How to adjust when things don't go well? The answer lies in Confucius' story of "Wei Bian San Jue" (reading the *I Ching* so many times that the leather binding of the book wore out three times)

Towards the end of the Spring and Autumn Period, when the setting sun over the city gate towers of Lu had just dipped into the Si River, the oil lamp in Confucius' home had already had its wick trimmed three times. A bamboo scroll was spread out on the desk, its leather binding polished shiny from wear, and beside it lay a half-basket of broken thongs—this was already the third time this month.

His disciple Zizhang tiptoed in with tea, and catching sight of his teacher once more dismantling and restringing the bamboo scrolls, couldn't help but smile. "Master, your skill at braiding these cords is almost on par with the craftsmen in the leather workshop."

Confucius also smiled, picking up a tanned leather thong broken in two and waving it. "What do you know? This is called 'the leather binding worn through three times.' The *Yi* (Book of Changes) is such a fascinating book—every time I read it, I find new depths. The more I turn its pages, the more the cord naturally can't bear the strain."

Speaking of it, Confucius only began reading the *Yi* in his later years. In his earlier days, he traveled from state to state, was trapped between Chen and Cai, went hungry, and was even insulted as a "stray dog." Back then, he often pondered: How does one face hardship? With all his learning, why did he meet with obstacles at every turn?

It was only later, when he delved into the *Zhouyi* (Book of Changes), that he began to grasp its essence. At first, he too thought the book was merely a tool the ancients used for divination. But once he immersed himself in it, he realized it was far from just predicting fortune and misfortune—it clearly expounded the laws of change governing all things in the world: the Qian hexagram speaks of strength and enterprising spirit; the Kun hexagram speaks of profound virtue that sustains all things; the Jian hexagram says "the superior man reflects on himself and cultivates his virtue"; the Kun hexagram says "the superior man sacrifices his life to fulfill his will." All the ups and downs of life had long been thoroughly explained by these sixty-four hexagrams.

Zizhang set down the teacup, leaned in, and asked, "Master, you often said 'I do not engage in divination, that is all'—why is it that now you are so engrossed in the *Yi*?"

Confucius turned the bamboo scroll to the *Xici* (Great Commentary) chapter and pointed to the characters on it. "Look at this line: 'The superior man, in repose, observes its images and ponders its explanations; in action, he observes its changes and ponders its divinations.' Reading the *Yi* is not about asking about one's future, but about understanding the principles of things. How does one adjust when things go wrong? First, seek the cause within oneself, then act in accordance with the laws of nature—and things will naturally go smoothly."

He did not speak these words idly. Back when he was shunned in Qi and suspected in Wei, anyone else would have grumbled against heaven and man. But Confucius? Wherever he went, he taught. Even when trapped between Chen and Cai with no grain for seven days, he continued to play the zither and sing without cease. That steadfastness was something he gleaned from the *Yi*—adversity is not a dead end; it is a test of one's virtue. If you endure it, you will reach a whole new realm.

As for how to improve one's judgment? Confucius also had his insights. When reading the *Yi*, he never nitpicked over words, but instead reflected on them in light of his own life experiences: If this happened to me, what would I do? Doesn't the hexagram statement "the hidden dragon does not act" tell people not to act rashly when the time is not right? Doesn't "the proud dragon has cause for regret" warn people not to get carried away when they are successful? Once one thoroughly digests these principles, one will naturally not be confused when faced with matters.

As he spoke, he picked up a new leather thong, his fingertips deftly threading through the small holes in the bamboo slips. "Give me a few more years, and if I study the *Yi* from the age of fifty, I may be free from great faults. If I had read this book a few years earlier, I might have avoided many detours in my life."

Zizhang looked at the frayed bamboo scroll on the desk and suddenly understood—it wasn't that the cord was not strong, but that his teacher read it too diligently and pondered it too deeply. Those broken leather thongs were not just signs of wear; they were clear proof that a person had chewed through learning thoroughly and woven it into his very bones.

Later, Confucius compiled his insights from reading the *Yi* into ten essays, known to later generations as the *Ten Wings*. Attached to the *Book of Changes*, they became ten keys to unlocking the door to Yi studies. And the story of "the leather binding worn through three times" has also been passed down for over two thousand years—whenever someone wonders how to face hardship or how to adjust when things go wrong, turning to this story reminds them that the answer is never elsewhere; it lies in your repeated pondering and reflection.