” nature of the shū texts composed in this period suggests that they were modeled after earlier literary types and were not produced from the exigencies of the ritual process.30 Perhaps as a result of this separation from ritual, in some later shū texts the speech gives way to narrative. Overall, the unity of the shū-type texts in this period seems to be determined by their social function and the manner in which they are referenced, rather than by their formal properties, which are too diverse to constitute a uniform “literary type.” Many aspects of Zhang’s analysis are innovative and convincing. His suggestion to study the Warring States shū texts on their own terms without imposing upon them anachronistic later understandings is commendable. His observation that the concept of shū only emerges in the Eastern Zhou period is also insightful. However, the suggestion that the later shū are less ritual than the earlier ones should be taken with caution; as I shall discuss

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in chapters 5 and 6, it is more likely that we are dealing with different types of ritual that should be appreciated on different terms. Zhang also remains cautiously agnostic regarding the meaning of the concept of shū during the Warring States period. Although he rightly points out that the shū cannot be understood only as “official records,” he does not offer an alternative explanation. Indeed, the sources from which we could extract an alternative understanding are scarce.31 However, as I shall show in the following sections, not all of them have been studied sufficiently, and it is still possible to reconstruct how the shū were understood in the Warring States period. – THE MOZI: THE SHU AS SCRIPTURES

The concept of shū as authoritative texts can only be traced back to sources from the fifth to third centuries bce. In fact, it may have been only during this stage that the shū really came into existence, having absorbed texts from a variety of earlier genres.32 When this new unity was forged, the shū were understood as “scriptures,” authoritative writings par excellence. “Scriptures,” which is my proposed understanding and translation of shū as a technical term, is not only close to the basic meaning of shū as “writing” but also emphasizes the reverential attitude of the audiences central to the preimperial conception of shū. For these reasons, it may be a sounder alternative to the conventional but misleading translation “documents.” This understanding of the shū also solves the problem of the presence of distinct textual types in the shū corpus: the unity of these diverse texts is not based on their belonging to the same genre, but rather on the respectful attitude of the audiences. In my reassessment of the shū, I rely predominantly on the Mozi 墨子, which contains rich, explicit information on this matter. This understanding is largely consistent with other sources, as I shall demonstrate. It has been observed that the use of the term shū—or “Scriptures of Former Kings” 先王之書33—in the Mozi is not compatible with how the shū are conventionally understood.34 But there is more to it: the alternative understanding in the Mozi is more useful than the conventional one.35 Let us consider, for a start, the following passage from chapter “Shang xian xia” 尚賢 下 (Exalt the Worthy, Part Three):36 古者聖王既審尚賢欲以為政，故書之竹帛，琢之槃盂，傳以遺後世子 孫。於先王之書呂刑之書然 . . . . . .

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In antiquity, the sage rulers, having scrutinized the matter of the promotion of the worthy, desired to employ it in government. Thereupon they wrote it on bamboo and silk, engraved it on the pan and yu vessels, and passed it down to bequeath it to their sons and grandsons of later generations. In “Lü’s Punishments” in the “Scriptures of Former Kings” it is recorded as follows . . . 

The usual way to approach this passage (and its parallels in the Mozi) is to interpret it as a reflection on the different types of writing employed in antiquity,37 or as a discussion of the role and significance of writing in general.38 Nevertheless, it is more precise: what is discussed here is a specific group of authoritative texts produced by the sage rulers. In the Mozi, such passages are invariably followed by citations, often corresponding to passages in the received Shang shu (the particular passage just quoted is followed by a citation from “Lü xing”), and a connection between these passages and the texts cited after them is very clear. The “Scriptures of Former Kings” are understood as textual bequests made by the sage rulers for the rulers of future generations, put down in writing to save their foundational wisdom from oblivion. Notably, the sage rulers transmitted such textual bequests not only on perishable media (bamboo and silk), but also on permanent media (metal and stone), which is more explicitly described in a similar passage from “Ming gui xia” 明鬼下 (Explaining the Spirits of the Deceased, Part Three):39 古者聖王必以鬼神為，其務鬼神厚矣，又恐後世子孫不能知也，故書 之竹帛，傳遺後世子孫；咸恐其腐蠹絕滅，後世子孫不得而記，故琢 之盤盂，鏤之金石，以重之。 In antiquity, the sage rulers definitely acknowledged [the existence of] the spirits of the deceased,40 and their service toward them was very diligent. But they were afraid that their sons and grandsons of later generations would not be able to learn about it. Thereupon they wrote it on bamboo and silk and passed it down to bequeath it to the sons and grandsons of later generations. Still, they were afraid that these records would decay and perish and the sons and grandsons of later generations would not be able to obtain it so as to be aware of it. Thereupon they engraved it on pan and yu vessels, and incised it on metal and stone, in order to reinforce [the record].

Although the Mozi describes the scriptures of the sage kings as something created with the sole purpose of instructing future generations, what we

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know from the genuine epigraphic texts contradicts this vision: the text on a bronze vessel was meant to be employed in ancestral ritual immediately after the casting, and not after remote posterity would extract it from a treasury several hundred years later.41 The Mozi, however, only sees the value of such epigraphic and manuscript artifacts in their quality as time capsules directed at future generations. This view has the advantage of allowing the composers of the Mozi to see themselves as more or less legitimate recipients of ancient texts, charged with the duty to transmit and interpret the testaments of the sage rulers.42 Consider the following passage from “Jian ai xia” 兼愛下 (Inclusive Care, Part Three):43 何知先聖六王之親行之也？子墨子曰：吾非與之並世同時，親聞其 聲，見其色也。以其所書於竹帛，鏤於金石，琢於槃盂，傳遺後世子 孫者知之。泰誓曰 . . . . . . How can one know that the six sage kings would personally put it [the principle of impartial love] into practice? Master Mozi said: “I do not belong to their generation and time so that I could personally hear their voices and see their faces. But I know it from what they wrote on bamboo and silk, incised on metal and stone, engraved on pan and yu vessels and passed down in order to bequeath it to the sons and grandsons of later generations. The ‘Great Harangue’ says: . . .”

In this passage, various epigraphic and nonepigraphic texts attributed to the sage rulers are reinvented as repositories of argumentative precedents serving the likes of Mozi, while their ritual contexts are dismissed. Remarkably, the types of bronze vessels that the Mozi mentions as suitable carriers of transgenerational textual instruction do not seem to be chosen randomly. In particular, the pan 槃/盤 basins indeed are the types of ritual bronzes to carry the most elaborate and long textual messages in the Western Zhou period,44 and it appears that the community that produced the Mozi had a sufficient awareness of this fact and was able to distinguish between the different types of texts on different types of vessels.45 The passages that the Mozi quotes as the scriptures of the sage kings are not taken exclusively from the shū. Sometimes—quite unexpectedly—the corresponding passages are found in the Shi jing. One such citation comes from the already mentioned chapter “Ming gui xia”:46

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子墨子曰：周書大雅有之，大雅曰： Master Mozi said: the “Great Elegantiae” in the “Zhou Scriptures” mentions it. The “Major Court Hymns” says: . . .

Another similar citation is found in “Shang tong zhong” 尚同中 (Exalt Conformity, Part Two):47 是以先王之書周頌之道之曰： Therefore the “Zhou Eulogies” in the “Scriptures of Former Kings” mentions it saying: . . .

Both these passages are followed by citations that have counterparts in the “Da ya” 大雅 (Major Court Hymns) and “Zhou song” 周頌 (Zhou Eulogies), the “royal” sections of the received Classic of Odes.48 Apparently, for the Mozi the writings of former rulers can include both the shū and the shī.49 If we read such passages through the prism of later canonical texts, we have to conclude that the terminological precision of the Mozi is very low. However, it is possible to interpret these citations without accusing the text of incompetence. The term shū clearly cannot refer here to a Mohist “edition” of the Shang shu,50 but may be closer to its basic meaning of “scriptures,”51 which could also include the “Odes” in their written form. In other words, the Mozi refers to various texts supposedly produced by the venerable rulers of the past on both perishable and nonperishable media, regardless of their generic form. These texts were merged together by the reverential attitude of early Chinese audiences, similar to the Jewish and Christian attitude toward the Bible.52 Indeed, the unity of the Bible is also based on the reverential attitude of its audiences rather than on the generic uniformity of its contents.53 THE TESTAMENTARY NATURE OF SCRIPTURES

Having explored how the “Scriptures of Former Kings” are understood in the Mozi, we can examine whether this understanding can be applied to other preimperial sources. To do this, I will reformulate the understanding of scriptures derived from the Mozi in three falsifiable statements: (1) The scriptures contain recorded wisdom bequeathed by the rulers of the

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past upon posterity. (2) They originate from both perishable and epigraphic sources. (3) They constitute a broad group of texts encompassing different formal textual types. I will discuss the evidence for each of these three statements in this and the following sections. The first point—that scriptures were understood as royal wisdom recorded for the rulers of future generations—can be corroborated by both circumstantial and internal evidence from sources covering a large span of time. Consider, in particular, the “Preface” (Xu 序) to the Shang shu by pseudoKong Anguo 偽孔安國. While this text probably originates around the early fourth century ce and not from the historical Kong Anguo (ca. 156–ca. 74 bce), it remains an essential source for studying the history of the reception of the Shang shu.54 The later date of the “Preface” demonstrates that the understanding of authoritative scriptures attested in the Mozi was still remembered many centuries later:55 至于夏商周之書，雖設教不倫，雅誥奧義，其歸一揆。是故歷代寶 之，以為大訓。 Speaking of the scriptures of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, although the teachings established by them were not of the same kind, their edifying announcements and profound intentions are essentially the same. Therefore, they were treasured throughout generations and regarded as great instruction. 凡百篇，所以恢弘至道，示人主以軌範也。帝王之制，坦然明白，可 舉而行。 The hundred chapters [of the Shang shu] are a means to disseminate the ultimate way and demonstrate the exemplary patterns to those who rule over people. The regulations of thearchs and kings are transparent and clear, and they can be enacted straight away.

While this understanding of the scriptures is later than the Mozi, both sources agree on one important point: the scriptures are the source of exemplary precedents from past rulers to be reenacted by later monarchs. There is nothing in the “Preface” to suggest that the scriptures were valued as historical documents or that they were created by court scribes. If anyone has the agency of composing them, it is certainly the sage rulers themselves.

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Apart from the “Preface,” the same notion underlies the “sequential outlines” of the Shang shu (the “Lesser Sequential Outline” or “Xiao xu” 小序) and the Yi Zhou shu (“Zhou shu xu” 周書序 or “Sequential Outline of the Zhou Scriptures”),56 which describe how individual chapters were composed— invariably by the sage rulers, and not by their scribes. The idea of the former rulers’ agency in the composition of the scriptures is also embedded in the main text of several chapters in these two collections. Consider, for example, the introductory passage in the “Lü xing”:57 惟呂命。王享國百年。耄，荒度作刑，以詰四方。 The decree of Lü. The king enjoyed his reign for a hundred years. When he became old, having considered things broadly, he composed the rules of punishments in order to conduct investigations [of the misdeeds committed by the people] of the four directions.

The mention of the elderly king’s personal involvement in the composition of this testament is echoed by the explicit emphasis on transgenerational transmission of the kingly wisdom in the closing passage of the chapter:58 王曰：嗚呼！嗣孫，今往何監，非德于民之中？尚明聽之哉！ The king said: “Wuhu! Grandsons who succeed to my position! From now on, how shall you exercise authority? Is it not by [disseminating] your charisma among the people? Reverently and clearly listen to this!”

This passage may not be the easiest to understand,59 but the message is clearly presented as a time capsule directed at future generations, consistent with the notion of scriptures as recorded wisdom bequeathed to posterity. The self-referential presentation of texts as future-projected instructions is largely alien to the Shang shu.60 Indeed, the “Lü xing” is one of the few exceptions, while most other chapters do not attempt to create an explicit time gap between the revered protagonists and the yet-unborn audiences. Another unusual chapter that contains a similar future-projected message is “Jun shi” 君奭 (Lord Shi):61 在我後嗣子孫大弗克恭上下，遏佚前人光在家，不知天命不易，天難 諶，乃其墜命，弗克經歷。

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If the sons and grandsons who succeed to our position are profoundly unable to show reverence to those above and below, if they curtail and lose the light of their predecessors at the [royal] house, if they are ignorant of the fact that the Mandate of Heaven is not easy [to bear] and that Heaven is hard to put trust in, then they will lose the Mandate and would not be able to endure for a long time.

Finally, the “Wu yi” 無逸 (Against Slothfulness) chapter is styled as an open address made by the Duke of Zhou 周公 to the unnamed rulers of future generations. It appears bizarre against the background of the predominant type of speeches in the Shang shu,62 where both the speaker and the recipient of the speech are presented in a specific historical setting. However, this unusual way of presentation makes sense in light of how the shū are understood in the Mozi:63 周公曰：嗚呼！嗣王其監于茲。 The Duke of Zhou said: “Wuhu! Let the successor kings consider these [instructions]!”

A similar interest in transgenerational communication with the sage rulers is attested in several chapters of the Yi Zhou shu that are also styled as instructions directed at future posterity. I discuss this subject in more detail in chapter 4. The idea of testament implies that the text was composed toward the end of the protagonist’s life, or under otherwise threatening circumstances. We see this on many occasions in the broader shū corpus: apart from the “Lü xing,” which is explicitly presented as a testament of an elderly king, there is a deathbed scene in the “Gu ming” 顧命 (Testamentary Charge),64 a similar scene in the “Jin teng” 金滕 (Metal-Bound Coffer),65 a royal testament of the elderly King Wen in “Wen zhuan” (King Wen’s Bequest) in the Yi Zhou shu, and a farewell instruction of an elderly duke in “Zhai gong” 祭公 (Duke of Zhai).66 To these, one may also add “Wu quan” 五權 (Five Balances) from the Yi Zhou shu, pronounced by a gravely ill king.67 Finally, there is a small group of chapters in which kings announce their instructions after perplexing dream revelations: “Wen jing” 文儆 (King Wen’s Distress), “Wù jing,” and “Wǔ jing” 武儆 (King Wu’s Distress). Although such texts are not testaments per se, they can be understood

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as containing instructions uttered in liminal states, giving exceptionally heavy weight to the protagonists’ words. I discuss this point in more detail in chapter 6. To sum up, the understanding of shū as transgenerational instructions transmitted from the sage kings to future generations is not only attested in the Mozi, but also repeated in the pseudo-Kong Anguo “Preface” and embedded in a number of chapters within the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu. Treating the shū as time capsules bequeathed by the sage rulers to their successors seems to have been common among the ancient audiences, and, as suggested by the pseudo-Kong “Preface,” it was still current during the early medieval period. Notably, the repeated emphasis on the moments of dynastic transition that reverberates in scriptural texts is not merely a rhetorical trope, but most probably a reflection of their ritual function as receptacles of legitimate authority transmitted in the continuous tradition of Zhou scribes. Thus, in addition to their verbal dimension, scriptures are also precious mystical artifacts with a capacity to endow royal power. I discuss this important aspect in detail in chapter 5. MULTIMEDIA ORIGINS OF SCRIPTURES

Ancient audiences seem to have understood the shū as emerging from both manuscript texts and epigraphy.68 Even during the early empires, some of the Shang shu were regarded as epigraphic in origin. Consider this insightful passage from Cai Yong’s 蔡邕 (132–192) “Ming lun” 銘論 (Discourse on Epigraphic Texts):69 若黃帝有巾几之法，孔甲有盤盂之誡，殷湯有甘誓之勒，冕鼎有丕顯 之銘。武王踐阼，咨于太師，作席几楹杖之銘，十有八章。周廟金人 緘口以慎。 Thus, the Yellow Thearch had the way of [putting inscriptions on] towels and tables;70 Kong Jia had admonitions [engraved] on washing basins and bowls;71 [King Cheng] Tang of Yin had engravings of the harangue at Gan.72 On ceremonial caps and bronze tripods [they] had epigraphic texts [celebrating] the splendor [of the kings]. When King Wu ascended the throne, he was assisted by the Grand Instructor and made inscriptions on the sitting mats, tables, columns, and staffs, [altogether] eighteen articles. The bronze man in the Zhou temple cautioned [people] with a sealed mouth.73

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呂尚作周太師，封于齊，其功銘于昆吾之冶，獲寶鼎于美陽。 [The Grand Duke] Lü Shang was the Grand Instructor of Zhou, [he] got enfeoffed at Qi, and his achievements are cast in the metal forged by Kunwu. Precious bronzes were obtained at Meiyang.

These passages provide many examples of epigraphic (or otherwise materialfocused) royal scriptures: the historically attested discovery of bronze vessels at Meiyang,74 the Shang shu (“Gan shi”), a text related (or identical) to “Wu wang jian zuo” 武王踐阼 (When King Wu Ascended the Throne) preserved in the Da Dai li ji 大戴禮記 (Records on Ritual of Dai the Elder),75 and several texts that were created in imitation of epigraphy. Overall, these texts are clearly related to the writings inscribed by the sage rulers on nonperishable media mentioned in the Mozi, showing that the ideas concerning the epigraphic origins of scriptural texts were still current during the second century ce. The shū corpus also contains texts with self-referential mentions of their purported epigraphic origin. Consider the chapter “Da ju” 大聚 (Great Convergence) of the Yi Zhou shu, which can be tentatively described as a treatise on political economy. In the opening, it is styled as a speech by the Duke of Zhou, but its final passage is a self-reflexive account of how the text was cast in bronze and deposited in the treasury:76 乃召昆吾，冶而銘之金版，藏府而朔之。 Then [the king] summoned Kunwu to cast and inscribe [the text] in a metal tablet. It was stored in the treasury and [used in] the new moon [ritual].

This colophon creates an imaginary epigraphic pedigree for the text, which would otherwise appear as a purely literary creation. It is striking that no scribes are mentioned, as if no recording was necessary between the pronouncement of the speech and its casting in metal by Kunwu 昆吾 (depending on the context, either a legendary individual or a group associated with metalwork and other crafts, also mentioned by Cai Yong in connection with epigraphy). Doubtlessly, the composers of “Da ju” were aware that scribes were necessary to write the text down. However, in a text presented as a precious embodiment of the Duke of Zhou’s speech, the mundane scribal activity was deemed superfluous and was not mentioned. A similar instance of an

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epigraphic reflection in a kingly text can be found in the version of the Liu tao preserved in the Qunshu zhiyao 群書治要 (Essential Extracts on Governance from Various Books; the received Liu tao does not contain this fragment):77 文王曰：善！請著之金板。 King Wen said: “Excellent!” He demanded that it be inscribed on a metal plate.

Apart from such explicit mentions, there are a number of texts whose epigraphic connections are attested in their titles. The bibliographic catalog “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 (Treatise on Arts and Literature) in the Han shu mentions a text called Huangdi ming 黃帝銘 (Epigraphic Texts of the Yellow Thearch) under the rubric “Dao jia” 道家, and Kong Jia panyu 孔甲盤盂 (Kong Jia’s Texts on pan and yu Vessels) under the rubric “Zajia” 雜家 (Miscellaneous).78 In this connection, one should also pay attention to the Jinban liu tao 金板六弢 (Six Bow Cases [Inscribed] on Metal Plates), an unpreserved text mentioned in the Zhuangzi. Lu Deming’s 陸德明 (d. 630 ce) commentary—in turn based on earlier works of Sima Biao 司馬彪 (d. 306 ce) and Cui Zhuan 崔譔 (lived during the Eastern Jin 東晉 [317–420])—­suggests that this title refers to the chapter(s) of the Zhou shu 周書 (Zhou Scriptures).79 All these texts bear the connotations of precious material artifacts— an important detail essential for the proper evaluation of these texts, as I argue in chapter 6. It is not only the lesser known peripheral works that mention epigraphic texts produced by the sage rulers of the past. The “Da xue” 大學 (Great Learning), one of the authoritative texts of the Ruist 儒 tradition preserved in the Li ji, also contains such a reference. Alongside citations from the Odes, “Kang gao” 康誥 (Announcement to the Prince of Kang), “Tai Jia” 太 甲 (unpreserved text with a counterpart in the spurious “old script” [guwen 古文] recension of the Shang shu), and “Di dian” 帝典 (“Thearch’s Statute”; citation is preserved in the Shang shu’s “Yao dian” [“Yao’s Statute”] chapter)—, it cites “Tang zhi pan ming” 湯之盤銘 (Cheng Tang’s Texts Cast on pan Vessels), a text with an imaginary epigraphic pedigree.80 “Da xue” refers to this text in the same way as the texts that would later become part of the canonical Shi jing and Shang shu. Even though the connection between authoritative kingly texts and epigraphy was largely forgotten in the later tradition, it was well understood in the preimperial period and still remembered into the second century ce.

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GENERIC DIVERSITY OF SCRIPTURES

I have mentioned that the shū in the Mozi do not refer to a specific genre, but to a variety of scriptures, including what would later become part of the Shi jing. Other sources also suggest that the shū did not constitute a generically uniform group. Let us consider the example of the “Shi fu” 世俘 (Hauling of Prisoners) chapter of the Yi Zhou shu. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 and Edward Shaughnessy have argued that “Shi fu” is closely related to what was known as “Wu cheng” 武成 (Completion of War) until the first century bce. Indeed, extensive citations from “Wu cheng” closely matching the “Shi fu” have been preserved in the “Lü li zhi” 律曆志 (Treatise on Musical Tones and Calendar) chapter of the Han shu.81 In a famous passage in the chapter “Jin xin xia” 盡心下 (Exhausting the Heart, Part Two), Mengzi 孟子 criticizes “Wu cheng” for its impermissible depiction of King Wu 武王 as a cruel conqueror and argues that it would be preferable to reject the entirety of the shū than to acknowledge the credibility of “Wu cheng.”82 Leaving the question of “Wu cheng” ’s moral message aside, one can hardly doubt that it is discussed as a veritable shū text. For scholars who prefer to interpret the shū as a formal genre ascending to the transcripts of royal speeches, this would present a problem: “Shi fu” is a narrative text, and speech only appears there in a couple of short utterances. One must conclude that formal generic proximity is not what brings the shū texts together—even in the more archaic cases. An overview of citations from the shū and “Zhou shu” in various early texts assembled by Wang Lianlong 王連龍 seems to confirm the impression that they did not belong to a single formal genre.83 The aphoristic expressions “beautiful women corrupt tongues” 美女破舌 and “beautiful lads corrupt the elders” 美男破老, cited as “expressions from the Zhou shu” 周書有言 in the “Qin ce yi” 秦策一 (Stratagems of Qin, Part One) of the Zhanguo ce 戰國策 (Stratagems of the Warring States), serve as strong examples.84 Today these expressions can be found in the chapter “Wu cheng” 武稱 (Balance of Warfare) of the Yi Zhou shu. Another example is preserved in the Lü shi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 (Master Lü’s Annals), which contains a citation attributed to the Zhou shu that does not have counterparts in either the Shang shu or the Yi Zhou shu, but matches a section of the manuscripts from Yinqueshan 銀雀山, identified by contemporary scholars with the Liu tao, a text closely connected to scriptural traditions, as I discuss in chapter 5.85 It should be noted, however, that such aphoristic expressions could travel between texts, and we cannot be entirely certain about their identification.86 Nevertheless,

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while such expressions are not characteristic of the archaic chapters of the Shang shu, they are typical of the didactic chapters in the received Yi Zhou shu and the related Grand Duke 太公 traditions, including the Liu tao. What is important is that preimperial sources seem to treat texts containing such aphorisms as part of the authoritative shū.87 To summarize, the category of scriptures was generically diverse.88 It must have emerged when earlier manuscript and epigraphic texts were reconsidered as future-projected messages with the capacity “to preserve the teachings of great men across time.”89 The texts grouped under the label shū have different formal properties and originate from different performative contexts, some of which date to the period from before the technical term shū was invented. Therefore, it is important to distinguish such different textual types within the shū corpus and study them separately, without assuming that there is a uniform set of generic features characteristic of all shū texts. REGIONAL SCRIPTURAL TRADITIONS IN PREIMPERIAL CHINA

In several instances, the recurring trope in the Mozi that describes how the sage kings produced authoritative texts on perishable and nonperishable media and transmitted them to posterity is used in reference to the texts that the Mozi clearly does not approve of. Consider the following passage from the chapter “Tian zhi xia” 天志下 (Will of Heaven III):90 則夫好攻伐之君，有重不知此為不仁不義也，有書之竹帛，藏之府 庫。為人後子者，必且欲順其先君之行，曰：何不當發吾府庫，視吾 先君之法美。必不曰文、武之為正者若此矣，曰吾攻國覆軍殺將若干 人矣。 Speaking of the lords who are fond of aggressive warfare, they repeatedly fail to realize that it is inhumane and wrong, and they record such deeds on bamboo and silk and preserve them in treasuries. Their descendants, moved by filial duty, would certainly desire to follow the deeds of their former lords, saying: “Why should not we open up our treasury and see the exemplary goodness of our former lords?” [What they would then discover] certainly would not say, “The way [kings] Wen and Wu exercised government was such and such,” but rather, “I invaded the state, defeated the army and killed their commanders as if they were shieldsmen.”

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The language in this passage parallels the descriptions of sage rulers’ scriptures in other parts of the Mozi, suggesting that the practice described here is somehow related to venerable scriptural texts. But how exactly? It would be possible to read this passage figuratively as the “parallel between proper writings that lead men in the path of truth, and deviant writings that transmit criminal models to descendants.”91 However, a more literal reading is more plausible. The passage can be understood as a criticism of texts that were created by recent regional rulers in the style of universally acclaimed scriptures but that abandoned universal moral principles in favor of biased political ambition. “Tian zhi xia” is not the only chapter that mentions such morally dubious scriptures produced by contemporary monarchs. This practice is also described in a humorous dialog between Mozi and Lord Wen of Lu Yang 魯陽文君 in the chapter “Lu wen” 魯問 (The Lord of Lu Asks a Question):92 子墨子謂魯陽文君曰：攻其鄰國，殺其民人，取其牛馬、粟米、貨 財，則書之於竹帛，鏤之於金石，以為銘於鍾鼎，傳遺後世子孫曰： 莫若我多。 Master Mozi addressed Lord Wen of Lu Yang, saying: “When one attacks a neighboring country, kills its people, seizes its livestock, grain, and goods, then one records it on bamboo and silk, engraves it on metal and stone, and turns it into texts on bells and ding tripods in order to transmit it to the sons and grandsons of future generations, saying, ‘Nobody compares to me!’ ” 今賤人也，亦攻其鄰家，殺其人民，取其狗豕食糧衣裘，亦書之竹 帛，以為銘於席豆，以遺後世子孫曰：莫若我多。亓可乎？魯陽文君 曰：然吾以子之言觀之，則天下之所謂可者，未必然也。 “Now suppose a commoner would also attack the house of his neighbors, kill their people, take their dogs and pigs, food supplies, and clothing, and then record it on bamboo and silk and turn it into texts on sitting-mats and clay pots to transmit it to the sons and grandsons of future generations, saying, ‘Nobody compares to me!’—would that be permissible?” Lord Wen of Lu Yang said: “Well, now that I consider it as you say, what is usually called permissible in All-Under-Heaven may not necessarily be so.”

On the face of it, it may seem unlikely that there could be any degree of formal similarity between the venerated scriptures of the sage kings and the

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boastful records of contemporary rulers like the ones ridiculed here. However, a recent archaeological discovery shows that the rulers of the fourth century bce indeed supported the production of texts that employed scriptural patterns. This practice is attested in a set of bronze vessels excavated from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan 中山王𰯼 (d. ca. 313 bce) in Pingshan 平山 county of Hebei province in 1974–1978.93 I shall discuss the fascinating inscriptions on these vessels in more detail in chapter 6. Here, I shall observe that they exhibit the same boastful celebration of military accomplishments as the texts condemned in the Mozi. In the politically decentralized realm of China in the fourth century bce, local rulers were keen on proclaiming themselves kings over their own domains and no longer subordinates of the Zhou rulers. In this environment, it may have become tempting to supplement the scriptural corpus with texts that would bring local lineages to the same level of authority as the founders of the Zhou dynasty celebrated in the earliest shū. Of course, such newly created scriptures would not be accepted beyond the particular domain, but, in terms of their local enshrinement, that would not be a problem. This proposition accords with what we know about the practices of legitimization in the middle of the first millennium bce, which involved replication of the early Western Zhou history on a local level. For example, the posthumous names of the rulers of Chu 楚 largely mirrored the sequence of names of the earliest kings of Zhou after they adopted the Western Zhou pattern of naming in the eighth century bce (table 2.1). This similarity is not accidental. Even Chu’s reluctance to copy the name of King Zhao 昭王 (Chu’s own King Zhao [515–488 bce] appeared only in the fifth century bce) is telling: the Zhou king known by this name died during an unsuccessful campaign against Chu, and it is understandable that the Chu royal lineage would prefer to skip this page in their own history.94 The rulers of Zhongshan seem to have been involved in similar mimicry. The choice of the posthumous names of their rulers, as recorded in the fanghu 方壺 inscription (discussed in chapter 6), is also close to the names of the first rulers of the Western Zhou: Wu 武, Wen 文, Huan 桓, Cheng 成 (with the exception of Huan, it corresponds to the names of the first three Western Zhou kings).95 Another possible way to promote one’s lineage to the same level of authority as the Zhou house was to imitate King Wu’s conquest of Shang. The bellicose element of the Zhou scriptural tradition—full of reminiscences of the foundational conquest—remained influential, despite the attempts of the likes of Mengzi and Mozi to reinterpret these reminiscences in innovative moralizing ways.96 The aggressive conquest was commonly seen as justified, which

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TABLE 2.1 Sequences of posthumous names of the kings of Western Zhou (mid-eleventh to tenth ­centuries bce) and the rulers of Chu (eighth to sixth centuries bce) Western Zhou

Chu

King Wen 文王

King Wu 武王 (741–690)

King Wu 武王

King Wen 文王 (689–677)

King Cheng 成王

Xiong Jian 熊艱 (676–672): killed by brother; no ­posthumous name

King Kang 康王

King Cheng 成王 (671–626)

King Zhao 昭王

King Mu 穆王 (625–614)

King Mu 穆王

King Zhuang 莊王 (613–591)

King Gong 恭王

King Gong 共王 (590–560) King Kang 康王 (559–545)

is admitted grudgingly in the dialog between Mozi and Lord Wen of Lu Yang previously cited. Therefore, in justifying their aggression against Yan, the Zhongshan elites probably acted in accordance with the mainstream ideas of their time. It may follow that, in addition to the “Zhou Scriptures” commemorating the early Western Zhou rulers, the textual scene of the fifth to fourth centuries bce included regional traditions commemorating their own rulers, such as the “Zhongshan Scriptures,” “Chu Scriptures,” “Qin 秦Scriptures,” and others. In fact, traces of such traditions are preserved in the received corpus. For example, the “Da xue” chapter of the Li ji, the text that I have already discussed, mentions the “Chu shu” 楚書 (Chu Scriptures):97 楚書曰：楚國無以為寶，惟善以為寶。 In the “Chu Scriptures” it is said: “In the kingdom of Chu, nothing is seen as a treasure, only goodness is seen as a treasure.”

For the creators of the “Da xue,” the Zhou or Zhou-affiliated polities were not seen as the only valid source of authoritative scriptures. This acknowledgment of regional scriptural traditions is not restricted to the “Da xue.” The Zuo zhuan on two occasions cites from the unpreserved “Zheng shu” 鄭書 (Zheng Scriptures).98 Clearly, such regional traditions were familiar in preimperial China.

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TRANSCENDENT REVELATION OR PUBLIC CEREMONIAL – LIBRETTOS: DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVES ON THE SHU IN THE “YIWEN ZHI”

Zhang Ning has suggested that it was only during the Han dynasty that the shū were first described in terms of their formal properties as “ancient commands and decrees.” However, it would be wrong to conclude that the Han dynasty sources fully embrace the interpretation of shū as “official records.” The “Yiwen zhi” chapter of the Han shu suggests that an understanding of the shū as venerated scriptures continued to be influential. Consider the discussion, which comes immediately after the listing of individual texts of the “Shū” 書 category encompassing the Shang shu, the Zhou shu (probably an earlier recension of the Yi Zhou shu), and other related texts:99 易曰：河出圖，雒出書，聖人則之。故書之所起遠矣，至孔子篹焉， 上斷於堯，下訖于秦，凡百篇，而為之序，言其作意。秦燔書禁學， 濟南伏生獨壁藏之。漢興亡失，求得二十九篇，以教齊魯之間。 The Changes say: “The [Yellow] River produced the Chart, the Luo River produced the Writ, and the sages modeled themselves after them.” Knowing this, the origins of scriptures are remote indeed. When it came to Confucius, he edited them, starting from Yao in antiquity and going all the way down to Qin, a hundred chapters overall. He also created a “Sequential Outline” to explain the intentions behind their composition. [The First Thearch] of Qin burnt books and banned learning, and only Fusheng at Jinan preserved it in the wall of his house. By the rise of Han, much was lost, but twenty-nine chapters were recovered, which were taught in the regions of Qi and Lu.

The passage cited in the first sentence is taken from one of the commentaries to the Changes, the “Xici zhuan” 繫辭傳 (Commentary on the Appended Phrases), a text that was probably composed during the late Warring States period and finalized during the second century bce.100 In its invocation of this passage, the “Yiwen zhi” emphasizes supernatural revelation as the source of the shū. Such passages, “only fit to be told to children,”101 are seldom considered seriously in the scholarly discussions of the shū, but perhaps it may be useful to adopt a less patronizing attitude toward ancient sources. The connection between scriptures and the revelations of the Yellow and Luo

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rivers is borrowed from the interpretive tradition of “Hong fan,” one of the most influential texts in the Shang shu.102 Although the “Hong fan” does not mention either the Yellow River Chart or the Luo Writ (revealed on the back of a dragon and a shell of a turtle, as some mythical accounts say), it does say self-referentially that the “great plan” contained in it was originally bestowed by Heaven on the legendary Yu the Great 大禹:103 天乃錫禹洪範九疇，彝倫修敘。 To him Heaven gave “the great Plan with its nine Divisions,” and thereby the proper virtues of the various relations were brought forth in their order.

Thus, for the composers of the “Yiwen zhi,” the point of departure of the scriptures is not human activity but heavenly revelation. There is no mention of official scribes, and it appears that their engagement was, in this context, irrelevant. On the surface, this understanding of the scriptures may appear to contradict the idea of testamentary instructions of the sage rulers derived from the Mozi. The sage rulers belong to the this-worldly realm, whereas Heaven belongs to the realm of the transcendent and stands for a fundamentally different kind of authority. However, heavenly revelation and royal sanction probably do not contradict each other. Let me explain by quoting the entire opening part of the “Hong fan” that goes before the passage already cited:104 惟十有三祀，王訪于箕子。王乃言曰：嗚呼！箕子。惟天陰騭下民， 相協厥居，我不知其彝倫攸敘。箕子乃言曰：我聞在昔，鯀堙洪水， 汩陳其五行。帝乃震怒，不畀洪範九疇，彝倫攸斁。鯀則殛死，禹乃 嗣興。 In the thirteenth year, the king went to inquire of the viscount of Ji, and said to him “Oh! viscount of Ji, Heaven, unseen, has given their constitution to mankind, aiding also the harmonious development of it in their various conditions. I do not know how their proper virtues in their various relations should be brought forth in due order.” The viscount of Ji thereupon replied, “I have heard that of old time Gun dammed up the inundating waters, and thereby threw into disorder the arrangement of the five elements. God was thereby roused to anger, and did not give him ‘the great Plan with its nine Divisions,’ whereby the proper virtues of the various relations were left to go to ruin.

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Gun was then kept a prisoner till his death, and Yu rose up to continue his undertaking.”

What we see in this introduction accords with the idea of scriptures as precious knowledge bequeathed by the foundational rulers. We are called to believe that the text in front of our eyes had been presented to King Wu, who acquired it soon after his conquest of Shang, that is, at the time when he was still deliberating how to organize the newly conquered universe. The sagely Jizi further narrates that this foundational knowledge had earlier assisted Yu the Great, a sage ruler par excellence, celebrated for his worldordering activities. And only in the final step in this breathtaking progression of universal authorities do we reach Heaven. Its appearance here as a deity that shares revelations with humans through texts is unexpected and contradicts much of what we are accustomed to think about the Shang shu— this-worldly, pragmatic in its religious devotion, and devoid of transcendent speculations. But an unbiased reading of this text shows that, in terms of its construction of an authority that ascends all the way into the transcendent domain, the “Hong fan” is remarkably similar to medieval religious texts and may be justifiably seen as their precursor. Indeed, there is unequivocal evidence testifying to the direct connection between ancient scriptures and medieval Daoism, as I discuss in chapter 5. Nevertheless, the understanding of shū in the “Yiwen zhi” is still more complex: testaments of sage rulers and transcendent heavenly revelations do not yet exhaust the scope of their interpretations. Consider the closing part of the same passage:105 書者，古之號令，號令於眾，其言不立具，則聽受施行者弗曉。古文 讀應爾雅，故解古今語而可知也。 The scriptures are ancient commands and decrees. When commands and decrees are addressed to the multitudes, if their words are unfirm and incomplete, then those who listen to them and execute them would not understand. Speaking of texts in ancient script, when reading them aloud, one has to accord with the Approaching the Elegant [Erya 爾雅], and in this way explain ancient and modern words so as to know [what they mean].

In this passage, the shū are interpreted as official decrees of ancient rulers. However, the context makes it clear that they are not just objects of

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antiquarian inquiry, but rather practical tools, templates for ongoing ritual communication between the ruler and his subordinates. It is assumed that such communication should be conducted in archaic language, and the “Yiwen zhi” stresses the importance of the Erya, an ancient glossary of archaic terms, as a means to render such language comprehensible. All of this makes a lot of sense in light of Martin Kern’s discussion of the uninterrupted continuity of ritual language from the Eastern Zhou to the Qin and Han empires, as witnessed in the stele inscriptions of the First Thearch of Qin 秦始皇.106 Indeed, the Shang shu served as the repository of authoritative language and stock phrases for imperial decrees throughout the medieval period.107 In this light, the shū may be interpreted as “documents,” although not in the sense of by-products of bureaucratic machinery proposed by Legge and Li Ling, but rather as a practical instrument to legitimize the ruler by endowing him with the capacity to speak the language and reproduce the deeds of the sage rulers. Although this interpretation of the shū must have been influential in the official discourse of the early empires of Qin and Han, it is nevertheless lacking. Most importantly, it disregards the nonpublic, secretive shū, which constitute a substantial part of the corpus, and on which I focus in this book. In fact, even in the “modern script” Shang shu, quite a few chapters cannot possibly be understood as “ancient commands and decrees,”108 instead containing records of the world-ordering activities of the sage rulers (“Yao dian” 堯典 [Canon of Yao], “Da Yu mo” 大禹謨 [Counsels of Yu the Great], and “Yu gong” 禹貢 [Tribute of Yu]); remonstrances presented by the ministers to the monarch (“Gao Zong rong ri” 高宗肜日 [Day of the Supplementary Sacrifice to Gao Zong] and “Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎 [Chief of the West’s Conquest of Li]); didactic conversations in which, again, the minister teaches the ruler (“Hong fan”); and narrative stories (“Jin teng”). All of this does not mean that the interpretation of shū as “commands and decrees” lacks historic foundation. Some shū texts may have been transmitted through the communities of ritual practitioners who valued them precisely as repositories of ritual language and authoritative precedents that can be reenacted in state practice. It is unlikely that this appreciation only emerged with the early empires,109 and there may have been a “ceremonial” stream of transmission of the shū texts related to the ancient public ritual proceedings, in addition to what may be called a “didactic” stream, operated by the people who were not immediately involved in the composition and performance of ceremonial texts. These two hypothetical streams are similar

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to the first and second layers in the formation history of the shū proposed by Zhang Ning. Although the public ceremonial dimension—which may be historically earlier—regained an upper hand in the early empires, the history of the shū traditions cannot be understood unless we pay serious attention to the didactic stream, in which publicly performed ceremonies gave way to the rituals of esoteric empowerment. THE ISSUING AUTHORITY OF SAGE RULERS AND THE MEDIATING AUTHORITY OF SCRIBES

There is yet another record in the “Yiwen zhi” that discusses the origins of the shū. It comes as a summary of another bibliographic category, “Chunqiu” 春秋 (Annals):110 古之王者世有史官，君舉必書，所以慎言行，昭法式也。左 史 記 言 ， ．． ． ． 右 史 記 事 ，事為春秋，言為尚書。 ． ． ．． The rulers of antiquity always employed official scribes who would be sure to record the actions of their lords, and thereby ensure caution in words and deeds and make known the exemplary rules. The Scribe of the Left recorded the words, while the Scribe of the Right recorded the deeds [boldface added]. The deeds became the Spring and Autumn Annals, and the words became the Venerated Scriptures.

This passage seems to offer a nonfantastic description of the origins of both the scriptures and annalistic texts. Since it does not contain obvious traces of transcendent speculation, it is favored by contemporary scholars. However, this “realism” notwithstanding, it is also fanciful. The idea that all words and deeds of the foundational rulers would contain a didactic message is informed by the later idealization of the foundational age rather than by contemporary Western Zhou concerns. The Scribes of the Left and Right (zuoshi 左史 and youshi 右史) do not appear in Western Zhou sources, and they seem instead to be a product of retrospective fantasy.111 Like the previous “Yiwen zhi” citation that borrows from the “Xici zhuan” commentary, this passage does not seem to be fully original either. The division of labor between the Left Scribe and the Right Scribe mentioned here is attested in chapter “Yu zao” 玉藻 (The Jade-Bead Pendants) of the Li ji, which seems to be an earlier text:112

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天子玉藻，十有二旒，前後邃延，龍卷以祭。玄端而朝日於東門之 外，聽朔於南門之外，閏月則闔門左扉，立於其中。皮弁以日視朝， 遂以食，日中而餕，奏而食。日少牢，朔月大牢；五飲：上水、漿、 酒、醴、酏。卒食，玄端而居。動 則 左 史 書 之 ，言 則 右 史 書 之 ，御瞽 ． ． ．．． ． ． ． ． ． ． ． 幾聲之上下。 The son of Heaven, when sacrificing, wore (the cap) with the twelve long pendants of beads of jade hanging down from its top before and behind, and the robe embroidered with dragons. When saluting the appearance of the sun outside the eastern gate, he wore the dark-colored square-cut robes; and (also) when listening to the notification of the first day of the month outside the southern gate. If the month were intercalary, he caused the left leaf of the door to be shut, and stood in the middle of that (which remained open). He wore the skin cap at the daily audience in the court, after which he proceeded to take the morning meal in it. At midday he partook of what was left in the morning. He had music at his meals. Every day a sheep and a pig were killed and cooked, and on the first day of the month, an ox was as well. There were five beverages: water, which was the principal; rice-water, spirits, must, and millet-water. When he had done eating, he remained at ease in the darkcolored square-cut robes. His actions were written down by the recorder of the Left, and his utterances by the recorder of the Right [boldface added]. The blind musician in attendance judged whether the music were too high or too low.

To an unbiased reader, this passage would not appear to be discussing the origins of the Chunqiu and the Shang shu, which are never mentioned. Its real concern is the ritual process at the courts of ancient kings. Accordingly, the “Yiwen zhi” record that borrows the image of the two scribes recording every step and word of the ruler is difficult to accept as a reliable account of the early history of the Shang shu.113 Of course, the fictional nature of the “Yiwen zhi” passage does not mean that there were no scribes at the Western Zhou court, and it is obvious that some of what would later become scriptural texts had originally been recorded by scribes as part of their official duties.114 However, early sources are disinterested in this matter. The composition of scriptural texts is assigned to the sage rulers, and not the scribes who did the insignificant routine work. This point can be further elucidated if we consider the sources that do mention scribal activity in connection with authoritative scriptures: there is a relevant passage in the Zhou li 周禮 (Zhou

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Rituals), a text likely composed in the late Warring States period, and several more in the Yi Zhou shu. Let us first consider the Zhou li, section “Chun guan” 春官 (Offices of Spring):115 外史：掌書外令，掌四方之志，掌三皇五帝之書，掌達書名于四方。 若以書使于四方，則書其令。 Scribe of the Exterior: In charge of recording external decrees; in charge of the records of the four quarters; in charge of the writings of the Three August Ones and the Five Thearchs; in charge of the delivery of writings and the textsto-be-inscribed to the four quarters. If an order to the four quarters is issued in writing, then he records the decree.

The mysterious “writings of the Three August Ones and the Five Thearchs” appear out of place in this list, which is otherwise concerned with texts created for the exigencies of the moment. If these writings belong to the authoritative register of scriptures, and the chapter “Yao dian” of the Shang shu—projected into the archaic age of thearchs—is related to them, then their importance may lie in their depiction of a state system in which the center firmly dominated over the periphery.116 If so, the possession of such documents and the ability to consult them would contribute to the authority of the Scribe of the Exterior, helping him to create documents that comply with the cosmic order established by the primordial sage rulers.117 What is more pertinent to our discussion, however, is the fact that the Scribe of the Exterior has nothing to do with the composition of these writings— only their transmission. His authority comes from his role as a mediator of authoritative texts, and not their creator. Another relevant example is chapter “Shi ji” 史記 (Scribal Records) of the Yi Zhou shu. Its title evokes a connection with official scribes, although it may have been appended to the text after its composition. What is particularly interesting is the introduction, which explains the role of Scribe Rongfu 戎夫 in the text’s purported origin and transmission: 維正月王在成周，昧爽召三公左史戎夫曰：今夕朕寤，遂事驚予。乃 取遂事之要戒，俾戎夫主之，朔望以聞。 It was the first month; the king was at Chengzhou. Before dawn, he summoned the Three Dukes and Rongfu, Scribe of the Left, saying: “Last night I had a

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revelation in a dream. The events of the past frightened me!” Then he selected the essential admonitions from the events of the past and put Rongfu in charge of them so as to listen to them on every new moon and full moon.

The official position of Rongfu, Scribe of the Left, seems to be informed by the same kind of retrospective imagination that we have seen in the “Yiwen zhi” and “Yu zao.” But his role in the creation of the text is more complex than the stenographic recording of the speech. The initiative to write the text does not come from the scribe. It originates from the king who receives inspiration in a dream, which gives the text an aspect of a supernatural revelation—something that we have seen in a more explicit form in the “Hong fan,” and which I discuss in detail in chapter 6. The “Shi ji” does not mention that Scribe Rongfu writes the text down, although this is clearly implied. What is more important is the king’s charge to Rongfu to perform the text back to him at ritually determined intervals. Once again, we see that the scribal engagement with authoritative texts is not focused on their creation, but rather on their mediation. After the dream revelation is written down, it turns into an authoritative instruction, to which the king—its original announcer!—now listens with obeisance. During the moments of such performance, the scribe in his role as the mediator of the scriptural text gains authority over the king. There is a similar record in chapter “Chang mai” 嘗麥 (Tasting of Wheat), which mentions that the Grand Scribe (taishi 太史) “announces” the “punishments in nine articles” 太史筴刑書九篇.118 At the very end of the text, we are told that “the Grand Scribe then deposited it at the covenant treasury to be used as a tablet for annual announcements” 太史乃藏之盟府，以為歲典. Although this chapter’s description of scribal engagement is less detailed than in the “Shi ji,” it charges the scribe with a similar responsibility to keep the text actualized by performing it at regular intervals. The evidence from the Zhou li and the Yi Zhou shu allows us to reconstruct a consistent idea of scribal engagement with scriptures—as they were understood during the Warring States period. Scribes are not creators of scriptural texts, nor are they the origin of these texts’ authority. The agency in the creation of scriptures always belongs to the former kings. However, after the initial creation, the scriptures are entrusted to scribes, and in this role, they become authoritative figures, keeping the instructions of the sage rulers available to posterity. Without scribal mediation, the voices of the sage kings would have been extinguished. Needless to say, this understanding of

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the scribal role is incompatible with the view that the shū are objective documentary records made on scribes’ own initiative. Nevertheless, from the Han period onward, the vision of scribes recording every deed of the ruler became increasingly close to the observed reality. Starting from that time, the practice of the “court diaries” (qijuzhu 起居注) was introduced. These were similar to the records made by the fictional Scribes of the Left and the Right, and they were likely informed by the idealistic accounts of the “Yu zao” and similar texts.119 Once this practice was adopted, it became virtually impossible to question the plausibility of similar routine recording of words and deeds in earlier antiquity. Indeed, it would appear sacrilegious to doubt that the sage rulers could do what the less significant rulers of today perform on a daily basis. The early scriptures emphasized foundational moments. They are historical in the sense that the events depicted in them can be related to moments in the remote foundational history. (Whether it is real or purely legendary does not concern us here.) But the history that they belong to does not form an evenly progressing narrative.120 The words and acts of the sage rulers enshrined in scriptural texts represent the ever-relevant beginning. What happened in between this foundational past and the present moment is, in the context of early scriptures, irrelevant.121 The compilation of the Shang shu, despite its chronological arrangement, does not yet undermine this vision, as it preserves a wide gap between the foundational past and the present. The sage rulers monumentalized in the collection may belong to different historical eras, but collectively, they are contrasted to the less significant history that followed. The historiographic advancements of the early empires revolutionized the ordering of memory. In the comprehensive narratives of Shi ji and Han shu, the scriptural records of the foundational past were intertwined with events borrowed from less elevated texts, and the gap that used to divide them shrank. The language of scriptures would now extend to imperial decrees, which were also permanently recorded in preserved histories. Consequently, a retrospective look at the scriptures would no longer clearly separate them from the more mundane artifacts of imperial administrative practice.122 It would then appear that the present-day rulers, in the documents that they promulgate and, with historiographers’ assistance, bequeath to posterity, simply continue in the line of ancient sages. This is, of course, precisely how the ritualists of the Qin and Han empires wanted the imperial decrees to appear.

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The Han dynasty myths of scriptural texts as scribal records by origin and ritual templates by function give us little chance to explain the phenomenon of scriptures in their complexity. Whereas these myths probably originated within the ceremonial stream of scriptural transmission, the didactic stream—backed by different communities pursuing different goals—tells a different story, which is crucially important in developing a coherent understanding of the phenomenon of scriptures. Although these two streams overlapped, sometimes it may be possible to distinguish between scriptural texts conceived within each one of them. This is what I explore in the next chapter.

Chapter Three

APPROPRIATED AND CREATED SCRIPTURES

In chapter 2, I have observed that some scriptural texts are explicitly presented as future-projected instructions, consistent with the understanding of the shū in the Mozi. Here I take this observation further and identify the philological features correlating with this conception of scriptural texts. I focus on three aspects: the type of contextual setting in the introductory passages, the communal or private character of the speech, and the presence of dramatic elements in the language. I observe a relatively stable combination of features in the texts that contain explicit future-projected instructions in the Yi Zhou shu. I contrast them with the speeches of the predominant type in the Shang shu, which have a different combination of features. Relying on these observations, I propose a division between appropriated and created scriptures: the former were borrowed from earlier performative contexts and reconsidered as scriptures retrospectively, while the latter were conceived as scriptures from the beginning. COMPOSITIONAL TYPES OF SCRIPTURAL TEXTS

The scriptural texts assembled in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu predominantly record the speeches and deeds of the foundational rulers of the Western Zhou. However, the language of some texts suggests a much later date of composition, perhaps in the fourth to third centuries bce or even later.1 As discussed in the introduction, the texts in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou

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shu are often arranged by scholars on a scale of declining authenticity: from the “genuine” Western Zhou chapters to “imitations” composed during the Spring and Autumn and the Warring States periods.2 This approach is based on the questionable assumption that the “authentic” shū texts must share the generic features of the archaic Shang shu chapters. Those who accept this assumption tend to lose interest in other shū texts, including most of the Yi Zhou shu. However, as discussed in chapter 2, the shū include texts from a broad variety of genres and performative contexts, and it is inadmissible to prioritize a particular generic group over others, taking it as a standard of evaluation of all other shū texts. Robin McNeal, in his study of the military chapters of the Yi Zhou shu, has made a solid case for an alternative research strategy, focusing not on the chronology but on the thematic and formal similarity of texts.3 This more nuanced approach holds much potential to put the research of scriptural texts on firmer ground. In a study informed by similar ideas, I distinguished several formal types in the scriptural corpus, which probably derived from different practices of textual production: some archaic, others innovative.4 However, this observation cannot be applied as a reliable dating criterion: a text produced within an archaic but lasting practice may have a later composition date than a text from an early stage of an innovative late practice.5 I therefore abstain from the dating of individual texts, focusing on the relationship between textual types. In the following section, I shall briefly summarize the key elements of my previous research, which is necessary for the hypothetical classification I propose in this chapter. My discussion will be focused on texts with speeches, which are abundant in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu. Texts with speeches, although they only constitute a part of the larger shū corpus, are insightful for the study of the history of scriptural texts in general, because, on the one hand, they share many compositional features in common, while, on the other hand, they have remarkable differences imprinted on them by the changing practices of textual production and performance. The insight gained from the analysis of texts with speeches can be extended to narrative shū, although this analysis falls beyond the scope of this book. – CRITERIA FOR CLASSIFICATION OF SHU TEXTS WITH SPEECHES

The most important structural element for the classification and interpretation of scriptural texts are introductory passages that mention the time,

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place, circumstances, and participants of the occasion on which the speech was pronounced. Such introductory passages can be interpreted as “historical records,” in contrast to the speeches recorded in the main body of the texts, which contain little explicit historical information. Consequently, it may appear that the introductory passages should be analyzed by historians, while the rest should appeal to the scholars studying literature and philosophy. Such a dichotomous reading, however, is unjustified. Before splitting the text into two unrelated parts, one has to attempt to understand whether it constitutes a meaningful whole.6 Indeed, it is clear that the different types of introductory passages correlate with specific features in the main part. In this light, the role of the introductory passage is not to record impartial history, but rather to provide a contextual setting for the text and to ensure that the audience correctly interprets it against other similarly structured works.7 The type of contextual setting most representative of the “modern script” chapters of the Shang shu is characterized by the vivid depiction of the occasion on which the conversation took place. I call such a pattern scenic.8 Two structural elements are essential: “background events” describing the unique occasion on which the speech or the dialog took place, and “accompanying actions and addressees” describing the immediate motive for the speech and mentioning its participants. The background events are unique and nonrepetitive, and they can be related to the so-called great event (dashi 大事) notations in early bronze texts.9 Notably, the calendrical date turns out to be only an optional element of secondary importance.10 The scenic pattern can be contrasted with the formalistic pattern predominant in the speeches of the Yi Zhou shu and also attested in the chapter “Hong fan” 洪範 (Great Plan) of the Shang shu. There is little distinctiveness in the passages with the formalistic setting, and the circumstances are described without individualizing detail. While the date is optional in the scenic pattern, it becomes the main element in the formalistic pattern. “Inquiry,” a question addressed by one protagonist to another, emerges as an optional element of the formalistic pattern that may be used to set off the conversation.11 The differences between the different patterns of contextualization in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu become particularly clear in tabulation, which is presented in appendix 1. In four chapters of the Yi Zhou shu and two chapters of the Shang shu, a peculiar type of contextual setting is employed to present speeches that were given when the protagonists were in critical states, such as in the midst of a grave illness or after a disturbing dream revelation.12 I call this type of contextual setting alarming. In most instances, such as in “Wen jing” 文儆

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(King Wen’s Distress), “Wǔ jing” 武儆 (King Wu's Distress) and “Wu quan” 五權 (Five Balances) of the Yi Zhou shu, and in “Gu ming” 顧命 (Testamentary Charge) of the Shang shu, the temporal context is divided into two parts: we first learn about the protagonist’s illness or a perplexing dream, and then about the dialog that apparently took place several days later. This delay between the beginning of the critical condition and the dialog is significant, suggesting that a fitting day had to be selected for the ritualized conversation.13 Besides, the protagonist’s lingering critical condition appears to have given him access to extraordinary spiritual experiences—and superior sources of authority—unreachable for people in a healthy state. I discuss the significance of this recurring trope in chapter 6. There are other formal features worth noticing apart from the introductory passages. Some speeches were pronounced behind closed doors, while others were presented in open settings with multiple witnesses. Although the immediate participants of the dialog are always few and the witnesses usually remain silent, their combined presence brings a distinct communal atmosphere to the speech. The witnesses can be mentioned either in the narrative introductory passage or in the first lines of the speech where the speaker addresses his audience. I call a speech private if it is witnessed only by two or three individuals and communal if it is witnessed by a larger group. Here is the introductory part of the first part of the chapter “Pan Geng” 盤庚 of the Shang shu, which records a communal speech: 盤庚作，惟涉河以民遷。乃話民之弗率，誕告用亶，其有眾咸造勿褻 在王庭，盤庚乃登進厥民，曰：明聽朕言，無荒失朕命。 Pan Geng arose. He was about to cross the river in order to settle his people [at a new place]. [Pan Geng] then spoke to those of the people who were not willing to follow. He made a great announcement to them with sincerity. The multitudes came along and did not behave frivolously at the royal courtyard. Pan Geng made the people ascend closer. He said: “Listen clearly to my words. Do not disregard my orders!”

Compare this to the opening passage of a typical private speech in the chapter “Xiao kai wu” 小開武 (Lesser Instruction of King Wu) of the Yi Zhou shu: 維王二祀一月既生魄，王召周公旦曰：嗚呼！余夙夜忌商，不知道 極，敬聽以勤天命。

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In the king’s second ritual cycle, the first month, when [the moon’s] pò was already born, the king summoned Dan, the Duke of Zhou, saying: “Wuhu! I am on guard against Shang from morning till night. I do not know the perfection of the way. [Therefore] I am reverently listening [to your advice] in order to toil on the [accomplishment] of the Mandate of Heaven.”

Finally, some of the chapters, predominantly in the Shang shu, contain emotionally laden speeches that vividly portray the response of the protagonist(s) to a specific situation, relying on such emphatic devices as first- and secondperson pronouns, vocatives, exclamations, and imperative verbs. In contrast, most speeches in the Yi Zhou shu use such expressive devices only in a rudimentary form in the opening and closing passages, while the main body of these texts remains neutral, impersonal, and focused on the well-structured didactic detail. Such didactic expositions often include catalogs—numerical lists in particular. I call the first type dramatic and the second type nondramatic. Here is an illustrative example of a passage from the chapter “Duo fang” 多方 (Numerous Regions) of the Shang shu. The dramatic effect here is particularly strong due to the frequent use of first- and second-person pronouns. I cite this passage with Legge’s translation, highlighting the personal pronouns in both the original and the translation:14 今我 曷敢多誥？我 惟大降爾 四國民命。爾 曷不忱裕之于爾 多方？爾 曷 ． ． ． ． ． ． 不夾介乂我 周王享天之命？今爾 尚宅爾 宅，畋爾 田，爾 曷不惠王熙天 ． ． ． ． ． 之命？爾 乃迪屢不靜，爾 心未愛。爾 乃不大宅天命，爾 乃屑播天命， ． ． ． ． 爾 乃自作不典，圖忱于正。我 惟時其教告之，我 惟時其戰要囚之，至 ． ． ． 于再，至于三。乃有不用我 降爾命，我 乃其大罰殛之！非我 有周秉德 ． ． ． 不康寧，乃惟爾自速辜。 ． Why do I now presume to make these many declarations? I have dealt very leniently as regards the lives of you, the people of these four States. Why do you not show a sincere and generous obedience in your many regions? Why do you not aid and co-operate with us the kings of Zhou to secure the enjoyment of Heaven’s favoring decree? You now still dwell in your dwellings, and cultivate your fields;—why do you not obey our kings, and consolidate the decree of Heaven? The paths which you tread are continually those of disquietude;— have you in your hearts no love for yourselves? do you refuse so greatly to acquiesce in the ordinance of Heaven? do you triflingly reject that decree? do you of yourselves pursue unlawful courses, scheming by your alleged reasons

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for the approval of upright men? I simply instructed and declared to you; I secured in trembling awe and confined the chief criminals:—I have done so twice and for three times. But if you do not take advantage of the leniency with which I have spared your lives, I will proceed to severe punishments and put you to death. It is not that we, the sovereigns of Zhou, hold it virtuous to make you untranquil, but it is you yourselves who accelerate your crimes and sufferings. APPROPRIATED AND CREATED SCRIPTURES

It is possible to identify several types of scriptural texts based on the relatively stable combinations of formal features. In particular, the chapters with a formalistic contextual setting usually contain nondramatic speech, while those employing the scenic setting tend to contain dramatic speech. Notably, dramatic speech is usually witnessed by a group of people, while nondramatic speech is most frequently presented in private conversations. There is a certain group of chapters in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu, where the speeches are explicitly addressed to future generations. It is interesting to see how the previously mentioned formal properties are distributed within this group (table 3.1). I have identified eleven future-projected chapters overall. Most of them address the future generations in a straightforward way. For example, in the chapter “Xiao kai” 小開 (The Lesser Instruction), King Wen begins his speech with the phrase “Wuhu! Oh, the people who come hereafter!” 嗚呼！于來後之人, while the final passage contains an explicit futuredirected admonition: “Posterity, beware! Posterity, beware! The nights are incomplete, and the days are not sufficient!” 後戒後戒，宿不悉日不足. Similar concluding passages are also found in chapters such as “Feng bao” 酆保 (Safeguarding at Feng), “Da kai” 大開 (The Great Instruction), “Wen jing,” and “Wù jing” 寤敬 (Distress at Awakening) while “Bao dian” 寶典 (Treasured Statute) terminates with the following future-projected message: “As to these being plans for sons and grandsons—treasure them so that they may become a constant rule!” 維子孫之謀，寶以為常. There are also two chapters that mention the creation of material records in the aftermath of the dialog: “Da ju” 大聚 (Great Convergence) and “Chang mai” 嘗麥 (Tasting of Wheat). Such a reference to material records, which I discuss in detail in chapter 6, effectively presents the texts as future-projected artifacts. The “Lü xing” 呂刑 (Lü’s Punishments) chapter of the Shang shu can be identified as a future-projected text by both criteria: it explicitly mentions the future

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TABLE 3.1 Properties of chapters in the Shang shu and Yi Zhou shu presented as future-projected instructions Chapter

Contextual setting

Private/Communal

Dramatic/Nondramatic

“Wu yi” 無逸

n/a

Private

Dramatic

“Jun shi” 君奭

n/a

Private

Dramatic

“Lü xing” 呂刑

Writing-informeda

Communal

Dramatic

“Feng bao” 酆保

Formalistic

Communal

Nondramatic

“Da kai” 大開

Formalistic

Private

Nondramatic

“Xiao kai” 小開

Formalistic

Private

Nondramatic

“Wen jing” 文儆

Alarming

Private

Nondramatic

“Bao dian” 寶典

Formalistic

Private

Nondramatic

“Wù jing” 寤敬

Alarming

Private

Nondramatic

“Da ju” 大聚

Scenic

Private

Nondramatic

“Chang mai” 嘗麥

n/ab

Communal

Mixed

Shang shu

Yi Zhou shu

Note: Chapters arranged by order of placement in respective collections; n/a = not applicable. a Chapter “Lü xing” contains an instance of what I call a writing-informed contextual setting, where the introductory passage presents a self-referential account of the circumstances surrounding the composition of a written text, and not of the speech; see Yegor Grebnev, “The Yi Zhou shu and the Shang shu: The Case of Texts with Speeches,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents), ed. Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 260–61. b Chapter “Chang mai,” like chapter “Shao gao” 召誥 (The Announcement of the Duke of Shao) in the Shang shu, begins with a long self-contained narrative section. This is different from the brief introductory passages in most other chapters that are compositionally subordinate to the speech.

audiences, and its introductory passage contains a self-referential description of the circumstances surrounding the production of a written record.15 Overall, it appears that a typical future-projected instruction (1) employs either a formalistic or alarming setting, (2) is private, and (3) is nondramatic. Nevertheless, as table 3.1 shows, there are variations in this pattern. Eight out of eleven such chapters are in the Yi Zhou shu.16 In the Shang shu, the future-projected instructions appear in three chapters, and these chapters, to various degrees, deviate from the predominant type of publicly performed dramatic speeches (table 3.2; note that the future-projected chapter “Lü xing” is missing from the table because it does not qualify as a dramatic speech).17 In particular, the future-projected instructions do not appear in the gao 誥 chapters, usually regarded as the most archaic in the Shang shu.18 Consequently, the preoccupation with text-mediated edification of future generations seems to be relatively late in origin.

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TABLE 3.2 Properties of dramatic speeches in the Shang shu Chapter

Contextual setting

Private/Communal

Dramatic/Nondramatic

“Gan shi” 甘誓

Scenic

Communal

Dramatic

“Tang shi” 湯誓

n/a

Communal

Dramatic

“Pan Geng” 盤庚 a

Scenic

Communal

Dramatic

“Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎

Scenic

Private

Dramatic

“Weizi” 微子

n/a

Private

Dramatic

“Mu shi” 牧誓

Scenic

Communal

Dramatic

“Da gao” 大誥

n/a

Communal

Dramatic Dramatic

“Kang gao” 康誥

Scenic/n/a

Communal/Privateb

“Jiu gao” 酒誥

n/a

Communalc

Dramatic

“Shao gao” 召誥

Scenicd

Communal

Dramatic

“Luo gao” 洛誥

n/a

Private

Dramatic

“Duo shi” 多士

Scenic

Communal

Dramatic

e

n/a

Private

Dramatic

“Jun shi” 君奭 e

n/a

Private

Dramatic

“Duo fang” 多方

Scenic

Communal

Dramatic

“Li zheng” 立政

n/a

Communal

Dramatic

“Wen hou zhi ming” 文侯之命

n/a

Private

Dramatic

“Bi shi” 費誓

n/a

Communal

Dramatic

“Qin shi” 秦誓

n/a

Communal

Dramatic

“Wu yi” 無逸

Note: Chapters arranged by order of placement in the Shang shu; n/a = not applicable. a Chapter “Pan Geng” consists of three parts, but they employ the same type of contextual setting. b The introductory passage in chapter “Kang gao” seems to be at odds with the main part of the text, and it is commonly seen as interpolated from a different text: Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 and Liu Qiyu 劉起釪, Shang shu jiaoshi yilun 尚書校釋譯論 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 1298–99. With this introductory passage, the text would appear as a communal speech. Without it, it is a private speech with only one speaker and one witness. c Chapter “Jiu gao” is structurally similar to “Kang gao”: its first part is presented as a public speech in the presence of multiple witnesses, which is followed by a set of utterances addressed to an individual. d “Shao gao” begins with a long list of separately dated events arranged in a chronological order; this narrative probably has a different function than the shorter introductory passages in most other “dramatic speeches” of the Shang shu. e Chapters with future-projected messages.

In the nondramatic speeches of the Yi Zhou shu, the understanding of scriptural texts as carriers of transgenerational wisdom becomes prevalent. The precious empowering properties of such texts made it necessary to keep them in secrecy, which may be why the public pronouncements gave way to private conversations. Conceived as instructions to posterity, such speeches adopted the form of well-structured didactic expositions. Most dramatic speeches of the Shang shu lack such explicit future-projected messages

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because they belong to the type(s) coming from an earlier stage, corresponding to Zhang Ning’s first layer in the formation history of the shū (see the discussion in chapter 2). During this earlier stage, the conception of scriptures as presented in the Mozi had probably not yet been invented. Unlike the didactically focused late scriptures, the earlier scriptural texts seem to originate in the contexts of communal ritual performances focused on the reenactment of the protagonists’ individual responses to specific historical challenges. I propose to call such earlier texts appropriated scriptures, suggesting that most of them were probably borrowed from earlier performative contexts and reinterpreted as scriptures through retrospective exegesis. (The Shang shu chapters “Pan Geng” and “Duo fang” quoted previously belong to appropriated scriptures.) I contrast them with created scriptures that were initially composed as future-projected instructions. This dichotomy should be used with caution. First, the transition from appropriated to created scriptures was not a momentary event. The different contexts of textual production and performance coexisted over long periods of time, and the same text could be used as a script for communal performance and as a didactic exposition of empowering knowledge. Second, understanding the text as a future-­ projected instruction is ultimately a matter of interpretation. For ancient audiences, the presence of explicit traces of this understanding in the text was not essential. Consequently, the absence of such traces does not necessarily mean that a text was borrowed from a different earlier context. It is important to observe other formal features that normally correlate with the presentation of a text as a future-projected instruction. Surveying such features will enable us to make better-informed judgments regarding which texts may have been conceived as future-projected instructions from the very beginning and composed as created scriptures. CONCLUSION

Appropriated and created scriptures represent two successive yet overlapping stages in the history of scriptural traditions. By judging these two groups on their own terms, we can avoid the danger of excessive simplification, according to which some of them are dismissed as “forgeries” or “imitations” even before they are duly scrutinized. Both are broad groups encompassing a variety of texts with different generic properties. Nevertheless, there is more consistency in created scriptures because they are informed by the relatively

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uniform late conception of precious instructions bequeathed by the sage rulers. No such uniform understanding can be offered for the appropriated scriptures, which were borrowed from a variety of earlier performative contexts that were probably forgotten in part already by the fourth century bce. Therefore, when dealing with appropriated scriptures, it is important to develop a more fine-grained analytical division for the separate performative contexts that they originate from. The recent works by Joachim Gentz, Martin Kern, and Maria Khayutina focusing on the royal addresses to subdued enemies and the battle harangues (shi 誓) are good examples of such typologically informed studies.19 It would be desirable to further clarify the typology of appropriated scriptures, but this task would fall beyond the scope of this book, which is primarily dedicated to created scriptures. Although created scriptures have received disproportionately little attention in scholarship, in terms of historical importance they are hardly inferior to the archaic Shang shu, holding much potential for elucidating and even rewriting preimperial intellectual and religious history. It is in the domain of created scriptures that the respectable traditions identified with the ancient sage kings and their scribes and the subversive esoteric traditions of early Daoism came together, mutually influencing one another and leaving profound traces on both the state-endorsed Ruist learning and the esoteric lore of later religious communities. To prepare the background for discussing these fascinating connections and continuities, I shall first introduce a group of formally related Yi Zhou shu chapters that I call royal colloquies, the most representative textual type in the Yi Zhou shu. These texts are centrally important in the history of scriptural traditions, and, in the next chapter, I shall closely examine their structure, intellectual concerns, and philological features.

Chapter Four

ROYAL COLLOQUIES AS THE MAIN TEXT TYPE IN THE YI ZHOU SHU

In this chapter, I identify a group of chapters in the Yi Zhou shu that claim to encapsulate the will and wisdom of the foundational rulers of the Western Zhou dynasty. I call such chapters royal colloquies. They are programmatic texts, providing comprehensive models of rulership, alleviating critical threats to monarchic power, and ensuring the longevity of the ruling lineage. Before discussing these texts in their ancient contexts, it is necessary to extract them from the heterogeneous body of the Yi Zhou shu, where they are intermingled with remotely related or unrelated material. The formcritical approach, with its basic assumption that “the specific use to which a unit is put determines its form,” offers a balanced solution to this problem, making it possible to identify texts produced in similar sociohistorical contexts on the grounds of their formal similarity.1 As shown in chapter 1, the Yi Zhou shu has a complicated textual history, and it continued to transform well into the medieval period. By focusing on a group of texts that share common features, I hope to make my analysis less vulnerable to possible medieval contaminations. If one or several chapters were introduced into the collection relatively late, or if they were composed during the medieval period (which is unlikely), this will not affect the validity of the observations presented here.

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ROYAL COLLOQUIES AND THE EMPHASIS ON THE AUTHORITY OF KNOWLEDGE

Royal colloquies are nondramatic speeches (see chapter 3) featuring the Western Zhou kings and the Duke of Zhou 周公 as interlocutors. I identify fourteen such chapters: “Feng bao” 酆保 (Safeguarding at Feng), “Da kai” 大開 (The Great Instruction), “Xiao kai” 小開 (The Lesser Instruction), “Wen jing” 文儆 (King Wen’s Distress), “Da kai wu” 大開武 (The Great Instruction of King Wu), “Xiao kai wu” 小開武 (The Lesser Instruction of King Wu), “Bao dian” 寶典 (Treasured Statute), “Feng mou” 酆謀 (Planning at Feng), “Wù jing” 寤敬 (Distress at Awakening), “Wǔ jing” 武儆 (King Wu’s Distress), “Wu quan” 五權 (Five Balances), “Cheng kai” 成開 (King Cheng’s Instruction), “Da jie” 大戒 (Great Admonition), and “Ben dian” 本典 (Basic Statute).2 These chapters record scenes of instruction involving the early Western Zhou kings and, frequently, the Duke of Zhou (table 4.1). The work-in-progress translations can be consulted on the companion website of this book: https://yizhoushu.phoenixterrace.com. The rationale for grouping these chapters together is discussed in the following text. One distinctive feature of these texts is that knowledge authority prevails over political authority: it is usually the Duke of Zhou or the wiser king of the older generation who is put in the position of the instructor, whereas the younger king’s role is predominantly limited to asking questions and confirming the validity of the received wisdom. In several texts recording scenes of instruction of a younger king (usually King Cheng 成王, ca. late eleventh century bce), the monarch openly recognizes the lack of wisdom compared to his sagely adviser, the Duke of Zhou. Although the political dominance of the king is never questioned, his inferior knowledge makes him dependent on competent instructors. This contrasting but complementary relationship between the knowledge authority of the wise man and the political authority of the king is not unique to the Yi Zhou shu. Anna Seidel has observed the same dynamics in the Yellow Thearch (Huangdi 黃帝) texts, which were crucially important in Western Han Daoism.3 The similarity with religious Daoism is not accidental, as I shall explain in the last two chapters of this book. – KA I AND JIˇ NG: TWO MAIN SUBTYPES OF ROYAL COLLOQUIES

Royal colloquies can be divided into several types based on their structure and contextual setting. The titles of some chapters within this group,

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TABLE 4.1 Summary of the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies Chapter

Summary

“Feng bao” 酆保 (Safeguarding at Feng)

Rulers of the nine regions come to Zhou, submitting ­themselves to King Wen. Knowing that Shang is not yet defeated, King Wen is reluctant to accept them. The Duke of Zhou encourages him to cast the doubts away.

“Da kai” 大開 (The Great Instruction)

A solemn instruction delivered by the king to his heir.

“Xiao kai” 小開 (The Lesser Instruction)

An instruction for the royal heir (the opening passage is corrupt).

“Wen jing” 文儆 (King Wen’s Distress)

King Wen has a distressing dream. He summons his heir Fa (future King Wu) and instructs him.

“Da kai wu” 大開武 (The Great Instruction of King Wu)

King Wu summons the Duke of Zhou secretly and shares his anxiety concerning Shang. The Duke of Zhou reassures the king, pointing out that Zhou has already received the Mandate of Heaven.

“Xiao kai wu” 小開武 (The Lesser Instruction of King Wu)

King Wu summons the Duke of Zhou and asks him about the way to counter Shang with the perfect Dao.

“Bao dian” 寶典 (Treasured Statute)

King Wu summons the Duke of Zhou and asks him to clarify some principles of rulership.

“Feng mou” 酆謀 (Planning at Feng)

King Wu receives news from an informer concerning the ­military preparations of Shang; he summons the Duke of Zhou. The Duke of Zhou advises him to proceed to military action.

“Wù jing” 寤敬 (Distress at Awakening)

The king (apparently King Wu) has a distressing dream. He summons the Duke of Zhou to share his anxiety concerning the leaking plans and his fear of Shang.

“Wǔ jing” 武儆 (King Wu’s Distress)

King Wu has a dream. He solemnly summons the Duke of Zhou to transmit an instruction for the heir.

“Wu quan” 五權 (Five Balances)

The ill King Wu summons the Duke of Zhou and asks him to take care of the heir.

“Cheng kai” 成開 (King Cheng’s Instruction)

King Cheng summons the Duke of Zhou and asks him how to deal with the threatening remnants of Shang.

“Da jie” 大戒 (Great Admonition)

King Cheng summons the Duke of Zhou and asks for his advice about employing people.

“Ben dian” 本典 (Basic Statute)

King Cheng summons the Duke of Zhou to ask him about virtue and governance.

which repeatedly use the same characters, already provide an important clue regarding their relationship: five contain the character kāi 開 (here probably meaning “to instruct”),4 and three others contain jǐng 儆5 (“to frighten,” “to distress”): “Da kai,” “Xiao kai,” “Da kai wu,” “Xiao kai wu,” and “Cheng kai”; and “Wen jing,” “Wù jing,” and “Wǔ jing.”6 The kāi chapters are associated with different kings: “The Great Instruction” and “The Lesser Instruction” are related to King Wen, while “King Wu’s Great Instruction,” “King

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Wu’s Lesser Instruction,” and “King Cheng’s Instruction” are related to kings Wu and Cheng, respectively. The same pattern partially applies to the “distresses”: there is “King Wen’s Distress” and “King Wu’s Distress,” although the “Distress at Awakening” is different.7 The formal similarity between the chapters bearing the kāi character in titles was pointed out by Sun Yirang 孫詒讓 (1848–1908).8 All five kāi ­chapters open with brief introductory passages that are similar in structure (I call them formalistic in chapter 3). The meaning of the character kāi in chapter titles becomes clearer from the texts of “The Great Instruction” and the “The Lesser Instruction,” where kāi is employed as a transitive verb meaning “to instruct,” with “posterity” (jue houren 厥後人 or housi 後嗣) as the object. The kāi chapters can generally be understood as instructions given to newly introduced monarchs. Another important feature of these chapters is the abundance of numerical lists, which present knowledge in a structured, inflexible, and authoritative way.9 The following example is chapter “Xiao kai wu.” In the beginning of this chapter, King Wu 武王 feels uncertain about his ability to overcome Shang, and he summons the Duke of Zhou to ask for his advice: 維王二祀一月既生魄，王召周公旦曰：嗚呼！余夙夜忌商，不知道 極，敬聽以勤天命。10 In the king’s second ritual cycle, in the first month, when the [moon’s] pò was already born, the king summoned Dan, the Duke of Zhou, saying: “Wuhu! I am on guard against Shang from morning till night. I do not understand the perfection of the Dao; [therefore] I am reverently listening [to your advice] in order to toil on the [accomplishment] of the Mandate of Heaven.”

