Sima Qian and the Way of the Sword in Ancient China

Abstract

The Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji) contains Sima Qian’s views on the Way of the Sword (jiandao), the four martial virtues [faith (xin), integrity (lian), benevolence (ren) and courage (yong)], as well as sword’s practical and moral functions. These are inseparable from the profound swordsmanship tradition of the Sima clan and the veneration of warrior culture in the kingdom of Zhao. The Records of the Grand Historian further presents the community of swordsmen in Warring States China, including such colorful personalities as Nie Zheng and Jing Ke in the Biographies of Assassins, whose contrasting stories Sima Qian uses both to convey their diverse character, and to illustrate jian’s moral ideal.

Translation by Hing Chao

1 Sima Qian’s Way of the Sword (Jiandao)

Sima Qian was one of the greatest historians in ancient China while his magnum opus, the Records of the Grand Historian (hereinafter, “Records”), which he completed despite bodily mutilation, was one of the most important works in the ancient world. Common impression may be that Sima Qian was a literati-bureaucrat who could not possibly have anything to do with jian (double-edged sword). In fact, the opposite was true as Sima Qian cared deeply for and had a profound personal relationship with the sword (Fig. 2.1).

Fig. 2.1

Ancient portrait of Sima Qian, author unknown

Sima Qian did not leave behind dedicated works on the subject, nor are there records of him studying or else engaged in fencing (jijian), in the same way as Dongfang Shuo, Sima Xiangru, and Tian Shu. However, whether this was by his intention or otherwise, the many descriptions and references to the sword scattered throughout the Records amply demonstrate the Grand Historian (Taishi gong)’s familiarity and reverence for the sword, sympathy for “errant swordsmen” (xia),¹ concern for sword culture, as well as his unique and profound understanding of the Way of the Sword (jiandao). Particularly worthy of note is a passage from scroll one hundred and thirty, The Grand Historian’s Autobiography (Taishi gong zixu),

[Those] Without faith, integrity, benevolence, and courage, cannot be instructed in military affairs and sword discourse, [for being] equal to the Eternal Dao, internally [it] may cultivate the body, [while] externally [it] may respond to change, [and is verily an instrument for] junzi (man of cultivation) [to] compare virtue (Sima 2016, 4019–4020). (Biographies of Sunzi and Wu Qi: Fifth Passage (Sunzi Wu Qi liezhuan: diwu)).

This truly unforgettable passage is found in the Biographies of Sunzi and Wu Qi. The text contains no more than thirty words but is richly layered with meaning. Ostensibly, it is concerned with “military affairs and sword discourse” (chuanbing lunjian), but in essence, it focuses on the specialist discipline of “sword discourse” (lunjian), giving expression to his vision of the Way of the Sword, specifically in relation of the sword’s social functions and cultural values. Therefore, I take this passage to represent his “view on the Way of the Sword” (jiandao guan).

From my understanding, we may read this passage at three levels. At the first level, one who engages in “military affairs and sword discourse” must possess the four virtues of xin (faith), lian (integrity), ren (benevolence), and yong (courage), which are the prerequisites for these disciplines. This sets a very high standard and may be called the “four martial virtues” of ancient China. From Sima Qian’s point of view, “military affairs and sword discourse” represent an important discipline “equal to the Eternal Dao” rather than ordinary skills and techniques (shu). By thus placing them at the elevated level of “Dao,” Sima Qian sets a very high moral bar for those engaged in their practice, and in one stroke disqualifies the unstudied and ordinary. These four words were also selected with care, with “faith” and “courage” at the front and end, and “integrity” and “benevolence” in the middle. Why did he choose such a structure over the conventional Confucian schema of li (rites), yi (loyalty), lian (integrity), and chi (shame)? This merits an in-depth examination.

The second level is concerned with the sword’s functions, namely that “internally [it] may cultivate the body, [while] externally [it] may respond to change” (nei keyi zhishen, wai keyi yingbian). The second part, “externally [it] may respond to change,” refers to the sword’s function to protect the body, which corresponds to the “extraordinary defense” in the annotation. This is easy to understand and requires no further explanation. What we need to pay more attention to is the statement “internally [it] may cultivate the body.” “Zhishen” (Cultivating the body) is a relatively late expression and appears in scholarly annotations to the Book of Change (I-Ching) and Book of Rites (Liji) from the Han period onward, frequently in parallel and juxtaposition to “zhixin” (cultivate the heart), which mainly refers to internal (i.e., moral and spiritual) cultivation, whereas zhishen refers to external (i.e., bodily) cultivation. Toward the end of the Warring States period, Master Lü’s Spring and Autumn Annals (Lüshi chunqiu) introduced the concept of zhishen in conjunction with “zhiguo” (literally, to “cultivate a state,” or “governing a state”), stating that to “cultivate the body and govern a state are techniques of the same method.” Writing about a generation earlier, in the Luxuriant Dew of the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu fanlu) scroll seven “Cultivating the State and Body: Twenty-second Passage” (Tongguoshen: di ershi’er), the famous Western Han dynasty Confucian scholar Dong Zhongshu (179–104 BCE) offers an exegesis on the Master Lü’s Spring and Autumn Annals:

The essence of qi (soul) is jing (pneuma) while the essence of man is xian (virtue). One who cultivates the body (zhishenzhe) accrues jing as his treasure, while one who cultivates a state (zhiguozhe) accrues virtue for his path. The body (shen) has intent (xin) as its core, as a state has its ruler as its core. When jing accrues in the body blood and qi are fused together; when virtue accrues in a ruler there is balance between the above and the below. When blood and qi are connected, the physical form is without pain; when there is balance between the above and the below, the hundred officials are satisfied. When the physical form is without pain, the body is content; when the hundred officials are satisfied, the state is secure. One who desires to attain jing must maintain stillness in form; while those who desire to attain virtue must humble their body. One with a still form and subtle mind is rewarded with qi of the purest essence; while one who humbles his pride and maintains humility acts benevolently and virtuously. Therefore, one who cultivates his body is dedicated to subtlety and stillness in order to attain purity, while one who cultivates the state is dedicated to humbling himself in order to attain virtue. The ability to attain purity leads to harmony and brightness therefore longevity; as the ability to attain virtue leads to the abundance of morality thus peace (Su 1992, 182–183).

Sima Qian’s use of zhishen may well have followed Dong Zhongshu. Thus, Dong’s statements—“one who cultivates the body (zhishenzhe) accrues jing as his treasure,” “when jing accrues in the body blood and qi are fused together,” “one who cultivates his body is dedicated to subtlety and stillness in order to attain purity,” and so on—may be used to explain the phrase “internally [it] may cultivate the body.” Significantly, in Dong’s passage, zhishen involves the strengthening of the material body (the painless physical form) and the elevation of the spiritual self (the subtle, still form). This notion of “body cultivation” is an early Chinese view of physical education with the body as the vehicle, and occupies an important place in the history of Chinese physical education (Fig. 2.2).

Fig. 2.2

A glimpse of the Records of the Grand Historian

The third level—“junzi [to] compare virtue” (junzi bi de yan)—invokes a concept that is at once innovative and builds on the existing tradition. China has an ancient tradition of venerating jade, with an equally ancient analogy to compare junzi’s virtue to jade. One of the most influential passages is found in the Book of Rites scroll sixty-one, “Exegesis on Diplomatic Visiting and Gifting” (Pinyi), which records a conversation between Confucius and his student Zigong,

Zigong asks Confucius, “May I ask why junzi values jade and looks down on min (stones that look like jade)? Is it because of jade’s rarity and min’s abundance?” Confucius said, “It is not min’s abundance that accounts for its lack of value, or jade’s rarity for its value. In the past, junzi used jade as an analogy for virtue: [it is] warm and even colored, symbolizing benevolence; well-ordered and [saturated with] dense chestnut patterns, symbolizing knowledge; edged but not harmful, symbolizing justice; [and] hangs weightily on one’s body, symbolizing the rites. If you tap on it, its sound is pure and travels far, and terminates in a lingering note, symbolizing music. Its imperfections do not cover its brilliance, nor its brilliance its imperfections, symbolizing loyalty. It has a bright sheen, symbolizing faith. Its qi is like the rays of the sky, symbolizing the heaven. Its spirit is seen in the mountains and valleys, symbolizing the earth. It is the substance for gui and zhang (two types of jadeite vessels), symbolizing morality. Under heaven there is none who does not value it, thus symbolizing the Dao. A poem reads, “when we think of a junzi, he is mild like jade.” For these reasons, junzi values jade (Sun 1989, 1466).

