OH, LOVE: The Chinese Emperor and His Precious Concubine

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AN OPTIMISTIC BEGINNING

 

A writer once wisely noted that good always has a harder time than evil because it inevitably faces attacks from both sides. For instance, morality’s enemy is not only immorality — on the opposite flank, it is just as fiercely attacked by hypocrisy. And it’s often hard to tell which of these two adversaries causes more harm.

Love is no exception — its absence can lead to considerable troubles, but is a love that is too strong, all-consuming, and heedless of everything any better? Examples are not hard to find, and it quickly becomes clear that the worst-case scenario arises when such an overpowering love suddenly befalls someone excessively prominent — say, an absolute monarch who cannot be contradicted, even in the most obvious follies.

A prime example of such a disaster is the love story of a Chinese emperor who lived and ruled more than a millennium before our cheerful times. Let’s call him Xuanzong — that’s his temple name, a posthumous title, so since 762, that’s the proper way to refer to him.

His early life was far from easy, but eventually, his father abdicated in his favor, and Xuanzong’s reign began in a manner that was nothing short of praiseworthy. From the outset, he reformed the tax system, even exempting many families from taxes for a significant period (there’s an old Chinese secret — if taxes are reasonably reduced, the state ends up collecting more revenue, not less; some places still remember this, though it seems to have been forgotten elsewhere).

Xuanzong waged no wars of conquest, and in defensive battles, he was quite successful. Markets in large cities overflowed with goods brought in by countless merchants traveling along roads made safe and well-maintained by the emperor’s guards. The prosperity of the empire led to a flourishing of the arts.

China’s two greatest poets of all time, Li Bai and Du Fu, created their masterpieces during Xuanzong’s reign, and being unable to compose poetry was considered a sign of poor upbringing. The honest and capable Prime Minister Li Linfu efficiently managed the state apparatus. In short — paradise!

 

 

THE POPLAR AND THE JADE RING

 

No one, of course, could have foreseen that in the thirty-fourth year of the emperor’s life, a girl would be born into the Yang family (Yang means «poplar» in Chinese) and named Yuhuan (meaning «jade ring»), who would go on to shatter this idyllic harmony.

Her parents provided her with an excellent education, which even included teachings from Daoist sages on the art of lovemaking. And given China’s status as the most populous country in the world, it’s clear that this art flourished there.

She could ride horses, write poetry, sing, play musical instruments, and even play chess (in China, this game is called xiangqi — it’s not quite chess, but it’s very similar). Naturally, the talents of a girl named Poplar did not go unnoticed — she became the concubine of none other than Li Mao, the emperor’s eighteenth son!

For many, this would have been an excellent excuse to indulge in Maotai (Chinese sorghum vodka), fall face-first into a porcelain dish of bamboo shoot salad, and exclaim in flawless Mandarin, «Life is beautiful!» But this was not the kind of woman to put an end to her ambitions.

Upon entering the harem of the emperor’s son, she quickly began to master the most important art in this esteemed institution — court intrigue. The best teachers in this field were often those with special privileges, who could even enter the emperor’s harem — court eunuchs.

They were well aware of what had been taken from them and relished taking revenge on whomever they could. And the girl named Poplar learned from them, mastering many secrets…

 

 

THE EMPEROR INSULTS HIS SON

 

As the concubine of the emperor’s son, Yang occasionally visited the imperial chambers. Then, one day, when she was 22 years old (already far from youthful by the standards of that era in China), and the emperor was 56, an opportunity presented itself. Xuanzong was playing a board game — perhaps xiangqi or the strategy game wei-qi (similar to Go) — with his heir.

Being an excellent player, Yang quickly realized that the emperor was heading for an inevitable defeat — and then she came up with a brilliant plan! She picked up the emperor’s beloved little dog, approached the board, and, just as defeat seemed unavoidable, she «accidentally» let the dog slip from her hands onto the board. The pieces scattered, and the heir’s victory was thwarted. The emperor turned his attention to the woman who had «saved» him — and could no longer look away.

Almost immediately, Xuanzong announced to his son that he must surrender the concubine to him. The son dared not object, as disrespecting one’s parents was classified among China’s «Ten Abominations» along with unforgivable crimes like desecrating imperial ancestors’ graves, treason, and murder — all punished swiftly and severely.

Before long, the imperial harem practically ceased to function for its intended purpose — the emperor’s attention, as much as he could still give to women, was entirely monopolized by his new favorite. She now bore the name Yang Guifei, meaning Precious Concubine — an honorific title without any connotation of inferiority in Chinese culture.

 

 

PERSONNEL DECIDES EVERYTHING

 

The emperor never parted from his new love, neither day nor night. He spared no effort or expense to entertain her, inviting the finest singers, actors, and, of course, poets to perform in her presence. Even the great Li Bai delighted her ears with poetic improvisations, and both the emperor and Yang Guifei showered him with extraordinary honors.

Yang Guifei herself would grind ink in a mortar so that Li Bai could immediately write down his verses while the emperor, with his regal hand, stirred a precious herbal drink for the poet with a jeweled spoon. However, scheming eunuchs managed to drive a wedge between Li Bai and the imperial couple.