In response, the Duke of Zhou instructs him about the wise ways of King Wen. He first summarizes King Wen’s wisdom as a sequence of numerical lists, and then he expounds on the contents of each list in detail: 周公拜手稽首，曰：在我文考，順明三極，躬是四察，循用五行，戒 視七順，順道九紀。 三極既明，五行乃常；四察既是，七順乃辨，明勢天道，九紀咸 當；順德以謀，罔惟不行。 The Duke of Zhou bowed, having touched the ground with his head, and said: “To examine our father Wen: he obediently elucidated the three extremities,

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personally verified the four inspections, in an orderly fashion employed the five phases, vigilantly observed the seven compliances, and obediently followed the nine reckonings. When the three perfections were clarified, the five phases became constant; when the four inspections were verified, the seven compliances were defined. He clearly established the heavenly Dao, and the nine reckonings were all in a fitting state. And when the De-virtue was followed in plans, nothing was unfulfilled. 三極：一維天九星，二維地九州，三維人四左。 The three perfections are: The first: heaven has nine luminaries.11 The second: earth has nine regions.12 The third: man has four limbs. 四察：一目察維極，二耳察維聲，三口察維言，四心察維念。 The four inspections are: The first: what is inspected with the eyes is the extreme point. The second: what is inspected with the ears is sound. The third: what is inspected from the mouth is speech. The fourth: what is inspected in the heart is thoughts. 五行：一黑位水，二赤位火，三蒼位木，四白位金，五黃位土。 The five phases are: The first: black stands for water. The second: red stands for fire. The third: green stands for wood. The fourth: white stands for metal. The fifth: yellow stands for ground. 七順：一順天得時，二順地得助，三順民得和，四順利財足，五順得 助明，六順仁無失，七順道有功。

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The seven compliances are: The first: the one who complies with heaven acquires time. The second: the one who complies with earth acquires assistance. The third: the one who complies with people acquires accord. The fourth: the one who complies with benefits has abundant resources. The fifth: the one who complies with acquisition assists clairvoyance.13 The sixth: the one who complies with humaneness has no losses. The seventh: the one who complies with the Dao-way has achievements. 九紀：一辰以紀日，二宿以紀月，三日以紀德，四月以紀刑，五春以 紀生，六夏以紀長，七秋以紀殺，八冬以紀藏，九歲以紀終。 The nine reckonings are: The first: reckon the days at dawns. The second: reckon the months at nights.14 The third: reckon the De-virtue by days. The fourth: reckon punishments by months. The fifth: reckon birth to spring. The sixth: reckon growth to summer. The seventh: reckon killing to autumn. The eighth: reckon storing to winter. The ninth: reckon the completion by years. 時候天視可監，時不失以知吉凶。 The periods of time and the views of Heaven can be observed. One does not lose the [proper] times by knowing what is auspicious and inauspicious.” 王拜曰：允哉！余聞在昔訓典中規，非時罔有格言，日正余不足。 The king said: “Truly so! I have heard that, in antiquity, the instructions in precedents were perfect. Other than these, there can be no other felicitous words! Correct my shortcomings every day!”

The lists in this example intersperse cosmological knowledge (“three perfections,” “five phases,” “nine reckonings”) with practical knowledge (“four

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inspections,” “seven compliances”). Some cosmological elements are known from other texts, such as the “five phases” (wuxing 五行), which underpin a similar but more elaborate system of cosmologically informed principles of rulership in the chapter “Hong fan” 洪範 (Great Plan) of the Shang shu.15 Unlike the “Hong fan,” however, which we understand through a rich commentarial tradition, “Xiao kai wu” lacks any elaborate commentaries. As a result, it appears shallow: while it is possible to see some practical value in the “four inspections” and “seven compliances,” we are given no clue why the “three perfections” and “five phases” are important. Most likely, oral commentaries explained the significance of these and other elements, but they were lost, giving the remaining text its partly shallow and partly arcane appearance. Although most royal colloquies contain such lists, there are exceptions. The most notable one among the kāi chapters is “Xiao kai,” which mentions some numerical lists by titles but does not enumerate their contents. There are also three jǐng chapters, very close to the kāi chapters in form and language, where there is only one mention of the “three virtues” (san de 三德) in chapter “Wù jing.” The jǐng chapters are generally very brief: the “Wen jing” contains 179 characters, the “Wù jing” has 158 characters, and the “Wǔ jing” contains merely 86 characters, although the last-mentioned text is visibly corrupt and may have lost some of its contents in transmission. These three chapters record private conversations conducted by kings after they woke up with a feeling of an imminent threat. In the dialog that follows, a piece of wisdom is articulated that neutralizes the threat. This is accompanied by a request to preserve this wisdom in safety and not to lose it. The use of this simple but clearly articulated “threat–remedy” model distinguishes the jǐng chapters from their kāi counterparts. Let me cite chapter “Wù jing” as an example: 維四月朔王告儆，召周公旦曰：嗚呼！謀泄哉！今朕寤有商驚予，欲 與無□則，欲攻無庸，以王不足，戒乃不興，憂其深矣！ In the fourth month, on the new moon, the king made an announcement about distress. He summoned Duke of Zhou Dan, saying: “Wuhu! My plans are leaking! As I woke up today, Shang distressed me. If I want to associate with them, I do not have . . . [a matching] status, and if I want to attack them, I have nobody to employ. With these shortcomings in my kingship, even when I am cautious, I do not prosper. My anxiety is profound!”

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周公曰：天下不虞周，驚以寤王，王其敬命，奉若稽古。維王克明三德 維則，戚和遠人維庸。攻王禱，赦有罪，懷庶有，茲封福。監戒善敗， 護守勿失。無虎傅翼，將飛入宮，擇人而食。不驕不恡，時乃無敵。 The Duke of Zhou said: “Heaven does not have partial sympathy toward Zhou; it has disquieted the king in order to bring him to his senses. May the king be reverent toward the Mandate, respectfully reenacting what he studies from antiquity! If the king is able to elucidate the three De-virtues,16 then he will have the status, and if he is affable with remote people, he will have whom to employ. [The king should] accomplish the royal prayers, pardon those who have committed offenses, cherish his multiple subjects, and then [he] will be allotted fortune. [The king should] be observant and alert regarding what is good and what is ruinous, watchfully preserving and not losing it! [The king] should not append wings to a tiger; otherwise, it will fly up and enter the palace, select people, and devour them. [If the king] is neither haughty nor stingy, there will be no equal [to him]!” 王拜曰：允哉！余聞曰：維乃予謀，謀時用臧。不泄不竭，維天而 已。余維與汝，監舊之葆。 The king bowed and said: “Truly so! I have heard of the plans you have shared [that] these plans [should be] employed and concealed in a timely manner. Not to leak and never to be depleted [in plans]17 is something that only Heaven can achieve! Me and you, we should be observant in what we preserve from old [times]!” 咸祗曰：後戒維宿。 Both reverently said: “Admonish posterity to be vigilant!”

In two other jǐng chapters, “Wen jing” and “Wǔ jing,” the initial dream revelation and the subsequent conversation appear to have happened on different days. The cyclical date (geng-chen 庚辰 in “Wen jing” and bing-chen 丙辰 in “Wǔ jing”) is mentioned immediately before the conversation, suggesting that a suitable day for it was selected according to some ritual considerations. Notably, the dates in both chapters contain the same element, chen 辰, from the twelve earthly branches (dizhi 地支), which may have been conceived as an appropriate day to find a remedy to a threatening dream.18

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To summarize, the kāi and jǐng chapters employ two different structural patterns. They may have been created in response to different kinds of challenges: whereas the jǐng provide remedies to alarming dreams,19 the kāi appear to respond to more perpetual problems of monarchic rule. ARE ROYAL COLLOQUIES MULTILAYERED TEXTS?

Against the backdrop of such texts as the Shang shu, the royal colloquies in the Yi Zhou shu may appear as a patchwork of compositionally unrelated fragments in which the opening and concluding bits are only mechanically attached to the main part of the text. Tang Dapei 唐大沛 mentions this point in his 1836 edition of the Yi Zhou shu, saying that some chapters in the collection are “artificially furnished with openings and endings that forcedly link them to the reigns of particular kings” 偽敘首尾，強屬之某王時者.20 Citing her teacher Zhao Kuifu 趙逵夫, Zhou Yuxiu 周玉秀 calls this “putting a cap and boots” 戴帽穿靴 on the text.21 However, it does not seem that the royal colloquies were necessarily composed in multiple stages, as these scholars suggest. Let us consider the example of “Wen jing,” a relatively short text where the compositional consistency is more clearly articulated than in some longer chapters: 維文王告夢，懼後祀之無保， King Wen made an announcement concerning a dream. He feared that his heir would have no preservation.

This introduction is followed by the king’s conversation with the Heir Apparent (the future King Wu), in which he systematically analyzes what benefits and threatens the state. At first, the opening passage may appear unrelated to the conversation that follows. However, there is a thematic connection, and the anxiety announced in the opening passage is echoed further in the main part: 嗚呼！敬之哉！汝慎守勿失，以詔有司，夙夜勿忘。 Wuhu! Be reverent towards this! Cautiously preserve [these plans] and do not lose them! Inform those who are in charge about them so that they, from morning till night, are not neglectful!

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Finally, the same preoccupation with safety and preservation is visible in the concluding passage: 汝何葆非監？不維一保監順時，維周于民之適敗，無有時蓋。後戒後 戒，謀念勿擇。 What would you safeguard if not the exercise of authority? If [you] do not, in a wholehearted manner, safeguard the exercise of authority and comply with [proper] times, then Zhou, in what relates to the people’s movement toward collapse, will have no timely protection. Posterity, beware! Posterity, beware! In planning and remembrance, do not be weary!

In “Wen jing,” the anxiety concerning the continuous preservation of the ruling lineage is maintained consistently throughout the opening part, the main body, and the concluding section. If the opening and concluding passages were “appended” at a later date, the hypothetical interpolator made a very good effort to harmonize them with the main part of the text. However, it is not clear why this would be necessary, and without further evidence, it would be safer to assume that the text was composed at a single take. The comparative evidence from other ancient cultures also suggests that the structurally separate introductory and concluding passages may be part of the initial compositional design. Such situation-specific framing narratives referring to the moments of their purported initial composition are attested, in particular, in ancient Egypt and South Asia. As Fredrik Hagen observes, “Egyptian texts from a wide range of genres refer to their own creation and the frequent use of this topos, as well as the limited phraseology employed, indicates that this was an established and perhaps even expected part of textual discourse.”22 This remark seems to be directly applicable to the introductory passages in royal colloquies that invoke the moments of their creation. The patterned concluding passages may have been similarly important: “The end of the text communicates to the actual audience that they  .  .  . have just heard a copy of the composition first inscribed on the papyrus mentioned by the vizier. Such self-reflexivity serves to reinforce the literary setting of the past, and it allows the composition to construct a more detailed identity for itself in the perception of its audience.”23 The structure of suttas in the Pāli canon is also similar. The storytelling narrative (nidāna) at the beginning depicts a scene in which the protagonist (mainly

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the Buddha) and his interlocutors formulate a question. This is typically followed by a long speech of the protagonist that contains the answer to the question and where the narrative setting falls into the background to the extent of becoming nearly irrelevant. However, the protagonist’s interlocutors often reappear at the conclusion to confirm the validity of the received teaching. Although there are examples of texts in which such a narrative frame was indeed appended at a later stage,24 overall, instructions framed in narrative stories are common in the ancient world, and there is no reason to assume that their different structural parts were necessarily created at different times. Before new convincing evidence emerges—such as early manuscript versions of royal colloquies in which the narrative frames are absent—perhaps it would be both simpler and more justified to regard these texts as single-take compositions. FEATURES OF ROYAL COLLOQUIES

Royal colloquies are elliptical texts, and a translation unaccompanied by an extensive reconstructive explanation may appear as difficult to understand as the Chinese original. Nevertheless, the fact that we have several cryptic texts sharing the same features provides some help. The uniform narrative sequence, as well as the recurrence of certain formulaic expressions and lexical elements,25 limits the scope of possible interpretations while highlighting the shared thematic concerns. When variant forms of the same elements reoccur in different texts, it sometimes helps to explain unclear passages in individual texts against their parallels in others. Such recurrent features also enable us to identify texts related to the kāi and jǐng chapters among other similar texts in the Yi Zhou shu. In what follows, I review two groups of such features: (1) formulaic expressions; and (2) reoccurring lexical units employed in distinctive syntactic patterns. Formulaic Expressions

I identify “formulaic expressions” as passages that occupy the same position in multiple texts and employ identical or similar phrasing to convey the same or closely related ideas. One such formulaic expression occurs at the beginning of the text, while another four constitute a separate cluster in the concluding part of some chapters.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF IGNORANCE

The different variations of this formula emphasize the king’s acknowledgment of his inferior knowledge (relevant expressions in boldface): a. “Da kai wu”: 非 不敬，不知 。 ． ．． ． ． It is not that [I am] not reverent—I do not understand. b. “Xiao kai wu”: 不知 道 極 ，敬聽以勤天命。 ．． ． ． I do not understand the perfection of the Dao; [therefore] I am reverently listening [to your advice] in order to toil on the [accomplishment] of the Mandate of Heaven. c. “Da jie”: 非 不念，念 不知。 ．．． ．．． It is not that I do not contemplate. I do contemplate, but I still do not understand! d. “Ben dian”: 非 不念 而 知，故問伯父。 ．． ． ．． It is not that one can know this without contemplating [on it]! For this reason, I ask you, o uncle!

There is a degree of consistency between the first, third, and fourth examples in their use of the expression 非不X（不）知. The second example diverges from this pattern but achieves a similar effect. All these passages contribute to the image of the king as a humble apprentice who openly acknowledges his dependence on the expertise of the Duke of Zhou. FORMULAIC CLUSTER IN CONCLUDING PASSAGES

A cluster of four recurrent formulaic expressions can be identified in the concluding parts of certain royal colloquies. Even though only two chapters include all the elements, their relative sequence is invariable. The different elements can be pronounced either by the same or by different speakers; in other words, the place of formulaic expressions in compositional sequence seems to be more important than how they are distributed between speakers. These formulaic expressions are rather obscure; their reoccurrence in several chapters in variant forms helps to elucidate their meaning, but only to some extent. All of them seem to contain emotionally laden imperative statements concerning the treatment of the knowledge recorded in the text: (1) warning against the loss of knowledge, (2) request regarding the due application of knowledge, (3) call to future generations to be alert, and (4) exclamation concerning the importance of timeliness and continual vigilance (the

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TABLE 4.2 Formulaic cluster at the conclusion of royal colloquies Chapter

1. Loss

2. Application

3. Posterity

4. Timeliness

酆保

—

—

—

大開

—

小開

—

文儆

敬之哉！汝慎 守 勿 ． ．． 失，以 詔 有司，夙 ． ．． 夜勿忘 . . . . . .

儆我後人 謀 ，競 ．． ． 不可以 藏 。 ．． ． ． 維 周 于民 ，人 ． ．． ． ． 謀 ，競 不可以 ． ．．． ． [藏]。 ． 維 周 于民 之適 ． ．． ． 敗，無 有 時蓋 。 ． ．． ．

戒 後 人 ，復 戒 ． ．． ． ． 後 人 ，其 用汝 ． ． ．． ． 謀。 ． 戒 後 人 ，其 用 ．．． ．． 汝 謀。 ．． 後 戒 後 戒。 ． ． ．．

後 戒 後 戒。 ． ． ．．

謀念勿擇。

小開武

—

—

—

日正余不足。

寤敬

監戒善敗，護 守 ．． 勿失 . . . . . . ．． 朕不敢望，敬 守 勿 ． ．． 失，以 詔 賓小子。 ． ．．

維乃予謀，謀 時 ．． 用臧 . . . . . . ．． —

後 戒。 ．．

維宿。 ．．

—

曰：允哉！汝 夙 夜 勤心之無 ． ．．． 窮也。

成開

—

—

—

本典

王拜曰：允哉！幼 愚敬守 ，以為本 ．． 典。

—

—

嗚呼！余夙 夜 ．． 不寧 。 ．． —

武儆

維宿 不悉 日 不 ．． ． ．． 足。 ． 宿 不悉 日 不 ．． ． ．． 足。 ．

Note: Dots below characters indicate those parts that are similar lexically and/or thematically.

scarcity of time). I summarize these elements in table 4.2, highlighting the parts that are similar lexically and/or thematically. For the sake of clarity, I only include Chinese text in the table, marking the recurrent elements with dots. I provide translations and brief summaries of all instances of such formulaic expressions in the following text. The concluding passages of chapters can include other textual elements that do not belong to this formulaic cluster. For the sake of conciseness, I omit such nonformulaic segments in the table, marking them with ellipses. (1) WARNING AGAINST THE LOSS OF KNOWLEDGE

The jǐng chapters contain a recurring charge not to lose the knowledge recorded in them. In two cases it is coupled with a request to transmit the knowledge to those who are expected to put it into practice.

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a. “Wen jing”: 汝慎守勿失，以詔有司，夙夜勿忘。 Cautiously preserve [these plans] and do not lose them! Inform those in charge about them so that they, from morning till night, are not neglectful! b. “Wù jing”: 監戒善敗，護守勿失。 Be observant and alert regarding what is good and what is ruinous. Watchfully preserve and do not lose it! c. “Wǔ jing”: 敬守勿失，以詔賓小子。 I reverently preserve and shall not lose it so as to inform and protect the heir!26

Apart from the jǐng chapters, there is a similar expression at the end of the “Ben dian” that is presented not as an imperative statement pronounced by the king or the Duke of Zhou, but rather as an acknowledgment uttered by King Cheng. In royal colloquies (chapters “Cheng kai,” “Da jie,” and “Ben dian”), he is only allocated the role of a diligent student willing to receive the knowledge transmitted from his father and grandfather: d. 王拜曰：允哉！幼愚敬守，以為本典。 The king bowed and said: “Truly so! The young and ignorant should reverently preserve [this], treating it as a basic statute.”

The point of emphasis of this formula is clear: the message should be treated with caution, preserved, and properly transmitted to those who are entitled to put it to action. It is one of the many instances of the royal colloquies’ insistence on the preservation and continuity of knowledge transmission. (2) REQUEST REGARDING THE DUE APPLICATION OF KNOWLEDGE

The conclusions in two kāi chapters and one jǐng chapter contain obscure requests directed at posterity. Even though the similarity between the “Da kai” and “Xiao kai” helps to limit the scope of possible interpretations, this formula remains insufficiently clear. a. “Da kai”: 儆我後人謀，競不可以藏。 Forewarn my posterity about these plans. If they dissent, they cannot prosper. b. “Xiao kai”: 維周于民，人謀，競不可以［臧］。 Speaking of the relationship between Zhou and the commoners, when people plan, if they dissent, they cannot [prosper]. c. “Wen jing”: 維周于民之適敗，無有時蓋。 Zhou, in what relates to the commoners’ movement toward collapse,27 will have no timely protection.

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d. “Wù jing”: 余聞曰：維乃予謀，謀時用臧。 不泄不竭，維天而已。 I have heard of the plans you have shared [that] these plans [should be] employed and concealed in a timely manner. Not to leak and never to be depleted [in plans] is something that only Heaven can achieve!

(3) CALL TO POSTERITY TO BE ALERT

This formula demonstrates a focus on transgenerational communication. In two chapters (“Xiao kai,” “Wen jing”), it is presented in a truncated form that can be understood only through comparison with other texts: a. “Feng bao”: 戒後人，復戒後人，其用汝謀。 Admonish posterity, admonish posterity28 so that they use your plans! b. “Da kai”: 戒後人，其用汝謀。 Admonish posterity so that they use your plans! c. “Xiao kai,” “Wen jing”: 後戒後戒。 Posterity beware, posterity beware!

(4) EXCLAMATION CONCERNING THE IMPORTANCE OF TIMELINESS AND CONTINUAL VIGILANCE (THE SCARCITY OF TIME)

This formula occurs at the very end of the speeches. It seems to emphasize the transience of time and the need for constant vigilance.29 a. “Da kai”: 維宿不悉，日不足。 [Be wary that] the nights are incomplete and the days are insufficient! b. “Xiao kai”: 宿不悉，日不足。 [Be wary that] the nights are incomplete and the days are insufficient! c. “Wen jing”: 謀念，勿擇。 In plans and remembrance do not be weary! d. “Wù jing”: 後戒，維宿。 Admonish posterity so that they are vigilant! Note: In this text, the formula with the request to forewarn posterity and the formula concerning the scarcity of time seem to have been merged, making it difficult to treat them separately. e. “Xiao kai wu”: 日正余不足。 Correct my shortcomings every day!

In the last example, three of the five characters (ri bu zu 日不足) are shared with the first and second examples, but the verb zheng 正 (“to correct”) and

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the pronoun yu 余 (“my”) change the meaning of the passage. The two characters may have been inserted to make an otherwise cryptic phrase meaningful, but this is only one possibility. In other examples, we can observe a tendency to omit some words in the formulas, sometimes to the extent that they can only be interpreted against fuller instances of the same formulas in other chapters. This is best seen in the chapter “Wù jing,” where the formulaic conclusion is rendered virtually incomprehensible. The royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu are not the only example of such abbreviation in ancient China. It is attested in bronze texts, in which the same formula can appear in fuller and rudimentary versions, such as 子子孫孫永寶用 (“[through generations] of sons and grandsons, eternally treasure and use [it]”), and the short 永寶 (“eternally treasure”).30 In such epigraphic contexts, the proliferation of variants with different degrees of elaboration may have resulted from frequent reuse of a formula in a ritual setting.31 If this parallel with epigraphic texts holds true, the formulaic cluster in royal colloquies may be an artifact of a lasting practice of ritualized textual performance that survived long enough for some of its elements to become rudimentary and obscure; that is, it may represent a relatively late stage of the tradition. No traces of such formulaic expressions are seen in the Shang shu, with the exception of the chapter “Lü xing” 呂刑 (Lü’s Punishments), discussed in the following text. It is obvious—but still worth reiterating—that the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies contain remnants of textual practices that follow distinct composition rules that cannot be dismissively explained as an imitation of the Shang shu. Apart from the clearly related formulaic expressions regarding the scarcity of time already discussed (especially the examples a–d), there are two chapters where the final sentences mention the speaker’s incessant toil. They may also be related: like the previous examples, they are positioned at the very end and emphasize constant vigilance: f. “Wǔ jing”: 汝夙夜勤心之無窮也。 Your toil of the heart from morning till night are incessant! g. “Cheng kai”: 嗚呼！余夙夜不寧。 Wuhu! I am, from morning till night, not tranquil [about this]. Reoccurring Lexical Units

Apart from formulaic expressions, the royal colloquies contain multiple examples of peculiar lexical units employed to construct rhetorical questions and emotionally laden hortative statements: he 何 or he/fei 何/非 and the exclamation wuhu 嗚呼. Unlike the formulaic expressions already discussed, such

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devices can be used in sentences that convey a variety of ideas, and they do not have fixed positions in the text. Nevertheless, they also contribute to the formal consistency of royal colloquies as a text type. Against the “modern script” chapters of the Shang shu, the repertoire of emotionally laden expressive devices in these texts appears relatively limited. The reoccurrence of the same rhetorical patterns evokes a uniform emotional response and contributes to a distinct rhetorical flavor that sets royal colloquies apart from other texts. Four chapters of the Yi Zhou shu (“Xiao kai,” “Wen jing,” “Da kai wu,” and “Bao dian”) employ a peculiar rhetorical pattern based on the formula “何 X非Y” (“What/how X if not Y?”).32 There does not seem to be a prescribed place in the text for this pattern. It may appear at the beginning (“Xiao kai,” “Bao dian”), evenly interspersed in the text (“Wen jing”), or put at the conclusion, reinforcing the hortatory effect of the admonition (“Xiao kai,” “Wen jing,” “Da kai wu”). Among the received pre-Qin texts, this pattern is almost exclusively attested in these four chapters and the “Lü xing” chapter of the Shang shu.33 Here is an example from “Xiao kai”: 汝[日]夜何脩非躬？何慎非言？何擇非德？嗚呼！敬之哉！ [Daily] and nightly, what would you refine if not [your own] person? What would you be cautious about if not words? Who would you elect if not the virtuous? Wuhu! Be reverent toward this!

There is a related pattern “何A何B何C,” where several questions using the interrogative pronoun he 何 are listed in a row. This occurs in chapters “Da kai wu” and “Cheng kai.” The following two examples of the “何A何B何C” and “何X非Y” patterns are taken from “Da kai wu,” from the opening and the concluding parts of the text, respectively: 維文考，恪勤戰戰。何敬、何好、何惡？時不敬，殆哉！ As for [my] late Father Wen, he was strict and arduous, residing in awe. What did he revere? What did he like? What did he loathe? If one is not reverent toward these, peril is near! 格乃言。嗚呼！夙夜戰戰，何畏非道，何惡非是？不敬殆哉！ Felicitous are your words! Wuhu! From morning till night I am in fear and trembling! What should one treat with awe if not the Dao? What should one

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loathe if not these [corrupt influences discussed above]?34 If one is not reverent, it is perilous!

The context in which the patterned questions are invoked in both passages is similar, suggesting that both patterns “何X非Y” and “何A何B何C” have comparable rhetorical functions. The occurrence of these rhetorical patterns in the Yi Zhou shu is summarized in table 4.3. Another lexical element that contributes to the characteristic rhetorical repertoire of royal colloquies is the exclamation wuhu 嗚呼. It is attested as early as in the Western Zhou bronze texts and is frequent in the canonical “modern script” Shang shu. Although the contexts of its use in the Shang shu are rather diverse, it frequently accompanies vocatives, imperative statements, and rhetorical questions. (Characteristically, wuhu always comes at the very beginning of an utterance, which makes it dissimilar to the common English translation “alas,” which can be put at the middle or even the end of a sentence.) In the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu, wuhu acquires an even more specific profile. It is frequently used at the beginning of the dialog, in which one interlocutor mentions his perplexity and incessant toil from morning till night and then asks his wise counselor for advice (“Da kai wu,” “Xiao kai wu,” “Feng mou,” “Cheng kai,” and “Da jie”). Here is an example from “Da kai wu”: 嗚呼！余夙夜維商密不顯，誰和？ Wuhu! I am from morning till night [perplexed that] the secrets of Shang are not exposed. How [do I put my mind] at peace?

In three chapters (“Xiao kai,” “Wen jing,” and “Da kai wu”), wuhu is used together with rhetorical questions using the previously mentioned formula “何X非Y.” Here is an example from “Xiao kai”: TABLE 4.3 Use of the patterns “何X非Y” and “何A何B何C” in the Yi Zhou shu chapters Pattern type 何X非Y 何A何B何C

小開

文儆

+

+

大開武

寶典

+

+

+

成開 + ?a

Note: the + sign marks the presence of the formula in the chapter. a In chapter “Cheng kai,” the reduplication of 何 may be caused by the conflation of the main text with commentary: see Liu Shipei’s remark on this point: Huang Huaixin 黃懷信, Tian Xudong 田旭東, and Zhang Maorong 張懋鎔, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu 逸周書彙校集注 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007), 499.

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嗚呼！汝何敬非時？何擇非德？ Wuhu! What would you revere if not timeliness? How would you select [people] if not by the De-virtue?

Wuhu is frequently coupled in royal colloquies with another stock exclamation emphasizing the need for special respect and veneration: jing (zhi) zai 敬(之)哉, which can be translated as “be reverent (toward this)!” This combination of exclamations is frequently used to introduce an imperative statement (“Xiao kai,” “Wen jing,” “Wŭ jing,” and “Wu quan”). Here is an example from “Wen jing”: 嗚呼！敬之哉！汝慎守勿失，以詔有司。 Wuhu! Be reverent toward this! You should cautiously preserve [these plans] and not lose them! Inform those in charge about them!

Remarkably, in all the four texts the imperative statements with the secondperson pronoun ru 汝 are presented in a uniform redundant pattern: Wuhu! Jing zhi zai! Ru . . . 嗚呼！敬之哉！汝 . . . (“Wuhu! Be reverent toward this! You should . . .”). This pattern shows how rigidly the rhetorical rules were followed in certain types of expressions. One other frequent use of wuhu— often jointly with jing zai—is in references to past precedents or transmitted wisdom (“Xiao kai,” “Wu quan,” “Da jie,” and “Ben dian”). Here is an example from “Wu quan”: 嗚呼！敬之哉！昔天初降命于周。 Wuhu! Be reverent toward this! In the old days, Heaven first sent down the Mandate to Zhou.

Finally, this example from “Bao dian” combines in one emphatically laden statement several contextual elements that often accompany wuhu: 嗚呼！敬哉！朕聞曰：何脩非躬？ Wuhu! Be reverent! I have heard that it was said: “What would you refine if not [your own] person?”

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The formulaic expressions and reoccurring lexical units are distinctive formal features of royal colloquies. By examining the nondramatic speeches of the Yi Zhou shu that contain such features, it is possible to decide which of them belong to this group. Therefore, the identification of royal colloquies that I propose in this chapter is based on falsifiable formal criteria not contaminated by subjective interpretation. LEGITIMACY AND HEAVEN’S APPROVAL OF INSURGENCE

Apart from the kāi and jǐng chapters, the formal features discussed in the previous section occur repeatedly in other nondramatic speeches, allowing us to extend the category of royal colloquies to such chapters as “Feng bao,” “Bao dian,” “Feng mou,” “Wu quan,” “Da jie,” and “Ben dian.”35 Having thus identified the more complete range of royal colloquies, we can examine some of their shared themes. Chapters “Feng bao,” “Da kai wu,” and “Feng mou” focus on the ambivalent status of Zhou kings shortly before the conquest of Shang: although the king of Shang still formally remains the legitimate ruler, the Zhou are already preparing to overthrow their master. Invariably, the Zhou kings are reassured in their rebellious intentions. “Feng bao” mentions that hereditary rulers of all regions in All-Under-Heaven have voluntarily flocked to Zhou, asking the Zhou king to make the symbolic last step and perform sacrifices as the supreme ruler; in chapter “Da kai wu,” the Duke of Zhou points out that Heaven has already sent its Mandate to Zhou, and therefore the king should obey Heaven and cast away the doubts about his preparations against Shang; in chapter “Feng mou,” the Duke of Zhou encourages King Wu to start the decisive campaign, having learned that the Shang were preparing to defeat Zhou. It is not difficult to imagine why these texts would appeal to newly risen dynasts during the tumultuous Warring States period: they could also imagine themselves as paragons of virtue inheriting the wisdom and moral precepts of the Western Zhou foundational rulers, entitled to challenge their formally more legitimate but morally corrupt adversaries. By focusing on the rebellious episode in the early history of Zhou, these texts provided much-needed legitimation for the dismantling of the outdated but still formally respected Zhou order. Despite the flexible nature of legitimacy in the royal colloquies, it comes on a condition: if the members of the ruling lineage fail to preserve the wisdom and virtue of the early Western Zhou kings, the Mandate of Heaven will abandon them. For this reason, the instructions recorded in these texts require utmost respect and constant

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vigilance. Permanent anxiety appears to be the price of legitimate rulership acquired in this way. ROYAL COLLOQUIES AS REPOSITORIES OF STRATEGIC KNOWLEDGE

One of the central terms frequently employed in these chapters is móu 謀, which I translate as “plans.”36 On several occasions, it appears in self-referential passages at the beginning and at the end of chapters, suggesting that the very contents of these texts were understood as móu. Consider the opening passage of chapter “Xiao kai”: 維三十有五祀，王念曰：多□，正月丙子拜望食無時。汝開後嗣謀。 In the thirty-fifth ritual cycle, the king said in contemplation: “The many . . .” In the first month, on day bing-zi [13/60], [they] venerated the eclipse of the full moon that occurred in an untimely fashion. “You should induct the heir in planning!”

The last phrase appears similar to a phrase in the concluding part of “Da kai,” which has already been quoted: 儆我後人謀，競不可以藏。 Forewarn my posterity about these plans! If they dissent, they cannot prosper.

An identical phrase in the concluding passages of “Feng bao” and “Da kai” further strengthens the impression that móu refers to the contents of the text: 戒後人其用汝謀。 Admonish posterity so that they use your plans!

The conclusion in “Bao dian” is similarly focused on móu: 維子孫之謀，寶以為常。 The plans for children and grandchildren, preserve them so as to make them a constant rule!

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In these examples, móu is used as a noun and stands for precious knowledge communicated across generations. Its nominal use in the royal colloquies is predominant, but there is at least one example of the use of móu as a verb meaning “to plan” that seems to refer to an activity performed by several actors in consultation: it appears as the last item among the “seven evils” (qi e 七惡) aimed at the destruction of enemy states in chapter “Feng bao”: 見親所親，勿與深謀，命友人疑。 Make it appear that you are intimate with their intimates, but do not [make] thorough plans with them, causing their friends to be suspicious.37

Nevertheless, the verbal use of móu in royal colloquies is rare, and it may have been so uncommon that, in chapter “Feng mou” (note that the word appears in the very title!), it was considered necessary to describe the activity of planning using the expression “to make plans” (zuo mou 作謀): 帝命不謟，應時作謀，不敏殆哉。 The Mandate of thearchs does not falter. You should make plans according to the [exigencies of the] time. If you are not nimble, you will be in a trouble!

Not all móu are good. Chapters “Bao dian” and “Da jie” mention “chaotic plans” (luan mou 亂謀) and “corrupting plans” (yin mou 淫謀), which represent a threat.38 In the context of foreign relations, móu are depicted as a sort of strategic intelligence: the acquisition of móu from the enemy is highly desirable. Consider the following example from chapter “Feng bao”: 厚其禱巫，其謀乃獲。 Strengthen their prayers and sorcerers, and then their plans can be captured.

This desire to acquire intelligence from the enemy is sharply contrasted with the fear of leakage of one’s own plans. Chapter “Wù jing” seems to be mainly concerned with this threat. At the very beginning of this chapter, the king (most certainly King Wu, although his name is not mentioned) expresses his concern about the leakage of móu:

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嗚呼！謀泄哉！ Wuhu! The plans are leaking!39

The Duke of Zhou then delivers an instruction occupying the main part of the text. At the end of the chapter, the king expresses his satisfaction with the Duke’s response, acknowledging the impossibility of total secrecy: 余聞曰：維乃予謀，謀時用臧。不泄不竭，維天而已。 I have heard of the plans you have shared [that] these plans [should be] employed and concealed in a timely manner. Not leaking and never being depleted is something that only Heaven can achieve!

To some extent, the móu in the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu can be elucidated through other texts, although such external evidence should be used with caution. Chapter “Zhou he” 宙合 (The All-Embracing Unity) of the Guanzi contains a helpful passage. In today’s recension, the main text is accompanied by a commentary (possibly of early medieval origin) that mentions the móu:40 「欲而無謀」。言謀不可以泄，謀泄菑極。 “When you desire [something], you should not plan.” It means that plans cannot be leaked. If plans leak, the calamities will be extreme.

The commentary maintains that móu-plans need to be preserved with due caution and that leaking them will provoke calamities. This understanding seems to be very close to what we have observed in the Yi Zhou shu. Another insightful passage can be found in chapter “Fa qi” 發啟 (Instruction on the Projection of Royal Powers) from the “Wu tao” 武韜 (Martial Sheath) section of the Liu tao. As I shall discuss in chapter 5, this text is closely related to the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu:41 王其修德，以下賢惠民，以觀天道。天道無殃，不可先倡，人道無 災，不可先謀。必見天殃，又見人災，乃可以謀。 When the king refines his De-virtue, he should [achieve it] through submitting himself to worthy ones and being benevolent to the people—through

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observing the way of Heaven. If there is no calamity in the way of Heaven, one should not take the lead with action; if there is no disaster in the way [Dao] of people, one should not take the lead with planning. One must [first] see the calamity [in the realm of] Heaven and also see the disaster [in the realm of] people, and only then plan.

Móu-plans are portrayed here as a remedy that can be employed in response to imminent disasters both naturally occurring and caused by humans, a resource that the king only employs in extreme circumstances. This understanding of móu sheds light on the importance of royal colloquies as secret resources for kings, ensuring the longevity of their reigns and the continuity of their lineages, and enabling them to overcome unpredictable threats in the aggressive and competitive environment of roughly the fifth to fourth centuries bce. The texts recording the móu are a form of strategic treasure, which relates to the broader notion of scriptures as precious heirloom artifacts explored in chapter 6. ROYAL COLLOQUIES AND THE CHAPTER “LÜ XING” OF THE SHANG SHU

Like the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu, the chapter “Lü xing” of the Shang shu is presented as a future-projected instruction. In addition, it shares some peculiar formal features with these texts. No other chapter in the Shang shu—and in fact no other text in the received corpus—is so similar to royal colloquies. The first shared feature is the use of the pattern “何X非Y”:42 王曰：吁！來，有邦有土，告爾祥刑。在今爾安百姓，何擇非人？何 敬非刑？何度非及？ The king said: “Ho! Come, the owners of states and territories, I will announce to you the benevolent [rules concerning] punishments! Now, in your giving repose to commoners, who do [you] select if not the men [of right virtue and capacity]? What do you treat with reverence if not the punishments? How do you measure if not against the apex?”

Apparently, this passage had a strong appeal to the audiences of the fourth to third centuries bce, and it is cited on multiple occasions in preimperial texts. In the version preserved in the chapter “Shang xian xia” 尚賢下 (Exalt the Worthy, Part Three) in the Mozi, the rhetorical pattern “何X非Y” is only

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vaguely recognizable (fei 非 is replaced with bu 不 and in one instance the negation is lost altogether), although the text does not have any substantial differences from “Lü xing”:43 於先王之書呂刑之書然，王曰：於！來！有國有土，告女訟刑。在今 而安百姓，女何擇言人？何敬不刑？何度不及？ In the scripture “Lü’s Punishments” from the scriptures of former rulers, the king says: “Ho! Come, the owners of states and territories, I will announce to you [the rules] concerning disputes and punishments! Now, in your giving repose to commoners, how do you select and discuss people? What do you treat with reverence if not the punishments? How do you measure if not against the apex?

There is also an interesting version preserved in chapter “Zhou ben ji” 周本紀 (The Basic Annals of the House of Zhou) of the Shi ji:44 王曰：吁，來！有國有土，告汝祥刑。在今爾安百姓，何擇非其人， 何敬非其刑，何居非其宜與？ The king said: “Ho! Come, the owners of states and territories! I will announce to you the benevolent [rules concerning] punishments! Now, in your giving repose to commoners, who do you select if not the men [of right virtue and capacity]? What do you treat with reverence if not the punishments? Where do you abide if not in a suitable [location]?

The existence of markedly different variants of the same passage suggests that it was a locus classicus that attracted strong and enduring attention among communities that were sufficiently removed from one another to produce distinctively different versions of the text. The patterned rhetorical questions could have contributed to its attraction, although only the received text of “Lü xing” fully matches the formula “何X非Y.” This pattern is also employed in the closing passage of “Lü xing”:45 王曰：嗚呼！嗣孫，今往何監非德于民之中？尚明聽之哉！ The king said: “Wuhu! Oh, the distant heirs! Now, how would you control [your subjects] if not [by spreading] De-virtue among the people? You should respectfully and clearly listen to it!”

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Remarkably, not only does this passage use the “何X非Y” pattern, but it also contains an explicit call to future generations, which is common in the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu. It also draws near to royal colloquies by combining the exclamation wuhu with a formulaic rhetorical question.46 Nevertheless, several instances of this pattern in “Lü xing” diverge notably from the Yi Zhou shu. In one case, the Y element is represented by an extended clause: 王曰：嗟！四方司政典獄，非爾惟作天牧？ 　今爾何監？ 　　　非時伯夷播刑之迪。 The king said: “Ah! The directors of governance of the four cardinal directions and supervisors over criminal cases! If not you, then who would be the shepherds of All-Under-Heaven? Now, how would you exercise authority?— Would it not be [by following] these paths set by Boyi when he disseminated [the rules concerning] punishments?”

This passage is matched by a sentence that contains a related pattern, “何X 惟Y” (惟 takes the position of 非). Y is reduplicated there by two parallel extended clauses:47 其今爾何懲？ 　　　惟時苗民匪察于獄之麗，罔擇吉人，觀于五刑之中。 　　　惟時庶威奪貨，斷制五刑，以亂無辜。 And what would you reprove?—It is surely these Miao people who do not inspect the due precedents of criminal cases; they do not choose benevolent people to observe the [implementation] of the five punishments. It is surely these numerous powerful ones who expropriate goods, who determine and administer the five punishments so as to disarray the innocent.

To summarize, the pattern “何X非Y” appears in the “Lü xing” in more variants than in the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu, especially if one considers its affirmative counterpart, “何X惟Y.”48 Another feature that relates the rhetorical toolkit of “Lü xing” to royal colloquies is the exclamation wuhu, which is used together with the uniform imperative exclamations nian zhi zai 念之哉 (“meditate on it!”) and jing zhi zai 敬之哉 (“be reverent toward this!”). Such an overlap in rhetorical devices

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cannot be explained by coincidence; it marks an affinity, an intentional adoption of the same patterns. Nevertheless, “Lü xing” cannot be regarded as a member of the royal colloquies as defined in this chapter. It appears to target multiple (albeit unidentified) addressees and therefore should be classified as a communal speech, while royal colloquies are mostly private. The peculiar mythohistorical introduction in the first part of “Lü xing” that mentions the maleficent ruler Chi You 蚩尤, the evil people of Miao 苗民, and the benevolent Shangdi 上帝 has no parallels in royal colloquies either.49 In addition, the rhetorical diversity in “Lü xing” is substantially greater; in addition to the omnipresent wuhu of the royal colloquies, it employs such exclamations as jie 嗟 and xu 吁. The similarities between royal colloquies and “Lü xing” therefore apply to only part of the broader range of rhetorical devices of “Lü xing.” I am not ready to explain the historical causes of this similarity. Perhaps both “Lü xing” and the royal colloquies were influenced by the same textual practice in different ways. Or maybe “Lü xing” was the first text to employ the characteristic rhetorical devices that were later borrowed by royal colloquies. In any case, “Lü xing” shares only part of their systematic and elaborate rhetorical complex. Therefore, even if “Lü xing” is ancestral to royal colloquies, their compositional patterns may have had other sources. CONCLUSION

The conception of scriptures as transgenerational testaments of sage rulers is realized in royal colloquies to the fullest extent. It has left a profound imprint on their form and contents. These texts are created scriptures par excellence, claiming to encompass the foundational wisdom of the sage rulers announced in private settings during the critical moments of their lives and mysteriously preserved in the milieu of textual experts. These textual experts are the main social force behind this type of text, and the absence of explicit marks of authorship (the era of authored works had not yet arrived) should not distract us from their conspicuous silent presence.50 The priorities in royal colloquies are clearly set: they outline a model of governance in which textual wisdom reigns supreme and in which rulers are expected to learn obediently what is imparted to them as the testaments of their great predecessors.51 Contemporary research is growing increasingly aware of the importance of such anonymous textual experts, whose collective work over many

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generations has carved the way for the development of some of the world’s major textual traditions.52 In the field of Early China studies, Li Ling, inspired by Karl Jaspers’s ideas, proposed to explain the emergence and development of specialist textual traditions in China as a result of interaction between “official” and “private” traditions of learning, beginning from the Spring and Autumn period.53 Dirk Meyer has discussed the role of “textual communities” in the formation of philosophical traditions.54 In his studies of ancient Mesopotamia, Piotr Steinkeller has highlighted the transformative contributions of the “Managerial Class,” whose members responded to threatening socioeconomic transitions by monumentalizing novel visions of a symbiotic relationship between rulers and textual experts in their works.55 Royal colloquies can be seen as a similar innovative response to the challenges of political and economic transformation in ancient China. Who were the people who created and perpetuated these texts? On the one hand, it is clear that the origins of textual competence should be sought in state officialdom, which employed textual expertise (and writing in particular) in ritual as well as in more mundane record-keeping.56 On the other hand, textual production and transmission were not restricted to state-employed officials, and there are no significant reasons to disregard the circumstantial evidence in the traditional accounts related to such figures as Confucius 孔子 (551–479) and Mozi 墨子 (ca. 470–380), who were envisioned as heads of textual communities whose members—at least during their apprenticeship—submitted to the authority of their masters and not to that of the state.57 Despite the social precariousness of their class, in the multipolar world of Warring States China, people from such communities had enough independence to negotiate new arrangements with the institutions of traditional power.58 Royal colloquies can be seen as artifacts of this negotiation process. These texts, overconcerned with the secretive transmission of knowledge linked to the cornerstone moments of dynastic succession, aimed to empower contemporary monarchs with the esoteric charisma and wisdom of the ancient sage rulers, and the anonymous experts standing behind their composition and dissemination doubtlessly profited from their role as mediators.59 This idea agrees with the emphasis on the role of royal scribes as legitimate mediators (and not creators!) of scriptures as discussed in chapter  2. Considering the evidence from chapters “Chang mai” 嘗麥 (Tasting of Wheat), “Da ju” 大聚 (Great Convergence), and “Shi ji” 史記 (Scribal Records) as well as the description of the Zhou shu 周書 in the “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 (Treatise on Arts and Literature), it appears likely that

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the communities in question presented themselves as legitimate successors of the Zhou scribes (Zhou shi 周史), perpetuating the textualized wisdom of the early Western Zhou kings. This wisdom was not meant to satisfy idle curiosity. Judging from the repeated emphasis on the moments of dynastic transition and contested authority in royal colloquies, they must have served to reaffirm and confer authority, transmitting the legitimacy of the Western Zhou kings to contemporary monarchs, the primary beneficiaries of such texts. There appears to have been a strong demand for this wisdom during the Warring States period, triggering the emergence of multiple versions of royal initiatory instructions and deathbed testaments—sometimes attributed to the same king! More instances of such texts are discussed in chapter 5. Royal colloquies are a late textual type in the scriptural corpus, and as such they adopt a range of structuring and rhetorical devices from earlier texts, reshuffling them in a compositional pattern best fit for new purposes. Gone is the expressive diversity of the early speeches of the Shang shu. The knowledge becomes strictly structured, tightly packed in numerical lists, and furnished with echoes of powerfully resonating rhetorical expressions. The monumental consistency of this textual form is a convincing testimony to its significance. The parallels in the canon (“Lü xing”) further testify that its rhetorical repertoire spans across what is today seen as “canonical” and “noncanonical,” questioning the validity of this distinction for the period when royal colloquies were composed. The “Lü xing” is not the only formal relative of royal colloquies, and both received and excavated texts provide multiple examples of texts sharing the characteristic formal features of this type. For example, in the recently acquired manuscripts from the Tsinghua University collection, the rhetorical patterns of royal colloquies reverberate in such texts as the *“Bao xun” 保訓 (Treasured Lesson) and *“Cheng wu” 程寤 (Dream Revelation at Cheng).60 The royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu provide the most useful corpus of philologically cognate material for a critical study and interpretation of such texts. But the characteristic patterns of royal colloquies are not restricted to the texts conventionally seen as scriptural or shulei 書類, as discussed in chapter 2. They extend much farther, raising new questions regarding the formative impact of royal colloquies on the broader strands of ancient Chinese textuality and shedding more light on their role in providing legitimacy and negotiation of power between the learned elites and hereditary monarchs. I explore these matters in the following chapters.

Chapter Five

DAOIST SCRIPTURES OF THE GRAND DUKE

This chapter extends the discussion of scriptural texts beyond textual collections conventionally identified as shū, showing that the Liu tao 六韜 (Six Sheaths), or rather the broader body of the Grand Duke traditions from which it emerged, contains texts closely related to created scriptures of the Yi Zhou shu. In the chapter “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 (Treatise on Arts and Literature) of the Han shu, the Grand Duke texts are classified in the Daoist (“Dao jia” 道家) category. Indeed, they contain a surprisingly complete set of ritual practices characteristic of religious Daoism, and the Grand Duke as an esoteric instructor of the Zhou kings appears to have profoundly influenced Daoist conceptions of ecclesiastic authority. The Grand Duke is presented as a mediator of efficacious wisdom inherited from the mythical Yellow Thearch 黃帝, a role that gives these texts superiority over the earlier scriptural traditions believed to originate from the historical Western Zhou kings. A closer look at the Grand Duke traditions reveals that Daoism may have developed under the influence of the shū traditions; this observation calls for a reconsideration of both the conventional history of Daoism and the conventional understanding of the shū. THE GRAND DUKE TEXTS

Apart from the Yi Zhou shu, the textual patterns characteristic of the royal colloquies are attested in the Liu tao, a textual collection customarily classified

131 DAOIST SCRIPTURES OF THE GRAND DUKE

as “military.”1 While the existence of a book with this name is attested in the medieval period, the evidence from antiquity (both received and newly excavated) suggests that the Liu tao is a descendant of a broader textual tradition identified with Grand Duke Wang 太公望, one of the legendary assistants to King Wu of Zhou, also known as Jiang Ziya 姜子牙 and Lü Shang 呂尚 and celebrated as the founder of the ruling house of the state of Qi 齊.2 In addition to the Liu tao, this tradition included a number of other textual collections with partially overlapping contents (discussed in the following text), none of which survived into the modern era.3 It remains unknown whether these collections became fixed already in antiquity and whether there were clear borderlines between them. For this reason, I adopt an agnostic position, avoiding the label Liu tao in my discussion of ancient texts and opting for “the Grand Duke traditions” as a more inclusive alternative.4 A collection named Tai gong 太公 is attested in the “Yiwen zhi.” It is mentioned, together with three other unpreserved texts and the Guanzi (here written as 筦子), at the beginning of the “Dao jia” section of the treatise and is not grouped with the military writings (“Bing shu” 兵書) as one would expect from the later tradition. Curiously, it is put before the Laozi 老子, suggesting that it may have been considered more ancient.5 This collection was impressive in both volume and generic diversity. It had 237 chapters (pian 篇) overall, including 81 “plans” (mou 謀), 71 speeches (yan 言), and 85 chapters on “military affairs” (bing 兵).6 I examine the “Yiwen zhi” record in more detail in the following text. The Tai gong of the “Yiwen zhi” seems to have been succeeded by a family of textual collections mentioned in the chapter “Jingji zhi” 經籍志 (Treatise on Canonical and Noncanonical Works) of the Sui shu 隋書 (History of Sui; completed in 636 ce).7 Among them, the Liu tao is the only text that has never completely fallen out of circulation, while others are only known from citations partially assembled in the editions of collected fragments (jiben 輯本) during the late imperial era (table 5.1).8 The list in the Sui shu appears to capture the time of the greatest flourishing of the Grand Duke traditions. This time was followed by the period of decline, although the records in later official histories suggest that certain texts may have still been preserved in the eleventh century, the time when the Xin Tang shu was composed. Interestingly, some texts that are not mentioned in the Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書 reappear in the Xin Tang shu 新唐書, for instance, the Zhou shu yin fu and Zhou shu Lü. This later official history also mentions a mysterious Yin mou sanshiliu yong 陰謀三十六用 (Thirty-Six

?f See also 12 +

太公金匱二卷。 The Grand Duke’s Metal Casket, two juan.

太公兵法二卷，梁三卷。 The Grand Duke’s Art of War, two juan; the Liang [redaction] was in three juan.

太公兵法六卷，梁有太公雜兵書 六卷。 The Grand Duke’s Art of War, six juan; the Liang had Miscellaneous Military Writings of the Grand Duke in six juan.

太公伏符陰陽謀一卷。 The Grand Duke’s Plans of Yin and Yang of the Concealed Tallies, one juan.

黃帝兵法孤虛雜記一卷。 Miscellaneous Records on the Solitary and Empty Cyclical Signsg of the Yellow Emperor, one juan.

4

5

6

7

8

太公金匱二卷。 The Grand Duke’s Metal Casket, two juan.

金匱二卷。 Metal Casket, two juan.

+

+

+

+e

太公陰符鈐錄一卷。 The Grand Duke’s Seal Records of Secret Tallies, one juan.

+

3

太公陰謀三卷。又陰 太公陰謀三卷。 The Grand Duke’s Secret Plans, 謀三十六用一卷。 The Grand Duke’s Secret three juan. Plans, three juan. Also, the Thirty-Six Applications of Secret Plans, one juan.

六韜六卷。不知作者。 The Six Sheaths, six juan. Author unknown. 朱服校 定六韜六卷。 Zhu Fu’s (1048–?) collated edition of the Liu Tao, six juan.

太公陰謀一卷，梁六卷。梁又有太 公陰謀三卷，魏武帝解。 The Grand Duke’s Secret Plans, one juan; the Liang [redaction] was in six juan. The Liang also had Secret Plans of the Grand Duke in three juan with exegetical commentary by Emperor Wu of Wei [Cao Cao 曹操].

Collected fragmentsd

2

六韜六卷。 The Six Sheaths, six juan.

太公六韜六卷。 The Grand Duke’s Six Sheaths, six juan.

Transmitted editions

太公六韜五卷，梁六卷。周文王師薑 望撰。 The Grand Duke’s Six Sheaths, five juan; the Liang [redaction] was in six juan. Composed by the Instructor of King Wen of Zhou, Jiang Wang.

Song shi 宋史c

1

Xin Tang shu 新唐書b

Sui shu 隋書

No.

Jiu tang shu 舊唐書a

TABLE 5.1 Texts related to the Grand Duke mentioned in the Sui shu, Jiu Tang shu, Xin Tang shu and Song shi, and their present state

太公枕中記一卷。 The Grand Duke’s Pillowcase Records, one juan.

周書陰符九卷 。 The Zhou Writings on Secret Tallies, nine juan.

周呂書一卷。 The Writings of Lü [Grand Duke Wang?] of Zhou, one juan.h

11

12

13

太公兵書要訣四卷。 Essential Secrets from the Grand Duke’s Military Writings, four juan.

? See also 3

Note: the plus sign (+) marks the availability of a modern edition of collected fragments. a Jiu Tang shu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975), 47.2039. In this and the following two columns, I align the sequence of titles with that in the Sui shu. b Xin Tang shu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975), 59.1549. c Song shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. 1977), 207.5277. d Sun Qizhi 孫啟治 and Chen Jianhua 陳建華, eds., Guyishu jiben mulu 古佚書輯本目錄 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1997), 226–28. e Apart from the collated editions mentioned in the catalog by Sun Qizhi and Chen Jianhua, one should also mention the recent works by Sheng Dongling 盛冬鈴, “Liu tao yiwen” 六韜逸文, in Liu tao yizhu (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin chubanshe, 1992), 159–69; Zhou Fengwu 周鳳五, “Tai gong liu tao yiwen jicun” 太公六韜佚文輯存, in Mao Zishui xiansheng jiuwu shou qing lunwenji (Taipei: Youshi wenhua shiye gongsi, 1987), 275–311. The latter is a particularly substantive contribution. f Sun Qizhi and Chen Jianhua mention several collated editions of citations from Yin fu 陰符 or Taigong yin fu 太公陰符, but they may not be related to the work mentioned in the Sui shu; see Sun Qizhi and Chen Jianhua, Guyishu jiben mulu, 227–28. g Guxu 孤虛 is a divination method based on the identification of earthly branches that are not included in the current day cycle (“solitary,” gu 孤) and the ones that occupy the fifth and the sixth position in the same cycle, which are referred to as empty (xu 虛). For more on this subject, see Robin D. S. Yates, “The History of Military Divination in China,” East Asian Science, Technology, and Medicine 24 (2005): 23–24. h Following this work, the Sui shu goes on listing six titles connected to the Lord of the Yellow Stone (Huangshi gong 黃石公). This mythical figure is derived from the story of an old man who presented the Tai gong bing fa 太公兵法 (Grand Duke’s Art of War) to Zhang Liang 張良 (d. 186 bce) and whom Zhang Liang later venerated as a yellow stone. This story is recorded in the chapter “Liu hou shijia” 留侯世家 (House of Marquis of Liu) of the Shi ji; see Shi ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959), 55.2035, 2048.

15

當敵一卷。 Facing the Enemy, one juan.

周呂書一卷。 The Writings of Lü [Grand Duke Wang?] of Zhou, one juan.

太公書禁忌立成集二卷。 The Collected Prohibited Writings of the Grand Duke on the Establishment of Success, two juan.

10

14

周書陰符九卷 。 The Zhou Writings on Secret Tallies, nine juan.

太公三宮兵法一卷，梁有太一三宮兵 法立成圖二卷。 The Grand Duke’s Art of War of Three Palaces, one juan; the Liang had Great Unity’s Designs for the Establishment of Success of the Military Methods of Three Palaces in two juan.

9

134 DAOIST SCRIPTURES OF THE GRAND DUKE

Applications of Secret Plans) in one juan, as well as a Dang di 當敵 (Facing the Enemy) in one juan, which is grouped with the Grand Duke texts and may be related to them. One of the reasons that these traditions came into decline may have been the growing awareness that the texts attributed to the Grand Duke could not have been composed during the early years of the Western Zhou period, when he was believed to have flourished. The Song shi 宋史 explicitly mentions that the author of the Liu tao is unknown.9 The only text that is still attributed to the Grand Duke in its catalog is Tai gong bingshu yaojue 太公兵書要訣 (Essential Secrets from the Grand Duke’s Military Writings), which possibly consisted of fragments selected from the earlier Grand Duke texts. Generally, it appears that by the fourteenth century, most texts from the previously flourishing Grand Duke traditions had been lost, and only the Liu tao remained. This is the situation that we inherit today. Nonetheless, it is still possible to develop an impression of the form and contents of some of these lost texts from citations surviving in other works. In particular, Yin mou and Jin kui seem to have largely relied on the catechism-style dialogs predominant in the received Liu tao in which the founding kings of the Western Zhou ask questions and the Grand Duke provides answers.10 Here is an example of such a dialog from Yin mou, preserved in the Qunshu zhiyao 群書治要 (Essential Extracts on Governance Collected from Various Books), a leishu completed in 631 ce:11 武王問太公曰：吾欲輕罰而重威，少其賞而勸善多，簡其令而衆皆 化，為之何如？太公曰：殺一人千人懼者殺之，殺二人而萬人懼者殺 之，殺三人三軍振者殺之。賞一人而千人喜者賞之，賞二人而萬人喜 者賞之，賞三人三軍喜者賞之。令一人千人得者令之，禁二人而萬人 止者禁之，教三人而三軍正者教之。殺一以懲萬，賞一而勸衆，此明 君之威福也。 King Wu asked the Grand Duke, saying: “I would like to have light penalties and [yet] instill great awe; decrease the rewards and [yet] have the motivation for good increased; simplify my decrees and [yet] make all the multitudes transformed. What should I do to achieve this?” The Grand Duke replied: “If you can kill a single person and instill fear into a thousand, kill him; if you can kill two people and instill fear into ten thousand, kill them; if you can kill three people and make three armies tremble, kill them. If you can reward a single person and make a thousand people happy, reward him; if you can reward two people and make ten thousand people

135 DAOIST SCRIPTURES OF THE GRAND DUKE

happy, reward them; if you can reward three people and make three armies happy, reward them. If you can command a single person and make [the command] accepted by a thousand people, command him; if you can impose a prohibition onto two people and thereby stop ten thousand people, prohibit them; if you can instruct three people and make three armies upright, instruct them. To kill a single person so as to punish ten thousand, to reward a single person and thereby encourage multitudes—this is the awe-inspiring advantage of illumined rulers.”

From the fragmentary citations, we can see that the various Grand Duke collections overlapped in themes and even in content: on several occasions, textually close passages are given as citations from different books of the Grand Duke traditions.12 Apart from being the sole collection among the Grand Duke traditions to have survived in continuous circulation, the Liu tao is also the only one for which we have rich supplementary textual-historical evidence. Relatively large fragments of alternative recensions of the Liu tao have survived, highlighting important discrepancies with the received text. The most complete recension available today was compiled as part of the Wujing qishu 武經 七書 (Seven Military Classics) anthology for the needs of military training, and it is divided into six separate “sheaths”: “Civic” (“Wen tao” 文韜),13 “Martial” (“Wu tao” 武韜), “Dragon” (“Long tao” 龍韜), “Tiger” (“Hu tao” 虎韜), “Leopard” (“Bao tao” 豹韜), and “Canine” (“Quan tao” 犬韜).14 A relatively full digest of the Liu tao is preserved in the Qunshu zhiyao. There is also a valuable manuscript fragment, P.3454, from Dunhuang at the Bibliothèque nationale de France, which overlaps with the first of the six sections of the received Liu tao, and also fragments of a Tangut (Western Xia 西夏, 1038–1227) translation discovered in Khara-Khoto and currently preserved in Saint Petersburg and in the British Museum.15 Each one of these witnesses contains material not attested in others, and so it would be wrong to prioritize the Wujing qishu recension as the only authoritative one. From a textual-historical perspective, the Qunshu zhiyao edition is comparable in importance. Both are digests made from a substantially larger collection (or collections) for different purposes, and the resulting versions differ both in the choice of material and in the principles of its arrangement.16 The names and the sequence of the six sections of the Liu tao appear to have had variants during the medieval period. In Lu Deming’s 陸德明 (d. 630 ce) Jingdian shiwen 經典釋文 (Commentaries to Classical Works)

136 DAOIST SCRIPTURES OF THE GRAND DUKE

that I shall discuss in detail later in this chapter, the “Dragon” sheath is not the third but the fifth in the sequence of six. Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s 章懷太子 (655–684) commentary to the “He Jin zhuan” 何進傳 (Biography of He Jin) in the Hou Han shu 後漢書 (History of the Later Han) provides the following summary of the collection’s contents:17 太公六韜篇：第一霸典，文論；第二文師，武論；第三龍韜，主將； 第四虎韜，偏裨；第五豹韜，校尉；第六犬韜，司馬。 The chapters of the Grand Duke’s Six Sheaths: the first, “Hegemon’s statutes,” [contains] discussions on civic matters; the second, “King Wen’s Instructor,” [contains] discussions on martial matters; the third, “Dragon sheath,” [is for] commanders in chief; the fourth, “Tiger sheath,” [is for] deputy generals; the fifth, “Leopard sheath,” [is for] colonels; the sixth, “Canine sheath,” [is for] majors.

Yu Jiaxi 余嘉錫 observes that the sequence of chapters mentioned here matches that in the received Liu tao, and only the titles differ.18 However, the matter is probably more complicated. In the received Liu tao, “Wen shi” 文師 (King Wen’s Instructor) is a chapter that appears at the very beginning of the collection as part of the “Civic Sheath,” whereas in the recension consulted by Prince Zhanghuai, it seems to have been the name of the entire second “sheath.” In the Qunshu zhiyao recension, the text corresponding to chapter “Wen shi” is moved into a separate “Preface” (“Xu” 序) at the beginning of the collection, separate from the “sheath” sections. Apparently, different arrangements of the Liu tao co-circulated around the seventh century. Some of this former diversity can still be gleaned from the fragmentary evidence of transmitted and recently discovered variants of the Liu tao (table 5.2). Another important category of sources is the Western Han manuscripts with counterparts in the Liu tao and other Grand Duke traditions known from medieval fragmentary citations. Two such manuscript collections have been discovered (table 5.3). One, interred around 140–118 bce, was excavated in 1972 from a tomb located at the foot of Yinqueshan 銀雀山 Mountain in Linyi 臨沂 municipality, Shandong province;19 it is known as the Yinqueshan manuscripts and was published in 1985. The second collection was excavated at Bajiaolang village 八角廊村 at Dingxian 定縣 county, Hebei province, and was probably interred shortly before 55 bce;20 it is commonly referred to as the Dingzhou 定州 manuscripts.21

137 DAOIST SCRIPTURES OF THE GRAND DUKE

TABLE 5.2 Intact and fragmentary recensions of the Liu tao Structure, number of chapters

Text

Date

Wujing qishu 武經 七書 recension of the Liu tao

Yuanfeng 元豐 era (1078–1085 ce)

6 sections (tao 韜): “Wen tao”: 12, “Wu tao”: 5, “Long tao”: 13, “Hu tao”: 12, “Bao tao”: 8, “Quan tao”: 10 Total: 60

Created as part of the Wujing qishu collection for the purposes of military training.a

Digest of the Liu tao in the Qunshu zhiyao 群書治要

Compiled in 631 ce

Preface: 1, “Wen tao”: 12, “Wu tao”: 5, “Long tao”: 7, “Hu tao”: 1, “Quan tao”: 2 Total: 26

Chapter names are not mentioned. The overlap with the Wujing qishu is partial, and some chapters are only preserved in the Qunshu zhiyao. The sequential order of chapters is different from the Wujing qishu.

Untitled manuscript Emperor Taizong fragment from Dun- of Tang 唐太 宗 (626–649 ce) huang P.3454b (based on character taboos)c

23 chapters corresponding to the “Wen tao” section of the Wujing qishu and Qunshu zhiyao editions.

The order of chapters matches the Qunshu zhiyao. With the exception of two chapters, most have titles.

Structure largely replicates the Wujing qishu edition.

“Hu tao” section includes two extra chapters: “Yi zhan” 一戰 (Single Battle) and “Gong cheng” 攻城 (Siege of a Fortified City).

Fragmentary Tangut translationd

Qianyou 乾祐 era (1170–1193 ce)e

Comments

a

Other texts in the collection include Sima fa 司馬法 (The Methods of the Sima), Sunzi bingfa 孫子兵法 (Sunzi’s Art of War), Wuzi 吳子, Weiliaozi 尉繚子, Huangshi gong sanlüe 黃石公三略 (Three Strategies of the Yellow Stone Lord), and Tang Taizong Li Weigong wendui 唐太宗李衛公問對 (Questions and Answers Between Emperor Taizong of Tang and Duke Li of Wei). For a convenient English translation of the entire collection, see Ralph Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China (New York: Basic Books, 2008). b Wang Jiguang 王繼光, “Dunhuang Tang xieben Liu tao canjuan jiaoshi” 敦煌唐寫本六韜殘卷校釋, Dunhuangxue jikan 2 (1984): 25–52; Zhou Fengwu 周鳳五, “Dunhuang Tang xieben Tai gong Liu tao canjuan yanjiu” 敦煌唐寫本太公六韜殘卷研究, Youshi xuezhi 18, no. 14 (1985): 44–69; Zhou Fengwu 周鳳五, “Dunhuang Tang xieben Liu tao canjuan jiaokan ji” 敦煌唐寫本六韜殘卷校勘記, in Guoli Taiwan daxue zhuban Di yi jie guoji Tang dai xueshu huiyi lunwenji (Taipei: Guoli Taiwan daxue, 1988), 346–68. The manuscript is available on the website of the International Dunhuang Project: http://idp.bl.uk/. c Wang Jiguang, “Dunhuang Tang xieben Liu tao canjuan jiaoshi,” 44–45. d Jia Changye 賈常業, “Xixia wen yiben Liu tao jiedu” 西夏文譯本六韜解讀, Xixia yanjiu 2 (2011): 58–81. e Eluosi kexueyuan Dongfang yangjiusuo Shengbidebao fensuo, Zhongguo shehui kexueyuan minzu yanjiusuo, and Shanghai guji chubanshe, eds., Ecang Heishuicheng wenxian 俄藏黑水城文獻 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1999), 11:2.

Since most texts from the Grand Duke traditions other than Liu tao have been lost, there is a tendency in contemporary scholarship to identify all newly excavated Grand Duke texts as the Liu tao. However, this name never appears in the Yinqueshan, Dingzhou, or even the Dunhuang manuscripts. It would be wiser to exercise more caution and not to identify the manuscripts prematurely

138 DAOIST SCRIPTURES OF THE GRAND DUKE

TABLE 5.3 Western Han excavated manuscripts with counterparts in the historically attested Grand Duke traditions Structure, number of chapters

Text

Date

Yinqueshan manuscripts

Ca. 140–118 bcea

14 chapters identified by the editors.

Comments Several chapter titles have been preserved at the end of respective chapters.

Dingzhou manuscripts

Shortly before 55 bce

10 chapters identified by the editors.

No chapter titles, but the manuscript seems to have contained chapter numbers and descriptive summaries at the end of respective chapters.b

a

Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, ed., Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian (yi) 銀雀山漢墓竹簡（壹） (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1985), 3.123. On the dating of the Yinqueshan burials, see Shandong sheng bowuguan Linzhe wenwuzu, “Shandong Linzhe Xi Han mu faxian Sunzi bingfa he Sun Bin bingfa deng zhujian de jianbao” 山東臨沂西漢墓發現孫子兵法和孫臏兵法等竹簡的簡報, Wenwu 2 (1974): 5. b These summaries have been assembled by the editors into one group, giving an impression of their initial compositional unity: Hebei sheng wenwu yanjiusuo Dingzhou Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, “Dingzhou Xi Han Zhongshan Huai wang mu zhujian Liu tao shiwen ji jiaozhu,” Wenwu 5 (2001): 77–78. However, it appears that many (if not all) of the fragments published in this section were positioned at the end of respective chapters, which is seen, for example, in the strip #2257: 右方國有八禁第卅 [The text] to the right concerns the eight interdictions of the state, [chapter] no. 30. The practice of putting titles or summarizing the contents “to the right” at the end of a manuscript (or a manuscript section) is well attested in preimperial paleography: see, for example, Pian Yuqian 駢宇騫, Jianbo wenxian gangyao 簡帛文獻綱要 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 2015), 111–24, 146–47. Traces of this practice have survived in the Guanzi.

with the only surviving descendant of this large and diverse textual family. It is noteworthy that some chapters from the Dingzhou “Liu tao” have no counterparts in the received Liu tao, while medieval sources preserve matching citations with references to other Grand Duke traditions, for instance, Jin kui 金匱 (Metal Casket) and Yin mou 陰謀 (Secret Plans).22 Consider the following passage from the Jin kui, preserved in the Kaiyuan zhanjing 開元占 經 (Astrological Canon of the Kaiyuan Era).23 Notably, it is set in the era of Thearch Yao and does not mention the Grand Duke, suggesting that certain texts from the Grand Duke traditions could focus on other protagonists: 太公金匱曰：唐堯克有苗，問人曰：吾聞有苗時天雨血沾衣，有此妖乎？ 人曰：非妖也。有苗誅諫者，尊無功，退有能，遇人如仇，故亡耳。 In the Grand Duke’s Metal Casket, it is said: “When Yao of Tang defeated the Miao, he asked the people, saying: ‘I have heard that, when the Miao [ruled],

139 DAOIST SCRIPTURES OF THE GRAND DUKE

Heaven rained blood so that clothes were soaked [with it]. Was there such an omen?’ The people said: ‘This was not an omen. The Miao put remonstrants to death, elevated those without merits, sent the able ones into retirement, and treated people like enemies. That being the case, they perished.’ ”

The Dingzhou manuscripts contain a related fragment on strip no. 745:24 □曰：吾聞有苗雨血沾朝衣，是非有苗 . . . . . . said: “I have heard that, [during the rule of] the Miao, it rained blood, so that clothes were soaked [with it]. This is not because the Miao . . .

This and other similar examples suggest that the material that later evolved into these separate Grand Duke collections may not yet have split up in the first century bce, at least not in the specific case of the Dingzhou manuscripts. Referring to excavated texts as the Liu tao involves an anachronistic imposition of the medieval realities of the Sui shu onto the sources coming from an earlier period. This should be avoided. The alternative name “Grand Duke traditions” that I propose here forces us to consider a broader range of textual-historical possibilities and acknowledge the multilinear formation of the textual collections that represent this family.25 In a certain way, these Grand Duke traditions are similar to the medieval Zhou scriptures, which, as suggested in chapter 1, referred to a family of textual collections and not to a specific text. Judging from the available evidence, both represented fluid and changeable streams of manuscript culture. Zhou shu yin fu, a text whose title contains an unequivocal reference to the Zhou scriptures—although it is listed among the texts related to the Grand Duke in the Sui shu—suggests that these two streams commingled to some extent, although we cannot verify this because the text has not been preserved. The Liu tao is the only part of the Grand Duke traditions that has been transmitted in a more or less complete form, and its connections with the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu, as I show below, are very clear. ON THE “MILITARY” CHARACTER OF THE LIU TAO AND THE GRAND DUKE TEXTS

Between the composition of the “Yiwen zhi” section of the Han shu and the bibliographic treatise of the Sui shu, the principles of bibliographic classification underwent considerable changes, and the identification of the Grand

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Duke with the “Dao jia” seems to have been discarded. From then on, the Grand Duke traditions were classified invariably under the “military” rubric (see table 5.1). Nevertheless, military affairs are only one among several different thematic concerns in these texts. Even in the recension of the Liu tao included in the Wujing qishu, which was created specifically for military training, not all the chapters are related exclusively to the military, with as many as 14 out of 60 chapters (23 percent) focusing on nonmilitary matters. All other attested assemblages of the Grand Duke traditions have even less of a military emphasis. In the Qunshu zhiyao recension of the Liu tao, the military focus is seen only in slightly more than one-third (10 of 26) of chapters. Considering the overall preoccupation of the Qunshu zhiyao with matters of governance, this may reflect a selection bias diametrically opposite to the one in the Wujing qishu. Nevertheless, a similar balance is attested in the Yinqueshan manuscripts (4 of 12), while the Tang dynasty manuscript fragment P. 3454 and the Dingzhou manuscripts are almost exclusively nonmilitary in focus (1 military chapter in 23 and 1 in 10, respectively).26 Thus every witness to this family contains a large part of nonmilitary material, and it would be mistaken to see it as relevant only for the study of military thought. However, where should we position this group of texts on the intellectualhistorical map of ancient China? To answer this question, one should examine the nonmilitary themes of the Grand Duke traditions. In the Wujing qishu recension of the Liu tao, which was composed for the purposes of military training, the chapters covering nonmilitary themes occur only in the first two sections, “Wen tao” and “Wu tao.” Such themes include the following: (1) The ideal ruler in relation to his subordinates: “Yingxu” 盈虛 (Accruement and Depletion), “Guo wu” 國務 (State Affairs), and “Da li” 大禮 (Great Rules of Propriety) from the “Wen tao” section. (2) Principles of rulership: “Ming zhuan” 明傳 (Clear Bequest) from “Wen tao”, “Fa qi” 發啓 (Instruction Concerning the Projection of Royal Powers), “Wen qi” 文啓 (King Wen’s Instruction), and “Shun qi” 順啓 (Instruction Concerning Conformity) from “Wu tao.” (3) Appointment and promotion of officials: “Shang xian” 上賢 (Promotion of the Virtuous), “Ju xian” 舉賢 (Election of the Virtuous), and “Wen shi” from “Wen tao.”27

More evidence related to the thematic scope of the Grand Duke traditions can be extracted from other recensions. Several chapters in the Dunhuang

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manuscript deal with the broad theme of the causes for the loss of power. Noteworthy are the two chapters that do not follow the predominant form of catechism-style dialogs characteristic of the received Liu tao.28 The first is untitled but contains a summary at the end: “[The text] to the right are the Zhou records concerning twenty-eight states” 右周志廿八國. It contains a systematic account of the causes for the collapse of a number of ruling lineages predominantly from the mythical past. The following untitled chapter,29 attested in the Dunhuang manuscript, is also preserved in the “Wen tao” section of the Qunshu zhiyao recension.30 It records a dialog between King Wu of Zhou and two men from the conquered city of Shang. King Wu asks about the portents that had preceded the collapse of Shang, and his interlocutors describe the moral deficiencies of the last Shang ruler. The final chapter, “Ju jian” 距諫 (Distancing from Remonstrance), in the Dunhuang manuscript describes how the wicked ruler of Shang did not obey the seasonal patterns and rejected his officials’ advice. All the thematic concerns previously mentioned would fit under the broad umbrella of “monarchic power.” Accordingly, the Grand Duke traditions can be regarded as a textual inventory designed to assist in gaining and preserving such power. Although warfare is an important part of this inventory, it is but one among several. This larger theme brings the Grand Duke traditions closer to the Yi Zhou shu, which seems to have been assembled in a similar attempt to create a comprehensive inventory of texts that assist and empower rulers. This thematic proximity is only one token of a possible relationship between the two textual traditions; there is more convincing evidence, which I shall examine in the following sections. THE ZHOU SHU CONNECTION

It is widely acknowledged that the Yi Zhou shu is related to the Liu tao, but the exact connection has not been identified and described convincingly.31 This problem has to be addressed in a broader context, focusing not only on the two received texts, but also on the larger streams of the Zhou scriptures and the Grand Duke traditions that they represent. Some relevant evidence has been discussed in chapter 1, including the citation from the “Zhou zhi” 周志 (Zhou Records) featuring the Grand Duke on the stele erected in 289 ce and the interesting case of chapter “Duo yi” 度邑 (Making Measurements of the City), which seems to have circulated around the third century ce in two different versions featuring the Duke of Zhou and the

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Grand Duke, respectively. There are more facts suggesting that there was a strong connection between the Zhou scriptures and the Grand Duke traditions.32 One piece of evidence is preserved in the commentary to chapter “Xu Wugui” 徐無鬼 of the Zhuangzi 莊子 composed by Lu Deming. The commentary aims to elucidate the mention of a mysterious “Jinban liutao” 金版六弢 (Six Bow Cases [inscribed] on Metal Plates) in the main text of the chapter:33 司馬、崔云《金版六弢》皆《周書》篇名，或曰秘讖也。本又作六 韜，謂太公六韜：文、武、虎、豹、龍、犬也。 Sima [Biao] and Cui [Zhuan] mention that the “Six Bow Cases on Metal Plates” is the chapter name(s) from the Zhou Scriptures. Others say it is secret prognostications. One edition records it [with a different character tao] as “Six sheaths,” referring to the Grand Duke’s Six Sheaths: Civic, Martial, Tiger, Leopard, Dragon, and Canine.

