Sculpture in the Style of Fan Zhongyan

　　The river flows freely and expansively, unrestrained yet measured. The waterways have clearly withstood the test of time, stretching from the North Jiangsu Plain toward the sea. The water before your eyes is crystal clear and pure, like the lingering mist of last night and the dewdrops just formed this morning, exuding a fresh aquatic scent. The peach blossom groves on the island bloom in vibrant clusters; along the shore, green bamboo gardens, golden rapeseed fields, white walls, dark-tiled roofs, gray stone bridges, and the majestic brown-colored Wanghai Tower… The reflections in the long river present a kaleidoscope of colors. This boundless view of the Fengcheng River Scenic Area before you is like a youthful lad—vigorous and full of spirit, so young without a trace of fatigue or weariness, so perfect without any flaw or damage.

　　Is this truly the ancient city of Taizhou?

　　And yet, he stands there, right there on the Wen Zheng Square in front of the “Wenhui Hall,” clad in a simple robe with wide sleeves, his brow furrowed and expression stern. His robe is dampened by the heavy mist, the folds hiding indescribable sorrow, his fluttering sleeves heavy as lead. His chiseled facial features, embedded in the coarse bronze mold, faintly reveal his gaunt and solemn visage; his hair and beard flow elegantly, serene and composed. Like an old historical scroll, it has grown blurred over the long passage of years.

　　The Sculpture in the Style of Fan Zhongyan was designed and created by Wu Weishan, Dean of the China Academy of Sculpture, for the restoration of the Fengcheng River Scenic Area.

　　The ancient city of Taizhou, with a history of more than 2,000 years, has been recorded and celebrated time and again due to the historical traces left by Fan Zhongyan here over 900 years ago. The various anecdotes of Fan Zhongyan, celebrated in historical texts and passed down through folklore, have kept the ancient city ever fresh, and given the Fengcheng River Scenic Area of Taizhou a reason to be reborn. By the 21st century, when descendants come to pay homage to Lord Fan Wenzheng, at the moment they look up at this sculpture, revived memories and awakened thoughts come flooding back.

　　By the spring of 2008, this salt supervisor of Taizhou from the mid-Northern Song Dynasty, Fan Zhongyan, finally reappeared in the place where he once served, returning to the familiar Wenhui Hall where he reunited with his five close friends, including Teng Zijing, to compose poetry and essays. Then, he walked out of the hall alone and stood by the water, gazing thoughtfully and reciting aloud. The statue faces a huge rock inscribed with the timeless famous line personally written by the late Mr. Ji Xianlin: “Be the first to worry about the troubles across the land, and the last to enjoy universal happiness.” Today, Fan Zhongyan gazes daily at his own lifelong admonition, reciting it over and over again, revisiting the political ideals of those days, looking out at the receding official career, the people, and the flowing waters—his heart tangled with worry and joy, a flood of emotions.

　　Fan Zhongyan, a famous and outstanding reformer of the Northern Song Dynasty, possessed talents in politics, military affairs, and literature, and rose to the rank of prime minister. However, his career was fraught with setbacks, and he was demoted three times for daring to speak bluntly against the emperor. He left behind many renowned works and poetic lines, among which “Record of Yueyang Tower” remains immortal to this day. His lifetime achievements and literary accomplishments—Taizhou was once a starting point.

　　A young yet ancient voice chants: A noble man does not rejoice alone…

　　The phrase “A noble man does not rejoice alone” comes from Fan Zhongyan’s “Ode to the Wenhui Hall of the Teng Official in Haizhou,” written for the “Wenhui Hall” in Taizhou. During the mid-Northern Song Dynasty, when the economy and culture were thriving, Taizhou’s salt tax accounted for half of the nation’s total. Talented individuals from all over gathered here, literati bonded through poetry, composing and chanting together. This five-character poem is now inscribed in its entirety on the wall of the Wenhui Hall lobby. Among its lines are these memorable ones: “…Poetry and books converse with Confucius and Zhou, zithers and lutes draw near Fuxi and Huangdi. A noble man does not rejoice alone, my friends come from afar… Oh, noble Teng Zijing, this sentiment will long remain fragrant.”

　　The “joy of not rejoicing alone” and the “joy” Fan Zhongyan personally experienced decades later when he went to Yueyang and wrote “Rejoice only after the people can rejoice” for Teng Zijing, who was “relegated to Baling Commandery” to rebuild Yueyang Tower, are 23 years apart. Yet between these two “joys,” one can vaguely trace Fan Zhongyan’s clear and persistent ideological path—when serving as an official, never seeking personal joy; a noble man throughout life, worrying before the world does.

　　Historical records state that before 985 AD, Fan Zhongyan, a native of Wuxian County in Jiangsu, passed the imperial examination, was assigned his first official post outside the capital, and arrived in Taizhou as a salt officer.

