Zou Yushan And His Ascension And Demise Through Assassination

In the 130s BCE, the kingdom of Minyue (approximately Fujian Province, China) ran afoul of Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty (r. 141-87 BCE). Although Emperor Wu was, himself, a prevalent conqueror, he did not appreciate that the kingdom of Minyue was independently launching attacks against its neighbors. In 138 BCE, the king of Minyue attacked the kingdom of Donghai, but before the war was concluded, Emperor Wu sent troops to break up the fight and enforce peace. After being thwarted in Donghai by the emperor, the king of Minyue scoured the political landscape for another victim to invade. In 135 BCE, Minyue prepared an attack against Southern Yue, a kingdom where the Han Empire had long been trying to make diplomatic inroads. As the kingdom of Minyue was about to threaten Han foreign policy toward Southern Yue, Emperor Wu intervened once again, sending troops to stop the invasion and to punish the king of Minyue.

Minyue was ruled by King Zou Ying at the time of this second intervention by the emperor’s forces. Zou Ying was said to have plotted rebellion at this point, sending his own forces to block the passes and roads into his kingdom. The prospect of war with Emperor Wu’s imperial army understandably frightened the officials of Minyue, and a conspiracy soon formed to assassinate the king in hopes of alleviating the emperor’s wrath. At the head of the cabal was an unlikely assassin—the king’s own brother, Zou Yushan.

After Zou Yushan had gained the confidence of the kingdom’s officials and the military, he murdered his brother, King Zou Ying, while the two traveled. He reportedly slew the king with a spear and sent his brother’s head to the Han army. When the assassination became known, Emperor Wu spared the kingdom and placed on the throne Zou Chao, a weak and malleable member of Minyue’s royal family. Zou Chao, despite his imperial backing, was not the real powerbroker in Minyue. After the killing of King Zou Ying, it was the assassin, Zou Yushan, who became the shadow ruler of the region.

Zou Yushan’s influence could not be kept a secret forever, and Emperor Wu eventually decided to bring the shadow ruler out of the darkness. Zou Yushan was proclaimed king of Eastern Yue, while Zou Chou was named king of Yao. Under the leadership of Zou Yushan, Minyue was able to coexist with Emperor Wu for years. The peace, however, would not last, and Zou Yushan would soon find himself in a similar situation to that of the brother he had assassinated.

The downfall of Zou Yushan came in 112 and 111 BCE, when Emperor Wu stepped up his diplomatic and military pressure against Southern Yue. King Zou Yushan was put in an awkward situation by the conflict, as the monarchy in Southern Yue was said to have been a distant branch of Minyue’s own Zou royal family. As such, Zou Yushan was conflicted about the campaign and ultimately withheld his support from Emperor Wu’s conquest of Southern Yue, which occurred in 111 BCE. This hesitancy and lack of support did not go unnoticed by the Han army, and the generals who had attacked Southern Yue now pressured the emperor to let them punish Zou Yushan in Eastern Yue. According to Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), Emperor Wu was not interested in a punitive campaign against Eastern Yue at that time, and did not give the generals a green-light to attack. Nevertheless, Zou Yushan heard of the army’s displeasure and the calls to attack his kingdom. The news made the king of Eastern Yue paranoid, and his paranoia eventually drove him to rebellion.

Following the same path of his brother before him, Zou Yushan declared a rebellion at the first sign of imperial military pressure, real or imagined. He sent his troops to block the roads and passes into his kingdom, and also appointed a general-in-chief to command the kingdom’s forces against a Han invasion. Emperor Wu indeed responded to the rebellion, and did so quickly in late 111 BCE, invading Eastern Yue on multiple fronts.  

The war went poorly for Eastern Yue, and the general-in-chief of the kingdom was slain on the battlefield by Han forces. King Zou Yushan’s popularity in Eastern Yue fell as the Han forces pushed onward, and the officials of the kingdom grew less and less confident of their king’s abilities. From such an atmosphere, a plot inevitably formed among the officials and commanders to assassinate the king in hopes of winning back the confidence of the Han emperor. Once again, the assassin proved to be family, as Zou Yushan was killed by his kinsman, Zou Jugu. When the grim deed was done, the conspirators seized control of the kingdom and quickly surrendered to the Han forces.  

Upon the surrender, Emperor Wu reportedly spared the lives of the people of Eastern Yue, but he did take the opportunity to implement drastic steps to decrease the threat posed by the rebellious kingdom. According to Sima Qian, the emperor “commanded the army officials to lead away all the inhabitants of the region and resettle them in the area between the Yangtze and Huai rivers, leaving Eastern Yue a deserted land” (Shi Ji 114).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Photograph of Qin Terracotta Soldiers from Shaanxi Museum, photographed by Gary Todd, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

The Impressive Reign Of Zhao Tuo, Emperor Of Southern Yue

The collapse of the Qin Dynasty between 209 and 206 BCE was a time of remarkable social mobility. Governors, minor officials, and even bandits were able to seize the moment to achieve the ranks of marquise, king, and emperor. In the anti-Qin rebellion that turned into a rebel warlord free-for-all, power was up for grabs to whoever could take and keep it. A certain Liu Bang was the big winner of the upheaval, claiming for himself first the kingdom of Han (in 206 BCE), and then the imperial throne (in 202 BCE), announcing himself to be Emperor Gaozu, the founder of the Han Dynasty in China. Yet, to the south of Emperor Gaozu was another leader born out of the fragmented Qin Empire—it was Zhao Tuo, the self-proclaimed emperor of Southern Yue.

