ESCAPING FROM THE REBELS
In November 755, An Lushan, after repeated provocations by Chancellor Yang Guozhong, launched his rebellion against the central government. His army assembled in Hebei and swiftly marched inland. His men were well trained, his generals loyal and capable, and they took one prefecture after another as they advanced. The two hundred thousand troops were simply unstoppable.
Li Bai was in Nanjing when the news of the rebellion came. War refugees had begun to appear on the Yangtze, crossing the river and fleeing farther south, and Bai worried about his wife in Henan and his son Boqin in Shandong. His disciple of many years, Wu E, came to Nanjing from the coastal area to ensure that Bai was safe. On hearing about his family’s predicament, Wu E volunteered to go to rescue his son—the rebels would surely seize Shandong soon. Wu E was a knight-errant skilled in martial arts, bold but also coolheaded. Bai was terribly anxious about his family’s safety. Without delay he and Wu E started out north together. After a hundred miles or so, they parted ways: Bai headed west to Henan to fetch his wife, while Wu E made for Shandong to look for Boqin. Bai recorded Wu E’s adventure in his poem “For Wu Seventeen,” composed to express his gratitude to the young man.
Bai found his wife in Liang Park, which the marauding troops had already reached. Unsure if Wu E would succeed in rescuing Boqin, Bai and his wife decided to join the refugees fleeing south. They headed back toward Nanjing, where, as planned, Bai would wait for Boqin and Wu E. Along the way they encountered bodies scattered on roadsides and saw beggars everywhere. Beacons of war sent up smoke in the distance. Country people abandoned their homes, scrambling for places where the old social order might remain intact. The rebels killed and plundered at random, burning villages and towns. Their savagery terrified people, many of whom fled blindly toward Chang’an: in the public eye, His Majesty still embodied the governing power and the prospect of order and peace. The common people couldn’t see how disarrayed the central government truly was. The stunned emperor, by now seventy years old, was too feeble to organize an effective counterattack. He and Lady Yang could not believe that An Lushan, their beloved “son,” would make war to topple the dynasty.
In just one month the rebels captured Luoyang City. Then, in January 756, An Lushan established a shadow government in Luoyang and declared himself the emperor of Great Yan, his new dynasty. He would advance west all the way to Chang’an in the name of “clearing the side of His Majesty,” which meant eliminating the courtiers he hated. The main corps of his troops moved west along the Yellow River and continued to conquer towns and cities. In desperation, Emperor Xuanzong announced that he would personally lead the imperial army to confront the rebels, but then realized his health was too frail. Instead, he ordered Geshu Han, the grand Turgesh general serving in the Tang army, to march out of their current position at Tong Pass and lead the counterattack. He also ordered Guo Ziyi, commander of the Northern Army (and the very man Li Bai had saved from execution), to attack the rebel forces from the rear.
Marshal Geshu was experienced in military operations and revered by the common people. A popular folk song eulogized him as a great power that alone could stabilize the frontier: “The Big Dipper hangs high in the sky / And Geshu carries a sword at night. / The barbarians can only watch our horses in the pasture, / Not daring to invade our borderland” (“Song About Geshu”). However, Geshu was old and no longer had the valor and vigor he’d possessed in his prime. He was not optimistic about the present situation. He argued with the emperor, saying that his central army should continue to defend Tong Pass, the last stronghold on the rebels’ path to Chang’an, rather than take the offensive. If the rebels breached Tong Pass, there would be no place remaining in which to build a defense line and Chang’an would be completely open to assault. But the emperor refused to listen, so Geshu had no choice but to decamp and head for the enemy. He was ambushed on the way and caught by An Lushan’s men, his army routed. He later died in the rebels’ prison, an absurd and pathetic end to a glorious career.
