A Thorny Path to Reclusion

I Introduction

1.The tradition of reclusion

The topos of reclusion (yin 隱),[1] which is ubiquitous in the scholar-official culture of ancient China, enjoys a long history in classical Chinese literature. In contrast to serving the government (shi 仕), reclusion, which literally means “to hide,” represents a withdrawal, intentional or forced, from official appointments or the ambition of obtaining one. Throughout Chinese history, more than a dozen of terms were closely associated with the practitioners of reclusion, including Hidden Men (yinshi 隱士), Disengaged Persons (yimin 逸民), Disengaged Scholars (yishi 逸士), Scholars-at-Home (chushi 處士), High-minded Men (gaoshi 高士), Lofty Recluses (gaoyin 高隱), Lofty and Disengaged (gaoyi 高逸), Remote Ones (youren 幽人), Hidden Ones (yinzhe 隱者), and so on. The writings of recluses can be traced back to early China, in the ancient philosophical classics. These early writings, though often limited to mentions of “recluses,” provided a framework that blends quasi-historical figures with archetypal motifs rooted in cultural history. The characters themselves were composites of myth, fact, and imagination.[2] As the tradition continued, recluses were given a dedicated section in Official Histories titled “Biographies of Recluses” (“Yinyi liezhuan” 隱逸列傳). In the realm of private writing, anecdotes about recluses were collected, and their biographies were repeatedly documented. As early as the Western Jin, Huangfu Mi 皇甫謐 (215-282) wrote the three-volume Biographies of High-Minded Men (Gaoshi zhuan 高士傳). In the Ming dynasty, Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 (1558-1639) wrote Biographies of Disengaged Persons (Yimin zhuan 逸民傳), and Li Zhuowu 李卓吾 (1527-1602) wrote Collected Books (Cang shu 藏書). In the Qing dynasty, Gao Zhao 高兆 (?-?) wrote Continuation of Biographies of High-Minded Men (Xu gaoshi zhuan 續高士傳).

2.The three dichotomies

The tradition and development of reclusion encompass clear dichotomies, among which three are most notable and relevant in the current context: nominal reclusion or abstract reclusion versus the actual practice of reclusion; true reclusion versus fake reclusion; and Confucian reclusion versus Daoist reclusion. These dichotomies illustrate the complexity and controversies of this enduring concept, which also sparks significant interest and discussion within the context of late Tang literature.

Nominal reclusion is an abstract expression of reclusion, in literature, art, music, and conversations. A person may remain in office while writing about his admiration for recluses and yearning for a reclusive life, painting a solitary old man fishing in the sea, and discussing his disdain for complicated politics and passion for farming and gardening. The actual practice of reclusion involves the physical retreat from a government post or the cessation of the attempt to climb the political ladder. In more extreme cases, the recluse hides in an abode in the mountains and cuts his social ties with the external world. Nominal reclusion and the actual practice of reclusion seem to contrast sharply with each other in theory, still, the grey area is too big to ignore. In this regard, Berkowitz sets a high standard for the actual practice of reclusion and notes that “practitioners of reclusion practiced it for life.”[3] Such a standard naturally excludes those who intermittently retreat into reclusion, write from the perspective of a recluse, or adopt some of the intellectual aspects of reclusion. Standards aside, there has been a clear difference between writing about and the actual practice of reclusion. In the Six Dynasties, when reclusion was embraced by intellectuals as a way of life, the actual practice seemed to be no longer relevant. In the Classified Collection Based on the Classics and Other Literature (Yiwen leiju 藝文類聚), we can easily find writings about the great legendary recluses of antiquity, especially Xu You 許由 and Bo Yi 伯夷, or religious discourses about life away from the bustling capital. In discourses and persuasions, various styles of compositions about generic so-called “recluses” were widespread.[4] 

The second dichotomy, true reclusion versus fake reclusion, although closely related and easily indistinguishable from the first one, approaches the concept from the perspective of the intention and sincerity of the recluse. Berkowitz suggests that “bona fide practitioners of reclusion could not be cowed by threats, nor could they be tempted by rewards.”[5] Insincere or fake reclusion was a problem brought up in the Han dynasty, and contemporary criticism sharply pointed out that “scholars-at-home are purely thieves with unwarranted reputations.”[6] In the Southern Dynasties, the phenomenon of reclusion became a recurrent topic of discussion as the attention-seeking profiteers or insincere scroungers adjusted and employed it as a marketable pose. The most pointed ridicule of this phenomenon was the famous “Proclamation on North Mountain” (“Beishan yiwen” 北山移文) composed by Kong Zhigui 孔稚珪 (447-501), which vividly described and harshly satirized the fake recluse, Zhou Yong’s 周颙 (d. 493) inconsistent behavior before and after being summoned by the court. In the Sui dynasty, the plot for a quick route to success by Du Yan 杜淹 (d. 628) and his friend Wei Fusi 韋福嗣 was an example of the continuation of the attempt at fake reclusion. They went together to Mount Taibai 太白山 and bragged about being in reclusion, wishing to receive praise and fame.[7] Emperor Wen of Sui 隋文帝 (541-604) heard of it and banished them to a garrison south of the Yangzi River.[8]

The last dichotomy to be mentioned concerns the actual practice of reclusion, its intention, and execution. A simple categorization contrasting the Confucian and Daoist approaches is barely enough to begin the conversation. Nonetheless, this categorization outlines a key difference between the two modes of reclusion: the Confucian way was often an ethical reaction against the political or moral order of the times, reflecting the recluse’s personal commitment to public service, whereas Daoist reclusion was based on a disdain for worldly involvement, aiming to fulfill personal desires.[9] Lots of values are involved in the dichotomy, including loyalism, individualism, and the pursuit of the state of self-so (ziran 自然). As a compromised alternative to the two approaches, a paradox came into being but made the situation even more perplexing. The concepts of “reclusion in the court” (chao yin 朝隱) and “reclusion in the marketplace” (shi yin 市隱) were noted by scholar-officials in the Han period, Dongfang Shuo 東方朔 (154-93 B.C.E.) and Yang Xiong 楊雄 (53 B.C.E.-18 C.E.), for instance.[10] Later, the Western Jin poet Wang Kangju 王康琚 made a summarization in his “Against Summoning into Reclusion” (“Fan zhaoyin shi” 反招隱詩): “Lesser recluses hide in the hills and marshes; Greater recluses hide in the court and marketplace.”[11] Whether “reclusion in the court” and “reclusion in the marketplace” were excuses for undying political ambition or represented an elevated inner striving for peace and self-discovery is beyond the scope of this discussion. However, the complexity of reclusion, in terms of its various approaches, persisted for hundreds of years. 

3.Reclusion in the late Tang

Suppose reclusion became a prominent phenomenon during the Wei-Jin period due to the disintegration of political power. In that case, it is predictable that the political chaos in the late Tang would create fertile ground for reclusion. However, among the twenty-two recluses recorded in the “Biographies of Recluses” in the Xin Tang shu, only Lu Guimeng was from the late Tang era. The editors of the Xin Tang shu ranked the recluses into three groups. The upper-class recluses were those whose talents and reputations reached the court despite their living in remote mountains and forests. Rulers sought their guidance and were thrilled to have them in office. The middle-class recluses found it difficult to fully realize their potential in the world and alternated between public service and reclusion. Rulers admired their integrity and felt a sense of loss in their absence. The lower-class recluses, aware that their mediocre talents would never gain societal approval, retreated to the countryside. People respected their demeanor and did not dare to criticize them.[12]

 The twenty-two recluses recorded in this section mostly consisted of high-ranking officials who resigned or refused reassignment at some point in their careers, such as Wang Ji 王績 (585-644), He Zhizhang 賀知章 (659-744), and Zhang Zhihe 張志和 (732-774). In other cases, the recluses gained recognition through encounters with local officials or success in civil service exams. After being recommended to or meeting with the emperor, they declined tempting offers with excuses of either sickness or family obligations. Li Yuankai 李元愷 (fl. 700), Kong Shurui孔述睿 (730-800), and Cui Jin 崔覲 (fl. 834) fell under this category. According to the editors’ ranking, most of the recluses in the “Biographies of the Recluses” in the Tang Dynasty belonged to the upper and middle classes. Lu Guimeng, the only representative of late Tang recluses, was singled out as a scholar who failed the civil service exam and refused a local post. Compared to the high-profile recluses from earlier times in the Tang, the underrepresentation of late Tang recluses in the Official History undoubtedly implied an absence of remarkable figures and practices during that period.