When the rebellions that would prove fatal to the Qin Dynasty broke out in 209 BCE, Zhao Tuo was said to have been a relatively minor magistrate in a province called Nanhai, located in the vicinity of Guangdong, China. His power skyrocketed, however, when he fortuitously managed to become the military commander of Nanhai just as the anti-Qin rebellion was beginning to take off. At first, Zhao Tuo was said to have played both sides in the war. On the one hand, he rallied his troops to set up defenses against potential attacks by rebel warlords, yet he did this while also ridding the province of officials and commanders who were too close to the Qin Dynasty or any particular rebel faction. Through such methods, Zhao Tuo consolidated the local military around himself and formed a regime that sought out the interests not of the Qin government or the rebels, but of their own local region in Southern Yue.

While the Qin army and the rebels fought their war, Zhao Tuo focused on conquering two frontier provinces that were adjacent to Nanhai. By the time the Qin Empire finally fell and the rebel leaders were divvying up kingdoms amongst themselves in 206 BCE, Zhao Tuo had enough land and might to proclaim himself to be the King of Southern Yue. In the aftermath of the Qin Dynasty’s fall, Zhao Tuo apparently maintained his defensive and isolationist policy, going out of his way not to interact with the rebel kingdoms. This, however, worked out in his favor when two rival warlords, Liu Bang and Xiang Yu, forced all of the other rebel kings to choose sides and fight another civil war. As Zhao Tuo had not been interacting with the various rebellion leaders of China, he was able to steer his own kingdom of Southern Yue on a stance of strict neutrality in the war between Liu Bang and Xiang Yu. By the time Liu Bang emerged victorious in 202 BCE and proclaimed himself Emperor Gaozu, Zhao Tuo and his kingdom of Southern Yue had successfully maintained autonomy, whereas the kingdoms involved in the civil war, including both Gaozu’s enemies and allies, started to increasingly feel the weight of imperial authority pressing down on their freedom.

As Emperor Gaozu came to power after years of rebellion and civil war, his reign as emperor was mainly inward-focused, with his immediate goals being the consolidation of imperial power in the empire and the preservation of his fledgling imperial house. Such a mindset from the Chinese emperor was beneficial to Zhao Tuo in Southern Yue, as Gaozu was more likely to spend his resources suppressing dissent or rebellion in his own realm, rather than mobilizing troops to conquer new territory. To minimize the possibility of stoking the Han Empire’s ire, Zhao Tuo developed a state policy of calculated deference and flattery to keep the Chinese emperors both happy and unimposing.

As Zhao Tuo had been a former official of the Qin Dynasty in charge of Qin-conquered territory, many in Emperor Gaozu’s court believed that Zhao Tuo’s kingdom still belonged to the empire, even if the ruling dynasty had changed. Yet, because of Zhao Tuo’s neutrality during the civil war between the rebel factions, Emperor Gaozu did not hold a grudge against the king of Southern Yue and did not seek to punish him at that time. With Emperor Gaozu not pressing the issue and Zhao Tuo doing everything in his power to avoid the question, the Han Empire and the kingdom of Southern Yue coexisted without any formal deals or treaties until 196 BCE, when Emperor Gaozu finally sent a diplomat named Lu Jia to broach the subject of vassalage.  Lu Jia arrived at his destination expecting to see a typical Chinese governor or nobleman, yet he found Zhao Tuo pointedly dressed in the regional garb of Southern Yue instead of the average clothing of imperial China. Zhao Tuo’s assimilation of his kingdom’s culture was one of several mind games he would play on the Han Empire and its diplomats.

While Lu Jia was visiting with Zhao Tuo, the king of Southern Yue agreed to accept a seal of kingship from Emperor Gaozu, which was a symbol of vassalage. Yet, after showing the Han envoy that the Kingdom of Southern Yue had a formidable army and a well-stocked treasury to fund said army, Zhao Tuo was able to turn the negotiations more into the direction of a non-aggression pact. In the end, Zhao Tuo apparently agreed to pretend to be a vassal of the Han Empire (while still retaining complete autonomy) as long as trade continued between their realms, with special importance placed on iron. Emperor Gaozu, for his part, was evidently fine with this agreement as long as his southern border was secure. This quasi-vassal status no doubt caused some complaints and irritation from the Han envoys sent to meet with King Zhao Tuo. Yet, according to Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), Zhao Tuo could appease any grumbling Han stickler for court etiquette by saying, “I have lived among these barbarians for so long that I have lost all sense of manners and propriety” (Shi Ji 97).

By pretending to be a vassal, while really only agreeing to a non-aggression pact, Zhao Tuo maintained peace with the Han Empire for years. The harmony between the two states was threatened, however, when Emperor Gaozu died in 195 BCE. Gaozu’s son, Emperor Hui, officially assumed control of the empire, but Hui’s mother, the capable Empress Dowager Lü, was the real power behind the throne. Empress Dowager Lü was reportedly more open to the idea of sending Han troops to attack the empire’s neighbors than her late husband had been. In one incidence of this, she reportedly urged her generals to attack the Xiongnu nomads, after the Xiongnu leader, Maodun, had mailed her an embarrassing marriage proposition. The generals talked her out of the attack, but the debacle showed that she, personally, had no qualms against attacking neighbors.

Although Empress Dowager Lü had been dissuaded from attacking the Xiongnu, she would have more luck in persuading her ministers and generals to move against the long-reigning King Zhao Tuo of Southern Yue. In an attempt to weaken her neighbor to the south, Empress Dowager Lü halted the flow of iron and metal goods into Southern Yue. This blockade had a peculiar effect on the usually agreeable king. In a rare display, Zhao Tuo completely shed his finely-crafted facade of deference and ignorance, instead letting his darker, more ferocious side leak out into the open. In response to the halt on iron, Zhao Yue martialed his forces and invaded the southern portion of the Han Empire, capturing several towns and cities along the border. To crown his victories, Zhao Tuo proclaimed himself Emperor of Southern Yue, before withdrawing his troops back to more defensible lands in his domain.

