A fleeting moment, yet its fragrance endures.
Li Yu: A pitiful traveler in this world, filled with sorrow, recalling his life amidst heart-wrenching cries.
Once, there was a man, a foolish and incompetent ruler, indulging in nightly revelry and debauchery, ultimately leading to the downfall of his empire and the change of rulers; once, there was also a man, imprisoned for five years in a cramped courtyard, never experiencing a day of freedom, yet composing timeless masterpieces that have moved countless generations to tears, ushering in a new era of Chinese literature.
The former was Li Yu, the last ruler of the Southern Tang Dynasty; the latter, Li Yu, the emperor of lyric poetry. These two completely different individuals were ironically brought together by fate, creating him: a contradictory yet unique figure, a failed emperor, a successful lyricist.
Li Yu, the last ruler of the Southern Tang Dynasty during the Five Dynasties period, courtesy name Chongguang, originally named Congjia, also known as Zhongyin and Lianshan Jushi. This simple introduction reveals a contradiction that seems to have been innate in him. The character "煜" (Yù) means radiant brilliance, as does "重光" (Chóngguāng); while the pen name "钟隐" (Zhōngyǐn) carries a hint of a secluded life in the mountains. These two completely different meanings, when applied to one person, seem to reflect his life from a limited perspective.
Li Yu was a paradox. Born into an imperial family, he became emperor by a twist of fate. If he had diligently served as a benevolent and patriotic ruler, living a peaceful life, it would have been a good choice. But he was a king—a king who sat on the dragon throne, discussing the affairs of state, embracing beauties, indulging in romance and poetry; a king who prayed to Buddha and gods year after year, begging for peace; a king who neglected state affairs, slept without thinking of his country, and spent his nights reciting poetry. After being imprisoned by Zhao Kuangyin, the immense pain of losing his kingdom seemed to suddenly awaken his mind. Thus, in every day spent imprisoned in his small courtyard, heart-wrenching pain, regret, and helplessness tormented him, making him unable to eat or sleep. This intense and indelible emotion, brewing in days and nights of regret, ultimately transformed into a series of soul-stirring and heart-wrenching masterpieces.
And he was unique. Looking back through Chinese history, who else has experienced such a dramatic fall from emperor to prisoner? And who else possesses such unparalleled literary talent? From ancient times to the present, you can only find one: he was the last ruler of the Southern Tang Dynasty, and also the emperor of poetry for all time—his name was Li Yu. But life is fickle; before he could even fully enjoy his reign as king, he fell from the high throne, wounded and scarred. Before he could even understand it, he became a subject of Emperor Taizu of Song. "Once a captive, I weep before the palace maids." He lacked the ambition of King Goujian of Yue, who endured hardship and humiliation to ultimately conquer Wu with his three thousand soldiers; he lacked the heroic spirit of Xiang Yu, the Hegemon-King of Western Chu, who fought with his back to the river and committed suicide at the Wujiang River. All he possessed was a broken and regretful heart and a pen soaked in blood and tears.
How can one escape sorrow and resentment?
How can one escape sorrow and resentment in life? My soul is consumed by boundless grief.
— "Bodhisattva's Lament"
by Li Yu. Gazing at his lost kingdom, he sighed with each word a tear, lamenting the land that was once his: "My lost kingdom is unbearable to recall in the bright moonlight." His kingdom
is gone. Tell me, what could be more painful than losing his kingdom and his people? Perhaps he still thinks of the Drunken Concubine, of the bath at Huaqing Palace, of the imperial concubine's smile as she rode through the dust… Li Yu, why don't you think of the An Lushan Rebellion? "How much sorrow can one have?" Li Yu, fallen from grace in a single day, have you tasted the bitterness of life? Only he knows the taste of losing his kingdom and submitting to others; only he knows the bitterness of falling from heaven to dust; only he knows the shame of being ridiculed by the world and spurned by the people.
The past is gone, but the sorrow of parting grows like lush, fragrant grass. "Boundless rivers and mountains, parting is easy, meeting is hard." Li Yu, when you recited these words, did you feel that "the flowing water and fallen flowers, spring has gone, the forest flowers have long since faded in haste" was not because of the morning rain and evening wind, but because of the changing seasons? And why was he reduced to a captive? He looked up to the sky and sighed, saying, "Last night the east wind blew again in my small tower." He said, "My silk quilt cannot withstand the chill of the fifth watch," he said, "The past is all gone." He said everything, but in the end, it was all just one word: "sorrow." These past events will never repeat themselves. Li Yu, do not resent the spring flowers and autumn moon anymore, do you know that your tears have already become the spring rain of Emperor Taizu of Song?
Li Yu entered a history book, heavy, vicissitudes, and sorrow. He did not care about others' evaluations of him, and still lowered his head and softly recited: "Life is inherently full of regrets, like water flowing eastward forever." The poet who lost his country entered another chapter of literary history. If there is an afterlife, will he choose a wise ruler who is revered by all and whose name will be remembered for eternity? Would he then have said, "How can one escape the sorrows and regrets of life? My soul is consumed by unbearable grief, what sorrow can I possibly feel?" Awakening,
tears stream down his face. "
Dreaming of returning to my homeland, I awaken, tears streaming down my face.
" —Midnight Song.
In the long, dark night, Li Yu was once again awakened by a nightmare. Looking around the changed palace, at the thought of his imprisonment, he was overcome with sorrow. The boundless sorrow in his heart had already manifested as two streams of tears, each drop falling. Reality had become unbearable for him. Why, why, even in the illusion of dreams, could he not escape the fate of being swallowed by grief? So much hatred, in tonight's dreams!
