Miscellanea VII. Fit to Be Called Langdang, But Daring Not to Speak Longzhong (堪作郎当语，不敢语龙钟)

When Emperor Minghuang of Tang returned from Ba-Shu, he once asked Huang Fanchuo: "The sound of the bells on the carriage sounds remarkably like human speech." Huang replied: " It seems to be saying 'Sanlang langdang, Sanlang langdang' (Third Son is fallen/wretched)." Minghuang felt a mixture of shame and amusement.

Additional Notes:

According to Tang Yulin (Forest of Tales of the Tang), Scroll V, this anecdote is also recorded in the Song Dynasty text Minghuang Zalu (Miscellaneous Records of Emperor Minghuang). Emperor Xuanzong (Li Longji) was the third son, hence the address "Sanlang." In this context, the "sound of bells" actually alludes to "Lin ling" (rain on bells). Since the Han Dynasty, the sound of carriage bells has often been associated with the sorrow of separation and travel. The melody "Yu Lin Ling" (Rain on the Bells) is traditionally said to have been composed by Minghuang after entering Shu, mourning Consort Yang as the sound of rain mingled with the bells. Thus, the auditory association here is not merely onomatopoeic but a projection of his state of mind involving a double entendre.

I have always assumed this anecdote was a fabrication by later generations, similar to the story "Is Chang'an or the Sun farther?" in Shishuo Xinyu (A New Account of the Tales of the World), essentially using the mouth of a figure of fascination to express the sentiments of the author. However, regardless of its authenticity, since it is a subject speaking to a monarch, even if it contains satirical remarks imposed by later eras, the language should not be overtly sacrilegious. Therefore, it is clearly inappropriate to interpret the "langdang" mocking Minghuang as the modern colloquial "吊儿郎当" (diao'er langdang), meaning "unserious" or "slack." Furthermore, this does not accord with listing historical facts: at most, Tang Minghuang was destitute and fallen, but certainly not a ruffian.

The analysis in the Qing Dynasty scholar Huang Sheng’s Zigu (Exegesis of Words) seems to offer an explanation: "A shift in articulation yields 'longdong' (cage/envelop); a lighter shift yields 'lingding' (lonely/wretched); 'longdong' with a dental articulation yields 'longzhong' (shaky/decrepit); and the reverse sound of 'langdang' is 'luotuo' (down and out)." He instantly deduced that these multiple terms are synonymous based on mouth shape; interpreted this way, "langdang" should refer to a state of frustrated ambition, stumbling, and sorrowful destitution, with the various written forms merely being the result of dialectal variations.

Additional Notes:

Huang Sheng's analysis actually touches upon the laws of phonetic transformation in "Binomes" (Lianmian words/alliterative or rhyming compounds) in Archaic Chinese. The terms involved here are mostly mimetic adjectives characterized by alliteration or rhyme. Examining them from the perspective of Old Chinese phonology, the initials of "Lang" (*raŋ) and "Long" (*roŋ) are both liquids (l-), and their rhyme groups are close; "Dang" (*taŋ) and "Zhong" (*tjoŋ) are both dentals (t-) or their palatalized forms. In phonology, this group of words belongs to typical "Alliterative Transfer" (Shuangsheng Duizhuan) or "Rhyming Transfer" (Dieyun Tongzhuan). Terms like "longdong," "lingding," "longzhong," and "luotuo" are essentially variants of the same phonetic template across different regions and eras, used to describe a state of being "loose, hanging down" or "shaky, unsteady." This can refer to physical objects (e.g., disheveled clothes, cumbersome luggage) or be metaphorically transferred to a person’s dejected state of mind.

Whenever I consider that "langdang" and "longzhong" might share a common origin, I cannot help but attempt to link the line "Tears on both sleeves, [I am] longzhong, never dry" (Cen Shen) with "Composed into a late-life langdang tune" (Liu Kezhuang), yet I find it difficult to do so successfully. The usage of "langdang" and "longzhong" seemed to have already developed subtle differences by that time, and these differences solidified into distinct meanings after directional evolution. Today, both terms can still be used to describe frustration and decadence, yet "langdang" seems to lean more towards a sense of cynicism and self-mockery, while "longzhong" retains a greater degree of solemnity and self-pity.