When Geshu lost his army, the emperor was still under the illusion that the enemy was far away. Then the beacon smoke rose in the east, the capital was thrown into turmoil, and people were scrambling to flee. A chief counselor offered the emperor an odd piece of advice: he should grant sweeping administrative powers to four of his sons and make them fight to save the shattered empire. Strangely enough, His Majesty accepted the advice: he appointed his third son, Li Heng, as the marshal of the central army overseeing the vast territory north of the Yellow River; his sixteenth son, Li Lin, as the ruler of many southern prefectures; his twenty-first son, Li Qi, as ruler and military commander of several eastern prefectures; and his twenty-sixth son, Li Feng, as ruler of the prefectures around the capital. However, the twenty-first and the twenty-sixth sons would continue to stay at court, ruling their territories from a distance, so their appointments were meaningless. Prince Li Heng, the third son, was already the mainstay in organizing the counterattack forces: he directly commanded generals whose troops were engaging the rebels competently, including Guo Ziyi in the northeast and Li Guangbi in central China. His brother, Li Lin, Prince Yong, had also been resisting the rebels, building defenses along the Yangtze while occupying the fertile Wu land. The emperor’s decree stated clearly that all four princes had the right to levy taxes, appoint officials, and raise armies within their territories. This meant they would become actual rulers. The emperor did not foresee the unintended consequences of this decree, which would divide the empire.
As the rebels approached the capital, the court decided to flee. The common people were terrified and implored the emperor to unite all the forces to defend Chang’an. His Majesty was too feeble to do that personally, so he allowed Prince Li Heng to take charge of the imperial army and try to stabilize the situation. He then granted his throne to Li Heng, who refused to accept it. Instead, the prince led the army north to engage the rebels. But once he arrived at Lingwu (near modern Yinchuan), Prince Li Heng, urged by his counselors and supported by the populace, declared himself Emperor Suzong. His father, desperate in flight, had no option but to abdicate and accept the title of the so-called Grand Emperor—from now on he would be a mere nominal sovereign.
Escorted by a contingent of royal guards, the emperor and his court began their flight to Sichuan. The next afternoon the exhausted retinue stopped to have lunch at a courier station called Ma Wei Po, but after the break, the soldiers refused to continue. They killed Chancellor Yang Guozhong, who had been viewed as one of the main causes of the calamity. They then demanded that the emperor get rid of Lady Yang, another evil figure in their eyes. By now her three sisters, all wives of high officials, had already been killed by the outraged troops. The emperor was trembling from fear but refused to condemn his beloved consort to death. Gao Lishi, the head eunuch, urged him to yield to the soldiers’ demand so as to save his life, the dynasty, and the empire. Still the emperor refused. The commander of the guards came to appeal to him again and again. Finally His Majesty granted Lady Yang a piece of white silk, with which she hanged herself on a pear tree.
She was thirty-seven, at the prime of her beauty, and was buried at Ma Wei Po. Her tomb is still there: the site has been constructed like a small exquisite temple, which draws visitors and tourists. Controversy continues to surround her death: some believe a maid had hanged herself in place of Lady Yang. Rumor even says she didn’t die at Ma Wei Po and eventually sneaked out of China and settled in Japan. Today there are Japanese who claim to be her descendants.
Soon Prince Li Heng, with the help of capable generals, managed to contain the rebels. Now the new emperor, he ordered his brother Prince Yong, who occupied the vast land south of the Yangtze, to come to Sichuan to see their father. But Prince Yong, nervous about intrigues at court, disobeyed the order and instead began to raise a large army to defend his land. He attacked prefectures whose governors were loyal to the court, and cast out of his territory those officials newly appointed by the central government. Prince Yong believed that with abundant resources he could establish his own state south of the Yangtze—such a kingdom had appeared several times in history. But the populace regarded his older brother as the true emperor; their father had already approved Li Heng’s ascension to the throne.
