Cao Pi, the Emperor of Wei, had seized the throne from his own brother. He feared the literary genius of his younger brother Cao Zhi, whose poetry was celebrated throughout the land. One day, consumed by jealousy and suspicion, he issued a deadly challenge: "Compose a poem in seven steps. If you fail, you die."
Cao Zhi began to walk. Before he had taken seven paces, the poem was already forming — a verse about cooking beans:
"The beanstalks burn beneath the pot to make the soup.
The beans within the pot weep:
We grew from the same root —
Why do you boil me with such fury?"
The court fell silent. The poem was not merely clever — it was devastating. It named the truth that everyone knew but no one dared speak: the emperor was murdering his own brother.
Cao Pi's face flushed with shame. He let Cao Zhi live.
文帝尝令东阿王七步中作诗，不成者行大法。应声便为诗曰：「煮豆持作羹，漉菽以为汁。萁在釜下燃，豆在釜中泣。本自同根生，相煎何太急？」帝深有惭色。
文帝尝令东阿王七步中作诗，不成者行大法。应声便为诗曰：「煮豆持作羹，漉菽以为汁。萁在釜下燃，豆在釜中泣。本自同根生，相煎何太急？」帝深有惭色。
Reflection & Analysis · 寓意解读
Core Wisdom
Words, when wielded with genius, are mightier than the executioner's blade. The poet who names the truth can disarm the tyrant who fears it.
The phrase "七步之才" (talent of seven steps) became an idiom for extraordinary literary ability — the power to produce brilliant writing under impossible pressure. But the story's real power is in the poem itself.
Cao Zhi's metaphor is perfect: beans and beanstalks, born from the same root, one burning the other. It is a protest, a plea, and a judgment — all in four lines. By making the cruelty visible in a domestic image, he made it impossible for the emperor to pretend it was anything else.