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Chapter 7 of 33
庄子
Nie Que asked Wang Ni four questions, and all four times Wang Ni said, "I do not know." Nie Que, instead, was overjoyed—he leapt with delight and ran off to tell Pu Yi Zi.
Pu Yi Zi said: "Now you finally understand? Youyu Shi (Shun) was no match for Taishi (the ancient sovereign). Youyu Shi still carried benevolence and righteousness in his heart to win people over—though he could gain the people's hearts, he never transcended artificial distinctions and contrivance. Taishi, when sleeping, was serene and at ease; when awake, he was carefree and untroubled. If others called him a horse, he responded; if they called him an ox, he responded as well. His awareness was genuine and credible; his virtue was utterly pure, never falling into artificial discrimination and fabrication."
Jian Wu went to see the madman Jie Yu.
Jie Yu asked: "What did Ri Zhong Shi tell you?"
Jian Wu said: "He told me: A ruler, by relying on his own will to establish laws, rituals, and standards—who would dare not to obey and be transformed by them?"
Jie Yu said: "This is a virtue of hypocrisy. Using such methods to govern the world is like going into the sea to dig a river, or asking a mosquito to carry a mountain—utterly impossible. When the sage governs the world, does he govern external forms? He first makes his own being upright, and then transformation follows naturally; he lets people truly accomplish what each is meant to do—that is all. Birds fly high to avoid the harm of arrows and bows; shrews dig deep burrows beneath the altar to avoid the disasters of smoke and excavation. How can humans not know how to protect themselves as well as these two small creatures do?"
Tian Gen was wandering at Yinyang and came to the Liao River, where he happened to meet Wu Ming Ren, and asked:
"May I ask how to govern the world?"
Wu Ming Ren said: "Go away! You vulgar fellow, how inopportune your question is! I was just about to befriend the Creator (the generative impulse of the Dao). When weary, I ride that vast and formless bird, soaring beyond the Six Limits (above, below, and the four directions), roaming in the Land of Nothing-At-All (the realm of utter emptiness), and dwelling in the boundless open wilds. Why must you disturb my mind with questions of governing the world?"
Tian Gen asked again. Wu Ming Ren said: "Let your mind roam in tranquility, let your vital energy merge in stillness, accord with the naturalness of all things without imposing private intent—then the world will naturally be well governed."
Yang Zi Ju went to see Lao Dan and asked: "If there were a person who is quick in response, fierce and decisive, clear in perceiving things, and who learns the Dao without ever tiring—could such a person be compared to an enlightened king?"
Lao Dan said: "In the eyes of the sage, this is nothing more than a petty clerk bound by affairs, or a craftsman constrained by his skill—toiling the body and agitating the spirit. The tiger and leopard attract hunters because of their beautiful stripes; the ape and monkey, because of their agility, and the dog, because of its skill at catching foxes, end up tied with ropes. Can such a person be compared to an enlightened king?"
Yang Zi Ju, startled, asked: "May I ask what constitutes the governance of an enlightened king?"
Lao Dan said: "The governance of an enlightened king: his achievements cover the world, yet they seem not to come from himself; he transforms all things, yet the people do not feel dependent on him; he has merit but does not proclaim it by name, letting all things delight in themselves; he stands in the realm of the unfathomable, and roams in the land of nothing-at-all."
There was a shaman in the state of Zheng named Ji Xian, who could foresee people's life and death, survival and ruin, fortune and misfortune, longevity and untimely death—with precision down to the year, month, and day. His accuracy was as miraculous as that of a spirit. When the people of Zheng saw him, they fled and ran away.
Lie Zi, however, was drawn to Ji Xian with great admiration. He returned and told his teacher Hu Zi: "I previously believed that your Way, Master, had reached its pinnacle—but now I see there is something even more profound."