This passage also appears elsewhere in Chinese literature, such as in the School Sayings of Confucius (Kongzi jiayu), scroll eight, “Queries on Jade: Thirty-sixth Passage” (Wenyu: di sanshiliu), and Xunzi, scroll twenty, “Application of Laws: Thirtieth Passage” (Faxing pian: di sanshi). The word min () was originally written, which annotators explain is a “jade-like rock,” as for example stated in the Lexicon of Discussing Writing and Explaining Characters (Shuowen), “min, a stone [that is a grade] just below jade.” Based on Confucius’ critique of jade—summarized in this passage—later generations postulate that “jade has six levels of beauty,” stating that “junzi of antiquity must wear jade,” while different discursive iterations of “junzi comparing virtue to jade” (junzi bi de yu yan) continue to proliferate. Apart from using jade to compare virtue, Confucius has another saying—“junzi uses water to compare virtue” (fu shuizhe junzi bi de yan)—which is seen in such works as Xunzi, Book of Rites Compiled by Dai De (Dadai liji) and Garden of Stories (Shuoyuan), and is cited by writers in antiquity from time to time. Later on, someone even suggests “junzi uses bamboo to compare virtue” (junzi bi de yu zhu). All in all, in ancient China, there were three objects or substances used as analogies for virtue—jade, water, and bamboo. As to using the sword as a metaphor for virtue, Sima Qian was the only one; no one before him did so, and none after, which leads me to think this innovation is uniquely his own, and therein lies the core of his view on the Way of the Sword.

Of course, Sima Qian’s analogy probably also drew references from earlier literature. One possible source is the legendary King Wu of the Zhou (dynasty)’s jianming (sword inscriptions), recorded in the sixth scroll, the Enthronement of the King Wu of the Zhou: Fifty-ninth Passage (Wuwang jianzuo: di wushijiu), in the Book of Rites Compiled by Dai De, composed by Dai De in the Western Han dynasty. It says,

The sword’s inscriptions read, “wear as attire, move to actualize virtue; prosper with virtuous conduct, collapse with immorality (Huang et al. 2005).”

Song dynasty scholar Zhen Dexiu provides an exegesis on this passage in the Interpretation of the Great Learning (Daxue yanyi) scroll thirty, the “Essence of Honesty and Sincerity: Section Two” (Chengyi zhengxin zhi yao er), which states,

The sword is worn to demonstrate martial valor, yet the true foundation of valor is virtue, while valor is the support of virtue. Only when action is motivated by virtue do people obey without question. When valor takes its place this leads to revolution (Huang et al. 2005, 665).

The record in the Book of Rites Compiled by Dai De is unreliable, and the so-called “King Wu’s inscriptions” might have been a later creation composed between the late Warring States and early Han. However, the phrase “the true foundation of valor is virtue, while valor is the support of virtue” bears an unmistakable Confucian stamp and was probably a product of the sword’s golden age. We may further perceive a link between Sima Qian’s analogy and the phrase “moving to actualize virtue” (dong bi xingde), which suggests Sima Qian’s view on the Way of the Sword was not created in isolation, and that his innovations were built on existing concepts and cultural mores.

The Book of the Former Han (Han shu) contains a thirty-eight-chapter treatise known as the “Way of the Sword” (Jiandao) but none of it has survived (Ban 1975, 1761). No trace of it is found in the literature of the pre-Qin period or the works of the Han and Wei dynasties, nor do we find any allusion in Sui and Tang records, which suggests it was lost in an early period, possibly during the upheavals during last years of the Eastern Han. Undoubtedly, the disappearance of the “Way of the Sword” treatise is an irreparable loss to China’s classical martial studies. The large number of chapters it contains suggests it was a work that came at the end of a long tradition, which distilled and integrated the writings of earlier authors. Toward the end of the Warring States period, Lü Buwei, a chief minister of the kingdom of Qin, also devoted a chapter to fencing entitled “Chapter on Swordsmanship” (Jianji pian) in the Master Lü’s Spring and Autumn Annals. This was probably another important treatise. Regretfully, it was lost in the Tang dynasty. In recent years, archaeological discoveries have yielded a large number of ancient texts, and we hope treatises on the Way of the Sword may yet surface one day, even if only in fragments.

The composition of the “Way of the Sword” treatise and the “Chapter on Swordsmanship,” as well as treatises devoted to sword appreciation, such as the Appreciation of Treasure Sword and Blade (Xiang baojiandao) and Lost Books of Yue: Records of Treasure Swords (Yue jueshu: baojian ji), testify to the sophistication of sword culture during the Han and the preceding Warring States periods. Following the loss of the treatise, however, the Way of the Sword also fell mysteriously into abeyance, only making a brief appearance in the Wei Emperor Cao Pi’s On Classics and Treatises (Dianlun) before vanishing altogether. No other work on the subject appeared after that. Not only did the discipline of sword discourse and its fencing system disappear, the very term “Way of the Sword” also fell into disuse.

During the Tang and Song dynasties, swordsmen appeared from time to time, but they were few and far in between, leaving behind no real historical trace or written record. Ming dynasty general Yu Dayou (1503–1579) was a colossus in martial studies and among the very few to inherit the tradition of the long sword of the Jing and Chu regions (Jingchu changjian), which he learned from the civilian master swordsman Li Liangqin. He trained his troops in swordsmanship (jijian) and composed a treatise bearing the title of “Sword Treatise” (Jianjing). However, in reality, the work is not about sword discourse (lunjian); he used this name primarily to express veneration for the ancient ways. Instead, the manual contains instructions in staff-fighting, which he describes as the “Four Books,”² adding that “once you know the Four Books, you also know the principles of the Six Treatises,” thus highlighting the staff’s practical value for military training. This shows that Yu Dayou, being well-versed in history, merely uses the name “jian” to evoke a long-gone golden age and express his nostalgia for the past (Yu D, 2007). In the late Ming dynasty, the illustrious Mao Yuanyi (1594–1640) published the Korean Swordsmanship Methods (Chaoxian shifa)³—“obtained by an enthusiast in Korea”—in his military tome Records of Armaments and Military Provisions (Wubei zhi), thereby giving us an extremely valuable historical fencing treatise and a chance to look at the ancient two-handed sword (shuangshou jian) methods. In recent times, the name and sport of kendō (jiandao, or the “Way of the Sword”) returned to China from Japan and attracted many followers, perhaps drawn by a sense of déjà-vu. Nonetheless, there was no other way than to treat the modern kendō as an imported concept.

Today, classical jiandao is lost and it is not possible to fully recover its theory and technical system. Fortunately, Sima Qian has recorded many of its features in the Records of the Grand Historian, which is a veritable trove of information on jiandao. Most importantly, he has passed down his view on jiandao which, being “equal to the Eternal Dao,” is a way for “junzi [to] compare virtue.” With the broad and unique perspective of the Grand Historian, Sima Qian brings attention to both the great and the small, the momentous and the commonplace, and, having surveyed several centuries of historical development from the Warring States to the Qin-Han periods, he documents his all-encompassing view of sword culture in the Records, displaying its diverse aspects like so many antique treasures arrayed in the hall of Chinese martial studies. This allows us to inspect and appreciate China’s ancient sword culture up close and, through his descriptions, experience the old treasure swords’ scintillating brilliance and the ability of ancient swordsmen to “strike at will and defeat long weapons with the short,” as well as admire the heroism of the assassin Jing Ke who, mortally wounded and surrounded by enemies, “laughed defiantly while leaning on the pillar, and, sitting casually on the ground, hurled curses [at the tyrant] (yizhu er xiao, jiju yi ma).” Out of his deep affection for sword and incomparable erudition, Sima Qian has recorded many details that historians not sharing his interest and sympathy would have overlooked. Certain details may seem trivial or insignificant, but in hindsight, everything he has written down is of immense value. Properly studied and organized, they provide a vista into China’s sword culture of the pre-Qin period and reveal a little-known aspect about Sima Qian––his profound bond with the sword and his “Way of the Sword”.

2 The Sima Clan and Sword Culture in the State of Zhao

The Sima clan had an unusual relationship with the sword. This could be an important reason behind Sima Qian’s personal connection with the jian. In the Grand Historian’s Biography in the Records, while discussing the earlier generations of his clan, he states that in the Zhou dynasty during the Kings Hui and Xiang’s reigns, as the old dynasty was being replaced by the Jin state, his ancestors scattered across various kingdoms such as Wei, Zhao, and Qin. In particular,

The one in Zhao was known for [giving] instructions in sword discourse (jianlun). Kuaikui was his descendant (Sima 2016, 3990).

Citing Fu Qian, Pei Yin writes in the Collated Interpretations (Jijie), “For generations [the Sima clan were] adept at teaching the sword.” Also citing Fu Qian, Sima Zhen says in the Indices and References to the Records of the Grand Historian (Suoyin), “For generations [they were] adept at the sword.” That is to say, the branch of Sima Qian’s ancestors in the Zhao state practiced and were known for their fencing skills, with Sima Kuaikui being the outstanding representative.

Not much is known about Sima Kuaikui. In the Exegesis on the Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji zhengyi), the Tang writer Zhang Shoujie refers to the “Kuaikui in the Biographies of the Assassins (Cike liezhuan).” However, this name is not found in the Records, which clearly suggests that Ru Chun was referring to a different work with the same name. Unfortunately, this Biographies which might have been used by Sima Qian was lost long ago. Not even fragments or allusions are found in Sui and Tang dynasty literature, which suggests it was lost before the Tang dynasty. However, what is certain is that Sima Kuaikui was a skilled sword master, of which there is ample evidence in Han dynasty records. The King of Huainan, Liu An, mentions him in the Huainanzi: On Training and Discipline (Huainanzi: zhushu xun),

If you hold the sword by its edge, even Beigong-zi and Sima Kuaikui could not make effective use of it; on the other hand, if you hold it by its gu (hilt), even an ordinary man could wield it at ease and attain victory (Liu 1989, 304).