Empress Dowager Lü reportedly sent an army under the command of general Zhou Zao to respond to the aggression from Southern Yue. The Han army, however, was shocked by the heat, humidity and disease that it encountered in the southern climate, and its progress fizzled. By the time that Empress Dowager Lü died in 180 BCE, the Han army had not fought a single battle against the forces of Zhao Tuo, nor had it ever invaded into the heartland of Southern Yue. Upon Empress Dowager Lü’s death, the unsuccessful Han army was recalled and the attack against Southern Yue was canceled.

Emperor Zhao Tuo of Southern Yue calmed down after the passing of Empress Dowager Lü. He slipped back into his facade of deference and ignorance as he waited for the new leader of the Han Empire to reach out to Southern Yue. Emperor Wen, a son of the late Gaozu, ascended to the throne after Empress Dowager Lü’s death in 180 BCE, and eventually sent a diplomat to meet with Zhao Tuo. The envoy, once again, was Lu Jia, who had previously traveled to Southern Yue in 196 BCE, during the reign of Emperor Gaozu. Lu Jia was pummeled once again by Zhao Tuo’s carefully aimed deflections and humble excuses. The self-proclaimed emperor of Southern Yue slathered the new leader of the Han Empire with praise, made the usual show of deference, and claimed that his unsavory actions during the reign of Empress Dowager Lü were due to old age. According to Grand Historian Sima Qian, Zhao Tuo even sent a letter to Emperor Wen, apologizing for the fact that “your aged subject, to gratify a whim, presumed in his delusion to call himself ‘emperor’” (Shi Ji 113).

Lu Jia reportedly returned to the court of Emperor Wen thinking that he had finally brought the long-independent ruler of Southern Yue into the feudal fold. Zhao Tuo had apparently promised the envoy that he would abandon his imperial ambitions and henceforth act as a proper feudal king in service of the Han Emperor. Yet, once again, the carefully negotiated terms of this agreement really only rose to the level of a non-aggression pact, allowing Zhao Tuo to run his realm as usual. As stated by Sima Qian, “he continued secretly to use the designations ‘emperor’ and ‘edict’ the same as before within his kingdom, and only referred to himself as ‘king’ and used the other terms appropriate to a feudal lord when he sent envoys to the rulers of China” (Shi Ji 113).

Although Zhao Tuo had claimed to have been an old, delusional man around 180 BCE, he must have been exaggerating—after all, he was incredibly healthy and would go on to live for over four more decades after Empress Dowager Lü’s death. He reportedly had little trouble coexisting with Emperor Wen (r. 180-157 BCE) and Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE). Zhao Tuo, still an autonomous monarch, also witnessed the ascendance of the famous Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE). Yet, as the 130s BCE arrived, Zhao Tuo’s long and peculiar reign was coming to a close. Zhao Tuo, the self-proclaimed Emperor of Southern Yue, was said to have died in 137 BCE, after having reportedly ruled for an unbelievable reign of around seventy years.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Jade Burial suit of King/Emperor Zhao Mo of Southern Yue (d. 122 BCE), in front of Qin Terracotta Warriors, from Pit 1, both photographed by Gary Todd, [Public Domain] via worldhistorypics.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personszhaotuo.html 
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Altera/yue.html 
• https://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/5338/ 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Nam-Viet  

The Remarkable Tale Of The Generous Shepherd, Bu Shi

Bu Shi was said to have been a man from Henan who lived during the 2nd and 1st century BCE, coming to prominence during the reign of Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE). Bu Shi was a curious character—his life story often seemed more fairytale than reality, or perhaps his tale was embellished or invented to become an ideal example of a model citizen. Yet, the Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), a contemporary of Bu Shi, presented the man in his Records of the Grand Historian as not a mythological, literary, or propagandic figure, but as a real and historical person. On the other hand, of the 130 lengthy and often overlapping chapters of Sima Qian’s history, the mysterious figure of Bu Shi was only mentioned in chapter 30, which was devoted to discussing (often with criticism) Emperor Wu’s currencies, economy and government monopolies. As such, it is tempting to think of the generous and selfless Bu Shi as a foil against the growing tyranny of Emperor Wu and his greedy ministers. Nevertheless, it must be stressed again that Sima Qian (Emperor Wu’s Grand Historian and palace secretary) described Bu Shi as a real historical figure who lived during his own lifetime. Furthermore, as Bu Shi reportedly ascended to great political heights in the empire, he would have been an awkward character to invent or embellish. Here, therefore, we will simply record the remarkable story of Bu Shi, and leave readers to assess for themselves the historical authenticity of the person whom Sima Qian documented.

The Life of Bu Shi

Bu Shi was said to have come from a family of farmers in Henan. His parents died of unknown causes, and Bu Shi became the head of the family. Although the family lands and wealth fell into Bu Shi’s hands, he relinquished control of everything except a flock of 100 sheep to a younger brother. Bu Shi, now voluntarily destitute, herded his sheep over to a mountain, where he presumably lived in the wild, or in some makeshift hut. Despite giving away his inherited wealth and withdrawing to the mountainside, Bu Shi in no way lived an idle life—he devoted himself to expertly caring for and expanding his flock. Through his tenacity the sheep flourished, which, in turn, made the business-savvy Bu Shi an extremely wealthy man. Before long, Bu Shi had raised enough money to buy new land and build a house. All the while, his flock continued to grow, and, in ten years time, the sheep in his pastures expanded from the original one hundred to over a thousand strong.

