What to Do When Facing Choices? See How Wang Wei Secured His Home Using the Second Yang Line (Nine in the Second Place) of the Qian Hexagram

In the 17th year of the Kaiyuan era, Wang Wei had just returned from Jizhou, with mud specks from the Yellow River still clinging to his trouser legs, when he got a harsh lesson from the housing prices in Chang'an. Clutching a half-sack of his official salary on Zhuque Avenue, he muttered to himself: The houses in this city are ridiculously expensive, yet they're crammed together like pigeon coops—roll over in the morning, and you'd bump into the wall of Old Li's house next door.

It wasn't that he hadn't considered squeezing into the city—his colleagues all advised him that buying a house near the government office would mean a short commute, easy access to connections, and a smoother path to promotion. But Wang Wei tossed and turned at night, feeling something was off: he loved writing and painting by nature. If the constant clatter of carriages and horses gave him a splitting headache every day, how could he find the mind to ponder lines like "The bright moon shines among the pine trees"?

Just as he fretted over what to do, he suddenly recalled the Nine Two line of the Qian Hexagram he had learned from his Imperial Academy teacher in his early years: "The dragon appears in the field; it is favorable to see the great man." The teacher had said that this line did not mean pushing your way to the very top, but finding your own "field"—a dragon staying in the field can stretch its limbs and see the people it ought to meet, far better than being trapped in a shallow shoal.

He rode a scrawny donkey ambling toward the south of the city. When they reached Wangchuan in Lantian, the donkey suddenly stopped, lowered its head to nibble the grass by the roadside, and refused to move no matter what. Wang Wei looked up and saw a few old thatched cottages in a mountain hollow, with apricot trees in the corner of the yard in full bloom. When the wind blew, petals drifted all over the courtyard. The owner was a retired county magistrate surnamed Chen, who was packing up to return to Hedong. Seeing Wang Wei staring blankly at the yard, he said with a smile: "This place is a bit remote, but the mountains and rivers are lovely, and you can hear the soughing of pines at night."

Wang Wei squatted at the gate and did the math: the money for this house would only buy half a wing room in the city. But then he thought again: how to see the situation clearly? It's not about watching where everyone else crowds, but about figuring out where your own life belongs. He took out his money pouch and settled the deal on the spot.

When the news got back to the city, his colleagues all laughed at him for being foolish: giving up the convenience of the city to go live like a savage in the mountains? Wang Wei didn't argue. He just brought his mother to live with him, planted half a bed of chrysanthemums in the yard, dug a small pond behind the house, and raised a few red fish. His mother would sit under the veranda picking vegetables, while he ground ink and painted beside her. The wind blew from the valley, carrying the fresh scent of bamboo leaves.

Less than half a year later, Zhang Jiuling became prime minister. Hearing that Wang Wei was living in seclusion in Wangchuan, he made a special detour to visit him. The two sat in the thatched cottage discussing poetry and painting, chatting from the *Book of Songs* to music scores, and found more and more common ground. Before long, Zhang Jiuling recommended him for the post of Right Reminder.

Only then did the colleagues who had laughed at him realize: he wasn't hiding away at all—he had found a fine field, waiting for the wind to come. Wang Wei still kept his leisurely pace, rushing back to Wangchuan as soon as he left court, and even stopping to chat with woodcutters on the road about the newly grown mushrooms in the mountains.

Later, when someone asked him the secret of settling down, he pointed to the dragon he had painted on the courtyard wall—the dragon was not flying in the sky, nor hiding in the water, but crouching in the field, looking up at the clouds. Beside it was a line of small characters: "The field is where one settles; the people are those one knows as kindred spirits."

As the wind of Wangchuan blew, apricot petals fell on the painting, covering half of the character for "field"—making it look just like the character for "home".