Hu Zi said: "What I have taught you is only the external embellishment, not the inner substance. Have you truly attained the Way? When there are only many female birds and no male, how can eggs be produced? When you pit the Way against the vulgar world, you are bound to reveal it outwardly—that is why you have been fathomed. Try bringing him here, and I will show myself to him."
The next day, Lie Zi brought Ji Xian to see Hu Zi.
Ji Xian came out and said to Lie Zi: "Alas! Your master is about to die! He cannot live! He has less than ten days! I saw a strange sign—like wet ashes, utterly without vitality." Lie Zi went in, weeping so hard his tears soaked his lapel, and told Hu Zi.
Hu Zi said: "Just now I showed him the Pattern of Earth—a stillness and closure like the earth itself; dormant impulses without stirring, without partiality or correction. He must have seen my vital energies sealed and still. Bring him again."
The next day, they met again.
Ji Xian came out and said: "Fortunately your master encountered me—he can be saved! He is entirely filled with life again! I saw the sealed vitality beginning to stir!" Lie Zi went in and told Hu Zi.
Hu Zi said: "Just now I showed him the Vastness of Heaven—neither names nor forms entering my mind, while vitality rose from my heels. He must have seen the vital energies of the good side within me. Bring him again."
The next day, they met again.
Ji Xian came out and said: "Your master's countenance is unsettled—I cannot read his physiognomy. Once he stabilizes, I will read him again." Lie Zi went in and told Hu Zi.
Hu Zi said: "Just now I showed him the Supreme Balance Where Nothing Prevails—a harmony of energy without any single bias. He must have seen my balanced vital flows. There are nine abysses; I have shown him three. Bring him again."
The next day, they met again. Ji Xian had not yet steadied himself before he lost composure entirely and fled.
Hu Zi said: "Chase him!" Lie Zi gave chase but could not catch him.
Lie Zi returned and reported: "He has already vanished—he cannot be caught."
Hu Zi said: "Just now I showed him the Source That Never Leaves My Origin—never departing from my fundamental root. I met him with emptiness and adaptability, never letting him know who I was. Sometimes I was like grass bending before the wind, sometimes like water flowing before the waves—that is why he fled."
From that moment on, Lie Zi realized he had never truly learned the Way. He returned home, and for three years did not go out. He cooked meals for his wife, fed the pigs as if serving people, and showed no preference toward anything. The carved and polished habits returned to simplicity; like a clod of earth, he stood alone, beyond the physical form. Amidst the turbulence of the world, he held to the one and simple, and thus lived out the rest of his life.
Do not be a vessel for reputation; do not be a storehouse for scheming; do not take charge of affairs as a sovereign would; do not be a manager of knowledge. Embody the infinite Great Dao, roam the mind in the traceless. Exhaust what heaven has endowed in your nature, yet do not claim any attainment—this is empty stillness alone.
The Consummate Person (one who embodies the Dao) uses the mind like a mirror: neither sending off nor welcoming, truly reflecting yet retaining nothing. And so they can respond to things without being harmed by them.
The emperor of the South Sea was called Shu (Swift), the emperor of the North Sea was called Hu (Sudden), and the emperor of the Center was called Hundun (Chaos). Shu and Hu often met in the territory of Hundun, and Hundun treated them with great kindness.
Shu and Hu deliberated on how to repay Hundun's virtue, saying: "All people have seven orifices to see, hear, eat, and breathe—only he has none. Let us try to drill them for him." So each day they drilled one orifice. On the seventh day, Hundun died.
This chapter, titled "Responding to Emperors and Kings," discusses how the highest ruler should "respond to the world"—not through tactic, legal systems, or force, but through wu wei (non-imposition, non-interference) and empty stillness.
Through seven progressively unfolding stories, the chapter conveys:
To summarize: "Responding to emperors and kings" is not a doctrine of governance—it is a teaching on the nature of the mind. The true "emperor" is the one who can abide in the original mind, remain unmoved by external circumstances, and refrain from imposing his private designs upon the world.
The contemporary relevance of this chapter is remarkably direct.