In this passage, Lu Deming refers to unpreserved works by Sima Biao 司 馬彪 (d. 306 ce) and Cui Zhuan 崔譔 (lived during the Eastern Jin period 東晉 [317–420]), who suggest that the “Jinban liutao” is part of the Zhou shu. However, this is only one of three different hypotheses that Lu Deming proposes for the identification of this text(s). Another one classifies it as “secret prognostications,” that is, the “apocryphal” (chenwei 讖緯) literature.34 This suggestion is not as improbable as it may seem because there is indeed a connection between the scriptures and the chenwei, as I shall demonstrate further. Finally, Lu Deming mentions that the text may correspond to the Grand Duke’s Six Sheaths, that is, the Liu tao that we still know today. This third suggestion is based on the assumption that the character 弢 (“bow case”) stands for 韜 (“sheath”), which is convincing, considering that the two are homonymous (both pronounced as tāo) and semantically close. In fact, this suggestion is equally applicable to the first hypothesis. It appears that, in the fourth century ce, a text whose title included “Six Bow Cases” or “Six Sheaths” seems to have been understood as part of the Zhou scriptures. There is more evidence in favor of a connection between the Liu tao and Zhou shu. The earliest preserved work of the leishu genre, Beitang shuchao 北堂書抄 (Excerpts from Books in the Northern Hall), composed by Yu Shinan 虞世南 (558–638), contains two passages cited as the Zhou shu. In

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two later leishu, Chuxue ji 初學記 (Notes for Young Beginners, 713–742) and Taiping yulan 太平御覽 (Imperial Readings of the Taiping Era, completed in 982 ce), the same passages quoted in the Beitang shuchao are identified with the Liu tao.35 The third piece of evidence is found in the Dunhuang manuscript P.3454. An untitled chapter in this manuscript summarized in the colophon as “the Zhou records concerning twenty-eight states” (mentioned previously) has a close variant in the Yi Zhou shu, in a chapter titled “Shi ji” 史記 (Scribal Records).36 This text is cited in the Beitang shuchao as the Liu tao. Its belonging to the Liu tao is also mentioned by Luo Mi 羅泌 (1131–1189) in his Lushi 路史 (Macro History), suggesting that during the twelfth century the Wujing qishu recension had not yet displaced other, presumably earlier and more complete recensions of the Liu tao.37 The evidence summarized here demonstrates that the Grand Duke traditions and the Zhou scriptures were closely related. In fact, they seem to have competed so closely that they even included versions of the same texts—or at least texts that had identical titles. The chapter “Duo yi” circulated in the alternate versions featuring the Grand Duke and the Duke of Zhou as protagonists in the third century ce, while the chapter “Shi ji” of the Yi Zhou shu has a close variant in the Dunhuang manuscript of the Liu tao. As I shall show, the overlap between the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions is not restricted to such relatively uncreative borrowings. Other chapters in these two textual groups show a remarkable similarity in structure and naming. THE PATTERNS OF ROYAL COLLOQUIES IN THE RECEIVED LIU TAO

Of the six sections of the Liu tao, the second section, “Wu tao,” and, to a lesser extent, the first, “Wen tao,” are the most pertinent to my discussion. The first chapter of the “Wu tao,” “Fa qi,” opens with a passage that is reminiscent of the formalistic contextual setting in the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu:38 文王在酆，召太公曰：嗚呼！商王虐極，罪殺不辜。公尚助予憂民， 如何？ King Wen was at Feng. [He] summoned the Grand Duke and said: “Wuhu! The cruelty of the king of Shang has reached the extreme; [he] wickedly kills

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the innocent. Duke Shang, please assist me in taking care of the commoners! What should I do?”

The only difference between this opening passage and its counterparts in the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies is that the wise adviser being summoned is the Grand Duke rather than the Duke of Zhou.39 In the “Wen tao” section, there are no chapters with this type of contextual setting. However, chapter “Ming zhuan” employs the alarming setting known from some chapters of the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu:40 文王寢疾，召太公望，太子發在側。曰：嗚呼！天將棄予，周之社 稷，將以屬汝。今予欲師至道之言，以明傳之子孫。 King Wen lay in bed gravely ill. He summoned Grand Duke Wang, while Heir Apparent Fa was by his side. [The king] said: “Wuhu! Heaven is about to abandon me, so [I] shall soon entrust the Zhou altars of earth and grain onto you. Now I want to receive the words of the ultimate Dao in order to clearly bequeath it to my son and grandsons.”

The characteristic alarming setting connects this passage to a diverse body of related texts, both transmitted and excavated.41 In the Yi Zhou shu, chapters “Wu quan” 五權 (Five Balances) and “Zhai gong” 祭公 (Duke of Zhai) develop similar dramatic tension by presenting themselves as the protagonists’ deathbed pronouncements. The curious case of chapter “Wen zhuan” 文傳 (King Wen’s Bequest),42 whose title is similar to “Ming zhuan” of the Liu tao, is worth a separate brief discussion.43 Its opening part in the received Yi Zhou shu is presented as a pronouncement by Heir Apparent Fa (future King Wu), but it is dated to the ninth year after the reception of the Mandate of Heaven by King Wen, King Wu’s father: 文王受命之九年，時維莫春，在鄗。太子發曰：吾語汝，我所保所 守，守之哉。 In the ninth year of King Wen’s receiving of the Mandate, in the time of late spring, [the king was] at Hao. [He summoned] Heir Apparent Fa, saying: “I tell you: what I preserve and guard, you should guard it, [too]!”

The verb zhào 召 (“to summon”) was probably lost in the received text before the mention of Heir Apparent Fa. Restoring it would make the text less

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confusing, as it would put the words in the mouth of the elderly king, and not the son, who is perhaps not expected to teach at his father’s deathbed. It would also make the text consistent with its title, “King Wen’s Bequest.” This suggestion is supported by the Yiwen leiju 藝文類聚 (Anthology of Literary Excerpts Arranged by Categories; 624 ce), which preserves a version of this passage with some interesting differences:44 文王在鎬。召太子發曰：我身老矣。吾語汝，我所保與我所守，傳之 子孫。 King Wen was at Hao. He summoned Heir Apparent Fa, saying: “I have grown old! I tell you: what I treasure and what I guard, you should transmit it to sons and grandsons!”

Interestingly, the Yiwen leiju version contains the phrase “transmit it to sons and grandsons” 傳之子孫, which has an identical match in the opening part of the “Ming zhuan” chapter in the Liu tao. It is possible that the “zhuan” chapters in both the Yi Zhou shu and the Liu tao were similar not only in their titles, but also in their formulaic expressions. Remarkably, both texts appear to record the same moment: the last speech of King Wen announced to his son in anticipation of his imminent death.45 Contextual setting is not the only element that is reminiscent of the compositional patterns of the Yi Zhou shu. The concluding passage of “Wen qi” 文啟 (King Wen’s Instruction), the second chapter in the “Wu tao” section, is similar to the endings of some of the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies:46 文王曰：公言乃恊予懷。夙夜念之不忘，以用為常。 King Wen said: “Your words, o Duke, accord with my aspirations! From morning till night, [I will] meditate on them. [I will] not disregard [them] and will apply them as a constant [rule].”

Compare this with the closing passage from chapter “Bao dian” 寶典 (Treasured Statute): 格而言，維時余勸之以安位，教之廣用。寶而亂，亦非我咎。上設榮 祿，不患莫仁。仁以愛祿，允維典程。既得其祿，又增其名，上下咸 勸，孰不競仁？維子孫之謀，寶以為常。

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Felicitous are your words! It is them that I will devote myself to in order to secure my position, and teach them so that they are broadly applied. When [one possesses the] treasure and yet there is chaos, is it not one’s own fault? If the ruler establishes honorary rewards, he will not be troubled by the fact that nobody is humane. One is made humane through the love of rewards; this is truly an immutable measure. Once the rewards are obtained and the fame is increased, then both those above and below will be assiduous. In such a case, who would not compete in humaneness? These are the plans for children and grandchildren—treasure them and make them a constant [rule]!

Although the concluding part of “Bao dian” is more elaborate, it is easy to observe that both texts follow the same pattern: (1) the correctness of the received advice is confirmed, (2) the necessity to put it to practice is emphasized, and (3) the advice is elevated to the status of a constant rule. The concluding part of “Wen qi” follows the elaborate compositional conventions of the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies with remarkable precision. In the Wujing qishu recension of the Liu tao, chapter “Fa qi” is the only one that, similar to the Yi Zhou shu, mentions the summoning (zhao 召) of the adviser by the king, whereas most other chapters begin straight with the king’s questioning (wen 問) of his interlocutor, without any attempts to anchor the dialog in a specific situation.47 However, there seem to have been more such chapters in the recension of the Liu tao consulted by the compilers of the Qunshu zhiyao. At least one text with the “summoning” scene typical of the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies was included in the “Wu tao” section (the Qunshu zhiyao does not record chapter names):48 文王在岐周，召太公曰：爭權於天下者，何先？ King Wen was at Qizhou. He summoned the Grand Duke, saying: “When contesting the balance [of power] within All-Under-Heaven, what should be prioritized?”

Another chapter with a similarly structured contextual setting is cited in the “Hu tao” section:49 武王勝殷，召太公問曰：今殷民不安其處，奈何使天下安乎？ King Wu defeated Yin. [He] summoned the Grand Duke and asked [him], saying: “Now the people of Yin are not at ease in their places. How can I make All-Under-Heaven [feel] at ease?”

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Although the summoning scenes in these two passages are less complex than the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu, the basic scene-setting structure in which the king summons his adviser at a specific location is manifest. This structure differs from most dialogs in the Wujing qishu recension of the Liu tao, which are presented as simple question-and-answer sequences. The evidence is fragmentary, but it suggests that the Liu tao, in the course of its textual history, lost some of the compositional patterns that it shared with the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu. This impression finds further support in the material from the Western Han manuscripts. The Yinqueshan manuscript collection preserves a version of “Fa qi” that generally corresponds to the received Liu tao. However, the discrepancies between these two versions, such as the unsubstantial rearrangement of the structural sequence, word substitutions that cannot be easily explained by copyist errors, and extended versions of individual passages, suggest that they are not simply copies or edited versions of each other. There appears to be an element of recomposition between these two versions, which is common for texts that had been mediated by memory and not exclusively by writing.50 Consequently, neither of these two texts can be seen as more “authentic” than the other, even though the excavated text has the advantage of having been unaffected by the vicissitudes of later transmission. The opening passage of this excavated counterpart of “Fa qi” runs:51 文王才（在）酆，召大（太）公望曰：於乎（嗚呼）！謀念𢦛（哉） ！啻（商）王猛極，秋罪不我舍，女（汝）嘗助予務謀，今我何如？ (strip no. 677) King Wen was at Feng. He summoned Grand Duke Wang, saying: “Wuhu! Plan and meditate on it! The king of Shang is unruly to the extreme! When [executing] the criminals in autumn, he will not spare us! You have previously assisted me in attending to planning, so what shall I do now?”

Despite certain discrepancies with the received “Fa qi,” the text is still similar to the opening passages in royal colloquies. There are more fragments in the Yinqueshan collection containing traces of similar opening passages in which the king summons the Grand Duke:52 . . . 召大（太）公望曰 . . . (strip no. 757) . . . summoned the Grand Duke Wang and said . . .

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. . . 召大（太）公望曰：於乎（嗚呼）！ . . . (strip no. 758) . . . summoned the Grand Duke Wang and said: Wuhu! . . .

Apart from such characteristic “summoning” scenes in the opening passages, there is an instance of a closing passage that is reminiscent of the royal colloquies in the Yi Zhou shu, followed by a chapter title:53 .  .  .  後嗣，周有天下以為冢社。沇（允）才（哉）！日不足。‧ 葆啟 (strip no. 744) . . . the posterity! Zhou possesses All-Under-Heaven in order to [protect] it as the great altar of earth. Truly so! The days are not sufficient! ‧ “Bao qi”

The chapter title “Bao qi” 葆啟 (Instruction on Safeguarding) is particularly noteworthy. This chapter is not found in any recension of the Liu tao, and yet it seems to conform to an interesting pattern: most of the Liu tao chapters that are compositionally reminiscent of the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies contain the character qǐ 啟 in their titles. This is the case, in particular, with “Fa qi” and “Wen qi” previously discussed, and it clearly also is true for “Bao qi.” Is there a connection between the titles and the structural pattern of these texts? Editors of the Yinqueshan manuscripts suggest that the character qǐ may be related to kāi 開 in the chapter titles of the Yi Zhou shu. They argue that it could be a substitution made to avoid the character qǐ 啓, which matches the given name of Emperor Jing of Han 漢景帝 (157–141 bce). This taboo had probably been introduced some time before the Yinqueshan manuscripts were interred (ca. 140–118 bce).54 Indeed, the characters qǐ and kāi (*[k]ʰˤəj) are phonologically close; Baxter and Sagart reconstruct the related 启 as *kʰˤijʔ. They have the same onset *kʰ and terminal glide *j, although the difference in the main vowel suggests that these words represent two different roots and not morphologically related words or dialect variants.55 Unlike qǐ, which appears in oracle-bone inscriptions, kāi is a late character, attested only from the fifth to fourth centuries bce.56 In the corpus of the received preimperial texts, both characters often appear in similar contexts, and kāi would be the most natural choice to substitute for the tabooed qǐ.57 Considering the connections between kāi and qǐ and the late origin of kāi, it is likely that the chapters titled as kāi in the received Yi Zhou shu

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had been composed as qǐ. This point clarifies the relationship between the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions, suggesting that both corpora contained a number of uniformly structured qǐ (“instruction”) chapters at an early stage.58 THE GRAND DUKE AS A PROTAGONIST

None of the texts in the Grand Duke traditions reminiscent of the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu focus on military matters. These texts appear to have emerged in communities that understood them much like the communities behind the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu thought of their texts. Both projects were centered on the omniscient protagonists that Yanaka Shin’ichi calls chiebukuro 知惠袋 or “bags of wisdom.”59 In the Yi Zhou shu it is the Duke of Zhou, and in the Grand Duke traditions it is the Grand Duke. They both use structurally similar chapters that follow the same pattern of naming: “instructions” (qǐ/kāi) and possibly “bequests” (zhuàn). But there are important differences. The Grand Duke has a greater claim to authority than the Duke of Zhou of the Yi Zhou shu.60 The royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu preserve the focus on kings, with some chapters recording direct conversations between the kings without the Duke’s mediation (“Wen jing” and “Wen zhuan”) and others variably portraying him either as an interlocutor (“Feng bao,” “Bao dian,” “Wŭ jing,” and “Wu quan”) or instructor of kings (“Da kai wu,” “Xiao kai wu,” “Feng mou,” “Wù jing,” “Cheng kai,” “Da jie,” and “Ben dian.”)61 The Grand Duke traditions, on the other hand, consistently present the Grand Duke as the superior knowledge authority; he always instructs and never has to listen. Sometimes this role leads to absurdity, as in “Ming zhuan” previously cited, where the dying King Wen summons the Heir Apparent just to have the Grand Duke deliver a sermon in his presence. Part of the difference between the presentation of protagonists may be due to the fact that the Duke of Zhou of the Yi Zhou shu, as a blood relative of the Zhou monarchs, represents the same kind of authority as the kings, whereas the Grand Duke, as a mysterious outsider, is endowed with the knowledge that is both external and superior to royal wisdom. Against the background of the more conventional Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies, “Taigong’s lack of orthodoxy (qi 奇) and superior understanding of the occult” appear almost shocking.62 Explicitly esoteric motifs are conspicuous in the Grand Duke texts, including the received Liu tao. Let us consider the following dialog from the “Shou guo” 守國 (Preservation of the Country) chapter:63

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文王問太公曰：守國奈何？太公曰：齋，將語君天地之經，四時所 生，仁聖之道，民機之情。王即齋七日，北面再拜而問之。 King Wen asked the Grand Duke, saying: “How does one preserve the country?” The Grand Duke said: “[You should first prepare by] fasting! [And then] I will tell you the basic rule of executing lordship over heaven and earth, the consequences of the four seasons of the year, the Dao of humane sages, and the basic dispositions of the pivotal situations of the common people.” Then the king fasted seven days, stood facing the north, bowed twice and asked about it [again].

This scene openly subverts the authority of the founding sage kings of the Western Zhou. The Grand Duke refuses to answer the question of the king directly, forcing him to undergo ritualized fasting and assume the position of a subordinate (normally the king meets his subjects facing the south) before transmitting to him the knowledge he asks for. I shall return to this point later. A fine illustration of the Grand Duke’s nonconformist character comes from a body of similar anecdotal accounts in which the Grand Duke disagrees with King Wu’s other assistants during the campaign against Shang and eventually prevails.64 These accounts are preserved in several different texts related by the same fabula and plot:65 King Wu embarks on a campaign against Shang; the Duke of Zhou (or San Yisheng 散宜生) mentions the negative portents that forebode a defeat; the Grand Duke boldly dismisses these observations as unfounded and impractical. In one version, he identifies an external source of the trouble—an unnamed hapless person—kills him in the river, and thus appeases the forces that have produced the baleful signs. Eventually, the Grand Duke proves to be right because King Wu defeats Shang. The earliest instance of this story is attested in the Yinqueshan manuscripts, but this text survives only in fragmentary pieces.66 Fortunately, better-preserved variants relying on the same plot but differing in both detail and characters are attested in medieval sources. Here is one such story from the Taiping yulan, citing from the Liu tao (the passage is absent from the received recensions):67 紂為無道，武王於是東伐紂。至于河上，雨甚雷疾，王之乘黃振而 死，旗旌折，揚侯波。周公進曰：天不祐周矣。意者：君德行未盡， 而百姓疾怨。故天降吾禍。於是太公援罪人，而戮之於河，三鼓之， 率眾而先以造于殷，天下從之。甲子之日，至于牧野，舉師而討之。 紂城備設而不守，親擒紂，懸其首於白旗。

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[King] Zhou [of Shang] behaved waywardly. Therefore, King Wu [set out] on a campaign in the east to attack [King] Zhou. When he reached the bank of the Yellow River, it rained heavily and thundered violently. The king’s august team of horses was struck and fell dead. The banners were broken, and [the water spirit] Marquis of Yang raised the waves. The Duke of Zhou advanced and said: “Heaven does not assist Zhou. It means that my Lord has not yet accomplished his meritorious deeds, the people are in much trouble, and therefore Heaven sends down calamities on us.” Then the Grand Duke drew the offender [from within the troops] and executed him in the river. Having struck the drums three times, marching in front [of the troops], he led the multitudes to perform a military feat over Yin. All-Under-Heaven followed. On day jia-zi (1/60) they reached Muye, and [the Grand Duke] led the troops to attack Shang. [The Shang king] Zhou, despite having fortified the city, could not defend it. [The Grand Duke] personally caught [King] Zhou and hung his [severed] head on a white banner.

In this story, the Duke of Zhou is featured as the Grand Duke’s opponent.68 In other versions, he rebukes San Yisheng69 (Bo Yi 伯夷) and Shu Qi 叔齊,70 who, in their blind pedantry, hold off King Wu from imminent victory.71 Thus the role of the shortsighted supporter of conventions is flexible: it can be either the Duke of Zhou or any other respectable assistant of King Wu. However, the role of the challenger of conventions is reserved for the Grand Duke, who is the lead character. The cited passage, with its contrasting depiction of the two dukes, may be useful for a general understanding of the Grand Duke traditions. Against the background of the ambiguous royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu, with their cosmological schemes and abstract theorizing, the introduction of the Grand Duke as a protagonist creates an opportunity to design a corpus of more clearly worded texts, retrospectively explaining the obscurity of earlier works not as a prerequisite of genre but as a feature of the Duke of Zhou’s excessively gnomic style. Compared to these old scriptures, the texts associated with the Grand Duke are indeed remarkably lucid. POLEMIC ELEMENTS IN TEXTUAL TRADITIONS RELATING TO THE DUKE OF ZHOU AND THE GRAND DUKE

The differences between the Grand Duke traditions and the earlier stream of scriptures as represented by the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu can be elucidated by comparing the chapter “Jin teng” 金滕 (Metal-Bound Coffer) of the Shang shu and the accounts of the Grand Duke’s disputation with King

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Wu’s other assistants, as exemplified by the story previously cited. Following Mark Edward Lewis, who suggests that the Duke of Zhou as depicted in “Jin teng” sets up “a prescholastic precedent for claims to the authority of wise men and masters of text,”72 I consider it justified to read these two narratives as mimetic programs for the audiences seeking to identify themselves with the traditions of the Duke of Zhou and the Grand Duke, respectively. Thus the “Jin teng” is a programmatic summary of a larger body of texts in which the Duke of Zhou is the main protagonist, while the accounts of the Grand Duke’s arguments with other advisers serve the same role for the body of the Grand Duke traditions.73 The element of polemic confrontation is conspicuous in both narratives. In the “Jin teng,” the strength of the Duke of Zhou lies in his blood relationship with the king and his capacity to perform efficacious rituals to drive supernatural threats away from the king.74 Consider the following example from the opening passage of “Jin teng”:75 既克商二年，王有疾，弗豫。二公曰：我其為王穆卜。周公曰：未可 以戚我先王。公乃自以為功，為三壇同墠。為壇於南方，北面，周公 立焉。植璧秉珪，乃告太王、王季、文王。 On the second year after the conquest of Shang, the king was ill and he would not recover. The two dukes said: “We shall conduct an auspicious divination on behalf of the king.” The Duke of Zhou said: “It is not admissible [for you] to approach our former kings.” The Duke then made himself the object of attack. He erected three altars on a common platform. He also created an altar in the south. Facing north, the Duke of Zhou stood there. Having put the jade disks [on the three altars], he held a jade tablet in his hands, and then made an announcement to the Great King, King Ji and King Wen.

The two dukes that are casually dismissed in the beginning of this text are most certainly the Grand Duke and the Duke of Shao 召公. The Duke of Zhou, perhaps in his quality as King Wu’s closest relative, denies their request to intercede to the Zhou ancestors on behalf of the ill king and conducts the ritual on his own. Apparently, the ritual is successful, and the threat is driven away from the king (although the details are unclear); as a result, the entire cosmic order recenters on the person of the Duke of Zhou. This fact is reflected in the subnarrative at the end of the text describing the miraculous healing of withered crops after the slanderous accusations against the Duke had been lifted.

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The initial setting for the story of the Grand Duke’s disputation with the Duke of Zhou is similar. As King Wu sets out to defeat Shang, he is threatened by cosmic forces beyond his control, and the Duke of Zhou—taking his turn to play the role of an ignorant adviser—proposes that the king turn back. Instead of engaging in argument on ritual matters, the Grand Duke dismisses the cosmological observations altogether. He boldly leads the troops and brings victory to King Wu. His strength, therefore, lies in his rejection of excessive ritualization and his down-to-earth practical wisdom. These are two simple contrastive scenarios representing “ideal types” that generalize—and simplify—the complex textual reality. The Grand Duke traditions are a heterogeneous assemblage created by the communities that did not agree on all matters; the texts relating to the Duke of Zhou in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu are also extremely variegated.76 However, even though the narratives of “Jin teng” and the story about the Grand Duke’s disagreement with the Duke of Zhou in no way exhaust the intellectual complexity of the two competing textual streams, they usefully highlight what may have been perceived as the key advantages of these projects. In the first case, it is the efficacy of ritual action, while in the second, it is the dismissal of impractical and burdensome ritual. Despite these opposed views, the function and goals of the texts are similar. It would be a grave mistake to regard the Grand Duke traditions as an epitome of common sense and empirical reasoning that challenges the superstitions attributed to the Duke of Zhou. As I shall discuss, by denying one ritual tradition, the Grand Duke writings established another one in its place that appears to have opened an entire new era of transcendent inspiration. THE GRAND DUKE SCRIPTURES AND THE BEGINNINGS OF DAOISM

Although the Tai gong is mentioned in the “Yiwen zhi” of the “Dao jia” section, in the later tradition, the Liu tao—the only surviving descendant of the Grand Duke traditions—is grouped along with “military” writings. The curious identification with Daoism is usually dismissed. Indeed, there are reasons to be skeptical about the historical accuracy of the “Yiwen zhi” account. As shown by Michael Hunter, its structure and contents are ideologically motivated.77 Each intellectual current (jia 家) is fancifully identified with a particular office at the ancient court, invoking the obvious parallel: like court ministers, who complement one another in their service of the

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ruler, the different philosophical currents ultimately contribute to a common greater enterprise, even if some of them are not aware of it.78 The “Yiwen zhi” record has to be read critically—but one cannot simply dismiss it without consideration. As several scholars have already pointed out, there are solid reasons to seriously consider the “Yiwen zhi” listing of the sources attributed to the “Dao jia.”79 The figure of the Grand Duke in particular has a number of tantalizing Daoist connections. He is mentioned as a Daoist transcendent (xian 仙) in the Liexian zhuan 列仙傳 (Biographies of Various Transcendents), composed around the second century ce.80 The ritual of esoteric textual transmission in the “Shou guo” is reminiscent of later religious Daoism, a similarity that demands explanation. Finally, as we have seen, the first two juan of the Liu tao focus on the more general matter of effective rulership, suggesting that the wholesale identification of this collection—and the Grand Duke traditions at large—as “military” is questionable. Notably, the “Dao jia” section in the “Yiwen zhi” does not begin with the Laozi, but rather with five texts whose connection to Daoism, on the surface, appears dubious. These are the Yi Yin 伊尹 (named after the legendary counselor of King Cheng Tang 成湯, the founder of Shang 商), the Tai gong, the Xin Jia 辛甲 (named after a minister of the last wicked king of Shang who shifted his allegiance to Zhou after seventy-five unsuccessful remonstrance attempts), the Yuzi 鬻子 (a counselor of Zhou kings and a legendary founder of the ruling house of Chu 楚), and the Guanzi 筦子 (more commonly spelled as 管子, named after a minister of Duke Huan of Qi 齊桓公, r. 685–643, whose advice was instrumental in Duke Huan’s rise to the position of a hegemon-ba 霸). It is only after this group of texts attributed to the wise counselors of prominent rulers that the “Yiwen zhi” finally mentions the Laozi. Now let us look more closely into the record relating to the Tai gong:81 太公二百三十七篇。 呂望為周師尚父，本有道者。或有近世又以為太公術者所增加也。

謀八十一篇，言七十一篇，兵八十五篇。 Tai gong: 237 chapters. [Commentary in small characters:] Lü Wang was Shangfu, Instructor of Zhou [kings]. He originally possessed the Dao. Some [chapters] have been included additionally during the recent generations because their [contents] were taken for the Grand Duke’s arts. Plans: 81 chapters; speeches: 71 chapters; military texts: 85 chapters.

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It is difficult to say whether the commentary in this passage was composed by Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–78 bce) and Liu Xin 劉歆 (d. 23 ce), the authors of the bibliographic summaries Bie lu 別錄 (Separate Listings) and Qi lüe 七略 (Seven Summaries), or by Ban Gu 班固 (32–92 ce), who incorporated their work into the Han shu under the title “Yiwen zhi.” For our discussion, this ambiguity is not significant. On the one hand, this commentary expresses doubt that the entire collection Tai gong could have been composed by the Grand Duke. On the other, it states unequivocally that he originally possessed the Dao, which suggests that the identification with “Daoism” is not accidental. Notably, the Grand Duke is also said to possess “arts” (shu 術), calling to mind the esoteric arts fangshu 方術 that were widespread during the late Warring States and Han periods.82 Another relevant passage in the “Yiwen zhi” is preserved in the summarizing essay at the end of the “Dao jia” section: 道家者流，蓋出於史官，歷記成敗存亡禍福古今之道，然後知秉要執 本，清虛以自守，卑弱以自持，此君人南面之術也。合於堯之克攘， 易之嗛嗛，一謙而四益，此其所長也。及放者為之，則欲絕去禮學， 兼棄仁義，曰獨任清虛可以為治。 The current of Dao jia must have originated from scribal officials. For generations, they recorded the ancient and modern Dao of success and defeat, survival and extinction, good and bad fortune. Afterwards, they learned how to grasp the essential and seize the root, preserve oneself through purifying and emptying, support oneself through debasing and weakening. These are the arts that allow the ruler over people to stand facing south [i.e., occupy the position of a monarch]. By combining [them] with Yao’s ability to defer and the humble diminution of the Changes, through a single act of humility, [one can acquire] the four benefits83—these are its advantageous points. However, if one applies it with extreme impertinence, then one would desire to eradicate ritual and learning, [and] abandon both humaneness and rightness, saying that employing purification and emptying alone is sufficient to conduct governance.

According to this outline, Daoism was originally concerned with understanding the state’s patterns of success and defeat, while the practices of self-cultivation associated with the Laozi and the Zhuangzi only emerged later. This presentation of Daoism as inherently preoccupied with matters of governing the state parallels the beginning of the “Dao jia” section, where the Laozi comes after the five texts attributed to wise counselors of successful rulers. There is clearly a logic in this alternative history. Somewhat surprisingly, this

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logic seems to align with recent attempts by Western scholars to discover the roots of Daoism beyond the Laozi.84 The way in which the “Yiwen zhi” traces every intellectual current to a particular office is fanciful—but not meaningless. Why were “scribal officials” chosen as the forerunners of Daoism? A closer look at the texts mentioned before the Laozi helps to answer this question. Although the Yi Yin, Yuzi, and Xin Jia have been lost, judging from the preserved fragments of the Yi Yin and the Yuzi, it appears that these texts were similar to the Grand Duke traditions, consisting of catechism-style dialogs between the rulers and the eponymous advisers.85 Why such texts were attributed to official scribes is easy to understand considering that the Zhou shu—closely related to the Grand Duke ­traditions—is described in the “Yiwen zhi” as “records of Zhou scribes” (Zhou shi ji 周史記). Following the logic of the “Yiwen zhi” composers, both the Zhou shu and the formally related Daoist texts attributed to sages predating Laozi were apparently attributed to court scribes. The internal evidence from the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions supports this observation. As discussed in chapter 2, such chapters as “Shi ji” and “Chang mai” of the Yi Zhou shu explicitly present themselves as records made by official scribes under the command of early Western Zhou kings. Considering that a version of chapter “Shi ji” was also included in the Grand Duke traditions (as witnessed by the Dunhuang fragment of the Liu tao), the attribution of both traditions to official scribes in the “Yiwen zhi” appears unproblematic.86 This text catalogs the causes of collapse of twenty-eight states, predominantly from preZhou antiquity, which helps us to understand why the “Yiwen zhi” composers emphasized the “ancient and modern Dao of success and defeat, survival and extinction” as an essential feature of early Daoist writings. The connection to ancient court scribes and the preoccupation with matters of successful rulership appear to be shared by both the Grand Duke texts and the formally related Yi Zhou shu. But if they are so closely related, why were they still classified under different categories in the “Yiwen zhi”? As I shall show in the following section, this grouping may have been influenced by their association with competing communities that disagreed on the principles of royal legitimacy. DAO VERSUS THE MANDATE OF HEAVEN: ALTERNATIVE FOUNDATIONS OF LEGITIMACY

In the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies, the Mandate of Heaven (tianming 天命) occupies the key position. It is impermanent and difficult to keep; hence the

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anxious tone of these texts and the recurrent call for constant vigilance.87 Capricious Heaven grants its benevolence in exchange for virtuous behavior demonstrated by faithful observance of textual precepts. If the ruler fails to do his part well, the Mandate will be taken away and given to someone else. Let us consider some examples. In chapter “Da kai wu” 大開武 (The Great Instruction of King Wu), King Wu is perplexed about the prospect of attacking the king of Shang, his nominal master. The Duke of Zhou persuades King Wu to cast away his doubts: Heaven has already conferred its Mandate to Zhou, and this supreme authority must be obeyed—even if its orders contravene the conventional norms of loyalty. (As mentioned in chapter 4, obeying the Mandate of Heaven sometimes implied open insubordination.) 若人之有政令，廢令無赦；乃廢天之命，訖文考之功緒，忍民之苦， 不祥。 It is like someone receiving a government order: if he neglects the order, there is no pardon [for him]. Now to neglect the Mandate of Heaven, cut short the meritorious initiatives of deceased Father Wen, and condone people’s ­suffering—[this] is inauspicious!

A similar call to reverently obey the Mandate of Heaven is reiterated in the “Wù jing” 寤敬 (Distress at Awakening): 周公曰：天下不虞周，驚以寤王，王其敬命，奉若稽古。 The Duke of Zhou said: “Heaven does not have partial sympathy toward Zhou; it has disquieted the king in order to bring him to his senses. May the king be reverent toward the Mandate, respectfully reenacting what he studies from antiquity!”

And in “Cheng kai” 成開 (King Cheng’s Instruction): 王其敬天命，無易天不虞。 The King should venerate the Mandate of Heaven; he should not take lightly Heaven’s impartiality!

Likewise, in chapter “Wu quan,” the king is reminded to constantly think about how to accord with the transient Mandate of Heaven:

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昔天初降命于周，維在文考克致天之命，汝惟敬哉！ . . . 吁敬之哉！天 命無常。 In the old times, Heaven had first sent down the Mandate to Zhou. Thinking and examining how our Father Wen was able to deliver the Mandate of Heaven, you should be reverent! . . . O, be reverent toward this! The Mandate of Heaven has no constancy!

The anxiety about the impermanence of Heaven’s benevolence is absent from the Grand Duke texts. Although the term ming 命 is used there frequently, it is usually employed in its mundane meaning of orders issued along the chain of command or, less frequently, “life.”88 However, there is one instance of the “Mandate of Heaven” in the opening chapter “Wen shi” of the Liu tao that describes the wondrous first encounter of King Wen and the Grand Duke following a dream revelation. At the end of this story, when King Wen decides to employ the Grand Duke as his counselor, he exclaims: “How dare I not receive the Mandate announced by Heaven?” 敢不受天之詔命乎. Thus the acquisition of a wise counselor itself becomes the manifestation of the Mandate of Heaven, which no longer depends on the king’s virtue and vigilance, but solely on his ability to attract this wise counselor and keep him by his side. This is clearly a less demanding way of obtaining legitimacy than that represented in the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies, with their emphasis on the constant striving for perfection. However, this shift does not eliminate anxiety altogether. Although the maintenance of Heaven’s goodwill is no longer connected to the ruler’s vigilance, it does depend on his ability to keep the wise counselor in his office. I shall return to this important detail. Having demoted the Mandate of Heaven from its position as the foundational principle of legitimacy, the Grand Duke traditions propose an ­alternative—the Dao 道. Of course, this was not the point when the notion of Dao was invented.89 However, compared to the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies, the Grand Duke traditions provide a new understanding of the Dao as esoteric knowledge transmitted from the mythical ancient sages through scholarly lineages that lie outside the traditions of official Zhou scribes, and in this quality it becomes the source of royal legitimacy. As the one who “originally possessed the Dao,” the Grand Duke was well equipped to solve the problems of his royal advisees. This Dao did not come from his natural intelligence or training, but was inherited from primordial sage rulers, more ancient and authoritative than the Western Zhou kings.

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The first two sections of the Liu tao offer the most insight into understanding the Dao as a philosophical concept. In the initial chapter “Wen shi,” the Dao is announced as a principle that brings about universal benefit and attracts people to the ruler:90 凡人惡死而樂生，好德而歸利，能生利者、道也；道之所在，天下歸之。 All people hate death and rejoice in living, take pleasure in the De-virtue and direct themselves toward profit. What can engender profit is the Dao. And where the Dao resides, [the people from] All-Under-Heaven will take up their abode there.

Chapter “Shun qi” (whose name suggests a connection with the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu) appears to voice a similar idea in different words:91 天下者、非一人之天下，唯有道者處之。 All-Under-Heaven is not the All-Under-Heaven of one person; only the one who possesses the Dao settles it in its place.

In chapter “Ming zhuan,” the dying king summons the Grand Duke to ask him about the ultimate Dao so that he can transmit it to his heir. The text cleverly repurposes the motif of royal testaments known from such typologically earlier texts as chapter “Gu ming” 顧命 (Testamentary Charge) of the Shang shu and “Wen zhuan” of the Yi Zhou shu, where the dying king was perceived as a source of superior authority. “Ming zhuan” adopts this old pattern to advance its claim that the words of a wise counselor now carry more weight than those of the king—even when the latter breathes his last words. I previously quoted the opening part of this chapter; here is the following section, centered on the Dao that the Grand Duke has received from the “former sages”:92 太公曰：王何所問？文王曰：先聖之道，其所止，其所起，可得聞 乎？ The Grand Duke said: “What are you, o King, asking about?” The King said: “The Dao of the former sages—can I get to know where it ends and where it starts?”

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Chapter “Shou guo” quoted previously contains an example of transmission of “the Dao of humane sages” 仁聖之道, which the king receives after fasting, assuming the position of a subject facing north. In chapter “Fa qi” (whose name also suggests a relationship with the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies), we have a peculiar reflection on the properties of the Dao that anticipates or echoes the discussions of the Dao as an unfathomable cosmological principle in the Laozi:93 故道在不可見，事在不可聞，勝在不可知，微哉！微哉！ This being the case, the Dao is in what cannot be seen; the matters are in what cannot be inquired; victory is in what cannot be known. How mysterious! How mysterious!

Finally, the Dao, when necessary, can acquire the form of subject-specific knowledge helping to solve a particular problem. Consider the example of chapter “Bing dao” 兵道 (Method of Organizing Troops):94 武王問太公曰：兵道如何？ 太公曰：凡兵之道，莫過乎一。一者、能獨往獨來。黃帝曰：一 者、階於道，幾於神。用之在於機，顯之在於勢，成之在於君。故聖 王號兵為凶器，不得已而用之。今商王知存而不知亡，知樂而不知 殃。夫存者非存，在於慮亡。樂者非樂，在於慮殃。今王已慮其源， 豈憂其流乎。 King Wen asked the Grand Duke, saying: “What is the method [Dao] of organizing troops?” The Grand Duke said: “Among all the methods of organizing troops, none surpasses the Unity. The Unity is the ability to go on one’s own and come on one’s own. The Yellow Thearch said: ‘The Unity is the step toward the Dao, the elevated table for spirits. Its use is in pivotal moments, its manifestation is in advantageous disposition, its completion is in lordship.’ For this reason, the sage kings called troops instruments of misfortune, and only used them out of necessity. Now, the king of Shang only knows about survival but does not know about perdition, knows about pleasures but does not know about calamities. As a matter of principle, for those [who want] to survive, to survive or not is in meditation on perdition; for those [who want] to have pleasures, having pleasures or not is in meditation on calamities. Now that you, o King, have already meditated on its origins—why would you worry about its aftermath?”

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Although this chapter invokes the authority of the Yellow Thearch and is full of far-reaching cosmological speculations, the “Dao of organizing troops” is a narrow “method” applicable to a particular situation. There are more such examples of “applied” Dao in the last four sections of the Liu tao. Although I have chosen to translate Dao as “method” in this instance to emphasize its practical emphasis, we are surely dealing with permutations of the same concept. While it can be contemplated as a cosmological principle that is instrumental in exercising lordship over all things, it can also present itself as context-specific methods toward achieving particular goals. This contextualized Dao can be identified with the “arts” (shù 術) possessed by the Grand Duke according to the “Yiwen zhi.” To summarize, in the Grand Duke traditions, the Dao is verbal wisdom that the Grand Duke inherited from the sage rulers of mythical antiquity. For a ruler, the acquisition of such Dao—synonymous with the employment of a wise counselor who professes it—ensures that people will be attracted to him, thus making him master over All-Under-Heaven. As an alternative to the Mandate of Heaven, the Dao frees the king from the burden of constant vigilance, observation of moral precepts, and contemplation on his virtuous conduct as prerequisites for legitimacy. The Dao constantly reshapes itself in the form of situation-specific advice, and correspondingly, Heaven’s benevolence stays with the king as long as he keeps the counselors who “possess the Dao” in his service. FROM THE UNIVERSAL DAO TO ESOTERIC ARTS

The capacity of the Dao to adapt itself to various kinds of esoteric and technical arts has been most insightfully investigated by Mark Csikszentmihalyi, who observes that the latter are “smaller than the tao, but are necessary constituents of it” and while “tao is uncountable, shu are generally plural.”95 The Grand Duke, as a claimant of the universal Dao and as a narrow specialist in military matters, exemplifies the unity of the Dao and practical arts (shù) most clearly. But such a combination of universal and practical aspects seems rare. As knowledge becomes more specialized, the connection with the universal Dao weakens. Whereas the ruler over people may need the Dao in its most general respect, for specialists in practical arts, it is sufficient to know the specific facet applicable to their trade. The infinite adaptability of the Dao facilitates the generation and dissemination of authoritative knowledge across the different strata of society, and now not only royal advisers,

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but also virtually any specialist practicing a craft that involves transmission of knowledge and skills from masters to students, can claim possession of a specific part of the Dao. Let me illustrate this point by an example from chapter “Sanbu jiuhou lun” 三部九候論 (Discourse on the Three Parts and the Pulse-Measuring Points) of the Huangdi neijing: Suwen 黃帝內經·素問 (Inner Canon of the Yellow Thearch: Basic Questions), a well-known medical collection:96 黃帝問曰：余聞九鍼於夫子，眾多博大，不可勝數。余願聞要道，以 屬子孫，傳之後世，著之骨髓，藏之肝肺，歃血而受，不敢妄泄，令 合天道，必有終始，上應天光星辰歷紀，下副四時五行，貴賤更互， 冬陰夏陽，以人應之奈何，願聞其方。 The Yellow Thearch inquired, saying: “What I have heard about the nine acupuncture points from you, o Master, is abundant and far-reaching, impossible to count. [Now] I would like to hear the essential Dao, so as to exhort my sons and grandsons and transmit it to future generations; I shall record it in my bone marrow, treasure it in my lungs and liver, receive it [as a covenant] with smearing of lips in blood and will not dare to carelessly disclose it [to the uninitiated]. If one wants to accord with the Dao of Heaven, one must necessarily have the end and the beginning; above, one should respond to the passing of the heavenly luminaries and stars; below, one should accord with the four seasons and the five phases; as the noble and the base alternate, there is yin in winter and yang in summer; how does one respond to this being a human? I would like to hear the method of doing this.”

This passage is full of familiar motifs from the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies and the Grand Duke texts: transgenerational instruction, the contractual nature of empowering esoteric knowledge (I discuss this idea in the following text), the attribution of such knowledge to sage rulers from foundational antiquity, the insistence on its preservation in secrecy as a treasure object, and the humble submission of the monarch to the wise counselor. Since the text emerges from an esoteric medical tradition, the Dao of universal rulership has been transformed into the Dao of regulating one’s body and life. The far-reaching cosmological associations, however, demonstrate that the connection with the Dao as the universal foundation of esoteric knowledge has not been lost.

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DAOIST RITUALS IN THE GRAND DUKE TRADITIONS

As a new foundation of legitimacy, the Dao benefits the ruler, freeing him from existential anxiety. However, it equally benefits the members of learned elites who claim to impart the Dao on the ruler. Their social standing as mediators of legitimacy is strengthened, and they are given the freedom to elaborate their teachings, presenting them as the everchanging and endlessly adaptable Dao. The focus on the Dao also sets new ritual priorities. In the place of the old rituals centered on the Mandate of Heaven and the precepts of the early Western Zhou kings, the Grand Duke traditions elaborate new rituals of royal investiture in which the Dao is transmitted as an empowering esoteric artifact.97 The most important source for the study of this new ritual is chapter “Wu wang jian zuo” 武王 踐阼 (When King Wu Ascended the Throne) from the Da Dai li ji, traditionally considered a Ruist collection and perhaps for this reason overlooked by the students of Daoism. A text relying on the same fabula and plot as the “Wu wang jian zuo,” but elaborating them in a different set of gnomic statements, was part of the unpreserved Tai gong jin kui collection.98 Therefore, it is justified to examine “Wu wang jian zuo” as part of the Grand Duke traditions. In the opening passage, King Wu asks his officials whether the royal treasury contains a mystic bond that can ensure the eternal preservation of the royal lineage. The puzzled officials confess that they have not heard of such a thing. The use of the term “bond” (yue 約) points at the contractual nature of the text that the king is looking for: it is not simply knowledge to be learned, but a pact to be concluded with a set of provisions to follow. Note that the dialog occurs at the moment when the new king has just assumed his duties and when the need for legitimacy is particularly strong:99 武王踐阼三日，召士大夫而問焉，曰：惡有藏之約，行之行萬世，可 以為子孫常者乎？諸大夫對曰：未得聞也！ On the third day after King Wu ascended the throne, he summoned his ministers and asked them, saying: “Is there a treasured bond that, if enacted, would work for ten thousand generations and make [the succession] of sons and grandsons permanent?” All the ministers replied, saying: “We have not heard of it.”

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This introduction emphasizes the insufficiency of royal treasuries (where certain precious texts were also deposited—see chapter 6) and, accordingly, the traditions claiming to originate from the official scribal records, such as the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu. Certain kinds of essential wisdom are simply unknown to those traditions. Having realized this, the king turns to the Grand Duke, here called Instructor Shangfu 師尚父, who represents a superior tradition that emanates from more ancient and respectable authorities. This time, the king formulates the question differently, asking explicitly for the Dao of the primordial sage rulers: 然後召師尚父而問焉，曰：昔黃帝顓頊之道存乎？意亦忽不可得見 與？師尚父曰：在丹書，王欲聞之，則齊矣！ Then [the king] summoned Instructor Shangfu and asked him, saying: “Does the Dao of the Yellow Thearch and Zhuan Xu of former times still exist? I wonder whether I couldn’t perchance get to see it?” Instructor Shangfu said: “It is in the Cinnabar Scripture. If you, o King, want to hear it, then fast!”

The title “Cinnabar Scripture” mentioned here is commonly employed in later religious Daoism to refer to high-status texts. The procedure of ritual transmission is also reminiscent of Isabelle Robinet’s description of the transmission ritual in medieval religious communities: “The scriptures were to be transmitted from master to disciple after a fast that lasted several days. The two parties swore a covenant (meng 盟) after performing a rite inspired by ancient ceremonies of consecration and feudal bonding, in which gods and spirits were invited as witnesses”:100 三日，王端冕，師尚父亦端冕，奉書而入，負屏而立。王下堂，南面 而立。師尚父曰：先王之道不北面！王行西，折而南，東面而立。 After three days, the king put on the ceremonial clothes and cap. Instructor Shangfu also put on his ceremonial clothes and cap and, holding the writing in his hands, entered and stood with his back against the screen. The king descended into the hall and stood facing south. Instructor Shangfu said: “[When presenting] the Dao of former kings, one does not face north!” [Then] the king walked to the west, turned and walked to the south; he stood facing east.

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In this section, the rite of esoteric textual transmission is embedded in a court ceremony, subverting and reversing the customary power relationship between the king and the counselor. The king gives up his position of a ruler facing south and occupies the humble position of a disciple facing east. Note that this is exactly the position taken by Daoist practitioners when interacting with superior human or transcendent authorities.101 This episode is followed by the exposition of the contents of the Cinnabar Scripture—a bond that grants longevity to the ruling lineage: 師尚父西面道書之言曰： 敬勝怠者吉， *C.qi[t] 怠勝敬者滅， *[m]et 義勝欲者從， *tsoŋ 欲勝義者凶。 *qh(r)oŋ 凡事， 不強 *N-kaŋ 則枉， *qwaŋʔ 弗敬 *kreŋ(ʔ)-s 則不正。 *C.teŋ 枉者滅廢， *[p-k]ap-s 敬者萬世。 *l̥ ap-s Instructor Shangfu, facing west, expounded the words of the Scripture, saying: The one in whom reverence overcomes slothfulness shall prosper, but the one in whom slothfulness overcomes reverence shall perish. The one in whom rightness overcomes desires shall attract following, but the one in whom desires overcome rightness shall face disaster. In all affairs, if one is not strong,     then he shall be crooked, if one would not be reverent,     then he shall not be upright. The crooked shall be extinguished, but the reverent [lineage shall last] for ten thousand generations.

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To a contemporary reader, this part reads as an anticlimactic set of banal maxims. However, it would be mistaken to reduce this text to its verbal dimension. Its more important function is that of an efficacious artifact that ensures the perpetual continuity of the lineage. In this sense, simplicity is an advantage, for the text becomes easier to understand, memorize, and enact than a more sophisticated discourse. Unlike the counselor, the king may not be literate, and indeed, the rhymed form makes it easier to commit the contents of the Scripture to memory without relying on writing, so as to recall it whenever a need arises. The Cinnabar Scripture, a text within a text, constitutes the core of “Wu wang jian zuo,” and the rest of the composition can be seen as a narrative frame surrounding this empowering artifact. The recitation is followed by the Duke’s concluding summary and instructions about the transmission and enactment of the Scripture: 藏之約，行之行，可以為子孫常者，此言之謂也。且臣聞之： 以仁得之，以仁守之，其量百世； 以不仁得之，以仁守之，其量十世； 以不仁得之，以不仁守之，必及其世。 The treasured bond that, when its functions are enacted, can make [the succession] of sons and grandsons permanent—this is what these words are! Furthermore, I, your servant, have heard that: If one obtains it in benevolence and preserves it in benevolence, his measure will be a hundred generations; if one obtains it in unbenevolence but preserves it in benevolence, his measure will be ten generations; if one obtains it in unbenevolence and preserves it in unbenevolence, then he will inevitably reach the limit in his own generation!

This passage discusses how the Scripture’s efficacy is determined by the appropriateness of its transmission and the observance of its precepts. The history of later religious esoteric traditions provides many examples of unauthorized transmission and pious hoarding of efficacious texts without due enactment.102 “Wu wang jian zuo” seems to be already aware of such problems, stipulating that the efficacy of the Scripture will weaken when it is improperly transmitted or not reverently kept. This efficacy is considered proportionate to one’s “benevolent” attitude. However, it appears that even the one who has obtained it in an unauthorized way may still count on the

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promised benefits, although the mystical protection will cover a smaller number of generations. The story appears complete and could end at this point, but it continues by describing the king’s reaction to the received Scripture: 王聞書之言，惕若恐懼，退而為戒書，於席之四端為銘焉，於機為銘 焉，於鑑為銘焉，於盥盤為銘焉，於楹為銘焉，於杖為銘焉，於帶為 銘焉，於履屨為銘焉，於觴豆為銘焉，於戶為銘焉，於牖為銘焉，於 劍為銘焉，於弓為銘焉，於矛為銘焉。 The king, having heard the words of the Scripture, was awestruck, as in great fear. Having retired, he created admonitory writings: on the four sides of the sitting-mat he put an inscription; on the small table he put an inscription; on bronze mirrors he put an inscription; on the washing basins he put an inscription; on the front columns [before his chamber] he put an inscription; on his staff he put an inscription, on his sash he put an inscription, on his shoes he put an inscription; on his wine cups and goblets he put an inscription; on his door leaves he put an inscription; on his window shutters he put an inscription; on his swords he put an inscription; on his bows he put an inscription; on his spears he put an inscription. 席前左端之銘曰：安樂必敬。前右端之銘曰：無行可悔。後左端之銘 曰：一反一側，亦不可以忘。後右端之銘曰：所監不遠，視邇所代。 The inscription on the front left side of the sitting-mat said: “When at peace, you must be reverent!” The inscription on the front right side of the sittingmat said: “Do not do what you may be ashamed of!” The inscription on the back left side of the sitting-mat said: “When you turn back or look aside, you cannot forget about it!” The inscription on the back right side of the sittingmat said: “Those that you oversee are not far away—the ones that you see nearby represent them.” . . .  予一人所聞，以戒後世子孫。 “What I, the only one, have heard, is to admonish my sons and grandsons of future generations!”

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I omit the full listing of inscriptions—the interested reader can consult the translation by Yuri Pines, as well as a well-researched annotated translation of the Shanghai Museum version by Zhou Boqun.103 Structurally, this part is reminiscent of the sections in the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies that contain future-projected instructions for posterity: the multiple inscriptions that the awestruck King Wen puts on household objects are primarily aimed at his sons and grandsons. The embodiment of this transgenerational instruction in the form of inscribed artifacts is strikingly reminiscent of talismanic writings characteristic of religious Daoism.104 The placement of these inscriptions after the story of the initial transmission and the essential teaching of the Cinnabar Scripture is also similar to later scriptures of religious Daoism, where lists of talismans appear as separate sections in multipartite texts. In sum, almost every part of the “Wu wang jian zuo” bespeaks a connection with later practices of religious Daoism, presenting them in a form that is surprisingly elaborate and mature for this early text. Although accurate dating of “Wu wang jian zuo” is difficult, it was probably composed before the early third century bce.105 However, it is not the only example of esoteric ritual practices in the Grand Duke traditions. Although no other text matches “Wu wang jian zuo” in its elaborate detail, references to esoteric textual transmission rituals are preserved in chapter “Wen shi,” which mentions the ritual fasting of the king before the interview with the Grand Duke, and chapter “Shou guo” (a close version of which is known from the excavated Western Han Yinqueshan collection), which mentions that the king fasted several days before taking the position of a subject facing north (even more humiliating than the position facing east!) to receive the Grand Duke’s instruction. THE GRAND DUKE AS A PROTOTYPICAL DAOIST AUTHORITY

The rich ritual texture of “Wu wang jian zuo” and its focus on the transmission of enduring royal legitimacy will appear less surprising to those familiar with Anna Seidel’s pioneering research.106 Based on an analysis of an impressively wide range of ancient and medieval religious and historical sources, she has shown that initiation and promotion rituals in the medieval Daoist church were modeled on the royal investiture ceremonies from preimperial antiquity, and the Daoist scriptures are permeated with the imagery of legitimizing artifacts from the courts of ancient rulers. These rituals preserved the capacity to empower this-worldly monarchs. On multiple occasions during

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the medieval period, Daoist investiture ceremonies were officiated for the emperors sympathetic toward the Daoist church.107 The Daoist priests’ ability to empower monarchs shows that, in specific contexts, they could be positioned higher than emperors. Indeed, Seidel has shown that Daoism is underpinned by a twofold conception of authority: while never denying the pre-eminence of monarchs, it emphasizes the necessity for any successful ruler to have by his side a wise counselor well versed in esoteric knowledge,108 an essential “belief justifying and defining the function of a church and its priests in relation to secular authority.”109 On the mythohistorical plane, Laozi became such a “paragon teacher of emperors,” having empowered generations of successful rulers through his many incarnations. On the earthly plane, the leader of the Daoist church acquired a similar capacity to empower contemporary rulers. Imagined as the Grand Instructor (taishi 太師) of the early Western Zhou kings, the Grand Duke appears to be the prototype of the Daoist esoteric authority. We see variations on his title in “instructors of emperors” (dishi 帝師) of mythical and legendary antiquity (including Laozi)110 as well as among historical leaders of the Daoist church who assumed such titles as “Celestial Instructor” (tianshi 天師; more commonly translated as “Celestial Master”), “Instructor of the State” (guoshi 國師), or the “Grand Instructor of Heaven and Earth” (tiandi taishi 天地太師).111 COMPETING MYTHS AND TEXTUAL PROJECTS

The construction of the Grand Duke as an esoteric authority and the relationship of this authority to the typologically earlier authority of the Zhou scribes help to clarify the tenuous relationship between the Grand Duke traditions and the earlier Zhou scriptures, from which the former are at least partly derived. Therefore, it is important to examine both types of authority in some detail. The possession of counselors claiming to inherit empowering traditions of ancient sages was understood as a token of royal legitimacy around the fourth to third centuries bce. Their withdrawal, on the other hand, signified the disastrous loss of Heaven’s benevolence. The texts mentioned in the opening part of the “Dao jia” section of the “Yiwen zhi,” each corresponding to a particular sage counselor, seem to be uniformly based on this idea. Yi Yin was the counselor of Cheng Tang 成湯, the founding king of the Shang dynasty. Xin Jia is mentioned in the “Yiwen zhi” commentary as a virtuous adviser who abandoned Shang for Zhou after many

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unsuccessful remonstrances. The failure of the Shang king to heed his advice thus becomes the cause of the dynasty’s demise, and Xin Jia’s relocation to Zhou signifies the transition of legitimacy to Zhou. Yuzi is also introduced as a counselor of the early Western Zhou kings,112 while Guanzi is known as the counselor of Duke Huan of Qi, the first ba-hegemon of the Spring and Autumn period. Note that in all these examples the appearance of the wise counselor signifies not only individual success but also a new dynastic or historical beginning, marking the transition of legitimate authority to a new ruling house. The Grand Duke, also a counselor of the early Western Zhou kings, is a rightful member of this group. As we have seen in chapter “Wen shi,” the encounter with him is portrayed as the sign that Heaven has conferred its Mandate to King Wen. Interestingly, in an alternative biography of the Grand Duke mentioned in the Shi ji, his story is made similar to that of Xin Jia—he begins his service as the counselor of the last king of Shang, whom he later abandons for Zhou.113 The mythology of wise counselors whose presence confirms the ruler’s legitimacy and whose withdrawal signifies its loss is closely linked to the mythology of scribes and scribal records largely playing the same role. Seidel borrows from the Lü shi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 (Master Lü’s Annals) the example of Grand Scribe Zhonggu 終古, who abandoned the court of the last wicked ruler of Xia 夏 and joined Cheng Tang, the first king of Shang; likewise, Grand Scribe Xiang Zhi 向摯 abandoned the court of the last wicked ruler of Shang and moved to Zhou, carrying his texts and charts with him.114 A related story is recorded in the Shi ji: when the ancient dynasty of Zhou was about to be conquered by Qin, this conquest was “authorized” by Grand Scribe Dan of Zhou 周太史儋, who visited Qin in 374 bce and there declared a prophecy about the imminent merger of his state with Qin:115 周太史儋見獻公曰：周故與秦國合而別，別五百歲復合，合（七）十 七歲而霸王出。 Dan, the Grand Scribe of Zhou, had an audience with Duke Xian, and said: “Zhou used to be united with the state of Qin, but then they divided; after five hundred years of division, they shall be united again, and after seventy years of unity, a hegemon king will arise.”

The legitimizing function of this prophecy is clear: it justifies Qin’s conquest of Zhou while also confirming the supreme authority of the First Emperor

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of Qin as the “hegemon king” destined to arise seventy-seven years after the conquest. The symbolic language of this episode is similar to that of the previously mentioned episodes of the Lü shi chunqiu. In their shared scheme of dynastic transition, the transfer of legitimate rulership from the declining dynasty to its successor is sealed by scribal authority. The mytheme of scribes and scribal records should be understood as an earlier one than that of esoteric counselors, and it seems to be based on real historical precedents. One such precedent is the flight of Prince Zhao 王子朝 to Chu 楚 in 516 bce, “carrying the Zhou authoritative texts and records” 奉 周之典籍, after a long, unsuccessful struggle for the Zhou royal throne.116 This may have been the occasion on which important texts from the Zhou scribal tradition were transferred to Chu. The motif of dissemination of the Zhou scribal lore is reverberated in some legends preserved in the Warring States and Han-era sources. The Lü shi chunqiu mentions that Duke Hui of Lu 魯惠公 (d. 723 bce) asked King Huan of Zhou 周桓王 (r. 719–697) to dispatch Scribe Jiao 史角 to teach about the “suburban temple rituals” 郊廟之禮 and later kept the scribe at Lu.117 Scribe Jiao’s arrival coincides with the beginning of chronicle keeping at Lu on the first year of Duke Yin 隱公 (722–712 bce), immediately after the death of Duke Hui. The last chapter of the Shi ji, “Taishigong zixu” 太史公自序 (Sequential Outline, Composed by the Grand Scribe Himself), traces Sima Qian’s ancestry to hereditary Zhou scribes who left Zhou for Jin 晉 at the time of Kings Hui 惠 and Xiang 襄 (676–618 bce).118 In these legends, fact and fantasy are intertwined, reinforcing the belief in dissemination of scribal competence from the Zhou center and lending authority to textual lineages claiming a connection with the Zhou scribes. While such claims may have been true—at least in part—for appropriated scriptures, simultaneously they provided a respectable pedigree for the scriptures created much later, such as the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies. The mytheme of esoteric counselors—and the texts based on this mytheme, such as the ones we see in the opening part of the “Dao jia” section of the “Yiwen zhi”—probably emerged in response to the earlier traditions linked to the Zhou scribes. The opening passage of the “Wu wang jian zuo” highlights the collision between these two streams: while King Wu’s officials have never heard about the contractual bond that would preserve his lineage forever, the Grand Duke presents to the king the textual artifact that he is looking for. This symbolic debasement of the Zhou scribal lore was instrumental for the Daoist program, which introduced a superior new tradition

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no longer constrained by the commitment to the old ritual and moral order. As a mysterious outsider who openly challenged outdated ritual norms by offering efficacious esoteric wisdom inherited from higher antiquity, the Grand Duke epitomized this new tradition better than anyone. His triumph over the Zhou scribal tradition mirrors the well-known encounter between Laozi and Confucius, in which Laozi emerges as Confucius’s master.119 Such subversion of earlier authorities is typical of esoteric traditions, and it seems to have been mastered by Daoists from very early on.120 Nevertheless, during the Warring States period and the early empires, the mytheme of official scribes and the mytheme of esoteric counselors were not starkly opposed to each other. As would happen repeatedly in the later history of Daoism, the creation of a new superior type of authority did not lead to the complete demise of the earlier one, but rather its recruitment in service of the more ambitious new project.121 The two mythemes are employed simultaneously in the “Stele Inscription Honoring Laozi” composed by Bian Shao 邊韶 in 165 ce. On the one hand, it portrays Laozi as a Zhou scribe who remonstrated with King You 幽王 (781–771), vainly attempting to draw his attention to the portents similar to those that foreshadowed the demise of the Xia and Shang dynasties. Later, the same timeless Zhou scribe, now called Lao Dan 老聃, instructed Confucius in 535 bce. Finally, the “Stele Inscription” admits that Grand Scribe Dan, who presaged the imminent annexation of Zhou by Qin in 374 bce, may have still been the same Laozi (who would by that time be over 400 years old!), albeit in his case Bian Shao is less certain. (The characters 聃 and 儋 in the names of Lao Dan and Grand Scribe Dan are indeed phonetically close.) On the other hand, the “Stele Inscription” also mentions that Laozi was the instructor (shi 師) of sages since the times of Fu Xi 伏羲 and Shen Nong 神農.122 Thus the deified Laozi combines in himself both images of the Zhou scribe and the counselor of sage rulers. In this light, it appears unsurprising that the Grand Duke texts could be perceived as a branch of Zhou scribal lore and called “Zhou scriptures” in medieval sources, despite their open confrontation with the older scriptural traditions. RECONSIDERING THE YI ZHOU SHU ROYAL COLLOQUIES AS RITUAL ARTIFACTS

The presentation of the Cinnabar Scripture in “Wu wang jian zuo” as a “bond” deserves a separate discussion. King Wu is not an original party to

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this contract, but he is able to join it through a ritualized ceremony officiated by the Grand Duke. The Cinnabar Scripture is thus reminiscent of a bearer cheque, payable to any recipient who happens to possess it. The original issuer of the bond is the Yellow Thearch, and the consequent owners can inherit his legitimizing virtue and wisdom through ritual transmission of the magical textual artifact. By doing this, they can ensure the preservation of their lineage across generations. Nevertheless, the Cinnabar Scripture puts some obligations on the recipient, and its efficacy is proportionate to one’s “benevolent” effort. There is nothing specifically Chinese in the capacity of a ritual text to accumulate the energies of the parties originally involved in its creation and then disperse or redirect these energies in later ritual acts involving new actors. Similar practices are attested in ancient Greece. As summarized by Deborah Steiner, “so closely do inscriptions match the traditional substances and objects that the powers summoned up in the rite can even gather in the alphabetic signs; these become the focus of subsequent ceremonies, and represent the event, decision, or individual whose name they record.”123 The mechanism of admitting rulers into the succession line of the Yellow Thearch articulated in “Wu wang jian zuo” allows us to hypothesize that a similar belief in the lasting contractual efficacy of texts inherited from the sage rulers may have underpinned the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu. These texts contain the legitimizing wisdom of the Western Zhou sage rulers projected on their successors, and at first it appears puzzling what appeal these texts could have had for the Warring States audiences that had no blood connection to the Zhou kings. In light of the “Wu wang jian zuo,” it becomes clear that the intended beneficiaries must not have necessarily been members of the Zhou house. The succession in virtue could be considered more important than a blood relationship, and any ruler who received these texts “in benevolence” via an authoritative tradition was entitled to benefit from them, becoming a legitimate spiritual heir of Kings Wen and Wu. The identification of the Grand Duke texts with the stream of early Daoism and the indisputable formal connections between these texts and the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies allow us to reconstruct a plausible ritual Sitz im Leben of the latter, highlighting their properties as ritual artifacts. The possession of such texts or, more precisely, the ability to ritually enact them with the help of experts claiming to represent the tradition of Zhou scribes was an indication of Heaven’s goodwill. Such texts established a link of legitimate succession in virtue, connecting the Warring States dynasts to the early Western

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Zhou kings and circumventing the traditional system of legitimacy based on hierarchical subordination to the later Zhou kings and father-to-son succession within aristocratic lineages. Such texts could be officiated during the key moments of dynastic transition, in situations of anxiety caused by disputed legitimacy, or simply at calendrical intervals. They had a contractual aspect to them. Heaven, the capricious source of legitimate authority, could take back its goodwill if the precepts of these texts were not observed. Therefore, the legitimizing power of such texts depended on the recipient’s continuous effort. Finally, the efficacy of such texts depended on the owner’s ability to treasure them in secrecy; the fear of leaking relates the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies to the ritually transmitted scriptures of medieval Daoism, which also share this concern.124 This reconstruction allows us to explain the peculiar form of the royal colloquies. Every part in them becomes meaningful, including the introduction, which creates a legitimizing connection between the recipient of the text and the early Western Zhou kings; a mnemonically structured instruction, which allows him to memorize the legitimizing wisdom in an easily retrievable form; and an anxious exhortation in the conclusion, urging him to preserve the instruction in secrecy so as to ensure the continuity of his lineages for generations to come. TEXTUAL AUTHORITY IN THE YI ZHOU SHU AND THE GRAND DUKE TRADITIONS

Although the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions are closely related, there are important differences in the way they construct textual authority, summarized in table 5.4. Note that this table focuses on authority as conceived in the texts—not on the question of real historical authorship.125 The distinction between the issuing and mediating authority discussed in chapter 2 is important to avoid confusion. As seen most clearly in the beginning of chapter “Shi ji” (whose versions are present in both the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions), the text is originally voiced by the king, who entrusts it to the court scribe, charging him to perform it back to the king on ritually determined intervals. The scribe is not the author and only seems to play a subordinate role, but his presence is crucial. Without scribal involvement the text would not be preserved, and without the regular ritual performance its efficacious message would not be enacted. It is not difficult to see how this conception of textual authority could benefit the Warring States

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TABLE 5.4 Textual authority in the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions Text

Issuing authority

Mediating authority

Intended beneficiaries

Yi Zhou shu

Western Zhou kings and the Duke of Zhou

Zhou scribes

Zhou kings and their successors

Grand Duke traditions

Yellow Thearch

The Grand Duke / Zhou scribes

Zhou kings and their successors

textual experts claiming to inherit the Zhou scribal tradition. Although the original author, the Western Zhou king, was gone, his empowering words were still preserved in the expert communities claiming succession to Zhou scribes. By employing such experts, contemporary rulers could resume the ritual performance of the Western Zhou kings’ textualized wisdom, and thereby inherit their legitimacy. The scribes’ involvement appears to be passive, but in fact this model of textual authority provides much room for the exercise of creative power. The claimants of the Zhou scribal tradition could compose new texts and reshape the old ones to promote their group interests, while always attributing them to the early Western Zhou rulers. The Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies in particular seem to have been produced in this way, perhaps within an esoteric stream of the larger Ruist tradition. In the Grand Duke traditions, the issuing authority is shifted into the mythical past. The earlier scriptural traditions claimed to mediate the wisdom of the Western Zhou kings, universally celebrated as paragons of virtue, and when composing new texts ascribed to those sage kings, one was constrained by the established consensus regarding what they could have said and done. The attribution of texts to the Yellow Thearch provided greater freedom: virtually any innovative idea could now be ascribed to his mythical authority, even when it violated the conventional Zhou practice. The shift from the historical to the mythical also paved the way for transcendent revelation, essential for the development of Daoism as a religion. As sage rulers, the early Western Zhou kings had already become somewhat superhuman in the earlier scriptural traditions, standing far above their would-be successors among the Warring States rulers. In the Grand Duke traditions, the Yellow Thearch ascends to a similar elevated position in relation to the early Zhou kings themselves. Textual authority becomes less enmeshed in human history and shifts farther away into the enchanting mythical past. Although the Yellow Thearch is arguably still human, his elevated demiurgical humanity is completely detached from everyday

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life. The advent of the Yellow Thearch marks the beginning of the transcendent age, anticipating the more explicitly superhuman authorities of later Daoism.126 Although the Grand Duke traditions preserve the connection with Zhou scribal lore, they also introduce a new, comprehensively reconsidered conception of mediating authority. Now it is represented by the Grand Duke, who does not simply transmit the Yellow Thearch’s wisdom but actively enacts it, adapting to a variety of situations. For the claimants of the Grand Duke’s tradition who adopted him as a role model, this was a liberating change. Now they could complement textual expertise with improvisation, feeling less obliged to follow every letter of their texts. Simultaneously, as claimants of a tradition that stands above royal authority, they could assume a more independent position vis-à-vis their royal patrons, which gave them an advantage over the relatively passive and subservient claimants of the Zhou scribal tradition. CONCLUSION

In this chapter, I have argued that the Grand Duke texts should be understood as part of the early Daoist tradition that emerged as an esoteric response to the earlier scriptures identified with Zhou scribes. It appears that scriptures may have played a formative role in the shaping of Daoism, a textual tradition whose important function was to provide legitimacy for Warring States rulers. This view challenges the conventional image of Daoists as a seclusive group of philosophers and esoteric practitioners disinterested in the temptations of court life. At the same time, even those scriptures that do not belong to the Daoist stream appear to have inherently possessed the capacity of esoteric mystical empowerment, an idea that calls into question the supposedly “secular” nature of these texts and the communities that produced them. I have touched on only a small part of the complex problem of the early history of Daoism.127 To treat it more comprehensively would involve a long excursus into intellectual history that would fall beyond the scope of this book.128 My primary goal here is more modest: to introduce a body of previously overlooked sources that may clarify the origins of the esoteric and transcendentalist tendencies in Daoism that evolved in response to textual traditions claiming to ascend to the Zhou scribal lore. The rituals of royal investiture mentioned in different Grand Duke texts but elaborated in most detail in “Wu wang jian zuo” appear to be direct precursors of the later

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Daoist initiation and imperial investiture rituals discussed comprehensively by Anna Seidel. Accordingly, it appears that the history of Daoism as an esoteric tradition based on ritualized transmission of efficacious texts can be traced to the fourth to third centuries bce.129 The current consensus, which acknowledges the emergence of such traditions only around the first century ce, may therefore have to be reconsidered. To do so would not undermine the essential parts of Seidel’s argument but would instead help to eliminate some contradictory points in it. For example, although Seidel emphasized the inseparability of the religious and philosophical facets of Daoism, her history remained bifurcated, ascending to Laozi (both the text and the legend) on the one hand, and the murky fragments of apocryphal (chenwei 讖緯) texts, loosely datable to the Eastern Han period, on the other. However, the Han dynasty chenwei are less innovative than they seem. As I shall show in the following chapter, the Daoist textual practices that Seidel traced back to chenwei can already be identified in a mature form in preimperial texts and epigraphy. Accepting these observations may allow us to rewrite the history of the intertwined strands of philosophical and religious Daoism, tracing them to the same earlier period.

Chapter Six

HEIRLOOM TREASURES, SCRIPTURES, AND LEGITIMACY

Scriptures during the Warring States period were closely related to the notion of mystically empowering heirloom treasures. Such treasures—textual and nontextual alike—served to legitimize monarchs by directly transmitting to them the powers and personal qualities of the former rulers, including the sage kings of the Western Zhou period. Empowering treasure texts could be produced in different ways: some could be copied from ancient epigraphy, while others acquired their potency by recording exceptional events, such as dream revelations or deathbed testaments. The ability to receive legitimacy through such artifacts depended on the presence of mediating experts, who thereby acquired a great authority as kingmakers. After the establishment of the unified Qin empire, such legitimation would no longer be accepted from those not on the state payroll. This change led to the transformation of the relationship between the ruler and mediating experts and the marginalization of Daoist traditions based on the idea of an authority exterior and superior to that of the ruler. MYSTICAL PROPERTIES OF HEIRLOOM TREASURES

In her discussion of the empowering properties of Daoist scriptures, Seidel observes that they were modeled after royal heirloom treasures of preimperial antiquity, which not only signified but also encapsulated and transmitted legitimate power.1 This conflation of texts and heirlooms formed a “genre

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of power objects or magic texts . . . a lapis imperatorum, a mystical key to knowledge that confers power.”2 Seidel traced the origins of such texts to the legendary hetu 河圖 (Yellow River Chart) and luoshu 洛書 (Luo River Writ). While the connection with the hetu and luoshu is correct, it is historically unrevealing, for both are products of mythologizing that do not clearly explain how texts and heirlooms were merged into one powerful idea. However, we now have much better grounds to clarify this connection. Newly discovered texts and archaeological artifacts from the Warring States period provide more reliable evidence to support Seidel’s insightful suggestions, while also elucidating the important nonverbal dimension of scriptures as empowering objects that confer legitimacy. Empowering royal heirlooms are a familiar theme in Chinese preimperial and early imperial mythology. Perhaps the most famous are the nine tripods (jiuding 九鼎) supposedly cast by the founders of the Xia and consequently inherited by the Shang and Zhou dynasties.3 They were imagined as the proof of legitimacy of the royal house, as well as a coveted prize for the ambitious rulers dreaming to displace the Zhou as the mediators between Heaven and the human realm. One oft-quoted account is preserved in the Zuo zhuan (Xuan.3):4 楚子伐陸渾之戎，遂至于雒，觀兵于周疆。定王使王孫滿勞楚子。楚 子問鼎之大小輕重焉。對曰，在德不在鼎。昔夏之方有德也，遠方圖 物貢金，九牧鑄鼎，象物百物而為之備，使民知神姦。故民入川澤山 林，不逢不若，螭魅罔兩，莫能逢之，用能協于上下，以承天休。桀 有昏德，鼎遷于商，載祀六百。商紂暴虐，鼎遷于周。德之休明，雖 小重也；其姦回昏亂，雖大，輕也。天祚明德，有所底止。成王定鼎 于郟鄏，卜世三十，卜年七百，天所命也。周德雖衰，天命未改，鼎 之輕重，未可問也。 The Master of Chu attacked the Luhun rong-pastoralists and then arrived at the Luo River. He inspected the troops on the outskirts of Zhou. King Ding [of Zhou] dispatched Wangsun Man to court the Master of Chu. The Master of Chu asked him about the size and weight of the tripods. Wangsun Man replied: “[The matter] is in the De-virtue, not in the tripods. In antiquity, when Xia had just acquired the De-virtue, the [people] of remote lands depicted various creatures and presented metal. The chiefs of the nine regions cast the tripods depicting the hundred creatures and thus preparing against them, making people aware of the mystic evils. That being the case, when people entered

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rivers, marshes, mountains, and woods, they did not encounter inauspicious things. Of the hornless dragons, demons, and shadowy creatures, nobody could trouble them. This way, [they] were able to establish agreement between those above and below, in order to transmit Heaven’s blessings. [The last ruler of Xia] Jie had benighted De-virtue, and the tripods relocated to Shang for the duration of six hundred years. [The last ruler of Shang] Zhou was irascible and cruel, and the tripods relocated to Zhou. When the De-virtue is blissful and clear, [the tripods,] although small, are heavy. When it is corrupted and perverse, [the tripods,] although big, are light. The bright De-virtue bestowed by Heaven has its limits. When King Cheng established the tripods in Jiaru, he divined about [the number of] generations, [and the result was] thirty, and when he divined about years, [the result was] seven hundred. This is what Heaven decreed. So even though Zhou’s virtue has declined, Heaven’s decree has not changed, and the weight of tripods cannot be subject to questioning.

It is easier to decipher this episode through the famous essay on the gift by Marcel Mauss, as well as the more recent study by David Graeber, which elaborates on the insights gained from Mauss using a wealth of anthropological research accumulated over the last century.5 Such a Maussian reading would go along the following lines. To create the tripods, the ruled and the rulers apply their creative energies on the products of the land. In an upward movement, the metal extracted from the nine regions—the totality of the civilized universe—and the images of creatures inhabiting those regions are submitted to the rulers. The rulers react by turning these materials into efficacious artifacts with the power to make the inhabited realm domesticated and safe and human relations harmonized. The creative energies of the people are thus transformed and channeled back, binding the realm together and joining its inhabitants in one culture.6 The tripods are therefore not just a symbol of power, but an active element in the perpetual creation of an ordered universe. Both the rulers and the subjects have contributed to their production, giving the tripods an additional contractual aspect. The creative energies crystallized in the tripods endow them with magical properties and anthropomorphic agency: apart from their ability to change size and weight, they can voluntarily change owners.7 At the end of the story, the ruler of Chu withdraws because he understands that the tripods will not lend themselves into his possession, and any attempt to capture them would be futile. The nine tripods were presumably captured by Qin during its conquest of Zhou.8 However, the Shi ji contains a more dramatic account: the tripods

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were lost in the River Si 泗水 near Pengcheng 彭城 in today’s Jiangsu 江蘇 province (how they got there considering that both Zhou and Qin are located several hundred miles to the west is a question never answered).9 The First Emperor’s attempts to fish them out failed, despite the involvement of a thousand people.10 The tripods’ reluctance to give themselves into the possession of Qin thus becomes a proof of the Qin’s lack of legitimacy and an explanation of its inability to establish an enduring dynasty. The nine tripods are not the only royal heirloom endowed with mystical agency. In the final section of chapter “Shi fu” 世俘 (Hauling of Prisoners) in the Yi Zhou shu, which describes the circumstances of the Zhou conquest of Shang, similar properties are ascribed to the Jade of Heavenly Wisdom (tianzhi yu 天智玉). This last section of the chapter is most probably a later addition: while the main part of “Shi fu” has been described by scholars as an archaic text perhaps originating in the early Western Zhou period,11 the final part violates both the narrative flow and the linguistic congruency. It revisits the events already narrated, this time focusing specifically on the fate of royal treasures. Unlike the preceding part, the date formula does not employ the early Western Zhou lunar-phase (yuexiang 月相) terms, suggesting that it may have been composed after the main part of the text.12 Finally, the mention of the Shang king wrapping himself in jade may refer to the archaeologically attested “jade suits” (yuyi 玉衣), which are not attested in archaeological findings dating to the Western Zhou period but become common in high elite burials toward the time of the early empires.13 商王紂于商郊。時甲子夕，商王紂取天智玉琰㻱身厚以自焚。凡厥有 庶告焚玉四千。五日，武王乃俾於千人求之。四千庶則銷。天智玉五 在火中不銷。凡天智玉，武王則寶與同。凡武王俘商舊玉億有百萬。 King Zhou of Shang was in the suburbs of Shang. In the evening of day jia-zi [1/60], King Zhou of Shang took the Jade of Heavenly Wisdom and precious jades and sewed them [onto his clothes], putting them thickly [on himself, preparing] to self-immolate. Together, there were four thousand [pieces] of common jade that he committed to fire. On the fifth day, King Wu ordered a thousand people to search for it [the jade]. The four thousand [pieces of] common [jade] had melted. The five [pieces] of the Jade of Heavenly Wisdom did not melt in fire. All the [pieces of] Jade of Heavenly Wisdom were then treasured by King Wu with the like. In total, King Wu captured 101,000,000 [pieces] of the old Shang jade.

