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Bearded Grain and Sown Seed: The Farming-Time Philosophy of Mangzhong and the First Stirring of Yin

Drawing on pre-Qin Confucian and Daoist thought, etymology, astronomy, and phenology, this article offers an in-depth reading of Mangzhong (Grain in Ear), the ninth of the twenty-four solar terms. It reveals the farming-time philosophy behind the folk saying "Mangzhong is busy sowing," examines the phenomena of the praying mantis emerging and the shrike beginning to cry at solar longitude seventy-five degrees, and unfolds how the Gou hexagram's "first stirring of yin" marks a cosmic turning point at the very height of yang—inviting readers into the ancient wisdom of racing against time and revering the seasons as one reveres the divine.

Xuanji Editorial Board June 5, 2026 104 min read PDF Markdown
Bearded Grain and Sown Seed: The Farming-Time Philosophy of Mangzhong and the First Stirring of Yin

Chapter 14: Mangzhong in Literature: From the Farm Labor of the Book of Songs to the Sorrow of "Wheat in Ear"

I. "The Seventh Month" in the "Bin Feng" Section of the Book of Songs: An Epic of the Farming Season

Among pre-Qin literature, the most detailed and profound depiction of farm labor belongs, without question, to the "Qiyue" (七月, "The Seventh Month") ode of the "Bin Feng" section of the Book of Songs. This long poem may well be called an "epic of the farming season."

"The Seventh Month" follows, from beginning to end, the order of the twelve months of the year, meticulously depicting the farmer's labor and life: "In the seventh month, the Fire Star sinks westward; in the ninth month, clothes are given out"; "on the third day, we take up the plowshare; on the fourth day, we set out our feet to plow"; "in the fourth month, the yao plant blooms; in the fifth month, the cicada sings"; "in the eighth month, we beat down the dates; in the tenth month, we harvest the rice"; "by day you go to gather thatch-grass; by night you twist it into rope"... From spring plowing to autumn harvest, from gathering mulberry leaves to brewing wine, from hunting in the fields to repairing the roof, the farmer knows not a single idle day throughout the four seasons of the year.

What is most moving about this poem is its genuine depiction of the farmer's labor, ceaseless day and night, with "no leisure even to eat." "By day you go to gather thatch-grass; by night you twist it into rope. Hasten to mend the roof, for soon the sowing of the hundred grains begins" (昼尔于茅,宵尔索綯。亟其乘屋,其始播百谷)—by day, cutting thatch-grass; by night, twisting rope; hurrying to repair the roof, because the sowing of the hundred grains is about to begin again. This rhythm of labor, unceasing day and night, racing against every moment, is precisely the epic portrait of the spirit of "busy sowing" at Mangzhong. Though the two characters "Mangzhong" do not appear directly in "The Seventh Month" (the systematic naming of the solar terms took shape later), the utmost grasp of the farming season it depicts, that diligence that races against every moment, is precisely the literary wellspring of Mangzhong's farming-time philosophy.

"The Seventh Month" also profoundly reveals to whom the fruits of the farmer's labor ultimately belong: "In the ninth month, we build the threshing floor and garden plot; in the tenth month, we bring in the harvested grain. Millet early and late, grain and hemp, beans and wheat... With this we make the spring wine, to bring long life" (九月筑场圃,十月纳禾稼。黍稷重穋,禾麻菽麦……为此春酒,以介眉寿). Though the farmer toils an entire year, the grain harvested must "go up to fulfill the lord's corvée service" (labor owed to the nobility), while the farmer himself often has "no robe, no coarse garment—how shall I get through the year's end$16" This honest depiction of the farmer's hardship and difficult circumstances lifts "The Seventh Month" beyond a mere record of farm labor, making it a great poem suffused with profound sympathy for the laborer. It reminds every reader who encounters the "busy sowing" of Mangzhong: behind that golden wheat awn lies the farmer's toil, soaked through with sweat.

II. The Image of Wheat: From Abundant Beauty to Melancholy Reflection

Wheat is the most central crop of Mangzhong, and the image of wheat, in pre-Qin literature, underwent a rich evolution from "abundant beauty" to "melancholy reflection."

The "Si Wen" (思文) ode in the "Zhou Song" section of the Book of Songs says: "We think of Houji of cultured virtue, whose merit could match that of Heaven itself. He established our multitudes of people; none is without his utmost bounty. He bestowed on us wheat and barley, by Heaven's mandate to nurture all" (思文后稷,克配彼天。立我烝民,莫匪尔极。贻我来牟,帝命率育). We think of Houji, of cultured virtue, whose merit matches that of Heaven; he nurtured our multitudes of people, none of whom is without his utmost bounty; he bestowed upon us wheat and barley ("lai mou"), which was Heaven's mandate for the nurturing of all. Here, "bestowed on us wheat and barley" elevates wheat to the sacred height of "Heaven's mandate to nurture all"—wheat is the life-sustaining gift bestowed by Heaven upon the multitudes of people, through Houji. This is the most solemn, most sacred image of wheat.

The "Zai Chi" (載馳) ode in the "Yong Feng" (鄘風) section of the Book of Songs contains the line: "I walk across the open plain; how luxuriant is the wheat!" (我行其野,芃芃其麦)—I walk across the open plain, gazing at the luxuriant wheat. "Pengpeng qi mai" (the luxuriant appearance of the wheat) paints a picture of vigorous, abundant beauty. This is the most vigorous, most abundantly beautiful image of wheat.