Although the records in the Official History contradicted the hypothesis of the negative correlation between reclusion and political stability, private writings did not support this view. Besides Lu Guimeng, who earned a reputation as a recluse among contemporaries and later generations, two other writers discussed in the dissertation were also closely associated with this prominent cultural and literary phenomenon. Luo Yin, whose born name was Heng 橫, changed his name to Yin 隱, which literally means “reclusion,” after his repeated fiascos in the civil service exam. Pi Rixiu, who spent around five years in retirement at Deer-Gate Mountain, wrote “Writings of a Recluse at Deer-Gate” (“Lumen Yin Shu” 鹿門隱書), a collection of prose of nearly sixty sections.[13]

The path to reclusion, whether in literature or in practice, is fraught with challenges, as it requires navigating complex intentions and expectations of glory. In the late Tang era, while there was an abundance of writings and practices related to reclusion, what was lacking was attention and discussion around it. This lack of focus has left the literary community today with limited knowledge of the seemingly small reclusive world during the declining years of one of China’s most prosperous dynasties. Many have relied solely on the Standard Official Histories to understand this complex intellectual landscape.

This chapter, however, delves into the reclusive writings of late Tang scholars and examines their actual practices of reclusion. It uses one of Pi Rixiu’s prose articles as a case study to explore the theme of reclusion in the intellectual world during this turbulent period. The focus is on how this generation of scholars effectively utilized the traditional and complex theme of reclusion, inherited from antiquity and previous generations of recluses and writers. The chapter discusses how these scholars positioned themselves within the three dichotomies of reclusion and how they expanded the boundaries of reclusive writings by incorporating their contemporary environment, personal experiences, and timely ambitions. Through analyzing the article, we embark on a journey into the scholars’ profound contemplation of, complex feelings toward, and sophisticated construction of the abstract concept and actual practice of reclusion.

II The Creation of a Reclusive Companion

1.Fiction in a Factual Account

This two-hundred-word prose article, “Record of Mr. Tongxuan’s Resting-Guests Pavilion” (“Tongxuanzi qibinting ji” 通玄子栖賓亭記), was written in the fifth year of the Xiantong Reign (864), just before the author, Pi Rixiu, embarked on a challenging journey of examinations and official employment. Following five years of reclusive study on Deer-Gate Mountain, Pi Rixiu left Xiangyang in the spring of 843, seeking opportunities to build connections. The subsequent year saw him departing from Anhui Province, exploring the Dongting Lake 洞庭湖 region in modern Hunan Province, and the Jiujiang 九江 area in modern Jiangxi Province. In the article, Pi Rixiu recounted his visit to his old friend Li Zhongbai 李中白, who resided in seclusion on Mount Fuyang 富陽山. Li Zhongbai dedicated three years to constructing a residence and pavilion for hosting guests. Upon its completion, Li extended an invitation to Pi to name the pavilion. Though initially hesitant, Pi eventually agreed and bestowed upon it the name “Mr. Tongxuan’s Resting-Guests Pavilion,” subsequently documenting the experience in the article.

The identity of this friend is untraceable. On the one hand, the name Zhongbai suggests a fictional character due to its literary and cultural connection to Taibai 太白, the name of Mount Taibai, which is associated with folklore and reclusion culture.[14] The renowned High Tang poet Li Bo’s style name was also Taibai, the Chinese name for Venus, which carries significant connotations in Chinese folklore, religion, and Daoism. The literal meaning of "Taibai" is "great brightness," referring to Venus, the brightest star observed in the sky. "Zhongbai," meaning "medium brightness," is a modest declaration of one's intellectual standing in comparison to the great poet, Li Bo. In the sphere of traditional Chinese medicine, both Taibai and Zhongbai, including Xiabai 下白, are the names of acupuncture points. The almost intended simplicity of the name is another sign. The word zhong, meaning “in the middle,” has the underlying reference to the Confucian value of zhongyong 中庸, which emphasizes moderation, balance, and the avoidance of extremes. The second word bai, meaning “blank,” reminds readers of the Daoist philosophy of emptiness, the maintenance of the state of self-so, and nonaction.

On the other hand, the first part of the article contains plenty of self-contradictory information.

Ten miles east of Pengze, there is a mountain.[15] It has a profound origin and a secluded location and is called Fuyang. The scholar Li Zhongbai lives there in seclusion. In the winter of the fifth year [of the Xiantong Reign], I parted from Zhongbai. After a few years, I, again, traveled from Feiling to the south of the Yangtze River.[16] Therefore, I visited him there.

距彭澤東十里，有山，邃源奧處，號曰富陽，文士李中白隱焉。五年冬，別中白。歲且翅，再自淝陵之江左，因訪于是。

Pi Rixiu was a native of Jingling 竟陵, located in modern Hubei Province. He grew up in the region and had no record of living anywhere else until the end of his reclusive life in Deer-Gate Mountain in 843, the fourth year of the Xiantong Reign. Therefore, he could not have befriended this recluse who lived in the Jiujiang area before 844. Pi later mentioned sharing the same dreams of living a reclusive life with his old friend in the distant past, which seems unlikely. Another hypothesis is that Li Zhongbai lived in Hubei before moving to Mount Fuyang. However, Pi also mentioned that Li spent years building a residence and a pavilion for hosting guests on Mount Fuyang, which would push the timeline for their friendship even earlier. The likelihood of this scenario is understandably low.

In the paragraph, Pi mentioned parting from his friend in the winter of 844 and revisiting him a few years later when he returned to the Jiujiang area. The time does not match the time of the composition of the article, which, according to what he indicated in the same article, was the first day of the fifth month of 844.  

In the final part of the account, Pi Rixiu described the construction of the pavilion and Zhongbai’s request for him to name it. The article concludes with a philosophical reflection on the concept of reclusion:

Three years later, in the fifth month of the year, Zhongbai hosted me at this place.[17] He requested that I write an account and name the pavilion. For several months, I declined but ultimately could not refuse. Thus, I said: “In ancient times, there were lofty recluses and remarkable hermits who did not receive noble titles. Those who respected them honored them with names based on their virtues and achievements. Profound Virtue and Profound Peace were such examples.[18] In general, learnings that reach high and practices that extend far are called ‘unimpeded’ (tong), and deep ambition and great ways are called ‘profound’ (xuan). All men are commonly referred to as ‘Mr.’ Therefore, I suggest the name Mr. Tongxuan for you and ‘Resting-Guests Pavilion’ for the pavilion.” Alas! Those who understand me will not think of me as a sycophantic friend. It is recorded on the first day of the fifth month of the fifth year [of the Xiantong Reign].

後三年五月，中白館余於是。且禱其記而名之者，累月，讓，不獲。因曰：「古者有高隱殊逸，未被爵命，敬之者以其德業，號而稱之，元德、元晏是也。夫學高行遠謂之通，志深道大謂之玄，男子通稱謂之子，謂請以『通玄子』為其號，請以『栖賓』為亭名。」噫！知我者不謂我為佞友矣。五年五月朔日記。

The authenticity of this short account is not without suspicion. It seems peculiar for Zhongbai to pester an old friend for months for a name and an account for the pavilion, especially when the residence and pavilion were not specifically designed and built for Pi Rixiu. Additionally, it would have been rude for Pi to repeatedly turn down such a request, considering he was a guest. While it was customary to initially decline a request as a gesture of modesty, persistently refusing such a simple task was unusually uncommon. When he finally agreed to name the pavilion, Pi appeared pleased and proud of his ideas, even applauding himself for being a true friend. 

Pi Rixiu’s philosophical reflection on reclusion and his appraisal of his friend Zhongbai are, in fact, the most obvious reflections of himself. Rather than using Zhongbai’s name, which might have already been a pseudonym, he invented another alias for his friend: Mr. Tongxuan, or Mr. Unimpeded and Profound. This name hyperbolically described a sage recluse endowed with both knowledge and virtue. Moreover, Pi carefully explained the reason for choosing a new name for his friend and the rationale behind his choice of words. The repeated justification for naming the pavilion was likely an intentional cover-up for fabricating the story. It was not Zhongbai, but Pi Rixiu himself who earned a new name.