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The Heavenly Wisdom jades have similar properties to the nine tripods. Both accompany the moments of transition when legitimate royal power passes to a new dynasty, and both are endowed with agency. The king of Shang intended to burn the precious jades, presumably taking them with himself to the other world. However, the five pieces of the Heavenly Wisdom jade did not follow the king of Shang’s intention and miraculously survived the fire, choosing King Wu as their new owner and becoming a material confirmation of his legitimacy. Another mention of royal heirlooms accompanying dynastic transition is preserved in a line in the “Sequential Outline” of the Shang shu and also in the chapter “Yin ben ji” 殷本紀 (“Basic Annals of Yin”) of the Shi ji. We cannot tell when this line was composed, and it is unclear whether the text mentioned in it ever existed, but it was certainly imagined as part of the scriptural corpus during the second to first centuries bce:14 夏師敗績，湯遂從之，遂伐三朡，俘厥寶玉。誼伯、仲伯作《典寶》。 When the Xia troops were totally defeated, [King Cheng] Tang followed them and attacked Sanjie, capturing their precious jades. Yi Bo and Zhong Bo composed “Statutes and Treasures.”

Apparently, the capture of precious jades was a trope that accompanied the transition not only from Shang to Zhou, but also from Xia to Shang. The title “Statutes and Treasures” suggests that the dynastic treasures included not only the precious jades, but also texts. A passage in the Zhanguo ce, in which Zhang Yi 張儀 (373–310) attempts to convince King Hui of Qin 秦惠王 (r. 338–311) to attack Zhou, illustrates this point further:15 周自知不救，九鼎寶器必出。據九鼎，安圖籍，挾天子以令天下，天 下莫敢不聽，此王業也。 When the Zhou know that they have no hope of rescue, they will be sure to give away the nine tripods and the treasured vessels. When you have taken possession of the nine tripods, secured the charts and records, and got the Son of Heaven under your arm so as to command All-Under-Heaven, nobody in All-Under-Heaven will dare to be disobedient. This is the enterprise of kingship.

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The nine tripods and the “charts and records” are mentioned here as instruments of power, and possessing them is comparable in importance to having turned the Zhou king into an obedient puppet. Considering that Zhou had by that time become a politically insignificant domain, it is unlikely that “charts and records” refer to mundane administrative records. More probably, they represent another variety of royal heirlooms that the later Zhou kings have inherited from their legendary precursors and that have mystical power over the entire universe.16 To summarize, royal heirloom treasures were imagined as efficacious objects endowed with agency, capable of choosing their owners and deciding their own fate. No matter how mighty, a ruler cannot acquire such heirlooms unless they lend themselves in. The possession of heirlooms thus becomes similar to the possession of wise counselors and scribes as discussed in the previous chapter. If the virtue of the old ruling house declines, they may choose a new master. Owning such artifacts, scribes, or counselors becomes proof of the ruler’s legitimacy: having chosen to stay with him, they testify that his virtue surpasses that of his competitors. It remains unclear, however, how people and heirloom artifacts came to be seen as similar tokens of legitimacy. To explain this connection, we must look more closely at the third element in the Warring States legitimizing triad: empowering texts, which are a variety of heirloom treasures, on the one hand, and the main capital of textual experts on the other. So far, my discussion has relied on received textual sources. Many of these sources, especially those dealing with the Xia and Shang dynasties, are clearly fictitious. Therefore, it may be argued that they have no direct connection to the real-life conceptions of royal power during the fifth to third centuries bce, around which time they were probably created. To argue so, however, would be misleading. In the following sections, I shall examine the inscribed bronzes excavated from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan 中山王𰯼 (d. ca. 313 bce). These artifacts, whose inscriptions are strongly influenced by the patterns of scriptural texts, provide a most convincing illustration of the role of heirloom treasures—textual and nontextual alike—in the negotiation and mediation of legitimacy. They confirm that the narratives about ancient heirloom treasures that mystically conferred legitimacy onto their owners were not perceived as idle tales, but rather as respectable models for imitation that directly influenced the behavior of the highest elites during the Warring States period. I shall argue that the production of such artifacts was

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facilitated by the religious developments of the Eastern Zhou period, which resulted in the reinterpretation of text-bearing ritual bronzes as gifts from the past imbued with empowering didactic messages. HISTORICAL CONTEXT OF THE ZHONGSHAN VESSELS

My discussion shall focus on the inscribed square liquid container fanghu 方壺 (JC: 9735; I adopt this conventional antiquarian term, although on historical and typological grounds, it would perhaps be preferable to call it fang 鈁) and the ding 鼎 tetrapod (JC: 2840) from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan, excavated in the 1970s. In the corpus of epigraphic texts from the fifth to third centuries bce, the Zhongshan inscriptions are exceptional for their length and factual texture, providing unique insight into the organization of domestic power and external relations of the otherwise poorly understood kingdom of Zhongshan.17 At a time when the practice of producing longer epigraphic texts seems to have fallen into decline,18 the Zhongshan inscriptions stand out not only for their contents, but also for the artistic beauty of the texts engraved on the vessels’ outer surfaces.19 King Cuo’s tomb is a rare example of a relatively fully preserved burial of a Warring States head of state. Although the main chamber had been looted in antiquity, many impressive artifacts have been extracted from the eastern and western storage chambers, which had fortuitously been preserved intact. The fanghu and ding vessels were found in the western chamber, which contained an assembly of goods that appear to have been predominantly influenced by the Central Plains material and ritual culture.20 Both the vessels and the texts on them were produced during the lifetime of King Cuo, from whose tomb they were excavated (figure 6.1). Artistically and textually, they are related to another inscribed bronze: the round liquid container yuanhu 圓壺 (again, I adopt the conventional antiquarian term that does not reflect an ancient typology—it may be preferable to call it simply hu 壺). However, even though this last vessel was cast during the lifetime of King Cuo,21 the inscription on it was composed after his death, and it is styled as a pronouncement made by King Cuo’s heir, Qieci 𫲨𧊒. Its material context is also different: it was found in the eastern chamber, with artifacts that can be related to the non–Central Plains cultural substrate of the kingdom of Zhongshan.22 Thus the ritual context of the yuanhu vessel may have been different from that of the ding and fanghu. While its inscription reiterates some of the same themes as the fanghu and ding, transgenerational instruction is

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FIGURE 6.1 The ding vessel from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan. Source: Zhongguo meishu quanji: Gongyi meishu bian 5, qingtongqi (xia) 中國美術全集：工藝美術編5青 銅器（下）(Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1986), 83.

FIGURE 6.2 The fanghu vessel from the tomb of King Cuo of Zhongshan. Source: Zhongguo meishu quanji: Gongyi meishu bian 5, qingtongqi (xia) 中國美術全集：工藝美 術編5青銅器（下）(Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1986), 84.

less emphasized. Considering these differences, I will focus my analysis on the ding and fanghu inscriptions only, which I hereafter call the “Zhongshan inscriptions.”23 The main protagonists in the fanghu and ding inscriptions are King Cuo and Sima Gu 司馬賈, an ambitious minister who served consecutively at the courts of several Zhongshan kings and who is known from transmitted sources.24 The contents of the two inscriptions are similar. They were composed in the aftermath of Zhongshan’s successful campaign against Yan 燕 in 314 bce. In transmitted sources, this conflict is described as having unfolded between the states of Yan and Qi 齊, Zhongshan’s larger neighbor on the east.25 However, the two inscriptions never mention Qi, preferring to attribute all the agency in this victorious campaign to Zhongshan alone. This kind of self-centric bias reminds us of the need to understand the conventions followed in the composition of the sources before proceeding with their historical interpretations.26 The fanghu inscription mentions the campaign as the immediate cause for both the casting of the vessel and the composition of the text inscribed on

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it. Both the fanghu and ding inscriptions condemn the scandalous deeds of Yan’s ruling elites: the king of Yan, Zi Kuai 子噲, voluntarily stepped down in favor of his adviser Zi Zhi 子之, which was interpreted by Zhongshan as a violation of the norms of propriety deserving a punitive invasion. Once again, in the simplistic vision of history presented in the inscriptions, it is never mentioned that the transition was accompanied by internal strife that plunged the strong state of Yan into chaos and opened the way for invaders, who otherwise would not have paid much attention to the violation of the disputed rules of propriety.27 FORMAL FEATURES RELATING THE ZHONGSHAN INSCRIPTIONS TO ROYAL COLLOQUIES

Both the ding and fanghu inscriptions are presented in the form of edifying instructions aimed at the rulers of future generations. They promote the importance of virtue and the concern for security of the state, but more emphatically, they commemorate the king’s appointment of Sima Gu, whose service is portrayed as the key to Zhongshan’s success. The inscriptions have been translated and discussed in Western languages multiple times.28 Constance Cook has observed that these inscriptions betray a familiarity with the Eastern Zhou literary culture.29 David Schaberg has noticed that they are rhetorically closer to the historiographic speeches, such as the ones in the Zuo zhuan and the Guo yu 國語 (Discourses of the States), than to the Western Zhou and Spring and Autumn bronze texts or the Shang shu speeches.30 In what follows, I shall argue that the inscriptions may have a more specific close connection to created scriptures (distinct from the appropriated scriptures surveyed by Schaberg), particularly the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu discussed in chapter 4. Several elements in the Zhongshan inscriptions betray such a connection. In the fanghu inscription, the text is presented as a dialog between the king and his counselor, with a formulaic confirmation of the counselor’s words at the end, presumably by the king. This peculiar dialogical form is unattested in earlier epigraphy but typical in royal colloquies. The engagement in an elaborate admonitory dialog with posterity is another element typical of royal colloquies and unattested in earlier epigraphy, where the communication with future audiences is restricted to the brief charge to treasure the artifact. Finally, the preoccupation with preservation of the state overrides the earlier focus on the continuous use of the bronze in its ritual context, which also connects the Zhongshan inscriptions to the royal colloquies.31

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The fanghu inscription opens with the king’s speech and continues all the way until the point where the king condemns the former ruler of Yan, Zi Kuai, who “disregarded the great duties” 不顧大義 and “exchanged the positions of the ruler and the servant” 臣主易位. However, the king does not debase himself to speak about Zi Zhi, the newly appointed ruler of Yan, who, in the context of the inscriptions, is nothing more than a mischievous servant. This part is relegated to Sima Gu, who continues where King Cuo’s speech is interrupted: 賈曰：為人臣而反臣其主，不祥莫大焉，將與吾君竝立於世，齒長於 會同，則臣不忍見也。 Gu said: “To be somebody’s servant and yet to perversely turn the master into a servant—there is no greater disgrace than this! If such one wants to stand in the same generation with my lord or to enter the ranks of seniority at the assembly of the hereditary lords, I cannot bear to see it!”

This is followed by a description of the military accomplishments of Sima Gu, and immediately afterwards, the text extols the importance of acquiring wise servants, following the example of the sage rulers of the past. In the conclusion, the truthfulness of the text is confirmed, and a charge is issued to put it on the bronze vessel—as well as to write it down on bamboo manuscripts so as to use it as a source of continuous instruction: 於呼，允哉若言。明跋之于壺，而時觀焉。祇祇翼翼，昭告後嗣。唯 逆生禍，唯順生福。載之簡策，以戒嗣王。唯德附民，唯義可張。子 之子，孫之孫，其永保用亡疆。 Wuhu! True are these words!32 Elevate them clearly onto a hu-vessel and regularly look at it! Piously shield, illumine and inform the future successors! It is recalcitrance that brings forth trouble; it is compliance that brings forth well-being. Put them onto bamboo strips in order to admonish the succeeding kings! It is virtue that attaches the people [to the ruler], it is rightness that makes one prosperous. Let the sons of sons, and the grandsons of grandsons eternally treasure and use [it] without limits!

Let me focus on the first sentence of this concluding section: “Wuhu! True are these words!” Such confirmations uttered by one of the parties of the

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dialog (usually the king) constitute a recurrent trope in the Yi Zhou shu, and there are also several examples of similar passages in the Grand Duke texts that are also formally related to the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies.33 They involve the terms ge 格 (“felicitous”), yun 允 (“true”), or both. In the epigraphy from the Western Zhou period, these two words are not employed this way.34 However, in the royal colloquies, they are usually positioned at the end of edifying dialogical exchanges, which is exactly where we see them in the fanghu inscription. Following is the example from the concluding part of “Da kai wu,” but chapters “Feng bao,” “Xiao kai wu,” “Bao dian,” “Feng mou,” “Wù jing,” “Da ju,” “Wŭ jing,” “Cheng kai,” “Da jie,” and “Ben dian” all have similar conclusions: 周公拜曰 .  .  .  . 烏呼！十淫不違，危哉！今商維茲。其唯第茲命不承， 殆哉！若人之有政令，廢令無赦，乃廢天之命，訖文考之功緒，忍民 之苦，不祥。若農之服田，務耕而不耨，維草其宅之，既秋而不穫， 維禽其饗之，人而獲飢，去誰哀之？ The Duke of Zhou bowed and said. . . . “Wuhu! If the ten corruptions are not transgressed [by Shang], there will be danger! Now the Shang are like this. You are the one to succeed to it. If the Mandate [of Heaven] is not carried out, it will be perilous! It is like someone receiving a government order: if he abandons the order, there is no pardon [for him]. Now to neglect the Mandate of Heaven, cut short the meritorious initiatives of deceased Father Wen, and condone people’s suffering—is inauspicious! It is like a peasant’s toiling of fields: if he applies himself to tilling but does not weed, only wild grass will dwell there. When autumn comes, he will not gather harvest, and wild birds will feast there. As for the man, he will reap hunger—say, who shall pity him?”35 王拜曰：格 乃 言 。嗚呼！夙夜戰戰，何畏非道？何惡非是？不敬殆 ．．． 哉！ The king bowed and said: “Felicitous are your words! [boldface added] Wuhu! From morning till night, I am in fear and trembling! What should one treat with awe if not the Dao? What should one loathe if not these [corrupt influences discussed above]? If one is not reverent, it is perilous!”

Unlike most chapters, where this formula is found in the concluding part of the text, in “Da kai wu” it also reoccurs in the middle part, while in “Zhai

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gong” it is only found in the middle. In both cases where it occurs in the middle, it marks the end of the first structurally distinct part of the dialog and the transition to the second. With the exception of “Da ju” and “Zhai gong,” most chapters in the Yi Zhou shu that contain this formula are royal colloquies. All these texts consistently involve a dialog between two authoritative speakers.36 In all cases, it serves the same function in the structure of the text, emphasizing the validity and importance of the preceding instruction, which is also the case in the fanghu inscription. The way in which the Zhongshan inscriptions engage in conversation with posterity is more similar to the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies than to earlier epigraphy. Consider the following exclamatory passages from the ding inscription: 烏呼，念之哉，後人其庸用之，毋忘尔邦。 Wuhu! Meditate on this! Let posterity eternally use it! Let them not be negligent of their state!

This call for the continuous remembering of the instruction across generations is reminiscent of the refrains in the concluding parts of the royal colloquies, as discussed in chapter 4. Let me cite one example from the chapter “Feng bao”: 嗚呼！深念之哉！重維之哉！不深乃權不重，從權乃慰，不從乃潰， 潰不可復，戒後人！其用汝謀。 Wuhu! Deeply meditate on this! Think about it over and over again! If [you do not meditate on this] profoundly, then the balance will not be held in esteem. When the balance is observed, there will be relief, but if it is not observed, there will be collapse, and after collapse there will be no restoration! Forewarn posterity so that they use your plans!

The employment of the same characteristic exclamation “Wuhu! (Deeply) meditate on this!” evinces a further connection between the ding inscription and “Feng bao”: not only do the texts share the same thematic emphasis, but also the language in which they express it is similar. Overall, the peculiar form of a future-projected admonitory dialog adopted in the fanghu inscription appears to have been modeled after texts like the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies.

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However, while the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies are literary instructions intended for future generations, the inscribed Zhongshan bronzes combine two separate dimensions: the verbal one of an edifying text and the material one of a precious ritual artifact. By explicitly distinguishing between these two dimensions, the Zhongshan bronzes set themselves apart from earlier ritual epigraphy, in which the text and the object were deemed parts of an inseparable whole. Nevertheless, as I shall clarify, having had been once embedded in a precious artifact, their texts preserved this connection even when reproduced in a manuscript form, inheriting the properties of an empowering heirloom treasure. RELIGIOUS TRANSITIONS IN THE ZHOU RITUAL EPIGRAPHY

In the introductory part of the fanghu inscription, the ritual function of the bronze and the didactic function of the text are invoked separately. The very first lines emphasize the ritual part: 唯十四年，中山王𰯼命相邦賈擇燕吉金，鑄為彝壺，節于禋𨣧，可法 可尚，以饗上帝，以祀先王。 In the fourteenth year, King Cuo of Zhongshan ordered his Prime Minister Gu to select auspicious metal from Yan and to cast it into a ceremonial hu vessel. Rightly calibrated for sacrifices, let it be made an example and a venerated article; let it be used to present offerings to Shangdi and to sacrifice to the former kings!

This passage describes the intended use of the vessel in its sacrificial context. Although the unusual coagency of the king and the minister in the creation of the bronze has no precedents in earlier epigraphy, the emphasis on sacrifice demonstrates a continuity with early bronze epigraphy starting from the Shang and Western Zhou periods. Nevertheless, having paid lip service to the old tradition, the inscription proceeds to discuss the more innovative admonitory function, which seems to be its main preoccupation: 穆穆濟濟，嚴敬不敢怠荒，因載所美，卲跋皇功，詆燕之訛，以儆嗣王。 Stately and solemnly, with reverence I dare not be indolent, and for that reason I inscribe [on the vessel] what I admire, luminously extolling the august feats and reprimanding the flaws of Yan, in order to admonish the successor kings.

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The separation between the ritual function of the vessel and the didactic function of the inscription is echoed in the concluding part of the fanghu inscription (previously cited), which mandates its embodiment in the form of both a bronze vessel and a manuscript text. The distinction between the two functions (ritual and didactic) and two media (bronze vessel and bamboo manuscripts) is not accidental. It reflects two different stages in the understanding of the functions of ritual epigraphy, similar to how appropriated and created scriptures reflect two different stages in the development of scriptural traditions (chapter 3). In order to explain the remarkable novelty of the Zhongshan inscriptions as media-independent didactic compositions, it may be useful to compare them with earlier epigraphic texts from the Western Zhou, the formative period of epigraphy on ritual bronzes in Early China. Scholars have expressed different opinions regarding the purpose of epigraphic texts during this early period. One view has been expressed by Edward Shaughnessy, who proposed to interpret bronze texts as historical sources intended “to commemorate positive events.”37 Indeed, this opinion is corroborated by the chapter “Ji tong” 祭統 (A Summary Account of Sacrifices) of the Li ji 禮記, the most ancient reflexive account on the subject, which discusses bronze texts primarily as commemorative artifacts (see following text). Another view has been proposed by Lothar von Falkenhausen. Building on a 1936 study of the formulaic expressions in Western Zhou epigraphy by Xu Zhongshu 徐中舒,38 he has suggested that such texts were primarily created for ritual communication with ancestors: “rather than aiming at efficient conveyance of information to later descendants, the formulation of the documents and the highly selective editing of their contents  .  .  . strongly suggest that the intended recipients of the texts were the ancestral spirits in heaven.”39 Falkenhausen points out that most such texts were placed counterintuitively on the inner surfaces of sacrificial vessels, and, when covered by sacrificial foods, they were inaccessible to human eyes. He furthermore observes that the vast majority of bronze texts are very brief, up to fifteen characters in length. In such brief texts, “stating the simple fact that a bronze had been obtained and dedicated may have been the fundamental concern of the inscriptions.” Speaking of longer texts, Falkenhausen identifies in them what he calls a “past-present-future pattern,” in which the announcement of merit, “typically an account of the achievements of the donor and his ancestors,” refers to the past; the moment of dedication of a text-bearing ritual bronze corresponds to the present; and “an enunciation of future benefits expected from its use in ritual” corresponds to the future.40 Russian sinologist Vasiliĭ

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Kri͡ukov (1962–2008) embraced Falkenhausen’s suggestions in his insightful and somewhat speculative study of ancient Chinese ritual exchange. He argued that ancient Chinese sacrificial vessels “manifested the unity of the lineage and the uninterrupted link between the living and the dead.” Correspondingly, he interpreted the “past-present-future” pattern as a mechanism that “magically rejoins these categories of ritual time,” providing “immortal life to the person and his clan.”41 Both approaches are useful in the study of Western Zhou bronze texts. Although Falkenhausen’s analysis is helpful for understanding their main ritual function, there were certainly other functions as well. The Western Zhou epigraphy is too rich, and its geographic and temporal spans are too large to be narrowly restricted to just one theme or a single use context. Li Feng has shown that some bronze texts may have been used to document such events as land transactions and judicial disputes.42 Robert Eno has recently discussed some interesting examples that seem to deviate from the predominant patterns identified by Falkenhausen.43 The interpretation of Western Zhou bronze texts as commemorative artifacts suggested by Shaughnessy appears most convincing in such long and elaborate texts as the one on the Shi Qiang pan 史墻盤 basin (JC: 10175), which juxtaposes the history of Shi Qiang’s 史墻 own Wei 微 lineage and the lineage of the Zhou kings.44 Indeed, the earliest texts on ritual bronzes were produced around 1200 bce, and the accumulation of such texts by the eleventh to tenth centuries bce may have made their commemorative aspect increasingly important. Nevertheless, Falkenhausen’s argument seems to be applicable to the majority of bronze texts of the Western Zhou period that share the same overarching ritual concern. Let me illustrate this point with the example of the Shanfu Jifu ding vessel 善夫吉父鼎, reportedly discovered in Renjiacun 任家村 village in Fufeng 扶風 county, Shaanxi province, in 1940 (MT: 2078):45 善夫吉父作鼎，其萬年子子孫孫永寶用。 The Shanfu-officer Jifu made [this] ding-vessel. [He shall] for ten thousand years, through generations of sons and grandsons, eternally use it as a treasure.

The text is typical in terms of both its brevity and contents. Although, like other brief inscriptions, it lacks the part corresponding to the description of “past” merits, it commemorates the moment of the bronze’s creation (“present”) and commits to the bronze’s eternal use by the donor’s posterity

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(“future”). The text is clearly focused on the ritual object itself, and it would take a stretch of the imagination to interpret it as a didactic instruction. Indeed, the explicit mention of posterity in Western Zhou ritual bronzes is restricted to the unelaborated and repetitive concluding part concerning the vessel’s continuous use. Now consider the concluding part of the Zhongshan ding inscription, whose outward similarity makes the differences in essential concerns the more striking: 烏呼，念之哉，子子孫孫，永定保之，毋替厥邦。 Wuhu! Meditate on it!46 Sons and grandsons, eternally preserve it in a resolute way! Do not neglect your state!

Despite the mention of “sons and grandsons” and the motif of eternal preservation, the text is closer in its import to the conclusion of the Yi Zhou shu chapter “Feng bao” quoted previously than to the Shanfu Jifu ding. The object of eternal preservation is no longer the ritual bronze, but the teaching inscribed on it. The magical merging of the dead, the living, and the unborn members of the lineage into a unity of continuous ritual practice (following Kri͡ukov) no longer appears relevant. Instead, the inscription attempts to reach out to posterity by means of the text, which detaches itself from the earlier ritual and overtakes the ritual’s role as the primary vehicle of transgenerational communication. The shift in focus is made more obvious by the final sentence, totally scandalous if seen against the backdrop of Western Zhou bronze texts: “Do not neglect your state!” It reflects the profound sense of anxiety about the preservation of the ruling lineage that reverberates throughout the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies. The new preoccupation with dynastic continuity has effectively overridden the old emphasis on the continuous use of bronzes in their ritual settings. Not only in their form but also in their purpose, the Zhongshan inscriptions appear closer to the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies than to earlier epigraphy. Of course, this transition did not happen overnight, and it is possible to trace, at least in part, its gradual unfolding. Over the last decades, valuable observations have been accumulated regarding the ruptures and shifts in the evolution of ancient Chinese ritual practices. What is exciting about such observations is that they are based on new archaeological evidence: written sources remain virtually silent, preferring to imagine ritual as a fixed system that is susceptible to corruption and decline, but not to transformation

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or reform.47 Jessica Rawson, based on her observations of the changes in the assemblages of ritual bronzes, identified a major transition, dubbed the Ritual Revolution or, more modestly, the Ritual Reform, that took place in the first half of the tenth century bce and was marked by the disappearance of many types of wine vessels and the new preference for food vessels in sets of multiple objects with identical size, shape, decoration, and epigraphic texts.48 These changes “had implications both for ritual and burial practice, and by extension for belief.”49 Nick Vogt has suggested that the changes in the repertory of bronze vessels, which probably occurred during the reigns of Kings Zhao 昭 and Mu 穆, were complemented by “a coherent royal program of reform of elite ritual to better maintain the Zhou collective in the face of the new sociopolitical realities,” which continued until the mid-ninth century bce.50 Thus the ritual appears to have substantially evolved during the Western Zhou period, even though archaeological data do not explain the motivation behind the change. Falkenhausen suggests that, in the following Eastern Zhou period, the further evolution of belief systems led to “a new notion of an afterworld hermetically separate and independent from the world of the living.”51 The religious transformations had profound implications for the understanding of ritual communication as reflected in epigraphic texts on ritual bronzes: “the vast majority of vessels are now stated to have been made for the donor’s own use, rather than for use in the sacrifice to a specific ancestor,” while other examples suggest “that the rituals in which the vessels were used no longer had the purpose of securing ancestral support, but were held to ensure the solidarity of the living community.”52 The abandonment of earlier ritual priorities has been also observed by Kri͡ukov: “beginning with the Spring and Autumn period, the makers of bronze inscriptions start to pay predominant attention to the description of future benefits anticipated from the use of the ritual vessel, increasingly forgetting about the past.”53 In his survey of Eastern Zhou bronze epigraphy, Gilbert Mattos shares a similar impression, noticing that “one’s ancestors no longer were as integral a consideration in the production of bronzes as they had been during the Western Zhou.”54 As the practice of face-to-face ritual encounters between the living and the dead during the sacrificial ceremonies of the Western Zhou period came into decline,55 elite communities came to see ritual bronzes as precious relics of the now-unreachable ancestors, containing edifying instructions that they were entitled to benefit from. This interpretation probably became current toward the middle of the first millennium bce. It is attested in such texts as

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the “Ji tong,” which contains the most elaborate discussion of the purpose of bronze epigraphy in the early Chinese textual corpus.56 Here is the relevant part, in my translation:57 夫鼎有銘，銘者，自名也。自名以稱揚其先祖之美，而明 著 之 後 世 者 ． ．． ． ． ． 也。為先祖者，莫不有美焉，莫不有惡焉。銘之義，稱美而不稱惡， 此孝子孝孫之心也。唯賢者能之。銘者，論譔其先祖之有德善功烈勛 勞慶賞聲名，列於天下，而酌之祭器；自成其名焉，以祀其先祖者 也。顯揚先祖，所以崇孝也。身比焉，順也。明 示後 世 ，教 也 。 ．． ． ． ． ． Dǐng tripods have epigraphic texts [míng ← *mˤeŋ]. Such texts are an act of giving oneself a name [míng ← *C.meŋ]. Giving oneself a name serves to proclaim and extol the good [deeds] of one’s ancestors and to make them clearly exhibited to future generations [boldface added]. As for the ancestors, nobody among them is without good [deeds], and nobody among them is without evil [deeds]. The point of epigraphic texts is to proclaim the good while not proclaiming evil—this is the attitude of filial sons and filial grandsons, but only the wise are able to achieve it. In epigraphic texts, one describes and eulogizes the virtues and good [deeds] of his ancestors, their glorious achievements, celebrated rewards and good fame that made them prominent in All-Under-Heaven, and by casting all these in ritual vessels, he accomplishes his own good name in order to sacrifice to his ancestors. The glorification of ancestors is the upholding of one’s filial piety; the likening of oneself to them is [a sign of] continuity; and the clear demonstration [of the good deeds] to future generations is [an instance of] instruction [boldface added].

The quoted passage of “Ji tong” interprets epigraphy as a means of creating a positive image of oneself and one’s ancestors in the memory of future generations and of edifying them by showcasing the most notable achievements of the forefathers. Although it is difficult to say when “Ji tong” was composed, it contains an example of an epigraphic text from the ding vessel of Kong Kui of Wey 衛孔悝, who lived in the early fifth century bce. “Ji tong” refers to this text as an example of a venerable ancient practice, so Kong Kui’s text was probably composed earlier than “Ji tong.” (“Ji tong” does not have an established date but perhaps can be tentatively dated to the fourth to second centuries bce.)58 The passage citing from the text on Kong Kui’s ding goes as follows:59

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故衛孔悝之鼎銘曰： 六月丁亥，公假于大廟。公曰：叔舅！乃祖莊叔，左右成公。成公 乃命莊叔隨難于漢陽，即宮于宗周，奔走無射。啟右獻公。獻公乃命 成叔，纂乃祖服。乃考文叔，興舊耆欲，作率慶士，躬恤衛國，其勤 公家，夙夜不解，民咸曰：休哉！ 公曰：叔舅！予女銘：若纂乃考服。 悝拜稽首曰：對揚以辟之，勤大命施于烝彝鼎。 此衛孔悝之鼎銘也。 This being the case, the text on the ding-tripod of Kong Kui of Wey says: “On the sixth month, day ding-hai [24/60], the Duke assumed his position in the great temple. The Duke said: ‘Uncle! Your ancestor Zhuang Shu assisted [my forefather] Duke Cheng. Duke Cheng therefore ordered Zhuang Shu to follow him in the troubles that he experienced to the south of the Han River. He approached the palace in Zongzhou and served [the Duke] without becoming weary. He instructed and advised Duke Xian, and then Duke Xian ordered Cheng Shu to continue his forefather’s service. Your father Wen Shu invigorated the old desires and became the leader of the ministers. He was personally afflicted about the state of Wey, and he toiled for the Duke’s family, not having repose from morning till night. All the people said: “How gracious!” ’ The Duke said: ‘Uncle! I give you a text [to cast in the vessel], and you should continue the service of your father!’60 Kui bowed, touching ground with his forehead, and said: ‘I extol your [beneficence] in response, taking it as a model to follow. I will labor according to the great command, and I will append it on the ritual tripod for winter sacrifice.’ ” This is the text on the ding-vessel of Kong Kui of Wey.

The composition and vocabulary of this remarkable text are at odds with the late Spring and Autumn period to which it belongs, but similar to the much earlier Western Zhou epigraphy.61 Is this archaization an attempt to mislead the reader and boost the value of the text on some antiquarian market? Most certainly not: the events and people mentioned in it position it unequivocally in the context of the early fifth century bce, and the archaic language seems to be a means to connect this late text to the venerable tradition, suggesting that there may have been an audience in the early fifth century bce that was sufficiently exposed to genuine ancient epigraphy to appreciate this text. However, there is a detail that marks a profound gap with the Western Zhou epigraphic practices, otherwise imitated very successfully. While the

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appointment records in Western Zhou bronze texts often mention such gifts as ritual clothes, bronzes, and other material artifacts, here the gift presented by the duke to his uncle is an immaterial “text to be inscribed” (ming 銘). Behind this small difference is a revolutionary innovation. The text is conceived not as an attribute of the ritual bronze, but as a self-standing valuable object of gift exchange. Both on Kong Kui’s tripod and in the related discussion in “Ji tong,” inscriptional texts are understood as self-sufficient entities that can be shifted between media. The very fact that Kong Kui’s inscription was reproduced in manuscript form confirms that such recopying was understood as a way to increase the epigraphic object’s outreach. Remarkably, this discussion is not concerned with the role of epigraphic texts in ancestral communication: it belongs to the Eastern Zhou era, with its shift in balance from the past into the future, and from sacrifice into the realm of the living. INTENDED MANUSCRIPT CIRCULATION OF THE ZHONGSHAN INSCRIPTIONS

The Zhongshan inscriptions, lavishly inscribed on the outer surfaces and not hidden on the inside like their Western Zhou precursors, belong to this novel environment, with its newly developed taste for epigraphic texts as valuable compositions detachable from their carriers.62 Of course, this does not mean that texts did not travel between media before. It is obvious that most of them would be first drafted on a perishable medium before being cast in bronze.63 However, the Western Zhou texts on ritual bronzes do not seem to suggest that they were valued separately from their carriers. Most such texts only refer to themselves as ritual objects and not as textual compositions, as demonstrated by the typical example of the Shanfu Jifu ding mentioned previously. It may be instructive to consider what may be a rare Western Zhou exception that explicitly mentions the epigraphic text, the Zuoce Yi you 作冊 嗌卣 (JC: 5427), analyzed by Eno (I reproduce the first part of the text with Eno’s translation):64 作冊嗌作父辛尊，厥名宜曰：子子孫寶。不祿嗌子延先盡死。亡子子 引有孫。 Document Maker Yi makes an offertory vessel to Father Xin. Its text should read, “May the sons of my sons and grandsons treasure it.” Through m ­ isfortune, Yi’s son Yan has already sadly died; he has no sons, nor grandsons by his sons.

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Despite the mention of the epigraphic text (ming 名, here clearly standing for ming 銘), the focus remains on the vessel, and the text is only invoked to describe what appears to be the exceptional circumstances of the vessel’s creation. There is no suggestion that the text is understood as an independent object of value. This self-referentiality is different from what we see in Kong Kui’s ding and in the concluding part of the Zhongshan fanghu inscription. I shall reproduce the translation of this part once again, emphasizing in boldface the words referring to the different target media: Wuhu! True are these words! Elevate them clearly onto a hu-vessel and regularly look at it! Piously shield, illumine and inform the future successors! It is recalcitrance that brings forth trouble; it is compliance that brings forth well-being. Put them onto bamboo strips in order to admonish the succeeding kings! It is virtue that attaches the people [to the ruler], it is rightness that makes one prosperous. Let the sons of sons, and the grandsons of grandsons eternally treasure and use [it] without limits!

The fanghu inscription betrays an innovative understanding of the inscriptional text as a self-standing object of value by stipulating its separate carving on the hu vessel and the recording on bamboo strips. Such self-referentiality is radically different from what we see on the Shanfu Jifu ding and the Zuoce Yi you. While in earlier epigraphic texts the self-referential statements refer to bronzes in their ritual contexts, never distinguishing between the text and the carrier, the fanghu inscription focuses on the text alone as a self-sufficient valuable object with multiple channels of circulation.65 The mention of bamboo strips does not look very impressive when read from the extravagant inscribed bronze. However, the impression would have been different if the same text had been read from a bamboo manuscript— its other explicitly intended material form. Today, when we read the text from the surface of the fanghu, we can only imagine what the manuscript version looked like. Likewise, to the reader of the manuscript counterpart, the bronze would probably be inaccessible, locked in the royal treasury or already buried in King Cuo’s tomb, but such a reader would still be able to re-create it in his or her imagination, having learned about it from the final lines of the text. The two different material instantiations may be seen as part of the same design, working in conjunction toward the same goal: the release of the text into the domain of reproducible manuscripts would amplify its durability and, consequently, also the permanence of the heirloom treasure

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on which it was inscribed. Such extension of the properties of a material artifact into the manuscript copies of its inscription appears to have been common in early literate cultures. In her discussion of the efficacy of inscribed stelae recording contractual or normative texts in ancient Greece, Steiner writes that “any written trace of the original deed is sufficient to preserve its force.”66 Likewise, the burial of the fanghu vessel in King Cuo’s tomb did not impede the circulation of the text and did not diminish the value of the artifact. The manuscript copies would still perpetuate the transgenerational textual instruction and the powers of the concealed heirloom. This reconstruction of the intended manuscript circulation of the Zhongshan inscriptions may appear speculative, but there are examples of similar texts mentioning their erstwhile precious material forms. In chapter “Da ju” of the Yi Zhou shu, after the king confirms the validity of the received instruction, the text speaks about its embodiment in the form of a precious bronze artifact: 武王再拜曰：嗚呼！允哉！天民側側，余知其極有宜。乃召昆吾，冶 而銘之金版，藏府而朔之。 King Wu bowed twice and said: “Wuhu! Truly so! Heaven and people are side by side. I know that it is extremely beneficial!” Then he summoned Kunwu to cast and inscribe it on a metal plate. It was preserved in the treasury and [used in the] new moon [rituals].

Considering the anachronistic nature of “Da ju,” it appears improbable that the epigraphic object mentioned in its conclusion ever existed. But this hardly matters; what is important is “the claim of a connection” with this artifact, which gives the text its authoritative weight.67 In addition to chapter “Da ju,” chapter “Chang mai” also suggests that it was created as a material artifact used in recurrent ritual: 太史乃藏之盟府，以為歲典。 Then the Grand Scribe confined the record [of the ceremony] to the covenant treasury to be used as a statute for annual announcements.

Both “Da ju” and “Chang mai” employ self-referentiality to present themselves as precious artifacts from the treasuries of the Western Zhou kings,

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ritually performed at regular intervals. While “Da ju” mentions “treasury” (fu 府), “Chang mai” speaks of “covenant treasury” (mengfu 盟府). It may be the same location, and there is evidence—both Chinese and comparative—suggesting that no clear boundary separated empowering texts from other kinds of treasures. A well-known section of chapter “Gu ming” of the Shang shu lists the heirlooms that were arrayed during the royal investiture ceremony performed for King Kang 康王 (ca. late eleventh to early tenth century bce) after the death of King Cheng. This list contains both textual and nontextual artifacts: 陳寶：赤刀、大訓、弘璧、琬琰在西序，大玉、夷玉、天球、河圖在 東序，胤之舞衣、大貝、鼖鼓在西房，兌之戈、和之弓、垂之竹矢在 東房。 [The officers] arranged the treasures: The cinnabar [sacrificial jade] knife, the Great Instruction [boldface added], the great [jade] bi disk, the rounded-top [gui scepter], and the pointedtop [gui scepter]—in the space along the western wall [facing east]; The great jades, the jades from the Yi tribes in the northeast, the large round-shaped Heaven jades, together with the Yellow River Chart [boldface added]—in the space along the east wall [facing west]; The Yin dancing garments, the large tortoise shell, and the large drum—in the western room; The dagger-axe of Dui, the bow of He, the bamboo arrows of Chui—in the eastern room.

This symmetrically arranged list is probably a product of Warring States imagination rather than a credible inventory of the Western Zhou heirlooms. Textual and nontextual treasures are mixed here in an undifferentiated way, suggesting that the attitude to them was the same. We have already seen a similar conceptual merging of texts and heirloom treasures in the Zhanguo ce passage, where the nine tripods were mentioned alongside “statutes and records.” And indeed, this is what one would expect from a culture where literacy is still relatively marginal and where, as Steiner remarks, “documents frequently served as additional symbols or talismans, as important for what they signified as for what they said, deserving of the same careful treatment as other charged goods.”68 M. T. Clanchy provides a vivid description for medieval England: “together with sacred books and relics of

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the saints, documents came to be mixed in with cups, rings, wooden staffs, knives, and any other symbolic objects which retained the memory of past events.”69 These observations allow us to revisit Li Ling’s statement cited in chapter 2, where he argues that Chinese culture presents a unique case of “secular transcendence” because its foundational texts originate from “document archives.” As shown convincingly by Clanchy and Rosalind Thomas, premodern treasuries were very different in function and purpose from the later archives.70 To understand the ancient fu as dang’an 檔案 (“archives”) would be as anachronistic as to expect a modern archival system in classical Greece or medieval England. Such treasuries served other important purposes, including the accumulation of magical energies and the provision of mystical empowerment through precious textual and nontextual artifacts. Despite the strong connections with preliterary practices, the self-referential statements that we see in “Da ju” and “Chang mai” suggest a certain degree of maturity of the literary culture. There are close parallels in other cultures. For example, the “find-notes” in mathematical and medical texts from ancient Egypt seem to serve a similar function, comparable to that of price tags, helping the reader to identify and evaluate the text and distinguish it from others.71 The Hebrew Book of Asef contains a similar claim of ancient provenance, linking itself to the wisdom of Noah dispersed and elaborated by the sages of India, Macedonia, and Egypt, before being lost for 630 years and then recovered by a new generation of sages, to whom the text traces its direct (but still imaginary) ancestry.72 Arguably, the need for such boastful self-presentation arises when many texts accumulated over decades or even centuries become detached from their initial contexts, making it difficult to keep track of them and evaluate them consistently if one can rely only on oral evidence. By mentioning its purported origins explicitly in writing, the text unceremoniously proclaims its exceptionally high value, thus aiding the reader who cannot retrieve this information via oral channels or no longer trusts them very much. TRANSCENDENT EXPERIENCES AND THE AUTHORITY OF SCRIPTURES

In the previous sections, I have mentioned such terms as “value,” “exchange,” and “circulation,” and even compared the self-reflective statements in texts to price tags, which may suggest that the texts and artifacts discussed here circulated on some antiquarian market, changing hands between connoisseurs, similar to how archaeological artifacts circulated in China since the Song

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dynasty.73 This would be an utterly misleading impression. The heirloom treasures and precious texts discussed in this chapter belong to an economy rather different from the one surrounding us today, and modern common sense is of little use in understanding these artifacts in their historical context. Let me give some specific examples. In chapter 5, I have quoted the opening passage from chapter “Jin teng” of the Shang shu. After the Duke of Zhou finishes his divination on behalf of the ill King Wu and thereby heals him from his illness, he deposits the record of his intervention in a precious metal-bound coffer. Later King Cheng opens this coffer in a solemn ritual ceremony, learning about the Duke of Zhou’s generous deed and repenting that he heeded slanderous accusations against the duke. To a modern mind, written records of such events preserved as treasures look bizarre, but in the scriptural corpus, they constitute a recurrent theme. One kind of event deemed worthy of recording and preserving as a treasure was revelations received by rulers in liminal states (dreams or illness). I would like to illustrate this point with a fragment from chapter 43, “Zhao shijia” 趙世家 (Hereditary House of Zhao), of the Shi ji that helps us understand the political significance of such revelations in the environment of the late fourth century bce. This fragment features a recorded prophecy (chen 讖) that seems to be an early antecedent to the Han dynasty chenwei examined by Anna Seidel. This fragment describes how doctor Bian Que 扁鵲 reassured the attendants of Zhao Jianzi 趙簡子 (d. 458 bce), head of the powerful Zhao 趙 lineage in the state of Jin 晉. Zhao Jianzi’s long rule as the lineage head (since 517 bce) was instrumental in dismantling the central authority of the Jin dukes and the eventual partition of Jin between his own lineage and the lineages of Hann 韓 and Wei 魏 in 453 bce. Bian Que compares Zhao Jianzi’s prolonged illness to that of Duke Mu of Qin 秦穆公 (r. 659–621 bce), who was taken to the abode of the Heavenly Thearch (di 帝) and whose words after his return to consciousness acquired a prophetic power and were deemed worthy of depositing in written form as a precious artifact in the treasury:74 趙簡子疾，五日不知人，大夫皆懼。醫扁鵲視之，出，董安于問。扁 鵲曰：血脈治也，而何怪！在昔秦繆公嘗如此，七日而寤。寤之日， 告公孫支與子輿曰：我之帝所甚樂。吾所以久者，適有學也。帝告 我：晉國將大亂，五世不安；其後將霸，未老而死；霸者之子且令而 國男女無別。公孫支書而藏之，秦讖於是出矣。獻公之亂，文公之 霸，而襄公敗秦師於殽而歸縱淫，此子之所聞。今主君之疾與之同， 不出三日疾必閒，閒必有言也。

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Zhao Jianzi was ill. For five days, he could not recognize people. All his officials were frightened. Doctor Bian Que, having examined him, exited [his chamber]. Dong Anyu questioned him. Bian Que said: “His blood flow is in order, so there is nothing to worry about. In the past, Duke Mu of Qin had a similar condition, and did not return to consciousness for seven days. On the day when he did, he addressed Gongsun Zhi and Zi Yu: ‘I was at the place of the [Heavenly] Thearch. I tarried there because it was an occasion to learn. The [Heavenly] Thearch announced to me: “The state of Jin will be in great disorder, and there will be no peace for five generations. After that, a hegemon will rise, but he will die before becoming old. And when the son of this hegemon comes to power, the natural distinction between men and women will be lost.” ’ Gongsun Zhi recorded and deposited this speech [in the treasury], and from this point the Qin prophecies arose. As for Duke Xian’s [r. 676–651 bce] disorder, Duke Wen’s [r. 636–628 bce] hegemony and Duke Xiang’s [r. 627–621 bce] victory over the Qin army at Yao [627 bce] and how he succumbed to sensuality upon return75—you have heard about all these matters. The current illness of your lord is similar. It will recede before three days, and when it recedes, he will speak.”

This passage refers to the record of Duke Mu of Qin’s dream revelation as the beginning of “Qin prophecies” (Qin chen 秦讖), suggesting a connection with the later chenwei genre, which played an important role in the formation of religious Daoism. The treatment of the record of a prophetic dream of Duke Mu of Qin as a precious artifact in this passage also reflects the attitudes typical of the later religious Daoism. The recapitulation of the dream of Duke Mu of Qin is followed in the Shi ji by an account of a dream revelation received by Zhao Jianzi, in which he speaks about being transported to the abode of the Heavenly Thearch and receiving a revelation there. His officials commit this account to writing, following the precedent of Duke Mu of Qin. 居二日半，簡子寤。語大夫曰：我之帝所甚樂，與百神游於鈞天，廣 樂九奏萬舞，不類三代之樂，其聲動人心。有一熊欲來援我，帝命我 射之，中熊，熊死。又有一羆來，我又射之，中羆，羆死。帝甚喜， 賜我二笥，皆有副。吾見兒在帝側，帝屬我一翟犬，曰：及而子之壯 也，以賜之。帝告我：晉國且世衰，七世而亡，嬴姓將大敗周人於范 魁之西，而亦不能有也。今余思虞舜之勳，適余將以其胄女孟姚配而 七世之孫。董安于受言而書藏之。以扁鵲言告簡子，簡子賜扁鵲田四 萬畝。

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Having thus spent two days, Jianzi awoke. He told his officials: “When I reached the abode of the [Heavenly] Thearch, I was overjoyed—roaming with the hundred spirits at the turning point of Heaven. The ‘Broad’ music was played in nine pieces, and the ‘Wan’ dance was performed—it was beyond comparison with the music of the Three Dynasties [Xia, Shang, and Zhou], and its sounds moved human heart. There was a bear that wanted to come and drag me away, and the [Heavenly] Thearch ordered me to shoot it. I hit the bear, and it died. Then, a brown bear came, and I also shot it. I hit the brown bear, and it died. The [Heavenly] Thearch was very pleased. He gave me two bamboo boxes, which both contained [smaller] replicas. I saw a boy at the side of the [Heavenly] Thearch. The [Heavenly] Thearch put a dog of a Di breed under my care, saying: ‘This is to give to your son when he comes of age.’76 The [Heavenly] Thearch told me: ‘The state of Jin will decline in a generation, and in seven generations it will perish. The Ying clan will decisively defeat the Zhou people to the west of Fankui, but they will not be able to possess the land. Now I am thinking about the merits of Yu and Shun, and therefore I will match their female descendant Meng Yao with your grandson in the seventh generation.’ ”77 Dong Anyu, having received these words, deposited them [in the treasury], while also informing Jianzi of Bian Que’s words. Jianzi gave Bian Que forty thousand mu of land.

The story could finish here. The recording and deposit in the treasury of a written account of Zhao Jianzi’s heavenly encounter by Dong Anyu 董安于, which suggests that the story we are reading originates from this artifact, and the generous rewarding of Bian Que would have made a satisfying happy ending. However, the Shi ji elaborates further, perhaps to clarify the exact meaning of Zhao Jianzi’s dream: 他日，簡子出，有人當道，辟之不去，從者怒，將刃之。當道者曰： 吾欲有謁於主君。從者以聞。簡子召之，曰：譆，吾有所見子晣也。 當道者曰：屏左右，願有謁。簡子屏人。當道者曰：主君之疾，臣在 帝側。簡子曰：然，有之。子之見我，我何為？當道者曰：帝令主君 射熊與羆，皆死。簡子曰：是，且何也？當道者曰：晉國且有大難， 主君首之。帝令主君滅二卿，夫熊與羆皆其祖也。簡子曰：帝賜我二 笥皆有副，何也？當道者曰：主君之子將克二國於翟，皆子姓也。簡 子曰：吾見兒在帝側，帝屬我一翟犬，曰：及而子之長以賜之。夫兒 何謂以賜翟犬？當道者曰：兒，主君之子也。翟犬者，代之先也。主 君之子且必有代。及主君之後嗣，且有革政而胡服，并二國於翟。簡

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子問其姓而延之以官。當道者曰：臣野人，致帝命耳。遂不見。簡子 書藏之府。 On a different day, Zhao Jianzi went out. A certain man stood in his way, blocking it and not letting him pass. The attendants were enraged and wanted to murder him, but the one standing in the way said: “I would like to have an audience with your lord.” The attendants transmitted the message. Jianzi summoned him, saying: “Oh, I have seen you somewhere!” The one who stood in the way said: “Dismiss the attendants. I would like to have an audience with you.” Jianzi dismissed the people. The one who stood in the way said: “During Your Lordship’s illness, I was [standing] by the side of the [Heavenly] Thearch.” Jianzi said: “Yes, so it was indeed. You have seen me. What did I do?” The one who stood in the way said: “The [Heavenly] Thearch ordered Your Lordship to shoot a bear and a brown bear, and both died.” Jianzi said: “Right. What would that mean?” The one who stood in the way said: “The state of Jin will experience great troubles, and Your Lordship will preside over it. The [Heavenly] Thearch has ordered Your Lordship to extinguish two officials, for the bear and the brown bear are their ancestors.” Jianzi said: “The [Heavenly] Thearch gave me two bamboo boxes, both with replicas. What was it?” The one who stood in the way said: “The son of Your Lordship will conquer two countries from the Di, both ruled by lineages belonging to the Zi family.” Jianzi said: “I saw a boy by the side of the [Heavenly] Thearch, and the [Heavenly] Thearch put a dog of a Di breed under my care, saying ‘This is for you to give to your son when he comes to age.’ What does it mean to give a dog of a Di breed to the boy?” The one who stood in the way said: “The boy is the son of Your Lordship. The dog of a Di breed is the ancestor of the [ruling lineage] of Dai. The son of Your Lordship will be sure to possess Dai. At the time of your later descendant there will be a change in government, and adoption of Hu clothes.78 He will annex two countries from the Di.” Jianzi asked the name so as to promote him to an official post. However, the man who stood in the way said: “I am a simple man who is only delivering the [Heavenly] Thearch’s command.” And at that moment he became invisible. Jianzi recorded it and deposited it in the treasury.

This story is an important piece of evidence for understanding the political history of the Zhao ruling lineage. Devoid of any traditional legitimacy and seen as usurpers, the rulers of Zhao, which became an independent state after 453 bce, needed to justify their rise to power and explain their questionable

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role in dismantling the domain of their former lords. The traditional ideas of legitimacy based on hereditary succession and the faithful continuation of ancestral duties would only embarrass them because the Zhao lineage, together with their Han and Wei associates, had openly violated them. One of the purposes of the story of Zhao Jianzi’s heavenly rapture may have been to reaffirm Zhao’s legitimacy by claiming that it was obtained directly from the Heavenly Thearch, thereby overriding the habitual norms of hierarchical subordination and hereditary succession.79 The Heavenly Thearch told Zhao Jianzi that the lineage of the Jin dukes was doomed, that he had to kill political opponents, and that his descendants would have a glorious future. Thus the very dubious deeds of the founder of the Zhao lineage are repackaged as the obedient fulfillment of a command from Heaven. On two occasions, the Shi ji mentions that Zhao Jianzi’s heavenly revelation was put down in writing and deposited in the treasury. We have already seen this trope in scriptural texts, and it seems to play a similar role here, establishing a textual connection between Zhao Jianzi and his descendants, most likely King Wuling 趙武靈王 (325–299), whose radical reforms in the end of the fourth century bce are invoked here explicitly (wearing of Hu clothes was necessary for the introduction of mounted warfare) and who may have needed this legitimizing connection. It appears very probable that this part of the Shi ji encapsulates a text that circulated in the fourth-century-bce kingdom of Zhao. Because the heavenly sanction received by the founder of the lineage on his transcendent journey was recorded, it became a legitimizing artifact that did not only alleviate doubts regarding the morality of the lineage founder’s deeds, but also transmitted legitimacy to his future generations and authorized them to further transform the society. In its bipartite structure, it is very similar to the legitimizing prophecy of Zhou scribe Dan 儋 mentioned in the previous chapter, which authorized the eventual conquest of Zhou by Qin and predicted the rise of a hegemon king several decades after the conquest.80 It is likely that the texts recording deathbed testaments and dream revelations of the Zhou kings were appreciated in a similar way, giving the Warring States elites a legitimizing foundation for actions that could otherwise be contested. Whereas the story about the supernatural revelation to Zhao Jianzi may have been created to serve the interests of the Zhao lineage in the late fourth century bce, scriptural texts featuring the Western Zhou kings had universal authority, setting up precedents that could be employed in the negotiation of power by elite members in different states. In such an

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environment, scriptures would be an instrument of direct political action, and not just historical reflection. SCRIPTURES AS TREASURES

Both the written interpretations of dreams and the transcripts of words uttered by kings in semiconscious states were understood as precious objects worthy of being preserved in treasuries alongside other heirlooms, such as precious jades or ritual bronzes. But how does it happen that records of certain events acquire the properties of material treasures? Recent research in anthropology has made it easier to approach this question. The work of David Graeber, already mentioned, offers an extremely insightful perspective focused on the creation and circulation of value in premarket societies. Graeber creatively improves on Marx’s labor theory of value, extending the concept of “materiality” to encompass not only physical objects but also different types of socially significant creative acts. Following Terence Turner, he mentions the properties that the different “tokens of value”—physical objects and performative acts alike—have in common: the ability to measure value (that is, “to contrast between greater or lesser degrees of dominance, beauty, honor, prestige, or whatever the particular valued quality may be”); the ability to mediate value through objects or performances; and the ability to be ends in themselves, that is, embody value and not just serve as instruments of its measurement or mediation.81 Records of interpreted dreams or transcripts of prophecies uttered in liminal states conform to these criteria because they have a marked degree of superiority, having been shared by the sage kings (the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies) or having involved interaction with the Heavenly Thearch (Zhao Jianzi’s heavenly rapture). Value plays a key role in the shaping of social order, and different values existing in the minds of individuals compete with one another, representing separate ideals of social totality that never fully materialize in practice but still have a perceptible influence on the collective reality.82 Here Graeber’s observations are paralleled by Louis Gernet, who wrote an insightful study of value in late archaic and classical Greece, focusing on the peculiar notion of agalma, which “can refer to all kinds of objects, even at times to human beings to the degree they can be considered ‘precious.’ ”83 Gernet points out that the “inherent efficacy and force” of such objects “is first and foremost a social one,”84 and that there is “a link between the symbol of wealth and the

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themes of royal power or royal investiture.”85 Thus the investment of creative energies in the production, acquisition, and destruction of various objects of value is a means of influencing human relations. As Graeber observes, “Value, after all, is something that mobilizes the desires of those who recognize it, and moves them to action.”86 Objects of value tend to shift between visible and invisible forms or, as Graeber calls it, “between action and reflection,”87 which “endlessly imply each other in an infinite variety of conversions and transformations.”88 In the active state, the objects of value exercise their capacity to structure and alter human relations. In Early China, this capacity was achieved in particular through the culture of public display, which involved not only objects of “heavy materiality” but also texts, as discussed by Michael Nylan.89 In the reflective state, however, the powers of the objects of value become private and invisible,90 an idea that aligns with Robert Campany’s observations regarding the dialectic codependency between secrecy and display in esoteric traditions.91 The hoarding and burying of wealth in particular are the forms of accumulating power in its invisible but still potent form.92 This statement obviously applies to heirlooms that remain concealed most of the time: “The value of an heirloom is really that of actions: actions whose significance has been, as it were, absorbed into the object’s current identity. . . . Since the value of the actions has already been fixed in the physical being of the object, it is perhaps a short leap to begin attributing the agency behind such actions to the object as well.”93 Perhaps one of the best examples of such ancient dynastic treasures still involved in the shaping of power in a modern society is the sacred regalia of the Japanese monarchy purportedly received from Amaterasu-Ōmikami 天照大御神 and transmitted from father to son in the lineage of Japanese emperors: the Mirror, the Sword, and the Jewel. These artifacts, despite being universally known, are never shown to the public, remaining “the objects of faith and veneration, which turn any interrogation of their veracity and authenticity unnecessary and vain.”94 It is therefore not only live humans who are involved in this continuous negotiation of the social order. Metapersons can also take part in it by appearing in revelations or communicating their energies through charged objects.95 The power of dreams to creatively alter social reality is explained both by their capacity to mediate between humans and metapersons, and also by their ability to unleash creative energies that are concealed in an awakened state. In an insightful case study of the “dream economy” among the seventeenth-century Iroquois, Graeber shows how dreams can affect

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and even structure society. Among the Iroquois, it was believed that unfulfilled dreams could lead to illness, and the dream of one person had to be answered by reciprocal actions of others, such as guessing the dream’s meaning and performing acts believed to satisfy the desire of the dreamer’s soul. This could have entailed the transfer of desired objects, no matter in whose possession originally, or performance of acts, sometimes violent, involving a significant part of the community. In some dreams, “gods or spirits would appear to announce news, predict the course of future events, create new rituals, or even establish new guidelines for the storage of crops,”96 which shows that dreams could be employed to establish new social norms. Graeber suggests that this extraordinary “dictatorship of dreams” among the seventeenth-century Iroquois was not a perennial part of the culture, but rather a reaction to specific historical disturbances, a “revitalization movement” triggered by the coming of Europeans and the growing dependence on economical transactions with outsiders. Eventually, the society adjusted to the changed circumstances, and in the nineteenth century, “the language of dreams was largely reduced to a matter of symbolic tokens.”97 The nexus between dreams, treasures, and value has been addressed by Charles Stewart in his comprehensive account of the dreaming tradition on the Greek island of Naxos. Stewart’s study is mainly focused on buried Orthodox Christian icons whose locations were revealed to dreamers, a particular kind of treasure with strong religious connotations. However, dreaming in Naxos could also invoke other treasures, including emery deposits and hoards.98 In all cases, the treasure is actualized through reciprocal action, usually involving the credence and labor of the members of the community who were not part of the original revelation. Stewart also draws a link between the increased intensity of dreaming and the transformations in the life of the community, such as the emergence of the Greek nation-state followed by the nationalization of emery resources in the 1830s and the global economic depression in the 1930s.99 For Stewart, dreams are an alternative form of historicizing, creating new connections with the past that in turn provide a mechanism for transforming the present.100 In light of these studies, the otherwise confusing treasured records of speeches pronounced by sage rulers in the aftermath of disturbing dreams, in heavy illness, or on a deathbed become meaningful. As already pointed out by Wai-yee Li, in Warring States China, there may have been a “continuum between dreaming and wakeful states, analogous to the fluid boundaries between the realm of the spirits and the human world.”101 Thus revelatory

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dreams and other liminal experiences had a potential of triggering social transformations, which were actualized through reciprocal actions when the dream was explained or the liminal experience was narrated. Such performative acts became objects of value. Through writing, they were reified and converted into a reflective state, and then deposited with other treasures to accumulate power for their owners. The regular ritual performance of such treasured texts prescribed in chapters “Chang mai,” “Da ju,” and “Shi ji” of the Yi Zhou shu provides a mechanism to shift them to the active state again, circulating their value among the audiences and thereby realizing their potential for social transformation. Note that this circulation does not involve exchange: the text remains in the owner’s possession, even though its power is actualized through a performative act that can involve multiple individuals.102 Kaltenmark observed a long time ago that royal heirloom treasures in ancient China were something more complex than antiquarian objects that could be sold at a handsomely high price.103 This observation accords with Gernet’s remark concerning the understanding of value in ancient Greek mythology: “The mythical notion of value tends to be total, and it touches the whole ensemble of economics, religion, politics, law, aesthetics.”104 Ancient Chinese treasures should be understood as similar all-encompassing deposits of mystical power, with a capacity to transform the present and the future through creative energies accumulated from the past. A special variety of such artifacts are texts, which combine the properties of heirloom treasures with utterable verbal records. This combination makes it possible to reenact ritual performances in full complexity, without losing any detail of the efficacious speech. Such voiced heirlooms allow for an extremely vivid engagement with the revered individuals from the past whose energies they encapsulate.105 There are different strategies for creating such textual treasures, and the records of speeches pronounced in liminal states are but one among several; detaching an epigraphic text from a charged artifact whose properties the text inherits provides an alternative means of achieving a similar effect, as we have seen in the Zhongshan inscriptions. In chapter 2, I have shown that scriptures were understood as a multimedia category, originating not only from textual records but also from epigraphic artifacts. It is now possible to refine this observation: the value of scriptures as texts is in part derived from their membership in the broader category of empowering royal heirlooms.

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AUTHORITATIVE PRECEDENTS IN THE ZHONGSHAN INSCRIPTIONS

The Zhongshan bronzes introduced earlier in this chapter combine the properties of precious heirloom artifacts and scriptural texts in a most illustrative way. On the one hand, they borrow from the patterns of earlier scriptural texts, testifying to their lasting normative value. On the other hand, they reactualize the old patterns borrowed from these texts to create a new scriptural precedent for the future generations of Zhongshan rulers, reifying the text in the form of a material artifact that can be preserved as a durable source of power in a reflective state. It is worth remembering that the Zhongshan bronzes were created only about a decade after Zhongshan officially proclaimed itself a kingdom in 323 bce, having formed a tactical alliance with Yan and the states of Wei, Hann, and Zhao. The rulers of these states formally recognized one another as “kings” (wang 王), thereby challenging the remnants of the eroded authority of the kings of Zhou.106 In its new quality as a kingdom, Zhongshan may have been pressed to acquire the paraphernalia that would make it comparable with the Zhou royal house, not only in name but also in substance. The new dynasty may have used scriptural texts commemorating the foundational conquest to elevate itself to the rank of the kings Wen and Wu of Zhou.107 In this sense, the modest campaign against Yan, in which Zhongshan played second fiddle to Qi, may have been reinterpreted as the counterpart of King Wu’s victory over Shang, the focal point of the Zhou scriptural tradition. To present oneself as an equal of the Western Zhou sage rulers was an ambitious undertaking that understandably would not gain universal support. As discussed in chapter 2, the Mozi laments the chasm between the scriptures of ancient sage kings and those created by contemporary monarchs that monumentalize aggression and parochial ambitions in the place of universal virtue. Mozi’s criticism probably referred to such texts as the ones we see exquisitely performed on the outer surfaces of the Zhongshan vessels. But the king of Zhongshan was not the main beneficiary of the Zhongshan scriptures. By mobilizing the dichotomy between the issuing and mediating authority, the Zhongshan inscriptions manage to promote the “wise counselor” Sima Gu to a spectacularly high position, putting him above the king in all but name. He seems to reap the full benefit of the precedents set by the Duke of Zhou and particularly the Grand Duke, presenting himself as

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the living embodiment of the Mandate of Heaven, authorized to do anything he wishes on the king’s behalf. Consider the following passage from the ding inscription: 昔者，吾先考成王，早棄羣臣，寡人幼童，未通智，唯傅姆是從，天 ． 降 休 命 于 朕 邦 ，有厥忠臣賈，克順克比，亡不率仁，敬順天德，以左 ． ． ．． ． ． 右寡人，使知社稷之任，臣主之宜，夙夜不懈，以誘108 導寡人。 Formerly, my late father King Cheng left his officials prematurely. I, the Solitary One, was still underage. Having not yet mastered the knowledge, I could only follow my guardians. But Heaven sent down its graceful Mandate [boldface added] on our state, and I acquired my loyal servant Gu.109 Able to comply, able to differentiate [between subordinates], there was nothing in which he would not lead the humane [people], respectfully complying with the virtues of Heaven in order to protect me, the Solitary One. He made known to me the duties of [the protection] of the altars of grain and earth and the duties of relations between servants and masters. He stayed without repose from morning till night in order to guide me, the Solitary One.

Although the Zhongshan inscriptions do not talk about the Dao, they seem to subscribe to the zero-anxiety conception of royal legitimacy through the employment of a counselor who “possesses the Dao,” which we have seen in the Grand Duke traditions. After the Zhongshan king acquires this miraculous gift from Heaven, he is freed not only from all his worries, but also from all burdens of kingship altogether! The ding inscription is very straightforward on this point: 烏呼攸哉，天其有型于在厥邦，是以寡人委任之邦,而去之遊,亡懅惕 之慮。 Wuhu! How profound! Heaven expressed its will for this state, so I, the Solitary One, appointed him [Sima Gu] over the [affairs of the] state and then withdrew to roam at ease, having freed my mind from worries and fear.

Kingship is effectively reduced here to idle pleasures, which are presented as an inviolable Mandate of Heaven. Yuri Pines observes that the Zhongshan inscriptions appear to be products of the “overwhelmingly pro-ministerial political discourse of the Warring States period,” which “contained seeds of

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potential usurpation.”110 Indeed, the inscriptions paint a fairly grim picture of the total subjugation of Zhongshan kings to Sima Gu, with the kings entirely losing control over the affairs of their own state. All this is not simply the minister’s boastful attempt to write himself into history. Like other heirloom treasures, Zhongshan inscriptions have a contractual aspect, promising their powers to posterity on the condition of acceptance of their didactic message. This is particularly visible in the concluding sections, which replicate the anxious future-projected didactic messages typical of the royal colloquies (apparently, King Cuo’s heirs are not freed from anxiety because it is not clear whether they will be blessed with such an excellent counselor as Sima Gu). I have already cited the conclusion of the fanghu inscription, and here is the corresponding section of the ding inscription: 尔毋大而肆，毋富而驕，毋眾而囂。鄰邦難親，仇人在旁。烏呼，念 之哉，子子孫孫，永定保之，毋替厥邦。 Do not be obstinate when you are grand! Do not be arrogant when you are wealthy! Do not be blusterous when you are numerous! The neighboring countries are hard to be friends with, and the enemies are always by the side! Wuhu! Meditate on it! Sons and grandsons, eternally preserve it in a resolute way! Do not neglect your state!

In light of the Zhongshan inscriptions, the related scriptural texts in the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions acquire a new dimension as potent, almost sinister instruments of power. They provided much-desired precedents for ambitious learned elites, allowing them to position themselves as almost equal to the monarchs in their authority—and superior to monarchs in their wisdom. As a result of the accumulation of such scriptural precedents, it became impossible to imagine the feats of foundational sage rulers without the contributions of their counselors. This transformation of collective memory took the monumental effort of generations of textual experts who worked to entrench the likes of themselves in the authoritative past, thus securing their collective position in the present and the future. The notion of the mediating authority of textual experts as opposed to the issuing authority of sage kings played a crucial role in this enterprise. While texts inherited their empowering capacities from heirloom treasures, textual experts derived their authority from texts. This fact explains why the possession of scribes and wise counselors was imagined as a token of legitimacy

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similar to the possession of heirloom treasures (chapter 5). These ideas seem to have had a lasting and far-reaching influence. As discussed by Seidel, they appear to have helped shape the concept of kokuhō 國寶 in Japan, which encompasses all the elements of this legitimizing triad: heirlooms, texts, and knowledgeable experts.111 BENEFICIARIES OF THE SCRIPTURAL PRECEDENTS

In his almost complete usurpation of royal authority, Sima Gu appears to present an extreme example of mobilization of authoritative precedents from the past to satisfy individual ambition. But Sima Gu was not alone. In the dynamic environment of the Warring States, competing narratives of the foundational achievements of sage rulers were perpetuated by multiple textual lineages claiming to transmit the wisdom of different ancient authorities. As argued in the previous chapter, both the claimants of the Zhou scribal tradition and early Daoists were engaged in this enterprise, differing somewhat in their conceptions of authority, but remaining similar in their authoritative texts—even to the extent of directly borrowing from the competing tradition. Members of all such lineages sought to offer legitimizing expertise in exchange for wealth and prestige. In economic terms, the remarkable intellectual flourishing during the Warring States period must have been, at least in part, fueled by the value of treasure texts as mystical artifacts from antiquity whose powers could be extended to contemporary rulers. This conception was part and parcel of the multicentric world of the Warring States period. Acquisition of virtuous and knowledgeable ministers is a recurrent theme in the literature of the fifth to third centuries bce, and the rulers of different states competed with one another in this game.112 A ruler who did not respect his learned advisers risked being compared to the last king of Shang, whose wise counselors abandoned him, transferring their legitimizing presence to Zhou. All this does not mean that the Warring States monarchs lived in a world of fantasies, believing every story they were told—naturally, they had doubts. However, facing the threat of losing the game to their political rivals, they would accept the somewhat dubious offer of legitimacy not because they fully believed it was genuine, but rather because they were not fully convinced it was false.113 Compared to the risk of possibly losing Heaven’s goodwill, offering employment to a

215 HEIRLOOM TREASURES, SCRIPTURES, AND LEGITIMACY

claimant of an empowering tradition may have appeared as an acceptable trade-off. The independent status of a textual expert and his ability to change royal patrons can only be sustained in a politically decentralized system. Freedom of movement was so fundamental to the learned elites that it was projected— in a brazenly anachronistic fashion—onto the Western Zhou period. Chapter “Da ju” of the Yi Zhou shu describes how King Wen recruited capable ministers from other states: “The ministers from abroad were appointed [to official positions] being exempted from [the regular] rank [requirements]” 賓大夫免列以選. This passage, which uses the example of King Wen to encourage rulers to hire talented officials from competing states, depicts a Warring States—not a Western Zhou—reality. The establishment of centralized empires brought a sudden end to this freedom of movement. Textual experts were now destined to live under one ruler, and the ruler who has eliminated all competitors would no longer be willing to keep their privileges. Perhaps the famous episode in the Shi ji discussing the persecution of scholars and the banning of books can be explained as a clash between the newly emergent centralized power and the scholars, who were accustomed to speaking to the monarch from a position of authority as mediators of the wisdom of ancient sage rulers.114 Jens Petersen and Martin Kern have argued that this persecution aimed to eliminate the very possibility of external critique, making sure that textual expertise was now confined to state officials.115 Although it may not have been practically possible to burn all the undesired books in every household, the Qin government could destroy the scribal records of the conquered kingdoms, erasing the undesired memories and making it impossible to revive ancient polities by ritually activating their charged textual treasures. Simultaneously, the claimants of transcendentalist traditions based on the conception of authority external to that of secular rulers were banned from the public debate, for it was impossible for them to adjust to the changed circumstances and reenter the court. No longer able to empower rulers with their efficacious texts, they were pushed to focus on technical and medical competencies that were specifically exempted from persecution,116 or to adapt their expertise to the demands of lower-ranking clientele. This involuntary social demotion may have precipitated the rise of “popular cults,” which are conventionally seen as one of the sources of religious Daoism, but perhaps should rather be understood as an intermediate stage in its longer, more complex history.117

216 HEIRLOOM TREASURES, SCRIPTURES, AND LEGITIMACY

CONCLUSION

The goal of this chapter is to reassess scriptures against the broader phenomenon of legitimizing heirloom treasures, to which they were closely related during the Warring States period. Scriptures belong to the cultural pivot where, following Gernet and Graeber, economics, religion, politics, law, and aesthetics merged together, creating objects of value that carried in themselves competitive visions of social totality. Those who created or mediated such objects offered blueprints for the organization of society, claiming power and prestige. The Zhongshan inscriptions, heavily influenced by the patterns of scriptural texts, show how deeply such texts were enmeshed in power negotiation, challenging the royal authority and presenting their main beneficiary Sima Gu as an embodiment of Heaven’s will. Considering the entanglement between scriptures and power, an inquiry into the history of scriptural texts must consider the social groups standing behind their creation and circulation. The concept of heirloom treasures, whose ritual transmission necessarily involves the existence of a mediating authority, explains what may have been attractive about the composition and transmission of scriptures. The composers and transmitters of the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies and the related texts in the Grand Duke traditions used them to pursue political and economic benefits, and not just to entertain an interest in history or abstract philosophy. We can thus begin to paint a socioeconomic portrait of the social groups behind these and other related compositions, received and excavated, which have previously attracted little attention partly because of their “orphaned” status. The last three chapters of this book have provided some preliminary observations regarding these groups, some of which I have identified with early Daoism (the Grand Duke texts) and others with the more institutionalized communities claiming a connection with the Zhou scribes (the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies). Future studies will explain the relationship between these competitive scriptural traditions and the better-studied philosophical works that were likely produced in the same milieu. Chronologically, this chapter ends with the creation of the centralized Qin empire. Nevertheless, the story of empowering texts does not end there. The phenomenon of treasure texts endured, leaving a profound influence on both state-endorsed learning and religious traditions, as I shall summarize in the conclusion.