Meanwhile, Li Bai and his wife were seeking safety. They had originally planned to go to Nanjing to avoid the rebels—the city was defended by Prince Yong’s forces, and its river might deter the enemy. But soon they realized An Lushan’s troops had been occupying places north of the Yangtze and might advance farther south as well. The Lis decided to go in a different direction. They boarded a boat and sailed west up the river without a clear destination. They stopped wherever Bai encountered a friend in a town or city. From his friends Bai learned what had happened on the battlegrounds and that the court was in flight. He was heartbroken, still in shock, and often had difficulty breathing properly. He wished he could do something to help the country, but for now he had to find a safe place for his wife and himself.
The couple finally stopped at Jiujiang and went up into Mount Lu, believing that the rebels were unlikely to reach such an isolated place. Indeed, the rebellious forces were slowing down and becoming less aggressive, as An Lushan grew content in Luoyang. The following months were somewhat stable for Bai and his wife, though he was often depressed, still in disbelief that the empire could be shattered overnight. It looked like they might have to spend the winter at the mountain. Miss Zong took comfort knowing that her master, Li Tengkong, also lived on Mount Lu, though many miles away.
It is recorded by all Li Bai chronologies that at the beginning of 757, Wei Zichun, an acquaintance of Bai’s from Chang’an, came up the mountain to visit Bai and asked him to join Prince Yong’s camp. Wei now was the prince’s right-hand man, a top adviser, and represented his master on this visit. Bai was delighted to learn that Yong’s forces were already in Jiujiang and that the prince knew his whereabouts and was inviting him to help defeat the foreign rebels. Yong planned to found a new government in Nanjing, which would rule the entire Yangtze delta. All night Li Bai and Wei Zichun talked excitedly about plans to advance north to destroy An Lushan’s rear base and save the country.
Bai neglected the fact that Prince Li Heng had already ascended the throne, dreaming only of how he might help Prince Yong found a new dynasty. His political vision was anachronistic, based primarily on the books he had studied. Despite his scant experience in the state’s affairs, he believed that at long last an opportunity for glory was presenting itself and that soon he would become a major statesman under Prince Yong.
He wished to leave the mountain with Wei Zichun at once, but his wife stopped him, saying that the Spring Festival was approaching, families were supposed to be together on the holiday, and he couldn’t leave home now. After Wei had departed, Bai and his wife argued back and forth. She believed it would be too risky for Bai to join Prince Yong’s camp and that politics was too treacherous an area for her husband to step into. Furthermore, there was already a new sovereign and Bai could not support a prince who was staking a rival claim against Emperor Suzong. She wanted him to stay home and foster the peace and quiet needed for their Daoist cultivation. Bai did not oppose her overtly, but felt miserable and even guilty for not contributing his efforts to help save the country. He didn’t make the distinction between Emperor Suzong and Prince Yong, seeing them as equally legitimate members of the family that ruled China, both exercising authority granted them by their father. In his mind, by joining Prince Yong he would be serving the court and the royal clan. Soon he resumed the debate with his wife, saying they ought to put the country’s interests before their own, that this would be his way of expressing his fealty to the royal family.
Immediately after the Spring Festival, Wei Zichun came up the mountain again. He presented to Li Bai a case of gold, five hundred pieces, and a letter personally written by Prince Yong inviting him to come to Jiujiang and join his staff. Bai was pleased about the money and again wished to go down the mountain with Wei. Again his wife dissuaded him, saying it would be inauspicious for him to leave home before the holiday season was over, which lasted fifteen days after the festival. She argued hard with Bai and became so upset that she burst into tears. After Wei left with his footmen, Bai and his wife talked late into the night. Finally both agreed that Bai should go and take a look. If Prince Yong didn’t treat him well, he should return immediately.
Bai and his wife didn’t know that just a few days earlier, An Lushan had been murdered by his own servant, a eunuch he had raised and trusted. His death halted the momentum of the rebel forces. It also meant that the court would now begin to reunify the country and eliminate any elements that stood to breach the nation. This was the popular sentiment at the moment too. Prince Yong now was viewed by Emperor Suzong, and by many people, as a rebel who must be subdued. Indeed, for months the prince had been busy recruiting troops and the support of public figures but had not succeeded in finding anyone willing to join his camp. Li Bai, completely ignorant of the complexity of the political situation, was the only public figure who expressed support for him.