Here, Sima Kuaikui is mentioned in the same breath as Beigong-zi. Both were well-known fencing masters, but who were they? Gao You further states in his annotation,

Beigong-zi [was] from the kingdom of Qi, the same person that Mencius called Beigong You. Sima Kuaikui’s ancestor Chengbo Xiufu swore an oath to the king and became the sima (master of the horse), thereby gaining the name “Sima.” Kuaikui was his descendant. The Sima clan moved to other kingdoms after the Zhou state/dynasty fell into decline. Kuaikui lived in the state of Zhao and was known for [his] swordsmanship skills. He often accepted [challenges] and engaged in [fencing] bouts (Liu 1989, 304).

Gao’s annotation is very clear: Beigong-zi was from the kingdom of Qi, the same as the Beigong You to whom Mencius referred, but we know nothing else about him. Mencius only said that he was “courageous,” a warrior who considered the task of “assassinating a ruler of ten thousand chariots” as being no different from “assassinating a man of (i.e., wearing) the brown color.” From this, we may infer that Beigong You was an assassin.

As to Sima Kuaikui, Gao You’s annotation basically derives from the Grand Historian’s Autobiography, only stating that “Kuaikui from [the kingdom of] Zhao was known for [his] swordsmanship skills.” It is likely that Gao You chose the words “shan jijian” (adept at fencing) intentionally, to corroborate the statement in the original text that the Sima clan were “known for [giving] instructions in sword discourse,” and thus state in the clearest possible terms that Kuaikui himself was skilled in fencing.

2.1 Sword Culture in the State of Zhao

“A country with wars on four sides, its people practice the arts of war” (sizhan zhi guo, qi min xibing). This is how, during the late Warring States period, Lord Changguo of Yan described the war-ravaged kingdom of Zhao after the fiasco at the Battle of Changping (Changping zhi zhan), as he advised the king of Yan against attacking Zhao. Regardless, the king went ahead and attacked Zhao and was duly routed (Sima 2016, 2201). The people of Zhao were warlike, and among the northern states during the Warring States, swordsmanship was the most widespread and popular in Zhao. Thus the reference to “its people practice[ing] the arts of war” probably also includes fencing. If not, how would the Sima clan be “known for instructions in sword discourse” and produce famous swordsmen like Sima Kuaikui?

During the Spring and Autumn period, Wu and Yue were the early centers of bronze sword culture. Not only did they produce swords of excellent quality, but the principles of fencing also went through significant development in these kingdoms, which led to discourses such as “Lady Yue’s Sword Discourse” (Yuenü jianlun). Swordsmanship reached its peak around the time of King Goujian of Yue, which gave rise to a popular saying after the Warring States period that “the King of Yue was warlike and its warriors looked lightly upon death.” Later, Wu and Yue were conquered, and Chu took over as the center of sword culture. The evolution from bronze sword to iron and steel sword mainly took place in Chu, which also saw a significant lengthening of the blade, which in turn led to developments and transformation in fencing, ultimately leading to a clear division in material form and technical skills between short swords (duanjian) and long swords (changjian). Significantly, the “long swords of the Jing and Chu regions” (Jingchu changjian) and “uncommonly skilled Jingchu swordsmen” (Jingchu qicai jianke) were the products of the sword’s pluralistic development, and one of the most eye-catching aspects of Chu culture. The Chu-style long sword was popular not only in Chu; its influence was far-reaching and affected sword styles and development in Qin, Qi, and Lu, the Lingnan region, and extended into the Han and Wei dynasties through the Qin-Han periods (Fig. 2.3).

Fig. 2.3

Illustration of the sword owned by Goujian, the King of Yue

Compared to the south, the development of the sword in the north was more complex, with multiple and often intertangled threads. From historic records, the kingdom of Zhao was a major hub. Liu Wendian’s Causerie on the Zhuangzi, Han Feizi, and Huainanzi (Sanyu zhaji), scroll one, Annotations on Huainanzi (Huainanzi jiaobu), contains an entry on “military and war” (Qi bingge), which cites a sentence from the Correcting Fallacy and Rectifying Crudity (Kuangmiu zhengsu) written by the Tang dynasty scholar Yan Shigu. It says,

Books such as the Yellow Emperor’s Basic Questions (Suwen) and Huainanzi speak of the armies of the five directions: in the east the army [relies on] lances, in the south the army [relies on] the crossbow, in the center the army [relies on] the sword, in the west the army [relies on] the ax, in the north the army [relies on] the long spear (Liu 1990, 20).

At first, the idea of “armies of the five directions” may seem forced, but in fact there are reasons behind it. Here, “the center” includes the entire “Three Jin” (San Jin) region including the Zhao, Wei, and Han territories, thus effectively encompassing the Central Plains. North of the Three Jin region is the territory of Northern Di (barbarians), later that of the Xiongnu and subsequently the Xianbei, all nomadic peoples who specialized in horseback archery and the use of long-bladed spears, known historically as “changsha” and as “pi” in the Central Plains, which was not only used for thrusting and cutting but could also be thrown as a projectile.

From a martial art point of view, the Han of the Central Plains and the northern Xiongnu each held certain advantages. While Xiongnu’s advantage lied in their cavalry, the Han had a better infantry and were more adept at hand-to-hand combat, as the famous Han dynasty minister Chao Cuo, who served under the Emperor Jing, once said, “Once dismounted from the horse and [the soldiers are] fighting on the ground, when sword and halberd clash in close-quarter combat, these are China’s favored techniques, unmatched by the Xiongnu (Ban 1975, 2281).”⁴ Therefore, “in the center, the army [relies on] the sword” was a legacy and development inherited from the Tiger Warriors (Huben zhi shi)’s “martial teachings” from the Western Zhou dynasty and had factual basis in history.

The Zhao clan was originally an aristocratic family in the kingdom of Jin. After countless ups and downs over an extended period lasting several centuries, they eventually founded their own kingdom and became one of the seven major powers during the Warring States. For a period of time, it was one of the most powerful states that contested with the ambitious Qin. Zhao had a strong martial tradition, its people were warlike and proud, and produced celebrated generals such as Zhao Tu, Lian Po, and Li Mu (Sun and Hao 2003, 20). In the first place, an ancestor of the Zhao clan Fei Lian and his son E’lai were both said to be warriors and gained the trust and confidence of the King Zhou of the Shang dynasty with their ability and strength (caili) and political acumen (zhizheng). The Zhao people’s warlike and martial qualities were probably inherited from these two distant ancestors. Historically, there were many legends about them while Sima Qian had ancestral ties to both Zhao and Qin (Sima 2016, 2147).⁵ In addition, the people of Zhao had a tradition to select their leaders through martial bouts. The Discourses of the States: Discourses on the State of Jin, Ninth Passage (Guoyu: Jinyu jiu) records that Zhao Jianzi’s military aide (rongyou), Shaoshi Zhou, once proposed to have a trial of strength with Niu Tan, who was reputed to be very strong. In the end,

Defeated, he pointed to the right. Jianzi approved and appointed Shaoshi Zhou to the chief minister, saying, “Giving place to the virtuous is commendable (Xu 2002, 451).”

Mr. Yang Kuan reckons that in this instance the words being used, “jiaoli” (trial of strength), actually means “shoubo” or “empty-hand combat.” This suggests empty-hand combat was also popular in the kingdom of Zhao. Fundamentally, to decide an official position through a shoubo contest was an illustration of the Zhao state’s strong martial ethos.

The land of Zhao was connected to the Northern Di’s territory and neighbored the Zhongshan kingdom later built by the Xianyu people, with whom they often clashed and interacted, and formed marriage alliances. For this reason, the people of Zhao did not see a sharp division between the Han and the Hu (non-Chinese northern peoples). Indeed, not only did they not hold prejudices against the Hu, but their temperament also became increasingly similar and became affected by their neighbors’ warlike nature, which is an important reason behind the King Wuling of Zhao’s policy to “adopt the Hu people’s clothing, riding and archery skills” (Hufu qishe).

People of Zhao’s proclivity toward fencing may be seen in Zhuangzi, “Chapter on the Sword Discourse” (Shuojian pian), which provides precious information on fencing practice in the pre-Qin period, particularly in the state of Zhao. The “Chapter on the Sword Discourse” was an allegorical text, which has historically been considered an “odd chapter” in Zhuangzi, a later apocryphal work that belongs to the category of the “School of Diplomacy (Zongheng jia) with nothing to do with Zhuangzi’s thinking” (Zhi An 1999, 337). Or it is said that “this passage is very similar to the Strategies of the Warring States (Zhanguo ce), and is undoubtedly a late work” (Zhong 2002, 714). However, as an ancient allegory with “sword” as the subject, it provides much valuable historic information, which may not be gleaned from other historical sources. It helps us understand the sword culture in the kingdom of Zhao, and beyond, during the Warring States period. As to whether it belongs to the purview of the “Zhuangzi Studies” (Zhuangxue), and whether it has anything to do with Zhuangzi, these questions do not concern us.