While Bu Shi was growing his flock and wealth in exponential leaps and bounds, his younger brother was simultaneously running their ancestral farm into bankruptcy. Whenever his brother’s finances were about to collapse, Bu Shi would always send over a donation to keep the old family farmstead afloat. These events presumably took place during the 120s BCE, for Emperor Wu, by this point in the story, was sending his generals on frequent invasions of Xiongnu territory. These war efforts were drying up the empire’s coffers, and the emperor’s ministers were launching all sorts of fundraising schemes to replenish the treasury.  In response to the empire’s needs, the generous and selfless Bu Shi sent a letter to the capital in which he offered half of his wealth to the government for use in defending the borders. As to his reasoning, Bu Shi patriotically claimed, “In my humble opinion, every worthy man should be willing to fight to the death to defend the borders, and every person with wealth ought to contribute to the expense” (Sima Qian, Shi Ji 30). According to Sima Qian, the emperor’s advisors were not sure of what to do with the offer—it was reportedly lost in the bureaucracy, and years later the donation was declined.

Although the central government refused to accept Bu Shi’s money, the shepherd still wanted to contribute to the empire’s defense. Around 121 BCE, when the Hunye king surrendered to the Han, Bu Shi made another donation (this time successfully) of 200,000 ‘cash’ coins to the governor of Henan. The central government learned of this and reportedly sent him back more than half of his donation. Yet, the stubborn Bu Shi re-donated the returned money once more to the government. In response to this generosity, Emperor Wu reportedly invited Bu Shi to become a palace attendant, gave him some land, and had the tales of Bu Shi’s charity (and subsequent rewards) disseminated throughout the empire.

When Bu Shi arrived in the capital city, wearing a simple robe and straw sandals, there was only one job he would accept—shepherd for the emperor’s sheep in Shanglin Park. He worked a year in that position, greatly impressing the emperor by increasing the flock’s numbers and plumpness. Yet, the emperor and the ministers were more interested in Bu Shi’s logistical and planning skills than his talent for shepherding. He was given a position as a magistrate of Goushi, then of Chenggao, and, finally, he was appointed as the tutor of Emperor Wu’s son, Liu Hong, the king of Qi.

By 114 BCE, Bu Shi was reportedly promoted from tutor to the position of prime minister of Qi. In 112 BCE, when another wave of rebellions and war broke out, Bu Shi received a new promotion when he sent the emperor a letter, reportedly stating, “I beg that my sons and I be allowed to join the men of Qi who are skilled in naval warfare to go and die in battle” (Sima Qian, Shi Ji 30). Once again, Emperor Wu published an edict, citing the words and actions of Bu Shi for propaganda purposes. In addition to public praise, the emperor reportedly awarded Bu Shi with gold, land, and the noble title of marquis. A short while later, he was also promoted to imperial secretary. Bu Shi, however, was reportedly removed from the post of imperial secretary in 110 BCE after criticizing the emperor’s economic and tax policies. He was instead named Grand Tutor to the heir apparent. Unfortunately, the account of Bu Shi’s life ends here. Presumably, this means he outlived Sima Qian, who died around 90 BCE, and that Bu Shi caused no scandals or made any more edict-worthy donations for the rest of his life.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: ("Qing Court Version" of Along the River During the Qingming Festival, by the Painting Academy of the Qing court, c. 18th century, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji 30) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson (pages 72-83 of his translation). New York: Columbia University Press, 1993. 
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personsbushi.html 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Wudi-emperor-of-Han-dynasty

The Magical Rise And Fall Of The Magician Luan Da

Luan Da was reportedly a tall, handsome man, who presented himself with grandiose flair and steadfast confidence. He had a reputation for being a man of wisdom, not only in strategy and engineering, but also in knowledge of magic and all things supernatural. The charismatic Luan Da lived in a perfect age for someone of his talents, for Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty (c. 141-87 BCE) spent decades trying to discover the secrets of immortality with a sense of desperation unseen since the days of Shihuangdi (r. 221-210 BCE), the first emperor of the Qin Dynasty.

Luan Da first made a name for himself in the kingdom of Jiaodong, where he became a palace attendant of Emperor Wu’s half-brother, King Kang (r. 150/148-122/120 BCE). The magician eventually was rewarded with the title of “master of magical arts” in that kingdom and gained great respect among the members of the royal family, especially with the childless queen of Jiaodong, who presumably hoped the magician could help her give birth to a son. Nevertheless, when King Kang died, the queen still had not produced an heir, so noble titles were instead bequeathed to two sons born to King Kang’s concubines.

 Interestingly, instead of joining the courts of the new kings, Luan Da seemed to follow the widowed queen for several years after King Kang’s death. He may have also traveled to the domain of the queen’s brother, the marquis of Lecheng. Whatever the case, Luan Da would soon be moving away from the courts of petty kings and lords to begin a remarkable rise to great power and influence in the imperial capital.

 While Luan Da was in Jiaodong, a talented illusionist named Shaoweng had enthralled Emperor Wu with magical performances, especially by performing a trick where he seemingly conjured up the ghost of the emperor’s deceased concubine. Yet, Shaoweng made a fatal mistake in one of his performances—during a show where the magician found a mysterious note in a sacrificed ox’s stomach, the emperor realized with outrage that the handwriting on the note was that of Shaoweng. Realizing that the magician had fed the note to the ox before the fraudulent performance, the emperor immediately sent Shaoweng off to the executioners. Although the magician was indeed killed, Emperor Wu remained unwavering in his belief of magic and supernatural paths to immortality.

