The Journey to the Mountain of Carefree Wandering

As dawn broke, three distinguished travelers—Zhang Yi, Lord Mengchang, and Lord Chunshen—left their horses and attendants at the mountain pass and ventured on foot into the valley. Zhang Yi, though slightly hindered by a limp, was in high spirits, his usual wit and humor restored after a night’s rest. Guided by Lord Mengchang and Lord Chunshen, they followed a winding stream through the hills until they came upon a solitary peak unlike any other.

This mountain, lush and vibrant even in winter, stood in stark contrast to the barren surroundings. A waterfall cascaded down its slopes like strands of pearls, and the air was alive with birdsong and the fragrance of flowers. Zhang Yi marveled, “This is no ordinary mountain! Zhuangzi must dwell here.” Lord Mengchang confirmed it with a smile, while Lord Chunshen added, “The locals call it Xiaoyao Peak—the Mountain of Carefree Wandering.”

The name resonated deeply with Zhang Yi, who recalled Zhuangzi’s famous essay Xiaoyao You (“Free and Easy Wandering”). Lord Mengchang began reciting its opening lines: “In the northern darkness, there is a fish named Kun. Its size is immeasurable. Transforming into a bird, it becomes Peng, whose wings stretch like clouds across the sky…” Zhang Yi, entranced, remarked, “Such visions are beyond mortal comprehension. Zhuangzi is no mere man—he is an immortal sage.”

The Funeral of Fire and Flowers

Ascending a narrow path, they reached a thatched hut on the mountainside, where smoke curled lazily into the sky. But the scene before them was unexpected: a funeral unlike any they had witnessed.

A young man tended a fire where a black pottery jar and half a roasted lamb sizzled. Nearby, a naked woman lay upon a pyre of flowers and firewood. A disheveled man in coarse robes sat beside her, singing and beating a broken earthen pot. His song, neither joyful nor mournful, spoke of the cyclical nature of life and death:

“Birth is but death’s companion, death but birth’s beginning…
To abandon the world is to be free of burdens,
To be free is to attain true peace…”

Ying Hua whispered, “His wife has died, yet he sings?” Zhang Yi, awed, replied, “This is the wisdom of Zhuangzi—death is but a return to the natural order.”

The man—Zhuangzi himself—poured wine around the pyre, then lit it with a torch. As flames consumed his wife’s body, he stood silently, neither weeping nor rejoicing. The travelers watched, transfixed, as the fire burned to embers.

The Departure of a Sage

Zhuangzi emerged from the hut with a bamboo staff and a small bundle, ready to depart. His disciple, Lin Ju, knelt before him, pleading to follow. But Zhuangzi only laughed: “Why cling to forms? What is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’? How can I know?” With a final farewell, he walked away, his voice echoing through the valley: “The wind blows from the north, wandering above… Heaven moves—can its workings be known?”

Lord Chunshen chased after him, but Lin Ju stopped him gently: “It’s useless. His heart left long ago.”

The Disciple’s Duty

As the group settled by the fire, Lin Ju shared his story: orphaned young, he had sought Zhuangzi for years, drawn by the sage’s teachings. Though Zhuangzi initially refused disciples, Lin Ju persisted, collecting his master’s scattered writings—carved on trees, stones, and even pottery.

Lord Mengchang, moved, offered Lin Ju support to compile Zhuangzi’s works at the Jixia Academy. Lin Ju agreed but vowed to leave in three years to seek his teacher. The others, touched by his devotion, fell into reflective silence.

The Legacy of Zhuangzi

This encounter reveals the heart of Zhuangzi’s philosophy:

– Death as Transformation: His wife’s funeral embodied his belief in death as liberation, a return to the Dao.
– Rejection of Convention: By singing and burning her body, he defied ritual norms, embracing nature’s cycles.
– The Unwritten Sage: Zhuangzi disdained formal texts, yet his ideas—preserved by Lin Ju—would shape Daoism for millennia.

Today, Zhuangzi’s teachings on freedom, spontaneity, and harmony with nature continue to inspire. His laughter in the face of death reminds us: to truly live, we must let go.

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