As soon as the holiday season ended, Wei Zichun came up Mount Lu again. This time he brought with him four men carrying an exquisite sedan chair, which Wei said was the very vehicle used by Prince Yong himself. Wei told Bai that this was his third visit to the mountain: Bai must leave with him or he, Wei, would be unable to go back and face his master. So Bai put on new clothes and a felt hat. He was in such exalted spirits that he wrote three poems for his wife, the second of which said, “As I am leaving, my better half grabs my robe, / Asking when I will be back from the west. / I joke that when I return wearing a gold seal, / Do not refuse to leave your weaving wheel to see me” (“Leaving for the Front and Bidding Goodbye to My Wife”). But she could not share his buoyant mood and turned into their inner room, struggling to hold back her tears.
Wei Zichun was puzzled by Bai’s poem and asked him why he expected his wife to be unwilling to see him if he came home as a major official. Bai explained she was such an accomplished Daoist that she viewed high positions as an earthly attachment, a kind of vulgarity. On the way down to Jiujiang, Bai also composed a poem for Wei, which ended with these lines: “At last I can pacify the country. / After the success I’ll head for the five lakes” (“For Counselor Wei Zichun”). Having gone through decades of frustration and disappointment, Bai was still the same man who dreamed of becoming a great statesman and a legendary recluse.
In Jiujiang, the sight of Prince Yong’s large fleet pitched Bai into ecstasy. On the flagship, a banquet was prepared in his honor. The prince and his advisers and generals all partook in the feast. The last flotilla had just arrived, drumbeats rising and falling among the ships, horns sounding frequently. At the feast, as fifes and mandolins began to play, a group of girls started to dance. Although the prince did not appoint Bai as an officer or official—everything indicated that the poet was merely a cultural decoration in Prince Yong’s camp—Bai was in raptures and couldn’t stop talking loudly about his political aspirations. He even called the fleet “the royal force” and Prince Yong “the Son of Heaven,” completely convinced that he was helping the royal family save the dynasty. He composed a poem at the banquet praising the prince as the savior of the people in the central land.
Afterward, Bai continued to write a series of poems titled “Songs of Prince Yong Marching East,” which consisted of eleven works. They all eulogized the rebellious prince: Bai called him “My Divine Lord” and “My Virtuous Sovereign.” He even wrote that the prince’s forces would fight all the way to Chang’an to pay homage to the Son of Heaven. These praises and hyperboles were inconsistent and disordered—and would later serve as evidence of Bai’s crime.
As Prince Yong’s army moved east to engage Emperor Suzong’s forces, Bai was confident that his new master’s infantry and navy would prevail. It happened that Gao Shi, who was Li Bai’s poet friend, was serving on the opposing side in the camp of Suzong as a military commander and the emperor’s chief counselor. This was the man who had spent several months with Li Bai and Du Fu in Henan and Shandong twelve years before. Quite a few times the three poets had even shared a large quilt in the same bed so that they could keep warm. At that time, although Bai was already well known and Gao Li and Du Fu were obscure, Bai had treated them as genuine friends. Now Li Bai and Gao Shi, each serving their own masters, had to face each other as enemies. Unlike Gao Shi, a man of political acumen and military skills, Bai was foolish, consumed by delusion, unaware of the implacable animosity between the new emperor and Prince Yong.
Prince Yong had no experience in governing a country or commanding a large army. Even before his men engaged the enemy near Nanjing, his army had collapsed and been destroyed by Emperor Suzong’s forces. His ships were burned and sunk, and none of his generals were able to stop their soldiers from deserting. The prince himself fled southwest toward Jiujiang but was wounded, caught, and then killed by troops led by a local official. Li Bai managed to run from the battlefield and desperately headed south. But before he could reach Mount Lu, he was captured and put in a jailhouse outside Jiujiang. He became a criminal condemned by the public.