Creating a new alias for oneself was a common practice, but praising oneself enthusiastically with grand words was considered embarrassingly narcissistic. Therefore, Pi made a delicate effort to create a reclusive companion in the article. His relationship with this companion mirrored his relationship with himself, reflecting his complex life, myriad considerations, and ongoing internal struggles. He was proud of his intellectual supremacy, yet ashamed of his decision to pursue an official career. Moreover, this feeling of shame was intertwined with the consolation he offered himself. Through numerous justifications, Pi revealed his shame of feeling shameful and his insecurity about embarking on a new journey into officialdom.  

In modern times, the phrase “I have a friend…” has become a clear indicator that the narrator is concealing their own identity while sharing a personal story they are not ready to associate with themselves. In contrast, a common mistake made by modern readers of classical Chinese literature is to too quickly associate the writer with the experiences depicted in their works. In reality, many poems and prose pieces from the past were not intended to convey the personal experiences of the authors; the narrators were not necessarily the protagonists. As we now understand, male poets often wrote from a first-person perspective about the emotional ups and downs of sing-song girls. For modern readers, distinguishing between fact and fiction may be a challenging exercise, but in ancient times, the situation might have been the opposite. If no one was expected to take Pi Rixiu’s “I have a friend…” story as a factual account, then “Record of Mr. Tongxuan’s Resting-Guests Pavilion” could be an obvious work of fiction. In this case, it was a deliberate and innovative attempt to express deeper ideological thoughts and contemplations on philosophical questions. Whether the account was meant to be read as fictional or factual, Pi Rixiu’s literary approach was novel, if not unprecedented.

2.One identity, two facets

In this account of the visit, Pi Rixiu expressed mixed feelings about his friend and his friend’s reclusive life, reflecting on his own life choices. After Pi journeyed up the mountain and enjoyed the beautiful scenery, he reminisced about his friendship with Zhongbai:

Zhongbai esteemed all things ancient but found himself out of harmony with the times. Therefore, he secluded himself in this place, intending to stay until old age. Alas! Are there people in the world who practice reclusion in the gentleman’s way? If such people exist, then this environment would not be sufficient to retain my Zhongbai. In the past, Zhongbai and I both harbored ambitions of secluding ourselves in the Xiang-Heng area.[19] Zhongbai, finding himself out of harmony with the times, ultimately fulfilled his true desire. As for me, I sought positions in the government, which was contrary to my long-held aspirations. Now, I have arrived at this place.  Our very mention of fame and fortune feels like thorns on my back.

中白所尚皆古，以時不合己，故隱是境，將至老。嗚呼！世有用君子之道隱者乎？有，則是境不足留吾中白也。昔余與中白有俱隱湘衡之志，中白以時不合己，果償本心。余以尋求計吏，不諧夙念。今至是境，語及名利，則芒刺在背矣。 

In this paragraph, the image of Pi’s friend Zhongbai sharply contrasts with Pi himself. On the scale of reclusiveness, Pi leans toward worldly ambitions, while Zhongbai embraces withdrawal and reclusion, despite their original, pure dream of seclusion. Pi’s evaluation of their different life choices is intriguing. Firstly, he feels ashamed of betraying a promise to a dear friend and his own long-held aspirations. This shame is so profound that he cannot bear to discuss his current pursuit of fame and fortune. Secondly, he speaks of Zhongbai’s choice with admiration and even slight jealousy. Zhongbai is portrayed as a figure who refuses to find harmony with the times and the world, having the courage to follow his heart instead of being lured by money and official titles. Lastly, Pi laments the impossibility of practicing an ideal way of reclusion—the gentleman’s way. It is unclear how Pi envisions this gentleman’s way of reclusion, but it is clearly not Zhongbai’s way. In other words, physical retreat and hiding in the mountains were not ideal for Pi. This was a compromise Pi did not make, which rationalized his choice of seeking official employment.

The gentleman’s way of reclusion is a standard left unspecified in the article and thus remains unknown to us. However, if the beautiful and serene mountain was not considered an ideal environment, could it be that Pi Rixiu envisioned “reclusion in the court”? If this hypothesis holds some truth, it suggests that Zhongbai and Pi Rixiu adopted two different approaches to reclusion: the Confucian and the Daoist. While Zhongbai renounced worldly desires, fortune, and fame, along with his concern for governance, Pi Rixiu could not fully embrace the Daoist path. Although retreating to the mountains might have been easy, Pi Rixiu’s ambition to maintain a peaceful, reclusive mind within officialdom reveals his true philosophical identity as a Confucian scholar. The path to officialdom, however, is fraught with obstacles. This prompted Pi to express the typical lament of a scholar: “Alas! Are there people in the world who practice reclusion in the gentleman’s way?” Without an official position, a scholar cannot be a recluse in the court, only a recluse in the mountains.

Another clue lies in Zhongbai’s reason for choosing a reclusive lifestyle. Pi Rixiu explains that Zhongbai feels “out of harmony with the times” because he “esteems all things ancient.” In other words, the ancient style had fallen out of fashion during Pi’s time. Whether this vague concept of “ancient style” refers to a literary style, a lifestyle, or a political inclination is not the focus here. However, when we connect Zhongbai’s rationale with Pi Rixiu’s reluctance to retreat to the mountains, a clear picture emerges of a frustrated Confucian scholar unable to secure a government position due to his out-of-fashion style.

Upon closer examination, Zhongbai and Pi Rixiu seem less like two distinct individuals and more like two diverging and conflicting aspects of a single consciousness. Pi was not merely introducing his friend but rather revealing his own inner struggles and complex feelings. He expressed shame for abandoning his reclusive lifestyle, or perhaps he was simply articulating a supposed shame on paper. More importantly, he sought excuses to justify his decision, allowing himself to find harmony with the times and the world instead of conceding to what he perceived as an ungentlemanly way of reclusion.

III The Idealization of a Reclusive Life

1.Encountering another realm

Since Pi Rixiu rarely wrote about his early reclusive life on Deer-Gate Mountain, we can only imagine the scholar’s livelihood during that time. Despite the lack of information about Pi’s family background and financial situation, the mountain’s scenery is excellent, attracting numerous tourists eager to visit in modern times. The exact location of Mount Fuyang, where Pi’s friend Zhongbai supposedly lived, was only vaguely described. The existence of this mountain is questionable, as no such place exists in modern Xiangyang. Conducting a geographical search is unnecessary because the description of the mountain’s location is as brief and ambiguous as any mythic geographical account in classical Chinese literature.

Mount Fuyang serves as the gateway to Pi Rixiu’s idealization of a reclusive life. Before meticulously describing the mountain’s scenery, Pi recounts his encounter with the reclusive world. His reaction to this encounter reveals his first impression of a lifestyle entirely different from his own. Upon his arrival at Zhongbai’s door, Pi was astonished:

Upon reaching his door, there was no time for me to tether the horse, and my eyes were brightened, my spirit uplifted. My mind was dazed and distracted as if I had entered another realm.

至其門，驂不暇緤，而目爽神王，怳怳然迨若入于異境矣。

In literary history, the state of being dazed and distracted was often associated with encountering gods and spirits. In the Book of Rites (Li ji 禮記), it is instructed that the filial son declares his mind and wishes at the sacrificial ceremony, and then he seeks to have communication with the dead in their spiritual state in his dazed and distracted mind (huanghu 恍惚).[20] In the Eastern Han, “dazed and distracted mind” was frequently used in philosophical texts to describe the state of mind immediately before a sudden realization and comprehension of often mystical ideas. Such examples can be found in Wang Chong’s 王充 (27-97) Discourses Weighed in the Balance (Lun heng 論衡), Xu Gan’s 徐幹 (25-220) Balanced Discourses (Zhong lun 中論), and Yang Xiong’s 揚雄 (33-18 B.C.E.) Model Words by Master Yang (Yangzi fa yan 法言), and so on. In Pi’s case, entering another realm with a dazed and distracted mind signified a pleasantly surprising change of the environment from the bustling world of fame and fortune to a land of tranquility. Zhongbai’s reclusive abode seemed like a pathway to Pi’s dreamland, in which his eyes were brightened, and his spirit uplifted. The refreshing experience would be unattainable in the city, where one was tethered by secular ambitions. If Pi Rixiu’s approach to reclusion is Confucian and Zhongbai’s is Daoist, then the brief scene depicted by Pi resembles a Confucian scholar’s reaction to encountering the world of philosophical Daoism, which he describes as “another realm.”