With the emperor’s favorite magician now dead, but his interest in magic in no way sated, it was the perfect environment for Luan Da to be introduced to the imperial court. With good reference from the former queen of Jiaodong and the marquis of Lecheng, Luan Da strolled into the capital city with his usual grandiosity and charisma. Before long, the smooth-talking and mystically-alluring magician had the emperor totally mesmerized.

Luan Da claimed to have great magical powers, and the way he said he obtained these skills was the stuff of Emperor Wu’s dreams. The magician told the emperor that he had studied under several immortals, although they apparently cut him off from their teachings because he was not of noble blood. In addition to being an acquaintance of immortals, Luan Da claimed that he had knowledge of an elixir of immortality—something that Emperor Wu was desperate to obtain. The magician also touted that he had knowledge of other supernatural talents, such as conjuring ghosts and using alchemy to create gold.

Although both the magician and the emperor wanted their partnership to go forward, the two men were cautious at first; Emperor Wu because he had recently dealt with a fraudulent magician, and Luan Da because the emperor had just executed someone in the magical line of work. The emperor and the magician both made demands of the other.  Emperor Wu wanted to see the prospective magician perform a feat of magic. Luan Da, however, wanted to be given certain protections, including a marriage to a woman of the imperial family, before he used any of the abilities taught to him by the immortals. Emperor Wu, as emperors usually do, got his way, and Luan Da was promised nothing until he could prove that he could really perform magic.

Emperor Wu’s challenge to Luan Da was something straight out of the world of Harry Potter—wizard’s chess. Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), a Grand Historian and palace secretary to Emperor Wu, wrote, “In order to test Luan Da, the emperor instructed him to give a minor display of his magical powers by making some chessmen fight. When the board was set up, the chessmen were seen to rush against each other of their own accord” (Shi Ji 28). The emperor, who apparently thought it was authentic magic, eagerly brought Luan Da into his inner circle and began raining gifts and titles down on the magician.

Luan Da would become the most rewarded magician in Emperor Wu’s reign. He indeed was allowed to marry a woman of the imperial family—to Emperor Wu’s own daughter, Princess Wei, no less. He was also raised to the nobility by being named Marquis of Letong. Along with his prestigious marriage and his noble title, Luan Da was also given various other auspicious titles such as General of the First Profits, General of the Heavenly Man, General of the Earthly Man, General of the Great Way, and General of the Heavenly Way. These titles were apparently handed out in rapid fashion. Sima Qian wrote, “In no more than a few months from the time he was granted an audience with the emperor, Luan Da bore at his girdle six seals, those of his five generalships and his marquisate, and his honour awed the empire” (Shi Ji 28). The magician, of course, also obtained great tangible wealth with his titles, including a magnificent mansion, several ornate carriages, a thousand servants, and a huge treasure of gold.

Although Luan Da was living the good life, he was also facing increasing pressure. As a performer, he was expected to constantly show new kinds of magic, and, as an occult researcher, the emperor expected him to be making groundbreaking discoveries about immortals and immortality. Luan Da, however, had seemingly hit his limit with levitation tricks and ghost séances. With expectations rising and results dwindling, Luan Da decided it was time to take a sabbatical and left the capital city indefinitely.

As a pretense for his departure from the city, Luan Da claimed that he was leaving to meet with the immortals—after all, now that he was a nobleman with marriage ties to the imperial family, the immortals would surely divulge to him the highest levels of their magical knowledge. Yet, by then, the emperor was becoming suspicious. Luan Da was indeed allowed to journey off in search of the immortals, but Emperor Wu secretly sent spies to keep a watch on the magician’s every move. Those spies eventually brought Luan Da’s magical career to an end. Sima Qian wrote, “They reported that Luan Da had in fact met with no spiritual beings at all, and that the story of his going to visit his teacher was all nonsense. Since it seemed that Luan Da’s magical powers were exhausted, and since his claims in most cases were not borne out by the facts, the emperor had him executed” (Shi Ji 28). Sima Qian claimed that Luan Da was executed around the time of Emperor Wu’s campaign against Southern Yue, placing his death around 112 or 111 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (“Four Generals of Zhongxing” by Southern Song Dynasty artist Liu Songnian (1174–1224), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

The Curious Tale Of Li Shaojun

Emperor Wu of Han (r. 141-87 BCE) was reportedly a very spiritual person who believed in all sorts of immortals, fairies and supernatural beings. As such, magicians, mystics and other claimants of otherworldly knowledge were prevalent in the emperor’s court. The fates of these men varied; some were granted great power and privilege, while others were quickly executed for fraud—and, of course, several met both fates, achieving remarkable influence before being later executed after one misstep. Yet, there were some magicians who won their renown in the imperial court and lived to enjoy their fame. Of this special group, one incredibly mysterious man stood high above his peers and even earned respect from some of his skeptical critics.

Sometime in the 130s BCE, perhaps around 133 BCE, a curious figure named Li Shaojun strolled into the life of Emperor Wu. The man was an elderly traveling magician and occult wiseman who roamed from region to region, performing all sorts of seemingly-magical deeds in exchange for shelter and sustenance from his patrons. Li Shaojun had no family, and, as far as anyone could tell, he had no ancestral ties to any region. Even his age was unknown—when asked, Li Shaojun always claimed he was seventy, but he had been making that same exact assertion for many years.

Although Li Shaojun ranked as one of the most believable magicians of Emperor Wu’s reign, he was not one for gaudy visual effects. He did not conjure ghosts, or cause inanimate objects to levitate, or do other such tangible displays of magic. Instead, Li Shaojun was more of a psychological magician, who astounded his audiences with knowledge about all sorts of information, both mundane and supernatural.

