The name 名
Guī 歸 is a woman's marrying: to the ancients she was ‘going home’ to where she truly belonged, to found a new household and raise the next generation. Mèi 妹 is a young woman in general. Thunder above is the eldest son, Lake below the youngest daughter—an elder brother giving a younger sister in marriage, or a feudal lord taking a bride. The line texts take the lords' marriage system as their model, not ordinary weddings.
The image 象
Thunder over the lake: movement above, joy below—acting out of delight. Yet only the first and top lines are correctly placed; all four middle lines are out of place, the exact reverse of Jian. And soft rides hard twice—line 3 over line 2, line 5 over line 4. Marriage is a great matter, and precisely the one most easily gone wrong. Inside lie a hidden Fire (lines 2–4) and a hidden Water (lines 3–5).
Layers of images 層
A gua can be read on several levels at once: the trigrams as members of a family (father, mother, eldest to youngest sons and daughters), the six lines as ranks in an organisation (from newcomer to ruler), and as forces of nature and animals. Each extra level adds meaning to the line texts.
Read as a family
Below is Duì, the youngest daughter; above is Zhèn, the eldest son. The young woman follows the moving eldest son (Zhèn) out of delight (Duì); feeling runs ahead of proper form, so the judgment warns that setting out is ominous. Seen another way, the elder brother above gives his little sister away in marriage, and in ancient times a lord’s bride often brought a younger sister with her. Think of your own mother: she was someone else’s daughter, and this family began when she married in. That is what “going home” in marriage means. Compared with Jiàn, where the man stays below and all goes in order, here the woman follows the man’s movement and things are already under way.
Line 1, “the maiden marries as the junior companion; lame, yet able to walk; setting out is auspicious”: Line 1 is in the lower Duì, the youngest daughter, the little sister, and here she plays the companion bride. The bottom line is the foot, and Duì means breakage, so she is lame; but a yang line has drive and can still walk. Wife and companion are sisters who help each other, far easier than living alongside a stranger.
Line 4, “the maiden’s marriage overruns its date; a late marriage has its time”: Line 4 is in the nuclear Lí of lines 2–4, the sun, and the nuclear Kǎn of lines 3–5, the moon. Sun and moon mean days passing as the wedding is put off again and again. But Line 4 is already inside the upper Zhèn, which belongs to spring, the ancient season for weddings: what it waits for is both the right time and the right match.
Line 5, “Emperor Yǐ gives his sister in marriage; the bride’s sleeves are less fine than her companion’s; the moon is nearly full; good fortune”: the fifth is the place of highest rank, and the bride is the emperor’s own sister, yet she dresses more plainly than her attendant. The moon is almost but not quite full, not competing to shine brightest: modesty at the top is what makes the marriage auspicious.
Top line, “the woman holds a basket with nothing in it; the man stabs a sheep and no blood flows”: Guīmèi derives from Tài, and the upper Kūn has become Zhèn, whose shape is open and hollow like a bamboo basket, while Kūn itself is empty, so the basket holds nothing. The lower Duì is the sheep, and Line 3, the top line’s partner, sits in the nuclear Kǎn, blood; yet the slaughtered sheep yields none. Gifts and offerings are mere form: this match has no substance.
Turn Guīmèi over, or change all six lines, and you get Jiàn. In Jiàn the man is below and the woman above, and they marry step by step; in Guīmèi the woman follows the man’s movement and is through the door before the rites are done. When you draw Guīmèi, hold it against Jiàn: which steps were skipped, and can they still be made up?
Guīmèi’s nuclear trigrams are Lí below and Kǎn above, making Jìjì, Already Across. Inside, things are already done: the marriage has happened, the situation is fixed. So Guīmèi’s difficulty is not whether to begin but how, once inside, to make the relationship work within a shape that is already set.
In sequence 序
進必有所歸，故受之以歸妹。
The Sequence says that advance must arrive somewhere, so the Marrying Maiden follows. Jian was progress; progress needs a destination, and a woman's marriage is one of life's destinations. The Miscellany calls it ‘the woman's culmination’.
The judgment 辭
歸妹：征凶，无攸利。
Advancing brings misfortune; nothing is favourable. Strange at first sight—a wedding is a joyful occasion. But marriage is already the greatest of undertakings; even full commitment may not get it right, so how could one rush on to other goals or count profits? If you draw this gua, steady what is in front of you and make no new plans to charge ahead.
Commentary on the judgment 彖
彖曰：歸妹，天地之大義也。天地不交，而萬物不興，歸妹人之終始也。說以動，所歸妹也。征凶，位不當也。无攸利，柔乘剛也。
The Commentary opens on the grand scale: the marrying maiden is the great principle of heaven and earth; if heaven and earth did not join, nothing would flourish. ‘The end and beginning of humankind’—end first, then beginning: one generation closes and the next begins, through marriage and family. But ‘advancing brings misfortune, for the positions are not fitting; nothing is favourable, for the soft rides the hard’. With all four middle lines misplaced and soft over hard, every step needs special care.