2.Revamping the “summoning into reclusion” tradition

After a dramatic encounter, Pi Rixiu transitions to a detailed portrayal of Mount Fuyang’s scenery. In this section, we encounter a mix of familiar and unfamiliar imagery. Behind these seemingly fragmented pieces lies a long-standing literary tradition as the backbone—the verse tradition of “summoning into reclusion.” This tradition forms the core of Pi’s composition and his idealization of a reclusive life. However, his interpretation is not merely an imitation but a revitalization of the tradition, shaped by his own standards and priorities.

In a short paragraph, Pi Rixiu described vividly the beauty of the scenery in Mount Fuyang:

The trees are more luxuriant than the divine plant, and the spring water is sweeter than honey.[21] The peaks lean against the clear sky, resembling brushes with blueish-green pigment sweeping across a canvas. The colors are both bright and soft. The burbling streams flow continuously and rapidly as if a flute is hidden at the fountainhead and bellows are sending out crystal-like liquid.[22] Some rocks have peculiar shapes, resembling exposed bones and dashing horses, ready to transform into human beings. Some birds are so strange that they chirp with unusual sounds as if tamed by heaven.

木秀于芝，泉甘于飴。霽峯倚空，如碧毫掃粉障，色正鮮溫。鳴溪潀潀，源內橐籥,鞲出琉璃液。石有怪者，髐然闖然，若將為人者。禽有異者，嘐嘐然若將天馴耶。

In this descriptive paragraph, several images immediately become noticeable: luxuriant trees, running streams, a clear sky, mountain peaks, strange rocks, and chirping birds. These were standard elements and typical images in landscape compositions for thousands of years before Pi, and the scenery he describes is not strikingly different from those found in other literature. Such landscapes are especially common in “summoning into reclusion” (zhao yin 招隱) verses. The “summoning into reclusion” poems are typically pentasyllabic verses titled either “Zhao yin” or “Zhao yinshi.” In these verses, the recluse saw the mountain as a refuge, a place where he could escape conventional society and live undisturbed. This perspective had been articulated in the “summoning into reclusion” verse tradition, which flourished in the Western Jin period. Most of these poems were composed not by actual recluses, but by court poets who celebrated the ideal of retreating to the wilderness more as a concept to contemplate than a reality to embrace. Notable compositions in the tradition include two poems by Zuo Si 左思 (205?-305?), three (with one extant) by Lu Ji, two by Zhang Hua 張華 (232-300), one by Zhang Zai 張載 (?-?), and one by Lü Qiuchong 閭丘衝 (d. 311). Wang Kangju’s “Against Summoning into Reclusion” also falls under this category.

The “summoning into reclusion” verse tradition, possibly started by Zuo Si, was both a reaction to and a development from “Summoning the Recluse” (“Zhao yinshi”), attributed to Liu An 劉安 (170-122 B.C.E.), the Han prince of Huainan 淮南王. Written in the style of Chu ci, “Summoning the Recluse” uses exaggerated and vivid language to describe the harsh natural environment of the mountains and forests where the recluse lives in seclusion. Unlike the “summoning into reclusion” verse tradition of the Western Jin, “Summoning the Recluse” aims to call recluses back to court to fulfill their Confucian responsibilities. According to Liu Xiangfei, this literary development was historically inevitable, marking a shift from political unity to political disorder, alongside the growing influence of Buddhism and the flourishing of philosophical Daoism. While this transition is easy to notice, it is by no means a complete reversal.[23]

In “Summoning the Recluse,” the description of the natural environment is intended to serve as a warning:[24]

Dense groves of cassia in hills’ hidden places,                                    桂树丛生兮山之幽，

Writhing shapes rising, boughs locked together.                              偃蹇连蜷兮枝相缭。

Where hill vapors loom with rocks jutting high,                                         山气巃嵸兮石嵯峨，

Where chasms drop deep and waters raise waves.                                  溪谷崭岩兮水曾波。

Packs of apes shriek, leopards and tigers roar,                                         猿狖群啸兮虎豹嗥，

There he snapped cassia branches and lingered a while.                         攀援桂枝兮聊淹留。

The poem continues to paint a picture of an insufferable environment, emphasizing the thick plants and dense trees, steep hills and towering cliffs, roaring beasts, and chilly and soggy air. In contrast, in the “summoning into reclusion” poems written in the Western Jin period, the natural environment became much less of a concern. For example, Zuo Si described a mountain scene in one of his “Zhao yin” poems:[25]       

The cave on the ledge has no built structures,                                                     巖穴無結構，

But within the hills is a singing zither.                                                             丘中有鳴琴。

White snow blankets the shadowy ridge,                                                             白雪停陰岡，

Scarlet corollas brighten the southern grove.                                                       丹葩曜陽林。

Stony springs rinse carnelian and jade,                                                            石泉漱瓊瑤，

Tiny fish swim and dive.                                                                                纖鱗亦浮沈。

One has no need for strings and reeds,                                                            非必絲與竹，

For the hills and streams have their own clear sound.                                         山水有清音。

Why bother to whistle and sing,                                                                      何事待嘯歌，

For the dense trees sigh sadly on their own.                                                        灌木自悲吟。

In this extract, trees and streams are the primary images in the depiction of mountain scenery for reclusion. Unlike the dark and eerie mountain forest depicted in “Summoning the Recluse”, Zuo Si’s poem completely removes the harsh aspects of the mountain forest environment, such as roaring wild beasts. Although it also describes the cold winter season, Zuo Si’s poem focuses more on static rather than dynamic imagery. Elements like white snow and green plants create a serene and profound atmosphere.

In Lu Ji’s “summoning into reclusion” poem, the painting of the living situation of a recluse in the mountain is also much improved and similar to the painting of Mount Fuyang described by Pi Rixiu:[26]

Light branches lace above him like the clouds,                                                   輕條象雲構，

Thick foliage forms a tent of kingfisher-green.                                                     密葉成翠幄。

Eddying winds linger in the grove of thoroughwort,                                             激楚佇蘭林，

Their fragrance swirls to meet the luxuriant trees.                                               回芳薄秀木。

The pleasant plashing of the mountain burn,                                                       山溜何泠泠，

A waterfall rinsing the singing jade!                                                                      飛泉漱鳴玉。

Lu Ji’s depiction of the mountain and forest also features luxuriant trees and running streams. Unlike “Summoning the Recluse,” where the dense forest adds a sense of mystery and dread, highlighting its unsuitability as a living environment, the lush trees and thick foliage in Lu Ji’s poem create a welcoming setting with vibrant colors and pleasant fragrances. Additionally, in “Summoning the Recluse,” the running water and waves are depicted as yet another challenge for recluses to overcome in a harsh environment. In contrast, Lu Ji’s poem describes them as “singing jade,” conveying a cheerful and soothing atmosphere.

Although Zuo Si and Lu Ji transformed the recluses’ environment from an uninhabitable jungle into a picturesque mountain forest, traces of “Summoning the Recluse” still remain. In Zuo Si’s poem, the dense trees sigh sadly, and on this lonely journey, he discovers a wild road that has existed since ancient times. His feet grow tired from pacing, and in his frustration, he wishes to throw away his hat-pins. Similarly, in Lu Ji’s poem, the music of nature is “mournful.” He speaks of his “unquiet heart” at dawn, standing hesitantly after getting dressed, unsure of where to go. The sense of loneliness, hesitation, and confusion is evident in both poems—an echo of the eerie imagery in “Summoning the Recluse” and a reflection of the contemporary world they lived in. It is a sense that cannot be erased by the beauty of the scenery.

In Pi Rixiu’s writing, the sense of gloom and somberness found in the “summoning into reclusion” verses of the Western Jin is no longer present. Under his pen, luxuriant trees and running streams are simply elements of a delightful and peaceful mountain forest. His descriptions of the scenery are comparable to those in the poems of Zuo Si and Lu Ji. For instance, he uses the word liuli (琉璃), meaning colored glass, as a substitute for qiongyao (瓊瑤), or exquisite jade, from Zuo Si’s poem to describe running streams. In Lu Ji’s poem, the same imagery is referred to as singing jade (mingyu 鳴玉). Instead of focusing on cold winters and sighing trees, Pi Rixiu emphasizes the clear sky after the rain and the bright, soft colors of the mountain peaks, depicting them in an almost romantic tone. Even when he describes imagery that could potentially evoke gloominess or somberness, he refrains from inserting negative emotions. The steep hills and cliffs of “Summoning the Recluse” are, in his work, simply strangely shaped rocks—a feast for the eyes.

