A Scholar-Official in the Warring States Era

Gongyi Xiu, a prominent figure recorded in Sima Qian’s Records of the Grand Historian, served as chancellor of Lu during the turbulent Warring States period (475–221 BCE). As a boshi (erudite scholar) renowned for his intellectual excellence, his governance was defined by strict adherence to laws and moral principles. Unlike many officials who exploited their positions, Gongyi Xiu famously refused to let state officers “compete with commoners for profit” or allow those with significant privileges to “take smaller advantages.” His philosophy reflected a rare ethical rigor in an age of political intrigue and self-interest.

This was a time when feudal states vied for dominance through both military might and administrative competence. The Confucian ideal of the virtuous official—embodied by figures like Gongyi Xiu—clashed with the reality of widespread corruption. Against this backdrop, his actions were not merely personal choices but political statements.

The Fish That Tested Integrity

One of the most revealing anecdotes about Gongyi Xiu involves his love of fish—and his refusal to accept it as a gift. When a visitor offered him fish, the chancellor declined despite his well-known fondness for the delicacy. His reasoning was pragmatic yet profound: “Because I love fish, I cannot accept it. As chancellor, I can afford my own fish. If I take your gift and lose my position, who will provide fish then?”

This episode transcends a simple lesson about bribery. It reveals a sophisticated understanding of power dynamics. In the Warring States context, gifts were rarely neutral; they created obligations that could compromise judgment. Gongyi Xiu’s refusal was a defense of both personal integrity and institutional fairness.

The Radical Ethics of Self-Sabotage

Gongyi Xiu’s ethical extremes extended beyond fish. When his household’s vegetables grew exceptionally flavorful, he uprooted them. Discovering his wife wove superior cloth, he expelled her and burned the loom. His justification—”How can farmers and weavers sell their goods if we outperform them?”—may seem excessive today, but it underscored a foundational principle: those who “receive great privileges must not seize small gains.”

This philosophy echoed Daoist thought, particularly the Tao Te Ching’s warning that “disaster stems from insatiability.” By actively undermining his household’s economic advantages, Gongyi Xiu sought to prevent the moral decay he associated with unchecked desire. His actions were a performative rejection of the accumulation culture pervasive among elites.

Contrasting Archetypes: Feng Xuan’s Strategic Demands

Sima Qian’s text invites comparison with another fish-related story: the tale of Feng Xuan, a strategist serving Lord Mengchang. Unlike Gongyi Xiu’s austerity, Feng Xuan famously sang “Long sword, let’s go home—here, we get no fish!” to demand better treatment. His successive requests—for fish, a carriage, and family support—tested Mengchang’s patience but ultimately proved his worth by securing his patron’s political restoration.

Where Gongyi Xiu embodied restraint, Feng Xuan represented the Warring States’ meritocratic hustle. Both stories, however, revolved around fish as a metaphor for the transactional nature of power. Feng Xuan’s demands highlighted how talent negotiated its value, while Gongyi Xiu’s refusals showcased the costs of ethical compromise.

The Perils of Preference: When Leaders’ Tastes Become Policy

Sima Qian’s narrative warns of a timeless governance pitfall: the dangers of a ruler’s personal preferences. Historical proverbs cited in the text—”When the King of Wu loved swordsmen, his people bore scars”; “When the King of Chu favored slim waists, his court starved”—illustrate how leaders’ tastes distort societal priorities.

Gongyi Xiu’s awareness of this dynamic made him preemptively refuse even harmless gifts. His approach recognized that small concessions could normalize larger abuses—a lesson echoing in modern discussions about lobbying and conflict of interest.

Legacy: From Warring States to Modern Governance

Gongyi Xiu’s story resurfaced in contemporary China as a national college entrance exam essay prompt, inviting students to debate his refusal. This revival speaks to its enduring relevance in societies grappling with corruption.

His extreme measures may seem impractical today, but the core ethic—that public servants must avoid conflicts of interest—remains foundational. In an era of revolving-door politics and insider trading, the tale of a chancellor who feared a fish’s hidden costs offers a provocative standard.

The Psychology of Temptation

The narrative’s deepest insight lies in its understanding of human rationalization. As Gongyi Xiu noted, refusing one fish is easy; the challenge arises when offers escalate to “a cartload of fish or an entire sea.” This anticipates modern behavioral economics on the “slippery slope” effect, where small compromises enable larger ones.

His solution—systematically removing temptations—aligns with what psychologists now call “precommitment strategies.” By destroying his garden and loom, he engineered an environment where ethical shortcuts were impossible.

Conclusion: The Price of Principle

Gongyi Xiu’s story endures not as a governance manual but as a philosophical provocation. In a world where power often justifies moral flexibility, his uncompromising stance—whether admirable or fanatical—forces a reckoning. How much convenience should integrity cost? When does personal sacrifice become performative?

Twenty-three centuries later, as societies still struggle to balance power and ethics, the chancellor who feared a fish’s consequences remains a polarizing yet vital voice. His legacy challenges us to consider what modern “fish” we’re tempted to accept—and what systems we must build to make refusal easier.