Speaking of the Warring States period, one cannot overlook Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi, named Zhou and also known as Zhuang Zhou, Chuang Tzu, Zhuang Tzu descended from a noble family of the state of Chu. Later, to escape the chaos of war, his family relocated to Meng in the state of Song.
Zhuangzi was born with exceptional intelligence, delving into all areas of worldly knowledge, and he particularly enjoyed using parables to convey profound truths.
A man out of place
The patronage system was an institution formed by feudal lords and nobles during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods to recruit talent, flourishing particularly during the Warring States era. Against the backdrop of social transformation, rulers valued the role of intellectual advisors and consolidated their authority by hosting retainers. These retainers, though not formal officials, were widely recognized for their diverse roles, ranging from strategists to knights-errant, and were regarded as China’s earliest system of intellectual advisors.
In a previous article, we mentioned Lord Mengchang, who famously hosted three thousand retainers. However, Zhuangzi stood apart from this norm. His wisdom in avoiding entanglement in power struggles contrasted sharply with the retainers’ active engagement in worldly affairs and their reliance on the powerful.
Today, we will recount the story of Zhuangzi’s refusal of King Chu’s offer of appointment, exploring how he steadfastly upheld his independent character and rejected the parasitic lifestyle emblematic of the retainer system.
The King’s Invitation
For most of his life, Zhuangzi served only as a minor official: the Keeper of the Lacquer Garden in Song – a humble post that gave him just enough to live, and plenty of time to think, wander, and write.
Yet his wisdom echoed far beyond Song’s borders.
King Wei of Chu, ambitious and eager to build a powerful state, sought out the greatest minds of his age. Hearing of Zhuangzi’s brilliance, he resolved to appoint him Chancellor of Chu – the highest ministerial position in the realm.
He dispatched two senior envoys, bearing lavish gifts and an imperial decree, to seek Zhuangzi in person. After a long journey, they found him by the Pu River, sitting calmly on the bank, fishing with a bamboo rod, utterly absorbed in the moment.
The envoys bowed respectfully and delivered their message:
“Your reputation for wisdom has reached His Majesty. He wishes to entrust you with the governance of Chu. Please return with us to the capital.”
To the world, this was the ultimate honor – an offer few would refuse.
But Zhuangzi did not even turn his head.
The Parable of the Sacred Turtle
As we mentioned at the first beginnig of this post, Zhuangzi is good at using parables to convey profound truths.
When the envoys from Chu came to Zhuangzi, who are still gazing at the water, asked gently:
“I’ve heard that in Chu there is a sacred turtle. It died three thousand years ago. The king wraps its bones in brocade, places them in a jeweled casket, and enshrines them in the ancestral temple, where all bow before them. Tell me – do you think this turtle would have preferred such posthumous glory… or to be alive, dragging its tail through the mud?”
The envoys exchanged glances and answered without hesitation:
“Surely, it would rather be alive – crawling freely in the mud.”
Zhuangzi smiled.
“Then go your way. I too wish to drag my tail in the mud.”
The envoys, stunned by his serene resolve and the depth of his metaphor, could say nothing more. They bowed again, gathered their unaccepted gifts, and returned to Chu to report the sage’s refusal.
The Dao of Freedom
In rejecting power, Zhuangzi made a profound philosophical statement:
True freedom lies not in honor or authority, but in living authentically, in harmony with the natural flow of life (the Dao).
The turtle in the temple may be revered – but it is dead. The turtle in the mud may be unnoticed – but it is alive, whole, and free.
This story, recorded in the Zhuangzi (specifically in the chapter “Autumn Floods”), became one of the most iconic expressions of Daoist detachment from worldly ambition. It contrasted sharply with the Confucian ideal of public service and the Legalist pursuit of control.
For Zhuangzi, governance was not the path to virtue – inner liberation was.
Legacy of a Reluctant Sage
Though he never held high office, Zhuangzi’s writings – filled with dreamed butterflies, giant Peng birds, and laughing skulls – reshaped Chinese thought for millennia. His emphasis on spontaneity (ziran), non-action (wu wei), and relativism offered a spiritual refuge in an age of violence and calculation.
And his quiet moment by the Pu River remains a timeless symbol:
Sometimes, the greatest act of wisdom is saying “no.”
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