Such a transformation from the sense of loneliness, hesitation, and confusion in the “summoning into reclusion” verse tradition is not limited to a change in the perception of the scenery in Pi Rixiu’s work. In “Record of Mr. Tongxuan’s Resting-Guests Pavilion,” he continues to sketch a multi-dimensional life that encompassed his visions of reclusion:

Whenever the study is empty and quiet, and the cold moon is at its zenith, the sounds of pine and bamboo would harmonize. Their pure and elegant tones surpass even the best bamboo pipe played by a master or the flutes played by the people of the Bin.[27] Moreover, with the white clouds as companions in the hall and the clear breeze as a guest in the room, such an atmosphere of charm and elegance was something I had never seen before.

每空齋寥寥，寒月方午，松竹交韻。其正聲雅音，笙師之吹竿，邠人之皷籥，不能過也。況延白雲為昇堂之侶，結清風為入室之賓，其為趣則生而未睹矣。

In this paragraph, we continue to see the author’s focus on sounds. The elegant music produced by pine and bamboo surpasses that played by great musicians with traditional instruments and chanted with lyrics from the classics. In Pi’s work, the role of music goes beyond merely producing sounds; it serves to maintain a peaceful mind and a joyful mood for those living in nature. In contrast, both Zuo Si and Lu Ji see music produced by nature as a reminder of their loneliness as recluses in the mountains, using words like “sad” and “mournful” to describe it.

In addition, rather than emphasizing a lack of resources and social connections, Pi Rixiu expressed contentment with the companionship of white clouds and clear breezes. In traditional “Zhao yin” poems, recluses are depicted as solitary figures who wandered with a wooden staff, adorned themselves with flowers, and foraged for food. Though surrounded by magnificent nature, the hardships of isolation and the struggle for sustenance in shabby clothes were unappealing. In Pi’s writing, however, the reclusive life is free from such real-life hardships. Moreover, the “charm and elegance” he enjoys are unprecedented. Surrounded by clouds and breezes, he feels entertained by these natural companions and guests, finding this more desirable than interacting with people.

From the “Summoning the Recluse” in the Chu ci style to the “summoning into reclusion” verses of the Western Jin, poets like Zuo Si and Lu Ji successfully established a verse tradition that brought significant attention to the theme of reclusion and reflected the inner states of scholars of their time. Centuries later, in a political and social environment ripe for reclusive writing, Pi Rixiu offered his own response to this tradition. His approach was a blend of inheritance and innovation. On one hand, Pi did not stray from the established setting of the serene mountain forest. On the other hand, he dismissed the issues raised by Western Jin poets as trivial and easily resolved. As a result, he idealized reclusive life as being free from the emotional challenges of isolation and self-doubt. To Pi Rixiu, reclusion was an easy choice and a clear preference over seeking a government position. By emphasizing that he was not concerned with the challenges traditionally associated with reclusion, he directed readers’ attention to other aspects of it. While becoming a recluse might have been easy, it would require sacrificing his sense of responsibility as a Confucian scholar—a sacrifice Pi was unwilling to make. Thus, his idealization of reclusive life was not a sign of naivety or ignorance of its actual difficulties but rather a reaffirmation of his decision to remain in society rather than retreat to the mountains.

3.Romanticizing an exile

It is clear that Pi Rixiu’s landscape writing was partly inspired by the “summoning into reclusion” verses in Western Jin. Equally evident is the resemblance between Pi’s prose and Liu Zongyuan’s landscape prose, particularly certain pieces from the “Eight Records of Yongzhou” (“Yongzhou ba ji” 永州八記). This famous collection was composed by Liu Zongyuan during his exile from around 805 to 815, following a factional conflict at court. Yongzhou 永州, a common location of exile in the Tang dynasty, was far from Chang’an, over 1,000 miles to the north. It was in the tropics, characterized by hot weather and heavy rainstorms in the summer. Liu Zongyuan spent his leisure hours, of which he had many, exploring the area. He recorded his travels in a series of landscape essays. Although Liu wrote extensively during his banishment on various subjects and in various genres, such as philosophical essays and imaginative discourse, the “Eight Records of Yongzhou” has been considered particularly significant by modern scholars. One critic even argues that these nature writings are Liu Zongyuan’s most important contribution to Chinese literature and should be viewed as a distinct genre separate from his guwen writings.[28] While the significance of Liu’s “Eight Records of Yongzhou” is not the focus of this chapter, the influence of the series on Pi’s prose is undeniable, serving as clear evidence of its widespread impact.

The landscape as a theme in classical Chinese literature has a long history. The earliest appearance can be found in the Chu ci, depicting hills and rivers in the southern regions. The landscape in the songs in the anthology, as described by Nienhauser, is often wild and awesome to symbolize personal and political chaos.[29] Frodsham argues that the effusive style in landscape literature found in the Han rhapsody stayed in vogue until the end of the Eastern Han, and only with the philosophic and migratory ferment did landscape literature per se begin.[30] Writers no longer felt awe for their subjects, allowing them to move within functional literary range for the first time. As a result, Neo-Daoism and Buddhism provided nature with ethical substance. By Xie Lingyuan’s 謝靈運 (385-433) time, the landscape had become more a place of refuge than a wilderness, and the landscape symbolized a retreat from society or even a prototype of the natural way of life.[31] In the Tang dynasty, Yuan Jie, who was also exiled to Daozhou 道州, wrote landscape prose in a much simpler style and less complex tone than Liu’s prose.[32]

As Nienhauser accurately points out, while many of Liu’s prose writings evince the qualities of the Ancient-style prose works, which are crisp and terse in style and openly didactic, his landscape pieces are descriptive rather than didactic.[33] For Liu Zongyuan, as well as Pi Rixiu, the resemblance of their landscape prose writings lies in the meticulous attention to the beauty of nature and the connection between humans and nature, particularly man’s ability to find joy in solitude. In both Liu and Pi’s writings, the scenery is depicted for its own sake rather than as a backdrop for storytelling or as a metaphor for complex emotions. The descriptions are therefore focused and are accompanied by expressions of the author’s deep appreciation.

In Pi Rixiu’s account, strange rocks are a highlight in the picture of Mount Fuyang. The rocks of peculiar shapes resemble exposed bones and dashing horses, ready to transform into human beings. The aesthetics of strange rocks are particularly pronounced in Liu’s essays. In “Eight Record of Yongzhou,” the words meaning “strange” (qi 奇) or “weird” (guai 怪) appear seven times. In “Record of Little Hill West of Gumu Pool” (“Gumutan xi xiaoqiu ji” 鈷鉧潭西小丘記), Liu’s writing of the rocks reads:[34]

Those [rocks], precipitously piled against each other, canted downward, like cows and horses drinking at a brook. Those lined up obtusely at angles rising upwards, like brown and black bears climbing up a mountain.

 其嶔然相累而下者，若牛馬之飲於溪；其沖然角列而上者，若熊羆之登於山。

Liu’s appreciation for aesthetic strangeness is a notable trait that modern scholars use to identify him as a leading figure in ancient-style prose, although he was not the first writer to highlight the appeal of strangeness in nature.[35] In describing rocks, which traditionally symbolized steadiness and uprightness in literature, Liu was a true pioneer in recognizing their artistic value. Rather than employing rocks as metaphors for virtue, Liu focused on their actual forms and discovered their beauty. His genuine interest in the beauty of nature, particularly in its more unusual forms, is further explained in his essay “Written after Reading Han Yu’s ‘Biography of Mao Ying’” (“Du Han Yu suo zhu Mao Ying zhuan hou ti” 讀韓愈所著毛穎傳後題):[36]

Yet, we also have strange and foreign little insects, water plants, hawthorn, pears, oranges, and pomelos, which, despite their bitterness, saltiness, sourness, or spiciness that may sting the lips, crack the nose, curl the tongue, or clench the teeth, still have those who enjoy them deeply. King Wen’s muskrat root, Qu Dao’s water caltrops, Zeng Xi’s date-plum—all tasted the world’s unique flavors to their fullest. Why should writing be any different? Isn’t Han Yu’s work also a relaxation that does no harm, a way to let loose while wandering, or a means to savor the strange flavors of the Six Arts to their fullest?