The Grand Historian and magician skeptic, Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), recorded several feats supposedly done by Li Shaojun. One time, when the magician was being hosted by Marquis Tian Fen of Wuan (died approximately 131-130 BCE), the sly showman amazed the crowd by speaking reminiscently about one of the partygoer’s long-dead grandfathers. Sima Qian wrote, “he told one of the guests, an old man of over ninety, that he had gone with the man’s grandfather to such and such a place to practice archery. The old man had in fact, when he was a child, accompanied his grandfather, remembered visiting the place that Li Shaojun mentioned. With this the whole party was struck with amazement” (Shi Ji 28).

The magician brought his talent for knowing random facts about obscure objects and people to the imperial palace and used it to astound Emperor Wu. According to Sima Qian, when Li Shaojun first appeared in the imperial court, Emperor Wu tested the magician by bringing in an old, dusty bronze vessel. The emperor then asked the famous wiseman to identify it. Without pause, Li Shaojun matter-of-factly explained to the emperor that the item in question dated from the reign of Duke Huan of Qi, specifically the duke’s tenth year of rule (c. 676 BCE). Sima Qian described the scene, “When the inscription on the vessel was deciphered, it was found that it had in fact belonged to Duke Huan of Qi. Everyone in the palace was filled with astonishment and decided that Li Shaojun must be a spirit who had lived hundreds of years” (Shi Ji 28).

In addition to his specific knowledge of bygone people and archaic objects, Li Shaojun also had a reputation for being something of a prophet. In regards to many of the other prediction-based magicians, Sima Qian often bluntly accused them of fraud, or at least hinted that they were being manipulative. Yet, in the case of Li Shaojun, Sima Qian simply wrote that he “was clever at making pronouncements that were later found to have been curiously apt” (Shi Ji 28).

When Emperor Wu and Li Shaojun had become close friends, the magician reportedly began to teach the emperor about a peculiar six-step path to immortality. Step one, curiously enough, was to offer sacrifice to a fireplace until spirits came to inhabit it. With a holy fireplace in possession, you could proceed to step two—use the blessed fireplace to magically turn cinnabar into gold. After obtaining the miraculous cinnabar-gold, the third step was to have the magical metal crafted into a cup and plate. The fourth step, Li Shajun continued, was to regularly dine off of the magical tableware. This would allegedly give the emperor a prolonged lifespan, yet not immortality. Once the emperor felt his life was lengthened, he could embark on the fifth step, which was to travel to the Gulf of Bohai to search for a mythical island called Penglai.

According to popular legend, Penglai and other mythical islands in Bohai could be seen from a distance, but never reached—they were either floating in the sky or submerged under water, and if anyone ever did sail close to one of these otherworldly islands, sudden winds would blow the seekers off course. Yet, according to Li Shaojun, the emperor could reach the magical island of Penglai after having lengthened his life by eating and drinking from the cinnabar-gold plate and cup. The sixth and final step to immortality, which could be completed after reaching Penglai, was to enlist the help of the magical islanders to correctly complete a set of mystical ceremonies known as the Feng and Shan Sacrifices. With this completed, Li Shaojun promised, the emperor could become immortal.

Ironically, Li Shaojun reportedly died not long after he divulged his knowledge of immortality to Emperor Wu. Yet, the magician had such an aura of genuineness that his death did not disrupt Emperor Wu’s faith in Li Shaojun’s teachings. Sima Qian wrote, “The emperor, however, believed that he was not really dead but had transformed himself into a spirit, and he ordered Kuan Shu, a clerk from Huangchui, to carry on the magical arts which Li Shaojun had taught” (Shi Ji 28).

Emperor Wu, as may be expected, never was able to turn cinnabar into gold in his fireplace. Yet, he skipped ahead a few steps and launched numerous expeditions to find the magical island of Penglai—a goal, like the cinnabar-gold, that he was not able to achieve. In 110 BCE, however, Emperor Wu did claim to pull off his own version of the Feng and Shan sacrifices and, around 109 BCE, he had a magician named Gongsun Qing in his palace who claimed to have grown a so-called fungus of immortality. Nevertheless, no magician or magical fungi was able to stop Emperor Wu from aging—he died in 87 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Album of the Yongzheng Emperor in Costumes (this time dressed as a Daoist magician), by anonymous court artists, Yongzheng period (1723—35), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji 28) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson (pages 25-26 of his translation). New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

The Odd Lifestyle Of Zhou Ren

In China during the 2nd century BCE, there lived an interesting fellow named Zhou Ren. He hailed from the region now known as Jining, Shandong, and through unknown means he managed to ingratiate himself into the imperial court of Emperor Wen (r. 180-157 BCE). While Emperor Wen was still alive, Zhou Ren became a palace counselor and joined the retinue of the imperial heir apparent, the future Emperor Jing. Before the ascendance to the throne of Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE), Zhou Ren became one of the new emperor’s closest and most intimate friends. Almost immediately after Jing became emperor, he appointed Zhou Ren to be the chief or chamberlain of all the palace attendants—a position Zhou Ren would hold for the remainder of the emperor’s reign.

Zhou Ren definitely was an oddball. He was described as something of an ascetic when it came to physical appearance and wealth. Even if a crowd of courtiers surrounded him, the peculiar figure of Zhou Ren could be immediately and easily identified from the rest of the masses. While other members of the court dressed in the latest fashions, Zhou Ren reportedly wore tattered robes that were barely kept intact by a network of sewn patches. His clothes were not only frayed and ripped, but also horribly dirty. Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE) described the striking visual and aromatic experience of meeting Zhou Ren: “He always went about in a worn and patched robe and urine-stained trousers, purposely presenting a dirty and unattractive appearance” (Shi Ji, 103).