CONCLUSION

This book has adopted a rather broad view of scriptural traditions. Relying on the form-critical method, it has stretched the boundaries of the category of scriptures (shū 書) beyond the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu to include part of the “military” collection Liu tao as well as other Grand Duke texts. In addition, it has proposed to see scriptures as an inherently competitive enterprise that accommodated alternative visions of the foundational past promoted by rival groups. It is impossible to understand the significance of scriptural texts in the Warring States period without paying attention to this polyphonic diversity. But how did it happen that the early scriptural traditions eventually became scattered, to the extent that even the connections between them were forgotten? The categorization of texts in a culture is a dynamic process in which labels change over time and the understandings accumulated over different periods overlap, sometimes in chaotic combinations. As shown by Zhang Ning (chapter 2), to make sense of the history of scriptural traditions, we have to learn to separate these overlapping layers. If “genre” is understood as a means by which a culture distinguishes between the various textualperformative practices in its possession,1 one can identify three stages in the evolution of the genre of scriptures in ancient China.2 During the first stage, some would-be scriptural texts already existed but the genre had not yet been invented. Those texts belonged to different earlier performative practices, not necessarily related to one another. These practices can be justifiably

218 CONCLUSION

viewed as individual genres used in such circumstances as a verbal exchange during an appointment ritual,3 the reenactment of foundational conquests,4 recurring seasonal ceremonies,5 and so forth. Scriptures emerged as a distinctive genre during the second stage, when some texts came to be seen as bequests left by the sage rulers of the past, combining in themselves the properties of texts and empowering heirloom treasures. A body of appropriated scriptures was assembled from earlier epigraphic and manuscript artifacts. At the same time, new texts—created scriptures—started to be composed, in which the contemporary expectations regarding the genre were reflected most clearly. Such texts were often styled as transgenerational dialogs in which the sage rulers explicitly addressed future generations. At the third stage, perhaps as a reaction to the proliferation of competitive and contradictory scriptural traditions, reflexive attention to compositional form and thematic unity started to play an increasingly important role. The scriptural corpus was refocused on the shang shu 尚書, the “venerated scriptures” deemed the most credible and authoritative, and perhaps the most suitable to be used as templates in the ruler’s ritualized communication with his subordinates. The heterogeneity of the scriptural corpus was no longer acceptable, at least in those circles that contributed to the shaping of the canon. The texts considered insufficiently close to the authoritative samples were winnowed out, a process that forced most (but not all!) created scriptures out of the canon. Although some such texts were preserved, they no longer enjoyed the same high prestige.6 Most of the texts discussed in this book belong to the category of created scriptures composed after the genre of scriptures had been invented. The close parallels between the Yi Zhou shu and the early Daoist texts of the Grand Duke traditions suggest that parts of these two projects evolved in direct competition with one another. The connection between the Duke of Zhou and the Grand Duke traditions has already been observed by Matthias Richter, who has suggested that much of the Grand Duke lore (including the Liu tao) reflects the interests of the emergent stratum of a meritocratic bureaucracy.7 This observation allows us to ask new questions concerning the history of early Daoism, which no longer appears as materially disinterested and detached from worldly concerns as often imagined. The communities behind the Grand Duke texts pursued power and prestige while claiming to inherit the tradition of mythical sages, such as the Yellow Thearch 黃帝. By attributing their teachings to this semitranscendent authority, they put

219 CONCLUSION

themselves above the followers of earlier traditions identified with the scribes of historic dynasties. Created scriptures were doubtlessly used to reap benefits at royal courts, but the communities that produced them were not necessarily controlled by any court. Unlike the earlier appropriated scriptures, many of which probably originated from the records of court scribes, created scriptures aimed to retrospectively complement and redefine the image of the foundational past, borrowing from the prestige of the earlier scribal traditions to reshape the relationship between monarchical power and communities of textual experts. While scriptures were attributed to the sage rulers, they simultaneously embedded the notion of mediating authority, represented by the relatively passive scribes or the more active and independent wise counselors, such as the Grand Duke. In any case, the empowering scriptures could only be preserved and transmitted by those who claimed to inherit the traditions emanating from such mediating authorities. Of these two different types of mediating authority, the one represented by the Grand Duke had a broader appeal. The authors of the Shi ji, in their attempts to historicize the legends regarding the origin of the Grand Duke,8 were unable to decide whether he was a poor old fisherman, a recluse dwelling at the seaside, or a wandering persuader—concluding that it only mattered that he had been the instructor of Kings Wen and Wu.9 This summary allows us to imagine the social portrait of the claimants of the Grand Duke traditions. As “a person of obscure origin and humble circumstances,” the Grand Duke could be adopted as a role model by anyone, including people with no aristocratic pedigree and no connections to the learning traditions established by famous masters.10 The multiplicity of the Grand Duke’s biographies and the ideological contradictions in the Grand Duke texts suggest that these texts were created in parallel by multiple communities in a very loosely coordinated way. The biography of the famous Warring States persuader Su Qin 蘇秦 (d. 284 BCE) recorded in the Zhanguo ce and the Shi ji may help to clarify how the Grand Duke transitioned from the universal sage into a narrow specialist on military matters. Coming from a socially humble background, Su Qin rose to prominence by relying solely on his talents and expertise, becoming the single mastermind behind a powerful defensive “vertical alliance” of Yan, Zhao, Hann, Wei, Qi, and Chu against the expansionist military machine of Qin.11 Su Qin is depicted as a pragmatically minded official, an eloquent negotiator, and a spy who masterfully manipulated his loyalties to different rulers in the pursuit of greater goals. It is hardly incidental that the

220 CONCLUSION

story of his spectacular ascension to prominence begins with his exposure to a text called Zhou shu yin fu 周書陰符 (Zhou Scriptures: Secret Tallies) in the Shi ji or Tai gong yin fu 太公陰符 (Grand Duke’s Secret Tallies) in the Zhanguo ce, suggesting a connection with the Grand Duke traditions.12 Yet nothing in Su Qin’s biography reveals any interest in the ritual efficacy of the texts that he relied on. Su Qin used them as a repository of practical knowledge, and the decontextualized citations from the “Zhou shu” in the Zhanguo ce suggest that the ritual dimension of the texts these citations were taken from had become less significant. This commoditized attitude toward texts as repositories of contextually adjustable specialist knowledge must have prevailed by the time the last four juan 卷 of the received Liu tao were composed. Increasingly, these texts adopt the simple model of questions and answers, without the solemn contextual settings characteristic of the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies and the related texts preserved in the first two juan of the Liu tao. The simplification of textual form is paralleled by the narrowing down of the thematic scope, as military matters become the sole concern. Although the rudiments of early scriptural practices were never entirely erased from the Liu tao, they no longer had much importance for the overall understanding of the collection or for the perception of the Grand Duke as a protagonist. Having started off as the transmitter of the universal empowering Dao, he eventually became identified with only one narrow facet of this Dao, the military arts (shù 術). Despite this apparent demise of the Grand Duke from the position of the foremost Daoist authority, the textual traditions offering mystical empowerment did not decline. Most likely, the reinvention of the Grand Duke as a military expert was accompanied by the transfer of supreme esoteric authority to more recently invented characters, above all the mythical sage Laozi 老子, better suited for this role than the Grand Duke, who was perhaps too entangled in history. As is typical of esoteric traditions, the new authority that promised a greater range of mystical gifts came to supplement the earlier one.13 The reshaping of the Grand Duke traditions into the “military” genre was matched by similar developments in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu, even though the shift toward formal consistency in their case was more restricted. The received Shang shu prefers solemn public proclamations over secretive private deliberations, includes more archaic material, and is more formally uniform than the Yi Zhou shu. However, none of these criteria were applied consistently, and both collections inherit chronologically and compositionally

221 CONCLUSION

heterogeneous material from the earlier stages of their formation.14 In fact, the complex formation history of all these interrelated traditions, including the Shang shu, the Yi Zhou shu, and the Grand Duke texts, is impossible to unravel without considering them side by side. Chapter “Hong fan” 洪範 (Great Plan) of the Shang shu, perhaps the most historically influential in the entire collection, is the best example: a brazenly transcendentalist text claiming to have been originally revealed by Heaven to Yu the Great 大禹 and consequently transmitted by the wise counselor Jizi 箕子 to King Wu, who humbly requested the sage’s guidance at the moment of dynastic transition, it seems to include all the key features of the early Daoist lore as discussed in chapter 5. Its integration into the mainstream Ruist tradition must have occurred at the time when the early Daoist strand of transcendentalist esoteric scriptures had not yet become separated from the texts identified with official scribal traditions by strict ideological boundaries. Without considering the extracanonical created scriptures, our understanding of such canonical texts as the “Hong fan” will remain distorted and incomplete. The influence of the created scriptures examined in this book stretches much further than the canonical and noncanonical shū collections. As I have tried to argue in the last two chapters, the significance of scriptures lies not so much in the facts that they narrate as in the authoritative models of social relationships that they establish. The notion of the mediating authority of scribes and esoteric experts, distinct from and in certain ways even superior to the authority of rulers, left a profound imprint on the Daoist conception of ecclesiastical authority. (Perhaps I should emphasize that my tentative vision of early Daoism as a tradition of esoteric empowering texts with a transcendentalist tendency is different from the textbook vision of Daoism as a detached philosophy concerned with nonaction and cosmological speculations.) This issue, discussed briefly in chapter 5, was studied comprehensively by Anna Seidel, who showed how much medieval Daoism depended on the figure of the monarch as a complementary authority to that of an ecclesiastical leader: either the acting emperor in times of stability or an insurgent leader seeking support from the Daoist church in times of unrest.15 The idea of transient legitimacy, which permeates created scriptures, never really went away, and charismatic rebels often received ideological support from Daoists, whom they did not forget to reward in case of success, as happened during the establishment of the Tang dynasty.16 Nevertheless, the promises of real-world empowerment associated with some Daoist texts continued to vex Tang officials. Dominic Steavu provides an insightful example in his

222 CONCLUSION

study of the unpreserved San huang jing 三皇經 (Writ of the Three Sovereigns). This text was believed to have powers to the effect that “when nobles have this scripture, they become monarchs of kingdoms; those among the great statesmen who possess this text will be as parents for the people; those among commoners who possess this text will amass many riches for themselves; and ladies who possess this text will inevitably become empresses.”17 Apparently, Tang officials were unconvinced that these promises were understood metaphorically. As a result, the text was banned in 648, its position in the Daoist ordination ritual was taken over by the Laozi, and today it only survives in disparate fragments. We should be aware that the lack of overt claims to political empowerment in the received Daoist lore is not only a result of Daoism’s internal evolution, but also a consequence of centuries of intentional taming by the state. However, the tradition of state-encouraged learning was also profoundly impacted by the notion of mediating authority pioneered in created scriptures. As observed by Julius Tsai, the last chapter of Sima Qian’s Shi ji, “Taishigong zixu” 太史公自序 (Sequential Outline, Composed by the Grand Historiographer Himself), abounds with the imagery of treasure texts familiar from religious Daoism.18 This chapter advances a fanciful claim that Sima Qian and his father Sima Tan 司馬談 (ca. 165–110 BCE) belonged to an ancient lineage of ministers of the sage primeval rulers Zhuanxu 顓頊, Yao 堯, and Shun 舜, and the descendants of these ministers later became hereditary scribes of the Zhou dynasty.19 This idea establishes a link between the Sima family and the Zhou scribal authority, endowing the authors of the Shi ji with the power to evaluate the deeds of present and past rulers.20 It is hardly incidental that Shi ji (Scribal Records), the title of Sima Qian’s work that became current after the Eastern Han period,21 matches the name of a Yi Zhou shu chapter that has a close counterpart in the Grand Duke traditions, recording the causes for the collapse of twenty-eight ancient states.22 This chapter presents itself as a precious artifact deposited in the royal treasury and extracted periodically for ritualized performance, and it explicitly articulates the conception of the mediating authority of scribes as opposed to the issuing authority of monarchs. Likewise, the last chapter of the Shi ji presents the work of the Sima family as a precious artifact created to make up for the empowering texts dispersed and destroyed during the malicious reign of Qin: “The Dao of Zhou was abandoned, Qin discarded ancient texts, burned the Odes and the Scriptures, and thereby the charts and records preserved on the jade tablets in metal caskets in the Stone Chamber of the Bright

223 CONCLUSION

Hall came into disarray” 周道廢，秦撥去古文，焚滅詩書，故明堂石室 金匱玉版圖籍散亂.23 The goal of Sima Qian was to restore the efficacy of these dispersed treasures by “weaving together the scribal records and the writings from the metal caskets in the Stone Chamber” 紬史記石室金匱之 書.24 After the reconstitution of a precious artifact from disjointed ancient fragments was completed, in addition to the copy preserved in the capital, it was deposited as a concealed treasure at the “famous mountain” 藏之名 山—a trope so familiar from Daoist lore that it is hardly necessary to force a “realistic” interpretation upon it.25 Like created scriptures, this precious text was directed at future generations, but only a sage ruler 後世聖人君子 was deemed worthy of benefiting from such a gift.26 Having reassembled in itself the creative energies and wisdom of countless generations, the Shi ji became an empowering object with its own agency, a concealed treasure waiting to reveal itself in due time to a worthy sage ruler.

Appendix One

SCENIC, FORMALISTIC, AND ALARMING CONTEXTUAL SETTINGS

In tables A.1.1–A.1.3, I list the instances of scenic, formalistic, and alarming contextual settings from the different chapters of the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu.1

TABLE A.1.1  Instances of scenic contextual setting in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu Contextual setting Chapter

Date

Background events

“Gan shi” 甘誓 (Harangue at Gan)a “Pan Geng” 盤庚 (1)b

—

大戰于甘， On the occasion of the great battle at Gan, 盤庚作，惟涉河以民遷。 Pan Geng arose. He was about to cross the river to settle his people [at a new place].

Accompanying actions and addressees

Shang shu

—

乃召六卿。 [the king] summoned the six commanders. 乃話民之弗率，誕告用亶，其 有眾咸造勿褻在王庭，盤庚乃 登進厥民，曰：明聽朕言，無 荒失朕命。 [Pan Geng] then spoke to those of the people who were not willing to follow. He made a great announcement to them with sincerity. The multitudes came along and did not behave frivolously at the royal courtyard. Pan Geng made the people ascend closer. He said: “Listen clearly to my words. Do not disregard my orders!” (continued )

TABLE A.1.1  (continued ) Contextual setting Chapter

Date

“Pan Geng” 盤庚 (2) —

“Pan Geng” 盤庚 (3) —

“Gao zong rong ri” 高宗肜日 (Day of the Supplementary Sacrifice to Gao Zong) “Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎 (The Chief of the West’s Conquest of Li) “Mu shi” 牧誓 (Harangue at Mu)

高宗肜日， On the day of supplementary sacrifice to the High Ancestor,

“Kang gao” 康誥

Background events 盤庚既遷，奠厥攸居。 When Pan Geng had already moved, he established his place of residence. 盤庚遷于殷，民不適有居。 When Pan Geng moved to Yin, the people were not accustomed to dwelling there. 越有雊雉。 there came a crowing pheasant.

—

西伯既戡黎，祖伊恐。 When the ruler of the West conquered Li, Zu Yi was afraid.

時甲子昧爽， It was day jia-zi (1/60), at the break of dawn.

王朝至于商郊牧野。 The king arrived in the morning at the field of Mu in the vicinity of Shang.

惟三月哉生 魄，

周公初基作新大邑于東國 洛。

Accompanying actions and addressees 乃正厥位，綏爰有眾。 [Pan Geng] then rectified official posts, comforted and assisted the multitudes. 率籲眾慼出，矢言曰： [Pan Geng] called out to all the displeased and [addressed them] in rectifying words, saying … 祖己曰：惟先格王正厥事。乃 訓于王，曰： Zu Ji said: “The foremost thing is to rectify the king so that he rightly conducts his affairs.” Then he edified the king, saying . . . 奔告于王，曰： [Zu Yi] diligently reported to the king, saying . . .

乃誓。王左杖黃鉞，右秉白旄 以麾曰：逖矣，西土之人。王 曰：嗟，我友邦冢君、御事、 司徒、司馬、司空、亞旅、師 氏、千夫長、百夫長及庸、 蜀、羌、髳、微、盧、彭、濮 人，稱爾戈，比爾干，立爾 矛，予其誓。 Then he made a declaration. The king, with his left hand, leaned on the yellow battle-axe; with his right hand, [he] held the white pennant. [He] waved it, saying: “It has been a long [way for you], people of western lands!” The king said: “Oh, the great princes of my country, intendants of affairs, ministers of instruction, warfare, and public works, subordinate officers, instructors, heads of thousands and heads of hundreds, and you, the people of Yong, Shu, Qiang, Mao, Wei, Lu, Peng, and Pu! Put your battle-axes straight, arrange your shields in line and set up your spears! I am going to give a declaration!” 四方民大和會。侯、甸、男 邦，采、衛、百工播民和見士 于周。周公咸勤，乃洪大誥 治。

(Announcement to the Prince of Kang)

It was the third month, when [the moon’s] pò was being born.

The Duke of Zhou started to lay the foundation; he made the new great city in the eastern country of Luo.

People from all the four sides came in a great assembly. Various officials and ordinary people from the small states hóu, diàn, and nán, and from căi and wèi fiefs, attended for service at Zhou. The Duke of Zhou applied all his diligence, and then [he] overwhelmingly instructed and rectified. 越七日甲子， 周公乃朝用書命庶殷侯、 太保乃以庶邦塚君出取幣，乃 “Shao gao” 召誥 c (Announcement of On the seventh 甸、男邦伯。厥既命殷庶， 復入錫周公，曰： day, jia-zi (1/60), 庶殷丕作。 The Grand Protector, with the the Duke of Shao) in the morning, the Duke of multitude of great princes of Zhou issued a written decree states, went out to take the gifts; to the numerous elders of the then he reentered and presented Yin small states hóu, diàn, them to the Duke of Zhou, and nán. After he had issued saying . . . a decree to the multitudes of the Yin, the multitudes of the Yin reverently complied. 惟三月， 周公初于新邑洛。 用告商王士。王若曰：爾殷遺 “Duo shi” It was the third The Duke of Zhou went to 多士。 多士 month. the new city of Luo for the [The Duke of Zhou] used (Many Men) first time. [this opportunity] to make an announcement to the men of Shang. Thus said the king: “You, the many remaining men of Yin!” 惟五月丁亥， 王來自奄，至于宗周。 周公曰：王若曰：猷告爾四國 “Duo fang” It was the fifth The king came from Yan and 多方，惟爾殷侯尹民，我惟大 多方 arrived at Zongzhou. 降爾命。 (Numerous Regions) month, day ding-hai (24/60). The Duke of Zhou said: “Thus said the king: ‘I will discourse and tell you, [the people of] the four states and many countries, you, officials and people of the hou of Yin! I greatly bestow a decree upon you!’ ” Yi Zhou shu 王乃出圖商，至于鮮原。 召邵公奭、畢公高。王曰： “He wu” 和寤 — The king set off venturing [to Then he summoned Shi, the Duke (Peaceful conquer] Shang. He arrived at of Shao, and Gao, the Duke of Bi. Awakening) the hilly plains. The king said . . . 維武王勝殷，撫國綏民，乃 告周公旦曰： “Da ju” 大聚 — 觀于殷政。 He summoned Dan, the Duke of (Great Convergence) When King Wu conquered Zhou, and said . . . Yin, he consoled the country and placated the people, and then he inspected the government affairs of Yin. 維王尅殷國，君諸侯，乃厥 王乃升汾之阜以望商邑，永嘆 “Duo yi” 度邑 — 獻民徵，主九牧之師見王 曰：嗚呼！不淑兌天對，遂命 于殷郊。 一日，維顯畏弗忘。王至于 周，自□至于丘中，具明不 寢。王小子御告叔旦。叔旦亟 奔即王，曰 . . . (continued )

TABLE A.1.1  (continued ) Contextual setting Chapter

Date

(Making Measurements of the City)

Background events When the king had subdued the country of Shang and had become lord over the princes, then they [the princes] presented what they had collected from the people, and the masters of the nine regions came to have an audience with the king at the suburbs of [the city] of Yin.

Accompanying actions and addressees Then the king ascended the hill over the Fen river to see the city of Shang. He issued a deep sigh: “Wuhu! [This] misfortune transmits the response from Heaven! [The ruler of Shang] lost the Mandate in one day. [The way of Heaven] is evidently fearful; one should not forget about it!” The king went to Zhou. From Lud all the way to Qiuzhong, he was wide awake and did not sleep. The king’s boy servant informed uncle Dan [the Duke of Zhou]. Uncle Dan rushed hastily and approached the king, saying . . .

a

Here and elsewhere, my translations of chapter titles and chapter contents of the Shang shu are derived from James Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, The Shoo King (Hong Kong; London, 1865). However, on many occasions I diverge from Legge’s interpretations. b In the received tradition, “Pan Geng” is divided into three chapters: shang 上, zhong 中, and xia 下. The sequence of speeches within the traditional division does not seem to match the temporal order in which they were purportedly pronounced. As Yu Yue 俞樾 (1821–1907) first pointed out, the second (zhong) chapter contains a speech given before the transition to the new capital at Yin 殷, and it should therefore be put at the beginning of the sequence, while the first (shang) chapter, which contains an admonition to those settlers who were not accustomed to dwell at a new place, is apparently the last in the temporal sequence: Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, Shang shu jiaoshi yilun (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 900–901. In this table, I follow Yu Yue’s reconstruction. c Here, I only cite the passage immediately preceding the first direct speech utterance in the “Shao gao.” d I emend the empty square with Lu 鹿, following Lu Wenchao 盧文弨, who borrows it from Li Shan’s 李善 commentary to Wenxuan 文選 (Selections of Refined Literature): Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007), 467.

TABLE A.1.2  Instances of formalistic contextual setting in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu Contextual setting Chapter

Date and place

Background events

Accompanying actions and addressees Inquiry

Shang shu “Hong fan” 洪 惟十有三祀， 範 (Great Plan) In the thirteenth sacrificial cycle,

—

王訪于箕子。王乃 言曰： the king visited Jizi. Then the king said:

嗚呼！箕子。惟天陰騭下 民，相協厥居，我不知其彝 倫攸敘。 “Wuhu, Jizi! The Heaven imperceptibly reigns over the people below [so that] they reside in mutual harmony in their places. But I do not know how its perpetual categories are arranged in order.”

Yi Zhou shu “Feng bao” 酆保 (Safeguarding at Feng), juan 3, chapter 21a

維二十三祀庚子朔， (1) In the twenty-third ritual cycle, on [the month with the new moon on] day geng-zi (47/60), 王在酆，昧爽，立于少庭。 (3) The king was at Feng. Before dawn, he stood in the small courtyard.

“Da kai” 大開 (The Great Instruction), juan 3, chapter 22

維王二月既生魄，王在酆。 — In the king’s second month, when [the moon’s] pò was already born, the king was at Feng. He stood in the small courtyard.

“Xiao kai” 小開 (The Lesser Instruction), juan 3, chapter 23

維三十有五祀， (1) In the thirty-fifth ritual cycle,

“Wen zhuan” 文傳 (King Wen’s Bequest), juan 3, chapter 25 “Rou wu” 柔武 (Soft Warfare), juan 3, chapter 26 “Da kai wu” 大開武 (The Great Instruction of King Wu), juan 3, chapter 27

“Xiao kai wu” 小開武 (The Lesser Instruction of King Wu), juan 3, chapter 28

九州之侯咸格 于周。 (2) princes of the nine regions came to Zhou.b —

—

— 正月丙子拜望食無時， (3) In the first month, on day bing-zi (13/60), [they] venerated the eclipse of the full moon that occurred in an untimely fashion. 文王受命之九年，時維莫 — 春，在鄗。 In the ninth year of King Wen’s receiving of the Mandate, in the time of late spring, [the king was] at Hao. 維王元祀一月既生魄， — In the king’s first ritual cycle, in the first month, when [the moon’s] pò was already born,

—

—

王告周公旦曰： (4) The king made an announcement to the Duke of Zhou, saying:

嗚呼！諸侯咸格來慶，辛苦 役商，吾何保守？何用行？ (5) “Wuhu! All the princes have come to celebrate. [They] are heavily burdened with their service to Shang. How can I safeguard? How shall [I] act?” —

兆墓九開，開厥後 人，八儆五戒。 Having conceived the nine instructions, he instructed his posterity in the eight warnings and five admonitions. 王念曰：多□ — (2) the king said in contemplation: “The many . . .” — 汝開後嗣謀。 (4) “You should instruct the heir in planning!”

太子發曰c：吾語汝， — 我所保所守，守之哉。 [The king summoned] Heir Apparent Fa, saying: “I tell you: what I preserve and what I keep, keep it [also]!” 王召周公旦曰： — the king summoned Dan, the Duke of Zhou, saying . . .

維王一祀二月，王在酆， In the king’s first ritual cycle, the second month, the king was at Feng.

—

密命訪於周公旦曰： [He] secretly ordered Dan, the Duke of Zhou, to pay a visit, saying:

嗚呼！余夙夜維商密不顯， 誰和？告歲之有秋，今余不 獲其落，若何？ “Wuhu! I am from morning till night [perplexed that] the secrets of Shang are not exposed. How [do I put my mind] at peace? It is reported that the year has yielded its harvest, but now I do not get its produce. What can be done about it?”

維王二祀一月既生魄， In the king’s second ritual cycle, the first month, when [the moon’s] pò was already born,

—

王召周公旦曰：the king summoned Dan, the Duke of Zhou, saying:

嗚呼！余夙夜忌商，不知道 極，敬聽以勤天命。 “Wuhu! I am on guard against Shang from morning till night. I do not know the perfection of the way. [Therefore] I am reverently listening [to your advice] in order to toil on the [accomplishment] of the Mandate of Heaven.” (continued )

TABLE A.1.2  (continued ) Instances of formalistic contextual setting in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu Contextual setting Background events

Accompanying actions and addressees Inquiry

Chapter

Date and place

“Bao dian” 寶典 (Treasured Statute), juan 3, chapter 29

維王三祀，二月丙辰朔， — 王在鄗。 In the king’s third ritual cycle, in the second month with the new moon on day bing-chen (53/60), the king was at Hao.

召周公旦曰： — [The king] summoned Dan, the Duke of Zhou, saying . . .

“Feng mou” 酆謀 (Planning at Feng), juan 3, chapter 30

維王三祀，王在酆。 — In the king’s third ritual cycle, the king was at Feng.

謀言告聞。王召周公 旦曰： The words of [the enemy] plans were reported. The king summoned Dan, the Duke of Zhou, saying:

嗚呼！商其咸辜，維日望 謀建功，謀言多信，今如 其何？ “Wuhu! Oh, all the transgressions of Shang! Every day I look into the future and plan how to accomplish a feat. The words of [the enemy] plans are very credible. Now what shall I do?”

“Cheng kai” 成開 (King Cheng’s Instruction), juan 5, chapter 47

成王元年， In the first year of King Cheng,

—

大開告用周公曰： [the king requested] the great induction from the Duke of Zhou, saying:

嗚呼！余夙夜之勤，今商孽 競時逋播以輔，余何循，何 循何慎？ “Wuhu! My daily and nightly toil! Now the spawn of Shang are hurriedly dispersing to protect themselves. How shall I chase [them]? How shall I chase them and how shall I be cautious?”

“Huang men” 皇門 (August Gate), juan 5, chapter 49

維正月庚午， In the first month, on day geng-wu (7/60),

—

周公格于左閎門，會 — 群臣，曰： the Duke of Zhou came to the left alley gate to conduct an audience with the many officials. He said . . .

“Da jie” 大戒 (Great Admonition), juan 5, chapter 50

維正月既生魄， — In the first month, when [the moon’s] pò was already born,

王訪于周公曰： the king, being visited by the Duke of Zhou, said:

嗚呼！朕聞：維時兆厥工。 非不顯，朕實不明。維士非 不務而不得助。大則驕，小 則懾，懾謀不極，予重位與 輕服，非共得福，厚用遺。 庸止生郄，庸行信貳，眾輯 群政，不輯多匿。嗚呼！予 夙勤之，無或告余，非不 念，念不知。 “Wuhu! I have heard: ‘One should in a timely manner show one’s accomplishments.’ It is not that [I] do not demonstrate [them], but I am truly not illuminated. Speaking of men, it is not that I do not employ [them, but even though I do,] I still do not receive aid. The greater are arrogant, and the smaller are cowardly; and plans with the cowardly do not reach the pinnacle. When I give [them] important appointments and

light responsibilities, it is not that [we] mutually profit, and the ample investments are lost. If the petty [men] are obstructed, they cause ruffles, if the petty [men] are employed, they put their trust in the treacherous. If the masses are under control, then everybody is governed, and if they are not controlled, many will flee. Wuhu! I toil [on this from early] morning, [and yet] there is nobody to announce [the solution] to me. It is not that I do not contemplate, I do contemplate, but I still do not understand!” “Ben dian” 本典 (Basic Statute), juan 6, chapter 57

維四月既生魄王在東宮。 In the fourth month, when [the moon’s] pò was already born, the king was at the Eastern Palace.

—

嗚呼！朕聞武考，不知乃 召公告周公曰： 問，不得乃學。俾資不肖， He summoned the d Duke of Zhou, saying: 永無惑矣。今朕不知明德所 則，政教所行，字民之道， 禮樂所生，非不念而知，故 問伯父。 “Wuhu! I have heard of my late Father Wu that, when he did not know [a certain thing], he would ask, and if he did not achieve [something], he would learn [about it]. [Doing so], he caused the resources not to dwindle, and he never had any perplexities. Now I do not know how to regulate the bright De-virtue and how to conduct the instruction of governance. [I do not know] the way of loving the people and the source of ritual and music. It is not that one can understand this without contemplating [it]! For this reason, I ask you, uncle!”

“Shi ji” 史 記 (Scribal Records), juan 8, chapter 61

維正月王在成周。昧爽， In the first month, the king was at Chengzhou. Before dawn,

—

召三公、左史、戎 夫曰： he summoned the Three Dukes, the Left Scribe and the Armed Men, saying . . .

—

a Unusually for the Yi Zhou shu, in “Feng bao” the numerical lists that constitute the main body of the text can be read not as part of the dialogic

exchange, but rather as part of the narrative: these lists appear to have been inscribed by King Wen on a stone stele at Chong 崇. “Feng bao” is the only chapter in the Yi Zhou shu where the background events interrupt the date and place information, which normally appears as an indivisible unit. I had to accommodate this interruption by inserting an additional row. I do likewise for the entry corresponding to chapter “Xiao kai.” c Lu Wenchao 盧文弨 (1717–1796), who published an influential collated edition of the Yi Zhou shu, adds a character zhao 召 at the beginning of this passage, building on a citation in the Taiping yulan 太平御覽 published in 978: Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 237. I believe that this emendation is necessary to make a sensible reading of the text, and I accept it in my translation. However, I am reluctant to accept the other emendations of this passage proposed by Lu Wenchao because they substitute a fully valid reading of the original with a “more complete” reading of the version preserved in citations. d In the received recension of the Yi Zhou shu, the text reads, “The Duke of Shao made an announcement to the Duke of Zhou.” However, what follows is a speech mentioning the late father King Wu, which is clearly attributed to the young King Cheng. I agree with Sun Yirang and other commentators who find this passage corrupt: Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 751. In the translation, I follow the passage from an alternative recension preserved in the Shi lüe: 維四月既望既生魄，王在東宮，召周公旦; see Gao Sisun 高似孫, Shi lüe 史略 (Guyi congshu ed.), 6.9b. However, this alternative rendering has not escaped corruption either because the two yuexiang terms, jiwang 既望 and jishengpo 既生魄, cannot follow each other. b

TABLE A.1.3  Instances of alarming contextual setting in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu Contextual setting Chapter

Year, month

King’s condition

Day

“Jin teng” 金滕 (Metal-Bound Coffer)

既克商二年， In the second year after the subjugation of Shang,

王有疾弗豫。 the king had an acute illness; he would not recover.

“Gu ming” 顧命 (Testamentary Charge)

惟四月哉生魄， 王不懌。 In the fourth month, the king was when [the moon’s] indisposed. pò was being born,

“Wen jing” 文儆 (King Wen’s Distress), juan 3, chapter 24

—

“Wù jing” 寤敬 (Distress at Awakening), juan 3, chapter 31

維四月朔， 王告儆。 — In the fourth month, the king made an on the new moon, announcement concerning distress.

Accompanying action and addressees Inquiry

Shang shu —

—

—

甲子， 王乃洮頮水。相被冕 — On day jia-zi, 服，憑玉幾。乃同。 召太保奭、芮伯、彤 伯、畢公、衛侯、毛 公、師氏、虎臣、百 尹、御事。 the king washed his face. He was assisted to put on the clothes and the headdress; [he] leaned on the jade table. Then the king called an assembly. He summoned the Great Protector Shi, the Earl of Rui, the Earl of Tong, the Duke of Bi, the Marquis of Wei, the Duke of Mao, the master of court affairs, the royal guard, various officers, and superintendents of affairs. Yi Zhou shu

維文王告夢，懼後 庚辰 On day geng祀之無保。 chen (17/60), King Wen made an announcement concerning a dream. He feared that the heira would not be preserved.

詔太子發曰：汝敬 之哉！ [the king] summoned Heir Apparent Fa, saying: “Be reverent toward this!”

—

召周公旦曰： He summoned Dan, the Duke of Zhou, saying:

嗚呼！謀泄哉！今 朕寤有商驚予，欲 與無□則，欲攻無 庸，以王不足，戒 乃不興，憂其深 矣！

“Wuhu! The plans are leaking! Today, as I was awakening, Shang distressed me: ‘You want to receive [rulership], and yet have no [appropriate] rank; you want to attack, and yet have no military achievements; you do not suffice to be king, and beware of your inability!’ My anxiety is severe!” “Wǔ jing” 武儆 (King Wu’s Distress), juan 4, chapter 45

惟十有二祀四月， In the twelfth ritual cycle, in the fourth month,

王告夢。 the king made an announcement about a dream.

丙辰 On day bingchen (53/60),

出金枝郊寶開和 — 細b書，命詔周公旦， 立後嗣，屬小子誦文 及寶典。王曰：嗚 呼！敬之哉！汝勤之 無蓋！ [the king] took out the jiào treasure [decorated with] metal rods, the writings on silk concerning instruction and harmonization. [He] issued a command to summon Dan, the Duke of Zhou, to establish the heir, to admonish the offspring to recite the writing and the treasured statute. The king said: “Wuhu! Be reverent toward this and do not cause harm!”

“Wu quan” 五權 (Five Balances), juan 5, chapter 46

—

維王不豫。 The king was indisposed.

于五日 On the fifth day,

召周公旦曰： — [the king] summoned Dan, the Duke of Zhou, saying . . .

a

I read housi 後祀 (“later sacrifice”) as 後嗣 (“heir”), following Gao Sisun, Shi lüe (Guyi congshu 古逸叢書 ed.), 6.8a. Following Zhu Junsheng 朱駿聲 (1788–1858), I read xi 細 (“minute,” “thin”) as chou 紬 (“silk fabric”). The two characters are graphically similar, and the infrequent chou 紬 could have been replaced by the common xi 細 : Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007), 485.

b

Appendix Two

SUMMARY OF THE ZHOU SHU IN THE SHI LÜE    

Appendix Three

“SEQUENTIAL OUTLINE OF THE ZHOU SCRIPTURES”

Number

Text and translation

1

昔在文王，商紂並立，困于虐政，將弘道以弼無道，作度訓。 In the past, when King Wen and [King] Zhou of Shang reigned simultaneously, [King Wen] was perplexed by tyrannical governance. [He] used the generous Dao to make up for the lack of Dao. Thus was composed the chapter “Lesson on Measures.”

2

殷人作教，民不知極，將明道極，以移其俗，作命訓。 When the people of Yin made instructions, the commoners did not know about the limits. [King Wen] elucidated the limits of the Dao in order to alter their customs. Thus was composed the chapter “Lesson on the Mandate.”1

3

紂作淫亂，民散無性習常，文王惠和化服之，作常訓。 [King] Zhou [of Shang] indulged in extravagant debauchery. The commoners were dispersed and lost the capacity to exercise their regular [activities]. King Wen in a charitable way persuaded them to mend their ways. Thus was composed the chapter “Lesson on Constancy.”

4

上失其道，民散無紀，西伯修仁，明恥示教，作文酌。 As the ruler lost his Dao and the commoners dispersed in disorder, the Earl of the West [King Wen] refined himself in humaneness. He elucidated the [norms of] shame and made manifest the instruction. Thus was composed the chapter “Pondering on Cultivation.”

5

上失其道，民失其業，□□凶年，作糴匡。 As the ruler lost his way, the commoners lost their vocations. . . . lean years. Thus was composed the chapter “Rectification of Grain Procurement.”

6

文王立，西距昆夷，北備獫狁，謀武以昭威懷，作武稱。 When King Wen assumed his position, in the west he withstood the Kunyi, [while] in the north he prepared against the Xianyun.2 He planned warfare in order to illuminate his awesomeness and magnanimity. Thus was composed the chapter “Balance of Warfare.”3

240 “SEQUENTIAL OUTLINE OF THE ZHOU SCRIPTURES”

7

武以禁暴，文以綏德，大聖允兼，作允文。 Warfare is used to stave off violence. Cultivation is used to retain the De-virtue. A great sage [is one who] truly combines both. Thus was composed the chapter “True Cultivation.”

8–10

武有七德，文王作大武、大明武、小明武三篇。 In warfare, there are seven virtues. Thus King Wen composed “Great Warfare,” “Great Illumined Warfare,” and “Lesser Illumined Warfare”—three chapters.

11–16

穆王遭大荒，謀救患分，□大匡 King Mu4 encountered a great famine. He planned how to rescue those who suffer and to divide. . . . [Thus was composed] “Great Rectification.” 此有脫簡□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□，

作九間。 [Commentary in small characters:] There are missing characters here.5 . . . Thus was composed the chapter “Nine Intervals.”6 17

文王唯庶邦之多難，論典以匡謬，作劉法。 King Wen, thinking of the numerous troubles of the many [subordinate] countries,7 discussed the past precedents in order to correct mistakes. Thus was composed the chapter “Rules of Capital Punishment.”

18

文王卿士，諗發教禁戒，作文開。 The officials of King Wen made suggestions regarding the promotion of instruction and the imposition of precepts. Thus was composed the chapter “King Wen’s Instruction.”

19

維美公命于文王，脩身觀天，以謀商難，作保開。 Duke Jiang received an order from King Wen to refine himself and to observe Heaven in order to [make] plans regarding the troubles caused by Shang. Thus was composed the chapter “Instruction on Safeguarding.”8

20

文王訓乎武王以繁害之戒，作文繁。 King Wen instructed King Wu with admonitions regarding various harms. Thus was composed the chapter “King Wen on Various Harms.”9

21

文王在酆，命周公謀商難，作酆保。 King Wen was at Feng. [He] ordered the Duke of Zhou to [make] plans regarding the troubles caused by Shang. Thus was composed the chapter “Safeguarding at Feng.”

22–23

文啟謀乎後嗣，以脩身敬戒，作大開、小開二篇。 [King] Wen instructed the Heir Apparent in planning so that he would refine himself and be reverent toward precepts. Thus were composed the “Great Instruction” and the “Lesser Instruction,” two chapters.

24

文王有疾，告武王以民之多變，作文儆。 King Wen was gravely ill. He made an announcement to King Wu regarding the many changes of the commoners. Thus was composed the chapter “King Wen’s Distress.”

25

文王告武王以序德之行，作文傅。 King Wen informed King Wu about the workings of the strong De-virtue.10 Thus was composed the chapter “King Wen’s Bequest.”11

26

文王既沒，武王嗣位，告周公禁五戒，作柔武。 When King Wen passed away, King Wu inherited his position. He made an announcement to the Duke of Zhou regarding the prohibition of the “five threatening weapons.”12 Thus was composed the chapter “Soft Warfare.”13

241 “SEQUENTIAL OUTLINE OF THE ZHOU SCRIPTURES”

27–28

武王忌商，周公勤天下，於大、小開武二篇。 King Wu was on guard against Shang. The Duke of Zhou exerted himself for AllUnder-Heaven. Thus were made the “Great” and the “Lesser Instruction of King Wu,” two chapters.14

29

武王評周公維道以為寶，作寶典。 King Wu remarked to the Duke of Zhou that it is the Dao that should be treasured. Thus was composed the chapter “Treasured Statute.”

30

商謀啟平周，周人將興師以承之，作酆謀。 The Shang planned how to begin the subjugation of Zhou. The people of Zhou were about to deploy troops to confront them. Thus was composed the chapter “Planning at Feng.”

31

武王將起師伐商，寤有商儆，作寤儆。 King Wu was about to raise troops to attack Shang. In a light dream, he was distressed about Shang. Thus was composed the chapter “Distress at Awakening.”15

32–33

周將伐商，順天革命，申諭武義，以訓乎民，作武順、武穆二篇。 The Zhou were about to attack Shang, [yielding] obedience to Heaven’s change of the Mandate. [They] amply elucidated the fundamentals of warfare in order to instruct people in them. Thus were composed “Martial Compliance”16 and “Martial Solemnity,” two chapters.

34–35

武王將行大事乎商郊，乃明德□眾，作和寤、武寤二篇。 King Wu was about to perform a great feat in the suburb of [the city of] Shang. Then he . . . the multitude with the bright De-virtue. Thus were composed “Peaceful Awakening” and “Martial Awakening,” two chapters.

36

武王率六州之兵車三百五十乘以滅殷，作克殷。 King Wu led the armies of the six regions with 350 chariots to extinguish Yin. Thus was composed the chapter “Conquest of Yin.”

37–38

武王作克商，建三監以救其民，為之訓範

39

此有脫簡□□□□□□□□□，作大聚。17

King Wu, having conquered Shang, established the three superintendents in order to aid their commoners and to conduct for them instruction in models [of appropriate behavior]. [Commentary in small characters:] There are missing characters here. . . . Thus was composed the chapter “Great Convergence.” 40

此有脫簡□□□□□□□□□□□

[Commentary in small characters:] There are missing characters here.18 41

武王既釋箕子囚，俾民辟寧之以王，作箕子。 When King Wu had released Jizi from captivity, he made the commoners condole him in a lord-like fashion as a king. Thus was composed the chapter “Jizi.”19

42

武王秉天下，論德施□而□位以官，作考德。 King Wu took control of All-Under-Heaven. [He] discoursed on the De-virtue and implemented . . . and . . . the positions with official appointments. Thus was composed the chapter “Examination of the De-virtue.”20

43

武王命商王之諸侯綏定厥邦，申義告之，作商誓。 King Wu ordered the princes [formerly] subordinate to the king of Shang to appease and stabilize their domains. [He] extended the [principles of] rightness in an announcement to them. Thus was composed the chapter “Harangue Concerning Shang.”

242 “SEQUENTIAL OUTLINE OF THE ZHOU SCRIPTURES”

44

武王平商，維定保天室，規擬伊雒，作度邑。 King Wu subjugated Shang. To establish the position of the precious heavenly abode, he made a survey in the region of [the rivers] Yi and Luo. Thus was composed the chapter “Making Measurements of the City.”

45

武王疾

46

此有脫簡□□□□□□□□□□□命周公輔小子，告以正要，作五權。

King Wu was gravely ill . . . [Commentary in small characters:] There are missing characters here.21 . . . He ordered the Duke of Zhou to assist his little son and announce to him the essence of governance. Thus was composed the chapter “Five Balances.” 47

武王既沒，成王元年，周公忌商之孽，訓敬命，作成開。 After King Wu had passed away, in the first year of King Cheng, the Duke of Zhou was on guard against the offspring of Shang. He made an instruction regarding reverence toward the Mandate [of Heaven]. Thus was composed the chapter “King Cheng’s Instruction.”

48

周公既誅三監，乃述武王之志，建都伊雒，作作洛。 After the Duke of Zhou had done justice to the three superintendents, following the will of King Wu, he established a capital city in [the area of the rivers] Yi and Luo. Thus was composed the chapter “Establishment of the City at Luo.”22

49

周公會群臣于閎門，以輔主之格言，作皇門。 The Duke of Zhou convened the many officials at the lane gate in order to assist them with correct words regarding the ruler. Thus was composed the chapter “August Gate.”

50

周公陳武王之言以贊已言，戒乎成王，作大戒。 The Duke of Zhou laid out the words of King Wu to validate his own words as he made an admonition to King Cheng. Thus was composed the chapter “Great Admonition.”

51

周公正三統之義，作周月。 The Duke of Zhou rectified the meaning of the three calendrical systems. Thus was composed the chapter “The First Month of the Zhou Calendar.”

52

辯二十四氣之應，以明天時，作時訓。 [The Duke of Zhou] distinguished the correspondences of the twenty-four seasons in order to elucidate the heavenly times. Thus was composed the chapter “Seasonal Instructions.”

53

周公制十二月賦政之法，作月令。 The Duke of Zhou designed the order of promulgation of policies for the twelve months of the year. Thus was composed the chapter “Monthly Ordinances.”

54

周公肇制文王之諡義以垂于後，作諡法。 The Duke of Zhou formalized the meanings of posthumous names according to King Wen in order to pass them over to posterity. Thus was composed the chapter “Order of Posthumous Names.”

55

周公將致政成王，朝諸侯於明堂，作明堂。 The Duke of Zhou was about to pass the governance to King Cheng. He held an audience with the princes at the Bright Hall. Thus was composed the chapter “Bright Hall.”

243 “SEQUENTIAL OUTLINE OF THE ZHOU SCRIPTURES”

56

成王既即政，因嘗麥以語群臣而求助，作嘗麥。 King Cheng, having assumed the governance, employed the occasion of the ceremony of the tasting of wheat to talk to the ministers and ask for assistance. Thus was composed the chapter “Tasting of Wheat.”

57

周公為太師，告成王以五徵則，作本典。 When the Duke of Zhou held the office of the Grand Instructor, he made an announcement to King Cheng regarding the five principles of recruitment. Thus was composed the chapter “Basic Statute.”

58

成王訪周公以民事，周公陳六以觀察之，作官人。 King Cheng paid a visit to the Duke of Zhou regarding the affairs of the subordinates.23 The Duke of Zhou expounded the six [principles] to examine them.24 Thus was composed the chapter “The Officials.”

59

周室既寧，八方會同，各以其職來獻，欲垂法厥後，作王會。 After the House of Zhou came to tranquility, the [peoples of] the eight cardinal directions assembled together, coming to present offerings—each with their own produce. [The king] expressed a desire to pass over the way [of presenting tribute] to posterity. Thus was composed the chapter “Royal Assemblies.”

60

周公云歿，王制將衰，穆王因祭祖不豫，詢其守位，作祭公。 The Duke of Zhou had passed away, and the order of kingship was heading toward decline. King Mu, on the occasion of the illness of the Lord of Zhai, consulted with him regarding the preservation of his position. Thus was composed the chapter “The Duke of Zhai.”

61

穆王思保位惟難，恐貽世羞，欲自警悟，作史記。 King Mu pondered how difficult it is to safeguard the [royal] position. He was afraid that he would leave a bad name to [future] generations. [Therefore] he desired to warn himself and bring himself to reason. Thus was composed the chapter “Scribal Records.”

62

王化雖弛，天命方永，四夷八蠻，攸尊王政，作職方。 Although the transformative power of kingship slackened, the Mandate of Heaven was still lasting. The four yi and the eight mán [tribes] abided in respect of kingly governance. Thus was composed the chapter “Official in Charge of Tribes.”

63

芮伯稽古作訓，納王于善，暨執政小臣，咸省厥躬，作芮良夫。 The Earl of Rui, having examined antiquity, composed instructions. He directed the king toward goodness, so that the petty officials executing governance would [also] all examine themselves. Thus was composed the chapter “Rui Liangfu.”

64

晉侯尚力侵我王略，叔向聞儲幼而果賢，□復王位，作太子晉。 The Marquis of Jin was still strong enough to invade our king’s borders. Shu Xiang heard that the Heir Apparent was young and yet indeed wise. . . . returned the kingly position. Thus was composed the chapter “Heir Apparent Jin.”

65

玉者德以飾躬，用為所佩。 The jade is for the virtuous to adorn himself, to use it for girding.25

66

夏多罪，湯將放之，徵前事以戒後王也，作殷祝。 As the [ruler of] Xia multiplied his crimes, Tang was going to exile him. He investigated the past deeds in order to admonish future kings. Thus was composed the chapter “Yin Incantation.”

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67

民非后罔乂，后非民罔與為邦，慎政在微，作周祝。 If people do not have a ruler, there will be no order, and a ruler without people does not have anyone to organize a state with. Cautious governance lies in intricate detail. Thus was composed the chapter “Zhou Incantation.”

68

武以靖亂，非直不剋，作武紀。 [When using] warfare to calm the chaos, [those who] are not forthright will not succeed. Thus was composed [the chapter] “Martial Discipline.”26

69

積習生常，不可不慎，作銓法。 [With regard to] the ingrained habits and life routines [one] cannot be incautious. Thus was composed [the chapter] “Method of Appraisal.”

70

車服制度，明不苟踰，作器服。 The regulations concerning chariots and robes are obviously not to be passed by in carelessness. Thus was composed [the chapter] “Utensils and Robes.” 周道於乎大備。 The Dao of Zhou was thereupon greatly accomplished.

Appendix Four

PERMUTATIONS OF THE CHAPTER(S) “SHIFA” (ORDER OF POSTHUMOUS NAMES)

As mentioned in chapter 1, judging from the citations in leishu, “Shifa” was among the most frequently read chapters of the Yi Zhou shu in the medieval period. However, the presence of such citations does not necessarily mean that “Shifa” was consulted as part of the larger manuscript of the (Yi) Zhou shu, and it appears to have also existed in a standalone edition. As a text of high referential value, “Shifa” accumulated many changes, coevolving with other similar catalogs of posthumous names before being integrated back into the collection in a profoundly altered state around the sixth to eighth centuries CE. I shall briefly survey the evidence concerning the medieval editions of this text, which provides an extreme example of the extent of textual fluidity within the Yi Zhou shu. Valuable evidence concerning the transformations of “Shifa” survives in Shen Yue’s 沈約 (441–513) preface to his glossary of posthumous names, Shili 謚例 (Historical Examples of Posthumous Names), in which he gives an overview of earlier manuals on posthumous names. This work has not survived, but extracts from it have been preserved in Yuhai 玉海 (Ocean of Jade) by Wang Yinglin 王應麟 (1223–1296). The corresponding passage contains Wang Yinglin’s remarks, Shen Yue’s words, and Shen Yue’s citations from even earlier works, and the boundaries between these three different types of text are sometimes tricky to establish. I offer here my reading of the passage, which is indebted—but not always identical—to that proposed

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by Lou Jin 樓勁 in his critical study of this fragment of the Yuhai. In some cases, the name of the author of a specific passage is explicitly mentioned in the text. In other cases, passages are not attributed, and I supply the names of probable authors in square brackets:1 沈約《諡例》 序云《周書·諡法一》第五十六、《諡法二》第五十七。 今《汲冢書》止一篇，第五十四。書目一卷。《春秋諡法》一卷。 [Wang Yinglin’s note:] Shen Yue’s Historical Examples of Posthumous Names contains2 a “Preface” mentioning the chapters of the Zhou Scriptures “Order of posthumous names I” no. 56 and “Order of posthumous names II” no. 57. In the current Zhou Scriptures from the Tomb at Ji, there is only one chapter, no. 54. [According to the] book catalog,3 it comprises one juan. [There is also] an Order of Posthumous Names of the Annals, one juan.

In this part, Wang Yinglin comments on Shen Yue’s mention of the two “Shifa” chapters in the Zhou shu, nos. 56 and 57, observing that, in the current Jizhong Zhou shu (the same text as the received Yi Zhou shu), there is only one chapter, no. 54. He seems to refer to a standalone version of the same text in one juan. Although Wang does not mention it explicitly, this text was known as the Zhou gong shifa 周公謚法 (Duke of Zhou’s Order of Posthumous Names), and it was believed to have been extracted from the Zhou shu. The other text that he mentions is the Chunqiu shifa 春秋謚法 (Order of Posthumous Names of the Annals). It is not entirely clear why it is mentioned here, but the two were considered related during Wang Yinglin’s time.4 In the commentary written in smaller characters (not included in the previous translation), Wang mentions that the first text was originally extracted by “scholars” (xuezhe 學者) from the Jizhong scriptures, whereas the second was similarly extracted from Du Yu’s Shili 釋例 (Explanations of the Annals). This slightly confusing introduction is followed by extracts from Shen Yue’s text: 沈約案：《諡法上》篇，卷前云：《禮大戴記》，後云：《周書·諡 法》第四十二，又云：凡有一百四十五諡。 Shen Yue’s note: At the beginning of the juan in the first chapter of the “Shifa,” it says: “Li Da Dai ji” [Ritual. Records of Dai the Elder]. Further,5 it says: “Zhou shu, chapter ‘Shifa’ no. 42.” And again: “Overall, 145 posthumous names.”

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案：《大戴禮》及《世本》舊並有《諡法》。今檢十許本，皆無。《 周書·諡法一》第五十六，《諡法二》第五十七，上篇有十餘諡，下篇 唯有第目無諡。名與前所云第四十二又不同矣。 [Shen Yue’s sub-]note: Da Dai li [Ritual of Dai the Elder] and Shiben [Origins of Lineages] have both previously had “orders of posthumous names.” Today, among the ten-odd editions that I have checked, none includes it. In the Zhou shu “Shifa I” no. 56 and “Shifa II” no. 57, the first chapter contains ten-odd posthumous names, while the second chapter only contains the ordinal number, but no posthumous names, which is different from the [chapter] no. 42 mentioned above. 今《諡法》二篇有一百四十八名，卷後又云：靖按：諡有一百九十 四，又云：高、光、明、章、和、順、冲七諡，《諡法》無也，而漢 家用之。約又檢二篇，唯無光耳，其餘並有，而又多不同。 [Shen Yue:] In the two chapters of the current “Shifa,” there are 148 names; in the end of the juan,6 it mentions: “Jing’s note: ‘There are 194 posthumous names.’ ” And again: “Seven posthumous names—Gao, Guang, Ming, Zhang, He, Shun, Chong—are not mentioned in the ‘Shifa’ even though the Han [imperial] house used them.” [I, Shen] Yue, have inspected the two chapters, and only Guang is absent, while all the others are present in both, and yet many are different. 約又案：靖應是張靖，晉江左人也。 [Shen] Yue notes again: The [person called] Jing must be Zhang Jing, a man from the lower regions along the Yangtze who lived during the Jin dynasty.

Shen Yue describes two versions of “Shifa.” Both were split into two chapters. One appears to have been included in the Zhou shu as chapters 56, “Shifa I” 謚法一, and 57, “Shifa II” 謚法二 (in the received Yi Zhou shu, there is only one chapter “Shifa,” no. 54). This version was poorly preserved: only the title remained of the second chapter, while the first one contained just ten-odd posthumous names 十餘謚. Apart from this damaged text, Shen Yue had access to the “current Shifa” 今謚法, also in two chapters, with 148 names overall. Apparently, this version was detached from the Zhou shu and circulated separately. It appears that one of the summaries at the end of the scroll

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mentioned 145 names, which is 3 names less than what was counted by Shen Yue. It is possible that some copyist extended the text without recounting the names and updating the note, which preserved the old number of 145. This “current Shifa” may have been two separate texts with overlaps in contents, and not just a text divided into two chapters. Shen Yue cites a colophon note written by a certain Jing 靖, probably Zhang Jing 張靖, Erudite of the Ministry of Ceremonies (taichang boshi 太常博士), during the Taishi 泰始 (265–274) and Xianning 咸寧 (275–280) eras.7 Zhang Jing lists seven names used by the Han imperial family that are not recorded in the text. Commenting on this fact, Shen Yue observes that only one of the seven posthumous names mentioned by Jing is missing, while the rest are “present in both and yet many of them are different” 並有而又多不同.8 This phrasing only seems to make sense if the two chapters of the “current Shifa” contained different glossaries of posthumous names that had some matching entries. The “Shifa” consulted by Shen Yue contained additional bibliographic information. The beginning of the juan 卷前 mentions Li Da Dai ji. Later— or, alternatively, at the end of the juan (hou 後)—it had “Zhou shu, chapter 42” 周書第四十二. It is possible to interpret this information in two ways. The different parts of this text may have come separately from an earlier version of the Da Dai li ji and from an earlier arrangement of the Zhou shu itself. Alternatively, the text in its entirety may have originated in one collection before being transmitted to the other. In any case, both the Da Dai li ji and the Zhou shu seem to have contained catalogs of posthumous names during the late antique to early medieval period. Several important observations can be made from Shen Yue’s account. First, a version of the Zhou shu with chapter 42, “Shifa,” and a version with chapters 56 and 57, “Shifa I” and “Shifa II,” are clearly different. Therefore, by the early sixth century CE the Zhou shu had undergone at least one comprehensive rearrangement. It involved the reordering of the chapter sequence, possibly from the addition of approximately fourteen new chapters in the beginning and middle of the collection. Second, the different versions of “Shifa” did not stop evolving after this rearrangement. In the “current Shifa,” substantial changes were introduced by editors in the fourth to fifth centuries CE, during the time that separated Zhang Jing from Shen Yue. Some of the scholarly notes in the colophon continued to be reproduced by copyists even when they no longer agreed with the contents due to changes introduced by anonymous editors. This is clear from Shen Yue’s discussion of

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Zhang Jing’s remarks on the Han dynasty posthumous names. As for the “Shifa” chapter included in a version of the Zhou shu accessed by Shen Yue, most of its contents appear to have been lost, although it is impossible to identify when this happened. Third, the mention of Li Da Dai ji suggests that no strict generic boundaries existed between the Zhou shu and Da Dai li ji in the early medieval period. Today the Yi Zhou shu and Da Dai li ji still preserve two versions of a text called “Guan ren” in the Yi Zhou shu and “Wen wang guan ren” 文王官人 (King Wen’s Officials) in the Da Dai li ji, but in the early medieval period there may have been more “cognate” texts in these two collections.9 Such a lack of clearly demarcated generic boundaries means that, apart from the shū collections, shu texts may have been scattered in other related sources, including the Da Dai li ji.10 It is possible to trace the history of at least one text mentioned by Shen Yue further because a fragment matching his description of the incompletely preserved chapter 56, “Shifa I,” survives in the “Shifa jie” chapter of the received Yi Zhou shu. However, it has been appended at the end of a more intact catalog of posthumous names, and for this reason it has not been identified as a separate text before. To begin, I shall briefly describe the structure of “Shifa jie.”11 The main part of the chapter is an intact catalog of posthumous names originally arranged in a tabular form but recopied in the received Yi Zhou shu as a linear text, providing explanations for 99 names in 184 entries (some names have multiple explanations). I call it the “main catalog.” Here are the first three columns (rearranged vertically) from the version in the Shi ji zhengyi 史記正義 (Correct Meanings of the Shi ji) completed by Zhang Shoujie 張守節 in 736, which contains a version of the Yi Zhou shu chapter preserving the original tabular layout:12 民無能名曰神 靖民則法曰皇 德象天地曰帝

一德不懈曰簡 平易不訾曰簡 尊賢貴義曰恭

The one whom nobody among the commoners can name is called Divine-Shen.

The one who is wholesome in the virtue and not negligent is called Simple-Jian.

The one who calms the commoners and follows the exemplary rules is called August-Huang.

The one who is easygoing and does not reproach is called Simple-Jian.

The one who by his virtue emblematizes Heaven and Earth is called thearch-di.

The one who esteems the worthy and values the righteous is called Pious-Gong.

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The main catalog is followed by the fragments of two other structurally distinct catalogs of posthumous names containing nine and five entries, respectively.13 [Fragmentary catalog 1] 隱哀之也； 施為文也，除為武也， 辟地為襄，視遠為恒， 剛克為發，柔克為懿， 屢亡為莊，有過為僖。

[Calling somebody] Concealed-Yin is grieving after him. The one who distributes is Illustrious-Wen. The one who eradicates [evil] is Martial-Wu. The one who expands the lands is Fostering-Xiang. The one who looks at the remote is Immutable-Heng. The one who conquers firmly is Shooting-Fa. The one who conquers softly is Splendid-Yi. The one who perishes on multiple occasions is Stern-Zhuang. The one who has faults is Prudent-Xi.

[Fragmentary catalog 2] 施而不成曰宣，惠無內德曰獻，治而生省曰平； 亂而不損為靈，由義而濟為景。 失無補，則以其明，餘皆象也。 The one who distributes but does not succeed is Glorious-Xuan. The one who is gracious but lacks the internal De-virtue is Eminent-Xian. The one who commits blunders while governing is called Even-Ping. The one who, despite the chaos, does not suffer a loss is Spiritual-Ling. The one who, proceeding from the sense of rightness, offers aid is Shining-Jing. If [a name] is lost and there is no emendation, then [one is expected to apply] his insight. All the remaining [posthumous names are] the image [of the deeds during the lifetime].

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Some of the explanations in these fragmentary catalogs are close or identical to the main one. For example, pì dì wéi xiāng 辟地為襄 (“The one who expands the lands is Fostering-Xiang”) is very similar to pì dì yǒu dé yuē xiāng 辟地有德曰襄 (“The one who expands the lands and possesses the virtue is Fostering-Xiang”). The entries for Ling 靈 and Jing 景 are identical to the main catalog, differing only in their use of wei 為 instead of yue 曰. The entries for Xuan 宣 and Xian 獻, on the other hand, give surprising negative evaluations of the names interpreted positively in the main catalog. This combination of unjustified reduplication and manifest contradiction suggests that the fragments constitute a separate text or texts. The small number of entries and the obvious lack of completeness suggest that they may be closely related to “Shifa I” with “ten-odd” entries described by Shen Yue. It is difficult to identify when this fragmentary text was appended to the more intact catalog, but in all likelihood it happened before 734. As in the Yi Zhou shu, the version of the catalog of posthumous names in Shi ji zhengyi is titled “Shifa jie,” with the characteristic jiě in the chapter title, suggesting that it may have been extracted from the Zhou shu and not from an alternative source. Considering that the two chapters of “Shifa” in the edition of the Zhou shu consulted by Shen Yue had lost most of their contents, it is difficult to establish the exact source of this more intact catalog, in all likelihood put together after Shen Yue but before the composition of Shi ji zhengyi, that is, between 513 and 734 CE.14 Quite possibly, this text corresponds to one of the catalogs of posthumous names that circulated as separate texts during the medieval period.15 As we do not know the source of this catalog, there are no reasons to attribute its commentary to Kong Chao. Similar caution should be exercised with other chapters of the Yi Zhou shu known to have circulated in the medieval period as separate texts, such as chapter 52, “Shi xun” 時訓, and chapter 59, “Wang hui” 王會 (Royal Assemblies).16

NOTES

INTRODUCTION 1. Many translations have been proposed for the title Yi Zhou shu, including “Lost Book of Zhou,” “Leftover Zhou Documents,” “Remnant Zhou Documents,” and so on, and I feel reluctant to add to this confusing diversity, but still feel obliged to do so. “Neglected” is my tentative choice for yi 逸. Unlike “leftover” and “remnant,” it does not suggest that the collection emerged from the materials dismissed by Confucius as he was editing the canonical Shang shu 尚書 (Venerated Scriptures). This legend is known from the commentary to the Han shu 漢書 (History of Han), possibly authored by Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–78 bce); see note 10. However, the Han shu does not use the character yi; it appears in a different early source, the Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 (Explaining the Symbols and Analyzing the Characters) by Xu Shen 許慎 (ca. 58–147), which contains several citations from a text called the Yi Zhou shu but does not mention the story of Confucius’s editing. Since the word yi was also used during the Han period to refer to the chapters and fragments of the Shang shu that were missing from the mainstream tradition but still preserved elsewhere, the connection between yi and Confucius’s editing is probably misconstrued. The rationale for translating shū as “scriptures” is explained in chapter 2. 2. I have relied extensively on the collated edition with collected commentaries edited by Huang Huaixin 黃懷信, Zhang Maorong 張懋鎔, and Tian Xudong 田旭東: Huang Huaixin 黃懷信, Tian Xudong 田旭東, and Zhang Maorong 張懋鎔, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu 逸周書彙校集注 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007). This book conveniently assembles most of the textual variants and all the major commentaries in one place. However, it does not fully eliminate the need to consult other sources. In particular, the beautiful and expensive reprint of the earliest preserved 1354 edition of the Jizhong Zhou shu 汲冢周書 by the Beijing Library provides a convenient way to study the historically significant codicological features of early print editions, which are impossible to observe in later collations; see Jizhong Zhou shu

254 INTRODUCTION

汲冢周書 (Zhonghua zaizao shanben 中華再造善本) (Beijing: Beijing tushuguan, 2005). The nine-volume Yi Zhou shu yanjiu wenxian jikan 逸周書研究文獻輯刊 assembles the most notable Qing and republican-era editions with commentary and studies of the text: Song Zhiying 宋志英 and Chao Yuepei 晁岳佩, eds., Yi Zhou shu yanjiu wenxian jikan 逸周書研究文獻輯刊 (Beijing: Guojia tushuguan chubanshe, 2015). The first volume also includes a reprint of the Song dynasty standalone edition of the chapter “Wang hui” 王會 (Royal Assemblies) with Wang Yinglin’s 王應麟 (1223–1296) commentary. Nevertheless, the need for such reprints is declining with the rise of convenient electronic databases of old books. The recently published annotated translation by Niu Hong’en 牛鴻恩 in two volumes is quite helpful, and it offers a more comprehensive apparatus than the earlier annotated translation by Huang Huaixin; see Niu Hong’en 牛鴻恩, Yi Zhou shu xin yi 逸周書新譯 (Taipei: Sanmin shuju, 2015); Huang Huaixin 黃懷信, Yi Zhou shu jiaobu zhuyi 逸周書校補 注譯 (Xi’an: Sanqin chubanshe, 2006). 3. Since around the twelfth century ce, the book was transmitted in one recension titled Jizhong Zhou shu 汲冢周書 (Zhou Scriptures from the Tomb-Mound at Ji County), referring to the famous paleographic discovery of 280 or 281 ce that yielded such texts as Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年 (Bamboo Annals) and Mu tianzi zhuan 穆天子傳 (Tale of Mu, the Son of Heaven). This title, Jizhong Zhou shu, is obviously problematic, as the book had been seen by commentators earlier in the third century before the discovery of the tomb at Ji county 汲郡 (see the discussion in chapter 1). This confusing title was gradually rendered obsolete after Yang Shen 楊慎 (1488–1559) proposed to call the book by its currently predominant name, Yi Zhou shu. 4. See Feng Youlan 馮友蘭, Zhongguo zhexue shi (shang) 中國哲學史（上）(Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1934). The most inspiring study based on the “schools of thought” approach to the history of ancient Chinese philosophy is A. C. Graham, Disputers of the Tao: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China (La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1989). For a more recent overview, see Wiebke Denecke, The Dynamics of Masters Literature: Early Chinese Thought from Confucius to Han Feizi (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010). For an inquiry based on recently excavated evidence that does not easily fit into the “schools of thought” paradigm, see Dirk Meyer, Philosophy on Bamboo: Text and the Production of Meaning in Early China (Leiden: Brill, 2012). For critiques of the “schools of thought” paradigm, see Mark Csikszentmihalyi and Michael Nylan, “Constructing Lineages and Inventing Traditions Through Exemplary Figures in Early China,” T’oung Pao 89, nos. 1–3 (2003): 59–99; Kidder Smith, “Sima Tan and the Invention of Daoism, ‘Legalism,’ et cetera,” Journal of Asian Studies 62, no. 1 (2003): 129–56. 5. The main problem with such texts is the lack of clear identification with historically attested authors. As the methodology for dating ancient Chinese texts remains immature, historians resort to texts identified with individuals, such as Confucius 孔子 (551–479), Mozi 墨子, Zhuangzi 莊子, and others. Such texts took shape in anonymous textual communities whose multigenerational efforts were ascribed to celebrated ancient authorities—which does not mean that the Analects or the Mozi cannot contain the words of Confucius or Mozi remembered and/or recorded by their disciples. Arthur Waley’s remarks on this matter remain relevant; see Arthur Waley, The Way and Its Power: A Study of the Tao Tê Ching and Its Place in Chinese Thought (London: Allen and Unwin, 1934), 101–8. See also Li Ling 李零, Zhongguo fangshu zheng kao中國方術正考 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2006), 22; A. C.

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Graham, “How Much of Chuang Tzu Did Chuang Tzu Write?,” in A Companion to Angus C. Graham’s Chuang Tzu: The Inner Chapters, ed. Harold David Roth (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2003), 58–103. The switch of emphasis toward collectively produced philosophy would, in the future, allow us to survey a broader range of relevant sources, including those without any authorial identification. 6. For an overview of the contents and formation history of the Shang shu, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, “Shang shu 尚書 (Shu ching 書經),” in Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley, CA: Society for the Study of Early China, 1993), 376–89. 7. For a conventional overview of the establishment of the Chinese canon as an event that took place at a specific moment in history, see Yen-Zen Tsai, “Ching and Chuan: Towards Defining the Confucian Scriptures in Han China (206 bce–220 ce)” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1992), 94–108; Yen-zen Tsai, “Scripture and Authority: The Political Dimension of Han Wu-Ti’s Canonization of the Five Classics,” in Classics and Interpretations, ed. Tu Ching-i (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 2000), 85–105. For an alternative view on the formation of the canonical corpus as a complex, protracted process, see Michael Nylan, “Classics Without Canonization: Learning and Authority in Qin and Han,” in Early Chinese Religion, part 1, Shang Through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 721–76; Liang Cai, Witchcraft and the Rise of the First Confucian Empire (Albany: SUNY Press, 2014), 77–112. 8. Some Western scholars have pointed out the probable liturgical importance of the early chapters of the Shang shu: Martin Kern, “Bronze Inscriptions, the Shangshu, and the Shijing: The Evolution of the Ancestral Sacrifice During the Western Zhou,” in Early Chinese Religion, part 1, Shang Through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), 143–200; G. S. Popova and M. I͡ u. Ulʹi͡anov, “Ėtapy istorii shu 書 (‘Zapisi [recheĭ gosudareĭ]’) i shi 詩 (‘Pesni’): Ot liturgii do kanona (9–3 vv. do n.ė.),” Obshchestvo i gosudarstvo v Kitae 48, no. 2: 332–67 (Moscow: IV RAN, 2018). However, in Chinese scholarship they are usually seen as “historiographers’ archival documents” 史官檔案, supposedly created to record objective factual history: Liu Qiyu 劉起釪, Shang shu xue shi 尚書學史 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1989), 3–9; Li Ling 李零, Jianbo gushu yu xueshu yuanliu 簡帛古書與學術源流 (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 2004), 49. For an example of two convincing but distinctively different interpretations of a single chapter of the Shang shu, “Wu yi” 無逸 (Against Slothfulness), see Yuri Pines, “A Toiling Monarch? The ‘Wu Yi’ 無逸 Chapter Revisited,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents), ed. Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 360–92; Michael Hunter, “Against (Uninformed) Idleness: Situating the Didacticism of ‘Wu Yi’ 無逸,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 393–415. 9. On this point, see the summaries in Luo Jiaxiang 羅家湘, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu 逸周 書研究 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2006), 3–8; Wang Lianlong 王連龍, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu 逸周書研究 (Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2010), 14–17. 10. I refer to a conflated commentary to a passage in the “Yiwen zhi” that says that the Zhou shu “must be the remnants of the hundred chapters mentioned by Confucius” 蓋孔子所論百篇之余也; see Han shu 漢書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 30.1706. It seems difficult to decide when this passage was composed, as it is preserved in a conflated passage, of which the first part seems to belong to Liu Xiang and the second to Yan Shigu 顏師古 (581–645).

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11. See the overview of the chronology of the Shang shu chapters in Michael Nylan, The Five “Confucian” Classics (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 123–36. 12. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛, “Yi Zhou shu Shi fu pian jiaozhu xieding yu pinglun” 逸周書 世俘篇校注寫定舆評綸, Wenshi 1963.2: 1–41; Edward L. Shaughnessy, “ ‘New’ Evidence on the Zhou Conquest,” in Before Confucius: Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classics (Albany: SUNY Press, 1997), 31–68. 13. Liu Guozhong 劉國忠, Zoujin Qinghua jian 走近清華簡 (Beijing: Gaodeng jiaoyu, 2011); English translation: Guozhong Liu, Introduction to the Tsinghua Bamboo-Strip Manuscripts, trans. Christopher J. Foster and William N. French (Leiden: Brill, 2016). 14. Li Xueqin 李學勤, “Qinghua jian yu Shang shu, Yi Zhou shu de yanjiu” 清華簡與尚 書逸周書的研究, Shixueshi yanjiu 2011.2: 104–9. The Tsinghua collection is not the first manuscript found with counterparts in the received Yi Zhou shu. In 1987, a collection of bamboo strips was excavated in Cili 慈利 in Hunan province that contains, among others, a version of the chapter “Da wu” 大武 (Great Martiality) of the Yi Zhou shu. Unfortunately, more than thirty years after the discovery, the manuscripts still remain unpublished. For some preliminary information, see Robin McNeal, Conquer and Govern: Early Chinese Military Texts from the Yi Zhou shu (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2012), 81–82. 15. Paul R. Goldin, “Heng Xian and the Problem of Studying Looted Artifacts,” Dao 12 (2013): 153–60. 16. Liu Qiyu, Shang shu xue shi, 93–97; Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國, Shang shu zongshu 尚 書綜述 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1988), 434–46; Chen Mengjia 陳夢家, Shang shu tonglun 尚書通論 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 286–98. 17. Of the two recensions of the Shang shu that circulated in the medieval period, only the “ancient script” (guwen 古文) recension has been preserved. This is rather unfortunate considering that, by modern consensus, the “modern script” (jinwen 今 文) recension was more valuable. However, it appears possible to “detach” it from the “ancient script,” which is believed to have been composed on the basis of chapters of the “modern script” recension by supplementing it with reconstituted chapters attested (by titles or citations) in earlier sources. This is generally believed to have occurred in the fourth century ce, and a person named Mei Ze 梅賾 is most frequently mentioned as the likely creator of the “ancient script” recension, as he submitted it to the court during the reign of Emperor Yuan of Jin 晉元帝 (276–323). Therefore, when scholars discuss the “modern script” Shang shu, they refer to the specific chapters preserved in the “ancient script” recension that are believed to have been taken from the “modern script” one. There are twenty-eight such chapters, plus chapter “Tai shi” 太誓 or 泰誓 (Great Harangue), which was not part of the original “modern script” recension attributed to Fu Sheng 伏生 (second century bce) but was added soon afterwards. The most authoritative edition of the reconstructed “modern script” recension was produced by Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 (1753– 1818), who built on the work of his predecessors. The consensus about the spurious nature of the “ancient script” recension is based on the oft-cited but seldom-read studies of Qing (1644–1911) philologists, among which the most significant one is Yan Ruoqu 閻若璩, Shang shu guwen shuzheng 尚書古文疏證 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1987). Despite Yan’s brilliant erudition and the convincing identification of passages from a variety of preimperial sources that apparently served as the building blocks for the “ancient script” recension, not all of his arguments can be considered acceptable by today’s standards; for an investigation of Yan’s method using the case

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of the chapter “Yin zheng” 胤征 (Punitive Expedition of Yin) of the “ancient script” recension, see Cai Genxiang 蔡根祥, “Yan Ruoqu Shang shu guwen shuzheng Yin zheng kaobian chanyi bushi” 閻若璩尚書古文疏證胤征考辨闡義補釋, in Disan jie guoji Shang shu xue xueshu yantaohui lunwenji 第三屆國際尚書學學術研討會 論文集 (Beijing: Xianzhuang shuju, 2015), 15–44. Occasional weaknesses in Yan’s reasoning have recently become an object of fundamentalist critiques as part of the “trusting antiquity” 信古 movement spurred by the controversial public talks and publications of Li Xueqin; see Li Xueqin, “Walking Out of the ‘Doubting of Antiquity’ Era,” Contemporary Chinese Thought 34, no. 2 (2002): 26–49. (It should be noted that Li’s argument is much more nuanced than that of some of his zealous followers.) Such critiques aim to rehabilitate the “ancient script” chapters by arguing that the textual-historical problems are far too complex for anyone (Yan Ruoqu included) to solve with certainty, and therefore the “ancient script” chapters should be put in the same rank as the “modern script” ones: Zhang Yan 張巖, “Yan Ruoqu shuzheng weizheng kao” 閻若璩疏證偽證考, Guoxue, 2005, http://www.guoxue .com/zt/yrq/yrq.htm. This reasoning is evidently problematic. For a very good summary of the recent discussion surrounding Yan Ruoqu, see Ye Xiucheng 葉修成, Xi Zhou lizhi yu Shang shu wenti yanjiu 西周禮制與尚書文體研究 (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 2016), 2–5. For a valuable study of Yan Ruoqu’s work in its historical context, see Wu Tongfu 吳通福, Wanchu guwen Shang shu gong’an yu Qingdai xueshu 晚出古文尚書公安與清代學術 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007). 18. Michael Nylan, “The Chin wen/Ku wen Controversy in Han Times,” T’oung Pao 80, nos. 1–3 (1994): 83–145; Ma Nan 馬楠, “Ma Rong, Zheng Xuan, Wang Su ben Shang shu xingzhi taolun” 馬融鄭玄王肅本尚書性質討論, Wenshi 2 (2016): 95–106. 19. The same statement applies to the Shang shu; see Ma Shiyuan 馬士遠, Zhou-Qin Shang shu xue yanjiu 周秦尚書學研究 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2008), 164–69. 20. For appraisals of the commentaries to the Yi Zhou shu, see Zhou Yuxiu 周玉秀, Yi Zhou shu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxianxue jiazhi 逸周書的語言特點及其文獻學價值 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 64–82; Liu Qiyu, Shang shu xue shi, 400–401. 21. Harold Roth defines “recension” as “a foundational version of a text that exhibits a distinctive pattern of textual variants and sometimes a unique textual organization and which is often associated with a particular ancient commentary on the text.” He distinguishes “recension” from “redaction,” which refers to “a new edition, created from one or more ancestors, that exhibits a unique format, a unique arrangement of text and commentary, and certain characteristic textual variations.” See Harold Roth, “Text and Edition in Early Chinese Philosophical Literature,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 113, no. 2 (1993): 223–24. 22. For an excellent summary of the somewhat contradictory evidence surrounding this discovery, see Noel Barnard, “Astronomical Data from Ancient Chinese Records: The Requirements of Historical Research Methodology,” East Asian History 6 (1993): 58–69. For a detailed overview of the contents of the texts from the tomb-mound at Ji, as well the study of the circumstances surrounding their discovery and editing, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, Rewriting Early Chinese Texts (Albany: SUNY Press, 2006), 131–84. 23. Zhu Xizu 朱希祖, Ji zhong shu kao 汲冢書考 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), 30–31. 24. Chen Mengjia, Shang shu tonglun, 294–98.