而又設以奇異小蟲、水草、楂梨、橘柚，苦鹹酸辛，雖蜇吻裂鼻，縮舌澀齒，而咸有篤好之者。文王之昌蒲菹，屈到之芰，曾皙之羊棗，然後盡天下之味以足於口。獨文異乎？韓子之為也，亦將弛焉而不為虐歟！息焉遊焉而有所縱歟！盡六藝之奇味以足其口歟！

For Liu Zongyuan, strangeness is not to be criticized as long as it serves a distinct purpose and reveals an uncommon aspect of something. Although his essay mainly addresses issues of writing style, his philosophy also extends to his tastes in natural scenery. Spring suggests that Liu’s appreciation for strangeness may stem from his feelings of personal alienation and frustration during exile.[37] While this argument, like all speculations about writers, is plausible, it is nearly impossible to prove. Regardless of Liu’s psychological motivations, his preference for strangeness is evident in his writings and also appears in Pi’s work. Following Spring’s theory, it is natural for Pi to share a similar taste with Liu, as an underachiever in the civil service exam was effectively an outcast in the intellectual and political world. Personal frustration over such failure could easily draw one’s attention to the other side of conventions: the strange and unconventional. An appreciation for strange rocks reflects a recognition of their unique qualities—qualities that conventional society often overlooks, much like the disregard for his own talents.

Another distinctive feature of Liu’s landscape essays, also present in Pi’s writing, is the attention to a multidimensional experience of nature, particularly the enjoyment of sounds. In “Record of Mr. Tongxuan’s Resting-Guests Pavilion,” Pi Rixiu devotes considerable space to describing various natural sounds, such as running streams, chirping birds, and the rustling of pine and bamboo. He also expresses the pleasure he derives from listening to these sounds. While the description of sounds is not uncommon in classical Chinese literature, it was often used as a didactic tool or to set a scene. In contrast, Pi Rixiu emphasizes the interaction between humans and nature. This focus can be traced back to Liu’s landscape essays. In “Record of the Mountain of Little Stone City-walls” (“Xiao shi cheng shan ji” 小石城山記), Liu writes about listening to the sound of water splashing when one throws a pebble into the gate and the echo which resounds for a long time before stopping.[38] In “Record of Little Stone Pool” (“Xiao shi tan ji” 小石潭記), he writes:[39]

Through the bamboo groves, I hear the sound of water, like the ringing of jade pendants, and my heart delights in it.

隔篁竹，聞水聲，如鳴珮環，心樂之。

The delight Liu gets from the sound of nature is expanded further into the delight he obtains from his interaction with nature in all dimensions. In “Record of Little Hill West of Gumu Pool,” Liu writes:[40]

When one sets out pillow and mat and lies down, one’s eyes are comforted by the clear, quiet image of the water, one’s ears are lulled by the murmuring sounds, one’s spirit soothed by a far-reaching void, and one’s heart eased by an abyssal serenity.

枕席而臥，則清泠之狀與目謀，瀯瀯之聲與耳謀，悠然而虛者與神謀，淵然而靜者與心謀。

This kind of connection between humans and nature highlights Liu’s more transcendental side. As he allows his eyes to be comforted, his ears lulled, his spirit soothed, and his heart eased, he steps away from his identity as a Confucian scholar and government official, forgetting his frustrating life, responsibilities, and worries. Heavily influenced by Xie Lingyun, Liu’s interaction with nature offers him a refuge where he refrains from imposing artificial moral interpretations onto the myriad things in nature. Unlike much landscape poetry, there is no lamentation about his personal struggles.

Shafer argues that for Liu, nature was a part of man’s world, but not the entire world in itself. It could be used as a foil for man, but it possessed no intrinsic life force. It was passive, created, like man, by some higher force. Thus, it could share man’s fate, even to the point of exile in the South.[41] The sense of equality between nature and humans allows one to find companionship in nature, alleviating feelings of loneliness that might arise from a lack of human interaction. This sense of loneliness has been a persistent issue in the theme of reclusion, as highlighted in the “summoning into reclusion” verses. For Liu Zongyuan, engaging with nature is likely more gratifying than interacting with the local people of the South, who were considered uncivilized at the time. On more than one occasion, he describes feeling such joy and peace of mind in nature that he “forgets to return” (wang gui 忘歸). For Pi Rixiu, white clouds become his companions, and the clear breeze his guest. Nature as companions and guests offers him an interaction that is so delightful and novel to him, something he has never experienced in the human world.

Both Pi Rixiu and Liu Zongyuan were going through difficult periods in their lives when they composed their prose. Their intense focus on the beauty of nature and their interactions with it reflect their responses to a sense of “exile.” For Liu, exile was literal, and his landscape prose created a carefree world as an escape from his suffering. For Pi, the romanticization of “exile” became a natural approach to writing about reclusion. In this abstract form of reclusion, he could temporarily distance himself from a competitive world filled with the relentless pressures of networking, seeking a patron, and passing exams. Instead of choosing nominal reclusion, which he decided to avoid, Pi Rixiu embraced abstract reclusion through writing—a space for his mind to recharge. In this abstract form of reclusion, his “exile” is far from abominable, and may even appear desirable. It would be unfair to label Pi’s writing as a method of spiritual triumph; however, taking a path seemingly at odds with his definition of a Confucian scholar is not an option for him in real life and can only be explored in his writing.

IV Writing in a New Style

In “Record of Mr. Tongxuan’s Resting-Guests Pavilion,” we can clearly see the influence of Confucian classics on Pi Rixiu. For instance, in the sentence where he describes Zhongbai’s dedication to receiving guests, the use of rhetorical questions in a cascading linked-pearl (lianzhu 連珠) structure evokes the style of the Analects and the Mengzi:

As for his habit of receiving guests, once it begins during the day, is there ever a time it does not extend into the late afternoon? And when it reaches the late afternoon, is there ever a time it does not continue into the night?

其延之，旦不晡乎？晡不夕乎？

The same simple and elegant parallel sentences indicating his mastery of ancient-style prose writing can be found in the same paragraph:

“If guests were afraid of the heat, I would make the eaves wider. If they were afraid of the cold, I would make the windows deeper.” After completing these adjustments, the cost of fresh and dry food and various drinks he served increased significantly compared to before.

「賓將病暑，吾則敞其簷。賓將病寒，吾則奧其牖。」自竟是功，則鱻薧之饋，罍樽之費，縱倍於前矣。

Besides the parallelism, which is easy to spot, Pi also made sure his language is classical, and the writing is filled with allusions. In the paragraph above, xian kao鱻薧, which means fresh food and dry food, respectively, is a compound word first seen in the Rites of Zhou (Zhou li 周禮).

Despite his efforts to maintain an elegant writing style, Pi did not impose uniformity throughout the entire article. The short paragraph describing the landscape is remarkably well-structured and carefully crafted. Although most sentences are in parallel, there is no strict constraint on the number of words or rhymes. For example, the first two four-character sentences describing the trees and the spring water perfectly match in syntactical structure. However, the last two sentences are imperfectly parallel. They both start with a four-character phrase describing the rocks and birds, respectively, but the rest of the sentences vary in length. This use of “relaxed parallelism” is a development from the rigid and florid style of fu, while still retaining a touch of poetic elegance, much like the development of free verse during the New Culture Movement (Xinwenhua yundong 新文化運動) in twentieth-century China. 

Pi’s use of vocabulary in the paragraph is also noteworthy. On the one hand, unlike Han Yu, he did not overdo his innovation to the creation of new words or obsess himself with picking strange words, the luxuriance of the divine plant (zhi 芝) was customarily associated with trees, and the sweetness of honey (yi 飴) was often used to describe spring water. On the other hand, Pi was creative in combining single words into unfamiliar yet expressive phrases. For instance, the word ji 霽 means the clear sky after the rain, and Pi placed it in front of the word feng 峯, which means mountain peak, instead of the word for sky, kong 空, which appears in the same sentence. In this case, ji became an unusual modifier for feng. Although ji kong would make more sense, it is easy for readers to visualize a picture with towering peaks in the background of a clear sky, possibly after spring rain. One can almost smell the mosses irradiating under the sun. Another example is the combination of liuli and ye. Liuli is colored glass, and ye means liquid. When placing liuli in front of ye, the colored glass is no longer constrained by its physical form. Rather, the readers can focus on the glazy-ness and clarity of it and associate the qualities with the spring water. Again, such a combination was uncommon, or even unprecedented, but Pi’s rich imagination and boldness in playing with words were not inferior to the great poets before his time.

