事君事親 Two Weeping Eyes Look on Two More
事君事親,皆同一理;你為親恩,我為君恩。」正是那:事君事亲,皆同一理;你为亲恩,我为君恩。」正是那:
逐句解 Line by line
Serving a sovereign and serving a parent are one and the same principle;
Four characters and four characters across a semicolon, and the next unit is four and four as well — but the two are not the same shape as each other. This one is a topic followed by what is said about it; the one after is two parallel clauses that apply it. Matched depth is not matched form, and the two stay apart.
You for a parent's kindness, and I for a sovereign's."
為 is wèi both times, for the sake of — not the wéi of becoming. Eight characters, perfectly balanced, and they settle the whole argument by refusing to decide it. Neither death is the sadder; they are the same duty pointing two ways.
This is just the case:
The cue, three characters, and what follows is the pair of lines the scene has been building toward since the first tear.
Weeping eyes look upon weeping eyes; a heartbroken man sees off a heartbroken man.
Each line repeats its own four characters on either side of a single verb, so the grammar itself does what the sense says — two identical halves facing each other across a stream. 斷腸, the severed gut, is the standing Chinese image for grief where English says the heart. The lines are old and were not made for this book; the novel has borrowed them because nothing it could write would fit better.
The argument ends in a draw and the draw is the point. Serving a lord and serving a parent are one principle, so the monk with an emperor and the woodcutter with a mother are doing the same thing.
Then the two lines, and they are built out of mirrors. Weeping eyes on weeping eyes, heartbroken seeing off heartbroken — two men tied to facing trees, described in a form that faces itself.
It is worth noticing what the chapter has done here. It stopped the plot entirely, put its most frightened character in a garden with a stranger, and gave them four hundred characters to work out whose death would matter more.