Despite Zhou Ren’s monk-like asceticism in regards to clothing and wealth, he was allegedly far from restrained when it came to more sensual matters. Sima Qian categorized Zhou Ren as one of the “emperor’s male favorites” and, although the historian did not definitively state that Zhou Ren and Emperor Jing were more than friends, he did write that “it is not women alone who can use their looks to attract the eyes of the ruler” (Shi Ji, 125). Whatever the truth may be, Zhou Ren was evidently one of the emperor’s most favored and trusted courtiers. With trust came access to restricted quarters, and before long, Zhou Ren was able to wander in places where others could only dream of exploring. Sima Qian wrote, “Emperor Jing favored him and allowed him to go in and out of his private chambers; whenever there were secret revels in the women’s quarters Zhou Ren was always present” (Shi Ji, 103).

Despite rumors of Zhou Ren’s mysterious visits to Emperor Jing’s private chambers, women’s quarters and other such “dubious means to gain intimacy with the emperor” (Shi Ji, 103), Zhou Ren otherwise lived a virtuous and humble life in the imperial court. The reason he never was promoted from his position as chief of the palace attendants was apparently because Zhou Ren simply refused all offers of advancement. Similarly, he was said to never accept bribes, gifts or favors from courtiers or nobles. Zhou Ren’s reputation persisted even after the death of his patron, Emperor Jing, in 141 BCE. The new ruler, Emperor Wu, treated Zhou Ren with respect, but the aging chief palace attendant soon decided to retire. Although Zhou Ren never used his proximity to the emperors to ascend the social ladder, his children and grandchildren profited greatly from his intimacy with the imperial family. Sima Qian wrote that a majority of Zhou Ren’s descendants were given prominent positions in government.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of a Daoist immortal by Zhang Lu (1464–1538), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personszhouren.html  

Liu Pengli—The Serial Killer King Of The Han Dynasty

History has long hinted that absolute power can tempt even virtuous leaders into corruption. Yet, what happens when the one who gains power was never virtuous in the first place, but instead had murderous fantasies and psychopathic tendencies. This horrific second option reportedly became reality in China during the 2nd century BCE, when Liu Pengli became the king of Jidong. The Grand Historian, Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), was a contemporary of the infamous king and wrote a short description of the dark events that supposedly occurred in Jidong during Pengli’s reign. The killer king was seemingly a figure that the Han Dynasty wanted to forget about, and consequently Sima Qian only devoted one measly paragraph to describing Pengli’s life. Nevertheless, the brief information that the Grand Historian packed into those few sentences was terrifying.

Unfortunately for the people of ancient China, Liu Pengli was extremely powerful and incredibly well connected. He was the grandson of Emperor Wen (r. 180-157 BCE) and the nephew of Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE). Pengli’s own father, King Xiao of Liang (brother of Emperor Jing), ruled one of the most powerful kingdoms in the Han Empire and was even a top contender to become the imperial heir before Emperor Jing finally nominated his son, the future Emperor Wu, as his definitive successor. When the disgruntled King Xiao of Liang died in 144 BCE, his wealthy kingdom was divided among his five sons, one of whom was Liu Pengli.

Before becoming king of Jidong around 144 BCE, Liu Pengli apparently had a spotless record, or, at least, his crimes were subtle enough to escape notice. If anything, he only had a reputation for being uncouth and arrogant. Yet, when he became a king, Liu Pengli’s behavior was said to have grown exponentially worse. He surrounded himself with people of ill repute and developed into a ruthless tyrant. Tragically, Liu Pengli would be given nearly three decades in power to spiral into depravity.

Make no mistake, all of the emperors and kings of Liu Pengli’s day were mass killers—uncounted scores of people died in their wars and were executed by their legal systems. They were not necessarily murderers, but their hands were undoubtedly stained with blood. Yet, something separated Liu Pengli from his powerful peers. Other nobles killed to uphold law, to protect their country and family, or simply for political or personal gain. Contrastingly, Liu Pengli reportedly did not kill for any of these reasons; instead, according to Sima Qian, he simply enjoyed “murdering people and seizing their belongings for sheer sport” (Shi Ji 58).

It is unknown how quickly Liu Pengli’s alleged killing spree began, but by the end of his rule, the people of Jidong were living in a nightmare. According to Sima Qian, Liu Pengli recruited a band of around twenty or thirty like-minded disciples from the questionable courtiers that flocked to his kingdom. At some point in his reign, Pengli and his devoted cult of followers began skulking through the kingdom at night in search of random victims to rob and kill. The accumulating numbers of deaths sparked a panic in the kingdom and the people of Jidong eventually took to barricading themselves indoors at night so they would not be murdered. Over a long period of time, evidence began to grow against the king, and uneasy officials in Jidong started to suspect Pengli of perpetrating the killings. Even among the commoners of the kingdom, rumor spread that it was their king who was responsible for the wave of deaths. Yet, what could they do—Liu Pengli was Emperor Jing’s nephew and Emperor Wu’s cousin.

Fortunately for the people of Jidong, a letter accusing Liu Pengli of mass murder finally reached Emperor Wu around 116 or 115 BCE, the twenty-ninth year of Pengli’s reign. The emperor took the accusation seriously and launched an investigation into his cousin’s conduct. According to Sima Qian, the Han detectives discovered that the king had murdered over one hundred people without any just reasoning. The killings were done simply for the king’s pleasure, or, as Sima Qian stated earlier, as a sick form of sport.