Another distinct feature is the use of binomes. Congcong 潀潀is a binome created by repeating the word cong, which is a noun, meaning confluence or rapid stream. When used as a binome, it vividly describes the quick and unstoppable motion of converging streams. Rather than using the common binomes for describing running streams, such as jiejie 湝湝, lingling 泠泠, yunyun 沄沄, and chanchan 潺潺, Pi Rixiu’s use of language demonstrates his strength as an original writer. When describing the strange birds that seemed to be tamed by heaven, Pi employed the binome and onomatopoeia jiaojiao 嘐嘐 to convey the audio dimension of the scene. For the description of the strange rocks, Pi piled up two compound words with the same morphological structures: X-ran 然, meaning “appearing to be X.” The word xiaoran 髐然 was first used in the Zhuangzi to illustrate the exposed bones of a skeleton.[42] It is a typical phonogram word, with the left half being a semantic radical meaning “bones,” and the right half serving as a phonetic part. In later texts, the word was used similarly, mostly to illustrate the exposed corpses scattered in the war-torn remnants.[43] Using the word to describe strangely shaped rocks showcased Pi’s rich imagination once again. The second X-ran word chuangran 闖然 was uncommon in poetic compositions and likely unprecedented in describing rocks. The concise four-character sentence succinctly and vividly delineated the bizarre shapes of the rocks.

V Conclusion

The theme of reclusion had been explored repeatedly before and after Pi Rixiu’s generation, to the point where little around the subject should be surprising. Yet, for the late Tang writers, the path to reclusion remained as thorny as it had been in earlier times. The obstacles arose from both the real and literary worlds.

In reality, Confucian scholars faced three dichotomies that presented numerous choices, allowing them to approach the same subject in different ways. Should one choose reclusion, and if so, in what form? These questions often required a lifetime to answer, and the decision-making process was filled with inner turmoil. On the one hand, late Tang scholars were still driven by their Confucian learnings to follow the conventional path of serving in government. As part of a generation where civil service exams offered opportunities for those outside the aristocracy to enter the ruling class, they were both fortunate and unfortunate. While there was greater hope for upward mobility, the exam system was far less structured than in later dynasties, making repeated failures a common experience. On the other hand, the Tang court’s declining power, increasing corruption, and deteriorating social stability pushed scholars to consider alternatives. Abandoning political aspirations and embracing the unsecular life of reclusion became not just an individual choice, but a growing trend. 

The path to reclusion was also carpeted with the scholar’s constant need to justify their decision, especially to the intellectual community. There was one, and just one fine line between true and fake reclusion, and even the slightest misstep in addressing it could lead to criticism. As a result, finding a secure and comfortable place in the realm of abstract reclusion was a formidable challenge.

Pi Rixiu’s “Record of Mr. Tongxuan’s Resting-Guests Pavilion” is far from being the only work on the theme of reclusion, nor is it among the most prominent in his oeuvre. “Writings of a Recluse at Deer-Gate,” for instance, has garnered much more attention, often examined for its insights into his political views. Yet, this overlooked prose piece offers a striking portrayal of the genuine anxieties and aspirations of a young Confucian scholar. The concerns and dreams depicted so vividly resonate with many scholars at some stage of their lives. In “Record of Mr. Tongxuan’s Resting-Guests Pavilion,” Pi Rixiu’s deliberate concealment of identity, introspective dialogue, and repeated engagement with traditional interpretations of reclusion reveal the most authentic version of himself and of his contemporaries navigating similar struggles.

From a literary perspective, writing about reclusion was a huge challenge for anyone brave enough to take on the subject. For Pi Rixiu, this prose article partly represented his stance on ancient-style prose. Prior to the emergence of ancient-style prose, the extremely ornate and often artificial language of parallel prose was the prevailing form. Writers like Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan promoted a return to the Confucian didactic purpose of literature, which was supposed to be written in clear and concise language. As a fervent follower of Han Yu, Pi did not take every rule faithfully. “Record of Mr. Tongxuan’s Resting-Guests Pavilion” contains no didactic language but plenty of carefully chosen words and crafted phrases, in various styles, and sometimes poetic, to express his uncertainties, insecurities, and exploration. The prose genre is unique and innovative—he blends a fictional narrative with what appears to be real events and descriptive landscape writing. It is difficult to attribute a single literary influence to his writing, as it draws from a wide range of sources. From explicit references to Confucian classics to the refined language reminiscent of Chu ci and Han fu, and from the poetry of the Wei-Jin period to the landscape prose of the Mid-Tang, Pi's work exemplifies a rich integration of literary traditions rather than merely reflecting the influence of ancient-style prose writers. 

Reclusion writing in the late Tang is distinctive, both in content and style. As a generation deeply rooted in the literary traditions of the past, late Tang writers were well-versed in showcasing their knowledge. Yet, they were not satisfied with mere imitation; instead, they used their own language and methods to express the dreams and frustrations unique to their time.

[1] Alan Berkowitz points out that the word “reclusion,” though universally more acceptable as a translation for yin, compared to the alternatives, “hermitage,” and “eremitism,” is still confusing and misleading, carrying connotations not always appropriate to the Chinese context. He also suggests that the word “recusancy” is a better representation of the reality of reclusion in traditional China in many situations, and “recusants” an alternative to “recluses” to describe people exhibiting nonparticipant, dissentient, or nonconformist conduct. While other options are tempting, I have chosen to use “reclusion” and “recluses” in this dissertation for their less obvious association with religions and a sense of familiarity in academia. See Alan J. Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement-The Practice and Portrayal of Reclusion in Early China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000), xi.

[2] The view is summarized by Berkowitz and held by scholars such as Sarah Allan, Aat Vervoorn, Gu Jiegang, etc. See Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement-The Practice and Portrayal of Reclusion in Early China, 19; and Sarah Allan, “The Identities of Taigong Wang in Zhou and Han Literature,” MS 30 (1972-73), 57-99, and “Sons of Sons: Myth and Totemism in Early China,” BSOAS 44.2 (1981), 290-326; and Aat Vervoorn, “Boyi and Shuqi: Worthy Men of Old?” Papers in Far Eastern History 29 (Sep. 1983), 1-22; see also Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛, “Shanrang chuanshuo qiyu Mojia kao” 禪讓傳說起於墨家考, Gushi bian 古史辨, Vol. 7, pt. 3, 85-91.

[3] See Alan J. Berkowitz, “Topos and Entelechy in the Ethos of Reclusion in China,” JAOS Vol. 114 (Oct.-Dec. 1994), 633-634.

[4] The works share similar titles, such as “Disengaged Persons” and “Remote Ones.” Writers who composed under the mentioned titles include Lu Ji 陸機 (261-303), Lu Yun 陸雲 (262-303), Yu Ai 庾敱 (262-311), Zao Ju

棗據 (d. ca. 311), Wang Yi 王廙 (early 4th century), Jiang You 江逌 (mid-4th century), Ge Hong 葛洪 (ca. 280-ca. 340), and Xie Lingyun 謝靈運 (385-433).

[5] See Berkowitz, “Topos and Entelechy in the Ethos of Reclusion in China,” 635.

[6] See Fan Ye 范曄 (398-446), comp., Hou Han shu 後漢書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1963), 61.2032; also 82A.2724-25.

[7] Mount Taibai is located in the Shaanxi Province, about 85 kilometers west of Chang’an.

[8] See Liu comp., Jiu Tang shu, 66.2470.

[9] Wolfgang Bauer discusses the Buddhist way in addition to Confucian and Daoist ways, which is characterized as pessimism and monasticism. I have chosen to limit my discussion to Confucian and Daoist ways, which have more relevance to the late Tang context. See Wolfgang Bauer, “The Hidden Hero: Creation and Disintegration of the Ideal of Eremitism” in Individualism and Holism: Studies in Confucian and Taoist Values, edited by Donald Munro (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1985), 157-97.

[10] For the quote in Dongfang Shuo’s biography, see Sima, Shi ji, 126.3205.

[11] See Xiao comp., Wen xuan, 22.4b.

[12] See Ouyang, Xin Tang shu, X.

[13] Deer-Gate Mountain 鹿門山, also known as Suling Mountain 蘇嶺山, is located in Xiangyang 襄陽 in Hubei Province. The mountain is renowned for its unique reclusive culture and beautiful natural scenery. It is said that notable figures such as Pang Degong 龐德公 from the end of the Han Dynasty, and famous poets Meng Haoran 孟浩然 (689-740) and Tang Yanqian 唐彥謙 (849-915) from the Tang dynasty lived in the mountain in reclusion.