Firstly, using the King Wuling of Zhao’s son, the King Huiwen Zhao He, as the allegorical medium, the “Chapter on the Sword Discourse” begins thus,

The King Wen of Zhao was fond of the sword. Swordsmen filled through the door with over three thousand guests, who engaged in fencing night and day, with over a hundred casualties dead or wounded every year (Guo 2012, 1016).

Obviously, this was a constructed narrative. However, among the seven major powers during the Warring States period, why did the author choose Zhao as the background for his story? This probably reflects the fact that fencing was widespread in Zhao. The King Wen of Zhao’s fondness for the sword and the expression “swordsmen filled through the door” (jianshi jiamen) may be compared to Han Fei’s description “groups of errant swordsmen were kept as private swords” (qunxia yi sijian yang), which portrays a situation we know to have existed in Zhao (Chen 1962, 1057). Lord Zhao Sheng had several thousand house guests (menke), among whom there must have been privately hired swordsmen (sijian). Zhao Sheng once selected “twenty people who are filled with courage and strength, and versed in literature and martial arts” to accompany him to Chu to solicit help from the state. As the king of Chu could not make up his mind, one of Zhao Sheng’s guests Mao Sui “put his hand on the hilt and pressed forward” (anjian er qian) and threatened the king of Chu, saying, “Within ten steps, the king may not rely on the Chu state’s multitudes as his life lies in my hands.” In the end, this venturesome act sealed an alliance between Zhao and Chu (Sima 2016, 2876–2877). The story of “Mao Sui’s self-recommendation” (Mao Sui zijian) is well-known, but his behavior was that of a swordsman equally versed in literature and martial arts, and ready to throw himself into danger. Who could have done this without some martial training? People seem to have missed the point and, in imagining Mao Sui simply as a diplomat with a persuasive voice, his role as “swordsman” has been completely overlooked.

In sum, the “Chapter on the Sword Discourse” contains several notable points. First, professional swordsmen of the Warring States period not only wore distinctive clothing but also had a unique appearance and mannerisms, namely that “[their] hair [was] tied into a bun with tresses falling to the shoulders, gathered in a low crown tied with coarse cloth; [while they were dressed in] a short, fitted robe; [and had] eyes with an angry expression and hard of words” (pengtou tubin, chuiguan manhu zhi ying, duanhou zhi yi, chenmu er yu’nan). Annotators have given different explanations for this description, which we need not delve into. However, in my opinion, there are a couple of points directly related to the practical aspects of fencing. First, the phrase “chuiguan manhu zhi ying” refers to the fact that the warrior’s hair is gathered into a crown and tied with a coarse piece of cloth or rope (ying). When two people are engaged in a combat, an ordinary cloth band (also named as ying) could break loose easily, which would affect the warrior’s performance, while a relatively strong, coarse band would be more secure. This type of coarse band is devoid of decoration, which is why it is described as “manhu zhi ying.” Some scholars opine that “manhu” means “unspecified,” which also makes sense in this context. Second, “duanhou zhi yi” (a short, fitted robe) is a type of clothing designed for mobility and could be a special type of clothing worn by swordsmen. Moreover, the story is based on the King Huiwen of Zhao, the son of the King Wuling, who was the one who implemented the policy of adopting the Hu people’s costume, riding, and archery skills (Hufu qishe), so this type of clothing which is short at the back could be a type of the “Hu-style costume.” Obviously, trimming at the back is for riding.

Secondly, since ancient days, many conflicting explanations have been given for the expression “chenmu er yu’nan” (eyes with an angry expression and hard of words). I am of the opinion that this refers to a formal facial expression or mode of expressing oneself adopted by ancient swordsmen. “Yu’nan” (hard of words) means “taciturn,” whose purpose is to convey a sense of gravitas and seriousness. This is a professional demeanor, probably of ancient root. Today, in a boxing match or other combat sports, sportsmen still gaze into each other’s eyes as a way of expressing courage and confidence. This is a professional habit and demeanor unique to “blood sports.” It could sometimes be exaggerated, in order to boost one’s confidence and gain a psychological edge over the opponent.

Thirdly, let us consider “shibu yiren, qianli buliuxing” (literally, “a man every ten steps, a thousand li without obstruction”). This statement has likewise elicited many explanations, mainly due to the different annotators’ varying perspectives. Some take the view that it refers to a sword, with the aim to exaggerate the keenness of its edge; others think that it refers to the swordsman, hence it is a description of his skills. I support the latter interpretation. It describes insuperable fencing skills, which may be resisted only at the pain of death! “A thousand li” is a hyperbolic phrase to describe the swordsman’s ability.

Fourthly, regarding the expression “shizhi yi xu, kaizhi yi li; houzhi yi fa, xianzhi yi zhi” (presenting with subtleness, initiating with sharpness; striking after your enemy’s blow, but reaching your target first), these four phrases are the most imbued with the essence of the “sword discourse” (jianlun) in the “Chapter on the Sword Discourse.” In fact, they are similar to the phrase, “neishi jingshen, waishi anyi, jianzhi si haofu, duozhi si juhu” (internally filled with spirit while exuding external calm, with the appearance of a comely woman, and strikes like a ferocious tiger), in the “Lady Yue’s Sword Discourse.” By comparison, what the former lacks in evocativeness and vivacity, it compensates with a greater realism that is entirely typical of the pre-Qin sword discourse. According to the common explanation, “shizhi yi xu” (presenting with subtleness) means to be unpredictable, while “kaizhi yi li” (initiating with sharpness) means to surprise your opponent; only then “houzhi yi fa, xianzhi yi zhi” (striking after your enemy’s blow, but reaching your target first) (Zhong 2002, 718). This explanation agrees with the principles of combat. I believe these phrases might have been taken from a sword treatise rather than the author’s own words.

The fifth sentence in concern is “fuzi suo yuzhang, changduan heru?” (The short staff that you carry, what is its length?) Some versions render “zhang” (short staff) directly into “jian” (sword). This was a question the king of Zhao asked Zhuangzi. “Zhang” is used to denote a sword, but it could also mean a wooden sword (i.e., short staff) used for fencing practice, similar to the cane in Cao Pi and Deng Zhan’s fencing match in a later period (Ma 2007, 24). The king of Zhao asked Zhuangzi whether he used a long sword or a short sword. Between the Spring and Autumn–Warring States periods and the Han dynasty, there were two main types of swords—long and short—which had different forms and techniques. This question demonstrates the author’s familiarity with swords, displaying the discernment of an expert, and serves as a useful clue to determining the date of the composition of the “Chapter on the Sword Discourse.”

The Records also contain other fragmentary pieces of information that help us understand the social status of swordsmen and martial valor in the land of Zhao. In the Biographies of the Assassins, Yu Rang made several unsuccessful attempts on Zhao Xiangzi’s life. When he was eventually caught, he made an astonishing request to strike Zhao Xiangzi’s robe, saying, “to be able to fulfill the intent of vengeance, he would die without regret.” Zhao Xiangzi granted his wish and instructed his own robe to be brought forward, whereby “Yu Rang drew his sword, leaped and struck at it three times,” then killed himself by plunging the sword into his body (fujian zisha). Sima Qian added, “on the day of his death, the people of Zhao, upon learning what came to pass, all shed tears (Sima 2016, 3060).” This is truly an incredible story; Yu Rang’s stubborn obstinacy, Zhao Xiangzi’s forgiveness and grace, and the fact “the people of Zhao, upon learning what came to pass, all shed tears” fully illustrate the warrior ethos and veneration for sword culture in the land of Zhao (Fig. 2.4).

Fig. 2.4

“Jing Ke’s Assassination of the King of Qin,” rubbing of stone inscriptions of the Wuliang Temple, later Han dynasty

Jing Ke was one of the most important personalities in the Biographies of the Assassins. He was a keen swordsman, and during his travels, he once visited Handan, the capital of Zhao, where he famously entered into an argument with Lu Goujian, who was a renowned swordsman and quite possibly a native of Zhao. We shall have more to say about him later.

Before Jing Ke ventured to the state of Qin, to ensure the success of his mission, the prince of the Yan kingdom sought “a dagger of incomparable sharpness under Heaven,” and “obtained a dagger from Xu Furen, a native of the State of Zhao,” and further “treated [it] with poison.” Xu Furen was likely a master swordsmith in Zhao.

Moreover, according to the Records of the Grand Historian scroll a hundred-and-four, Biography of Tian Shu (Tian Shu zhuan), it is said that Tian Shu, a famous minister of the early Han dynasty, was a native of Xingcheng in the State of Zhao, and that “Tian Shu was fond of the sword, and studied the methods and philosophy of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi (Huanglao shu) from Leju Gong.” Tian Shu had the character of an errant swordsman (xia), and later received much favor from the Han Emperor Gaozu (Liu Bang).