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25. Edward L. Shaughnessy, “I Chou shu 逸周書 (Chou shu),” in Early Chinese Texts, 229–33. 26. Huang Peirong 黃沛榮, “Zhou shu yanjiu” 周書研究 (PhD diss., National Taiwan University, 1976), 31–37, 45–82. 27. Jiang Shanguo, Shang shu zongshu, 436–38. 28. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信, Yi Zhou shu yuanliu kaobian 逸周書源流考辨 (Xi’an: Xibei daxue, 1992), 66, 78. 29. Luo Jiaxiang, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu, 80–84. 30. Zhou Yuxiu, Yi Zhou shu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxianxue jiazhi, 52–64. 31. Wang Lianlong, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu, 24–44. 32. Zhang Huaitong 張懷通, Yi Zhou shu xin yan 逸周書新研 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2013), 83. 33. Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信一, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (ichi): Sho san hen no seiritsu to shisō ni tsuite no ichi kōsatsu” 逸周書研究（一）：初三篇の成立と思想につい ての一考察, Waseda daigaku kōtō gakuin kenkyū nenshi 28 (1984): 1–30; Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信一, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (ni): Shiki hen no seiritsu to shisō ni tsuite” 逸周書研究（二）：史記篇の成立と思想について, Waseda daigaku kōtō gakuin kenkyū nenshi 29 (1985): 1–20; Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信一, “Itsu Shū sho no shisō to seiritsu ni tsuite: Sai gakujutsu no ichi sokumen no kōsatsu” 逸周書の思想 と成立について：斉学術の一側面の考察, Nihon Chūgoku gakkai hō 38 (1986): 1–16; Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信一, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (san): Sono bunkengakuteki kōsatsu” 逸周書研究（三）：その文献学的考察, Waseda daigaku kōtō gakuin kenkyū nenshi 31 (1987): 17–38; Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信一, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (shi): Sono heihō shisō ni tsuite” 逸周書研究（四）：その兵法思想について, Nihon joshi daigaku kiyō: Bungaku bu 43 (1994): 41–70; Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信 一, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (go): Shūkō Tan to sono gensetsu ni tsuite” 逸周書研究 （五）：周公旦とその言説について, Nihon joshi daigaku kiyō: Bungaku bu 49 (2000): 59–72. 34. Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (san): Sono bunkengakuteki kōsatsu,” 22, 25–34. 35. Jiang Shanguo, Shang shu zongshu, 439–42. 36. Jiang’s list includes all chapters that have been nominated as candidates for early dating by other scholars primarily interested in the Shang shu, such as Qu Wanli 屈 萬里 and Liu Qiyu; see Qu Wanli, Xianqin wenshi ziliao kaobian 先秦文史資料考 辨 (Qu Wanli xiansheng quanji 屈萬里先生全集 4) (Taipei: Lianjing chuban shiye gongsi, 1983), 397–99; Liu Qiyu, Shang shu xue shi, 95–97. Huang Huaixin provides a similar list of presumably early chapters, but he is more optimistic, arguing that many outwardly late chapters build on authentic early sources; see Huang Huaixin, Yi Zhou shu yuanliu kaobian, 125–26. However, he does not explain how this happened and does not provide any convincing evidence. 37. Li Xueqin 李學勤, “Xu” 序, in Huang Huaixin 黃懷信, Yi Zhou shu yuanliu kaobian, (Xi’an: Xibei daxue, 1992), 1–3; Li Xueqin 李學勤, “Xuyan” 序言, in Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1–4. 38. Luo Jiaxiang, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu, 6–58. Luo’s system has an early antecedent in the eighteenth-century rearrangement of the Yi Zhou shu by Tang Dapei 唐大沛 (manuscript completed in the sixteenth year of the Daoguang 道光 era, 1836), who divides the Yi Zhou shu into generic-thematic groups: writings containing instructions and announcements (xungao shu 訓告書), narrative writings (jishi shu 紀事書), writings

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on governance (zhengzhi shu 政治書), and writings on military provision (wubei shu 武備書). He further divides each into three “grades” (bian 編) depending on the state of preservation and his subjective understanding of the chapters’ relative importance; see Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1225–28. 39. In addition to the thematic and chronological grouping, Luo proposes a generic division, but the resulting system is contradictory and not very practical: Luo Jiaxiang, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu, 87–123. He seems to acknowledge this problem himself: the chapters of his monograph devoted to the “literary,” “historical,” “political,” and “military” thought of the Yi Zhou shu treat the collection as a more or less integral work and ignore his generic division; see Luo Jiaxiang, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu, 124–290. 40. Huang Peirong, “Zhou shu yanjiu,” 83. 41. Huang Peirong, “Zhou shu yanjiu,” 93–94. 42. Huang Peirong, “Zhou shu yanjiu,” 289–330, 331–50, 351–74. 43. Zhou Yuxiu, Yi Zhou shu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxianxue jiazhi, 43, 195–96. 44. Zhou Yuxiu, Yi Zhou shu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxianxue jiazhi, 168. 45. McNeal, Conquer and Govern. 46. G. S. Popova, “Yi-Zhou-shu (‘Nekanonicheskie zapisi Zhou’): ot liturgii k filosofii,” in Obshchestvo i gosudarstvo v Kitae 49, no. 1: 46–79 (Moscow: IV RAN, 2019). 47. G. S. Popova, “Klassifikat͡ sii͡a 1–35 glav Yi-Zhou-shu (‘Nekanonicheskie zapisi Zhou’),” in Obshchestvo i gosudarstvo v Kitae 48, no. 2: 368–89 (Moscow: IV RAN, 2018); G. S. Popova, “Klassifikat͡ sii͡a 36–57 glav Yi-Zhou-shu (‘Nekanonicheskie zapisi Zhou’),” in Obshchestvo i gosudarstvo v Kitae 49, no. 1: 80–109 (Moscow: IV RAN, 2019); G. S. Popova, “Klassifikat͡ sii͡a 58–70 glav Yi-Zhou-shu (‘Nekanonicheskie zapisi Zhou’),” in Obshchestvo i gosudarstvo v Kitae 50, no. 1: 94–112 (Moscow: IV RAN, 2020). 48. Yegor Grebnev, “The Yi Zhoushu and the Shangshu: The Case of Texts with Speeches,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 249–80. 49. Edward L. Shaughnessy, review of Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents), ed. Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer, Rao Zongyi guoxueyuan yuankan 5 (2018): 428–30. 50. Huang Huaixin, Yi Zhou shu yuanliu kaobian, 71–89; Luo Jiaxiang, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu, 59–77; Zhou Yuxiu, Yi Zhou shu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxianxue jiazhi, 8–16; Hu Hongzhe 胡宏哲, “Shang shu yu Yi Zhou shu bijiao yanjiu” 尚書與逸周書比 較研究 (PhD diss., Beijing: Beijing yuyan daxue, 2008), 47–51; Wang Lianlong, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu, 22–26. Zhang Huaitong usefully proposes to distinguish between the preimperial “Zhou shu” attested in citations and the eponymous book mentioned in the “Yiwen zhi,” suggesting that the latter may have been compiled only during the Western Han period. However, his overview of the collection’s later history still suffers from the assumption that the text remained mostly stable and changes were exceptional; see Zhang Huaitong, Yi Zhou shu xin yan, 55–58, 73–98. For a wellbalanced assessment of the preimperial formation of the shū, see Xie Kefeng 謝科 峰, “Zaoqi gushu liuchuan wenti yanjiu—yi xiangguan chutu wenxian yu chuanshi wenxian de bijiao wei li” 早期古書流傳問題研究—以相關出土文獻與傳世文獻 的比較為例 (PhD diss., Shanghai University, 2015), 121–33. 51. McNeal argues that “the Zhou shu catalogued by Liu Xiang and circulating in the Eastern Han was the text we have before us today.” There is abundant evidence to challenge this conviction, as I discuss in chapter 1; see McNeal, Conquer and Govern, 80.

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52. Likhachëv distinguishes between several types of medieval manuscript collections, depending on how stable the assemblage of their constitutive components is; among these different types, in Likhachëv’s classification, “cycle” is the loosest; see D. S. Likhachëv, Tekstologii͡ a (Leningrad: Nauka, 1983), 245–60. This notion may be helpful when thinking about the material form of shū collections in the preimperial period. Likhachëv also emphasizes the importance of studying texts within collections in conjunction with their “escort.” 53. Bernard Cerquiglini, “Eloge de la variante,” Langages 17, no. 69 (1983): 25–35. This work is sometimes discussed in conjunction with the concept of mouvance, which emphasizes the fluidity of poetic texts in a mixed oral and written environment, a concept introduced by Paul Zumthor, Essai de poétique médiévale (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1972), 64–106. Variance is more pertinent to my discussion because it targets the changes within manuscript culture without explaining them by referring to oral influences. Both theorists emphasize the continuous recreation of manuscript works as a collective and largely anonymous enterprise. For a concise English overview, see Millett Bella, “What Is ‘Mouvance’?,” Wessex Parallel WebTexts, 2002, http://wpwt. soton.ac.uk/mouvance/mouvance.htm. 54. Concerning the fluidity of textual development in ancient Chinese manuscript traditions, see, for example, John Makeham, “The Formation of Lunyu as a Book,” Monumenta Serica 44 (1996): 1–24; William G. Boltz, “The Fourth-Century B.C. Guodiann Manuscripts from Chuu and the Composition of the Laotzyy,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 119, no. 4 (1999): 590–608. As observed by Huang Peirong, five of the fifty-nine chapters of the Yi Zhou shu, counting the presently lost “Yue ling” 月令 (Monthly Ordinances), include—or are known to have included earlier—variants in other collections, such as the Li ji 禮記 (Records on Ritual), Da Dai li ji 大戴禮記 (Records on Ritual of Dai the Elder), and Zhou li 周禮 (Zhou Rituals). See Huang Peirong, “Zhou shu yanjiu,” 351–74. As I shall discuss in chapter 5, one chapter, “Shi ji” 史記 (Scribal Records), has a close counterpart in a Dunhuang 敦 煌 manuscript edition of the Liu tao. Thus, apart from the better-known case of the Shang shu, the textual history of the Yi Zhou shu is intertwined with at least four other manuscript collections, making it a veritable crossroads of ancient and medieval manuscript traditions. Treating it as a fixed book will not get us anywhere in understanding these influences and exchanges. 55. Matsumoto Masaaki 松本雅明, Shunjū sengoku ni okeru Shōsho no tenkai 春秋戦国 における尚書の展開 (Tokyo: Kazama shobō, 1966). 56. The classic introduction to form criticism is Klaus Koch, The Growth of the Biblical Tradition: The Form-Critical Method, trans. S. M. Cupitt (New York: Scribner’s, 1969). For an introduction focused on the New Testament, see Edgar V. McKnight, What Is Form Criticism? (Philadelphia: Fortpress, 1969). 57. For an overview of the development of the form-critical method and critiques of its failures, see Marvin A. Sweeney and Ehud Ben Zvi, “Introduction,” in The Changing Face of Form Criticism for the Twenty-First Century, ed. Marvin A. Sweeney and Ehud Ben Zvi (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2003), 1–14. For a reasoned reassessment of the form-critical method’s lasting relevance in biblical studies, see Antony F. Campbell, “Form Criticism’s Future,” in The Changing Face of Form Criticism for the Twenty-First Century, 15–31. 58. See James Muilenburg, “Form Criticism and Beyond,” Journal of Biblical Literature 88, no. 1 (1969): 1–18. For an introductory compilation of essays on various

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literary-critical methods, see Paul R. House, Beyond Form Criticism: Essays in Old Testament Literary Criticism (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992). 59. In no case do I intend to say that scholars of Early China are unaware of form criticism; for examples of excellent studies employing this method, see Michael LaFargue, Tao and Method: A Reasoned Approach to the Tao Te Ching (Albany: SUNY Press, 1994); Harold D. Roth, “Some Methodological Issues in the Study of the Guodian Laozi Parallels,” in The Guodian Laozi: Proceedings of the International Conference, Dartmouth College, May 1998 (Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 2000), 71–88; Matthias Richter, “Self-Cultivation or Evaluation of Others? A Form Critical Approach to Zengzi Li Shi,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 56, no. 4 (2002): 879–917; Oliver Weingarten, “The Sage as Teacher and Source of Knowledge: Editorial Strategies and Formulaic Utterances in Confucius Dialogues,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 68, nos. 3–4 (2014): 1175–223. Other studies effectively adopt the form-critical approach without explicitly referring to it: Joachim Gentz, “One Heaven, One History, One People: Repositioning the Zhou in Royal Addresses to Subdued Enemies in the ‘Duo Shi’ 多士 and ‘Duo Fang’ 多方 Chapters of the Shangshu and in the ‘Shang Shi’ 商誓 Chapter of the Yi Zhoushu,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 146–92. However, identification of formal cognates has not yet become a customary part of the analysis of ancient Chinese texts. 60. McKnight, What Is Form Criticism?, 18. 61. Koch uses the examples of the New Testament blessings and the Old Testament apodictic prohibitions; see Koch, The Growth of the Biblical Tradition, 16–25. 62. For a discussion of deliberate imitation of old literary types in the Old Testament, see Muilenburg, “Form Criticism and Beyond,” 7. 63. The important exceptions are Julius N. Tsai, “Opening Up the Ritual Casket: Patterns of Concealment and Disclosure in Early and Medieval Chinese Religion,” Material Religion 2, no. 1 (2006), 38–61; Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Reimagining the Yellow Emperor’s Four Faces,” in Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005), 226–48. 64. Following Christoph Harbsmeier (oral presentation in Oxford, December 2, 2017), I understand this as an abstract term—“sage rulers” and not “sage kings”—and its semantic range is not restricted to kings (wang 王) as such. Thus the Duke of Zhou 周公 is legitimately one of the shengwang, without any stretch or exaggeration. The term “sage rulers” encompasses characters whose historical existence can be reliably established, as well as purely mythical figures. 65. By using the word “legendary” I do not mean to cast doubt on the historicity of the early Western Zhou rulers, but rather to point out that their image in the later tradition is shaped by both historical and fictional accounts that endow them with heroic qualities and make them appear distinctively different from their ordinary human successors. Their somewhat superhuman image was instrumental in the formation of the transcendentalist traditions discussed in chapters 5 and 6.

1. THE STRUCTURE OF THE YI ZHOU SHU AND ITS FORMATION HISTORY 1. N. N. Voronin, Vladimir, Bogoli͡ ubovo, Suzdalʹ, I͡ urʹev-Polʹskoĭ. Kniga-sputnik po drevnim gorodam Vladimirskoĭ zemli (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1967), 270.

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2. Han shu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 30.1705. 3. See Edward L. Shaughnessy, Rewriting Early Chinese Texts (Albany: SUNY Press, 2006), 131–84; for a summary focused on the circumstances directly related to the Yi Zhou shu, see Robin McNeal, Conquer and Govern: Early Chinese Military Texts from the Yi Zhou shu (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2012), 77–78. The standard reference work on the textual history of the Yi Zhou shu in Chinese is Huang Huaixin, Yi Zhou shu yuanliu kaobian (Xi’an: Xibei daxue, 1992). 4. The Shuowen jiezi contains eight entries with references to the Yi Zhou shu: suàn 祘, hàn 翰, biǎo 䯂, xuǎn 𦌔, hùn 俒, liáo 熮, qǔ 竘, and fěi 匪. Among these, the entry on the character hàn seems to refer to the chapter “Wang hui” 王會 (Royal Assemblies), and biǎo probably refers to an earlier version of chapter 4, “Wen zhuo” 文酌 (Pondering on Cultivation), although the character biǎo itself is not preserved in the received version. The citation in the entry on hùn seems to be close to chapter 50, “Da jie” 大戒 (Great Admonition), and chapter 57, “Ben dian” 本典 (Basic Statute), but does not exactly match any of them. Other entries do not seem to have referents in the received Yi Zhou shu. If this tentative identification is correct, then the Yi Zhou shu consulted by Xu Shen was already mixed in terms of genre: “Wen zhuo” is a general treatise without any explicit connections to time, place, or historical characters; “Wang hui” contains a narrative description (or rather, two separate descriptions) of tribute-presentation assemblies at the royal court; and “Da jie” and “Ben dian” record dialogs in which the Duke of Zhou admonishes King Cheng. Note that the references to the Yi Zhou shu in the Shuowen jiezi do not appear to be consistent, and in the entry for huán 豲, the text seems to be called simply the Zhou shu. 5. The distinction is not maintained consistently in the received text of the Shuowen jiezi. See the previous note concerning the character huán 豲. 6. Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007), 1189–90. 7. This edition of the Jizhong Zhou shu was reprinted by Beijing tushuguan in the Zhonghua zaizao shanben 中華再造善本 series in 2005. 8. Edward Shaughnessy made this suggestion in his early bibliographic overview of the Yi Zhou shu; see Edward L. Shaughnessy, “I Chou Shu 逸周書 (Chou Shu),” in Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley, CA: Society for the Study of Early China, 1993), 229–33. In his most recent work, Shaughnessy adopts a more complex view of the Yi Zhou shu’s formation history; see Edward L. Shaughnessy, The Tsinghua University Warring States Bamboo Manuscripts, vol. 1, The Yi Zhou shu Chapters (Beijing: Tsinghua University Press, 2022). 9. Although Yan Shigu did not explicitly mention the date when he completed the work, it has been argued that this may have happened in 641 ce, based on an astronomical metaphor used by Yan Shigu; see Luo Xianglin 羅香林, Yan Shigu nianpu 顏師古年譜 (Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan, 1972), 55. 10. Liu Zhiji 劉知幾, Shitong 史通 (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 1.1b–2a. 11. Although Shaughnessy has suggested that Liu Zhiji’s mentioning of seventy-two (or seventy-one) chapters means that the edition consulted by him was completely intact, the record does not seem to contain an evaluation of the text’s condition: Shaughnessy, “I Chou Shu 逸周書 (Chou Shu),” 231. It is likely that Liu simply reproduced the number of chapters from a bibliographic summary, without counting how much material had been lost. I concur on this point with Zhang Huaitong, Yi Zhou shu xin yan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2013), 86–87.

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12. Pu Qilong 浦起龍, Shitong tongshi 史通通釋 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1978), 1.2. 13. Cai Zhonglang ji 蔡中郎集 (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 10.6a. 14. As observed in McNeal, Conquer and Govern, 194, the text records “Yong shu” 用書 instead of Zhou shu 周書, an obvious orthographic error. Similar to Pu Qilong’s Shitong tongshi, the Sibu beiyao collated edition of the Cai Zhonglang ji emends seventytwo with seventy-one: Cai Zhonglang ji (Sibu beiyao 四部備要 ed.), 10.100. Such antiquarian emendations seem to be informed by the Han shu and the received Yi Zhou shu (intentionally harmonized with the Han shu). No consideration was given to the possibility of the text’s change or the inaccuracy of the “Yiwen zhi” record. 15. In the Yi Zhou shu, the division of the year into seventy-two microseasons underpins the structure of the divinatory chapter “Shi xun” 時訓 (Seasonal Instructions). On the significance of the number seventy-two, see Huang Peirong, “Zhou shu yanjiu” (PhD diss., Taiwan University, 1976), 21–31. 16. The earliest such record is preserved in the Junzhai dushu zhi 郡齋讀書志 (Records from the Reading of Books at the Prefectural Study) composed by Chao Gongwu 晁 公武 (1105–1180). It mentions that the Jizhong Zhou shu is divided into ten juan and seventy-one chapters; it was extracted from the same tomb as the Mu tianzi zhuan 穆天子傳 (Tale of Mu, the Son of Heaven); it contains the commentary by Kong Chao and must be what was left after Confucius’s editing; see Chao Gongwu 晁公 武, Junzhai dushu zhi 郡齋讀書志 (Xu guyi congshu 續古逸叢書 ed.), 2.17b. These partly erroneous remarks do not add anything significant to our knowledge of the text’s formation history. 17. Chen Zhensun 陳振孫, Zhizhai shulu jieti 直齋書錄解題 (Wenyuan ge siku quanshu 文淵閣四庫全書 ed.), 2.4a–b. 18. Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1186. 19. Although Li Tao attributes this mention to Liu Xiang, in fact, it may have been a seventh-century speculation of Liu Shigu. See note 10 to the introduction. 20. I supplement the missing character with 見, following Ma Duanlin 馬端臨, Wenxian tongkao 文獻通考 (Wenyuan ge siku quanshu 文淵閣四庫全書 ed.), 195.9b. 21. Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1187. 22. This interpretation of Yan Shigu’s commentary, from which Ding Fu borrows Liu Xiang’s citation, is not the only possible one. See note 10 to the introduction. 23. China Biographical Database (CBDB), https://directc.oopus.info/. This Chen Zhengqing 陳正卿 is mentioned in a postface to another work edited by Ding Fu, Fengsu tongyi 風俗通義 (Comprehensive Meanings of Customs and Mores): “When I was at Yuhang, I borrowed a copy from Chen Zhengqing of Kuaiji” 余在餘杭， 借本於會稽陳正卿. See Shao Zhuan 劭撰, Fengsu tongyi jiaozhu 風俗通義校注 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2010), 632. It is clear that Chen Zhengqing was Ding Fu’s contemporary. 24. Ji Yun 紀昀, ed., Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao 四庫全書總目提要 (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin chubanshe, 2000), 1359–60. 25. It appears that Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 87 bce) consulted chapters “Ke Yin” 克殷 (Conquest of Yin) and “Duo yi” 度邑 (Making Measurements of the City); see Shi ji 史記 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959), 4.124–27, 128–29. While “Ke Yin” seems to have been cited in the Shi ji rather faithfully, only replacing some obscure archaic words with modern counterparts, “Duo yi” was abbreviated or, alternatively, cited from a shorter rendition of the text that has not survived.

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26. See the entries on the characters hàn 翰 and huán 豲. The first has a parallel in chapter “Wang hui,” the second in chapter “Zhou zhu” 周祝 (Zhou Incantation). 27. He Yan 何宴, Lunyu jijie 論語集解 (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 9.8b. 28. Zhou li zhushu 周禮注疏 (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 37.13b. 29. Yili zhushu 儀禮注疏 (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 5.71b. This citation also comes from “Wang hui.” 30. This appears to be a mistake. In the editions of the Wenxuan that I consulted, the text is called the Zhou shu, and not the Yi Zhou shu. However, this detail is not essential for the point that the author is making concerning the title Jizhong Zhou shu. 31. This statement is based on the mistaken assumption that there was only one recension in circulation. The mentions in the Wenxuan commentary are insufficient to decide whether the name “from the tomb-mound at Ji” was already current during Li Shan’s time. 32. Huang Peirong argues that the text was in circulation throughout the third century ce: Du Yu 杜預 (222–285) cited from chapters “Taizi Jin” 太子晉 (Heir Apparent Jin) and “Wang hui” of the Zhou shu in his commentary to the Zuo zhuan, which was completed shortly before the Ji tomb discovery (Xiang.26, Ai.2). See Huang Peirong, “Zhou shu yanjiu,” 48. Indeed, in the postface (houxu 後序) to the Chunqiu Zuozhuan jijie 春秋左傳集解 (Collected Explanations to the Annals and the Zuo Tradition), Du Yu mentions that he had learned about the Ji tomb discovery after he had already completed his work; see Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhengyi 春秋左傳正義 (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), Hou xu.1. Unfortunately, this argument is inconclusive because it could be suggested that Du Yu may have made changes in the text after its initial completion. 33. Zhou Yuxiu demonstrates convincingly that this chapter contains features indicative of the Eastern Han linguistic developments; see Zhou Yuxiu, Yi Zhou shu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxianxue jiazhi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 43. They are located in key parts of the text and cannot be regarded as a later accretion. 34. Jin shu 晉書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974), 51.1432–33. See also the translations in Edward L. Shaughnessy, Chinese Annals in the Western Observatory: An Outline of Western Studies of Chinese Unearthed Documents (Boston: De Gruyter, 2019), 273–74; Edward L. Shaughnessy, Unearthing the Changes: Recently Discovered Manuscripts of the Yi Jing (I Ching) and Related Texts (New York: Columbia University Press, 2013), 146, 303. 35. On the disagreements in sources regarding the exact date of the discovery, see Noel Barnard, “Astronomical Data from Ancient Chinese Records: The Requirements of Historical Research Methodology,” East Asian History 6 (1993): 61–68. 36. I omit the detailed description of the contents of the Bamboo Annals. Interested readers can find it in Shaughnessy, Rewriting Early Chinese Texts, 191–92; Shaughnessy, Chinese Annals in the Western Observatory, 273. 37. The story of Sheng Ji’s demise seems to have been assimilated into the received Mu tianzi zhuan as its sixth juan; see Zhang Huaitong, Yi Zhou shu xin yan, 81, fn. 3. 38. Chen Mengjia argues that this passage refers to a single work, pointing out that it is syntactically similar to “the Discourses of the States in three fascicles, talking about the affairs of Chu and Jin” 國語三篇言楚、晉事 and “the Stringed Arrow Writings in two fascicles, discussing the method of shooting with stringed arrows” 繳書二篇論 弋射法. See Chen Mengjia, Shang shu tonglun (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 294.

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39. Jin shu, 36.1061–62. Cf. Zhang Huaitong, Yi Zhou shu xin yan, 81–82. 40. Luo Jiaxiang, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2006), 50–58. See also Enno Giele, “Early Chinese Manuscripts: Manuscripts,” http://web.archive. org/web/20060507155911/www.lib.uchicago.edu/earlychina/res/databases/decm/ mss.html. 41. Liu Guosheng 劉國勝, who has worked extensively with the Warring States tomb inventory lists, believes that the chapter is closer in style to the transmitted ritual texts than to the excavated tomb inventory lists (private communication, December 2016). 42. Wang Chang 王昶, Jinshi cuibian 金石萃編 (Lidai shike shiliao huibian 歷代石刻史 料彙編) (Beijing: Beijing tushuguan chubanshe, 2000), 25.7b–8a, 55–56. See Zhang Huaitong, Yi Zhou shu xin yan, 83. The stele was lost during the Japanese invasion: Cheng Pingshan 程平山, “Chuanqi de Qi Taigong Lü Wang biao” 傳奇的齊太公呂 望表, Guangming ribao, February 9, 2016. 43. The manuscript fragment of the Liu tao discovered with the Dunhuang manuscript P.3454 preserved at the Bibliothèque nationale de France contains a version of the chapter “Shi ji” 史記 (Scribal Records) of the Yi Zhou shu. In this manuscript, the text does not have a title at the beginning but is followed by a summarizing colophon: “The text to the right are the Zhou records concerning twenty-eight states” 右 周志廿八國. This parallel seems to confirm a connection between the Zhou zhi and the Zhou shu. 44. Liu tao 六韜, in Wu jing qi shu 武經七書 (Xu guyi congshu 續古逸叢書 ed.), 1.1a–2a. Cf. Ralph Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, repr. ed. (New York: Basic Books, 2008), 40–42. 45. I read zhao 兆 as fei 非, assuming a graphic corruption. 46. Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (shi): Sono heihō shisō ni tsuite,” Nihon joshi daigaku kiyō: Bungaku bu 43 (1994): 49–50. The parallel has also been observed by Niu Hong’en, Yi Zhou shu xin yi (Taipei: Sanmin shuju, 2015), 9–10. 47. Han shu, 28a.1584. 48. Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (san): Sono bunkengakuteki kōsatsu,” Waseda daigaku kōtō gakuin kenkyū nenshi 31 (1987): 25–28, counts thirty-five identifiable citations and twelve citations that have no counterparts in the received Yi Zhou shu. 49. Xiao Tong 蕭統, Wenxuan 文選 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1986), 40.1835, 42.1916. 50. Xiao Tong, Wenxuan, 35.1627. 51. Xiao Tong, Wenxuan, 14.628, 15.657. 52. For a discussion of this text, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, “Texts Lost in Texts: Recovering the ‘Zhai Gong’ Chapter of the Yi Zhou shu,” in Studies in Chinese Language and Culture: Festschrift in Honour of Christoph Harbsmeier on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, ed. Christoph Anderl and Halvor Eifring (Oslo: Hermes Academic, 2006), 31–47. 53. Calling King Mu a di 帝 (“thearch” or “emperor”) also appears odd by the standards of the Warring States texts. I am grateful to Li Feng for pointing this out. 54. Most such texts were probably lost relatively early, before the seventh century ce. They do not seem to have left any significant traces in medieval works, including the thematically arranged collections of book extracts leishu 類書 , whose earliest exemplars survive from that time. The clearest exception is the “Cheng wu” 程寤 (Dream Revelation at Cheng) chapter, from which extensive citations have been preserved

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and which has a counterpart in the newly acquired Tsinghua manuscript collection. See Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 183–85; Li Xueqin, ed., Qinghua daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian (yi) (Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju, 2010), 135–41. On the leishu, see Endymion Porter Wilkinson, Chinese History: A New Manual, rev. ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2012), 955–56. 55. Ruyue He and Michael Nylan, “On a Han-Era Postface (xu 序) to the Documents,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 75, no. 2 (2015): 423–24. 56. Robin McNeal, “The Body as Metaphor for the Civil and Martial Components of Empire in Yi Zhou shu, Chapter 32; With an Excursion on the Composition and Structure of the Yi Zhou shu,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 122, no. 1 (2002): 50–51. One obvious violation of the chronological principle is chapter 66, “Yin zhu jie” 殷祝解 (Yin Incantation Explained), in juan 9, with a narrative related to the legendary King Cheng Tang of Shang 商成湯. It appears close to the very end of the collection, although the events it describes predate those of all other chapters. 57. In the Guanzi, such positioning could be influenced by considerations of convenience and not necessarily by the physical damage of the manuscript. Consider chapter 63, “Mumin jie” 牧民解 (Shepherding the Commoners Explained). It is located at the end of juan 19, although it belongs together with four other “explained” (jiě 解) chapters, 64–67. These four chapters are located in juan 20 and the first part of juan 21. See P. van der Loon, “On the Transmission of Kuan-Tzŭ,” T’oung Pao 41 (1952): 389. 58. Particularly interesting are the three “lost odes”: “Yougeng” 由庚, “Chongqiu” 崇 丘, and “Youyi” 由儀 in the “Xiao ya” 小雅 (Lesser Court Hymns) section. They are clustered in a continuous group despite the fact that Shi jing’s own “Sequential Outline” (in the part accompanying the ode “Liu yue” 六月 or the “Sixth Month”) mentions that they alternated positions with the three received odes in the following order: “Yougeng,” “Nan you jia yu” 南有嘉魚, “Chongqiu,” “Nan shan you tai” 南山 有臺, “Youyi,” and “Liao xiao” 蓼蕭; see Mao shi zhengyi 毛詩正義 (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 17.20b–21a. It is worth noting that this cluster of “lost odes” is positioned after the final preserved ode (“Liao xiao”), similar to how the lost chapters are relocated to the end of juan in the Yi Zhou shu and the Guanzi. See Pi Xirui 皮錫瑞, Jingxue tonglun 經學通論 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1957), 2.53–54. Whether these lost odes ever existed as texts or were purely musical pieces is not immediately relevant to my discussion. I am grateful to Ondřej Škrabal for bringing this parallel to my attention. On medieval reconstitution of the missing odes, see Thomas J. Mazanec, “Righting, Riting, and Rewriting the Book of Odes (Shijing): On ‘Filling Out the Missing Odes’ by Shu Xi,” Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, Reviews 40 (2018): 5–32. 59. Most juan tend to contain only chapters with commentary (juan 1, 2, 4, 8, 9). Chapter 54 is the only chapter in juan 6 that contains commentary, but its current text was probably introduced to the Zhou shu from a different source (see appendix 4). 60. See W. Allyn Rickett, Guanzi: Political, Economic, and Philosophical Essays from Early China: A Study and Translation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), 1:5. 61. The Shi lüe was unknown in China until 1884, when Li Shuchang 黎庶昌 (1837–1896) reprinted a copy discovered in Japan in the Guyi congshu 古逸叢書 series. For this reason, the evidence from the Shi lüe was not used in some of the philologically

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advanced editions of the Yi Zhou shu created by such scholars of the late imperial era as Lu Wenchao 盧文弨 (1717–1796) and Zhu Youzeng 朱右曾 (1800–?). The editions of Lu and Zhu, as well as other influential works by Qing scholars, have been recently published in a useful collection of reprints by the National Library of China; see Song Zhiying and Chao Yuepei, eds., Yi Zhou shu yanjiu wenxian jikan (Beijing: Guojia tushuguan chubanshe, 2015). 62. Gao Sisun records the Zhou shu as a work in eleven juan, whereas the received text has ten juan; see Gao Sisun 高似孫, Shi lüe 史略 (Guyi congshu 古逸叢書 ed.), 6.7a–9b. Perhaps in the edition he consulted the “Sequential Outline” was placed in a separate juan. 63. All the quoted passages have counterparts in the received text, with the exception of chapter 5, “Di kuang jie” 糴匡解 (Rectification of the Procurement of Grain Explained), recorded as “Di zhuang jie” 糴㽵解in the Shi lüe. Either Gao Sisun consulted a different version of this text or he substituted a citation with an oddly unusual summary of contents. 64. Li Shaoping 李紹平, “Yi Zhou shu kaobian si ti” 逸周書考辨四題, Hunan shifan daxue shehui kexue xuebao 30, no. 5 (2001): 122–26. 65. One exception is the group of chapters 26–28, whose titles are given in the Shi lüe without jiě, although in the received text they contain commentary. Perhaps it is not incidental that chapter 25, “Wen zhuan,” is absent from the Shi lüe, but a citation from it is given in the summary accompanying chapter 24, “Wen jing,” following a passage from chapter “Wen jing” proper. It is possible that the two chapters were conflated in Gao Sisun’s edition and the middle part of juan 3 was preserved there in a rather different form from the received recension. 66. Chapters 63–67 in the Guanzi, which have commentary, were probably composed at about the same time. Overall, the collection Guanzi shares much in common with the Yi Zhou shu, and its current composition is more indebted to the medieval period than is commonly assumed. 67. Qunshu zhiyao 群書治要 (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 8.9a–12b. 68. Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (san): Sono bunkengakuteki kōsatsu,” 24. One should bear in mind that the Qunshu zhiyao survives via a single manuscript produced in Japan by 1253; see Ozaki Yasushi 尾崎康, “Gunsho chiyō to sono genzai hon” 群書治要とその現存本, Shidō bunko ronshū 25 (1990): 128. This manuscript may have been contaminated by a contemporary edition of the Zhou shu. For a discussion in Chinese, see Wu Jinhua 吳金華, “Lüe tan Riben gu xieben Qunshu zhiyao de wenxianxue jiazhi” 略談日本古寫本群書治要的文文獻學價值, Wenxian 2003.3: 118–27. 69. Luo Mi 羅泌, Lushi 路史 (Wenyuan ge siku quanshu 文淵閣四庫全書 ed.), 3.18b, 13.21a, 13.23a, 34.8a, 34.9a–b, 42.20b. 70. Luo Mi, Lushi, 20.25a, 23.33b, 29.69a. One notable exception is “Shi fu,” whose title is mentioned without jiě, although it contains commentary in the received version: Luo Mi, Lushi, 29.40b. 71. Sui shu 隋書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1973), 58.1421. Du Taiqing engaged closely with the Zhou shu, and the very name of this work is influenced by the chapter “Bao dian” 寶典 (Treasured Statute) of the Zhou shu (no. 29 in the received text). 72. Du Taiqing 杜臺卿, Yuzhu baodian 玉燭寶典 (Guyi congshu 古逸叢書 ed.), 4.8a–b, 11.6a, 12.5b. On one occasion “Zhou yue” is cited without jiě: Du Taiqing, Yuzhu baodian, 12.20a.

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73. In his rather extensive citations, Du Taiqing uses small characters (normally employed for commentary) only on one occasion, in a passage from “Chang mai jie,” to record a textual variant. 74. This description is also problematic because it violates the chronological order of the “Sequential Outline”: King Mu 穆王 (mid-tenth century bce) is mentioned in the part that corresponds to the reign of King Wen (first half of the eleventh century bce). A more natural place for this description would be before chapter 60, “Zhai gong,” which contains a deathbed instruction pronounced by one of King Mu’s associates. It is possible that this description was relocated from a different part of the “Sequential Outline.” 75. Despite this effort, the editing led to an awkward chronology, prompting Zhu Youzeng to relocate chapter 40, “Shi fu,” to position 37 in his edition of the Yi Zhou shu: Zhu Youzeng 朱右曾, Yi Zhou shu jixun jiaoshi 逸周書集訓校釋 (Huang Qing jingjie xubian 皇清經解續編 ed.), 4.5b. See also the remarks regarding the chronological incoherence in the ordering of chapters 11–13 in Wang Lianlong, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu (Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2010), 53–54. 76. In the Shi lüe, chapter 37, “Da kuang,” is called “Wen kuang” 文匡 (Cultured Rectification). 77. Zhang Huaitong observes that the commentary attributed to Kong Chao contains reflections on textual variants in the same chapters. This may support the idea that Kong Chao already had several substantially different editions at his disposal. See Zhang Huaitong, Yi Zhou shu xin yan, 76. 78. I have proposed only a schematic reconstruction of the text’s formation. The actual history may have been more complex. For example, the conflation of the two recensions and the editing of the “Sequential Outline” may have been performed at multiple takes by different people. Furthermore, there is no certainty that there were only two recensions underlying the received text: the Yi Zhou shu may originate from multiple sources, including more or less intact collections as well as individually circulating chapters. 79. The citation is given in the commentary to the passage haiwai Sushen 海外肅眘 (The Sushen from Beyond the Seas). Yan Shigu’s commentary is as follows: “The ‘Sequential outline of the Zhou Scriptures’ mentions: ‘When King Cheng had campaigned against the Eastern Yi, Sushen came to congratulate.’ This is what it refers to” 周書序 云：成王既伐東夷，肅眘來賀，即謂此. See Han shu, 6.160–61. 80. Han shu, 30.1705. See also the discussion in McNeal, Conquer and Govern, 190–91, n. 4; 192, n. 11. 81. I follow Huang Peirong, “Zhou shu yanjiu,” 35. 82. Georgiĭ Grebnev, “Formirovanie kalendarnykh i fenologicheskikh predstavleniĭ v Kitae po materialam Yi Zhou shu” (MA thesis, Moscow State University, 2012). 83. For a study of this chapter, see Robin McNeal, “Spatial Models of the State in Early Chinese Texts: Tribute Networks and the Articulation of Power and Authority in Shangshu ‘Yu Gong’ 禹貢 and Yi Zhoushu ‘Wang Hui’ 王會,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents), ed. Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 475–96. 84. The best general survey of posthumous names is Wang Shoukuan 汪受寬, Shifa yanjiu 謚法研究 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1995). However, the preimperial period is not analyzed exhaustively. See also Christian Schwermann, “Schlechte Namen, Leserlenkung und Herrscherkritik in antiken Chinesischen Texten,” in Auf

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der Suche nach der Entwicklung menschlicher Gesellschaften. Festschrift für Hans Dieter Ölschleger zu seinem sechzigsten Geburtstag von seinen Freunden und Kollegen, ed. Günther Distelrath, Ralph Lützeler, and Barbara Manthey (Berlin: EB Verlag, 2012), 539–94; Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Concept of Wen in the Ancient Chinese Ancestral Cult,” Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, Reviews (CLEAR) 18 (1996): 1–22; K. E. Brashier, Public Memory in Early China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2014), 86. 85. In the received Yi Zhou shu, “Shifa” stands out as the only chapter in juan 6 to contain commentary. Otherwise, the chapters with commentary either occupy the entire juan or are clustered at the end. If this pattern is characteristic of the earlier state of the host recension, then the current text of “Shifa” may have been composed after juan 6 was put together; that is, its inclusion probably postdates the creation of the host recension. 86. Wang Yinglin 王應麟, Yuhai 玉海 (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 1987), 54.42a– 43a. These six early texts included the Order of Posthumous Names of the Duke of Zhou, the Order of Posthumous Names of the Annals, and the Broad Posthumous Names, as well as versions attributed to Shen Yue, He Chen 賀琛 (481–549), and Hu Meng 扈蒙 (915–986). 87. Wang Yinglin, Yuhai, 54.42a. 88. For an overview of this debate during the Han period, see Michael Nylan, “The Chin wen/Ku wen Controversy in Han Times,” T’oung Pao 8, nos. 1–3 (1994): 83–145. 89. See the seminal discussion in Paul Pelliot, “Le Chou King en caractères anciens et le Chang Chou Che Wen,” Mémoires concernant l’Asie Orientale 2 (1916): 123–84. 90. McNeal, Conquer and Govern, 81.

2. UNDERSTANDING EARLY CHINESE SCRIPTURES 1. When providing phonological reconstructions, unless otherwise indicated, I rely on the work of William H. Baxter and Laurent Sagart, Old Chinese: A New Reconstruction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014); William H. Baxter and Laurent Sagart, “The Baxter-Sagart Reconstruction of Old Chinese,” September 20, 2014, http:// ocbaxtersagart.lsait.lsa.umich.edu/. 2. Here and in the following text, the index numbers to epigraphic texts on ritual bronzes are provided according to Zhongguo shehui kexueyuan kaogu yanjiusuo, ed., Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 殷周金文集成, 18 vols. (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju, 1984–1994). Unless explicitly noted, I provide interpretive transcriptions of epigraphic texts (supplementing characters with their modern counterparts) following the editorial decisions in the electronic database Shang-Zhou jinwen ziliao tongjian 商周金文資料通鑑 v. 2.0 from January 2013, which I acquired from Wu Zhenfeng 吳鎮烽. This database underlies Wu’s monumental thirty-five-volume collection of epigraphic texts: Wu Zhenfeng, ed., Shang-Zhou qintgongqi mingwen ji tuxiang jicheng 商周青銅器銘文暨圖像集成, 35 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 2012). 3. I am aware of the differences in the reading of this text, but since they are not essential to my argument, I shall not dwell on them. Cf. Martin Kern, “The Performance of Writing in Western Zhou China,” in The Poetics of Grammar and the Metaphysics of Sound and Sign, ed. Sergio La Porta and David Shulman (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 141–50; Li Feng, “Literacy and the Social Contexts of Writing in the Western Zhou,”

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in Writing and Literacy in Early China, ed. Li Feng and David Branner (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2011), 273–77. 4. Li Feng suggests that, unlike ce 冊, which refers to the text on its material support (bamboo strips), shū stands for “a document as a literary composition,” which should be understood as “ ‘an article’ or an official ‘enactment’ ”; see Li Feng, Bureaucracy and the State in Early China: Governing the Western Zhou (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 112. See also Li Feng, “Literacy and the Social Contexts of Writing in the Western Zhou,” 277. 5. The first two among these four categories developed into the canonical Shang shu and Shi jing, and with this hindsight, it is tempting to understand the “Ritual” and “Music” as similar textual collections. However, for the preimperial period, this would perhaps be misleading. Although writing was doubtlessly important for shū and shī, it only constituted one facet of these disciplines, which probably also encompassed a special way of intoning or even singing texts, the knowledge of specific ritual occasions and sequences of performance, and interpretation: David Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 86–94; Michael Nylan, The Five “Confucian” Classics (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 72–119; Martin Kern, “Bronze Inscriptions, the Shangshu, and the Shijing: The Evolution of the Ancestral Sacrifice During the Western Zhou,” in Early Chinese Religion, part 1, Shang Through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 143–200. For the categories of lǐ and yuè, the role of written texts must have initially been subordinate to the performative aspects. For some relevant discussions, see Scott Cook, “ ‘Yue Ji’ 樂記—Record of Music: Introduction, Translation, Notes, and Commentary,” Asian Music 26, no. 2 (1995): 1–96; Erica Brindley, “Music, Cosmos, and the Development of Psychology in Early China,” T’oung Pao 92 (2006): 1–49. 6. Li ji zhushu 禮記注疏 (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 13.2a–b. 7. As Thies Staack has observed, in Qin and Han administrative records, shū “was used as a generic term for ‘documents’ of various types”: Thies Staack, “Single- and MultiPiece Manuscripts in Early Imperial China: On the Background and Significance of a Terminological Distinction,” Early China 41 (2018): 249–50. 8. Dong Zhian 董治安 and Zheng Jiewen 鄭傑文, Xunzi huijiao huizhu 荀子匯校匯 注 (Jinan: Qilu chushe, 1997), 578–82. Cf. John Knoblock, Xunzi: A Translation and Study of the Complete Works (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1994), 3:38. 9. The way the Warring States philosophical texts appropriate the shī and shū to develop new types of argument can be compared to the Vedic tradition, in which speculative philosophy emerged from reflections on ritual. See S. W. Jamison and M. Witzel, Vedic Hinduism, 1992, 63–79, https://www.people.fas.harvard.edu/~witzel/vedica. pdf. 10. For a general study of such early citations, see Matsumoto Masaaki 松本雅明, Shunjū sengoku ni okeru Shōsho no tenkai 春秋戦国における尚書の展開 (Tokyo: Kazama shobō, 1966). The high authority of the shū demonstrated by such citations does not suggest the existence of a fixed edition. The texts circulated in multiple parallel, often significantly divergent versions, which bespeaks a strong oral component in their transmission. The dialectic tension between the tendencies of “integrity” (wanzhengxing 完整性) and “fragmentation” (cuipianhua 啐片化) in textual transmission has been discussed in Sun Shaohua 孫少華 and Xu Jianwei 徐建委,

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Cong wenxian dao wenben—xian Tang jingdian wenben de chaozhuan yu liubian 從 文獻到文本－先唐經典文本的抄撰與流變 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2016), 53–60. For a useful summary of citations from shū in preimperial sources with an indication of their divergence from the later canonical version, see Ma Shiyuan, Zhou-Qin Shang shu xue yanjiu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2008), 310–23. 11. Schaberg, A Patterned Past, 72–80; David Schaberg, “Speaking of Documents: Shu Citations in the Warring States,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents), ed. Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 320–59. 12. Nylan, The Five “Confucian” Classics, 128. 13. Li Ling, Jianbo gushu yu xueshu yuanliu (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 2004), 49. Similar ideas are expressed in Tsuen-hsuin Tsien, Written on Bamboo and Silk: The Beginnings of Chinese Books and Inscriptions, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 5–7. 14. For some other reiterations of this view, see Zhu Tingxian 朱廷獻, Shang shu yanjiu 尚書研究 (Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan, 1987), 2; Jiang Shanguo, Shang shu zongshu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1988), 1; Liu Qiyu, Shang shu xue shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1989), 4. 15. The idea of an uninterrupted cultural succession in China—as opposed to discontinuous development between antiquity and modernity in Europe—has been emphasized by one of the most eminent contemporary Chinese paleographers, Qiu Xigui 裘錫圭 (“Chutu wenxian yu gudianxue chongjian” 出土文獻與古典學重建, in Chutu wenxian yu gudianxue chongjian lunwenji [Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju, 2018], 13): There is an uninterrupted succession between the Chinese language and characters that we use today and the Chinese language and characters of the preimperial period, as well as between our modern history and the history of the pre-imperial period. On the other hand, the language and history of ancient Greece and Rome, for the absolute majority of classical scholars, are foreign ancient languages and histories, which do not have a direct uninterrupted succession with the languages that they use today and with their modern history. Therefore, even though the Chinese language and characters of the pre-imperial period are very different from the Chinese language and characters of today, there is no need to separate the study of the pre-imperial Chinese language and characters from the discipline of the study of Chinese language and writing and move it into the field of classical studies. Likewise, there is no need to separate the research conducted in various disciplines on the pre-imperial period and move it into the field of classical studies. 16. James Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, The Shoo King (Hong Kong; London, 1865), vi. 17. See David Schaberg, “The Zhouli as Constitutional Text,” in Statecraft and Classical Learning: The Rituals of Zhou in East Asian History, ed. Benjamin A. Elman and Martin Kern (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 36–39. 18. Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, The Shoo King, prol. 11. 19. Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, The Shoo King, prol. 12–13. 20. As Nylan observes, “Judging from grammar and content, the earlier the chapters in the Xia and pre-Xia sections purport to be, the later their probable dates of composition.” See Nylan, The Five “Confucian” Classics, 125.

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21. See Li Feng, Bureaucracy and the State in Early China, 96–148. 22. In Western scholarship, the early shī and shū are frequently discussed as artifacts of liturgical practice; see note 8 to the introduction. See also Edward L. Shaughnessy, “From Liturgy to Literature: The Ritual Contexts of the Earliest Poems in the Book of Poetry,” in Before Confucius: Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classics (Albany: SUNY Press, 1997), 165–96. However, not all shū texts can be ascribed to liturgy; besides, it is not clear how many different “liturgies” are reflected in the early shū texts because the exact ritual occasions of their composition and/or performance are not well understood. 23. Zhang Ning 章寧, “Shu lei wenxian chuyi” 書類文獻芻議, Shixueshi yanjiu 1 (2019): 95. 24. Although I sympathize with Zhang’s argument, I believe that this description refers to the function of the texts and not their formal properties, although the two are closely related. However, Zhang is correct that this understanding of the function of the shū texts is different from the earlier understanding of the Warring States sources. 25. Sarah Allan, “On shu 書 (Documents) and the Origin of the Shang shu 尚書 (Ancient Documents) in Light of Recently Discovered Bamboo Slip Manuscripts,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 75, no. 3 (2012): 547–57. 26. Zhang Ning, “Shu lei wenxian chuyi,” 95. I am not fully convinced that the “citations” that Zhang refers to necessarily come from the chapters of the received Yi Zhou shu. These brief aphoristic expressions could have traveled between texts, and we do not have enough context to reliably identify their sources. Nevertheless, I do not think that this observation undermines Zhang’s argument: while such aphorisms are not typical of the archaic Shang shu, they are common in the Yi Zhou shu, suggesting that similar texts were recognized as shū during the Warring States period. 27. Zhang Ning, “Shu lei wenxian chuyi,” 96. 28. Zhang Ning, “Shu lei wenxian chuyi,” 99. 29. Chapter “Wen hou zhi ming” 文侯之命 (Charge to the Marquis of Wen) in the Shang shu contains an impressive number of exact or near-exact parallels with this text, which has provoked a heated discussion about its authenticity: Noel Barnard, “Chou China: A Review of the Third Volume of Cheng Te-k’un’s Archaeology in China,” Monumenta Serica 24 (1965): 395–407; Chang Kuang-Yüan, “The Mao Kung Ding: A Major Bronze Vessel of the Western Chou Period: A Rebuttal of Dr. Noel Barnard’s Theories,” trans. John Marney, Monumenta Serica 31 (1974): 446–74; John L Way, Mao Kung Ting (Taipei: Yee Wen, 1983); Chu Kwok Fan 朱國藩, “Cong cihui yunyong jiaodu tantao Mao gong ding mingwen de zhenwei wenti” 從詞彙運用角 度探討毛公鼎銘文的真偽問題, Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo jikan 71, no. 2 (2000), 459–507; Noel Barnard and Kwong-yue Cheung, The Shan-Fu Liang Chʻi Kuei and Associated Inscribed Vessels =: Shan-Fu Liang Chʻi Kuei Chi Chʻi Tʻa Kuan Hsi Chu Chʻi Yen Chiu (Taipei: SMC, 1996), 4. Barnard’s method of criticizing the authenticity of bronze inscriptions has been questioned by Edward Shaughnessy, who has shown that some of the supposedly forged bronze inscriptions contain “spacers,” which were used during the casting to support the inscription in its place; the presence of such spacers confirms the inscription’s authenticity; see Edward L. Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History: Inscribed Bronze Vessels (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 43–62. In addition, Li Feng has pointed out that some undoubtedly authentic inscriptions reproduce one another’s contents,

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sometimes with variations in character structure, which was seen by Barnard as a criterion of forgery; see Li Feng, “Ancient Reproductions and Calligraphic Variations: Studies of Western Zhou Bronzes with ‘Identical’ Inscriptions,” Early China 22 (1997): 37–39. 30. This observation reverberates with the “pseudo-liturgical” chapters in the Yi Zhou shu identified by G. S. Popova, “Yi-Zhou-shu (‘Nekanonicheskie zapisi Zhou’): Ot liturgii k filosofii,” in Obshchestvo i gosudarstvo v Kitae 49, no. 1: 46–79 (Moscow: IV RAN, 2019). 31. Zhang surveys “Xing zi ming chu” 性自命出 (Inherent Qualities Are Brought Forth by Decree) from the Guodian 郭店 manuscripts, chapter “Quan xue” 勸學 (Encouraging Learning) of the Xunzi, and chapter “Jing jie” 經解 (Explanations of Essential Disciplines) in the Li ji. None of these are particularly insightful. 32. This view largely agrees with Dirk Meyer’s analysis of the shū as authoritative texts emerging from recontextualization of textual lore in changing performative settings and employed by contrasting textual communities: Dirk Meyer, Documentation and Argument in Early China: The Shàngshū 尚書 (Venerated Documents) and the Shū Traditions (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021), 185–235. 33. The Mozi employs the word shū both in its general meanings “to write” and “writing” and in the special meaning of authoritative texts. In my discussion, I am only interested in the latter, which I translate as “scriptures.” Distinguishing between the word employed in its general meaning and as a technical term in the Mozi is not difficult: the latter instances are consistently followed by citations from authoritative texts. Chapter “Ming gui xia” 明鬼下 (Explaining the Spirits of the Deceased, Part Three) that I discuss in the following text contains references to both the authoritative “Scriptures of Former Kings” at the end of the text and the more general “writings” at the beginning. The references to the “Scriptures of Former Kings” are accompanied by the trope about the former rulers’ deliberate transmission of their foundational wisdom on various media, which is also present in other parts of the Mozi that refer to the authoritative scriptures. Thus the context does not allow for confusion between the generic “writings” and the “Scriptures of Former Kings.” 34. According to Jiang Shanguo, the Mozi tends to employ the word shū in the “broad sense” as “any writing on bamboo strips,” but at the same time there was a “narrow sense,” when the shū referred to “the writings on bamboo strips recording speeches”; see Jiang Shanguo, Shang shu zongshu, 1. Cf. John B. Henderson, Scripture, Canon, and Commentary: A Comparison of Confucian and Western Exegesis (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), 34. For a recent discussion of the innovations in the approach toward ancient authority in the Mozi, see Miranda Brown, “Mozi’s Remaking of Ancient Authority,” in The Mozi as an Evolving Text: Different Voices in Early Chinese Thought, ed. Carine Defoort and Nicolas Standaert (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 143–74. 35. I am not trying to argue that the Mozi in its received form predates the fixation of the Shang shu in the second century bce. The Mozi has a protracted textual history, and it contains traces of several competitive traditions that were merged together presumably around the first century bce: Angus Charles Graham, Divisions in Early Mohism Reflected in the Core Chapters of Mo-Tzu (Singapore: Institute of East Asian Philosophies, 1985), 16–17. However, the evidence that I am relying on, mainly from the so-called core chapters, certainly predates that time, and I agree with the established consensus that they date to the fourth to third centuries bce. For a useful

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summary of scholarly opinions on the composition and dating of the different parts of the Mozi, see Karen Desmet, “All Good Things Come in Threes: A Textual Analysis of the Three-Fold Structure of the Mohist Ethical ‘Core Chapters’ ” (PhD diss., Katholieke Universitet Leuven, 2007), 6–77. 36. Sun Yirang 孫詒讓, Mozi jiangu 墨子閒詁 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2001), 69. In most chapter titles, I follow the translation of John Knoblock and Jeffrey K. Riegel, Mozi: A Study and Translation of the Ethical and Political Writings, China Research Monograph 68 (Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 2013). I have also consulted their work in my translation of the main text of the chapters. 37. This discussion is found, in some variations, in the chapters “Jian ai xia” 兼愛下 (Impartial Love, Part Three), “Tian zhi zhong” 天志中 (Heaven’s Will, Part Two), “Ming gui xia,” “Fei ming zhong” 非命中 (Condemn Fatalism, Part Two), “Fei ming xia” 非命下 (Condemn Fatalism, Part Three), and “Gui yi” 貴義 (Valuing Righteousness); see Sun Yirang, Mozi jiangu, 120–21, 205–6, 237–38, 276, 280, 444. 38. Cf. Tsien, Written on Bamboo and Silk, 129, 143. Li Ling, in his discussion of the origins of literature in China, lists the Mozi passages but interprets them in a contradictory way: on the one hand, he believes that they discuss different kinds of writing in general (including manuscripts and epigraphy), while on the other, he agrees that they refer to the authoritative shū, which, by his classification, originate from “official records” and have nothing to do with epigraphy. Li Ling leaves this contradiction unresolved; see Li Ling, Jianbo gushu yu xueshu yuanliu, 41–42, 46. Mark Edward Lewis provides a most insightful discussion of the relevant passages in the Mozi, choosing to interpret them as a “theory of the sagely origins of certain poems and historical documents”; see Mark Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: SUNY Press, 1999), 112–15. In the following discussion, I reiterate much of Lewis’s analysis, but my conclusions are different. 39. Sun Yirang, Mozi jiangu, 237–38. 40. The original text in this place seems to be missing a character, as one would expect an object after wei 為. This passage is commonly emended with you 有 (“to be, to exist”), following the suggestions of Wang Niansun 王念孫 (1744–1832), which I follow in my translation: Knoblock and Riegel, Mozi, 263. I thank Kai Vogelsang for bringing this problem to my attention. 41. For some recent studies exploring the contexts of the production of epigraphic texts on ritual bronzes, see Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Royal Audience and Its Reflections in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China, 239–70; Li Feng, “Literacy and the Social Contexts of Writing in the Western Zhou”; Li Feng, “The Development of Literacy in Early China: With the Nature and Uses of Bronze Inscriptions in Context, and More,” in Literacy in Ancient Everyday Life, ed. Anne Kolb (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), 24–33. 42. Regarding the possible role of bronze texts in communication with ancestral spirits, see Kern, “Bronze Inscriptions, the Shangshu, and the Shijing,” 188–96. 43. Sun Yirang, Mozi jiangu, 120–21. 44. Edward L. Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History, 322–23; Edward L. Shaughnessy, “The Writing of a Late Western Zhou Bronze Inscription,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 61, no. 3 (2007): 845–77; Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Inscribed Bronzes from Yangjiacun: New Evidence on Social Structure and Historical Consciousness in Late Western Zhou China (c. 800 BC),” Proceedings of the British

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Academy 139 (2006): 239–95. References to recent research on the famous “Shi Qiang” pan 史牆盤 and “Qiu” pan 逨盤 vessels can be extracted from David M. Sena, “Arraying the Ancestors in Ancient China: Narratives of Lineage History in the ‘Scribe Qiang’ and ‘Qiu’ Bronzes,” Asia Major 25, no. 1 (2012): 63–81. 45. Li Ling, Jianbo gushu yu xueshu yuanliu, 43, fn. 2. Cf. Noel Barnard, “Records of Discoveries of Bronze Vessels in Literary Sources—and Some Pertinent Remarks on Aspects of Chinese Historiography,” Xianggang zhongwen daxue Zhongguo wenhua yanjiusuo xuebao 6 (1973): 455–544. Since the Shang period, yu 盂 typically refers to a deep basin on a round base with upward-bent handles. Although some such vessels contain longer inscriptions, none of them can compete with the long texts on pan basins. See the discussion in Li Ling 李零, Ru shan yu chu sai 入山與出塞 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 2004), 256–57. 46. Sun Yirang, Mozi jiangu, 238. 47. Sun Yirang, Mozi jiangu, 88. 48. These sections can be contrasted to the “Guofeng” 國風 (Airs of the States) section that assembles songs attributed to nonroyal domains. 49. Another relevant passage is recorded in chapter “Fei ming zhong”: “In the ‘Odes’ and ‘Scriptures’ of Shang and Xia, it is said: ‘Fate is the creation of aggressive rulers’ ” 在 於商、夏之詩書曰：命者暴王作之: Sun Yirang, Mozi jiangu, 227. It is possible to translate shīshū either as “Odes and Scriptures” or, less likely, “the recording of the Odes.” Regardless of the translation, the connection between the “Odes” and  the written texts in the Mozi seems to be closer than in other sources, which keep the “Odes” and “Scriptures” strictly separate. 50. On the hypothetical Mohist edition of the Shang shu, see Matsumoto Masaaki, Shunjū sengoku ni okeru Shōsho no tenkai, 465–525. In light of recent research, discussing citations in preimperial texts in terms of different “editions” of canonical collections consulted by their authors appears anachronistic. 51. The use of familiar terminology has its risks, and one should be cautious not to take the comparison too far. Despite the elements of transcendent revelation in the ancient scriptural corpus, overall, the sage rulers in ancient China are different from the divine source of scriptural revelation in Christianity and Judaism. Nevertheless, the veneration of the sage rulers can arguably be compared with the pious attitude toward the Prophet in Islam. I prefer to abstain from discussing whether the Chinese scriptures are “religious”; since Western understandings of religion informed by the Christian, Jewish, and Islamic experiences are only partly applicable to East Asian practices, such a theoretical discussion will only complicate, rather than clarify, the matter; see Robert Ford Campany, “On the Very Idea of Religions (in the Modern West and in Early Medieval China),” History of Religions 42, no. 4 (2003): 287–319. I rather prefer to address this problem through specific examples: the connections between preimperial scriptures and medieval religious Daoism are unequivocal, as discussed in chapters 5 and 6. 52. I am aware of the danger of imposing alien categories onto a culture that did not produce them. However, it appears to me that the word “scriptures” in contemporary scholarship has sufficiently broad and open connotations and does not have to be seen as a peculiar attribute of the communities related to Abrahamic religions. For an outdated but still praiseworthy comparative analysis of the shared properties of foundational texts in different traditions, see Johannes Leipoldt and Siegfried Morenz, Heilige Schriften: Betrachtungen zur Religionsgeschichte der antiken

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Mittelmeerwelt (Leipzig: Veb Otto Harrassowitz, 1953). See in particular their discussion of the origin of scriptures as distinctively authoritative textual practices in the Greek and Judean traditions on pages 37–39. 53. For some comparative studies of the Chinese and Western scriptural traditions, see Alexander Beecroft, Authorship and Cultural Identity in Early Greece and China: Patterns of Literary Circulation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Henderson, Scripture, Canon, and Commentary. 54. The “Preface” is the earliest source to mention the famous six-genre division (diǎn, mò, xùn, gào, shì, míng 典、謨、訓、誥、誓、命). For a useful recent study of the genres of the Shang shu influenced by the system of the pseudo-Kong “Preface,” see Ye Xiucheng 葉修成, Xi Zhou lizhi yu Shang shu wenti yanjiu 西周禮制與尚書文 體研究 (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 2016). 55. Shang shu zhengyi 尚書正義 (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 1.6b–7a. 56. While the earlier “Lesser Sequential Outline” provides the origin stories for the individual chapters within the collection, the pseudo-Kong “Preface” is an introduction to the collection as a whole. For a relevant discussion of the different xù 序 to the Shang shu, see Ruyue He and Michael Nylan, “On a Han-Era Postface (xu 序) to the Documents,” HJAS 75, no. 2 (2015): 377–426. 57. Shang shu zhengyi, 18.22a. In the Yi Zhou shu, such introductory passages are found in the chapters “Da kuang” 大匡 (Great Rectification; chapter 11), “Cheng dian” 程 典 (Statute at Cheng), and “Rui Liangfu” 芮良夫. 58. Shang shu zhengyi, 18.39a. 59. See Bernhard Karlgren, “Glosses on the Book of Documents II,” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 21 (1949): 193–94. 60. One has to note that an explicit address to the future generations is not the same as their mention in the benedictory formulas well attested in bronze texts and present in some of the shu (“Zi cai” 梓材 or “Timber of the catalpa,” “Qin shi”): Lothar von Falkenhausen, “Issues in Western Zhou Studies: A Review Article,” Early China 18 (1993): 151–52. In the latter case, the future generations are only passive receivers of the blessings, whereas in the former they have agency to actively engage in the textual dialog with the former generations. 61. Shang shu zhengyi, 15.21a. 62. Regarding the predominant types of speeches in the Shang shu, see Yegor Grebnev, “The Yi Zhou shu and the Shang shu: The Case of Texts with Speeches,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 266–67. 63. Shang shu zhengyi, 15.20a. I follow the pseudo-Kong Anguo’s commentary, which interprets this passage as a general didactic message addressed to unspecified future kings. For discussions of the alternative readings of this passage, see Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, The Shoo King, 470; Karlgren, “Glosses on the Book of Documents II,” 111–12. Both prefer to read the text as a historically contextualized pronouncement, in which the Duke of Zhou addresses King Cheng 成王. Note that Karlgren partly follows pseudo-Kong Anguo, but he still prefers to interpret the passage as directed at a specific king. See also Yuri Pines, “A Toiling Monarch? The ‘Wu Yi’ 無逸 Chapter Revisited,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 360–65. 64. For an analysis and discussion of this text, see Dirk Meyer, “Recontextualization and Memory Production: Debates on Rulership as Reconstructed from ‘Gu Ming’ 顧命 (Testimonial Charge),” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 106–45.

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65. For a discussion of the literary construction of the “Jin teng” and its manuscript counterparts, see Dirk Meyer, “The Art of Narrative and the Rhetoric of Persuasion in the ‘*Jīnténg’ (Metal-Bound Casket) from the Tsinghua Collection of Manuscripts,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 68, no. 3 (2014). 66. For a discussion of this text, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, “Texts Lost in Texts: Recovering the ‘Zhai Gong’ Chapter of the Yi Zhou shu,” in Studies in Chinese Language and Culture: Festschrift in Honour of Christoph Harbsmeier on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, ed. Christoph Anderl and Halvor Eifring (Oslo: Hermes Academic, 2006), 31–47. “Zhai gong” has a counterpart in the Tsinghua manuscripts, with important differences from the received version: Li Xueqin 李學勤, ed., Qinghua daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian (yi) 清華大學藏戰國竹簡（壹） (Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju, 2010), 173–80. 67. In this connection, one may also mention “Bao xun” 保訓 (Treasured Lesson) from the Tsinghua manuscripts. 68. Certain authoritative texts in ancient Egypt were also considered to have mixed manuscript and epigraphic origins; see Leipoldt and Morenz, Heilige Schriften: Betrachtungen zur Religionsgeschichte der antiken Mittelmeerwelt, 15–16. 69. Cai Zhonglang ji (Sibu beiyao ed.), 2.129. 70. It is not clear which texts Cai Yong refers to here. Perhaps it is one of the unpreserved texts mentioned in the “Yiwen zhi” section of the Han shu, like the Huangdi ming 黃 帝銘 (Epigraphic Texts of the Yellow Thearch): Han shu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 30.1731. 71. Kong Jia 孔甲 is one of the rulers of the legendary Xia dynasty. The text mentioned by Cai Yong most certainly refers to a book mentioned in the “Yiwen zhi,” Kong Jia pan yu 孔甲盤盂 (Kong Jia’s Texts on the Washing Basins and Cups), Han shu, 30.1740. 72. Chapter “Gan shi” 甘誓 in the received arrangement of the Shang shu belongs to the section “Xia shu” 夏書 (Xia Scriptures), and the “Sequential Outline of the Scriptures” presents it as a speech pronounced by Qi 啓, the son of Yu the Great 大禹. This is of course different from Cai Yong’s attribution of this speech to Cheng Tang. 73. The story of the bronze man is preserved in Kongzi jiayu 孔子家語 (Family Sayings of Confucius). It has been examined by Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Reimagining the Yellow Emperor’s Four Faces,” in Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005), 226–48. 74. This antiquarian discovery took place during the reign of Emperor Xuan 宣帝 (91– 49 bce): Han shu, 25.1251. See also Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History, 5–7; Barnard, “Records of Discoveries of Bronze Vessels in Literary Sources,” 465–67. 75. Fragmentary citations in medieval works suggest that, apart from the text preserved from the Da Dai li ji, this story was known from other related compositions. The Shanghai Museum collection contains a manuscript that records two such texts side by side. See chapter 5 for more details. 76. Citations from the Yi Zhou shu, unless otherwise indicated, are given according to Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007). This edition is in turn based on the Sibu congkan reprint of a collated edition by Zhang Bo 章檗 published in the twentysecond year (1543) of the Jiajing 嘉靖 era. 77. Qunshu zhiyao 群書治要 (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 31.11b. 78. Kong Jia is one of the rulers of the legendary Xia 夏 dynasty.

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79. Nanhua zhenjing 南華真經 (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 8.21a. 80. Cf. the discussion of this passage in Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History, 7. 81. Gu Jiegang, “Yi Zhou shu Shi fu pian jiaozhu xieding yu pinglun,” Wenshi 2 (1963): 1–41; Edward L. Shaughnessy, “  ‘New’ Evidence on the Zhou Conquest,” in Before Confucius: Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classics (Albany: SUNY Press, 1997), 38. See also my discussion in Yegor Grebnev, “The Record of King Wu of Zhou’s Royal Deeds in the Yi Zhou shu in Light of Near Eastern Royal Inscriptions,” Journal of the American Oriental Society (2018): 73–104. 82. Mengzi zhushu 孟子注疏 (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 14a.3b. 83. Wang Lianlong 王連龍, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu 逸周書研究 (Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2010), 14–17. 84. Zhanguo ce 戰國策 (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 3.9b. 85. The Lü shi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 passage goes: “The Zhou Scriptures say: ‘What is gone cannot be reached and what has to come cannot be foreseen. The one who has sagaciously elucidated the times and generations is called the Son of Heaven’ ” 周書曰： 往者不可及，來者不可待，賢明其世，謂之天子; see Lü shi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 13.9a. The corresponding passage from Yinqueshan reads: “What is gone cannot be reached and what has to come cannot be foreseen. The one who can elucidate the times and generations is called the Son of Heaven” 往者不可及，來者不可侍[待]，能明其世者，胃[謂]之天子) (strip no. 749). See Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, ed., Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian (yi) 銀 雀山漢墓竹簡（壹） (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1985), I.73, II.101, III.114. 86. I use these short citations with counterparts in received texts only as supportive evidence. It is known that many ancient Chinese texts reuse and adapt material from one another. See William G. Boltz, “The Composite Nature of Early Chinese Texts,” in Text and Ritual in Early China, 50–78; Sun Shaohua and Xu Jianwei, Cong wenxian dao wenben, 53–60. A citation that has a corresponding match in a chapter of the received Yi Zhou shu may have been taken from another text that has not survived. 87. The observation is complicated by the fact that, on other occasions, aphorisms matching the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke traditions are referred to as zhi 志 or “records”; see Wang Shumin 王樹民, “Shi zhi” 釋志, Wenshi 32 (1990): 313–17; Liu Qiyu 劉起釪, “Yi Zhou shu yu Zhou zhi” 逸周書與周志, in Gushi xubian (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1991), 613–18. 88. For a somewhat misinformed interpretation of the generic heterogeneity of the shū, see Ma Shiyuan, Zhou-Qin Shang shu xue yanjiu, 164–69. 89. Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China, 113. 90. Sun Yirang, Mozi jiangu, 216–17. 91. Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China, 115. 92. Sun Yirang, Mozi jiangu, 469. 93. For an overview of this site and an analysis of the distribution of burial goods, see Xiaolong Wu, Material Culture, Power, and Identity in Ancient China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 75–133. 94. See Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History, 181; Li Feng, Landscape and Power in Early China: The Crisis and Fall of the Western Zhou 1045–771 BC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 93–95. 95. According to the chapter “Shifa” 謚法 (Order of Posthumous Names) of the Yi Zhou shu, the posthumous name Huan 桓 (lit. “Pillar-Like”) is given to rulers who either

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successfully expand the territory of the state (“Shifa” contains two similar records with this idea) or manage to attract universal respect and inspire their people (one record); see Georgiy Grebnev, “Formirovanie sistemy posmertnykh imën v Drevnem Kitae po dannym pis’mennykh istochnikov,” in Sinologi mira k ͡iubilei͡ u Stanislava Kuchery (Moscow: IV RAN, 2013), 225. If the choice of Huan was based on this logic, the sequence of Western Zhou names may have been interrupted to celebrate the extraordinary territorial expansion during King Huan’s reign. 96. On the perpetuation of the commemoration of the Zhou victory of Shang in the Zhou liturgy, see Georgiy Grebnev, “Ėvolut͡ sii͡a pami͡ati o chzhouskom zavoevanii Shang,” Vostok 4 (2016): 86–88. I suggest that the taming of the bellicose spirit of the early Zhou and its confinement to liturgy were a cultural remedy that allowed the Warring States elites to preserve the continuity of the foundational ethos of Zhou while neutralizing its potentially destructive, aggressive component. However, this confinement was never absolute, and the witnesses of the conquest perpetually reenacted in liturgy could always interpret it as a call to action. 97. Li ji zhushu, 60.11a. 98. Xiang.30, Zhao.28; Stephen Durrant, Wai-yee Li, and David Schaberg, trans., Zuo Tradition / Zuozhuan, Classics of Chinese Thought (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2016), 1268–69, 1684–85. See the discussion in Schaberg, A Patterned Past, 78–79; see also G. S. Popova and M. I͡ u. Ulʹi͡anov, “Ėtapy istorii shu 書 (‘Zapisi [recheĭ gosudareĭ]’) i shi 詩 (‘Pesni’): Ot liturgii do kanona (9–3 vv. do n.ė.),” in Obshchestvo i gosudarstvo v Kitae 48, no. 2: 350 (Moscow: IV RAN, 2018). 99. Han shu, 30.1706. 1 00. Zhou yi zhushu 周易注疏 (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 11.35a. For discussions of the text’s complex formation history, see Willard J. Peterson, “Making Connections: ‘Commentary on the Attached Verbalizations’ of the Book of Change,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 42, no. 1 (1982): 75–77; Edward L. Shaughnessy, “The Writing of the Xici Zhuan and the Making of the Yijing,” in Measuring Historical Heat: Event, Performance and Impact in China and the West (Symposium in Honor of Rudolph G. Wagner on His 60th Birthday, Heidelberg, November 3–4, 2001), 197–222. 101. Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, The Shoo King, 324. 102. For a general discussion of the Yellow River Chart and the Luo River Writ, see Gu Jiegang, Gushi bian zixu (Shijiazhuang: Hebei jiaoyu chubanshe, 2000), 366–80, who emphasizes an unexpected connection between these esoteric artifacts and the respectable Ruist tradition. See also the discussion of the formative role of the “Hong fan” in the composition of the “Yiwen zhi” in Michael Hunter, “The ‘Yiwen Zhi’ 藝 文志 (Treatise on Arts and Letters) Bibliography in Its Own Context,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 138, no. 4 (2018): 763–80. 103. Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, The Shoo King, 323. 104. Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, The Shoo King, 320–23. 105. Han shu, 30.1706. 106. Martin Kern, The Stele Inscriptions of Chʻin Shih-Huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation (New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, 2000), 155–96. 107. Tang dynasty official decrees provide many examples of the recycling of Shang shu language in administrative contexts; see Song Minqiu 宋敏求, ed., Tang da zhaoling ji 唐大詔令集 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2008).

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108. For a discussion of texts specifically concerned with the recording of commands, see David Schaberg, “Command and the Content of Tradition,” in The Magnitude of the Ming: Command, Allotment, and Fate in Chinese Culture, ed. Christopher Lupke (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2005), 23–48. 109. For examples of archaic language reminiscent of scriptural texts in the royal speeches recorded in the Zuo zhuan, see Schaberg, “Speaking of Documents: Shu Citations in the Warring States,” 341–45. 110. Han shu, 30.1715. 111. Judging from epigraphic evidence, the use of Left 左 and Right 右 in official titles appears to have only become common starting from the Spring and Autumn period. I am grateful to Li Feng for sharing this observation. For a discussion of epigraphic evidence concerning the scribal offices during that period, see Li Feng, Bureaucracy and the State in Early China, 54–60. Concerning the historical development of notions related to official scribes, see Kai Vogelsang, “The Scribes’ Genealogy,” Oriens Extremus 44 (2003): 3–10. 112. Li ji zhushu, 29.1a–5b. I use the translation from James Legge, The Sacred Books of China: The Texts of Confucianism, part 4, The Lî Kî, XI–XLVI (Oxford, 1885), 1–2. 113. I believe that “Yu zao” is earlier than “Yiwen zhi.” First, the Li ji (or, to be more precise, a text called Ji 記 put under the category of “Li” 禮 or “Ritual”) is already mentioned in the “Yiwen zhi.” Although the existence of some Li ji does not yet imply that chapter “Yu zao” was part of this collection, the mention of the two historiographers appears there as an organic part of a more elaborate description of court ritual, which suggests that it may be earlier than its decontextualized counterpart in the “Yiwen zhi.” 114. For an insightful discussion of the degree of maturity of the writing system as attested in Shang inscriptions from Anyang, see William G. Boltz, “Literacy and the Emergence of Writing in China,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China, 51–84. For a discussion of scribal training practices as witnessed in Anyang inscriptions, see Adam Smith, “The Evidence for Scribal Training at Anyang,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China, 173–205. 115. Zhou li zhushu (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經註疏 ed.), 26.30a–31b. 116. See the translation and discussion in Martin Kern, “Language and the Ideology of Kingship in the ‘Canon of Yao,’ ” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 23–61. 117. I would expect that, in this system, the Scribe of the Exterior would keep the writings of primordial sage rulers firmly shut so as not to tempt anyone into copying them and thus challenging his authority. 118. The translation depends on the interpretation of the character ce 冊; see Kern, “The Performance of Writing in Western Zhou China,” 152–57. 119. Qiao Zhizhong 喬治忠 and Liu Wenying 劉文英, “Zhongguo gudai qijuzhu jishi tizhi de xingcheng” 中國古代起居注記史體制的形成, Shixueshi yanjiu 2 (2010): 8–16. Sometimes this practice is traced back to remote antiquity, based on the vision of a pervasive document-centered bureaucracy that existed since the very beginning of Chinese history, a theory that does not rely on much evidential support. See Lu Ding 魯丁, “Gudai de qijuzhu he nei qijuzhu zhidu” 古代的起居注和內起居注制 度, Hunan dang’an 5 (1992): 38–39. 120. See Nylan, The Five “Confucian” Classics, 122. 121. On the distinction between the “foundational memory” and the more recent “biographic memory,” see Jan Assmann, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization: Writing,

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Remembrance, and Political Imagination (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 33–37. Assmann refers to an earlier study by Jan Vansina, who points out that “historical consciousness works only in two registers: time of origin and recent times”: Jan Vansina, Oral Tradition as History (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985), 24. 122. See Nylan, The Five “Confucian” Classics, 157–61.

3. APPROPRIATED AND CREATED SCRIPTURES 1. The best comprehensive assessment of the linguistic features of the individual Yi Zhou shu chapters with valuable observations concerning their relative date is Zhou Yuxiu, Yi Zhou shu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxianxue jiazhi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005). It is commendable for not prioritizing what are considered to be “genuine” chapters, sifting all of the Yi Zhou shu through uniform and falsifiable linguistic checks. 2. This division can be traced back to the seminal study of Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 (1893– 1980), who divided the “modern script” chapters of the Shang shu into three groups. The first includes “credible and authentic” Western Zhou texts, the second contains mixed material that is forged, retrospectively composed by later historiographers, or translated from authentic ancient records into later language, while the third group includes forgeries composed in the Warring States period and during the early empires: Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛, “Lun jinwen Shang shu zhuzuo shidai shu” 論今文尚 書著作時代書, Gushi bian 1 (1928): 201–2. At the time, this was a significant step forward in the critical assessment of sources, but today assuming that the date of composition implies credibility appears unacceptably naïve. For attempts to classify the Yi Zhou shu along similar lines, see Luo Jiaxiang, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2006), 1–58; Zhang Huaitong, Yi Zhou shu xin yan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2013), 99–237. 3. Robin McNeal, Conquer and Govern: Early Chinese Military Texts from the Yi Zhou shu (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2012). 4. Yegor Grebnev, “The Yi Zhou shu and the Shang shu: The Case of Texts with Speeches,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents), ed. Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 249–80. See in particular pages 274–76. 5. An intriguing example of a late text that embodies early compositional patterns is cited in the “Ji tong” 祭統 chapter (A Summary Account of Sacrifices) of the Li ji 禮 記. It is supposedly reproduced from the ding-tripod of Kong Kui of Wey 衛孔悝 (fl. ca. 480 bce) but is extremely reminiscent of the Western Zhou epigraphy; see Li ji zhushu (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 49.16b–22a; Lothar von Falkenhausen, “Issues in Western Zhou Studies: A Review Article,” Early China 18 (1993): 139–226, 152, fn. 26. Christian Schwermann suggests that the transcription of the text on the ding-tripod may have been forged by the creators of the Li ji because its language is too archaic compared to the genuine epigraphic texts from the fifth century bce: Christian Schwermann, “Composite Authorship in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions: The Case of the ‘Tiānwáng Guǐ’ 天亡簋 Inscription,” in That Wonderful Composite Called Author: Authorship in East Asian Literatures from the Beginnings to the Seventeenth Century, ed. Christian Schwermann and Raji C.