[14] Mount Taibai is located on the border between Mei 眉, Taibai, and Zhouzhi 周至 counties in the southwest of Shaanxi Province. The mount’s highest point is the tallest in the Qinling Range 秦嶺, as well as the watershed between the Han River and Wei River. Mount Taibai is also the highest mountain in Eastern China. The Tang dynasty work Accounts of Strange Stories (Lu yi ji 錄異記), compiled by Du Guangting 杜光庭 (850-933), says: “The Essence of the Venus fell upon the west of Zhongnan’s main peak, and thus it was titled Mount Taibai.” Here, the spirit of the Venus metamorphosed into magnificent white jade. See Du Guangting comp., Hu Zhenhneng 胡震亨 and Mao Jintong 毛晉同 ed., Lu yi ji (place of publication unknown, 1699), v7.5a-b.

[15] Pengze was a county in the Jiujiang area.

[16] The translation of the sentence “Sui qie chi.” 歲且翅 deserves some attention. The word qie is also pronounced as ju in Mandarin in some cases, including when it means the sixth month of the year. The uncommon and obsolete use of the word comes from the Erya 爾雅. The other word chi could be a misuse of the word yi 翼, which is semantically identical and graphically close to chi. Also, yi is a variant of yi 翌, which stands for the following year. Hence, alternative translations of the sentence are: “The sixth month of the year passed quickly” or “The following year just arrived.” I have decided not to use the alternatives because neither of them involves the common usage of words or resolves the inconsistency of the timeline in the article.    

[17] The construction of the residence and the pavilion began three years ago.

[18] Both Profound Virtue (Xuande 玄德) and Profound Peace (Xuanyan 玄晏) were phrases with notable literary and cultural connotations. The first appearance of xuande was likely in the Book of Documents (Shangshu 尚書). It was used to describe the legendary ruler, Shun, in the “Canon of Shun” (“Shun dian” 舜典): “The report of his profound virtue was heard on high, and he was appointed to office.” The phrase was also frequently used in the Daoist canons including Laozi and Zhuangzi. In the Laozi, “profound virtue” was explained as “That which produces them and does not claim them as its own; that which does all, and yet does not boast of it; that which presides over all, and yet does not control them.” Profound Virtue is also the style name of Liu Bei 劉備 (161-223), a warlord in the late Eastern Han dynasty who later became the founding emperor of Shu Han 蜀漢, one of the Three Kingdoms. See Lu Deming ed., Shangshu, Sibu congkan, 3a-b; see also Heshanggong, Laozi dao de jing, Sibu congkan, 1.2a.

The first appearance of the phrase xuanyan is found in Cao Zhi’s 曹植 (192-232) “Discussion of the Virtues of the Wei” (“Wei de lun” 魏德論): “The transformation of profound peace is abundant and opportune governance.” The phrase was later referenced by Lu Ji in his “Performing Linked Pearls” (“Yan lianzhu” 演連珠). In the Western Jin, Huangfu Mi, the author of Biographies of High-Minded Men, referred to himself as Master Profound Peace. See Cao Zijian ji 曹子建集, X; see also Xiao comp., Wen xuan, 39.1755-91.

[19] The Xiang-Heng area, also known as the Heng-Xiang area, refers to the region in Hengyang 衡陽 surrounded by the Xiang River 湘水 and the Heng Mountain 衡山 in modern Hunan Province. Pi Rixiu might have become familiar with the area when he traveled to and spent much time in the nearby Dongting Lake Region.

[20] Huang 恍 is a graphic variant of the other huang 怳 in Pi’s article. See Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127-200) comm., Lu Deming 陸德明 (d. 630) ed., Zuantu huzhu Li ji 纂圖互註禮記, Sibu congkan, 16.2a.

[21] The production of yi is more like the production of maltose instead of honey, which involves the breakdown of starch, specifically malt. I have chosen the word honey as the translation for its poetic aesthetics.

[22] Yue is a type of woodwind musical instrument in ancient China. It is a short-piped flute with either three or six holes.

[23] See Liu Xiangfei 劉翔飛, “Lun zhao yin shi” 論招隱詩, Zhongwai wenxue 7.12 (1979), 98-113.

[24] The translation is a modification of Owen’s translation. See Owen, Anthology of Chinese Literature (New York and London: W. W. Norton & Company, 1996), 211; For the Chinese text, see Hong Xingzu 洪興祖 (1090-1155), Chu ci bu zhu 楚辭補注 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2006), 232-34.

[25] The translation is a modification of Frodsham’s translation. See J.D. Frodsham translated and annotated, An Anthology of Chinese Verse – Han Wei Chin and The Northern and Southern Dynasties (Oxford: At the Clarendon Press, 1967), 94.

[26] The translation of the extract is also modified from Frodsham’s work. See J.D. Frodsham, An Anthology of Chinese Verse – Han Wei Chin and The Northern and Southern Dynasties, 91.

[27] People of the State of Bin (邠 was also written as 豳) playing flutes is a reference to Rites of the Zhou (Zhou li 周禮). In the section of “Spring Offices” (“Chunguan” 春官), it outlines the rules and instructions for playing flutes and chanting the Airs (feng 風), Odes (ya 雅), and Hymes (song 頌) from the State of Bin recorded in the Shijing in various seasons. See Zheng Xuan comm., Zhou li (Taipei: Xinxing shuju 新興書局, 1964), X.

[28] See the discussion of Liu’s landscape essays in Nienhauser, Liu Tsung-yüan (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1973), 66-79; see also E. Edwards, “Liu Tsung-yüan and the Earliest Chinese Essays on Scenery,” Asia Major, n.s. 1(1949), 147-57.

[29] See William Nienhauser, Charles Hartman, etc., Liu Tsung-Yüan (New York: Twayne Publishers, Inc, 1973), 66.

[30] See J. D. Frodsham, “Landscape Poetry in China and Europe,” Comparative Literature XIX (1967), 194-96, 201.

[31] Ibid., 197.

[32] Daozhou was about one hundred miles up the Xiao River 瀟水 from Yongzhou. It is located in modern Hunan province. For an analysis of Yuan Jie’s “Record of Rightside Brook” (“You xi ji” 右溪記) in comparison to Liu’s landscape essays, see Nienhauser and Hartman, Liu Tsung-Yüan, 68-69.

[33] Ibid., 70.

[34] The translation is a modification of Spring’s translation. See Madeline Kay Spring, “A Stylistic Study of Tang ‘Guwen’: The Rhetoric of Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan,” Ph.D. diss. University of Washington, 1983, 274. For the original text, see Yin Zhanhua 尹占華 and Han Wenqi 韓文奇 ed., Liu Zongyuan jiao zhu 柳宗元校註 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1947), X.

[35] Yuan Shansong 袁山松 (d. 401) of the Eastern Jin dynasty described the unexpected beauty of the uniquely structured and arranged hills in his “Record of Yidu” (“Yidu ji” 宜都記) when he served as the governor of Yidu.

[36] See Yin and Han, Liu Zongyuan jiao zhu, X.

[37] See Spring, “A Stylistic Study of Tang ‘Guwen’: The Rhetoric of Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan,” 279.

[38] See Yin and Han, Liu Zongyuan jiao zhu, X.

[39] Ibid., X.

[40] The translation is modified based on Gentzler’s translation. See Jennings Mason Gentzler, “A Literary Biography of Liu Tsung-Yüan, 773-819,” Ph.D. diss. Columbia University, 1966, 256.

[41] See Edward Shafer, “The Idea of Created Nature in T’ang Literature,” Philosophy East and West XV (1965), 153-60.

[42] The word was used in a story in which Zhuangzi went to the State of Chu and encountered a skeleton with, apparently, creepy exposed bones and had an interesting philosophical conversation with it. See Guo Qingfan 郭慶藩 (1844-1896) comp., Wang Xiaoyu 王孝⿂ ed., Zhuangzi ji shi 莊⼦集釋 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1995), X.

[43] A prominent example is Liu Zongyuan’s poem “Bury the Body of Servant Zhang Jin” (“Yan yifu Zhang Jin hai” 掩役夫張進骸): “The hundreds of bones are exposed.” 髐然暴百骸。See Yin Zhanhua 尹占華 ed., Liu Zongyuan ji jiao zhu 柳宗元集校註 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2013), X.