Such details make us suspect that the author of the “Chapter on the Sword Discourse” in Zhuangzi was a native of Zhao, or leastways someone familiar with the martial valor and culture of the land. The “Chapter on the Sword Discourse” and other fragmentary materials complement our understanding of the claim that the Sima clan was “known for instruction in sword discourse.” In the first place, they show that swordsmanship was venerated in the kingdom of Zhao and that it was indeed a state where one could gain renown through sword discourse. Second, they illustrate the fact the Sima clan’s skills with the sword were truly extraordinary, as it was no easy matter to be celebrated in a country where fencing and sword culture was so strong. I believe the Sima branch in Zhao could be hereditary professional swordsmen and represented the highest level of fencing in Zhao, which is why they were able to produce Sima Kuaikui, an “unparalleled swordsman under Heaven.”

In summary, the history of the Sima clan, including Sima Kuaikui’s mysterious personal experience, must have had a profound influence on Sima Qian, so that when he composed such chapters as the Biographies of the Assassins and the Biographies of Errant Swordsmen (Youxia liezhuan), he could not repress his feelings toward the sword and sword culture.

3 Sima Qian’s Swordsmen

The Records contain descriptions of a multitude of personalities who were either fond of or skilled at fencing, but no such words as jianke or jianshi (swordsmen) appear. The word jianke first appears in Ban Gu’s Book of the Former Han scroll fifty-four, Biography of Li Guang Appended with Biography of Li Ling (Li Guang zhuan fu Li Ling zhuan), in the phrase “qicai jianke” (swordsmen of uncommon talent); and again in scroll sixty-five, Biography of Dongfang Shuo (Dongfang Shuo zhuan), in the phrase “junguo gouma cuju jianke fucou” (in the vassal states, dogs, horses, experts in the cuju ball game, and swordsmen all mixed together) (Ban 1975, 2451 and 2855). Later, the word appears again in a famous adage in the Book of the Later Han (Hou Hanshu), “Wuwang hao jianke, baixing duo chuangban” (The King Wu was fond of swordsmen, but civilians were full of scars), which shows that the kingdoms of Wu and Yue’s custom to venerate sword during the Spring and Autumn period was still remembered during the Eastern Han dynasty. Here, jianke refers to those who were fond of or skilled at fencing, or indeed professional swordsmen. I suspect the word jianke also existed in the Western Han period but was not used by Sima Qian. The word jianshi first appears in Zhuangzi, the “Chapter on the Sword Discourse,” but was not used during the Qin and Han periods. It could have been a term used in the kingdom of Zhao but not current elsewhere. After the Tang dynasty, the term jianshi appeared from time to time, mainly referring to professional swordsmen, including those from the lower social ladder such as assassins.

In the face of such diverse range of characters, Sima Qian found it hard to group them under a single term, so he chose the broad and loose-meaning term xia in an attempt to bring them into his fold, and further divided them into two biographical sections under cike (assassins) and youxia (errant swordsmen), according to the nature of their feats and characteristics. Beside these two biographic galleries, he also records the feats of a number of swordsmen, which are dotted in various sections of the Records, in an effort to preserve the names of swordsmen who did not belong to the class of xia, and in order to show the wider, socially complex, community of swordsmen.

Broadly speaking, accomplished xia were all skilled at fencing but not every xia could fence, nor was every skilled swordsman a xia. Moreover, individuals had different roles and influences in society. While some might have been highly skilled at fencing but did not accomplish significant feats, such as Sima Kuaikui, as well as such personalities as Gai Nie and Lu Goujian who are mentioned in the Biography of Jing Ke (Jing Ke zhuan), others left behind important legacies but were not skilled at fencing, with Jing Ke being an obvious example. This was probably the main reason Sima Qian did not use the word jianke. Ban Gu also made scant use of the term, but its meaning is clear and does not connote xia in any way.

If we list out all the people Sima Qian mentioned who had to do with the sword or fencing in one way or another, we find a big community indeed. Using his own phrase, “wei xiazhe jizhong, ao er wu zushu zhe.” (There are an extremely large number of xia, who were verily wanderers beyond number) (Sima 2016, 3873). During the Warring States there was a saying, “jianke yi duanchang zhishu youshui zhuhou” (swordsmen used the skills of short and long swords to persuade the ruling elite). This likely had some measure of factual basis. Swordsmen had ever been a mixed bunch of characters, united only in their use of the sword, in which they had received training in the short or the long sword, or such specialized skills as yijian yaoji (throwing the sword to hit the target). However, most professional swordsmen came from the lower reaches of society while a significant proportion served the elite as sijian (privately hired swordsmen).

During the Warring States and early Western Han periods, centralized authority was limited while vestigial customs from the Spring and Autumn–Warring States periods remained, including vendetta and private feuds. The existence of youxia and sijian undoubtedly added another layer of danger to the political environment, and perhaps posed a threat to society at some level. However, their existence also kept alive the ancient martial spirit and veneration of the sword, and ensured that the culture of “yi’nuo bicheng, bu’ai qiqu, fu shi zhi e’kun” ([being] faithful to promise, disdainful of one’s body / life, and rising to great dangers”)continued (Sima 2016, 3865). This traditional spirit—simple, lofty and ancient—appealed to Sima Qian at a profound level, who believes that “yao yi gong jian yanxin, xiake zhi yi you he ke shao zai!” (Words and faith must be borne out by action, thus chivalrous swordsmen’s virtues are much needed!) In other words, as far as “bearing out words and faith with action,” such people stood on a higher moral ground than the social elite, as they were steadier in their commitment to their beliefs and moral values, and whose virtues (xiake zhiyi) had a role to play in a chaotic society. At the same time, many of them had humble stations in life. They gained fame despite coming from the grassroots. For this reason, Sima Qian was glad to compose biographies for them which, in a certain sense, was also a way to recognize the “elite” from the bottom of society. He did not hide the fact that he had a different view on xia from other men of letters and indeed used it to express his “uncommon” nature and cultural empathy. In the Biographies of Errant Swordsmen, he wrote the following passage, which conveys this very clearly. It says,

Today’s errant swordsmen, though their acts may not be considered entirely correct, yet they are faithful to their words, see through to their actions, [and are] truthful to their promises, [and, being] disdainful of their bodies, rise to great dangers, such that in the face of life and death, they would be ashamed if they did not strive to their utmost…

Cloth-robed xia of old have vanished except for their names. In recent times, such ilk as Yanling, Mengchang, Chunshen, Pingyuan, and Xinling, inasmuch as they are related to the aristocracy, enjoy the wealth of the elites and have gathered around them men of virtue. Their fame resounds among the feudal lords (zhuhou) which, though not undeserving, their actions are like a man blowing with the wind, which would have been as strong without their effort. As to the xia from the back alleys (lüxiang zhi xia), whose names are forged with unremitting action, and spread their virtuous fame to all lands under the Heaven, to do so is much harder. Yet the followers of Confucius and Mozi push them to the margins. In this way, from the time before the Qin, such lone errant swordsmen (pifu zhi xia) had already vanished without a trace, which I deeply regret. From what I have heard, after the rise of the Han, there are Zhu Jia, Tian Zhong, Wang Gong, Ju Meng, and Guo Jie. Although they break the laws and restrictions, yet they uphold justice, and maintain humility and integrity in their conduct, and are worthy of praise. Their reputations are not unfounded, while those who stand with them do so with reason. As to the gangs and lineages who command the poor with their wealth, or wealthy rogues who oppress the weak and indulge in their own desires, these people the errant swordsmen despise. I lament the fact that people know not their true intent, thus [make the mistake to] vulgarize the likes of Zhu Jia and Guo Jie into the violent elite, laughing at them as if they are the ilk (Sima 2016, 3865–3868).

This text is worth reading carefully as it is a profound expression of Sima Qian’s value system and broad social perspective. He believed that “xia” were men who were “faithful to their words, see through to their actions, [and were] truthful to their promises,” and who, at times of trouble and in order to help those in need, would put themselves in harm’s way, while always striving to do their best without flaunting their virtues. All in all, they were a group of men whose behavior reminds one of the junzi (men of cultivation) from ancient times. He believed that “cloth-robed xia” of old disappeared long ago, which he found deeply regretful. The Yanling, Mengchang, Chunshen, Pingyuan, and Xinling of late, even though they enjoyed a reputation for justice, yet they were “related to the aristocracy, enjoy[ed] the wealth of the elites, and have[had] gathered men of virtue around them,” thus despite their great fame “their actions are like a man blowing with the wind, which would have been as strong without their effort,” and in that sense, they were a far cry from the “cloth-robed” heroes who lived in the back streets. Therefore, at a fundamental level, his concern and sympathy lied with the “xia from the back alleys,” who, coming from the lower rungs of society, “forged their names with unremitting action, and spread their virtuous fame to all lands under the Heaven.” They were marginalized by the followers of Confucius and Mozi alike and were constrained by law, yet they maintained humility and integrity, and more importantly resisted the behavior of the “gangs and lineages who command[ed] the poor with their wealth” and “wealthy rogues who oppress[ed] the weak and indulge in their own desires.” Unfortunately, the “people know not their true intent” and often confused them with the “violent elite,” which caused Sima Qian to lament. Clearly, he felt this was an illustration of the prejudices and injustice of the world he lived in.