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Steineck (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 49–55. This suggestion is counterintuitive and unnecessarily complicated. We have no reason to postulate that the authors of the Li ji, who presumably lived around the third to second centuries bce, were more likely to imitate archaic patterns than somebody who lived in the fifth century bce, closer to the period being imitated. 6. In the analysis of ancient texts, one approach is to view the instances of redundant structural sophistication as tokens of historical accretion: Matthias Richter, The Embodied Text: Establishing Textual Identity in Early Chinese Manuscripts (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 157–70. Another approach is to apply the principle of charity and see them as elements of meaningful argumentative structures that do not necessarily agree with contemporary expectations: Joachim Gentz and Dirk Meyer, “Introduction: Literary Forms of Argument in Early China,” in Literary Forms of Argument in Early China, ed. Joachim Gentz and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 1–36. Ideally, these two approaches should be employed in a complementary way, but in practice it is difficult to identify the specific situations when one should be preferred over the other. I prioritize the principle of charitable reading unless it becomes obvious that different parts of the text either contain language with marks of different time periods or are contradictory in contents. 7. Recording dated events for the sake of imparting factual knowledge to future generations was alien to ancient China, and such dated records were underpinned by different concerns. The dates in the Shang oracle-bone inscriptions are derived from the patterns of ritual scheduling. Even such a basic term as “year” is missing from the Shang records, where “sacrificial cycle” (si 祀) is used instead, which happened to become more or less commensurate to a calendric year toward the end of the Shang period: David Keightley, Sources of Shang History: The Oracle-Bone Inscriptions of Bronze Age China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 116, fn. 107; David Keightley, The Ancestral Landscape (Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 2000), 50–53. From the eighth century bce onward, there is a marked tendency to exclusively record auspicious dates in bronze epigraphy. According to my calculations based on the Academia Sinica database, for the Spring and Autumn period (ca. eighth to fifth centuries bce), the first month is disproportionately mentioned in 54 percent of records and the cyclical date ding-hai (34/60) 丁亥 in 40 percent of records. A similarly uneven distribution of dates is attested on the Han dynasty bronze mirrors, where a large number of records are dated to the “fifth month, day bing-wu” (43/60) and “first month, day ding-hai.” Cf. Wang Guowei 王國維, Wang Guowei xueshu suibi 王國維學術隨筆 (Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2000), 138. Since a relatively rich historical record survives for the early empires, it is possible to check the accuracy of epigraphic texts against transmitted sources, and it has been shown that many such dates are simply fictitious; see Pang Pu 龐樸, “Wu yue bingwu yu zheng yue dinghai” 五月丙午與正月丁亥, Wenwu 6 (1979): 81–84; Pu Pang, “ ‘Bing Wu (丙午) in the Fifth Month’ and ‘Ding Hai (丁 亥) in the First Month,’ ” trans. M. E. Scharpe, Contemporary Chinese Thought 40, no. 4 (2009): 30–40. Ritually informed recording of dates has been observed in the received texts, too. In particular, the dates in the Chunqiu were arranged according to an intricate orderly pattern, different from what one could expect from a spontaneously unfolding factual history: A. M. Karapetʹi͡ant͡ s, “ ‘Chunʹt͡si͡u’ i drevnekitaĭskiĭ ‘istoriograficheskiĭ’ ritual,” in Konfut͡ sieva letopisʹ Chunʹt͡si͡ u, per. Monastyrëva N.I. (Moscow: Vostochnaya literatura, 1999), 264–333. See also Newell Ann Van Auken,

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The Commentarial Transformation of the Spring and Autumn (Albany: SUNY Press, 2016), 61–64. 8. I previously called this pattern background-centered; Grebnev, “The Yi Zhou shu and the Shang shu,” 256–59. 9. See Edward L. Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History: Inscribed Bronze Vessels (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 76–77. I am grateful to Maria Khayutina and Ondřej Škrabal, who brought this important point to my attention. 10. I consciously avoid the term “bronze inscriptions,” preferring to use “bronze texts.” The conventional term is problematic because it can mislead those readers who are less familiar with the technological process of casting ritual bronzes. Indeed, in most cases, texts were cast as part of the bronze, and not “inscribed” on it after the casting. For an in-depth treatment of the casting process, see Noel Barnard and Wan Jiabao, “The Casting of Inscriptions in Chinese Bronzes—with Particular Reference to Those with Rilievo Guidelines,” Dongwu daxue Zhongguo yishu shi jikan 6 (1976): 43–129. A concise summary of the process is also presented in Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History, 37–43. 11. I previously called it template-based; Grebnev, “The Yi Zhou shu and the Shang shu,” 257–59. 12. Chapter “Zhai gong” 祭公 (Duke of Zhai) of the Yi Zhou shu is related to this type, but there the information about the progressing illness of the protagonist is embedded in the first few sentences of the dialog. This chapter has a counterpart in the recently acquired manuscripts of the Tsinghua University: Li Xueqin, ed., Qinghua daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian 清華大學藏戰國竹簡 (Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju, 2010), 1:22–25, 99–116, 173–79. 13. Our knowledge about ancient Chinese hemerological practices mainly comes from recently excavated materials; see Marc Kalinowski, “Les traités de Shuihudi et l’hémérologie chinoise à la fin des Royaumes-Combattants,” T’oung Pao 72 (1986): 175–228; Marc Kalinowski, “Les livres des jours (rishu) des Qin et des Han: La logique éditoriale du recueil a de Shuihudi (217 avant notre ère),” T’oung Pao 94 (2008): 1–48. 14. James Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, The Shoo King (Hong Kong; London, 1865), 502–4. 15. Such a presentation of texts as written artifacts—as opposed to speeches pronounced on specific occasions—is characteristic of the “Lesser Sequential Outline” (“Xiao xu” 小序) of the Shang shu and the “Sequential Outline of the Zhou Scriptures” (“Zhou shu xu” 周書序) in the Yi Zhou shu. These sequential outlines are created as an attempt to arrange the rather disparate assemblages of scriptures in chronological order, and they are certainly later than most (if not all) of the texts they describe. In the “modern script” chapters of the Shang shu and in the Yi Zhou shu, references to the composition of texts as written artifacts are relatively rare and can be interpreted as indicating such chapters’ relatively late origin, at least in their present form. 16. This combination of features is indicative of the two types of texts mainly found in the Yi Zhou shu: “nondramatic speeches” and “speeches related to dream revelations”; see Grebnev, “The Yi Zhou shu and the Shang shu,” 268–70. 17. Only two chapters, “Wu yi” 無逸 (Against Slothfulness) and “Jun shi” 君奭 (Lord Shi), match the pattern of what I have identified as “dramatic speeches” predominantly attested in the Shang shu. However, “Wu yi” and “Jun shi” are special members of this group: they are presented as private exchanges, while most “dramatic speeches” in the Shang shu are pronounced before groups of witnesses.

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18. For a recent study of these chapters, see Du Yong 杜勇, Shang shu Zhou chu ba gao yanjiu 尚書周初八誥研究 (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 2017). 19. See Joachim Gentz, “One Heaven, One History, One People: Repositioning the Zhou in Royal Addresses to Subdued Enemies in the ‘Duo Shi’ 多士 and ‘Duo Fang’ 多方 Chapters of the Shangshu and in the ‘Shang Shi’ 商誓 Chapter of the Yi Zhoushu,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 146–92; Martin Kern, “The ‘Harangues’ (Shi 誓) in the Shangshu,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 281–319; Maria Khayutina, “ ‘Bi Shi’ 粊誓, Western Zhou Oath Texts, and the Legal Culture of Early China,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 416–45.

4. ROYAL COLLOQUIES AS THE MAIN TEXT TYPE IN THE YI ZHOU SHU 1. Edgar V. McKnight, What Is Form Criticism? (Philadelphia: Fortpress, 1969), 20. Instructive dialogs in the Warring States texts often rely on stable compositional forms: for a discussion of the form of “scenes of instruction” in the Analects, see Wiebke Denecke, The Dynamics of Masters Literature: Early Chinese Thought from Confucius to Han Feizi, Harvard-Yenching Institute Monograph 74 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010), 98–127. For an analysis of the textual form in relationship with the “textual function” of Confucius in the Analects and the Zhuangzi, see Oliver Weingarten, “The Sage as Teacher and Source of Knowledge: Editorial Strategies and Formulaic Utterances in Confucius Dialogues,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 68, nos. 3–4 (2014): 1175–223. 2. This group is the closest to the category of “admonitions” (nastavlenii͡ a) distinguished in the Yi Zhou shu in G. S. Popova, “Klassifikat͡ sii͡a 1–35 glav Yi-Zhou-shu (‘Nekanonicheskie zapisi Zhou’),” in Obshchestvo i gosudarstvo v Kitae 48, no. 2: 371 (Moscow: IV RAN, 2018). 3. Anna Seidel, “The Emperor and His Councillor Laozi and Han Dynasty Taoism,” trans. Lothar von Falkenhausen, Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 17 (2008): 146–47. 4. I do not include the chapters “Jiu kai” 九開 (Nine Instructions), “Wen kai” 文開 (King Wen’s Instruction), and “Bao kai” 保開 (Instruction on Safeguarding). Only the titles of these chapters are mentioned in the received recension of the Yi Zhou shu. On “Bao kai,” see chapter 5. 5. Strictly speaking, there are only two chapters with jǐng 儆 in their titles because chapter 31, “Wù jing” 寤敬, has jìng 敬 (without the 亻 radical). However, in the “Sequential Outline of the Zhou Scriptures” the name of the chapter is spelled as 寤 儆. Considering the similarity of its structure with the other two chapters, I view it as a part of the same group. 6. By considering chapter titles as a criterion of philological proximity, I am entering into dangerous territory. The titles are not necessarily coterminous with their respective texts; besides, recently excavated materials show that the counterparts of some texts known from the continuous tradition sometimes circulated without titles. The main reason that I find it justified to use chapter titles when discussing the early history of individual Yi Zhou shu chapters is the presence of similar chapter titles in the Yinqueshan 銀雀山 collection of bamboo manuscripts dating from the second century bce, which suggests that the titles may indeed have cocirculated with texts in the early imperial and possibly the preimperial periods.

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I discuss the similarity of naming conventions in the Yinqueshan Liu tao and the Yi Zhou shu in chapter 5. 7. See Robin McNeal, “The Body as Metaphor for the Civil and Martial Components of Empire in Yi Zhou shu, Chapter 32; With an Excursion on the Composition and Structure of the Yi Zhou shu,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 122, no. 1 (2002): 50; Robin McNeal, Conquer and Govern: Early Chinese Military Texts from the Yi Zhou shu (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2012), 84. 8. Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007), 257. 9. For a discussion of numerical lists in the Yi Zhou shu, see Yegor Grebnev, “Numerical Lists of Foundational Knowledge in Early Chinese and Early Buddhist Traditions,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 74, no. 3 (2020): 453–84. 10. In the redaction of the Yi Zhou shu that I use as my main source, edited by Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, based on a 1543 edition by Zhang Bo 章檗, this sentence ends with tianxia 天下 (“All-Under-Heaven”): Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 272. However, other early editions have tianming 天命 (“Mandate of Heaven”). I follow this variant because it produces a more sensible reading. 11. According to Kong Chao’s commentary, this refers to the five planets (Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn) and the four cardinal directions. Lu Wenchao 盧文 弨 (1717–1796) concurs with this opinion: Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 274. 12. The nine regions of earth are a common cosmological notion, even though the specific regions are not the same in different sources. Chapter “Yu gong” 禹貢 (Tribute of Yu) of the Shang shu contains the most authoritative listing of these regions: Jì 冀, Yǎn 兗, Qīng 青, Xǔ 徐, Yáng 揚, Jīng 荊, Yù 豫, Liáng 梁, and Yōng 雍. 13. This passage is possibly corrupt. Lu Wenchao proposes to emend it as 順助得明 (“The one who complies with assistance acquires clairvoyance”). Zhu Youzeng has an alternative suggestion: 順德助明 (“The one who complies with the De-virtue acquires clairvoyance”): Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 276. 14. An alternate, astronomically more sophisticated reading of the first two items is: “reckon days by the celestial mark-points (chen 辰) and reckon moons by the heavenly stations (xiu 宿).” For a discussion of these notions, see Joseph Needham and Ling Wang, Science and Civilisation in China: Mathematics and the Sciences of the Heavens and the Earth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), 229–52. 15. See Michael Nylan, The Shifting Center: The Original “Great Plan” and Later Readings (Nettetal, Germany: Steyler Verlag, 1992). On the “five phases,” see Michael Nylan, “Yin-Yang, Five Phases and Qi,” in China’s Early Empires: A Re-Appraisal (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 398–414. 16. According to the ancient commentary attributed to Kong Chao, the three virtues are hardness (gang 剛), softness (rou 柔), and fairness (zhengzhi 正直): Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 305. 17. The two words in this phrase are rhymed: 泄 *s-lat, 竭 *N-krat. 18. The use of cyclical days for selecting an appropriate time for certain activities is already attested in the earliest epigraphy of the Anyang phase in the thirteenth to eleventh centuries bce, although interpreting these early practices using the evidence about divinatory practices from later periods is contestable; see Adam Smith,

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“The Chinese Sexagenary Cycle and the Ritual Origins of the Calendar,” in Calendars and Years II: Astronomy and Time in the Ancient and Medieval World, ed. John M. Steele (Oxford: Oxbow, 2011), 1–37. For a discussion of ancient Chinese “almanacs” in the context of the historical development of occult and esoteric practices during the fifth to third centuries bce, see Donald Harper, “Warring States Natural Philosophy and Occult Thought,” in The Cambridge History of Ancient China, ed. Michael Loewe and Edward Shaughnessy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 843–52. 19. See Zhao Fengrong 趙奉蓉, Yi Zhou shu wenxue yanjiu 逸周書文學研究 (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 2013), 22–24. 20. Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1225. 21. Zhou Yuxiu, Yi Zhou shu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxianxue jiazhi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 11. 22. Fredrik Hagen, “Constructing Textual Identity,” in Ancient Egyptian Literature, ed. Roland Enmarch and Verena M. Lepper (Oxford: British Academy, 2013), 186. 23. Hagen, “Constructing Textual Identity,” 188. 24. See the discussion of the Pātimokkhasutta in Oskar von Hinüber, A Handbook of Pāli Literature (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1996), 13–14. 25. My understanding of “formula” and “formulaic expressions” is influenced by my sources and is different from what is conventionally accepted in philological discussions that focus on issues of orality and literacy. By this term, I understand a variable textual pattern expressing a specific idea and having a definite compositional function but allowing for a significant degree of textual flexibility, such as contraction, expansion, replacement of individual elements with synonyms, and grammatical variability. It is normally the relatively stable position of the formula within the overall structure of the text that allows me to identify and juxtapose it against instances of the same formula in other texts, even though the individual instances of formulas almost never match. For an insightful problematization of the concepts of “formula” and “stock phrase” in philological research, see Mark Allon, Style and Function: A Study of the Dominant Stylistic Features of the Prose Portions of Pāli Canonical Sutta Texts and Their Mnemonic Function, Studia Philologica Buddhica 12 (Tokyo: International Institute for Buddhist Studies of the International College for Advanced Buddhist Studies, 1997), 9–18. 26. The character bin 賓 (“guest”) is recorded in several editions as zhi 寘 (“to install”). In the earliest Yuan dynasty edition, due to a printing defect, some of the bottom part of the character is not visible. Although the remaining part looks similar to you 宥 (“to pardon,” “to protect”), there seems to be an extra horizontal stroke that complicates this reading. Nevertheless, Lu Wenchao adopts you in his edition, and I follow this choice. See Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 487. 27. Shi bai 適敗 (“movement toward collapse”) appears earlier in the text of “Wen jing”; therefore, it cannot be regarded as a stable part of the formula. 28. I omit the character fu 復 (“to revert,” “to restore”) in the translation, agreeing with Lu Wenchao that it is most likely an interpolation from the preceding passage 不從 乃潰，潰不可復; see Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 211. However, I do not find it justified to remove with it the three characters that follow immediately afterwards 戒後人: even though this repetition does not seem to add any new information to the text, the repetition of such exclamations is not unusual.

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29. This formula is also attested in the “*Bao xun” 保訓 (Treasured Lesson) of the Tsinghua manuscripts: Li Xueqin, ed., Qinghua daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian (yi) (Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju, 2010), 142–48. For a relevant discussion, see Li Ling 李零, “Du Qinghua jian Baoxun shiwen” 讀清華簡保訓釋文, Zhongguo wenwu bao, August 21, 2009. 30. See Xu Zhongshu 徐中舒, “Jinwen guci shili” 金文嘏辭釋例, Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo jikan 1936.1: 14–15. A particularly nuanced analysis is offered by Chen Yingjie 陳英傑, Xi Zhou jinwen zuoqi yongtu mingci yanjiu 西周金文作器 用途銘辭研究 (Beijing: Xianzhuang shuju, 2008), 597–683. I thank Wolfgang Behr for this reference. Such a formulaic abbreviation is sometimes discussed together with instances of syntactic ellipsis, but these phenomena are different in nature and should be analyzed separately. Cf. Liang Chunni 梁春妮, “Chunqiu Zhanguo mingwen jufa yanjiu” 春秋戰國銘文句法研究 (MA thesis, East China Normal University, 2010), 118–19. 31. The imprecations in the covenant texts in Houma 侯馬 and Wenxian 溫縣 excavated in 1965 and 1980–1981 possibly provide another example of formulaic abbreviation, but the instances of incomplete formulas can also be explained as scribal omissions. For insightful examples of variants of the ritually significant formulas, see Crispin Williams, “Scribal Variation and the Meaning of the Houma and Wenxian Covenant Texts’ Imprecation Ma Yi Fei Shi 麻夷非是,” Early China 37 (2014): 133–34. The ongoing debate regarding the exact interpretation of the imprecation in the closing passages of the covenant texts is a good example of how ritual ossification of a phrase obfuscates the text; see Imre Galambos, “A Corpus-Based Approach to Palaeography: The Case of the Houma Covenant Texts,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 59 (2005): 115–30. The best introduction to the Wenxian and Houma covenant texts is still Susan R. Weld, “The Covenant Texts from Houma and Wenxian,” in New Sources of Early Chinese History: An Introduction to the Reading of Inscriptions and Manuscripts, ed. Edward L. Shaughnessy (Berkeley, CA: Society for the Study of Early China, 1997), 125–60. 32. See the discussion in Qian Zongwu 錢宗武, Jinwen Shang shu jufa yanjiu 今文尚書 句法研究 (Kaifeng: Henan daxue chubanshe, 2011), 77–78. 33. This pattern also occurs in the chapter “Wen wang guan ren” 文王官人 (King Wen’s Officials) in the Da Dai li ji, which, according to Matthias Richter, is a “cognate text” of the chapter “Guan ren” 官人 (The Officials) in the Yi Zhou shu: Huang Huaixin 黃 懷信, Kong Deli 孔德立, and Zhou Haisheng 周海生, eds., Da Dai li ji huijiao jizhu 大戴禮記彙校集注 (Xi’an: Sanqin chubanshe, 2005), 1089, 1144; Matthias Richter, “Cognate Texts: Technical Terms as Indicators of Intertextual Relations and Redactional Strategies,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 56, no. 3 (2002): 549–72. Remarkably, of these two texts, only the Da Dai li ji version contains the pattern in question. Two other instances of this pattern familiar to me are found in the Mengzi and the Zuo zhuan. The Mengzi contains two identical citations, one in “Gongsun Chou I” 公孫丑上 and another in “Wan Zhang II” 萬章下, both attributed to the legendary sage Yi Yin 伊尹 and probably coming from the textual lore predating the Mengzi: 何事非君，何使非民 “Whom would one serve if not the lord? Whom would one employ if not the commoners?” See Mengzi 孟子 (Sibu congkan 四部 叢刊 ed.), 3.9b, 10.1b. Yi Yin was celebrated in early Daoist texts as one of the wise advisers of foundational kings; such texts were perceived as part of scriptures during the Warring States period and later, as I discuss in chapter 5. In the Zuo zhuan, the

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relevant passage is found in the record corresponding to the first year of Duke Zhao 昭公. I reproduce it in David Schaberg’s translation, with modifications: 又賦采 蘩，曰：小國為蘩，大國省穡而用之，其何實非命？ “[Shusun Bao 叔孫豹 of Lu] then recited ‘Gathering artemisia,’ saying: ‘The small state is the artemisia. The great state uses it sparingly. What is the essence [of such behavior] if not the [following of the] mandate?’ ” See David Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 237. 34. “Da kai wu” enumerates the “ten excesses” (shi yin 十淫) that have a corrupting influence on various social norms and institutions. 35. Cf. the list of chapters related to the Duke of Zhou identified by Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (go): Shūkō Tan to sono gensetsu ni tsuite,” Nihon joshi daigaku kiyō: Bungaku bu 49 (2000): 59. Future work may reveal other criteria that would allow us to refine the classification, possibly identifying more chapters as royal colloquies. In particular, such nondramatic speeches as “Rou wu” and “Da ju” are compositionally similar to royal colloquies, but they do not contain the textual features that I use to identify formal proximity between chapters. 36. Wang Li 王力 believes that this word may be related to mó 謨, which has a close meaning; see Wang Li 王力, Tongyuan zidian 同源字典 (Beijing: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1982), 105. See also Axel Schuessler, ABC Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2007), 391. In this case, the móu in the Yi Zhou shu could be related to the mó in the title of chapter “Gao yao mo” 皋 陶謨 (Counsels of Gao Yao) in the Shang shu. However, this idea does not appear fully convincing on phonological grounds because the two words differ in the main vowels. 37. In chapter “Wen zheng” 文政 (Cultured Government), which may be related to royal colloquies, there is a similar example of the verbal use of móu, this time mentioning “secretive planning” 潛謀. 38. Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 283, 567, 569. 39. A similar fear of leakage of móu is expressed in chapter “Xiao kai”: “If the plans leak, then your own person will not be sure” 謀泄，汝躬不允. 40. Guanzi 管子 (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 4.3b. For the English translation, see Allyn W. Rickett, Guanzi: Political, Economic, and Philosophical Essays from Early China: A Study and Translation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), 1:208. 41. Liu tao, in Wu jing qi shu 武經七書 (Xu guyi congshu 續古逸叢書 ed.), 2.1a. 42. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, Shang shu jiaoshi yilun (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 1994. 43. Sun Yirang, Mozi jiangu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2001), 69. In my translation of this passage, I read bu 不 as fei 非. 44. Shi ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959), 4.138. 45. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, Shang shu jiaoshi yilun, 2055. Cf. Qian Zongwu, Jinwen Shang shu jufa yanjiu, 77–78. 46. This similarity between the language of some of the Yi Zhou shu and the “Lü xing” has been noticed by Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, Shang shu jiaoshi yilun, 2069–70. 47. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, Shang shu jiaoshi yilun, 1982. 48. On the relationship between wei 惟（唯）and fei 非, see Edwin G. Pulleyblank, “Fei 非, Wei 唯 and Certain Related Words,” in Studia Serica Bernhard Karlgren Dedicata:

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Sinological Studies Dedicated to Bernhard Karlgren on His Seventieth Birthday, ed. Søren Egerod and Else Glahn Edenda (Copenhagen: Ejnar Munksgaad, 1959), 178–79. Pulleyblank also mentions that the patterns “非X而誰（何）” and “誰（何、莫）非X” in the Zuo zhuan are possibly related. See also Redouane Djamouri, “Particules de negation dans les inscriptions sur bronze de la dynastie de Zhou,” Cahiers de Linguistique Asie Orientale 20, no. 1 (1991): 32–43. 49. For a recent monograph-length study of the “Lü xing” that explicitly acknowledges the compositional complexity of the text, see You Shaohua 尤韶華, Guishan zhai Lü xing huizuan xulun 歸善齋呂刑匯纂敘論 (Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2013). 50. Wyrick’s comparative overview of the Jewish, Hellenistic, and Christian traditions is useful in reevaluating the Chinese concepts of authorship: Jed Wyrick, The Ascension of Authorship: Attribution and Canon Formation in Jewish, Hellenistic, and Christian Traditions (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004). For a study of authorship in ancient Chinese and Greek literature, see Alexander Beecroft, Authorship and Cultural Identity in Early Greece and China: Patterns of Literary Circulation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). On the shaping of the idea of authorship in the Shi ji, see Griet Vankeerberghen, “Texts and Authors in the Shiji,” in China’s Early Empires: A Re-Appraisal, ed. Michael Nylan and Michael Loewe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Martin Kern, “The ‘Masters’ in the Shiji,” T’oung Pao 101, nos. 4–5 (2015): 335–62. 51. For a discussion of the increasing authority of the Duke of Zhou vis-à-vis the kings that is mainly based on the Shang shu and the Zuo zhuan, see Mark Edward Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: SUNY Press, 1999), 209–18. In comparing the representation of the Duke of Zhou in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu, Michael Nylan demonstrates how the Duke is commonly placed in the position of superior authority: Michael Nylan, “The Many Dukes of Zhou in Early Sources,” in Statecraft and Classical Learning. The Rituals of Zhou in East Asian History, ed. Martin Kern and Benjamin A. Elman (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 94–128. Yanaka Shin’ichi points out that, in the Yi Zhou shu, the Duke of Zhou plays the characteristic role of a “bag of wisdom,” a feature that sets this collection apart from other received sources: Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (go): Shūkō Tan to sono gensetsu ni tsuite.” 52. David McLain Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); David McLain Carr, The Formation of the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). 53. See Li Ling 李零, Zhongguo fangshu zheng kao (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2006), 5–12. Li Ling argues that the emergence of the opposition between religious and secular was one of the key ingredients in the development of the Warring States intellectual culture. He also believes that the traditions focused on Confucian rituals and Daoist arts are inherently opposed to one another. In chapters 5 and 6, I shall argue that these oppositions are not so fundamental and that exaggerating their significance leads to a distorted vision of history. 54. Dirk Meyer, “Texts, Textual Communities, and Meaning: The Genius Loci of the Warring States Chŭ Tomb Guōdiàn One,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 63, no. 4 (2009): 827–56; Dirk Meyer, Philosophy on Bamboo: Text and the Production of Meaning in Early China, vol. 2 of Studies in the History of Chinese Texts (Leiden: Brill, 2012). In a more recent book, Meyer introduces a new notion of conceptual

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communities; see Dirk Meyer, Documentation and Argument in Early China: The Shàngshū 尚書 (Venerated Documents) and the Shū Traditions (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021), 7–9. 55. Piotr Steinkeller, History, Texts and Art in Early Babylonia: Three Essays (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017), 7–104; Piotr Steinkeller, “Babylonian Priesthood During the Third Millennium bce: Between Sacred and Profane,” Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 19 (2019): 112–51. 56. For a comprehensive, systematic summary of the received and epigraphic evidence regarding the offices related to writing in preimperial China, see Martin Kern, “Offices of Writing and Reading in the Rituals of Zhou,” in Statecraft and Classical Learning: The Rituals of Zhou in East Asian History, by Benjamin A. Elman and Martin Kern (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 65–93. Nylan argues that the text-producing communities in ancient China were closely affiliated with the state administration: Michael Nylan, “Textual Authority in Pre-Han and Han,” Early China 25 (2000): 205–58. 57. Cf. Lothar von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius: (1000–250 bc): The Archaeological Evidence (Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California, Los Angeles, 2006), 374–92. 58. Yuri Pines describes this period as the “age rife with opportunities for intellectually active individuals”: Yuri Pines, “Ideology and Power in Early China,” in Ideology of Power and Power of Ideology in Early China, ed. Yuri Pines, Paul R. Goldin, and Martin Kern (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 2. Perhaps we should eventually adopt a more finegrained view. Indeed, by the third century bce, enough opportunities arose for influential individuals to leave their personal imprint on intellectual traditions. However, the few individual authorities should not conceal from our view the important contributions of the burgeoning anonymous communities whose transformative work had started several centuries earlier. 59. For an insightful parallel in medieval Japanese esoteric imperial investiture texts, see Mark Teeuwen, “Introduction: Japan’s Culture of Secrecy from a Comparative Perspective,” in The Culture of Secrecy in Japanese Religion (London: Routledge, 2006), 1–34. 60. Li Xueqin, Qinghua daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian (yi), 135–41.

5. DAOIST SCRIPTURES OF THE GRAND DUKE 1. I disagree with some common translations of the title Liu tao as the Six Strategies or the Six Secret Teachings, because there are no such distinguishable “teachings” or “strategies” in the book. The six “sheaths” refer to the six sections into which the material is grouped, apparently on thematic and textual-historical grounds. Ultimately, each of these sections is a subcollection of smaller texts. Liu tao is an obscure title, and the reasons that it was divided into six “sheaths” were forgotten a long time ago (see the following text regarding the mentions of 六韜/六弢 in ancient and medieval sources). 2. For a highly informative discussion of the contradictory legendary accounts surrounding the Grand Duke, see Bruce Knickerbocker, “T’ai-Kung of Ch’i, Hereditary House 2,” in The Grand Scribe’s Records, ed. William H. Nienhauser Jr., vol. V.1 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006), 31–39. For a useful but not exhaustive compilation of traditional sources connected to the Grand Duke, see Fang

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Lizhong 房立中, ed., Jiang Tai gong quanshu 姜太公全書 (Beijing: Xueyuan chubanshe, 1996). 3. The textual history of the Liu tao has been studied most extensively by Japanese scholars. See in particular Gōbara Tsubasa 郷原翼, “Rikutō no bunkengakuteki kentō” 六韜の文献学的検討, Kokugo kyōiku rongi 14 (2005): 141–50; Suzuki Tatsuaki 鈴木達明, “Jyojutsu keishiki kara mita Taikō sho Rikutō no seiritsu ni tsuite” 叙述形式から見た太公書六韜の成立について, Chūgoku bungaku kai 80 (2011): 1–24. For useful summaries in Chinese, see Xu Yong 徐勇 and Shao Hong 邵鴻, “Liu tao zonglun” 六韜總論, Jinan daxue xuebao 2001.3: 25–31; Jie Wenchao 解文超, Xianqin bingshu yanjiu 先秦兵書研究 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007), 107–16. 4. Li Ling calls these texts Tai gong shu 太公書 (“Grand Duke writings”); see Li Ling 李零, Lantai wanjuan: Du Han shu Yiwen zhi 蘭臺萬卷：讀漢書藝文志, corrected ed. (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 2013), 84–85. See also Ishii Mamiko 石井真美子, “Rikutō sho tekisuto to Ginshyakuzan kankan no kanren ni tsuite” 六韜諸テキス トと銀雀山漢簡の関連について, Ritsumeikan Shirakawa Shizuka kinen tōyō moji bunka kenkyūsho kiyō 8 (2014): 38. 5. The Liu tao is sometimes identified with a text mentioned in the “Rujia” 儒家 section of the “Yiwen zhi,” but this identification has been convincingly refuted; see Yu Jiaxi 余嘉錫, Siku tiyao bianzheng 四庫提要辨證 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980), 588–91; Li Ling, Lantai wanjuan, 78. 6. Han shu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 30.1729; see the related discussion in Paul Fischer, “Authentication Studies (辨偽學) Methodology and the Polymorphous Text Paradigm,” Early China 32 (2008–2009): 7–8. 7. For more information on the dating of bibliographic chapters in each official history, see chapter 1. 8. Sui shu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1973), 34.1013. In table 5.1, I provide a continuous list of entries from the section that shows a connection with the Grand Duke. For some works in the middle part of this list, the connection is not obvious, but I have decided not to omit them to preserve the continuity of the list. 9. The loss of interest in the Grand Duke texts may be related to the demise of his cult as a military deity during the late Tang period; see D. L. McMullen, “The Cult of Ch’i T’ai-Kung and T’ang Attitudes to the Military,” Tang Studies 7 (1989): 59–103. 10. For a well-informed discussion of the narrative types employed in the Liu tao, see Suzuki Tatsuaki, “Jyojutsu keishiki kara mita Taikō sho Rikutō no seiritsu ni tsuite.” 11. Qunshu zhiyao (Sibu congkan chubian 四部叢刊初編 ed.), 31.23a. 12. Suzuki Tatsuaki, “Jyojutsu keishiki kara mita Taikō sho Rikutō no seiritsu ni tsuite,” 9–13. Such overlaps appear most natural in light of the evidence that we have about preimperial and early imperial manuscript culture. As shown by Michael Nylan, one of the main tasks of the editors at the Han imperial library was to remove duplicates, sometimes literally decimating the volume of the resulting collections: Michael Nylan, “Manuscript Culture in Late Western Han, and the Implications for Authors and Authority,” Journal of Chinese Literature and Culture 1, nos. 1–2 (2014): 159–60. But there is no reason to believe that these efforts led to the complete extinction of earlier manuscript practices, despite the undeniably colossal influence that they had on the later transmission of literary works. For those works that circulated beyond the confines of the imperial library, continuing proliferation of duplicates and

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overlaps would be expected, and there is no need to assume that any of the “books” from the Grand Duke traditions were borrowing from one another. 13. Wen 文 is a multivalent term that is often difficult to translate into English; see Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Concept of Wen in the Ancient Chinese Ancestral Cult,” Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, Reviews (CLEAR) 18 (1996): 1–22. In the section titles of the Liu tao, it seems to constitute a contrasting pair with wu 武 (“military” or “martial”), for which reason translating it as “civic” appears preferable. I thank Kai Vogelsang for this suggestion. 14. Cf. Ralph Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, repr. ed. (New York: Basic Books, 2008), 35–37. 15. It is worth keeping in mind that these fragments of Tangut translations may derive from different editions; see Imre Galambos, Translating Chinese Tradition and Teaching Tangut Culture: Manuscripts and Printed Books from Khara-Khoto (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015), 259–60. For Chinese translations of two chapters that survive only in Tangut, see Nie Hongyin 聶鴻音, “Liu tao de Xi Xia wen yiben” 六韜的西夏文譯 本, Chuantong wenhua yu xiandaihua 1996.5: 57–60. 16. Gōbara Tsubasa, “Rikutō no bunkengakuteki kentō”; Suzuki Tatsuaki, “Jyojutsu keishiki kara mita Taikō sho Rikutō no seiritsu ni tsuite,” 3. In light of the Dunhuang manuscript fragment, it appears that the Qunshu zhiyao edition preserves an earlier structure of the collection more faithfully than the Wujing qishu. However, there is a possibility that these two editions developed from earlier recensions that had already been different in structure. 17. Hou Han shu 後漢書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1965), 69.2247. 18. Yu Jiaxi, Siku tiyao bianzheng, 587. 19. Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian (yi) (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1985). For a systematic study of the relationship of the Yinqueshan counterpart of the Liu tao with other Grand Duke collections, see Ishii Mamiko, “Rikutō sho tekisuto to Ginshyakuzan kankan no kanren ni tsuite.” 20. I follow Paul van Els, “Dingzhou: The Story of an Unfortunate Tomb,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 63, no. 4 (2009): 932–35. 21. Due to various unfavorable circumstances, the Dingzhou manuscripts have been published only in part; see van Els, “Dingzhou: The Story of an Unfortunate Tomb.” For the manuscripts related to the Grand Duke traditions, there are only transcriptions of manuscript fragments with a small number of individual fragments reproduced as line drawings: Hebei sheng wenwu yanjiusuo Dingzhou Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, “Dingzhou Xi Han Zhongshan Huai wang mu zhujian Liu tao shiwen ji jiaozhu” 定州西漢中山懷王墓竹簡六韜釋文及校注, Wenwu 2001.5: 77–83; Hebei sheng wenwu yanjiusuo Dingzhou Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, “Dingzhou Xi Han Zhongshan Huai wang mu zhujian Liu tao zhengli ji qi yiyi” 定州西漢 中山懷王墓竹簡六韜的整理及其意義, Wenwu 2001.5: 84–86. 22. Ishii Mamiko, “Rikutō sho tekisuto to Ginshyakuzan kankan no kanren ni tsuite,” 45, 49–50. 23. Tang Kaiyuan zhanjing 唐開元占經 (Wenyuan ge siku quanshu 文淵閣四庫全書 ed.), 3.7b. 24. Hebei sheng wenwu yanjiusuo Dingzhou Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, “Dingzhou Xi Han Zhongshan Huai wang mu zhujian Liu tao shiwen ji jiaozhu,” 80. 25. The complexity of textual formation in China in antiquity and the early medieval period has been discussed in a number of recent Chinese publications; see Sun

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Shaohua and Xu Jianwei, Cong wenxian dao wenben—xiantang jingdian wenben de chaozhuan yu liubian (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2016); Li Rui 李銳, Tongwen yu zuben—xinchu jianbo yu gushu xingcheng yanjiu 同文與族本－新出簡帛 與古書形成研究 (Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju, 2017). 26. In the case of Dingzhou manuscripts, it is unlikely that the predominance of nonmilitary material is entirely due to a preservation bias. We have twofold evidence regarding the thematic scope of the collection: the textual fragments and the descriptive summaries with chapter numbers. The prevalence of nonmilitary material is evident in both. 27. The last chapter is alternatively presented as “preface” in the recension attested in the Qunshu zhiyao. It is possible to identify yet another nonmilitary theme in the Wujing qishu recension of the Liu tao, “preservation and vigilance.” It is covered in such chapters as “Liu shou” 六守 (Six Preservations), “Shou tu” 守土 (Preservation of the Land), and “Shou guo” 守國 (Preservation of the Country) of the “Wen tao” section. While these chapters do not seem to have articulated military concerns, I realize that “preservation” (shou 守) can be interpreted as part of the “military” theme. Therefore, I do not include it in my list. 28. Wang Jiguang 王繼光, “Dunhuang Tang xieben Liu tao canjuan jiaoshi” 敦煌唐 寫本六韜殘卷校釋, Dunhuangxue jikan 1984.2: 29–30. Cf. Zhou Fengwu 周鳳五, “Dunhuang Tang xieben Liu tao canjuan jiaokan ji” 敦煌唐寫本六韜殘卷校勘記, in Guoli Taiwan daxue zhuban Di yi jie guoji Tang dai xueshu huiyi lunwenji 國立臺 灣大學主辦第一屆國際唐代學術會議論文集 (Taipei: Guoli Taiwan daxue, 1988), 357–58. 29. This chapter is preceded by a line-long passage describing how the virtuous ruler, who sees things correctly, heeds remonstrance and appoints the wise; it is unclear whether this interlude constitutes a separate text or is a fragment of some other composition. 30. Qunshu zhiyao, 31.9a–b. Fragments corresponding to this text seem to be also attested in the Dingzhou manuscripts. See fragments #2358, #2343, #2396, #2447, #0586, #0972, and possibly #0304 and #0793: Hebei sheng wenwu yanjiusuo Dingzhou Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, “Dingzhou Xi Han Zhongshan Huai wang mu zhujian Liu tao shiwen ji jiaozhu,” 78, 83; Ishii Mamiko, “Rikutō sho tekisuto to Ginshyakuzan kankan no kanren ni tsuite,” 47–48. Cf. Suzuki Tatsuaki, “Jyojutsu keishiki kara mita Taikō sho Rikutō no seiritsu ni tsuite,” 6. 31. Yanaka Shi’ichi and Wang Lianlong observe that the Yi Zhou shu and the Liu tao have a number of matching passages. Wang Lianlong suggests that the similarities are due to the emendation of an earlier recension of the Zhou shu with the Liu tao material excavated from the famous tomb in Ji County in the late third century ce: Wang Lianlong, Yi Zhou shu yanjiu (Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2010), 34–44, 62–67. According to Wang, the “Confucian” editors substituted all mentions of the Grand Duke with the Duke of Zhou. I find that this explanation is implausible and fails to account for all the evidence concerning the relatedness of the two collections. Yanaka Shin’ichi proposes a more careful theory involving a hypothetical “proto Zhou shu” (gen Shū sho 原周書) that lay at the origin of both collections: Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho no shisō to seiritsu ni tsuite: Sai gakujutsu no ichi sokumen no kōsatsu,” Nihon Chūgoku gakkai hō 38 (1986): 1–16; Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (shi): Sono heihō shisō ni tsuite,” Nihon joshi daigaku kiyō: Bungaku bu 43 (1994): 41–70. This suggestion appears more convincing, although

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the presentation of the textual history of the Liu tao and the Yi Zhou shu as two branches stemming from a single body of material plays down the textual-historical complexities. 32. For a useful summary of evidence hinting at a connection between the Zhou shu and the works related to the Grand Duke, see Robin McNeal, Conquer and Govern: Early Chinese Military Texts from the Yi Zhou shu (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2012), 88–91. Zhou Yuxiu mentions that the Yi Zhou shu and the Liu tao may be connected in their use of numerical lists: Zhou Yuxiu, Yi Zhou shu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxianxue jiazhi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 245–48. 33. Lu Deming 陸德明, Jingdian shiwen 經典釋文 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983), 28.5b–6a. 34. For some studies of the chenwei, see Jack L. Dull, “A Historical Introduction to the Apocryphal (Ch’an-Wei) Texts of the Han Dynasty” (PhD diss., University of Washington, 1966); Hans Van Ess, “The Apocryphal Texts of the Han Dynasty and the Old Text/New Text Controversy,” T’oung Pao 85, no. 1 (1999): 29–64. 35. Beitang shuchao 北堂書鈔 (Tianjin: Tianjin guji chubanshe, 1988), 10.1a, 80.1b; Chuxue ji 初學記 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1985), 21; Taiping yulan 太平御覽 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), 76.5a, 523.5a. 36. For a useful comparison of these two texts, see Wang Jiguang, “Dunhuang Tang xieben Liu tao canjuan jiaoshi,” Dunhuangxue jikan 2 (1984): 47–48. On the methodological approach toward the study of cognate texts, see Matthias Richter, “Cognate Texts: Technical Terms as Indicators of Intertextual Relations and Redactional Strategies,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 56, no. 3 (2002): 549–72. 37. Beitang shuchao, 113.9a; Luo Mi, Lushi (Wenyuange siku quanshu 文淵閣四庫全書 ed.), 29.69a. 38. Liu tao, in Wu jing qi shu 武經七書 (Xu guyi congshu 續古逸叢書 ed.), 2.10a. 39. Cf. chapters “Da kai wu,” “Xiao kai wu,” “Feng mou,” “Wù jing,” and “Cheng kai.” 40. Liu tao, 1.4b. 41. See the discussion in chapter 3. In the Tsinghua manuscripts, the alarming contextual setting is used in the *“Bao xun” (Treasured Lesson) and “Zhou Wu wang you ji Zhou gong suo zi yi dai wang zhi zhi” 周武王有疾周公自以代王之志 (The Record of the Duke of Zhou’s Substitution of Himself in King’s Place When King Wu Was Ill), which is a counterpart of the chapter “Jin teng” 金滕 (Metal-Bound Coffer) in the Shang shu: Li Xueqin, Qinghua daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian (yi) (Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju, 2010), 1:143–48, 158–61. See also the discussion in Dirk Meyer, “ ‘Shu’ Traditions and Text Recomposition: A Reevaluation of ‘Jinteng’ 金縢 and ‘Zhou Wu Wang You Ji’ ” 周武王有疾, in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents), ed. Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 224–48. 42. In some early editions of the Yi Zhou shu, this chapter is called “Wen fu” 文傅 (King Wen’s Instruction), but it is likely an error caused by the graphic similarity of the characters fu 傅 and zhuàn/chuán 傳. 43. Anna Seidel observes that zhuan 傳 and qi 棨 were types of passports that “functioned as credentials (hsin 信)”; see Anna Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments: Taoist Roots in the Apocrypha,” Mélanges Chinois et Bouddhiques 21 (1983): 310. It would be tempting to identify the kāi/qǐ and zhuàn chapters in the Yi Zhou shu and the Liu tao with such documents, but more evidence would be necessary. 44. Yiwen leiju 藝文類聚 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1965), 12.222.

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45. *“Bao xun” from the Tsinghua manuscript collection is an example of yet another deathbed testament announced by King Wen to King Wu. 46. Liu tao, 2.12a. 47. The only other text that diverges from the predominant pattern is “Wen shi,” the first chapter in the “Wen tao” section. Its first part narrates the circumstances of King Wen’s first encounter with the Grand Duke on a hunting trip. 48. Qunshu zhiyao, 31.11a. 49. Qunshu zhiyao, 31.18b. 50. On the “relative fluidity” of texts created in traditions where written texts are produced for oral performance and memorization, see David McLain Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 41–44. 51. Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian (yi), 1:67, 2:95, 3:113. 52. Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian (yi), 1:73, 2:101, 3:125. 53. Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian (yi), 1:72, 2:100, 3:121. 54. Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian (yi), 3:123. 55. William H. Baxter and Laurent Sagart, “The Baxter-Sagart Reconstruction of Old Chinese,” September 20, 2014, http://ocbaxtersagart.lsait.lsa.umich.edu/. See also Axel Schuessler, ABC Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2007), 422. Sagart’s suggestion that kāi was adopted into the Hmong-Mien languages after the effectuation of the taboo in 140 bce is not convincing considering that the prohibition of the character could hardly have an immediate impact on the spoken language in the peripheral regions of the empire, especially since the earlier word qǐ was preserved in the language of later periods: Laurent Sagart, The Roots of Old Chinese (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1999), 76. However, the borrowing of kāi as a synonym of qǐ may have been effectuated the opposite way, from Hmong-Mien to Chinese. I thank George Starostin for this suggestion. 56. To my knowledge, the earliest epigraphic texts featuring this character are the inscriptions on three unprovenanced halberds, the so-called “First-year,” “Second-year” and “Third-year” mao-halberds of the Chancellor Marquis of Chunping (Xiangbang Chunping hou mao 相邦春平侯矛) from the state of Zhao 趙, dated from the midthird century bce, JC:11556, JC:11682, and JC:11683. 57. For a detailed discussion of the variant forms of qi and some related characters in early epigraphy, see Yang Xiufen 楊秀芬, “Gu wenzi qi de xingyi guanxi yanjiu” 古 文字“启”的形義關係研究, (MA thesis, Southwest University, 2016). 58. It is worth mentioning that of the twelve parallels that Yanaka Shin’ichi identifies in his overview of the intellectual-historical connections between the Yi Zhou shu and the Liu tao, four occur in the “qi” and “zhuan” chapters of the Liu tao, which is significant considering that there are only four such chapters out of sixty in the Wujing qishu recension: Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho no shisō to seiritsu ni tsuite: Sai gakujutsu no ichi sokumen no kōsatsu,” 5–6. Conversely, the matching passages in the Yi Zhou shu are dispersed in chapters with distinctive compositional structures, not only those conforming to the pattern of royal colloquies. 59. Yanaka Shin’ichi, “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (go): Shūkō Tan to sono gensetsu ni tsuite,” Nihon joshi daigaku kiyō: Bungaku bu 49 (2000): 60.

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60. Sarah Allan has examined the representation of the Grand Duke in traditional sources, focusing in particular on the multiple origins of the different legends surrounding the Grand Duke: Sarah Allan, “The Identities of Taigong Wang 太公望 in Zhou and Han Literature,” Monumenta Serica 30 (1972–1973): 57–99. Her main sources are the heterogeneous historiographic works and compilations building on unpreserved earlier traditions. Michael Nylan offers a complementary overview of representations of the Duke of Zhou in traditional sources, including the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu: Michael Nylan, “The Many Dukes of Zhou in Early Sources,” in Statecraft and Classical Learning: The Rituals of Zhou in East Asian History, ed. Martin Kern and Benjamin A. Elman (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 94–128. The analyses offered by Allan and Nylan are important for understanding the multiple sources of the Grand Duke and the Duke of Zhou figures and their reception in later traditions; but in order to examine the specific textual-historical overlaps, one has to scrutinize a narrower set of formally and semantically similar texts. Focusing on the royal colloquies of the Yi Zhou shu and the related texts from the Tai gong corpus allows us to reveal the important parallels that remain unnoticed in broader surveys. 61. I omit “Da kai” and “Xiao kai” from this enumeration: due to their imperfect preservation, it is difficult to identify who speaks to whom in these texts. 62. Allan, “The Identities of Taigong Wang 太公望 in Zhou and Han Literature,” 62. 63. Liu tao, 1.6a–b. 64. The disagreement between the legendary assistants of the founding kings of the Western Zhou is a fairly old theme that comes to the forefront already in such texts as the “Shao gao” 召誥 (The Announcement of the Duke of Shao) chapter of the Shang shu: Edward L. Shaughnessy, “The Duke of Zhou’s Retirement in the East and the Beginnings of the Minister-Monarch Debate in Chinese Political Philosophy,” in Before Confucius: Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classics (Albany: SUNY Press, 1997), 101–36. 65. I distinguish between the different narratological levels: affinity of fabula (defining the general theme and conflict of the text), affinity of plot (defining the specific narrative sequence and detail used to represent the fabula), and affinity of resulting texts. In the case of the relatively brief texts from the Warring States period, the affinity of plot often results in texts with a remarkable degree of similarity, but this similarity should not lead us to conflate them as instances of the same text. For an application of contemporary narratological approaches to the analysis of ancient Chinese texts, see Dirk Meyer, “Recontextualization and Memory Production: Debates on Rulership as Reconstructed from ‘Gu Ming’ 顧命 (Testimonial Charge),” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 120, fn. 57. 66. Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian zhengli xiaozu, Yinqueshan Han mu zhujian (yi), 1:70–72, 2:98–100, 3:120–21. 67. Taiping yulan, 329.4a–b. See also the discussion and references in Ishii Mamiko, “Rikutō sho tekisuto to Ginshyakuzan kankan no kanren ni tsuite,” 49, 57. 68. Taiping yulan, 328.6b–7a; Du You 杜佑, Tongdian 通典 (Qinzaotang Siku quanshu huiyao 擒藻堂四庫全書薈要 ed.), 162.12a–13a. 69. Yiwen leiju, 1.27; Taiping yulan, 10.8a–b, 726.4a–b, 328.7a–b. 70. Taiping yulan, 329.4b. 71. See also Allan’s analysis of the legendary accounts discussing the Grand Duke together with Bo Yi and Shu Qi: Sarah Allan, The Heir and the Sage: Dynastic Legend in Early China, rev. and exp. ed. (Albany: SUNY Press, 2017), 105–13.

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72. Mark Edward Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: SUNY Press, 1999), 215. See also Shaughnessy, “The Duke of Zhou’s Retirement in the East.” 73. The fact that the “Jin teng” today appears in the Shang shu and not the Yi Zhou shu should not be seen as a problem: these two collections were probably separated only as a result of the Han canonization of the Shang shu in the second century bce, whereas previously they would have been seen as parts of the broad Zhou scriptures. This point is corroborated by the presence of a version of the “Jin teng” in the Tsinghua manuscripts, which include material with parallels in both the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu. 74. I am aware that the manuscript counterpart of “Jin teng” from the Tsinghua collection may suggest that the Duke of Zhou was imagined as a usurper seeking to make himself king; see Meyer, “ ‘Shu’ Traditions and Text Recomposition,” 228–30, 243–46; Magnus Ribbing Gren, “The Qinghua ‘Jinteng’ 金縢 Manuscript: What It Does Not Tell Us About the Duke of Zhou,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 213–15. I acknowledge that the possibility of such a reading may have influenced the composition of the manuscript text. Nevertheless, I consider such an alternative reading to be derivative, informed by the later debate regarding the Duke of Zhou’s possible usurpation of power. Although it is possible to stretch the “Jin teng” story in such a way as to make the Duke of Zhou change the mask of a loyal servant to that of a cunning usurper, the original shared fabula does not seem to support this reading; it abounds in detail that would, under such an interpretation, appear either superfluous or unnecessarily ambivalent. 75. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, Shang shu jiaoshi yilun (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 1223. 76. On the different representations of the Duke of Zhou, see Nylan, “The Many Dukes of Zhou in Early Sources.” 77. Michael Hunter, “The ‘Yiwen Zhi’ 藝文志 (Treatise on Arts and Letters) Bibliography in Its Own Context,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 138, no. 4 (2018): 763–80. 78. The “Yiwen zhi” traces the Ruists 儒家 to the office of the Minister over the Multitudes (situ 司徒), the Daoists to scribal officials (shiguan 史官), the Yinyang jia 陰陽家 to astronomers (xihe zhi guan 義和之官), the Legalists 法家 to penitentiary officers (liguan 理官), the School of Names 名家 to ritualists (liguan 禮官), the Mohists 墨家 to the keepers of the ancestral temple (qingmiao zhi shou 清廟之守), the theorists of Horizontal and Vertical alliances 縱橫家 to envoys (xingren zhi guan 行人之官), the Miscellaneous group 雜家 to advisers (yiguan 議官), the Tillers 農家 to officials in charge of agricultural works (nongji zhi guan 農稷之官), and the Petty-Talk group 小說家 to the officials in charge of insignificant affairs (baiguan 稗官); see Han shu, 30.1728–45. For a critical reassessment of the traditional taxonomy of “schools of thought” from the perspective of social history, see Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han,” in Daoist Identity—History, Lineage, and Ritual, ed. Livia Kohn and Harold D. Roth (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2002), 81–101. 79. Liu Aimin 劉愛敏, “Cong Hanshu Yiwenzhi kan Jiang Taigong zai Daojia sixiangshi shang de diwei” 從漢書藝文志看姜太公在道家思想史上的地位, Guanzi xuekan 4 (2018): 73–78; Cao Feng 曹峰, “Daojia dishi lei wenxian chutan” 道家帝師類文獻初 探, Zhexue lunji 49 (2018): 33–60.

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80. Wang Shumin 王叔岷, ed., Liexian zhuan jiaojian 列仙傳校箋 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2007), 26. See also Benjamin Penny, “Liexian Zhuan 列仙傳 Biographies of Exemplary Immortals,” in The Encyclopedia of Taoism, ed. Fabrizio Pregadio (London: Routledge, 2008), 653–54. 81. Han shu, 30.1729. 82. For some summary accounts, see Kenneth J. DeWoskin, Doctors, Diviners, and Magicians of Ancient China: Biographies of Fang-Shih (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), 1–42; Donald Harper, “Warring States Natural Philosophy and Occult Thought,” in The Cambridge History of Ancient China, ed. Michael Loewe and Edward Shaughnessy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 820–30; Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Fangshi 方士 ‘Masters of Methods,’ ” in The Encyclopedia of Taoism, ed. Fabrizio Pregadio (London: Routledge, 2008), 406–9. 83. According to Yan Shigu 顏師古 (581–645), the four benefits point to heaven, earth, spirits, and people; see Han shu, 30.1732. 84. To argue—writing in English—that the history of Daoism begins before the Laozi is to preach to the choir. Strickmann, Ames, and Seidel write that the authors of the Laozi and the Zhuangzi “can even be considered somewhat on the margin of older Daoist traditions”; see Michel Strickmann, Roger T. Ames, and Anna K. Seidel, “Daoism,” in Encyclopedia Britannica, 2020, https://www.britannica.com/topic/Daoism; Russell Kirkland provides a broad summary of the formative influences of various Warring States currents on Daoism; see Russell Kirkland, Taoism: The Enduring Tradition (New York: Routledge, 2004), 21–72; Harold Roth shows how “Neiye” 內業 (Inward Training), a chapter in the Guanzi, anticipates the later religious self-cultivation practices; see Harold David Roth, Original Tao: Inward Training (Nei-Yeh) and the Foundations of Taoist Mysticism, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 173–204. Nevertheless, there are disagreements regarding the features considered essential or formative and the point in history when Daoism emerged as a coherent phenomenon; see Russell Kirkland, “Explaining Daoism: Realities, Cultural Constructs and Emerging Perspectives,” in Daoism Handbook, ed. Livia Kohn (Leiden: Brill, 2000), xi–xviii; T. H. Barrett, “Daoism: A Historical Narrative,” in Daoism Handbook, xviii–xxvii; Gil Raz, The Emergence of Daoism, Creation of Tradition (Abingdon: Routledge, 2012), 23–35. 85. See the extracts from the Yuzi in the Qunshu zhiyao, 31.23a–25a; Ma Guohan’s 馬國 翰 (1794–1857) collection of fragments attributed to the Yi Yin is less reliable, but it still suggests that the texts may have been of the same kind; see Ma Guohan 馬國翰, ed., “Yi Yin shu” 伊尹書, in Yuhanshanfang jiyi shu 玉函山房輯佚書 (Xuxiu Siku quanshu 續修四庫全書 ed.) (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2002), 70.4a–11b. 86. For some studies of the “Shi ji” and its counterpart in the Dunhuang manuscript of the Liu tao, see Liu Wenying 劉文英, “Yi Zhou shu Shi ji jie qianxi” 逸周書史記 解淺析, Shixue yuekan 2015.6: 125–28; Liu Jiao 劉嬌, “Dunhuang Tang xieben Liu tao Zhou zhi yu Yi Zhou shu Shi ji duijiao zhaji” 敦煌唐寫本六韜·周志與逸周書· 史記對校札記, in Chutu wenxian yu Zhongguo gudianxue 出土文獻與中國古典 學 (Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju, 2018), 95–101; Zhang Ning 章寧, “Yi Zhou shu Shiji jie chengpian shdai kao” 逸周書史記解成篇時代考, Jingxue wenxian yanjiu jikan 2018.1: 102–19. 87. Annping Chin has pointed out the prevalence of this anxiety also in the Shang shu. It may thus be a more common feature of scriptural texts, especially belonging to the stratum of created scriptures: Annping Chin, “Chengzhi wenzhi in Light of the

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Shangshu” (paper presented at International Conference on the Guodian Bamboo Manuscripts from the Ancient State of Chu, Wuhan, 2000). 88. See the expression minming 民命 in chapter “Wang yi” 王翼 (King’s Wings) in the “Long tao” section. 89. In the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies, the Dao appears several times in the sense of a fundamental principle. For example, in chapter “Feng bao,” the king of Shang is accused of having no Dao (or perhaps of being wayward—wudao 無道). In the conclusion of chapter “Da kai wu,” the Dao is mentioned in the exclamation “What should one fear if not the Dao?” 何畏非道. In chapter “Xiao kai wu,” the king addresses the Duke of Zhou, acknowledging that he does not know “the perfection of the Dao” 不知道極, and the Duke of Zhou mentions “Heaven’s Dao” 天道 in his response. Chapter “Bao dian” warns against the “abandonment of the Dao” 道維其 廢, while chapter “Wen zheng” speaks about “revering the Dao” 祗道. 90. Liu tao, 1.2a. 91. Liu tao, 2.13b–14a. 92. Liu tao, 1.4b. 93. Liu tao, 2.10b–11a. 94. Liu tao, 1.9a. 95. Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Chia I’s ‘Techniques of the Tao’ and the Han Confucian Appropriation of Technical Discourse,” Asia Major Third Series 10 (1997): 50. Csikszentmihalyi shows that the concepts of Dao and shù were not monopolized by any specific intellectual current during the Warring States and particularly the Han periods, and their use alone is certainly insufficient to identify the intellectual affiliation of a text. However, the meaningful difference may be in the degree of importance, for it is obvious that these concepts assume the central position in the textual lineages associated with Daoism and esoteric arts. See also Anna Seidel, La divinisation de Lao Tseu dans le Taoisme des Han (Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient, 1969), 25–26; Roth, Original Tao, 181–85. 96. Guo Aichun 郭靄春, ed., Huangdi neijing suwen jiaozhu 黃帝內經素問校注 (Beijing: Renmin weisheng chubanshe, 1992), 288–90. Cf. the translation by Paul U. Unschuld and Hermann Tessenow, Huang Di nei jing su wen: An Annotated Translation of Huang Di’s Inner Classic—Basic Questions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011), 1:351–53. For a comprehensive introduction to the Huangdi neijing: Suwen, see Paul U. Unschuld, Huang Di nei jing su wen: Nature, Knowledge, Imagery in an Ancient Chinese Medical Text, with an Appendix, the Doctrine of the Five Periods and Six Qi in the Huang Di Nei Jing Su Wen (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). 97. For an insightful discussion of esoteric traditions in China, see Robert Ford Campany, “Secrecy and Display in the Quest for Transcendence in China, ca. 220 bce– 350 ce,” History of Religions 45, no. 4 (2006): 291–336. 98. Yan Kejun 嚴可均, Quan shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen: Quan shanggu Sandai wen; Quan Qin wen 全上古三代秦漢三國六朝文：全上古三代 文；全秦文 (Beijing: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1999), 93. Two versions of this dialog are recorded in the Shanghai Museum bamboo manuscripts: Ma Chengyuan 馬乘 源, ed., Shanghai bowuguan cang Zhanguo Chu zhushu (qi) 上海博物館藏戰國楚 竹書（七） (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2008), 148–68. The combined evidence of the “Wu wang jian zuo” from the Da Dai li ji, the Shanghai Museum manuscripts, and the medieval citations attest that the story of the revelatory dialog

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between King Wu and the Grand Duke with the subsequent creation of a series of inscribed objects was influential among ancient and early medieval literary communities, and it was elaborated and transmitted in several concurrent versions. For a study and translation of the paleographic variant of this text from the Shanghai Museum collection, see Boqun Zhou, “A Translation and Analysis of the Shanghai Museum Manuscript * Wu Wang Jian Zuo,” Monumenta Serica 66, no. 1 (2018): 1–31. 99. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信, Kong Deli 孔德立, and Zhou Haisheng 周海生, eds., Da Dai li ji huijiao jizhu 大戴禮記彙校集注 (Xi’an: Sanqin chubanshe, 2005), 639–68. 100. Isabelle Robinet, “Revelations and Secret Texts,” in The Encyclopedia of Taoism, 25. 101. Terry F. Kleeman, Celestial Masters: History and Ritual in Early Daoist Communities (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016), 363. 102. The essays by Strickmann and Bokenkamp highlight the contradictions between the provisions of secrecy and restrictiveness of transmission in the esoteric fourthcentury Shangqing 上清 (Highest Purity) and Lingbao 靈寶 (Numinous Treasure) traditions and their rapid, almost uncontrollable dissemination in real-world practice: Michel Strickmann, “The Mao Shan Revelations: Taoism and the Aristocracy,” T’oung Pao 63, no. 1 (1977): 15–30; Stephen R. Bokenkamp, “Sources of the Ling-pao Scriptures,” in Tantric and Taoist Studies in Honour of R. A. Stein, ed. Michel Strickmann (Brussels: Institute Belge des Hautes Études Chinoises, 1983), 2:439–41. 103. Yuri Pines, “Confucian Irony? ‘King Wu’s Enthronement’ Reconsidered,” in At Home in Many Worlds: Reading, Writing and Translating from Chinese and Jewish Cultures: Essays in Honour of Irene Eber, ed. Raoul David Findeisen et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz Verlag, 2009), 55–67; Zhou, “A Translation and Analysis of the Shanghai Museum Manuscript *Wu Wang Jian Zuo,” 12–18. I cannot agree with Pines’s interpretation of this text as “Confucian,” let alone “ironic.” He argues that the Cinnabar Scripture fails to meet the reader’s “inflated expectations,” but he does not seem to consider that the expectations of the text’s intended audiences may have been different from those of a contemporary scholar relatively disinterested in the mystical properties of empowering texts. If we approach Daoist esoteric scriptures and talismans with the expectations of well-reasoned philosophy, we have to conclude that many of them are bizarre and not particularly funny jokes. 104. For some discussions of Daoist talismans, see Catherine Despeux, “Talismans and Diagrams,” in Daoism Handbook, 498–540; Livia Kohn, Introducing Daoism (JBE Online Books, 2009), 120; Raz, The Emergence of Daoism, 205–75; Stephan Peter Bumbacher, Empowered Writing: Exorcistic and Apotropaic Rituals in Medieval China (St. Petersburg, FL: Three Pines, 2012). Cf. Csikszentmihalyi’s depiction of the inscribed objects in “Wu wang jian zuo” as “literary inscriptions”; see Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Reimagining the Yellow Emperor’s Four Faces,” in Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005), 232–43. 105. During the Han period, the cult of the Grand Duke as a high authority of esoteric Daoism was overtaken by the deified Laozi 老子, suggesting that our text was likely composed earlier. In addition, a manuscript version of “Wu wang jian zuo” has been published as part of the Shanghai Museum collection. Although scholars usually consider that these manuscripts are roughly of the same date as the famous Guodian 郭店 collection, that is, no later than early third century bce, they are unprovenanced. See the discussion in Zhou, “A Translation and Analysis of the Shanghai Museum Manuscript *Wu Wang Jian Zuo,” 1–4.

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106. Seidel, La divinisation de Lao Tseu dans le Taoisme des Han; Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments”; Anna Seidel, “The Emperor and His Councillor Laozi and Han Dynasty Taoism,” trans. Lothar von Falkenhausen, Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 17 (2008): 125–65. 107. Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments,” 309, 340, 348–66. 108. Seidel, “The Emperor and His Councillor Laozi and Han Dynasty Taoism”; Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments,” 368–71. 109. Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments,” 347. 110. Seidel refers to one such list of esoteric instructors in a fragment from the Analects: Analysis of Hexagram Bi (Lunyu bikao 論語比考), perhaps from around the first century ce; see Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments,” 342–44. In this list, the Grand Duke is mentioned as the one whom Kings Wen and Wu followed as their instructor (shi 師). (In fact, he is mentioned somewhat confusingly twice: first as Lü Wang 呂望 and then as Shang Fu 尚父.) Laozi appears in this list as the instructor of Confucius, apparently conceived as an “uncrowned king”; see Yasui Kōzan 安居香山 and Nakamura Shōhachi 中村璋八, eds., Weishu jicheng 緯書集 成 (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin chubanshe, 1994), 1667. Whereas in the Lunyu bikao Laozi is the last among many esoteric instructors of ancient rulers, in the “Stele Inscription Honoring Laozi” (Laozi ming 老子銘) from 165 ce, he is already presented as a timeless deity who instructed sages since the days of Fu Xi 伏羲 and Shen Nong 神農; see Seidel, La divinisation de Lao Tseu dans le Taoisme des Han, 102–5, 124; Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments,” 346; Seidel, “The Emperor and His Councillor Laozi and Han Dynasty Taoism,” 127. 111. Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments,” 347; Anna Seidel, “The Image of the Perfect Ruler in Early Taoist Messianism: Lao-tzu and Li Hung,” History of Religions 9, nos. 2–3 (1969–1970): 233. Verellen mentions that Emperor Xuanzong 玄宗 (r. 712–756) of Tang retrospectively promoted Zhang Daoling 張道陵, the founder of the Heavenly Master (tianshi 天師) community in the second century ce, to the rank of Grand Instructor, identical with the Grand Duke’s: Franciscus Verellen, Imperiled Destinies: The Daoist Quest for Deliverance in Medieval China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2019), 221. 112. Yuzi is an interesting figure who deserves further study: since he is a legendary founder of the Chu ruling house, his mythology may be linked to the attempts to define the legitimacy of the Chu ruling house as an alternative branch of the Zhou tradition. 113. Shi ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959), 32.1478; Knickerbocker, “T’ai-Kung of Ch’i, Hereditary House 2,” 38. 114. Seidel, La divinisation de Lao Tseu dans le Taoisme des Han, 14–15; Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments,” 334; Lü shi chunqiu (Sibu congkan chubian 四部叢 刊初編 ed.), 16.1b. 115. Shi ji, 5.201. 116. Stephen Durrant, Wai-yee Li, and David Schaberg, trans., Zuo Tradition / Zuozhuan (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2016), 1662–63. 117. Lü shi chunqiu, 2.10a–b. 118. Shi ji, 130.3285. The authorship of this chapter has been questioned in Hanmo Zhang, Authorship and Text-Making in Early China (Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton, 2018), 241– 305. Even if the text was not composed by Sima Qian, this fact would not undermine my argument. See also Klein’s response to Zhang’s claims: Esther Sunkyung Klein,

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Reading Sima Qian from Han to Song: The Father of History in Pre-Modern China (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 41–47. 119. Angus Charles Graham, “The Origins of the Legend of Lao Tan,” in Lao-Tzu and the Tao-Te-Ching, ed. Livia Kohn and Michael LaFargue (Albany: SUNY Press, 1998), 23–40. 120. Cf. the scene of initiation of the historical Buddha into esoteric knowledge by the greater cosmic buddhas, discussed in Christian K. Wedemeyer, Making Sense of Tantric Buddhism: History, Semiology, and Transgression in the Indian Traditions (New York: Columbia University Press, 2013), 82. For an extremely insightful study of the dynamics of esoteric traditions that emerged iteratively in the broader framework of medieval Śaivism, see Alexis Sanderson, “Śaivism and the Tantric Traditions,” in The World’s Religions, ed. Stewart Sutherland et al. (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1988), 660–704. 121. As discussed by Strickmann, the Shangqing revelations of 364–370 ce were believed to have been imparted by more exalted and powerful immortals than those previously contemplated by Ge Hong 葛洪 (283–343): Strickmann, “The Mao Shan Revelations,” 9–10. A few decades later, the new Lingbao tradition would in turn claim similar superiority over the Shangqing: Bokenkamp, “Sources of the Ling-pao Scriptures,” 442–49. These examples show that the “competitive extension” (Sanderson, “Śaivism and the Tantric Traditions,” 667) of esoteric traditions proceeded extremely quickly, with only a generation separating the new contender from its immediate precursor. 122. Seidel, La divinisation de Lao Tseu dans le Taoisme des Han, 122–23; Mark Csikszentmihalyi, ed., Readings in Han Chinese Thought (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 2006), 106–8. 123. Deborah Steiner, The Tyrant’s Writ: Myths and Images of Writing in Ancient Greece (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 63–64. 124. Julius N. Tsai, “Opening Up the Ritual Casket: Patterns of Concealment and Disclosure in Early and Medieval Chinese Religion,” Material Religion 2, no. 1 (2006): 55; Campany, “Secrecy and Display in the Quest for Transcendence in China,” 301–13. 125. This summary is based not only on the royal colloquies, but also on other Yi Zhou shu chapters, such as “Shi ji,” “Chang mai,” and “Da ju,” which explicitly mention the mediating activities of the court scribes. The fact that a version of chapter “Shi ji” is also present in the Grand Duke traditions confirms that it is related to royal colloquies. 126. The importance of transcendent revelation in the history of religions has recently been emphasized in Alan Strathern, Unearthly Powers: Religious and Political Change in World History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019). Strathern’s thought-provoking distinction between “transcendentalist” and “immanentist” religions, however, does not seem to be directly applicable to the study of religious developments in Early China, which appear to fall under the “transcendentalist” category at least since the Western Zhou period. Strathern’s claim that the tradition only happened during the early empires (p. 168) is unconvincing, and he seems to turn a blind eye on Heaven as the ultimate authority during the Zhou period. 127. For a still-relevant overview of this problem, in which historical uncertainties are exacerbated by terminological confusion, see N. Sivin, “On the Word ‘Taoist’ as a Source of Perplexity: With Special Reference to the Relations of Science and Religion in Traditional China,” History of Religions 17, nos. 3–4 (1978): 303–30.

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128. I am not convinced by Kidder Smith’s bold assertion that the “Warring States  .  .  . knew no Daoists”; see Kidder Smith, “Sima Tan and the Invention of Daoism, ‘Legalism,’ et cetera,” Journal of Asian Studies 62, no. 1 (2003): 130. However, I agree that the later understanding of Daojia as an ideologically consistent current based on a strictly circumscribed set of texts intellectually isolated from and opposed to the other jia 家 was shaped during the Han dynasty: Jens Østergård Petersen, “Which Books Did the First Emperor of Ch’in Burn? On the Meaning of Pai Chia in Early Chinese Sources,” Monumenta Serica 43 (1995): 19–37; Mark Csikszentmihalyi and Michael Nylan, “Constructing Lineages and Inventing Traditions Through Exemplary Figures in Early China,” T’oung Pao 89, nos. 1–3 (2003): 62–69. 129. One of the more influential understandings of religious Daoism assumes that the pursuit of transcendence (chengxian 成仙) is its core element: H. G. Creel, “What Is Taoism?,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 79, no. 3 (1956): 139–52. This understanding may be misleading, and the techniques of achieving transcendence may have developed at a later stage within the tradition initially focused on royal empowerment.

6. HEIRLOOM TREASURES, SCRIPTURES, AND LEGITIMACY 1. Anna Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments: Taoist Roots in the Apocrypha,” Mélanges Chinois et Bouddhiques 21 (1983): 300. 2. Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments,” 302. 3. Shi ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959), 12.465, 28.1392. For a thought-provoking study of cultural continuities in prehistorical and early historical China centered on the nine tripods narrative, see Li Min, Social Memory and State Formation in Early China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). One has to mention, however, that Li Min’s treatment of this and similar Warring States narratives as guides for exploring much earlier history is methodologically problematic. 4. Cf. Stephen Durrant, Wai-yee Li, and David Schaberg, trans., Zuo Tradition / Zuozhuan (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2016), 601–3. My punctuation and translation are slightly different. 5. Marcel Mauss, The Gift: Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. Ian Cunnison (London: Cohen and West, 1966); David Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value: The False Coin of Our Own Dreams (New York: Palgrave, 2001). 6. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 111–15, 232–57. 7. This observation has been made by Wu Hung; see Wu Hung, Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1996), 7. 8. Zhanguo ce (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 6.15a; J. I. Crump Jr., Chan-Kuo Ts’e (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970), 294. Cf. Shi ji, 70.2296. 9. The Shi ji mentions two alternative versions of the tripods’ fate: they have been either successfully captured by Qin or lost in the Si River: Shi ji, 4.169, 5.218, 28.1365. 10. Shi ji, 6.248. 11. See Edward L. Shaughnessy, “  ‘New’ Evidence on the Zhou Conquest,” in Before Confucius: Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classics (Albany: SUNY Press, 1997), 31–68; Gu Jiegang, “Yi Zhou shu Shi fu pian jiaozhu xieding yu pinglun,” Wenshi 1963.2: 1–41.