Helpless, he put on his robe and stood alone on the west tower, facing a waning moon, his sorrow as tangled as hemp, impossible to unravel. What was he grieving for? Was he grieving for "the flowers in the forest have faded, spring's beauty gone too soon"? No, no, when the Song army attacked the Southern Tang and besieged the city, he could have gathered the remaining troops in the city and fought to the death, making a final attempt to preserve his throne. But he didn't. The once glorious ruler of the Southern Tang chose to surrender in humiliation. Some say he was cowardly, but I understand. Born in the deep palace and raised by women, his heart was too soft, too soft. He couldn't bear to see thousands of people lose their homes and be displaced, right? Everyone says good people are rewarded, but why did he, so kind, end up with "weeping in his sleep"? "
For
forty years, my home and country, three thousand miles of rivers and mountains. Phoenix pavilions and dragon towers reach the sky, jade trees and coral branches form a misty canopy. I have never known war."
— "Po Zhen Zi"
Yes, he was a talented and romantic scholar, his heart pure as water, yearning for the sweet beauty of literature, not the bloody battlefield, the deceit and treachery, the smoke and sand of war. Unfortunately, he was born into an imperial family, a tragic destiny predetermined.
But reality is inescapable. One can only wonder what he was thinking when he became ruler. He was undoubtedly a failed emperor; he brought his dreams and his poetry to the court! The Southern Tang, this once-powerful dynasty!
But please forgive him; he was truly a sentimental man. The day he surrendered to the Song Dynasty was a devastating blow to Li Yu, who had "never known war." "Most poignant was the day of his hasty departure, when the court musicians still played farewell songs. Tears streamed down my face as I faced the palace maids." In an instant, he fell from heaven to earth; how could this delicate flower bear it? But this was Li Yu. His poem "Po Zhen Zi" was criticized by Su Shi. Su Shi believed that when the last emperor bid farewell to the ancestral temple, he should have wept bitterly and apologized to the people; yet now he wept before the palace maids and listened to the farewell songs played by the orchestra. Such a person deserved to lose his throne! (From *Dongpo Zhilin*)
But he didn't know that Li Yu left in silence. He must have felt immense guilt; he had no face to see the ancestral temple or the people! He knew he was wrong, so he chose to silently weep and then silently depart…
How much of the past do we know
? "When will the spring flowers and autumn moon end? How much of the past do we know? Last night, the east wind blew again in my small tower; my homeland is unbearable to recall in the bright moonlight."
— *Yu Meiren*
This poem, *Yu Meiren*, expresses the sorrow of a fallen monarch, and even more so, the bitterness of countless former officials of the Southern Tang! The Empress Dowager wept, and the former officials of the Southern Tang also wept, sobbing uncontrollably. How moving, yet how helpless, the pain of national and personal loss! But Zhao Guangyi was unmoved. All he felt was jealousy of Chongguang: jealousy of the infatuation of the two Zhou empresses; jealousy of his dashing appearance; even more jealousy of his overflowing talent and soaring literary talent… Thus, a fabricated excuse, a cup of poisoned wine, pushed him to his final journey.
Li Yu must have raised his wine cup with heroic spirit and drunk it all in one gulp! After all, having experienced so many hardships, death might have been a relief. Then, as the effects of the poison spread through his internal organs, would he still be so at peace, smiling faintly, gently bidding farewell to this world?
Time flows on forever. Who will emerge victorious a thousand years later is long forgotten in the dust of history. But he, his righteousness and benevolence, his unforgettable grief and sorrow for his country and family, will accompany his deeply moving poems, eternally exuding a rich fragrance in the sea of literature…
A taste lingers in the heart.
Unbreakable, tangled, is the sorrow of parting, a unique taste lingering in the heart.
—"Meeting Joy"
Bearing the sorrow of a fallen kingdom, carrying the grief of being imprisoned in solitude, even with deep feelings and many reflections, living alone here, with no one to care for him, what helplessness and loneliness must he feel? He could only sigh at the moon, watching the tears reflected in the pond, the fallen leaves rippling on the surface, the figure's image gradually fading away. This was the vicissitudes of life, a lament of fate.
Imprisoned, he had no one to talk to; upon reflection, the opening line, "speechless," must have meant this. Alone atop the western tower, gazing westward at his homeland, how could he see anything but a waning moon in the night sky, stirring up a deep longing for home? He saw only the wind carrying withered leaves, like the ever-changing world, sometimes rushing, sometimes swirling, and the helpless withered leaves, did they only yearn to return to their roots? At this moment, perhaps the emperor would reach into the falling leaves, grabbing one—a paulownia tree… He too must have seen the helplessness emanating from the layers of veins on the leaf, just like himself.
Another sigh, was it him? He seemed to see his own palace, the golden tiles, the colorful dresses, the considerate concubines…
In such a situation, how could one bear it? It's a tangled mess, impossible to unravel—this sounds like the emotions that lingered in the heart of the Later Lord, binding his entire being, unable to escape the sorrow of separation. Living in the mortal world, one cannot truly understand life apart from the world, but the Later Lord had lived in it for so long. One can imagine that whenever the sky was clear and the moon hung high, he felt a deep sense of regret. What was that feeling like? Perhaps only those who experienced it firsthand could truly understand; even deep contemplation could hardly fathom it—indeed, "a unique feeling resided in his heart."
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