Han Feizi (c. 280–233 BCE), an important representative of the Legalist philosophy in the later Warring States period, held a very different view. Han Feizi was strongly of the opinion that the state should outlaw xiake and swordsmen, on the premise that xia and wu (the martial) had a necessary connection. He points out that people’s condoning attitude toward xia was in essence a contradiction to the “legal path” which upholds imperial authority, thus in his opinion, the xia class must be abolished (Chen 1962, 1057).

However, the state of Qin, which long ago encouraged its people to “wear swords,” did not follow Han Fei’s recommendation on the issue of “xia”. Veneration of swordsmanship and encouragement of popular fencing competition was a state policy set by the ancient dukes and kings. It had proven its value as a way to strengthen the state and therefore was not to be so easily jettisoned. In addition, the cruel and uncertain political environment of the Warring States also provided a fertile soil for the community of xia. Li Si, a fellow student with Han Feizi under Xunzi, who was the main advisor to the first emperor of Qin, and initiated the administrative reform to devise a two-layer prefecture and county system (junxian zhi) and the policy of fenshu kengru (burning books and burying Confucian scholars alive), not only disagreed with Han Feizi’s suggestion, but personally saw to Han Feizi being sentenced to death and publicly engaged “private swordsmen” to conduct assassinations. The Records scroll eighty-seven, the Biography of Li Si (Li Si liezhuan) states,

The king of Qin appointed Li Si to the position of zhangshi (chief minister), listened to his ideas, and secretly sent the conspirator Ji to bribe the feudal lords with gold and jade. The feudal lords who could be bought were heavily bribed, while those who refused were assassinated with sharp swords. Following the implementation of this strategy devised by the king and his minister, the king of Qin had capable generals follow him wherever he went (Sima 2016, 3085).

Sima Qian’s pen was as sharp as the edge of the blade, as his statement revealed Li Si’s nefarious and shameless political nature. As long as someone was ready to pay, there would be swordsmen willing to vend their skills. During the Warring States, there were thousands of such nameless men.

The use of private swordsmen to remove political rivals continued for a long time until the reign of the Emperor Jing in the Western Han. A well-known example involved Empress Dou’s youngest son, the King of Liangxiao, Liu Wu, who was the younger brother of the Emperor Jing. He was rewarded with the title of Daguo (Great statesman of the realm) for his role in suppressing the uprisings in the Wu and Chu regions and was wealthy and powerful. He bore a grudge against the important minister Yuan Ang who, together with a number of other officials, jointly attacked him in a court memorial to the emperor. “Thus, he schemed with Yang Sheng, Gongsun Gui, and others, and secretly dispatched assassins to Yuan Ang and over ten other ministers who joined his memorial (Sima 2016, 2535).” This murder case, involving the assassination of over ten court ministers, was eventually solved when court investigators discovered a trace of Yuan Ang’s assassination. The Records, scroll fifty-eight, The Lineage of King Liangxiao (Liangxiao Wang shijia), provides the following account,

The King of Liang heard that the memorial [against him] came from the great minister Yuan Ang’s residence and, anguished, sent an assassin to kill Yuan Ang. Yuan Ang looked at him and said, “I am known as General Yuan, are you not mistaken?” The assassin said, “Yes!”, and plunged his sword into [Yuan’s] body. Inspecting the sword, it was newly polished. Inquiring with sword polishers in Chang’an, a craftsman said, “Someone from Liang came here to have this sword polished.” This led to the discovery and a messenger was sent to apprehend the culprit (Sima 2016, 2542).

Sima Zhen writes in the Indices and References to the Records of the Grand Historian, “The man from the state of Liang refers to an official under the King Xiao. He was referred to as ‘someone’ as his name was lost.” The assassin who left the sword in Yuan Ang’s body was therefore an official of the state of Liang, most likely a swordsman in the employ of the bureaucracy. The act of leaving the sword in the body was clearly intended to send out a warning, but it also shows the assassin’s flagrant audacity in the umbrage of authority. To ensure success, the assassin asked a professional sword polisher in Chang’an to polish his sword, thus leaving a clue that ultimately led to the unraveling of the murder case. According to Xun Yue, this took place in the sixth year of the Han Emperor Jing’s reign (151 BCE), while Sima Guang reckons it happened in the second year of the Zhongyuan period during Emperor Jing’s reign (148 BCE) (Xun 2002, 141; Sima 1956, 536). The late Qing scholar Wang Guowei estimates that Sima Qian was born in 145 BCE (Wang 1997, 311). Therefore, the incident happened only three to five years before Sima Qian’s birth. Sima Qian’s father Sima Tan personally lived through this incident, thus we may surmise that Sima Qian must have been deeply aware of this shocking murder case.

The five protagonists in the Records, the Biographies of the Assassins, were not considered xia by Sima Qian, but in truth, they had xia’s character. Most of them were political assassins, which may explain why Sima Qian classified them as “assassins” rather than xia. Of the five people, the first was Cao Mo, a general from the state of Lu, whose act of kidnapping Duke Heng of Qi could hardly be said to be that of an assassin. There were also Zhuan Zhu from the state of Wu, Yu Rang of Jin, and Nie Zheng of Han. All three may aptly be called sijian (private swordsmen) and were heroic figures who repaid debts with their lives. The last one was Jing Ke, the pinnacle of the Biographies of the Assassins, a historical figure on whom Sima Qian lavished the most sentiments, who was truly a great assassin whose feat remained undiminished through the passage of time.

From my point of view, out of the five people, Nie Zheng was the best swordsman while Jing Ke’s feat was the most significant. Nie Zheng was a swordsman of the first rate, and in terms of swordsmanship broaches no comparison between Zhuan Zhu and Yu Rang. Nie Zheng was a “yonggan shi” (brave warrior) to begin with. He eked out a living as a butcher in the state of Qi after he had “killed a man and fled from vendetta.” Yan Zhongzi, an important minister in the kingdom of Han, heard about his courage and skills and traveled thousands of li in search of him. He once lavished a great sum on the birthday of Nie Zheng’s mother, with the aim of enlisting his service to remove his political rival Xia Lei. Nie Zheng remembered Yan Zhongzi’s kindness and sought out Yan Zhongzi after his mother passed away to repay his debt. In order to avoid implicating Yan, he decided to undertake Xia Lei’s assassination in the kingdom of Han alone. His biography reads,

He arrived at Han with his sword. Xia Lei, the chief minister of Han was seated in his hall, surrounded by a large number of guards armed with halberds. Nie Zheng went straight in, leaped on the pedestal and assassinated Xia Lei, which caused a great commotion. Shouting, Nie Zheng struck and killed scores of men and then, after disfiguring his face and gouging out his own eyes, he slit his belly until his intestines poured out, whereupon he died (Sima 2016, 3063–3064).

In terms of martial skills, Nie Zheng was undoubtedly the most accomplished swordsman described by Sima Qian, truly imbued with the spirit of “a man every ten steps, a thousand li without hindrance!” The Grand Historian stressed that he entered the hall alone, armed only with a sword, and, against a multitude of guards, “leaped on the pedestal and assassinated Xia Lei.” After this, he faced a horde of assailants, fighting against polearms with a short weapon and, despite being in a completely disadvantageous position, fought on courageously, “killing scores of men” (suo jisha zhe shushi ren), then calmly disfigured his face and killed himself by slitting his belly. “Scores of people” was probably an exaggeration, but this bloody encounter fully reflects Nie Zheng’s singular courage and heroic resolve, demonstrating his extraordinary swordsmanship and showing us just what an uncommonly skillful and courageous xia he was (Ibid., 3063–3064)! It was a shame this supremely accomplished swordsman could not serve his state and, in the end, without regard to right and wrong, sacrificed his life for a nobleman who sought his service for private ends. His was indeed a lamentable story. Nie Zheng and his sister Nie Rong were the twin model xiake in the hearts of ordinary people. They were the epitome of the Warring States period warriors. I believe Sima Qian must have written this Biography of Nie Zheng (Nie Zheng zhuan) with a heavy heart filled at once with respect and pity.

The Biography of Jing Ke was one of the most celebrated passages in ancient literature and one Sima Qian lavished the most sentiments on. Sima Qian’s story about Jing Ke’s assassination of Yingzheng (who became the first emperor of Qin) follows a single tack from start to finish, which is that Jing Ke was a hero of great wisdom and courage, not a professional swordsman in the service of private individuals. Jing Ke “carried a single dagger to the strong and unpredictable state of Qin,” relying solely on his courage and heroism, not because he had unsurpassed skills. In fact, Jing Ke’s failure was due, to a large extent, to the fact that he was not a truly accomplished swordsman.