In one poem, he compared Yang Guifei to a soaring swallow, but the eunuchs quickly twisted this into a subtle insult — after all, even a beauty might have flaws worth mocking, and no woman, not even an imagined slight, would forgive a joke about her appearance. And so the great genius left the imperial court. But who could replace him?

This was not a question the Precious Concubine was willing to leave to chance. The emperor had made her so happy that she was left with just one problem — why weren’t all her relatives as happy as she was? And the love-struck emperor eagerly helped her solve this problem. A mere hint from Yang Guifei was enough for him to appoint another one of her relatives to a high-ranking position.

It’s hard to believe, but no one even considered the professional or moral qualities of these newly minted officials — not to mention their competence or integrity. Such chaos could only happen in ancient China thirteen centuries ago — something like that could never happen today, right?

So, when the capable minister Li Linfu passed away, it was no surprise that his seat was quickly taken by — you guessed it — Yang Guifei’s cousin, Yang Guozhong.

He was an extraordinarily frugal man, carefully hoarding every coin he could save in his personal treasury to ensure no one else could steal it.

Moreover, he fancied himself a great military strategist and promptly launched a war against China’s neighbor, the Kingdom of Nanzhao. Naturally, he also economized on provisions for the army.

As a result, barely one in ten soldiers returned from the war, most dying of starvation. But Yang Guifei quickly reassured Xuanzong that everything was just fine — and he had long since stopped contradicting her.

 

 

NOT QUITE CHINESE

 

As in any period of crisis, national tensions flared up — and China was no exception. Not everyone living there was ethnically Chinese, then or now. Yang Guozhong decided that China’s soft and pampered citizens could easily be replaced in the army by nomads, who were more accustomed to war.

One of the first to be promoted was An Lushan, the son of a Turkic woman and a Sogdian man — a short fellow with an enormous belly. When Xuanzong first saw him, he chuckled, pointed at the massive stomach, and asked, «What’s in that big sack?» An Lushan immediately replied, «Nothing but loyalty to my emperor», and his career began to skyrocket.

He soon became a powerful jiedushi (military governor) of a border province, leading troops into battle while also attending to courtly matters. For instance, he ensured Yang Guifei had a steady supply of her favorite lychee nuts — a delicacy that was nearly impossible to transport over long distances. Even today, lychees are not commonly available, yet An Lushan solved the problem!

He organized a relay system with horsemen riding day and night, passing the precious cargo along the chain to deliver the lychees to Yang Guifei’s table while they were still fresh. The cost of each nut to the treasury? Now, that’s an interesting question…

As usual, the worsening state of the country delighted informers — there was plenty to blame, and they could always invent someone to accuse! The most successful and capable individuals suffered the most — they had no time for scheming, unlike idlers and envious rivals. Increasing numbers of talented people fell into the hands of China’s creative executioners.

They soon began gathering dirt on An Lushan as well. But he had no intention of dying quietly and responded with an action that thrilled many — especially the nomads who now formed the elite of the imperial army. He called for a rebellion against the informers and schemers!

 

 

A TRAGIC END

 

Civil war broke out — always more brutal than a war against an external enemy, especially in China, where people vividly remembered how, during one failed rebellion, the victors buried 300,000 prisoners alive after a single battle. The rebel forces seized both capitals of the empire.

The emperor and his precious Yang Guifei tried to flee south with the small forces that still remained loyal to them. At the first resting stop, Yang Guozhong took charge of distributing food to the soldiers and, true to habit, hoarded as much as he could.

It’s hard to imagine a worse mistake — hungry and enraged guards tore Yang Guozhong to pieces, mounted his head on a spear, and demanded that Yang Guifei be handed over, holding her equally responsible for their suffering.

The elderly emperor tried to calm the troops but failed. The rebels, brandishing Yang Guozhong’s severed head, would not relent. What happened next remains unclear (accounts differ) — some say the emperor simply lost his nerve, others believe he was powerless, and still others suggest that, at his age, he no longer had much need for his concubine.

Whatever the case, no one intervened. The terrified Precious Concubine was seized and — according to some reports — strangled with a silk cord at a Buddhist altar, while others claim she was hanged from a pear tree. One way or another, the mob wanted her dead.

Her body was trampled into the roadside dust by horses, and the same fate befell her young children — such was the nature of a Chinese rebellion.

After this nightmare, Xuanzong realized he could no longer remain emperor. He retreated to a monastery, leaving it only once a year — on the anniversary of Yang Guifei’s death — to offer a funeral sacrifice at her grave.

Much more followed. An Lushan defeated the imperial forces, declared himself emperor of the newly founded Yan dynasty, and was later assassinated. The emperor’s son reclaimed the throne at great cost, became ruler himself, and, after his father emerged from the monastery to demand his power back, watched as the old man perished almost immediately — having taken an “elixir of immortality” brewed by court alchemists. It was perhaps the only known case where such an elixir actually had an effect!

As for the consequences of the rebellion, the numbers speak for themselves. According to census records, China’s population before the uprising was around 53 million. Afterward, it had dropped to less than 17 million. Two-thirds of the population of the world’s most populous nation perished.

So, love is undoubtedly a beautiful feeling — whether for a beloved partner or for an extended family — but sacrificing everything for love, as romantic tales often suggest, can be exceedingly dangerous. If you doubt it, perhaps reread this story from the beginning and think again.

 

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