A Prodigy Born into Turmoil

Xu Wei (1521–1593), known by his art name Qingteng Daoren (“Green Vine Taoist”), emerged during China’s Ming Dynasty—an era of cultural brilliance shadowed by political intrigue. Born in Shaoxing, Zhejiang province, his life began with tragedy: his father died when he was just 100 days old, and his birth mother (a maidservant) was expelled by the primary wife. Raised by his stepmother until her death when he was 14, Xu displayed astonishing intellect, memorizing Confucian classics by age six and composing satirical essays targeting ancient philosophers by ten.

This precocious talent earned him inclusion among the “Ten Masters of Yuezhong”—a literary circle where even peers like the principled censor Shen Lian deferred to him, declaring, “Behind closed gates, there is only Xu Wei.” His early fame came at a cost; the pressure to sustain his “prodigy” status would haunt his adulthood.

The Unraveling of a Scholar’s Dreams

Despite passing the county-level imperial exams at 20, Xu’s subsequent eight attempts at the provincial exams (1521–1561) ended in failure—a crushing blow for a man whose identity was tied to scholarly achievement. Forced into economic desperation, he accepted a humiliating position as a live-in son-in-law to the Pan family, where tradition demanded he perform menial tasks. When his wife died of tuberculosis, his in-laws expelled him, leaving him homeless as his biological brothers had already perished—one to alchemical poisoning, another to illness in exile.

During this period, Xu established the “One Branch Hall” academy, teaching local children while developing expertise that defied conventional scholarship: military strategy, experimental painting techniques, and politically charged theater. His 1550 poems condemning Grand Secretary Yan Song’s incompetence during Mongol incursions attracted attention from an unlikely patron—the formidable anti-piracy commander Hu Zongxian.

Military Strategist and Reluctant Courtier

Hu Zongxian, governor of Zhejiang and Fujian, was a towering figure who commanded fear from even the legendary general Yu Dayou. When Xu initially rebuffed Hu’s summons with the audacious reply, “Whoever sent you, tell him to come himself,” the governor personally visited—a testament to Xu’s perceived value.

As Hu’s principal advisor during campaigns against wokou pirates, Xu demonstrated strategic genius with his eight-character philosophy: “First stabilize the macro-situation, then plan each move.” His literary skills proved equally vital; his 1558 “Memorial on the White Deer”—a supposedly auspicious omen—won Emperor Jiajing’s favor through elegant prose that masked political maneuvering.

Yet Xu refused to conform to courtly expectations. He wandered streets drunk in tattered robes, once interrupted a high-level military conference by circling the room silently before leaving—acts contemporaries dismissed as madness but which reflected his performative rejection of Confucian decorum.

Descent into Madness and Artistic Rebirth

The 1562 downfall of Yan Song dragged Hu Zongxian to prison, where he died under mysterious circumstances. This loss triggered Xu’s psychological collapse. Between 1564–1566, he attempted suicide nine times:

– Bashing his skull with an axe (“blood covered his face, skull fractured”)
– Driving a three-inch nail into his ear (“blood sprayed out, took months to heal”)
– Smashing his testicles with an awl

In 1566, during a paranoid episode, he murdered his second wife Zhang and was imprisoned. Seven years in squalid conditions—lice-infested, sleeping on snow-covered planks—culminated in a 1573 pardon coinciding with the Wanli Emperor’s accession. Emerging at 53, Xu declared his former self dead; what followed was an unparalleled artistic renaissance.

The Uncompromising Art of Survival

Rejecting renewed offers from generals like Qi Jiguang and Li Chengliang (who hoped to leverage his military insights against the Japanese in Korea), Xu wandered China before settling into poverty in Shaoxing. Though he claimed, “My calligraphy ranks first, poetry second, essays third, and painting last,” it was his ink paintings that revolutionized art:

– Grapes in Ink (《墨葡萄图》): Writhing vines mirrored by wildly spaced calligraphy, embodying his poem: “Half my life wasted, now an old man / Howling at the wind from my study / These jewel-like fruits nobody buys / Tossed carelessly onto green vines.”
– Plum Blossoms and Banana Leaves (《梅花蕉叶图》): A symbolic collision of northern resilience (plum) and southern lushness (banana), inscribed: “Banana with plum blossom—this is Wang Wei’s art,” referencing the Tang Dynasty poet-painter.

His calligraphy shattered Ming conventions, abandoning precision for explosive spontaneity. Art historian Tao Wangling deemed it “the singular marvel of our dynasty,” while dramatist Tang Xianzu compared his theatrical work Four Cries of a Gibbon (《四声猿》) to “a general storming the lyric fortress.”

Death and Immortality

Xu spent his final years in a collapsing house he described in a self-mocking couplet: “Several rooms, east-leaning west-collapsing / One man, southern accent northern dialect.” When admirers knocked, he’d shout, “Xu Wei isn’t here!” He died in 1593 on a straw mat, attended only by a yellow dog—yet his influence grew exponentially posthumously.

The 18th-century painter Zheng Xie proclaimed himself “a dog beneath Xu Wei’s gate,” while 20th-century artist Qi Shi fantasized about serving him: “I’d starve at his doorstep just to grind ink.” Modern scholars recognize Xu as a precursor to expressionism, his life embodying the tension between genius and societal rejection—a theme that resonates across cultures and centuries.

In Xu’s own defiant words: “All endeavors must carry one’s essence. To copy The Orchid Pavilion stroke by stroke is to lose oneself.” His legacy endures precisely because he refused to be anything but uncompromisingly, tragically human.