The Biography of Jing Ke begins with the sentence “Jing was fond of reading and swordsmanship.” The juxtaposition of the sword and the book––this was the first time it occurred in ancient Chinese literature, which set the precedence for such anecdotes as Xiang Yu engaged in fencing and studies. This marked a beginning—Chinese literati’s long romance with the book and the sword began here. I believe that Sima Qian’s positioning of Jing Ke in the context of Chinese culture also reflects his own spiritual leaning. Even though Jing Ke courageously took up an impossible task, “his nature was profoundly attracted to books.” He was in essence a literato, and there was a fundamental difference between a literato who was fond of fencing and professional swordsmen. In order to highlight this, Sima Qian purposely contrasted Jing Ke with two professional swordsmen, namely the mysterious characters of Gai Nie and Lu Goujian.

From the point of view of sword culture, there are two things of note in the Biography of Jing Ke. First, that Jing Ke successfully came into the proximity of the king of Qin, and was a mere step away from accomplishing his mission but ultimately stumbled; while the second concerns the two people Sima Qian inserted into the biography, Gai Nie and Lu Goujian. To assassinate someone with a dagger, the key is to get close to the target; once the opportunity is lost, the only thing to do is to throw your weapon to strike the target, which corresponds to the skill of yijian yaoji (striking with the sword from afar) in antiquity. The dagger was steeped in poison so any contact with the blade would have been life-threatening. However, Jing Ke lost his opportunity to assassinate up close and was not proficient at yaoji (striking at a distance), thus he threw his weapon and missed; at that moment, he had run out of options and could only wait for the fate of a failed assassin—to be slayed in turn. The Biography of Jing Ke describes the assassination with great attention to detail, which is worth citing in full,

The king of Qin addresses [Jing] Ke, saying, “Take the map from Wuyang.” Ke took the map and showed it to the king. He began unfolding the map until a dagger appeared at the end. He grabbed the sleeve of the king of Qin with his left hand and struck with the dagger in his right. The blow fell short. Terrified, the king of Qin sprang up, tearing his sleeve. He tried to pull out his sword. However, as it was long, it remained in the scabbard. In the moment of panic, the sword was firmly placed [in the sheath] and could not be drawn. Jing Ke chased the king of Qin [around the hall], who ran around the pillars. The ministers were in shock and, caught by surprise, completely lost their minds as to what to do. According to the Qin code, none of the ministers and servants on the pedestal were permitted to carry arms, while armed court servants (langzhong) arrayed below could only ascend when summoned. In the emergency, he could not summon his guards, thus Jing Ke ran after the king of Qin. Caught in the moment of panic, he had nothing to strike Jing Ke except to fight with his bare hands. At that moment, the imperial healer Xia Wuju threw his medicine bag at Jing Ke. The king of Qin was running around the pillars in panic in a state of confusion when those around him said, “The king should push the sword backward (and draw it out)!” He shoved his long sword behind, then drew and struck Jing Ke, severing his left leg. Jing Ke, maimed, threw his dagger at the king of Qin and missed, hitting the bronze pillar instead. The king of Qin hit Ke again, striking him eight times. Ke knew he had failed, laughed defiantly while leaning on the pillar, and, sitting casually on the ground, hurled curses [at the tyrant], “The reason I failed is because I desired to catch you alive, to force you into an agreement to repay the Crown Prince of Yan.” Then the guards came forward to slay Jing Ke. The king of Qin remained perturbed for a long time afterward (Sima 2016, 3075).

What determined the outcome of this encounter lies in the fact that Jing Ke had a small dagger while the king of Qin wielded a long sword (changjian). When the king eventually succeeded to draw his sword, he struck and severed Jing Ke’s left leg, maiming him, who had no choice but to throw his dagger at the king of Qin. Unfortunately, he missed, and in an instant, the assassin became a helpless victim. The king of Qin renewed his attack and slayed Jing Ke after striking him eight times. It is not hard to perceive that unlike Nie Zheng, Jing Ke was not a professional assassin, and the fantasy of holding the king of Qin hostage cost him the only opportunity for success, while the king, thrown into mental chaos by the emergency, lost the chance to catch the maimed and no longer threatening Jing Ke alive, or else Jing Ke would undoubtedly have faced an even crueler fate. After the incident, the Lingling Ling of Qin memorialized the Emperor Shi Huang, saying,

Jing Ke attempted to assassinate your majesty with a dagger, but with divine valor, your majesty brandished (fuyu) the long sword (changjian) and saved yourself (Xiao 1986, 220).

The Discourses on Salt and Iron: On Bravery, fifty-first Passage (Yantie lun: Lunyong, di wushiyi), written in the Western Han dynasty, also discusses the reason for the failure of Jing Ke’s carefully planned assassination, which draws the same conclusion that he only had a dagger while the king of Qin had a seven-chi long sword (Wang 1992, 536).In the final analysis, Jing Ke was equipped with a plan and had courage in abundance, but was ultimately found lacking in swordsmanship. Clearly, his technical preparation was insufficient. Had he been a master at throwing the jian (dagger), the outcome might have been completely different. Sima Qian conveys this view and his regrets through Gai Nie and Lu Goujian.

I believe Sima Qian purposely introduces Gai Nie and Lu Goujian for this reason, as they appear only in the Strategies of the Warring States and nowhere else. Let us first look at Gai Nie. It is said in the Biography of Jing Ke,

Jing Ke once passed through the place of Yuci where he discussed swordsmanship with Gai Nie, who regarded him with an angry expression. After Jing Ke left, someone suggested to recall Jing Ke. Gai Nie said, “I just had a disagreement with him while we were discussing swordsmanship, and I looked at him. You may try and look for him, but he should have left [by now], as he would not dare stay.” He dispatched a messenger to the owner of the inn, [who said that] Jing Ke had already left Yuci. The messenger returned and reported to Gai Nie, who said, “Of course he had gone, terrified by my gaze! (Sima 2016, 3067)”.

There is no other information on Gai Nie, whose name only occurs in the Records. We may surmise that he was a well-known swordsman in the kingdom of Zhao; his forceful and condescending attitude toward Jing Ke reinforces the view that he was a famous swordsman. Yuci is a place in Shanxi province today; it was part of the kingdom of Zhao during the Warring States period. In his phrases “nu er mu zhi” (regarded him with an angry expression), “wu mu zhi” (I looked at him), and “mu she zhi” (terrified by [my] gaze), Sima Qian emphasizes the word “mu” (eyes/gaze) by repeating it three times in quick succession, to draw attention to the swordsman’s special expression, which was indeed a deft touch of his pen. Earlier in this paper, when discussing Zhuangzi, the “Chapter on Sword Discourse,” I mentioned that contemporary swordsmen characteristically “gaze with wide-open eyes but [are] hard of speech.” The expression of “eyeing” (muzhi) or “gazing at someone with a threatening look” (mu shezhi), means to stare at someone with a menacing expression. Evidently, the purpose of the passage here is that by showing this contrast, to highlight Jing Ke’s timidity in front of a professional swordsman. Even though he could engage in “sword discourse” (lunjian), ultimately, he was not a true exponent of this art and did not belong to the class of professional swordsmen like Zhuan Zhu and Nie Zheng.

Similarly, there is no information on Lu Goujian outside the Records of the Grand Historian. The Biography of Jing Ke opens with the sentence,

Jing Ke was passing through the city of Handan when he got into a quarrel with Lu Goujian in a game of bo chess. Lu Goujian got angry and shouted at him. Jing Ke replied with a whimper and fled, and did not return (Sima 2016, 3067).

Here, Sima Qian does not show his full hand as he does not disclose Lu Goujian’s identity as a master swordsman. However, at the conclusion of the incident, he added a sentence,

Lu Goujian heard about Jing Ke’s [failed] assassination of the king of Qin and said in private, “What a pity he was not versed in the art of the sword! And even more that I did not know what manner of man he was! Once I shouted at him, and he must have taken me for less than a man! (Sima 2016, 3078)”.

The Grand Historian’s description of Lu Goujian fulfills a similar purpose, which is to show that Jing Ke was not a real swordsman, or else he would not have “replied with a whimper and fled.” These two passages conclude with the remark that “what a pity he was not versed in the art of the sword.” The Grand Historian used Lu Goujian as his mouthpiece to make this comment and convey his own regret. Lu Goujian must have been a famous swordsman at the time, otherwise, Sima Qian would not have mentioned him twice in his narrative. His authority as a master swordsman uniquely qualifies him as Sima Qian’s narrative vehicle to critique Jing Ke’s lack of fencing skills. In addition, the sentence “xizhe wu chi zhi, bi nai yi wo wei feiren ye” (once I shouted at him, and he must have taken me for less than a man) is quite profound, as it conveys his respect toward Jing Ke and a sense of his own guilt for having treated him discourteously. Jing Ke was not a professional swordsman to begin with, while the expression “hei er taoqu” (replied with a whimper and fled) vividly conveys his cautious nature. This sentence amplifies the magnitude of his courage in attempting this assassination alone.

