The Jewel Box

Lord Mengchang (孟嘗君), a man of the third century BCE, was the son of Tian Ying, the youngest son of King Wei of Qi (斉威王) during the Warring States period (戦国時代) of ancient China. His given name was Tian Wen (田文).

Counted among the “Four Lords” (戦国四君) of the era, his reputation spread widely. In his fief of Xue (薛), he maintained more than a thousand men who lived under his patronage (食客), receiving them generously without regard to rank or origin; it was this breadth of hospitality that secured his name in history.

When he was once detained in the state of Qin by King Zhaoxiang (秦昭王), one of these men—known for his skill in theft—secretly entered the royal treasury and stole a snow fox fur coat (狐白裘). The king’s concubine had demanded this coat in exchange for persuading the king to release Mengchang, and through this daring act the way to his freedom was opened.

Yet before he could secure his return to Qi, King Zhaoxiang repented of his decision and dispatched pursuers, and Mengchang was detained at Hangu Pass (函谷関), whose gates were not opened until the cockcrow at dawn.

At that moment, another among his household, gifted in mimicry, imitated the crowing of a rooster so convincingly that the roosters nearby answered in chorus. Believing dawn had broken, the gatekeeper opened the gates, and Mengchang passed through, escaping before the pursuers could reach him.

The episode—later associated with the phrase “cockcrow and petty thieves” (鷄鳴狗盜)—has remained one of the most frequently recounted tales of his life.

Yet even a man of such renown, when he later stepped down from the position of Chancellor, saw those who had once gathered around him gradually disperse.

Troubled by their departure, he voiced resentment, only to be counseled by one of the few who remained, Feng Xuan (馮諼): “People gather in the morning market not because they cherish the market itself; and when the evening market stands empty, it is not because they despise it. People come when they have something to seek, and leave when there is nothing to gain (市道之交).”

Persuaded by these words, Mengchang received back those who returned and treated them as before. This account is preserved in Sima Qian (司馬遷)’s Records of the Grand Historian (史記).

Although maintaining such a large household was, in part, a strategy to strengthen political influence in ancient society, Mengchang’s name endures not merely because of calculation. His story remains popular because he appears, at least in the telling, as a genuinely good person—one who treated people without regard to status, appreciated their presence, and sought to understand intention rather than judge surface rudeness. Whenever I think about what it means to be a good person, I find myself remembering Mengchang.

People without resources or power often live in survival mode. In scarcity, personalities flatten; priorities narrow; behavior becomes predictable. Under pressure, we cannot easily see who someone truly is. But when a person has abundance—of time, security, reputation, or authority—they gain the freedom to choose how to behave. It is at that moment, I believe, that real character reveals itself.

I love meeting such people. They feel like jewels, and I imagine myself quietly placing them in a jewel box. When I begin to lose faith in humanity, remembering that I have known such jewels steadies me. They smile warmly. They are considerate. They use their resources generously, even when they are not required to. They give not because they must, but because they can.

This thought has often led me to wonder whether I am a good person for them as well. When a jewel eventually leaves, I used to assume it was my fault—that I had not been good enough to keep them. And because meeting such people feels rare, losing them can be painful, even when I am sincerely happy for their promotion, their new challenge, or their fresh beginning.

Yet Mengchang’s story reveals another angle. Though his fame was widespread and he was admired as one who welcomed people regardless of status, he too lost those who had gathered around him once he lost power. Presence does not guarantee permanence.

Perhaps, then, what matters is not who stays. Perhaps what we can do is simply encounter good people, treasure them while they are near, and keep their memory in our jewel box—even after they have gone.