The great image 象
象曰：澤上有雷，歸妹；君子以永終知敝。
Thunder over the lake: the Marrying Maiden. The noble person, looking to the long end, recognizes what can go wrong. A single life ends, but families and humanity go on; knowing the harm of a fine start with no lasting finish, one guards against it in advance.
The six lines 爻
Ruling line The notes name no ruling line, and tradition is divided. Line 5 deserves special attention: honoured and central, matched with line 2, it wins good fortune through modesty.
The path of the six lines, bottom to top
Line 1 goes as the companion bride, lame yet able to walk; content to support, it does well to set out. Line 2 has poor eyes yet can see, like a quiet recluse keeping to what is right and not changing its constancy. Line 3 is of low standing and in a hurry to marry; better to turn back and go instead as a companion. Line 4 sees the wedding postponed again and again; having entered the upper trigram, it simply waits, for a late marriage has its own time. Line 5 is the emperor’s sister, more plainly dressed than her attendant, and her modesty brings good fortune. The top line reaches the end: an empty basket, a sheep that does not bleed; the rites are empty form, and the marriage has no substance.
初九歸妹以娣，跛能履，征吉。
In plain words
The maiden is married off as a secondary bride. The lame can still walk. Advancing brings good fortune.
Close reading
A yang line in a yang place, correctly positioned, without response from line 4. In the old system, when a lord took a wife, her younger sister came with her as a secondary bride, the di; this line, at the base of the lower Lake (the youngest daughter), is that sister. Lowest, it is the foot; Lake means breakage, hence lame; but as a strong line it has drive and can walk, so advancing is good. ‘For constancy’: the sister came along to keep the two houses bound for the long term. ‘They support each other’: she is the wife's helper and can, if need be, succeed to her place.
One level deeper
Line 1, “the maiden marries as the junior companion; lame, yet able to walk; setting out is auspicious”: Line 1 is in the lower Duì, the youngest daughter, the little sister, and here she plays the companion bride. The bottom line is the foot, and Duì means breakage, so she is lame; but a yang line has drive and can still walk. Wife and companion are sisters who help each other, far easier than living alongside a stranger.
If you drew this line
A supporting role and imperfect conditions need not stop you. Do your part well, and when the chance comes you will be ready to carry more.
九二眇能視，利幽人之貞。
In plain words
One-eyed, yet able to see. Favourable for the steadfastness of a recluse.
Close reading
A yang line in a yin place, out of position, but central in the lower trigram and matched with line 5. It lies in the hidden Fire (the eye) and in the Lake (breakage): an eye impaired yet still seeing. Lake is a marsh, and one dwelling within it is a recluse. ‘It has not departed from the constant’: keeping to the norm, content in a lower place, it waits for the right time.
If you drew this line
See clearly, but do not demand perfection. Staying quiet and steady, and not rushing to a verdict, is more reliable than acting on impulse.
Look Clearly Before, Fuss Less After
A woman discussing marriage with her boyfriend cast for herself and drew this line. Seeing ‘impaired eye’ and ‘recluse’, she declared she would simply not marry. The reader quickly added the Small Image—‘it has not departed from the constant’: the relationship was a normal one, and there was no need to rush to a verdict. The advice: look clearly before the wedding, and fuss less after it. Interpretation is never a game; a single slanted phrase can push someone toward the wrong decision.
六三歸妹以須，反歸以娣。
In plain words
The maiden is married off as a lowly concubine; she returns and goes instead as a secondary bride.
Close reading
A yin line in a yang place, neither central nor correct, without response from the top line—‘not fitting’. Xu was the name of a star-lodge; the Zhengyi commentary on the Shiji's Treatise on the Heavenly Offices glosses it as a term for a lowly concubine. In the Lake, which signifies a concubine, the line takes that image. Pressing forward would carry it into the peril of the hidden Water; turning back to the proper arrangement, going as the sister-bride, is right. A wife and her sister get along easily; a wife and a concubine seldom do.
If you drew this line
If the arrangement you began with is not proper, turn back early and take the right road. Expedients tend to plant long-term discord.
Yao Gives Both Daughters to Shun
The Basic Annals of the Five Emperors relate that the aged Yao, seeking a worthy successor, was told of Shun. To test him, Yao gave him both his daughters in marriage, to observe his virtue through them; later tradition names them Ehuang and Nüying. Shun had them live by the Gui River, observing the proper conduct of wives. Two sisters married together and at peace: this is why the ancients valued a sister as secondary bride rather than a concubine.
九四歸妹愆期，遲歸有時。
In plain words
The maiden's wedding is delayed. A late marriage has its time.