"Wu wei" is not about lying flat; it is about not making reckless disruptions. In modern management, education, and intimate relationships, we often want to be like Ri Zhong Shi: set rules and expect others to immediately obey and change. But Laozi and Zhuangzi remind us: forceful reshaping often backfires. True change begins with "setting oneself right"—when you are stable, the environment gradually stabilizes.
The story of Hu Zi and Ji Xian is Zhuangzi's version of "do not be obsessed with predictions." Ji Xian could calculate life and death, fortune and misfortune—but Hu Zi showed that the mind need not be trapped in any fixed state. People today love fortune-telling, horoscope apps, and personality quizzes, driven by anxiety about uncertainty. Zhuangzi's answer: instead of predicting the external world, cultivate an inner "unpredictability"—when the mind is empty and still, it no longer gets pulled around by fortune and disaster.
"The mind like a mirror" is an ancient prototype of psychological healing. A mirror reflects everything but leaves no trace. We suffer because our minds are like recording machines that repeatedly replay and endlessly regret. Zhuangzi's practice is not to suppress emotion, but to "respond without storing"—when things come, respond; when they pass, let go.
The death of Hundun is the most profound critique of civilization. This fable reminds us: when a society or an individual is over-defined, over-developed, over-labeled, its authenticity dies. Today, we affix labels to ourselves on social media, let ourselves be quantified by KPIs at work, and "sculpt" our children relentlessly in parenting—these may all be "drilling the seven orifices."
Reduce the impulse of "I want to change you." Whether it concerns a partner, a child, or a colleague, first ask yourself: am I following the other's nature, or am I using my standards to drill their "seven orifices"? True help is "settle yourself first and then act"—make yourself upright first, then let the other person grow on their own.
Practice "mirror-mind" to address emotional exhaustion. When you encounter harsh words or bothersome events today, try letting your heart be like a mirror: reflect, but don't retain; respond, but don't entangle. This is not coldness but non-overreaction.
Set aside a little "land of nothing-at-all" for your mind. When every day is filled with information, tasks, and anxiety, the mind loses its empty stillness. Try sparing a few minutes daily for "doing nothing," allowing the mind to rest in "indifference" and "stillness." This is not escape but restoring sensitivity to life.
Do not idolize certainty from external sources. Do not spend all your energy on predicting the future and controlling outcomes. Hu Zi's example shows that real security comes from inner stability and flexibility, not from the outside offering an "accurate answer."
In this chapter, Zhuangzi embeds a profound paradox: the very act of "responding" in "responding to emperors" is itself a form of action. How can one "respond" without falling into deliberate action? Zhuangzi's answer: respond through wu wei—the mind does not retain, things come and are met, things go and are clear. But then, what exactly is the subject of this "responding"?
Hu Zi revealed being "still never departing from his origin" while also being "empty and adaptive, unknown to anyone." This suggests that the self of a person who attains the Dao is not a fixed, permanent entity, but a source that follows change yet remains unfathomable. This view of subjectivity resonates with deconstructions of "the self" in modern philosophy.
The death of Hundun is doubly a fable of political philosophy and existential philosophy. Hundun without seven orifices is the natural, undifferentiated state free from division and naming. Shu and Hu represent time and becoming; they, out of "repaying kindness," drill the seven orifices and in doing so kill Hundun. This shows that: any order imposed in the name of "it's for your own good" may destroy an original wholeness. Knowledge, language, institutions, technology—they are all "seven orifices": they bring the capacities to see, hear, speak, and breathe, but they may also kill the authentic.
Bu Gua (the author's viewpoint) holds that Zhuangzi is not inviting us to reject civilization and knowledge outright. Rather, he reminds us: after obtaining the "seven orifices," we must still remember the Hundun that has never been drilled open. That is the deepest foundation of life.
Related concepts:
Further reading:
This content is based on classical Daoist texts, provided solely for the study of traditional culture and life reflection. It does not constitute religious, medical, or investment advice.