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12. For a relatively recent discussion of the lunar-phase terminology, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, “Lunar-Aspect Terms and the Calendar of China’s Western Zhōu Period,” in Time and Ritual in Early China, ed. Xiaobing Wang-Riese and Thomas O. Höllmann (Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz Verlag, 2009), 15–32. 13. Such jade suits are well known from burials dating from the second century bce to the second century ce: Lu Zhaomeng 盧兆萌, “Shilun liang Han de yuyi” 試論兩漢 的玉衣, Kaogu 1980.1: 51–58. For a well-informed discussion of the Han dynasty jade suits with some suggestions for their precursors, see Allison R. Miller, Kingly Splendor: Court Art and Materiality in Han China (New York: Columbia University Press, 2020), 145–83. See also Jie Shi, Modeling Peace: Royal Tombs and Political Ideology in Early China (New York: Columbia University Press, 2020), 30–37. 14. Shang shu zhengyi, 7.6a; Shi ji, 3.96. 15. Zhanguo ce, 3.13b; Crump, Chan-Kuo Ts’e, 66. 16. On the magical properties of the tu 圖 charts in the Warring States period and the period of the early empires, see Donald Harper, “Communication by Design: Two Silk Manuscripts of Diagrams (Tu) from Mawangdui Tomb Three,” in Graphics and Text in the Production of Technical Knowledge in China: The Warp and the Weft, ed. Francesca Bray, Vera Dorofeeva-Lichtmann, and Georges Métailié (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 169–88. 17. The kingdom of Zhongshan, located to the northwest of today’s Shijiazhuang 石家 莊, capital of Hebei province, had a relatively short but fascinating history. As a state, it is believed to have been established around the fifth century bce by the pastoralist group of the White Di 白狄, culturally alien to the agricultural states of the Central Plains. Its rise coincided with the remarkable period of political transformation and cultural expansion in the northern part of the Central Plains. Zhongshan’s larger and more famous eastern neighbor, Yan 燕, also regained its cultural affiliation with the Central Plains around this time, after a long period of withdrawal into the pastoralist world. See M. V. Kri͡ukov, M. V. Sofronov, and N. N. Cheboksarov, Drevnie kitaĭt͡sy: Problemy ėtnogeneza (Moscow: Nauka, 1978), 279–82. On the state of Yan during the Western Zhou period, see Li Feng, Landscape and Power in Early China: The Crisis and Fall of the Western Zhou 1045–771 BC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 335–340. 18. For an overview of the general tendencies in Eastern Zhou texts on ritual bronzes as opposed to the earlier Western Zhou epigraphy, see Gilbert Louis Mattos, “Eastern Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” in New Sources of Early Chinese History: An Introduction to the Reading of Inscriptions and Manuscripts, ed. Edward L. Shaughnessy (Berkeley, CA: Society for the Study of Early China, 1997), 85–124. 19. The bronzes produced in King Cuo’s fourteenth year demonstrate a substantial artistic and technological change from the earlier vessels discovered in the same tomb, including some produced in the preceding thirteenth year. This change is most convincingly explained by the newly gained access to the materials and craftsmanship from Yan after the conquest that is known to have taken place in 314 bce; see Xiaolong Wu, Material Culture, Power, and Identity in Ancient China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 136–45. Thus the fourteenth year probably corresponds to 314 or 313 bce. The date of King Cuo’s death is less certain, but it seems that he did not live long after his victory, as there are no artifacts in his tomb dated to the fifteenth year, and the round liquid container yuanhu that was produced in King Cuo’s thirteenth year was reused by his heir as a carrier for a new inscription; see Wu,

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Material Culture, Power, and Identity in Ancient China, 151. See also the excavation report: Hebei sheng wenwu yanjiusuo, Cuo mu: Zhanguo Zhongshan guo guowang zhi mu 𰯼墓：戰國中山國國王之墓, 2 vols. (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1995). 20. Wu, Material Culture, Power, and Identity in Ancient China, 87–93. 21. Wu, Material Culture, Power, and Identity in Ancient China, 151. 22. Hung Wu, “Art and Architecture of the Warring States Period,” in The Cambridge History of Ancient China, ed. Michael Loewe and Edward Shaughnessy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 689–93; Wu, Material Culture, Power, and Identity in Ancient China, 93–107. Falkenhausen argues that the content of the Zhongshan tomb “shows a close adherence to Zhou ritual norms”; see Lothar von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius (1000–250 BC): The Archaeological Evidence (Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California, Los Angeles, 2006), 254–62. 23. The discussion of paleographic issues surrounding the Zhongshan inscriptions has been summarized in Lin Hongming 林宏明, Zhanguo Zhongshan guo wenzi yanjiu 戰國中山國文字硏究 (Taipei: Taiwan guji chubanshe, 2003). See also Wang Ying 王穎, “Zhanguo Zhongshan guo wenzi yanjiu” 戰國中山國文字研究 (PhD diss., East China Normal University, 2005). Fabienne Marc’s excellent PhD dissertation contains a systematic paleographic analysis of the characters of the Zhongshan inscriptions as well as a well-informed translation; see Fabienne Marc, “L’écriture du royaume de Zhongshan (4e s.–3e s. av J-C.): Eléments de méthodologie et grammatologie chinoise des Zhou Orientaux” (PhD diss., EHESS, 1993). Some related questions have also been discussed in Haeree Park, The Writing System of Scribe Zhou, Evidence from Late Pre-Imperial Chinese Manuscripts and Inscriptions (5th–3rd Centuries bce) (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016), 73–138. 24. One important question relating to the Zhongshan inscriptions is whether Sima Gu attested therein is known from the written record at all. The answer is less simple than one would expect. No person with the name Sima Gu is attested in the transmitted sources, although there are quite a few anecdotes about a certain Sima Xi 司 馬喜/司馬憙. The Zhanguo ce mentions that Sima Xi was a long-serving minister of Zhongshan kings and literally “served three terms as a minister in Zhongshan” 三相 中山, which seems to agree with what we know about Sima Gu from the Zhongshan inscriptions; see Zhanguo ce, 10.16a. An anecdote from the Lü shi chunqiu further mentions that Sima Xi was rebuked by a certain Mohist teacher on account of an aggressive campaign against Yan, which also matches the boastful references to the victory over Yan in the Zhongshan inscriptions: Lü shi chunqiu (Sibu congkan chubian 四部叢刊初編 ed.), 18.17a–b. In solving the question about the possible identity of Sima Gu and Sima Xi, paleographic evidence is essentially important. However, different readings have been proposed for the character used to transcribe Sima’s personal name. In an early article, Li Xueqin and Li Ling transcribed it as Sima Zhou 司馬賙; see Li Xueqin 李學勤 and Li Ling 李零, “Pingshan san qi yu Zhongshan guo shi de ruogan wenti” 平山三器與中山國史的若干問題, Kaogu xuebao 1979.2: 149, 169. This reading has been followed in most English translations; to my knowledge, the only exception is Haicheng Wang, “Inscriptions from Zhongshan Chinese Texts and the Archaeology of Agency,” in Agency in Ancient Writing, ed. Joshua Englehardt (Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2013), 209–30. However, there can be no possible connection between the characters zhōu 賙 and xǐ 喜/憙—either phonological or graphical. Although Li Xueqin and Li Ling attempted to explain this

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discrepancy by interpreting the characters zhōu and xǐ as synonyms, this suggestion is not convincing. In later works, however, Li Xueqin revised his reading in favor of gǔ 賈, which was reinforced in further studies by Qiu Xigui 裘錫圭. For a summary of different readings proposed for this character with references to individual publications, see Lin Hongming, Zhanguo Zhongshan guo wenzi yanjiu, 12–14. Importantly, the new transcription allows us to trace a probable phonological connection with xǐ. It is known that the character 賈 *C.qˤaʔ is phonetically interchangeable with gǔ 鼓 *[k]ˤaʔ, and the phonetic element 壴 there is the same as the one in xǐ 喜 *qʰ(r)əʔ. Therefore, even though gǔ and xǐ seem to have had a difference in the main vowels, it is possible that in some dialects during the Warring States period they could be employed to transcribe the same name. 25. Wu, Material Culture, Power, and Identity in Ancient China, 141. 26. On similar biases in Western Zhou epigraphy, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History: Inscribed Bronze Vessels (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 175–82. 27. Two other remarkable vessels, whose near-identical inscriptions were also composed in the aftermath of the same campaign but this time in the kingdom of Qi, are known as the Chen Zhang fanghu 陳璋方壺 and Chen Zhang hu 陳璋壺 (JC: 9975). They have been briefly but succinctly discussed by Gilbert L. Mattos and Hua Yang, “The Chen Zhang Fanghu,” Orientations 32, no. 2 (2001): 57. On the debates surrounding the idea of voluntary abdication of the ruler in favor of a virtuous successor, see Yuri Pines, “Disputers of Abdication: Zhanguo Egalitarianism and the Sovereign’s Power,” T’oung Pao 91, nos. 4–5 (2005): 243–300; Yuri Pines, “Subversion Unearthed: Criticism of Hereditary Succession in the Newly Discovered Manuscripts,” Oriens Extremus 45 (2005–2006): 159–78; Sarah Allan, Buried Ideas: Legends of Abdication and Ideal Government in Early Chinese Bamboo-Slip Manuscripts (Albany: SUNY Press, 2015). 28. Constance A. Cook, “Chung-Shan Bronze Inscriptions: Introduction and Translation” (MA thesis, University of Washington, 1980); Constance A. Cook, “Zhongshan Wang Cuo Ding,” in A Source Book of Ancient Chinese Bronze Inscriptions, ed. Constance A. Cook and Paul R. Goldin (Berkeley, CA: Society for the Study of Early China, 2016), 289–95; Mattos, “Eastern Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” 104–10; Wu, Material Culture, Power, and Identity in Ancient China, 183–97; Wang, “Inscriptions from Zhongshan Chinese Texts and the Archaeology of Agency,” 228–30. 29. Cook, “Zhongshan Wang Cuo Ding,” 291. 30. David Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 29. 31. The anxious tone of the Zhongshan inscriptions, demonstrated in particular by the characteristic use of the exclamation wuhu (see chapter 4), is also largely consistent with the royal colloquies. However, similar uses are attested in earlier epigraphy, and it would take a detailed linguistic study to show how the use of such expressions differs in epigraphic and transmitted texts from different periods. 32. I follow Ken-ichi Takashima in interpreting ruo 若 as “these,” even though I translate er 而 and nai 乃 in the same position in the Yi Zhou shu royal colloquies as the second-person possessive pronoun “your”; see Ken-ichi Takashima, “The Graph 日 for the Word ‘Time’ in Shang Oracle-Bone Inscriptions,” Bulletin of Chinese Linguistics 1, no. 1 (2006): 63.

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33. See the concluding parts of chapters “Wen shi” 文師 (King Wen’s Instructor) in the “Wen tao” 文韜 (Civic Sheath) and chapter “Jun yong” 軍用 (Army Supplies) in the “Hu tao” 虎韜 (Tiger Sheath) sections: Liu tao, in Wu jing qi shu 武經七書 (Xu guyi congshu 續古逸叢書 ed.), 1.2a, 4.3b. 34. For a discussion of the different types of dialog in bronze epigraphy, see David Schaberg, “Foundations of Chinese Historiography: Literary Representation in Zuo zhuan and Guoyu” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1995), 85–94. The bronze texts containing records of appointment ceremonies, in which the recipient of the appointment “extols the munificence” of his patron, are different: they are tied to the hierarchical setting of the ceremony and do not contain transgenerational instructions of the kind we see in the Yi Zhou shu chapters and the fanghu inscription; consequently, the recipient’s response is not a comment on the correctness of the teaching, but rather is a reaction to the king’s benevolence. One should note, however, that the Western Zhou texts do contain examples of individual admonitions that are given by the patron as part of the appointment and that urge the appointee to be diligent and vigilant in his duties; see Virginia C. Kane, “Aspects of Western Chou Appointment Inscriptions: The Charge, the Gifts, and the Response,” Early China 8 (1983): 16–17. For a general analysis of the Western Zhou appointment ceremonies, see Li Feng, Bureaucracy and the State in Early China: Governing the Western Zhou (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 103–11. 35. I follow Lu Wenchao, who emends qu 去 (“to depart”) with yun 云 (“to say”): Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007), 270. 36. One possible exception is the corrupt “Wŭ jing.” It is difficult to say whether it was composed as a dialog or a monolog. 37. Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History, 176. 38. Xu Zhongshu, “Jinwen guci shili,” Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo jikan 1936.1: 1–44. 39. Lothar von Falkenhausen, “Issues in Western Zhou Studies: A Review Article,” Early China 18 (1993): 147. 40. von Falkenhausen, “Issues in Western Zhou Studies,” 148–54. 41. V. M. Kri͡ukov, Tekst i ritual: Opyt interpretat͡ sii drevnekitaĭskoĭ ėpigrafiki ėpokhi YinZhou (Moscow: Pami͡atniki istoricheskoĭ mysli, 2000), 115–16. 42. Li Feng, “Literacy and the Social Contexts of Writing in the Western Zhou,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China, ed. Li Feng and David Branner (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2011), 282–85. For a more recent elaboration of this argument mentioning the specific applications of literacy as attested in the Western Zhou epigraphic texts, see Li Feng, “The Development of Literacy in Early China: With the Nature and Uses of Bronze Inscriptions in Context, and More,” in Literacy in Ancient Everyday Life, ed. Anne Kolb (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), 24–33. See also the brief but informative listing of different ritual contexts in Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Royal Audience and Its Reflections in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China, 263–64. 43. Robert Eno, “Reflections on Literary and Devotional Aspects of Western Zhou Memorial Inscriptions,” in Imprints of Kingship: Studies of Recently Discovered Bronze Inscriptions from Ancient China, ed. Edward L. Shaughnessy (Hong Kong: CUHK, 2017), 261–85.

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44. Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History, 183–92. See also von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius, 55–73; Constance A. Cook, “Shi Qiang Pan,” in A Source Book of Ancient Chinese Bronze Inscriptions, 93–100. 45. Wu Zhenfeng, ed., Shang-Zhou qintgongqi mingwen ji tuxiang jicheng, 35 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 2012). For an account of this hoard, see Noel Barnard and Kwong-yue Cheung, The Shan-Fu Liang Chʻi Kuei and Associated Inscribed Vessels=: Shan-Fu Liang Chʻi Kuei Chi Chʻi Tʻa Kuan Hsi Chu Chʻi Yen Chiu (Taipei: SMC, 1996), 71–72, 75–80. 46. Notably, the exclamation “Meditate on it!” 念之哉 is absent from the more archaic chapters of the Shang shu, but it occurs several times in the Yi Zhou shu and chapter “Lü xing” of the Shang shu, discussed in chapter 4. 47. See von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius, 29, n. 2. 48. Jessica Rawson, “Late Western Zhou: A Break in the Shang Bronze Tradition,” Early China 11–12 (1985–1987): 289–96; Jessica Rawson, Western Zhou Ritual Bronzes from the Arthur M. Sackler Collections, part 1 (Washington, DC: Arthur M. Sackler Foundation and the Arthur M. Sackler Museum, Harvard University, 1990), 96–109. 49. Jessica Rawson, “Western Zhou Archaeology,” in The Cambridge History of Ancient China, 435–40. 50. See Paul Nicholas Vogt, “Between Kin and King: Social Aspects of Western Zhou Ritual” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 2012), 288–334. 51. von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius, 300. 52. von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius, 195–96. 53. Kri͡ukov, Tekst i ritual, 333. 54. Mattos, “Eastern Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” 87. 55. For an overview of these transitions as reflected in epigraphic texts, see von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius, 293–97. 56. As a very rare piece of evidence about the reception of bronze texts by later audiences, “Ji tong” is often quoted by scholars: Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History, 176; Martin Kern, The Stele Inscriptions of Chʻin Shih-Huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation (New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, 2000), 145–46; Paul R. Goldin, “The Legacy of Bronzes and Bronze Inscriptions in Early Chinese Literature,” in A Source Book of Ancient Chinese Bronze Inscriptions, lv–lvi. 57. Li ji zhushu (Wuying dian shisanjing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 49.18b–19a. 58. The precise date of this text remains an unresolved problem: although the Li ji as the collection may have been first assembled in the early imperial period, the individual chapters, including “Ji tong,” may be earlier. 59. Li ji zhushu, 49, 16b–22a. I relied heavily on the annotated translation and discussion in Christian Schwermann, “Composite Authorship in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions: The Case of the ‘Tiānwáng Guǐ’ 天亡簋 Inscription,” in That Wonderful Composite Called Author: Authorship in East Asian Literatures from the Beginnings to the Seventeenth Century, ed. Christian Schwermann and Raji C. Steineck (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 49–55. 60. It is possible that míng 銘 *mˤeŋ stands for mìng 命 *m-riŋ-s. This would make Kong Kui’s inscription quite typical in terms of its language: “I command you to continue the service of your father!” However, there is a significant difference in the main vowel between the two words, which makes this suggestion problematic. I thank Ondřej Škrabal for bringing this to my attention.

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61. See von Falkenhausen, “Issues in Western Zhou Studies,” 152, n. 26. 62. Martin Kern suggests that King Cuo’s long inscriptions “expressed a claim for secular political authority largely divorced from the earlier forms of religious communication” and that the placement of texts on the outside surfaces of the vessels signifies “a new mode of representation for an audience comprising, first and foremost, members of the political community”; see Martin Kern, “Early Chinese Literature, Beginnings Through Western Han,” in The Cambridge History of Chinese Literature, vol. 1, To 1375, ed. Kang-i Sun Chang and Stephen Owen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 15–16. Although the departure from the old rituals in King Cuo’s inscriptions is obvious, interpreting it as a transition from “religious communication” to “secular political authority” is perhaps an overstatement because the clear-cut distinction between “secular” and “religious” is difficult to maintain for any period of Early China. One should also note that King Cuo’s long inscriptions only reflect a particular style adopted by the kingdom of Zhongshan after the conquest of Yan, which coexisted with other styles and attitudes: the ritual bronzes cast by King Cuo during the previous years are modest in terms of both the length of their texts and their visual presentation. 63. The technical process of converting a manuscript text into an inscription was complex, and multiple alternative technologies appear to have existed in antiquity, making it impossible to describe them simply in such a way that would apply to all cases; see Li Feng, “Solving Puzzles About the Bronze Inscription Casting Method of the Western Zhou Dynasty,” Chinese Archaeology 15 (2015): 140–52. 64. Eno, “Reflections on Literary and Devotional Aspects of Western Zhou Memorial Inscriptions,” 266. For other examples of references to manuscript texts within bronze epigraphy, see Li Feng, “Literacy and the Social Contexts of Writing in the Western Zhou.” 65. Cf. Martin Kern’s discussion of self-referential statements in the concluding passages of epigraphic texts: Kern, The Stele Inscriptions of Chʻin Shih-Huang, 140–47. 66. Deborah Steiner, The Tyrant’s Writ: Myths and Images of Writing in Ancient Greece (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 71. 67. Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Reimagining the Yellow Emperor’s Four Faces,” in Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005), 241–43. 68. Steiner, The Tyrant’s Writ, 63. 69. M. T. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record, England 1066–1307, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1993), 154–72. 70. Rosalind Thomas, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 45–83. 71. The Perovski tablet preserved at the State Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg and discussed by Hagen seems to be a direct Egyptian counterpart of the Zhongshan bronzes, re-creating a literary trope in the material form; see Fredrik Hagen, “Constructing Textual Identity,” in Ancient Egyptian Literature, ed. Roland Enmarch and Verena M. Lepper (Oxford: British Academy, 2013), 206. 72. Ronit Yoeli-Tlalim, “Exploring Persian Lore in the Hebrew Book of Asaf,” Aleph (Jerusalem) 18, no. 1 (2018): 123–46. 73. For an excellent study of the antiquarian culture of the Song period, see Yunchiahn Chen Sena, Bronze and Stone: The Cult of Antiquity in Song Dynasty China (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2019).

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74. Shi ji, 43.1786–88. A close version of the same story is given in chapter 105, “Bian Que Cang Cong lie zhuan” 扁鵲倉公列傳 (Biographies of Bian Que and Cang Gong), at 105.2786–87. For an English translation of this biography, see Elisabeth Hsu and William H. Nienhauser, “Pien Ch’üeh and Ts’ang Kung, Memoir 45,” in The Grand Scribe’s Records, ed. William H. Nienhauser (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2019), 9:1–88. 75. The Jin troops captured three commanders of the Qin army. Wen Ying 文嬴, the mother of Duke Xiang of Jin, apparently driven by sympathy for her former compatriots (she was a daughter of Duke Mu of Qin), asked Duke Xiang to release them to be executed in Qin, and he fulfilled the request. This was a disastrous move: the ruler of Qin pardoned his commanders, and soon one of them, Mengming 孟明, retaliated with a new attack on Jin. See Zuo zhuan, Xi.33, Wen.3; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg, Zuo Tradition / Zuozhuan, 449–51, 479. 76. As suggested by Chavannes, the two bears probably symbolize the lineages of Fan 范 and Zhonghang 中行, defeated by Zhao Jianzi in 490: Edouard Chavannes, Mémoires historiques de Se-Ma Ts’ien (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1905), 5:28. The dog stands for the domain of Dai 代 conquered by Zhao Jianzi’s son. 77. Chavannes points out that this last prognostication refers to King Wuling of Zhao 趙 武靈 (325–299): Chavannes, Mémoires historiques de Se-Ma Ts’ien, 29. If we assume that the prognostication was created in retrospect, his reign would furnish a terminus post quem for the finalization of the story. 78. This refers to King Wuling’s reforms, which included the adoption of northern-style clothes more suitable for horseback combat. One can imagine that the prophecy may have been composed to legitimize King Wuling’s radically antitraditionalist reforms, which were conceived to facilitate the military expansion and the gradual conquest of the kingdom of Zhongshan starting from 305 bce. 79. The vision of the Heavenly Thearch as an anthropomorphic deity that engages in direct communication with humans appears anachronistic for the early fifth century bce, the time in which the story is set. Concerning the gradual development of the cult of the Five Thearchs (wu di 五帝), to which this story may be related, see Gil Raz, “Creation of Tradition: The Five Talismans of the Numinous Treasure and the Formation of Early Daoism” (Ph.D. diss., Indiana University, 2004), 405–11. 80. One may speculate whether both are informed by the same tradition of “Qin prophecies.” 81. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 75–76. 82. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 86–88. 83. Louis Gernet, “The Mythical Idea of Value in Greece,” in The Anthropology of Ancient Greece, trans. John S. J. Hamilton and Nagy Blaise (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981), 77. 84. Gernet, “The Mythical Idea of Value in Greece,” 104. 85. Gernet, “The Mythical Idea of Value in Greece,” 96. 86. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 105. 87. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 106. 88. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 115. 89. Michael Nylan, “Toward an Archaeology of Writing: Text, Ritual, and the Culture of Public Display in the Classical Period (475 B.C.E.–220 C.E.),” in Text and Ritual in Early China, 3–49. 90. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 94–104.

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91. Robert Ford Campany, “Secrecy and Display in the Quest for Transcendence in China, ca. 220 bce–350 ce,” History of Religions 45, no. 4 (2006): 291–336. 92. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 100–101. 93. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 105. 94. Éric Seizelet, “Les ‘trois Trésors sacrés’ de la monarchie japonaise: Un ‘patrimoine caché’?,” In Situ: Revue des patrimoines 42 (2020), http://journals.openedition.org/ insitu/28162. 95. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 176–83. 96. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 136–39. 97. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 145–48. 98. Charles Stewart, Dreaming and Historical Consciousness in Island Greece (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2017), 116–29. 99. Stewart, Dreaming and Historical Consciousness in Island Greece, 52–56, 207. 100. Stewart, Dreaming and Historical Consciousness in Island Greece, 3–10. 101. Wai-yee Li, “Dreams of Interpretation in Early Chinese Historical and Philosophical Writings,” in Dream Cultures: Explorations in the Comparative History of Dreaming, ed. David Dean Shulman and Guy G. Stroumsa (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 21. Dream revelations were an important concern in China since the beginning of recorded history. Already in oracle bones, there are instances of divination related to the identification of ancestors who purportedly were the cause of a perplexing dream, and the very existence of such divination records suggests that dreams were seen as important events necessitating a planned response: David Keightley, The Ancestral Landscape (Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 2000), 101–2. Donald Harper has briefly discussed the ancient and medieval incantations designed to expel nightmare demons, which are one possible reaction to a dream: Donald Harper, “A Note on Nightmare Magic in Ancient and Medieval China,” Tang Studies 6 (1988): 69–76. Li Ling mentions that the divination practices related to dreams used to be very important in antiquity, but few sources have been preserved: Li Ling 李零, Zhongguo fangshu zheng kao (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2006), 52–54. For a discussion of foul dreams as a threat that needs to be eliminated (rather than a means of prognostication), see Mu-Chou Poo, “Ritual and Ritual Texts in Early China,” in Early Chinese Religion, part 1, Shang Through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. Marc Kalinowski and John Lagerwey (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 306; Anna-Alexandra Fodde-Reguer, “Divining Bureaucracy: Divination Manuals as Technology and the Standardization of Efficacy in Early China” (PhD diss., University of Michigan, 2014), 45–46. For other important studies of dreams in traditional China, see Roberto K. Ong, The Interpretation of Dreams in Ancient China (Bochum, Germany: Brockmeyer, 1985); Rudolf G. Wagner, “Imperial Dreams in China,” in Psycho-Sinology: The Universe of Dreams in Chinese Culture, ed. Carolyn T. Brown (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, 1988), 11–24; Marion Eggert, Rede vom Traum: Traumauffassungen der literatenschicht im späten kaiserlichen China (Stuttgart: F. Steiner, 1993); Fu-shih Lin, “Religious Taoism and Dreams: An Analysis of the Dream-Data Collected in the Yün-Chi Ch’i-Ch’ien,” Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 8, no. 1 (1995): 95–112. 102. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 81. 103. Max Kaltenmark, “Ling-pao: Note sur un terme du taoïsme religieux,” in Mélanges publiés par l’Institut des hautes études chinoises (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1960), 2:568.

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1 04. Gernet, “The Mythical Idea of Value in Greece,” 102. 105. See the discussion of the “ritual caskets” with efficacious texts in medieval Daoism in Julius N. Tsai, “Opening Up the Ritual Casket: Patterns of Concealment and Disclosure in Early and Medieval Chinese Religion,” Material Religion 2, no. 1 (2006): 38–67. 106. This alliance may have been catalyzed by both the geographical proximity of the participants and the problems of political legitimacy they shared. Wei, Hann, and Zhao had been established a century earlier, after they dismantled and divided the ancient state of Jin 晉 in 453 bce, which used to be the main patron of Zhou in the preceding centuries (the division was formally recognized by the Zhou king only in 403 bce). Yan and Zhongshan, as relative newcomers with culturally alien backgrounds, may have experienced similar problems: despite their wealth and power, the formal prestige was still lacking. For discussions of related ­historical problems, see Duan Lianqin 段連勤, Beidi zu yu Zhongshan guo 北狄 族與中山國 (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin chubanshe, 1982), 111–23; He Yanjie 何 艷傑 et al., Xianyu Zhongshan guo shi 鮮虞中山國史 (Beijing: Kexue chubanshe, 2011). 107. On the importance of the scriptural commemoration of the foundational conquest, see Yegor Grebnev, “The Record of King Wu of Zhou’s Royal Deeds in the Yi Zhou shu in Light of Near Eastern Royal Inscriptions,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 1 (2018): 73–104. 108. I follow Zhang Zhenglang 張政烺, “Zhongshan wang Cuo hu ji ding ming kaoshi” 中山王𰯼壺及鼎銘考釋, Gu wenzi yanjiu 1979.1: 225. 109. For an extensive discussion of the notions of loyalty in the Zhongshan inscriptions in their intellectual-historical context, see Satō Masayuki 佐藤將之, “Guojia sheji cunwang zhi daode: Chunqiu Zhanguo zaoqi zhong he zhongxin gainian zhi yiyi” 國家社稷存亡之道德：春秋戰國早期忠和忠信概念之意義, Qinghua xuebao 37 (2007): 1–34. 110. Yuri Pines, Envisioning Eternal Empire: Chinese Political Thought of the Warring States Era (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2008), 171. 111. Anna Seidel, “Kokuhô: Note à propos du terme ‘trésor national’ en Chine et au Japon,” Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 69, no. 1 (1981): 229–61. 112. Pines, Envisioning Eternal Empire, 113–84. 113. Cf. Graeber, Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, 237–47. 114. Shi ji, 6.254–55, 257. 115. Jens Østergård Petersen, “Which Books Did the First Emperor of Ch’in Burn? On the Meaning of Pai Chia in Early Chinese Sources,” Monumenta Serica 43 (1995): 1–52; Kern, The Stele Inscriptions of Chʻin Shih-Huang, 183–96. 116. The exception was made for the “medical, divinatory, and agricultural books” 醫藥 卜筮種樹之書: Shi ji, 6.255. Considering the conceptual and historical connection between the universal, legitimizing Dao and its multiple instantiations as situationspecific shù, this exemption may have been necessary to allow technical experts to practice their trades without being accused of insurgent intentions, as the imagery of royal empowerment was common in their texts (chapter 5). On the Han dynasty esoteric communities of the fangshi 方士, see Donald Harper, “Warring States Natural Philosophy and Occult Thought,” in The Cambridge History of Ancient China; Li Ling, Zhongguo fangshu zheng kao; Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Fangshi 方士 ‘Masters

313 CONCLUSION

of Methods,’ ” in The Encyclopedia of Taoism, ed. Fabrizio Pregadio (London: Routledge, 2008), 406–9. 117. Peter S. Nickerson, “Taoism and Popular Religion,” in The Encyclopedia of Taoism, 145–50.

CONCLUSION 1. My understanding of genre is inspired by the work of Russian Byzantinist Sergey Averint͡ sev, who proposes to distinguish between the different stages of genre reflexivity in traditional cultures: S. S. Averint͡ sev, “Istoricheskai͡a podvizhnostʹ kategorii zhanra: Opyt periodizat͡ sii,” in Istoricheskai͡ a poėtika: Itogi i perspektivy izuchenii͡ a (Moscow: Nauka, 1986), 104–16. At the start of his discussion, Averint͡ sev juxtaposes the Byzantine epigram, a literary genre inherited from antiquity and defined by such conventions as size and syllabic rhythm, to sticheron (a kind of liturgical hymn), in which the defining criterion is its function in liturgy, while the literary properties can be flexible. For Averint͡ sev, sticheron is a typologically earlier genre defined by its performative context, whereas epigram has the qualities of a mature literary genre in which the context no longer plays an important role. Averint͡ sev sees the origin of all genres in the performative practices of everyday life and ritual, and even after the emergence of writing, texts are often grouped according to the unity of their performative context. Mature literary genres can emerge only after the tradition applies critical reflection to the accumulated body of textual material and reconsiders certain elements of performative practice (which are seldom as strictly applied during the prereflective stage) as defining characteristics of genre. The existence of such formally conscious genres does not imply that all other genres have reached equal maturity, which is why the sticheron and the epigram could coexist, relying on different criteria of genre distinction. 2. The division proposed here is related, but not identical, to the one proposed by Zhang Ning and discussed in chapter 2. 3. Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Royal Audience and Its Reflections in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China, ed. Li Feng and David Branner (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2011); Li Feng, Bureaucracy and the State in Early China: Governing the Western Zhou (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 109–10. 4. Martin Kern, “The ‘Harangues’ (Shi 誓) in the Shangshu,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents), ed. Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 281–319; Joachim Gentz, “One Heaven, One History, One People: Repositioning the Zhou in Royal Addresses to Subdued Enemies in the ‘Duo Shi’ 多士 and ‘Duo Fang’ 多方 Chapters of the Shangshu and in the ‘Shang Shi’ 商誓 Chapter of the Yi Zhoushu,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy, 146–92. 5. The thought-provoking impressionistic study of Granet waits to be revisited by somebody willing to consider the abundant paleographic and epigraphic evidence that has emerged over the last century: Marcel Granet, Fêtes et chansons anciennes de la Chine (Paris: Éditions Ernest Leroux, 1919). The elaborate framework of seasonal ceremonies outlined in such texts as the “Yue ling” 月令 (Monthly Ordinances)

314 CONCLUSION

preserved in the Li ji seems to have provided convenient opportunities for the regular public performance of authoritative texts. 6. I do not consider here the six-genre categorization first attested in the pseudo-Kong Anguo “Preface” because I believe that it postdates the developments that I describe here by about five hundred years. For more details, see chapter 2. 7. Matthias Richter, “Self-Cultivation or Evaluation of Others? A Form Critical Approach to Zengzi Li Shi,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 56, no. 4 (2002): 905–6. 8. On the tendency to systematically reconcile the ancient textual accounts in early imperial works, see Bernhard Karlgren, “Legends and Cults in Ancient China,” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 18 (1946): 199–365. Karlgren’s juxtaposition of the preimperial and early imperial textual practices is problematic because the efforts at harmonization had definitely started earlier, with the first magisterial synthetic treatise, Lü shi chunqiu, produced before the political unification in 221 bce. The methodological import of his argument, however, remains valid, and it can be supported by recent scholarship on the harmonizing tendencies in the evolution of heterogeneous textual traditions; see S. A. Farmer, Syncretism in the West: Pico’s 900 Theses (1486): The Evolution of Traditional, Religious, and Philosophical Systems: With Text, Translation, and Commentary (Tempe, AZ: Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies, 1998). Mark Edward Lewis provides a more recent and more readable summary of these developments in his discussion of “state-sponsored compendia,” “universal history,” and “universal poetry”: Mark Edward Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: SUNY Press, 1999), 302–32. 9. Shi ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959), 32.1477–78; Sarah Allan, “The Identities of Taigong Wang 太公望 in Zhou and Han Literature,” Monumenta Serica 30 (1972– 1973): 57. 10. Richter, “Self-Cultivation or Evaluation of Others?,” 908. 11. Zhanguo ce (Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed.), 3.2a–6b; Shi ji, 69.2241–77. 12. It is noteworthy that the citations from the “Zhou shu” 周書 in the Zhanguo ce, a source to which we probably owe the Su Qin biography in the Shi ji, never match the received Shang shu. Instead, they are invariably taken from the Yi Zhou shu passages that have counterparts in the Liu tao or otherwise show thematic proximity to the Grand Duke traditions, with their emphasis on military strategy and the weakening of enemy states. 13. Alexis Sanderson, “Śaivism and the Tantric Traditions,” in The World’s Religions, ed. Stewart Sutherland, Lesley Houlden, Peter Clarke, and Friedhelm Hardy (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1988), 660–704. 14. Hu Hongzhe, Shang shu yu Yi Zhou shu bijiao yanjiu (Beijing: Beijing yuyan daxue, 2008). 15. Anna Seidel, “The Image of the Perfect Ruler in Early Taoist Messianism: Lao-tzu and Li Hung,” History of Religions 9, nos. 2–3 (1969–1970): 216–47. 16. Charles D. Benn, “Taoism as Ideology in the Reign of Emperor Hsuan-Tsung (712–755)” (PhD diss., University of Michigan, 1977), 24–35; Stephen R. Bokenkamp, “Time After Time: Taoist Apocalyptic History and the Founding of the T’ang Dynasty,” Asia Major 7 (1994): 59–88. Wang Yuanzhi 王遠知 (528–635), the tenth patriarch of the Highest Purity (Shangqing 上清) tradition, transmitted to Li Yuan 李淵, the future emperor Gaozu of Tang 唐高祖 (r. 618–626), the Daoist registers and the Mandate after Emperor Yang of Sui 隋煬帝 (604–617) failed to heed his

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advice: Russell Kirkland, “Wang Yuanzhi” 王遠知, in The Encyclopedia of Taoism, ed. Fabrizio Pregadio (London: Routledge, 2008), 1020–21. The actions of Wang Yuanzhi in this story accurately reproduce the ancient model of a wise counselor who abandons the benighted ruler of the collapsing dynasty and transfers himself—together with the empowering artifacts in his possession—to the court of a more virtuous contender, on whom he confers legitimacy. 17. Dominic Steavu, Writ of the Three Sovereigns (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2019), 2. 18. Julius N. Tsai, “Opening Up the Ritual Casket: Patterns of Concealment and Disclosure in Early and Medieval Chinese Religion,” Material Religion 2, no. 1 (2006): 46. 19. Stephen W. Durrant, “Self as the Intersection of Traditions: The Autobiographical Writings of Ssu-Ma Ch’ien,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 106, no. 1 (1986): 35. 20. Shi ji, 130.3285. 21. Chen Zhi 陳直, “Taishigong shuming kao” 太史公書名考, Wenshizhe 1956.6: 60–62. As recently discussed by a number of authors, understanding shǐ 史 narrowly as “history” in the contemporary sense is unjustified because Zhou-era scribes had much broader competencies, and the recording of events was but one among many concerns, alongside astronomy, divination, and the general coordination of the past, present, and future: Kai Vogelsang, “The Scribes’ Genealogy,” Oriens Extremus 44 (April 2003): 3–10; Martin Kern, “Offices of Writing and Reading in the Rituals of Zhou,” in Statecraft and Classical Learning: The Rituals of Zhou in East Asian History, by Benjamin A. Elman and Martin Kern (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 65–93; M. I͡ u. Ulʹi͡anov, “Zhret͡ sy shi 史 pri dvorakh praviteleĭ ͡tsarstv perioda Chunqiu: Po dannym Chunqiu Zuozhuan i Guoyu,” Obshchestvo i gosudarstvo v Kitae 46, no. 2: 127–80 (Moscow: IV RAN, 2016); Armin Selbitschka, “ ‘I Write Therefore I Am’: Scribes, Literacy, and Identity in Early China,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 78, no. 2 (2018). 22. The title Shi ji also invokes the description of the Zhou shu in the “Yiwen zhi”: “the records of Zhou scribes” (Zhou shi ji 周史記): Han shu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 30.1705. 23. Shi ji, 130.3319. 24. Shi ji, 130.3296. Cf. Nylan’s proposition to reconsider the Shi ji as a religious text: Michael Nylan, “Sima Qian: A True Historian?,” Early China 23–24 (1998): 203–46. 25. Shi ji, 130.3320. Cf. the concealment of the San huang jing as discussed in Charles D. Benn, “Transmission,” in The Encyclopedia of Taoism, 14. See also the discussion in Robert Ford Campany, “Secrecy and Display in the Quest for Transcendence in China, ca. 220 bce–350 ce,” History of Religions 45, no. 4 (2006): 302–3. 26. Shi ji, 130.3320.

APPENDIX 1. SCENIC, FORMALISTIC, AND ALARMING CONTEXTUAL SETTINGS 1. Unlike in my previous study, where I only provided examples of scenic and formalistic contextual settings (called there “background-centered” and “patterned”), here I list all examples of these types that I identified in the Shang shu and the Yi Zhou shu. Cf. Yegor Grebnev, “The Yi Zhou shu and the Shang shu: The Case of Texts with Speeches,” in Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and

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Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents), ed. Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 258–59.

APPENDIX 3. “SEQUENTIAL OUTLINE OF THE ZHOU SCRIPTURES” 1. This chapter has been translated and discussed by Edward Shaughnessy in connection with its counterpart in the Tsinghua manuscript collection: Edward L. Shaughnessy, “Varieties of Textual Variants: Evidence from the Tsinghua Bamboo-Strip *Ming Xun Manuscript,” Early China 39 (2016): 111–44; Edward L. Shaughnessy, “To Punish the Person: A Reading Note Regarding a Punctuation Mark in the Tsinghua Manuscript *Ming Xun,” Early China 40 (2017): 303–9. 2. This description seems to be derived from the “Lesser Sequence” of the ode “Cai wei” 菜薇 (Gathering Thornferns) of the “Xiao ya” 小雅 section of the Shi jing; see Mao shi zhengyi 毛詩正義 (Wuying dian shisan jing zhushu 武英殿十三經注疏 ed.), 16.32b; James Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 4, part 1, The First Part of the She-King or the Lessons from the States; and the Prolegomena (Hong Kong; London, 1871), prol. 40. Kunyi 昆夷 and Xianyun 獫狁 are the names of some neighbors of Zhou during the Western Zhou period. For an overview of the military confrontation between the Zhou and the Xianyun, see Li Feng, Landscape and Power in Early China: The Crisis and Fall of the Western Zhou 1045–771 BC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 141–92. 3. Chapters 6–10 have been translated and discussed in Robin McNeal, Conquer and Govern: Early Chinese Military Texts from the Yi Zhou shu (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2012), 97–135. 4. The mention of King Mu 穆王 in this part of the “Sequential Outline” is unexpected. His reign occurred in the middle of the tenth century bce, which is more than a century later than the reign of King Wen, to whom most chapters in the beginning of the “Sequential Outline” are related. Sun Yirang proposes a complicated emendation, suggesting that mu wang 穆王 is a corruption of the original zai Cheng 在程 (at [the city of] Cheng): Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007), 1121. This idea is far-fetched. 5. This lacuna corresponds to chapters 12 “Cheng dian” 程典 (Statute at Cheng), 13 “Cheng wu” 程寤 (Dream Revelation at Cheng, missing), 14 “Qin yin” 秦陰 (meaning of the title unclear, missing), and 15 “Jiu zheng” 九政 (Nine [Affairs of] Government, missing). I suspect that the title of chapter 11, “Da kuang” (Great Rectification), may have also been inserted here artificially. 6. In the main text, this missing chapter is titled “Jiu kai” 九開 (Nine Instructions). 7. I follow Zhu Youzeng in reading wei 唯 as 惟, which has a verbal usage “to think”: Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1122. 8. The “Duke of Mei” (Mei gong 美公) mentioned in this description is unknown, and I follow Sun Yirang, who suggests reading mei as a mistakenly written jiang 姜: Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1123. Jiang is the clan name of the Grand Duke. 9. In the main text, this missing chapter is called “Ba fan” 八繁 (Eight Varieties).

317 APPENDIX 3. “SEQUENTIAL OUTLINE OF THE ZHOU SCRIPTURES”

10. I follow Sun Yirang, who suggests emending xude 序德 (“comply with the Devirtue”) with houde 厚德 (“strong De-virtue”): Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1124–25. This emendation is convincing because the compound houde appears in the text of the chapter. 11. I read fu 傅 (“to instruct”) as the graphically cognate chuan/zhuan 傳 (“to transmit, to bequeath”; “tradition, bequest”). Today this chapter is known as “Wen zhuan” 文傳 (King Wen’s Bequest). However, there was less clarity in the earlier editions of the Yi Zhou shu. The chapter is called zhuan in Cheng Rong’s 程榮 edition, published during the Wanli 萬歷 era (1572–1620) in the Han-Wei congshu 漢魏叢書 series. The earlier Zhang Bo edition, published in the twenty-second year of the Jiajing era (1543), uses the graphically similar character fu 傅. The earliest surviving edition, printed in the fourteenth year of the Zhizheng 至正 era (1354) of the Yuan dynasty at the Jiaxing prefectural academy (Jiaxing lu xueguan 嘉興路學官), uses fù in the table of contents and zhuàn in the main text, although the character is not printed clearly. The extract from this chapter cited in the Qunshu zhiyao is titled “Wen zhuan.” 12. I follow Lu Wenchao, who emends jie 戒 (“precept”) with rong 戎 (“weapon, warfare”), which he borrows from an unpreserved work by Zhao Ximing 趙曦明: Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1125. The numerical list of the “five threatening weapons” is discussed in the text of the chapter, for which reason Lu’s emendation appears reasonable. 13. This chapter has been translated and discussed in McNeal, Conquer and Govern, 143–49. 14. I accept Lu Wenchao’s emendation of the character yu 於 with zuo 作 (“to compose”). Following Sun Yirang, I transpose the characters kai 開 and wu 武 in my translation, reading the chapter titles as the “instructions of King Wu,” and not the unintelligible “commencement of warfare”: Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1125. Sun’s observation is based on the evidence from an alternative recension of the Zhou shu surveyed in Gao Sisun’s Shi lüe, where the chapters are mentioned as “Da Wu kai” and “Xiao Wu kai,” respectively. 15. In the main text, the title of this chapter is spelled as “Wù jing” 寤敬. Throughout my work, I prefer the reading of the “Sequential Outline,” which is more consistent with the titles of the compositionally similar chapters 24 “Wen jing jie” 文儆解 and 45 “Wŭ jing jie” 武儆解; see the discussion in chapter 4. 16. This chapter has been translated and discussed in Robin McNeal, “The Body as Metaphor for the Civil and Martial Components of Empire in Yi Zhou shu, Chapter 32; With an Excursion on the Composition and Structure of the Yi Zhou shu,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 122, no. 1 (2002): 46–60; McNeal, Conquer and Govern, 161–65. 17. This artificially inserted lacuna interrupts the description of the chapter “Da ju” in order to allocate space for chapters 37 “Da kuang B” 大匡 and 38 “Wen zheng” 文政 (Cultured Governance). 18. This lacuna corresponds to chapter 40 “Shi fu” 世俘 (Hauling of Prisoners). 19. This description is one of the most problematic ones. The characters pi/bi 辟 and wang 王 are difficult to interpret in their positions, and the proposed translation is tentative. 20. In the main text, this missing chapter is called “Qi de” 耆德 (Elder’s Virtue). 21. This lacuna corresponds to chapter 45 “Wŭ jing” 武儆 (King Wu’s Distress).

318 APPENDIX 3. “SEQUENTIAL OUTLINE OF THE ZHOU SCRIPTURES”

22. In the main text, the title of this chapter is spelled with the character 雒 in place of 洛. Both are common graphic variants for the name of the Luo river and the city built on it. 23. Considering the contents of the chapter that outlines the rules for the selection of officials, it appears to be more relevant to translate min 民 not as “commoners,” which is my preferred translation elsewhere, but as a more general “subordinate.” 24. Lu Wenchao suggests that the character zheng 徵 (“recruitment”) from the previous description should be transposed here so that it would read as “The Duke of Zhou expounded the six principles of recruitment to observe them”: Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu, 1134. Considering that the chapter “Guan ren” outlines the principles for the selection of officials, this is a reasonable suggestion, although I do not feel convinced enough to follow it in my translation. 25. This description, corresponding to chapter 65 “Yu pei” 玉佩 (Jade Pendants), is peculiar for not mentioning the title of the chapter that it refers to. 26. This chapter has been translated and discussed in McNeal, Conquer and Govern, 165–68.

APPENDIX 4. PERMUTATIONS OF “SHIFA” 謚法 (ORDER OF POSTHUMOUS NAMES) CHAPTER(S) 1. Wang Yinglin 王應麟, Yuhai 玉海 (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 1987), 54.41a–b; Lou Jin 樓勁, “Yuhai wusi Yiwenzhi suo cun Shen Yue Shili xu wen jianjie” 玉海五 四藝文志所存沈約謚例序文箋解, Wenshi 1 (2005): 37. 2. I insert the character you 有 (“to contain”) in the blank space, following Lou Jin, who in turn follows the block print edition published at Qingyuan 慶元 prefecture on the sixth year of the Zhiyuan 至元 era (1340), preserved at the Chinese National Library. See Lou Jin, “Yuhai wusi Yiwenzhi suo cun Shen Yue Shili xu wen jianjie,” 33. 3. According to Lou Jin, the “book catalog” mentioned by Wang Yinglin refers to an unpreserved bibliographical work, Zhongxing guange shumu 中興館閣書目 (Catalog of the Zhongxing Book Depository), composed in 1177: Lou Jin, “Yuhai wusi Yiwenzhi suo cun Shen Yue Shili xu wen jianjie,” 41, n. 29; 53, n. 75. For a reconstruction based on citations in other works, see Zhao Shiwei 趙士煒, Zhongxing guange shumu jikao 中興館閣書目輯考 (Beiping: Beiping tushuguan, 1932). 4. In his annotated bibliographic catalog Junzhai dushu zhi, Chao Gongwu mentions Zhou gong shifa, quoting its introductory passage, which is very similar to the one in “Shifa jie.” He also mentions the Chunqiu shifa, observing that it is similar to the Zhou gong shifa but has minor differences. See Chao Gongwu, Junzhai dushu zhi (Xu guyi congshu 續古逸叢書 ed.), 1.28a–b. 5. Alternatively, one could read this as “at the end of [juan],” assuming that the word “juan” is derivable from context. In this case, this would be one of the two series of citations from the end of juan, the other one containing the notes of Zhang Jing. 6. The two chapters of the “current Shifa” were probably written on the same scroll (juan). In this case, Shen Yue’s observations concerning the notes at the beginning and the end of the juan may refer to a manuscript comprising both chapters. 7. Although Shen Yue may have been right in identifying Zhang Jing’s name, he may have been wrong in identifying his era. His mention of the “lower flow of the Yangtze”

319 APPENDIX 4. PERMUTATIONS OF “SHIFA” 謚法 (ORDER OF POSTHUMOUS NAMES) CHAPTER(S)

suggests that Zhang Jing lived during the Eastern Jin 東晉 (317–420) period. According to Lou Jin’s survey of early medieval sources, it is likelier that Zhang Jing lived during the Western Jin period: Lou Jin, “Yuhai wusi Yiwenzhi suo cun Shen Yue Shili xu wen jianjie,” 37. 8. Zhang Jing mentions that there are 194 posthumous names. This number obviously does not match the 148 names counted by Shen Yue. Clearly, by the time Shen Yue recorded his observation, the text had substantially changed. 9. For a detailed discussion, see Matthias Richter, “Cognate Texts: Technical Terms as Indicators of Intertextual Relations and Redactional Strategies,” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 56, no. 3 (2002): 549–72. For a discussion of the fragmentary evidence concerning the Da Dai li ji version of the “Shifa,” see Lou Jin, “Yuhai wusi Yiwenzhi suo cun Shen Yue Shili xu wen jianjie,” 44–46. 10. This observation suggests that circulation of textual material in loose overlapping assemblages, which was common for preimperial antiquity, continued in the first centuries ce; cf. William G. Boltz, “The Composite Nature of Early Chinese Texts,” in Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005), 50–78; Li Rui 李銳, “Cong chutu wenxian tan gushu xingcheng guocheng zhong de ‘zuben’ ” 從出土文獻談古書形成過程中的族本, in Chutu wenxian yu gushu chengshu wenti yanjiu, ed. Xie Weiyang 謝維揚 and Zhao Zheng 趙爭 (Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju, 2015), 107–20; Ning Zhenjiang 寧鎮疆, “Li ji sangfu sizhi pian xingcheng yanjiu—jianshuo gushu zhi jian hujian de leixingxue wenti” 禮記 喪服四制篇形成研究—-兼說古書之間互見的類型學問題, in Chutu wenxian yu gushu chengshu wenti yanjiu, 38–66; Sun Shaohua and Xu Jianwei, Cong wenxian dao wenben—xiantang jingdian wenben de chaozhuan yu liubian 從文獻到文本－先唐 經典文本的抄撰與流變 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2016), 112–25. 11. I have discussed the structure of this chapter in detail in Giorgiy Grebnev, “Formirovanie sistemy posmertnykh imën v Drevnem Kitae po dannym pis’mennykh istochnikov,” in Sinologi mira k ͡iubilei͡ u Stanislava Kuchery (Moscow: IV RAN, 2013), 182–235. 12. Takigawa Sukenobu 瀧川資言, Shiki kaichū kōshō 史記會注考證 (Beijing: Wenxue guji kanxingshe, 1955), 51–52. Apart from the layout, the version in the Shi ji zhengyi differs in contents. In Takigawa’s edition, “Shifa jie” contains 194 entries, 10 more than in the Yi Zhou shu. 13. The fragmentary catalogs are followed by a list of character glosses in bigger characters. They are similar to the glosses written as commentary in small characters immediately after the glossed passages in other chapters of the Yi Zhou shu. In the “Shifa jie,” these glosses were possibly put at the end of the text so as not to interfere with the original tabular layout. Since the main text also contains a commentary, this placement suggests that the character glosses and the more elaborate commentary in other chapters of the Yi Zhou shu may have separate origins. 14. I suspect it is a result of a merger of two separate catalogs, possibly similar to the two separate chapters of the “current Shifa” surveyed by Shen Yue. In the Shi ji zhengyi version, “Shifa jie” is followed by what appears to be a colophon appended by an editor: Takigawa Sukenobu, Shiki kaichū kōshō, 62. Since it comes in full-sized characters and not in the smaller characters normally used in commentary, it may have been copied by Zhang Shoujie from the source text and not composed anew: “What is recorded above is the ‘Shifa’ from the Zhou shu. The rulers of the Zhou period relied on both to assign posthumous names. Therefore I copy them in full as one chapter to transmit

320 APPENDIX 4. PERMUTATIONS OF “SHIFA” 謚法 (ORDER OF POSTHUMOUS NAMES) CHAPTER(S)

it to future students” 以前周書諡法，周代君王並取作諡，故全寫一篇以傳後學. The expressions “relied on both” 並取 and “copy them in full as one chapter” 全寫 一篇 suggest that the original may have included two chapters. The badly preserved text that I have identified as Shen Yue’s chapter 56, “Shifa I,” may have been one of them. However, in light of Shen Yue’s discussion of two separate intact catalogs in his “current Shifa,” it is likely that the current text comes out of a merger of two nonfragmentary catalogs, one of which already had the fragmentary “Shifa I” appended to it. In other words, the received “Shifa jie” may be a conflation of three texts: two full but different catalogs and one fragmentary text corresponding to “Shifa I.” 15. Shen Yue mentions earlier catalogs that he used in his work (Wang Yinglin, Yuhai, 54.41a–42a): 劉熙注《諡法》，唯有七十六名，所闕甚多，或有異名殊號，近世所不 用耶。又有《廣諡》一篇，七十八諡，與舊文多同，時有異耳。約以為 同是一諡，而互出諸篇，不相比次，難為尋覽。劉熙既有注解，時或有 所發明。今以熙所撰為本，又舊文二篇，《廣諡》一卷，悉少拔次第， 令名相隨，各於其下注本文所出，又自周氏以來迄于宋末，帝王名臣， 凡有諡者，並列其人名號於所諡之左方。吳興人乘奥撰《帝王世紀》， 其一篇是《諡法》。今採其異者。 The Order of Posthumous Names with Liu Xi’s commentary only contains 76 names. Its omissions are numerous. Occasionally it also contains variant names and different titles, which may not have been used in recent generations. There is also the Broad Posthumous Names in one fascicle [chapter] recording 78 posthumous names, which is largely the same as the old text [presumably the “current Shifa”—my note], but occasionally has differences. [I, Shen] Yue, find that, when the same posthumous name appears simultaneously in different chapters in different arrangements, looking it up is difficult. Liu Xi has made an explanatory commentary, which is occasionally insightful. Now I take [Liu] Xi’s work as the basis, adding the two chapters of the old text and one juan of the Broad Posthumous Names, interrupting the sequence as little as possible, letting the names follow one another, with the commentary underneath indicating the source of each. Also, beginning with the [Duke of] Zhou and all the way until the end of [the former] Song [420–479 ce], those of the eminent officials of thearchs and kings who had posthumous names had them arranged together with the titles used during the life to the left of the posthumous name. Cheng Ao from Wuxing who composed the Diwang shi ji [Records of Successive Generations of Thearchs and Kings] included in it one chapter with an “Order of posthumous names.” Now I select those records from it that are different [from those in other texts].

For a discussion of these earlier catalogs and their specific impact on Shen Yue’s work, see Lou Jin, “Yuhai wusi Yiwenzhi suo cun Shen Yue Shili xu wen jianjie,” 46–51. 16. The Taiping yulan contains a set of citations from a compositionally distinct arrangement of “Shi xun” with a different commentary; see Taiping yulan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), 19.7a, 22.2a, 25.8b, 27.1a, 28.1b. Liu Shipei 劉師培 (1884–1919) provides several passages cited from “Wang hui” in medieval sources that are not preserved in the received text; see Huang Huaixin, Tian Xudong, and Zhang Maorong, eds., Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2007), 795.

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INDEX

advisors to kings: acquisition of, 34, 158, 161, 213, 214, 219; approached by kings, 64, 102, 118, 144, 146–47, 149, 156, 162, 164–65, 186; dynastic transition and, 154–55, 169–70, 214, 221; scribes and 172, 183, 213, 219; as superior to kings, 158, 211–13. See also authority agalma, 207. See also treasure texts Amaterasu-Ōmikami 天照大御神, 208 anonymous textual communities, 127–29, 216, 254n5 anthropomorphic agency of artifacts, 180, 182–83, 208 anxiety, 103, 109–110, 115–16, 121, 158, 163, 174, 193, 212–13 archives, 61, 64, 201, 255n8 auspicious days, 94, 108 authority: mediated through textual traditions, 16, 102, 128, 156, 171–72, 174– 76, 222; of textual experts as opposed to kings, 149–150, 159, 163, 168–69, 176, 213, 215–16, 219 Ban Gu 班固, 24, 155 *“Bao xun” 保訓 (from Tsinghua bamboo manuscripts), 129 Beitang shuchao 北堂書抄, 142–43

Bian Que 扁鵲, 202–4 Bian Shao 邊韶, 172 Bible, 17, 60–61, 69 Bie lu 別錄, 24, 155 “Bing shu” 兵書. See military writings Book of Asef, 201 Bo Yi 伯夷. See San Yisheng bronze inscriptions: archaization in, 196–97; purposes of, 191–93; scriptures and, 59, 65. See also Zhongshan inscriptions burning of books, 215 Cai Yong 蔡邕, 26, 45, 73–74 Campany, Robert, 208 Cerquiglini, Bernard, 11 Changes (Yi 易), 81 Cheng Tang 成湯 (king of Shang), 154, 169–70, 182 Chen Mengjia 陳夢家, 5, 7 chenwei 讖緯 (apocrypha), 142, 177, 202–3 Chen Zan 臣瓚, 37–38 Chen Zhensun 陳振孫, 26, 44 Chu 楚: names of kings of, 79–80; transfer of Zhou texts to, 171; nine tripods and, 180 Chunqiu shifa 春秋謚法, 246 Chuxue ji 初學記, 143

344 INDEX

Cinnabar Scripture (dan shu 丹書), 164–66, 168, 172–73 Clanchy, M. T., 200–201 Confucius, 3, 24–25, 55, 128, 172 conquest of Shang, 49, 52, 63, 79, 83, 104, 120, 141, 150–53, 157, 169–70, 181–82, 211, 279n96. See also dynastic transition Cook, Constance, 186 counselors. See advisors to kings court diaries. See qijuzhu Crown Prince Zhanghuai 章懷太子, 136 Csikszentmihalyi, Mark, 161 Cui Zhuan 崔譔, 75, 142 Da Dai li ji 大戴禮記, 74, 163, 248–49 Dan, Grand Scribe of Zhou, 周太史儋, 170. See also scribes Dao 道: cosmological dimensions of, 160; as legitimizing principle, 158–61, 163– 64; shù 術 and, 161–62, 220; as subjectspecific knowledge, 160–61 “Dao jia” 道家 (bibliographic category), 19, 75, 130, 131, 140, 153–54, 169, 171. See also “Yiwen zhi” Daoism: ecclesiastic authority in, 168–69, 221; Grand Duke traditions and, 153–56, 176–77; medieval traditions of, 83; meritocratic bureaucracy and, 218; scribal traditions and, 100, 171–72, 214; philosophical, 177; religious: 1–2, 18–19, 38, 102, 130, 175–76, 203, 215; rituals of textual transmission in, 163, 165–68, 172–173, 177, 216; state and, 16, 155–56, 168–69, 178, 215, 222. See also esoteric texts Da Yu 大禹 (Yu the Great), 82–83, 221 Ding Fu 丁黼, 28–30 Dingzhou 定州 manuscripts, 136–40 Dong Anyu 董安于, 204 dramatic and non-dramatic speeches. See under scriptures dream revelations: advisors introduced by, 158; interpretation of, 34; in Naxos (Greece), 209; records of, 88, 178, 202–6, 207; social order and, 208–9; value of, 208–10; in Yi Zhou shu, 49, 52, 72, 93–94, 108–9, 129

dynastic histories, 22–25, 131–34 dynastic transition, 73, 169–70, 174, 180–82, 221 Duke Hui of Lu 魯惠公, 171 Duke Mu of Qin 秦穆公, 202–3 Duke of Shao 召公, 152 Duke of Zhou: as protagonist in Shang shu and Yi Zhou shu, 7, 18, 72, 120, 123, 152–53; as royal adviser, 102, 112, 120, 211. See also Tai gong Duke Yin of Lu 魯隱公, 171 Dunhuang. See Liu tao: recensions of Du Taiqing 杜臺卿, 47 Egypt, ancient, 110, 201 England, medieval, 200 Eno, Robert, 192 Ermolin, Vasiliĭ, 20 Erya 爾雅, 83–84 esoteric arts. See shù esoteric texts: contractual aspects of, 162, 163–64, 172–74; in Daoism, 1–2, 38, 100, 158; hoarding of, 166–67; royal advisors and, 171, 215; Ruist tradition and, 17, 175, 222; traits of, 149; transmission of, 16, 154, 163, 165–68, 173, 216 Falkenhausen, Lothar von, 191–92, 194 fangshu 方術, 155. See also shù First Emperor of Qin 秦始皇, 84, 180–81 form criticism, 12–15, 101, 260n57, 261n59 formulaic expressions. See under Yi Zhou shu funeral inventory lists, 34 future-projected instructions. See transgenerational communication Fu Xi 伏羲, 172 Gao Sisun 高似孫, 29 genre, 9, 15, 217–18 Gernet, Louis, 207, 210, 216 Graeber, David, 180, 207, 216 Grand Duke 太公: Duke of Zhou and, 38–39, 41, 144, 149–53, 211; encounter with King Wen, 35–37, 170; as esoteric authority, 155, 158–59, 168–69; as military authority, 219–20; origins of,

345 INDEX

219; as protagonist in Grand Duke texts, 7, 131, 134, 138, 144, 149–51, 164, 173 Grand Duke traditions, 14, 16–19, 77, 130–31; chapters similar to Yi Zhou shu, 148–49, 222; communities behind, 219; competing with traditions related to the Duke of Zhou, 153, 176, 214; in excavated manuscripts, 136–39, 147–48; fragments surviving in citations, 135–36, 142–43; identification as “Zhou shu,” 141–43; military elements in, 139–41, 153; polemic elements in, 151–53, 171–72, 217; texts belonging to, 131–35 Greece, ancient, 199, 207 Guanzi 管子, 9, 44, 123, 131, 154, 170 Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛, 3, 76 Guoyu 國語, 46, 186 Guwen Zhou shu 古文周書, 39–40 Hagen, Fredrik, 110 Han shu 漢書, 3, 6, 8, 20–21, 23–26 Heaven: revelation issued from, 64, 82–83; as source of legitimacy, 120–21, 169, 173–74 heirlooms: capturing of, 179–83; concealment of, 208; contractual aspect of, 213; legitimizing properties of, 2, 17, 178, 183, 190, 210, 213–14, 216, 218; texts and, 19, 124, 179, 183, 198–200, 202, 207, 211, 216. See also anthropomorphic agency of artifacts, value hetu 河圖, 81, 179, 200 history, foundational, 89 Hou Han shu 後漢書, 136 Huangdi ming 黃帝銘, 75 Huangdi neijing: Suwen 黃帝內經·素問, 162 Huang Huaixin 黃懷信, 7, 9 Huang Peirong 黃沛榮, 7, 9 Hunter, Michael, 153 Iroquois, 207–8 jade suits (yuyi 玉衣), 181 Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國, 5, 7 Jiao 角, Zhou scribe, 171 jiben 輯本 (reconstituted editions), 131 Jinban liu tao 金板六弢, 75, 142

Jingdian shiwen 經典釋文, 135 Jin kui 金匱. See Tai gong jin kui Jin shu 晉書, 31, 34–35, 40 Ji 汲 tomb: discovery of, 6, 23, 34, 40–41; list of manuscripts from, 31–33. See also Jizhong Zhou shu Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書, 23–25, 131–33 Jizhong Zhou shu 汲冢周書, 6–7, 12, 22–23, 25–27, 55 Kaiyuan zhanjing 開元占經, 138 Kaltenmark, Max, 210 Kern, Martin, 84, 215 King Cheng of Zhou 周成王, 53, 102–4, 200, 202 King Cuo of Zhongshan 中山王𰯼, 16, 184, 190, 211, 213, 304n19, 309n62. See also Zhongshan inscriptions King Huan of Zhou 周桓王, 171 King Hui of Qin 秦惠王, 182 King Hui of Zhou 周惠王, 171 King Kang of Zhou 周康王, 200 King Mu of Zhou 周穆王, 40, 50, 194 King Wen of Zhou 周文王, 35–37, 50, 103–4, 144–45, 149, 158, 219 King Wuling of Zhao 趙武靈王, 206 King Wu of Zhou 周武王: conquest of Shang and, 49, 52, 104, 157, 211, 221; Duke of Zhou and, 37, 49, 152; Grand Duke and, 131, 150–51, 153, 163, 219; King Wen and, 109, 144; morality of, 76; as recipient of esoteric texts and artifacts, 83, 172, 181–82; Yi Zhou shu chapters related to, 103–4. See also conquest of Shang King Xiang of Zhou 周襄王, 171 King You of Zhou 周幽王, 172 King Zhao of Zhou 周昭王, 79, 194 kokuhō 國寶 (national treasure), 214 Kong Anguo, pseudo 偽孔安國, 70, 73 Kong Chao 孔晁, 5–6, 23–24, 41, 46, 251 Kong Jia panyu 孔甲盤盂, 75 Kong Kui of Wey 衛孔悝, 195–97 Kri͡ukov, Vasiliĭ, 191–94 Kunwu 昆吾, 74 Lao Dan 老聃, 172. See also Laozi Laozi 老子, 131, 155–56, 172, 220

346 INDEX

Legge, James, 62–63, 84 legitimacy: Dao and, 158–59, 161, 163, 168, 176; empowering artifacts and, 17, 19, 178–79, 181–83, 206, 213–14, 216, 222; esoteric texts and, 16, 64, 73, 120–21, 174–75; Mandate of Heaven and, 156–58, 161; mediated by textual experts, 128–29, 169–72, 173, 175, 175, 176, 178, 212–14; sage rulers, inherited from, 79, 120, 169, 173–75, 206 leishu 類書, 53, 134, 142–43. See also Beitang shuchao, Chuxue ji, Taiping yulan Liexian zhuan 列仙傳, 154 Li Feng, 192 Li ji 禮記: “Da xue” 大學, 75, 80; “Ji tong” 祭統, 191, 195–97; “Wang zhi” 王制, 59; “Yu zao” 玉藻, 85, 88–89, 280n113 Li Ling 李零, 61, 64, 84, 128 liminal experiences, 73, 202, 207, 210 Li Shan 李善, 38 Li Shaoping 李紹平, 46 Li Tao 李燾, 27, 30 Li, Wai-yee, 209 Li Xueqin 李學勤, 9 Liu tao 六韜: authorship of, 134; in bibliographic chapters of dynastic histories, 132–34; contextual setting in, 143–45, 220; non-typical chapters in, 141; as part of Grand Duke traditions, 77, 130–31, 139; recensions of, 75–76, 135–37, 140–41, 143, 146; structure of, 135–37; Tangut translation of, 135, 137; Yi Zhou shu and, 7, 16, 217. See also Jin ban liu tao, Grand Duke traditions —sections: “Bao tao” 豹韜, 135, 137; “Hu tao” 虎韜, 135, 137, 146; “Long tao” 龍韜, 135, 137; “Quan tao” 犬韜, 135, 137; “Wen tao” 文韜, 135, 137, 140–41, 143–44; “Wu tao” 武韜, 123, 135, 137, 140, 143, 145–46 —chapters: “Da li” 大禮, 140; “Fa qi” 發 啟, 123, 140, 143, 146–47, 160; “Guo wu” 國務, 140; “Ju jian” 距諫, 141; “Ju xian” 舉賢, 140; “Ming zhuan” 明傳, 140, 144, 159; “Shang xian” 上賢, 140; “Shou guo” 守國, 149–50, 154, 160; “Shun qi” 順啓, 140, 159; “Wen qi” 文啓, 140, 145; “Wen shi” 文師, 36, 140, 158–59, 170; “Yingxu” 盈虛, 140

Liu Qiyu 劉起釪, 5 Liu Xiang 劉向, 3, 24, 155 Liu Xin 劉歆, 21, 24, 155 Liu Zhiji 劉知幾, 25–26 Lou Jin 樓勁, 246 Lu Deming 陸德明, 75, 135, 142 Luo Jiaxiang 羅家湘, 7, 34 “Lü li zhi” 律曆志 (chapter in Han shu), 76 Luo Mi 羅泌, 46, 143 luoshu 洛書, 81, 179 Lushi 路史, 46, 143 Lü shi chunqiu 呂氏春秋, 14, 76, 170–71 Lu Wuji 盧無忌, 34 Mandate of Heaven, 120, 156–58, 212 manuscript culture, 11–12, 41, 56, 260n53, 54 Marx, Karl, 207 Mattos, Gilbert, 194 Mauss, Marcel, 180 McNeal, Robin, 10, 57, 92 Meiyang 美陽, discovery of inscribed bronzes in, 74, 277n74 Mengzi 孟子, 76, 79 Meyer, Dirk, 128 military writings (“Bing shu” 兵書), 131 móu 謀 (plans), 121–24 Mozi 墨子, 66–70, 72–74, 77–80, 82, 124–25, 99, 124, 128, 211, 273n33 Mu tianzi zhuan 穆天子傳, 40 nationalism, 62 Naxos (island in Greece), 209 nidāna narratives, 110 nine tripods (jiuding 九鼎), 179–81 numerical lists, 9, 95, 104–7 Nylan, Michael, 208 Odes (shi 詩), 69, 75, 275n49 official records, 58–59, 65, 84, 87, 89 Pāli canon, 110 pan 槃/盤 basins, 68 Petersen, Jens, 215 Pines, Yuri, 168, 212 Popova, Galina, 10 posthumous names, 53–54, 79–80 power, negotiation of, 19, 128, 206, 213, 216 prophecies, 170, 202–3, 206–7 Pu Qilong 浦起龍, 26

347 INDEX

Qi 齊, 131, 185 Qieci 𫲨𧊒 (king of Zhongshan), 184 qijuzhu 起居注, 89 Qi lüe 七略, 21, 155 Qin 秦: centralized empire of, 178, 215–16, 222; conquest of Zhou by, 170; nine tripods and, 180–81 Qunshu zhiyao 群書治要, 23, 46, 75, 134–137, 140–41, 146 Rawson, Jessica, 194 religion: evolution in the Zhou period, 184, 193–94 Renjiacun 任家村 village, 192 Richter, Matthias, 218 Ritual Reform, 194 Ritual Revolution. See Ritual Reform rituals. See royal investiture rituals Rongfu 戎夫, Zhou scribe, 87 royal colloquies: concluding passages similar to Liu tao, 16, 145–48; contextual setting patterns similar to Liu tao, 16, 143–48, 220; formulaic patterns in, 111–16; “Lü xing” (chapter of the Shang shu) and, 16, 124–27, 129; Mandate of Heaven in, 156–58; obscurity of, 151; pedigree of, 171; performative setting of, 18, 101, 129, 172–74; reoccurring lexical units in, 111, 116–20, 124–25, 188–89; rhetorical features of, 118–20, 126–27; structure of, 109–111, 174; types of, 102–4, 109. See also Yi Zhou shu royal investiture rituals, 163–67, 168, 172–74, 176–77 Ruism 儒, 75, 100, 163 sage rulers: advisors of, 172, 222; as authors of texts, 63, 70–71, 86, 89, 175, 207, 211, 213; competing narratives about, 214; empowering texts from, 17–18, 67–68, 73–75, 77, 127–28, 173, 164, 209, 218; example of, 84, 87, 89, 187, 211; expected in future, 223; legitimizing wisdom of, 72, 158, 161–62, 164, 173, 215; subverting the authority of, 150; transcendent authority and, 82–83, 175 San huang jing 三皇經, 222

San Yisheng 散宜生 (Bo Yi 伯夷), 150 Schaberg, David, 186 “schools of thought,” 2, 254n4 scribes: agency in composition of scriptures, 61–64, 74, 86–87, 156; in Daoist mythology, 155–56; Left and Right, 85, 88–89; as mediators of scriptures, 87–89, 170, 174; Zhou tradition of, 128–29, 156, 158, 170–73, 174–76, 214, 222 scriptures (shū 書): appropriated and created, 18, 91, 96–100, 217–18; authenticity of, 91-92, 281n2; authoritative precedents in, 68, 70, 206–7, 211, 221; ceremonial and didactic uses of, 84–85, 90; in communication between rulers and subjects, 84, 89, 218; competitive nature of, 217; contextual setting in, 93–96, 104, 220; in Daoism, 130, 164, 168, 176, 178; as discipline of elite learning, 59, 270n5; dramatic and non-dramatic speeches in, 95, 98, 120; epigraphic reminiscences in, 67–68, 70, 73–75, 272–73n29; evolution of, 64, 98–99, 218–21; former kings and, 66, 71; generic diversity of, 66, 69–70, 76–77, 129, 217–18; heirloom treasures and, 178–79, 182, 211, 216; meaning of the term, 3, 17, 63, 66; as means to reinforce the argument, 60, 68; Odes (shi 詩) and, 68–69; morally objectionable, 76, 78–80; outside the shū collections, 130, 151, 153–56, 64, 217; political and economic contexts of, 128–29, 213–14, 216; private and communal speeches in, 94, 97–98, 127; recreated in epigraphy, 186–90, 211; regional traditions of, 77–80; reverential attitude toward, 69, 75–76, 275n51; ritual performance of, 10, 65, 255n8; source of the Shang shu and Yi Zhou shu, 3–4, 21, 58, 83–85; supernatural revelation of, 81, 221; value of, 207–10. See also esoteric texts, Grand Duke traditions, Shang shu, treasure texts, Yi Zhou shu secrecy: display and, 208; strategic information and, 122–24; in textual transmission, 98, 128, 162, 174. See also esoteric texts

348 INDEX

Seidel, Anna, 102, 168, 170, 177, 178, 202, 214, 221 self-referential texts, 16, 71, 74, 82, 97, 121, 198–99, 201 Shanfu Jifu ding 善夫吉父鼎, 192 Shang 商, dynasty, 62, 154, 172, 179, 183, 190, 214. See also conquest of Shang Shang shu 尚書: during the Warring States period, 69; generic diversity of, 84, 100; jinwen 今文 and guwen 古文 recensions of, 54–55, 256–57n17; “Lesser Sequential Outline” (“Xiao xu” 小序), 44, 71, 182; predominant textual type in, 18, 64, 72, 91–92, 97, 117; “Preface” (“Xu” 序) by pseudo-Kong Anguo, 70; Yi Zhou shu and, 2–3, 124–27. See also scriptures—chapters: “Bi shi” 費誓, 98; “Da gao” 大誥, 8, 98; “Da Yu mo” 大 禹謨, 84; “Duo fang” 多方, 95–96, 98, 227; “Duo shi” 多士, 98, 227; “Gan shi” 甘誓, 74, 97, 225; “Gao Zong rong ri” 高宗肜日, 84, 226; “Gu ming” 顧命, 72, 94, 159; “Hong fan” 洪範, 64, 82–83, 84, 93, 107, 221, 228; “Jin teng” 金滕, 72, 84, 151–53, 202, 232; “Jiu gao” 酒誥, 98; “Jun shi” 君奭, 71, 97–98; “Kang gao” 康誥, 75, 98, 226–27; “Li zheng” 立政, 98; “Luo gao” 洛誥, 98; “Lü xing” 呂 刑, 16, 60, 71, 96–97, 116, 124–27, 129; “Mu shi” 牧誓, 98, 226; “Pan Geng” 盤 庚, 94, 98, 225–26; “Qin shi” 秦誓, 98; “Shao gao” 召誥, 98, 227; “Tai Jia” 太甲, 75; “Tang shi” 湯誓, 98; “Weizi” 微子, 98; “Wen hou zhi ming” 文侯之命, 98; “Wu cheng” 武成, 76; “Wu yi” 無逸, 72, 97–98; “Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎, 84, 98, 226; “Yao dian” 堯典, 75, 84, 87; “Yu gong” 禹貢 Shaughnessy, Edward, 3, 7, 76, 191–92 Shen Nong 神農, 172 Shen Yue 沈約, 53, 245 Shi ji 史記, 14, 19, 219; “Taishigong zixu” 太師公自序, 170; title of, 222; as treasure text, 222–23; “Yin ben ji” 殷本 紀, 182; “Zhao shijia” 趙世家, 202–6; “Zhou ben ji” 周本紀, 125 Shi jing 詩經, 68–69, 75 Shi ji zhengyi 史記正義, 249

Shi li 謚例, 245 Shi lüe 史略, 29, 46–48, 235–38, 266–67n61 Shi Qiang pan 史墻盤, 192 Shitong 史通, 25–26 Shuowen jiezi 說文解字, 22, 253n1, 262n4 Shu Qi 叔齊, 151 Shu Xi 束皙, 31 shū 書: in general sense, 58; literary type, 65, 81; as technical term (“scriptures”), 59–61, 65–66; understanding during the Warring States period, 64–66. See also scriptures shù 術 (arts), 155, 161; medical, 162. See also fangshu Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao 四庫全書總 目提要, 30–31 Sima Biao 司馬彪, 75, 142 Sima Gu 司馬賈, 185–87, 211–14, 216, 305n24 Sima Tan 司馬談, 222 Sima Qian 司馬遷, 19, 171 Si shui 泗水 (the River Si), 181 social order, 208–10, 216 Song shi 宋史, 23–25, 132–34 South Asia, 110 Steavu, Dominic, 221 Steiner, Deborah, 173, 199–200 Steinkeller, Piotr, 128 Stele Inscription Honoring Laozi, 172 Stele of Grand Duke Lü Wang 太公呂望 表, 34, 141 Stewart, Charles, 209 St. George’s Cathedral, Yuryev-Polsky, 20 Sui shu 隨書, 23–25, 131–33, 139 Sun Yirang 孫詒讓, 104 Su Qin 蘇秦, 219–20 Su Xun 蘇洵, 54–55 Tai gong. See Grand Duke Tai gong jin kui 太公金匱, 132–34, 138–39, 163 Tai gong yin mou 太公陰謀, 132–34, 138 Taiping yulan 太平御覽, 143, 150–51 talismans, 168, 200, 300n104. See also esoteric texts, anthropomorphic agency of artifacts Tang Dapei 唐大沛, 109 testamentary texts, 18, 49, 68–69, 71–72, 82–83, 127, 129, 159, 178, 206

349 INDEX

Thomas, Rosalind, 201 timeliness, 112, 115–16 transcendent revelation, 16, 81–83, 153, 175, 202–6. See also esoteric texts transgenerational communication: through inscribed artifacts, 168; as property of scriptures, 77, 162, 218; in regional traditions, 77; requests to posterity, 113–16; with sage rulers 72–73; in Shang shu chapters, 98; through texts, 18, 223; through textual experts, 127; in Western Zhou bronze texts, 192–93; in Yi Zhou shu chapters, 96–98; in Zhongshan inscriptions 184–85, 186, 189, 199. See also testamentary texts treasure texts: concealment of, 88, 162, 164, 174, 202, 204, 206, 208; in Daoism, 222; as dynastic treasures, 181–82, 190; lasting influence of, 216; in medieval religions, 16; mystical properties of, 64, 173, 178; as objects of gift exchange, 197; power and, 207–8; relation to material treasures, 198–200; ritual performance of, 210 Tsai, Julius, 222 Tsinghua (Qinghua) bamboo manuscripts, 4, 129 value: objects of, 207, 210; visible and invisible forms of, 208 van der Loon, Piet, 44 Vogt, Nick, 194 Wang Lianlong 王連龍, 7, 76 Wang Yinglin 王應麟, 53, 245–46 website, 19 Wei Heng 衛恆, 33 Wei Zhao 韋昭, 46 Wei Zheng 魏徵, 46 Wenxuan 文選, 38 Wujing qishu 武經七書, 135, 137, 140, 146. See also Liu tao “Wu wang jian zuo” 武王踐阼 (chapter in Da Dai li ji), 74, 163–68, 171, 173, 176 wuxing 五行 (five phases), 107 Xia 夏, dynasty, 62–63, 170, 172, 179, 183 xian 仙, 154

Xiang Zhi 向摯, Grand Scribe, 170 “Xici zhuan” 繫辭傳 (commentary to Changes), 81, 85 Xin Jia 辛甲, 154, 156, 169 Xin Tang shu 新唐書, 23–25, 131–33 Xunzi 荀子, 60 Xu Shen 許慎, 22 Xu Zhongshu 徐中舒, 191 Yan 燕, 80, 185–87, 211, 219 Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信一, 7, 34, 149 Yang Shen 楊慎, 22 Yan Shigu 顏師古, 23–24, 52 Yellow Thearch 黃帝, 19, 102, 130, 160–61, 173, 175, 218 Yin mou 陰謀. See Tai gong yin mou Yinqueshan 銀雀山 manuscripts, 76, 136, 138, 140 “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 (chapter in Han shu), 3, 24, 75, 81–85, 128, 130, 153–56, 169, 171 Yi Yin 伊尹, 154, 156, 169 Yi Zhou shu 逸周書: alternative recensions of, 21–23, 27–28, 46, 51–52, 55–56, 254n3; aphorisms in, 76; authorship of, 9; in bibliographic chapters of dynastic histories, 22–25, 46; commentary in, 5–7, 22–23, 41, 45–47, 52, 107; dating of, 8–9, 18, 181; diversity of, 5, 262n4; grouping of chapters in, 6, 8–11, 57; Jingkou 京 口 edition of, 27; Ji tomb manuscripts and, 6; linguistic features of, 10; lost chapters of, 41; medieval editing of, 21–22, 29–30, 53–56; military chapters of, 92; modern editions of, 253–254n2; number of chapters in, 23, 26, 41, 262n11; in private bibliographies, 25–27; Shang shu and, 3–5, 8, 21; structure of, 41–45; textual history of, 5–8, 17, 20, 246–251; titles of chapters in, 45–47, 102–4, 109, 148–49; translation of the title, 253n1; value and authenticity of, 2 —chapters: “Bao dian” 寶典, 96–97, 102–3, 117–19, 120, 121–22, 145–46, 188, 230; “Ben dian” 本典, 102–3, 112, 113–14, 119–20, 188, 231; “Chang mai” 嘗麥, 9, 47, 88, 96–97, 128, 156, 199–201,