Unbelievably, Emperor Wu was said to have spared his murderous cousin’s life. Liu Pengli was stripped of his nobility and was ultimately banished to live like a commoner in the region of Shangyong—an oddly light punishment for a convicted mass-murdering serial killer. That being said, it may be possible that Liu Pengli was framed. Emperor Wu and his father made serious efforts to divide and weaken the feudal kingdoms of ancient China, similar to the way Emperor Jing had divided the powerful kingdom of Liang into five more manageable domains. After Liu Pengli was stripped of power, his kingdom of Jidong was dissolved and the land was brought under the direct jurisdiction of the central Han government. In the scheme of things, Liu Pengli was one of several kings whose kingdoms were absorbed by Emperor Wu’s government after criminal trials. Nevertheless, because of the vague evidence left behind, we shall never know for certain if Liu Pengli was the victim or the victimizer.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (painting from the wall of Xu Xianxiu's Tomb of Northern Qi Dynasty, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Wudi-emperor-of-Han-dynasty 
• http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Emperor_Wu_of_Han 
• https://listverse.com/2017/01/04/10-historic-serial-killers-you-dont-know/  

The Daring Life of The Ancient Chinese Vigilante, Guo Xie

Guo Xie was a contemporary of Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), and they both lived during the reign of Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE). Although Guo Xie was not from a noble or wealthy background, he became one of the most famous men of his day. Sima Qian met the man in person and (unlike many other officials of the Han Dynasty) thought very highly of Guo Xie. With brutal honesty, Sima Qian described him as a short and ugly man, whose speech was not at all charismatic. Yet, through daring and vigilante justice, Guo Xie became a folk hero of the Chinese masses.

Guo Xie was a native of Zhi from a family of little prominence except for a certain famous fortune-teller who had been born two generations back. In his youth, Guo Xie was a ruthless ruffian who operated on a personal code of justice. Acting like a character from an Icelandic outlaw saga, Guo Xie was often a force of vengeance, righting wrongs that had been perpetrated against his friends, and (at least in his early days) he often resorted to violence to reach his goals. Guo Xie was also something of a Robin Hood figure, dabbling in banditry and forgery, as well as harboring fugitives that ran afoul of the law. In addition to his extralegal interests, Guo Xie had a terrible temper, which led him to kill many rude or disrespectful men. His vigilante and criminal behavior inevitably brought him into conflict with the Han Dynasty authorities. Yet to the Han officials’ annoyance, Guo Xie proved himself to be an escape artist.

When the recklessness and wildness of youth began to wane in Guo Xie, his life entered into a golden age. He learned to control his temper and gained a new appreciation for using nonviolence to solve problems that did not call for bloodshed. Yet, though his temper had cooled, the matured Guo Xie actually took on more vigilante missions than before. He became a knight of the people who solved problems not just for his friends, but for anyone who sent a messenger to him with a request for aid. According to Sima Qian, the reputation of Guo Xie as a warrior, a problem solver, a dispute arbitrator and a general champion of justice, resulted in him eventually receiving up to a reported ten messengers appearing at his home on any given day in order to request his aid. In accomplishing these contracts, Guo Xie traveled widely, visiting several kingdoms that were located near his homeland of Zhi. According to Sima Qian, Guo Xie completed every mission he embarked on, for he never accepted a contract unless he was confident he would be successful in the endeavor.

In 127 BCE, Emperor Wu ordered that the richest and most powerful families of China be moved to the city of Mouling for easy surveillance. The Guo family fell far short of the emperor’s definition of richness (3,000,000 in ancient cash), but Guo Xie had such a powerful and admired reputation at that time that they insisted he, too, needed to relocate to Mouling.

Even though Guo Xie had been trying to personally curb his excessive violence, he had no control over the passions of his followers. The large faction of Xie’s supporters in Zhi were outraged that their hero was being forced to move. These distraught people held the Yang family responsible, as many of the Zhi district officials were from the Yang clan. Therefore, before Guo Xie could even reach Mouling, the region of Zhi erupted into a guerilla war between supporters and enemies of the folk hero.

When Guo Xie and his family were resting in Xiayang during their trip to Mouling, troubling news arrived—at least three members of the Yang family had been murdered, and one of the murders reportedly occurred outside the imperial palace. The Yang victim near the palace had been carrying a message requesting aid against the supporters of Guo Xie. The assassin apparently had not retrieved the message and it fell into the hands of the emperor. In response to the violence and the request for help, Emperor Wu outlawed Guo Xie and sent his law officials to hunt down the famed vigilante. It was not an easy task, for Guo Xie had always been a master of evading capture.

A manhunt began, with law officials chasing Guo Xie’s trail through several cities. After an unknown amount of time, and an unknown amount of travel, the law enforcers finally captured their evasive target. With his capture, the fate of Guo Xie was sealed. Emperor Wu and his ministers were infuriated by vigilantes and so-called knights of the people—they deemed it unforgivable that the masses put their faith in a civilian vigilante instead of the government’s legal system.  Therefore, Guo Xie was given the harshest of punishments; for the crime of undermining the government’s justice system, the entire Guo family was executed. Sima Qian disagreed with the government’s decision to execute Xie, writing, “throughout the empire both worthy men and base men, those who knew him and those who did not, all admire his reputation and whenever they talk about the knights, they always cite his name”—Sima Qian ended his account of the man with, “Alas, that he met with such an end!” (Shi Ji 124).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Man sharpening a sword, hanging scroll (14th-17th century), color on silk, 170.7 x 111 cm. Located at the Palace Museum. [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.