And in later ages, wheat further gave rise to an image of "melancholy reflection." The most famous of these is the "sorrow of wheat in ear" (麦秀之悲).

III. The Sorrow of "Wheat in Ear": An Eternal Elegy of Longing for a Lost Homeland

"The sorrow of wheat in ear" is an image of extraordinary depth in Chinese literature, directly connected to the season of Mangzhong's ripening wheat.

According to the "Hereditary House of Song, Viscount Wei" (宋微子世家) chapter of the Shiji (史記, Records of the Grand Historian), after the fall of the Shang dynasty, Jizi (箕子, the uncle and worthy minister of the tyrant King Zhou of Shang) passed by the ruins of the former Shang capital and saw that the once-flourishing palace halls had crumbled to ruin, now overgrown with grain, millet, and wheat seedlings. Overcome with sorrow, he composed the "Song of the Wheat in Ear" (麥秀歌): "The wheat is bearded and swaying, and the grain and millet grow lush and glossy. That reckless boy—he would not heed my counsel!" (麦秀渐渐兮,禾黍油油。彼狡童兮,不与我好兮). The tips of the wheat sway with their awns; the grain and millet grow lush and glossy. That willful boy (referring to King Zhou of Shang) would not listen to my counsel! Moved by the sight before him, Jizi, gazing upon the lush wheat in ear growing over the ruins of his homeland, thought of the fall of the Shang dynasty and was overcome with grief. The Shiji records: "When the surviving people of Yin heard it, all wept" (殷民闻之,皆为流涕).

From this, "the sorrow of wheat in ear" became an eternal elegy of longing for a lost homeland, of the anguish of a fallen state. Its profundity lies in this: it is precisely that lush, beautiful wheat in ear (the scene of ripened wheat at Mangzhong) that throws into relief the ruin and desolation of the homeland. The more luxuriant the wheat, the more it reveals the abandonment of the palace halls; the more vibrant the vitality, the more it sets off the sorrow of a fallen state. This technique of depicting sorrow through a joyful scene, of setting off desolation against abundance, gives "the sorrow of wheat in ear" an artistic power and emotional depth of the highest order.

Why should the wheat of Mangzhong come to carry so profound a longing for a lost homeland$17 Because the scene of wheat in ear (wheat ripening) is, in itself, a symbol of harvest, abundance, and vitality; and when this beautiful, ripened wheat grows atop the ruins of a fallen homeland, the stark contrast between vitality and desolation evokes the most profound historical sorrow. The wheat of Mangzhong is thus not merely life-sustaining grain and the joy of harvest, but is elevated, in literature, into a profound image carrying the rise and fall of history, the longing for a lost homeland. A field of golden wheat awns is written through, at once, with the hope of harvest and with the vicissitudes of history—this is precisely the double meaning of Mangzhong's "mang" within literature.

IV. The Chuci and the South: The World of Plants and Grasses in the Season of Mangzhong

Mangzhong belongs to midsummer and is matched to the south, and the Chuci (楚辭, Songs of Chu) is precisely the great treasure of southern literature; the world of plants and grasses in its pages resonates, across a great distance, with the seasonal character of Mangzhong.

Qu Yuan, in the Lisao (離騷, "Encountering Sorrow"), lavishly arrays fragrant herbs: "I wore the river selinum and secluded angelica, and strung together autumn orchids to make my pendant"; "in the morning I drank the dew fallen from the magnolia, and at dusk I fed on the petals shed by the autumn chrysanthemum"... These lush images of fragrant herbs depict a southern world in which, at the height of midsummer, plant life flourishes to its fullest. Mangzhong is precisely the moment when the plants and grasses of the south grow most luxuriant, their vitality at its peak—the world of fragrant herbs in the Chuci is precisely the poetic sublimation of this seasonal scene.

Though the line "gently, gently blows the autumn wind; the waves of Dongting Lake stir, and the leaves fall from the trees" in "The Lady of the Xiang River" (湘夫人) from the "Nine Songs" (九歌) of the Chuci describes an autumn scene, the southern world that the "Nine Songs" as a whole conjures—one woven from spirits and fragrant herbs, where humans and deities love and long for one another—is suffused with an atmosphere of humid heat, lush abundance, and shamanic mystery. This is precisely the spiritual undertone of the south's midsummer, the season of Mangzhong. The south belongs to Fire and is matched to summer, and its lush plant life, its humid heat, its dense shamanic customs all find their fullest expression in the Chuci.

At a still deeper level, the spirit of relentless quest found in the Chuci—"the road ahead is long, and far, far away; I will search up and down for what I seek"—and the fierce, unyielding devotion of "this is what my heart holds dear; though I die nine deaths, I shall never regret it," resonate profoundly, at the level of spirit, with the sharp, vigorous qi of Mangzhong's "mang" and the striving spirit of "busy sowing," racing against every moment. Qu Yuan's devotion of "though I die nine deaths, I shall never regret it" is precisely like the farmer's perseverance, "with no leisure even to eat," beneath the blazing sun of Mangzhong—both are a stance toward life that, faced with the truth that time waits for no one, gives its utmost effort and never retreats. The literary resonance of Mangzhong thus finds, in the southern plant world and the spirit of quest within the Chuci, yet another profound echo.


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