I am inclined to think that Lu Goujian was the same person as Lu Shigong recorded in Liu Xiang’s Garden of Stories: On Martial Arts (Shuoyuan: zhiwu). Given that the two personalities shared the same surname and were both expert swordsmen, it could have been that the two were in fact the same person but known under different names. Liu Xiang says,

Lu Shigong’s sword responds when it is pressured, and moves when it senses. It perceives the infinite, changes without form; it is soft and yielding, like a shadow or an echo. It protects the gate like a guardian spirit, and whirls around like a prancing horse. [It is] echo to sound, and shadow to form. The city gate is inferior to a lamellar armor of rhinoceros hide; exhaling is inferior to inhaling; lifting one’s foot is inferior to concentrating [one’s energy]. Departing like the wings of a cicada, to be so minute as a point between the eyebrows. Never assume [as a rule] the great extinguishing the small, as [equally] the small could become great. Thus is the way of military tactics! In this superior way face your enemy, before your opponent strikes rush forward, before he takes form! Bowing and giving way is for the temple; dispensing alms is for the benefits of a million people. To remain still is the way of peace, while battle is waged with blood and blade, in the same way the King Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou clashed with their armies! (Liu 1987, 374–375).

This passage is a sword discourse of a very high level, rare in the literature of the Qin and Han periods. It is noteworthy that, in the first place, the juxtaposition of sword discourse with military tactics is consistent with Sima Qian’s discourse of chuanbing lunjian (instructing in military affairs and sword discourse), which suggests that there might have been a link between the two theorems. Secondly, the opening phrases, “po ze neng ying, gan ze neng dong, mei mu wuqiong, bian wu xingxiang, fu rou wei cong, ru ying yu xiang” (responding when it is pressured, and moving when it senses. It perceives the infinite, changes without form; it is soft and yielding, like a shadow or an echo), are similar yet slightly different from a statement in the Huainanzi: Discourse on the Original Way (Huainanzi: Yuandao xun), “po ze neng ying, gan ze neng dong, wu mu wuqiong, bian wu xingxiang. Youyou weizong, ru xiang zhi yu jing” (responding when it is pressured, and moving when it senses. It perceives the infinite, changes without form. Meandering and yielding in movement, like an echo to a scenery) (Liu 1989, 32). Of which, the two phrases “po ze neng ying, gan ze neng dong” are also found in the Zhaungzi: Chapter on Engraving Impressions (Zhuangzi: Keyi pian), in a slightly different form, “gan er hou ying, po er hou dong” (first sensing then responds, pressuring when moves) (Guo 2012, 539).

The above illustrates that the theorems of these swordmasters (jianlunjia) might have fused with the Yellow Emperor and Laozi’s philosophies and borrowed certain aspects of their thinking for the Way of the Sword (jiandao). This is an important point. Earlier, I cited a passage from the Records, scroll a hundred and four, the Biography of Tian Shu—“Tian Shu was fond of the sword, and studied the methods and philosophy of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi from Leju-gong”—as a supplementary piece of evidence to help us understand how jiandao became increasingly interwoven with Daoism after the Wei and Jin periods, and the change in nomenclature from jiandao to jianshu.

There is something mysterious about such names as Lu Shigong and Lu Goujian. The way Sima Qian introduces Lu Goujian into the Biography of Jing Ke without any introduction and uses this dialogue to deepen the readers’ impression of Jing Ke’s personality and “fencing skills,” suggests that Lu Goujian was well-known and needed no introduction. The Tang scholar Sima Zhen says in the Indices and References to the Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji suoyin), “Lu, xing; goujian, ming ye. Yu Yue Wang tong, huo you yiyi” (“Lu,” a family name; “Goujian,” a given name, the same as the given name of the King of Yue; [that the two are identical is] perhaps significant). The conjecture—“perhaps significant”—is reasonable, as it is quite possible that “Lu Goujian” was not a real name at all, that his actual name was Lu Shigong, and that there was a hidden significance in the use of this name. At the same time, the name “Lu Shigong” also evokes association with the legendary Huang Shigong, who transmitted the Old Man’s Military Strategies (Taigong bingfa) to Zhang Liang (Sima 2016, 2473). So, who was Lu Goujian? Was he the same person as Lu Shigong?This will remain a mystery until new materials shed light on this issue.

It is noteworthy that Jing Ke met both Gai Nie and Lu Goujian in the kingdom of Zhao. This also testifies to fencing’s high level of development in Zhao, which encourages one to further ponder about Sima Kuaikui’s clan in Zhao, who was “well-known for instruction in sword discourse.” Were Gai Nie and Lu Goujian both inheritors and representatives of the Sima clan’s school? This could be a reason why Sima Qian chose to include them in his narrative.

4 Conclusion

The Records of the Grand Historian is a majestic work of history. Motivated by the ambition to “examine the relationship between the Heaven and men, and intuit the changes that connect the past to the present,” besides politics and economics, with his keen eyes and broad perspective, the Grand Historian also recorded the diverse cultural phenomena and minutiae of social affairs of his day, in order to “gather all knowledge under the Heaven that has filtered through the net, examine actions and events, and understand the reasons for rise and fall, success and failure [in all things] (Ban 1975, 2735).” By doing so, he has provided us with a series of social panoramas from the Warring States to the Qin and Han periods, including the sword culture of the pre-Han period in China.

Although the sword culture continued to exist for some centuries, it reached its peak before the Han, in the centuries between the Spring and Autumn and the end of the Han period. After that, it gradually fell into decline until it veered into the path of mysticism and fantasy. Luckily, the Records of the Grand Historian provide many details about the sword (jian) during its golden years in China. Without these records, our understanding of the sword and the culture surrounding the Way of the Sword (jiandao) would be necessarily fragmented and superficial.

Undoubtedly, jian and jiandao were once at the core of China’s classical martial studies and had a profound influence on its construction and development. Its formation shows a fundamental tendency for diverse regional traditions to come together, but throughout this process, important differences also remained. In this regard, the division and commingling of ideas and practices along the north–south axis demonstrate at once centripetal as well as centrifugal tendencies.

The principles of jiandao encompassed the ideas and philosophies of Daoism, Confucianism, as well as Mozi’s school of thought and the philosophy of war (bingjia), and, later on, the records, narratives and discourses from Sima Qian’s Records. I am strongly of the view that the descriptions in the Records about the spirit of jiandao of the pre-Qin period and, in particular, during the Qin and the Han dynasties, had a profound impact on jiandao’s subsequent development in the period after the Western Han. After the Wei and Jin periods, no further literature on jiandao was found, while fencing techniques became increasingly removed from real practice. The Records is the only classical text that has preserved important information on sword culture and the Way of the Sword between the Spring and Autumn–Warring States and the end of the Han dynasty and is the only source from which we may find traces of ancient swordsmen and fencing (jijian) tales.

In Sima Qian’s heart, jian was at once a weapon and a unique cultural medium. With the sword at the center, a group of highly autonomous individuals gathered and, collectively, created a series of events and phenomena that continue to fascinate and inspire imagination. During jian’s golden age, its cultural substance and vitality far exceeded that of a weapon—it became a magnificent spiritual vehicle. For this reason, among the diverse arms, jian alone was dignified with the praise, “yudao tongfu” (being equal with the Eternal Dao) and “junzi bide” (serving as a means for cultivated men to compare their virtues). And because of this, jian occupies an exalted position unique in China’s cultural history, and even a thousand years after its eclipse as a weapon of war, its symbolic significance—embodying the classical ideal which is at once noble and mysterious—remains undiminished. This clearly also has to do with Sima Qian’s critical discourse, to which no one had paid attention in the past.

Using jade as a metaphor, a junzi’s virtue is “warm and even colored, symbolizing benevolence,” according to Confucius. What about Sima Qian’s use of jian as an analogy for virtue? He does not say and leaves it to future generations to ponder. Many people take the view that jian’s metaphoric value lies in such features and functional qualities as its bright, straight, angular, cold, long, and narrow exterior, or its excellent craftsmanship and the skills in its use, which are highly demanding and difficult to grasp and, being mastered by few, assumes an air of nobility. Nonetheless, there are differences between peijian (wearing sword) and peiyu (wearing jade): one who wears a jian need not be a skilled swordsman, but he needs to have the courage to unsheathe the sword if the situation demands, thus not everyone is fit to wear jian. It is telling that of the swordsmen recorded in the Records not one was an ordinary man.

Inspired by jian’s inherent characteristics, the ancients composed many inscriptions (jianming) and poems, of which, in my view, the one most favored by Sima Qian must be the King Wu of Zhou’s sword inscription, which was recorded in the Book of Rites Compiled by Dai De. It says, “wear as attire, move to actualize virtue; prosper with virtuous conduct, collapse with immorality.” At the end of the day, jian is a bladed weapon; its principal function lies in defending one’s person and to strike at another, thus xingde (actualizing virtue) is the most important moral premise, while going against this principle would be beide (literally, “against virtue,” hence immoral), which will cause harm to others and to oneself. In the final analysis, as jian symbolizes power and authority, to the Son of Heaven and those holding the power of life and death, it is even more important to stress the principle of “dong bi xingde” (actualizing the virtue at every move), while avoiding the use of arms to harm the innocent. For this reason, the ancients repeatedly stress that “fu bing zhe xiongqi ye” (weapons are implements of ill omen). They were against using weapons lightly, and even more so they were against military rule, which is precisely where the significance of junzi bide lies. The same principle may be applied to military affairs, and ultimately extended to the entire spectrum of tanbing lunjian (military affairs and sword discourse).