Close reading
A yang line in a yin place, out of position, without response from line 1, so it must wait before acting. It sits in both the hidden Fire (sun) and the hidden Water (moon): sun and moon, long time passing, nothing settled. But it has entered the upper Thunder, which is movement and spring, and weddings were mostly held in spring—when the season comes, it will go. ‘The intent in delaying is to wait, then act’: what it waits for is both the moment and the right partner.
One level deeper
Line 4, “the maiden’s marriage overruns its date; a late marriage has its time”: Line 4 is in the nuclear Lí of lines 2–4, the sun, and the nuclear Kǎn of lines 3–5, the moon. Sun and moon mean days passing as the wedding is put off again and again. But Line 4 is already inside the upper Zhèn, which belongs to spring, the ancient season for weddings: what it waits for is both the right time and the right match.
If you drew this line
What you seek may come late, but late is not never. Do not fret; prepare yourself, and act when the time is ripe.
六五帝乙歸妹，其君之袂，不如其娣之袂良，月幾望，吉。
In plain words
King Yi gives his sister in marriage. The bride's sleeves are not as fine as those of her sister-attendant. The moon is nearly full. Auspicious.
Close reading
A yin line in a yang place, out of position, but central in the upper trigram and matched with line 2. Guimei comes from Tai (11) by swapping lines 3 and 4; this line did not move and keeps Kun's plainness (Kun is cloth), while line 2 sits where Tai's Qian—gold and jade—once was, so the attendant is the one finely dressed. The true wife has real standing and needs no ornament: ‘her place is central; she acts with nobility’. ‘The moon nearly full’ is a moon about to round but not yet round; fullness invites waning, so stop just short of it and stay modest.
One level deeper
Line 5, “Emperor Yǐ gives his sister in marriage; the bride’s sleeves are less fine than her companion’s; the moon is nearly full; good fortune”: the fifth is the place of highest rank, and the bride is the emperor’s own sister, yet she dresses more plainly than her attendant. The moon is almost but not quite full, not competing to shine brightest: modesty at the top is what makes the marriage auspicious.
If you drew this line
In a position of importance, there is no need to outshine everyone or display yourself. Substance matters more than show; leaving things a little short of full is the way to last.
上六女承筐无實，士刲羊无血，无攸利。
In plain words
The woman holds a basket, but it is empty. The man stabs the sheep, but no blood flows. Nothing is favourable.
Close reading
A yin line in a yin place, correctly positioned, but at the end of the gua and without response from line 3. The upper trigram was Tai's Kun and became Thunder, whose shape is hollow like a basket—‘a basket with nothing in it’. The lower went from Qian (the gentleman) to Lake (the sheep), and the hidden Water (blood) sits above the Lake, yet no blood comes. In ancient rites a new bride joined the ancestral sacrifice after three months, and only then truly belonged to the family; a failed rite means a marriage with form but no substance. ‘She holds an empty basket.’
One level deeper
Top line, “the woman holds a basket with nothing in it; the man stabs a sheep and no blood flows”: Guīmèi derives from Tài, and the upper Kūn has become Zhèn, whose shape is open and hollow like a bamboo basket, while Kūn itself is empty, so the basket holds nothing. The lower Duì is the sheep, and Line 3, the top line’s partner, sits in the nuclear Kǎn, blood; yet the slaughtered sheep yields none. Gifts and offerings are mere form: this match has no substance.
If you drew this line
When the form is all there but the content is hollow, pushing on achieves nothing. Step back and ask whether there is real commitment and effort on both sides.
Stories 典
Nine Brides at One Betrothal
The Gongyang Commentary explains that when a lord married into one state, two other states sent brides to accompany her, each with a niece and a younger sister in train—so ‘a lord takes nine women at a single betrothal’. If the principal wife died young, a kinswoman could succeed her; the alliance between houses endured, and heirs were plentiful. It was a political arrangement of the feudal age and need not bind us today; but it shows that Guimei's line texts were written chiefly with rulers in mind.
King Yi Gives His Sister in Marriage
Di Yi was the penultimate king of Shang and father of the notorious Zhou Xin. The phrase ‘King Yi gives his sister in marriage’ appears twice in the Changes—in Tai and here—one of the few clear historical references in the line texts. It is generally thought that Di Yi married a royal woman to a leader of the Zhou people, making the two houses kin, though accounts differ on who the groom was. The text records only one detail: the royal bride's sleeves were plainer than her attendant's. The truly noble hold themselves by propriety, not finery—the restraint of a moon not quite full.
Insight 悟
The Commentary sets Guimei on the highest plane—the great principle of heaven and earth, the end and beginning of humankind—yet most of its lines are troubled; only the first and fifth are auspicious. The gap between ideal and reality shows that marriage, like every close partnership, is never as easy as we imagine. What decides it is not fate but conduct: keep your measure, turn back early from an improper arrangement, wait patiently when the time has not come, stay modest in high place, and, looking to the long end, see the flaws in advance and guard against them from the start.