　　Ancient Taizhou was once coastal, a highland by the sea, the earliest salt-producing city by the shore, historically known as Haizhou Commandery. Due to erosion of the seawall by tides, the “Sea-Retaining Dyke” had fallen into disrepair for years, causing floods that destroyed fertile farmland and threatened people’s livelihoods. Fan Zhongyan inspected the situation and was deeply troubled. Later, with the support of his superior, he repeatedly petitioned the imperial court, speaking earnestly and forcefully advocating for the repair of the dyke. Teng Zijing, the Taizhou deputy magistrate, also offered strong assistance. After repeated efforts, approval was finally granted for Fan Zhongyan to oversee the repairs. Fan led the people through great hardship and finally restored this great sea-retaining dyke, which started in Hailing (Taizhou) and extended to Yancheng. “Three thousand six hundred households resumed their livelihoods, and the people enjoyed the benefits.” To commemorate Fan Zhongyan, the people of Taizhou called this sturdy and solid sea-retaining dyke the “Fan Gong Dyke.” To this day, a section of the ancient dyke still remains as historical evidence.

　　The people enjoyed the benefits, and shared the joy with the people; the people are the foundation of the state—and thus Fan Zhongyan found his joy.

　　Fan Zhongyan’s joy stemmed from an innate sense of concern deep within—his advocacy of “not rejoicing in material gain, not grieving over personal loss”—even in high office and great honor, he maintained a frugal lifestyle. Even after rising to the rank of “Canzhi Zhengshi” (vice chancellor), he still “did not eat multiple meat dishes” (ate no more than one kind of meat). He allocated his surplus salary to establish “charitable estates” to aid the poor in times of natural disaster and hunger. He promoted education to benefit the children of commoners in their pursuit of learning. Taizhou once built the “Jingfan School” to commemorate Fan Zhongyan’s noble character of remaining clean and upright.

　　In his middle age, Fan Zhongyan once enjoyed a smooth career, holding successive positions such as Right Remonstrance Official (specializing in speaking candid truths to the emperor), Assistant Director of the Ministry of Personnel (in charge of personnel allocation, equivalent to today’s Organization Department), Vice Director of the Privy Council (deputy head of the central military agency), Dragon Graph Pavilion Academician-Director, and concurrently Shaanxi Pacification Commissioner alongside Han Qi, defending the borders for many years. He also served as prefect or governor in various regions (local administrative heads). During this period, because he strongly advocated for reforming the old systems of governance and promoted the “Qingli Reforms,” he faced suppression and exclusion from the conservative aristocratic factions of the Song ruling class. As a representative figure of Neo-Confucianism in the Song Dynasty, he opposed the effeminate and deceptive literary styles and customs, and was a pioneer of the literary reform movement of the time. Fan Zhongyan’s now little-known famous quote: “Better to speak out and die than stay silent and live”—just eight characters—can be regarded as a manifesto for the fight for free speech, predating the startling words of Henry Patrick by over 700 years: “Give me liberty, or give me death.”

　　However, the moderate reformism of Neo-Confucianism, born from within the “mainstream ideology,” was still intolerable to the feudal autocracy of the East. Fan Zhongyan, the eminent statesman of the Northern Song Dynasty, was demoted to Dengzhou after the tragic failure of the Qingli Reforms. In 1052, on his way to Yingzhou, he fell ill and died in a foreign land. His lifelong political aspirations came to an abrupt end.

　　Born in adversity, died in comfort—when Fan Zhongyan reached the end of his life, he had still not realized the noble dream of a wise and virtuous prime minister who would “rejoice only after the people can rejoice.”

　　Now, clad in a simple robe with wide sleeves, he stands solemnly by the Fengcheng River, having returned from the endpoint to the starting point. A breeze rustles through the leaves of the “Five Ministers’ Tree,” the sound of leaves whispering, as if echoing his heartfelt sigh: A noble man does not rejoice alone, a noble man worries alone.

　　Rejoice only after the people can rejoice—yet a noble man can only enjoy eternal solitude.

　　Taizhou has no mountains—a land without mountains, a city without mountains. Yet, the culturally rich Taizhou of over 2,000 years, whether passing through or residing here; born or dying here—its historical figures rise and fall like undulating mountain ranges. Fan Zhongyan is just one peak among them. He passed by, he left, he returned. Since then, he has remained here, transformed into a plain and unadorned bronze statue, yet standing out like a solitary peak—Taizhou, the city without mountains, commands reverence like a towering mountain.

　　On the night before leaving Taizhou, I sat casually with fellow writers in the Chinese-style waterside pavilion of Yuzhuang Garden. Suddenly, I heard the soft sound of a zither behind me, rippling like the gentle flow of the Fengcheng River. I saw eight or nine middle-aged and elderly women in red, playing the guzheng together on the pavilion by the water. The lights were dim, smiles were warm, and the atmosphere joyful. Unconsciously, I felt a sudden warmth and realization: What a perfect embodiment of “a noble man does not rejoice alone”—this peaceful and prosperous land, this state of national peace and people’s well-being, seemed to echo the charm of this ancient poetic line. The revitalization of the Fengcheng River Scenic Area today, with the foresight and magnanimity of Teng Zijing who rebuilt Yueyang Tower back then, has restored the historical relics on the verge of disappearance, integrating them into a cultural corridor; gathering the fragmented historical memories one by one, carefully preserving them in this open cultural garden, to be shared with the people of Taizhou and visitors from around the world. Isn’t that a joy?

　　A noble man does not rejoice alone—perhaps the figure of Lord Fan hidden in the night at Wenzheng Square may finally share a quiet joy, rejoicing with the people.