Additional Notes:

Although the phonetic origins of "Two sleeves longzhong" in Cen Shen’s Meeting a Messenger to the Capital and "Late-life langdang" in Liu Kezhuang’s Qin Yuan Chun may be linked, they diverge significantly in textual intertextuality. The term "longzhong" does not appear in the Classic of Poetry era but became more common during the Han, Wei, and Six Dynasties. For instance, Fayuan Zhulin cites the Biographies of Nuns: "Years already longzhong, where is Huangfu now?" It mostly refers to the frailty of old age and unsteady gait, carrying a physiological heaviness and a serious dramatic tone. Conversely, "langdang" entered poetry later and often carries a sense of frivolity or informality associated with vernacular literature. This Semantic Shift often creates an opposition in Register on a diachronic level for Cognates: "longzhong" was elevated (refined) to express the sorrow of senescence, while "langdang" was vulgarized to express the mockery of destitution.

In my view, this semantic divergence stems largely from two points. First, the alienation of the word's connotation by the dialect itself, much like the "Xiama Ling" (Dismount Tomb) in Pipa Xing being called "Hama Ling" (Toad Tomb)—the meaning inevitably changes, and even the derogatory or commendatory nature may shift. Second, as I mentioned in The Song of the Partridge Through the Ages, it is a result of the poet's "Projected Self" (Xiao wo). "Longzhong" was originally written language, yet "langdang," a colloquialism derived from dialect, is deliberately used in poetry. The use of dialect in poetry often carries profound implications. Deliberately grounding literary language feels like a "degradation of status" (self-kenosis), and this "self-degradation" often implies "self-mockery" and uninhibitedness, thereby demarcating the evolutionary direction of the word's meaning.

Additional Notes:

Regarding "Xiama Ling" becoming "Hama Ling," Dong You's Guangchuan Shuba also verifies that this was a corruption caused by phonetic similarity, a phenomenon of "Folk Etymology" in oral transmission. As for the "downgraded" use of dialect in poetry, it acts as a rhetorical strategy. Embedding a vernacular term like "langdang" into high-register regulated verse creates a tension of "Code-switching." This tension breaks the aesthetic expectation of "elegance and correctness," appropriately expressing the poet's emotions of self-mockery, helplessness, or even feigned madness at that specific moment—just as Su Shi wrote: "The poetic altar is like a battlefield; dialect helps as a surprise troop."

However, ultimately, there is no solid evidence to support whether "longzhong" and "langdang" are cognates. I am, in the end, merely seeking an explanation for a trace of unease found in an anecdote from an ancient book. I have continuously attempted to seek explanations for various doubts, and when I attempt to persuade others with them, I have already persuaded myself with these "irrationalities." Over time, I have become adept only at listening to the opinions of others and providing reasonable explanations for their opinions to convince myself. When I cannot persuade others to agree with my actions, I become terrified that what I am doing is wrong, even if the other party generally has no right to decide or criticize my actions. Three recent events have made me deeply feel that I am too easily persuaded, even yearning to be persuaded; and too skilled at self-negation, rapidly transforming that tiny trace of "injustice" into enormous "guilt." I am now deeply worried about this cowardice and the loss of self; perhaps this is precisely the reason for my "langdang" (fallen/wretched) state.

Additional Notes:

So-called "common origin" (cognates) in Historical-Comparative Linguistics demands strict adherence to phonetic correspondence laws. However, as Zhang Taiyan explored in Wenshi (The Origin of Writing), the confirmation of many cognate relationships often oscillates between rigorous evidential research and intuitive association. My current psychological state may have fallen into the predicament of what Lacan calls the "Mirror Stage"—an excessive dependence on the gaze of the Other. Just as Minghuang heard the bells and perceived them as saying "langdang," I too hear accusations of being "improper" (bu dang) in the fragmented words of others. This process of internalizing external symbols as self-judgment is exactly like the logic of Semantic Specialization (Narrowing) in language evolution: I have narrowed a formerly vast self into a "Langdang" guest, forever ready to apologize.