The Banished Immortal

by Ha Jin

  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.

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  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 hi
m 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.

  IMPRISONMENT

  Li Bai was hallucinatory and raved in prison for days. Even after he had calmed down, his hands still shook, but he worked furiously on a petition. He believed he had been unjustly arrested. Between his bouts of writing, he read a volume of Records of the Grand Historian by Sima Qian (154–90 BC), attempting to find strength in the stories of heroic historical figures. His wife had managed to deliver a few books to him and he was allowed to keep them in jail. At the same time, he felt remorseful for having incidentally gotten entangled in the politics of court. He had become a joke and a criminal in the public opinion, though he did not believe he was guilty. Sometimes he would raise his head and shout out his complaints, but the guards ignored him.

  One day in late March a young man named Zhang Mengxiong came to see Bai. Zhang was a fan of Bai’s and told him that he was going to Yangzhou to join the army led by Gao Shi. He also told Bai that General Ji Guangshen was now serving on Gao Shi’s staff. Bai was amazed: Guangshen had been Prince Yong’s major officer and should have been punished, if not executed, but it seemed he was safe and even had a high position in the army of the former enemy. Meanwhile, Bai had landed in prison with an uncertain fate. It was likely that he would be exiled.

  The more Bai thought about this, the more convinced he became that he deserved more lenience: he had never fought against the emperor’s army and had joined Prince Yong’s camp for less than a month. So he decided to appeal to Gao Shi for help. Gao was a military commander of two circuits, a major power in Emperor Suzong’s government. He was the only poet in the Tang dynasty to have reached such an important position, though later he would fall from the pinnacle of his career. Bai felt uncomfortable appealing to Gao Shi openly, so he wrote a poem instead and asked Zhang Mengxiong to deliver it to Gao Shi personally in Yangzhou. The poem praises Gao Shi for his victory over Prince Yong’s army and expresses Bai’s remorse and emotional turmoil. The last four lines state, “I don’t have much bitterness, / Though everything, good or bad, was destroyed. / What can I say trapped in such a situation? / All I can do is shed my tears” (“Goodbye to Scholar Zhang Who Is Leaving for Inspector Gao’s Camp”). Bai hoped that his old friend would see his plight and offer his help. At the same time, he could not afford to complain openly—if Gao Shi turned against him, the poem could be used as evidence of his hatred for the court—so his language is rather bland and hesitant.

  Zhang Mengxiong delivered the poem to Gao Shi, but the latter remained reticent about it. About a month later, Zhang sent a poetic note to Bai, which informed him, “It’s a pity that you’re not Ji Guangshen, / Having no power or troops. / A man of books is worthless like dirt / And had better not expect any help.”1 Evidently Zhang had made no progress with Gao Shi and reported the bad news to Bai, who was devastated by his old friend’s silence. Meanwhile, at his wife’s insistence, he completed the petition he had written on his own behalf, proclaiming his innocence. Miss Zong began to present it to powerful people, attempting to find a way to get him out of prison. She paid bribes to men in key positions, spending all the gold Bai had received from Prince Yong. She went to Gao Shi to beg for his help, but the man would not receive her (and still would not respond to Bai’s poem). Clearly, Gao feared being implicated in Bai’s case.

  It might be unfair to judge Gao Shi too harshly: he had been generous to his other friends and even had provided for the impoverished Du Fu, building him a cottage and arranging for his family to receive foodstuffs. Yet his refusal to help Li Bai remains a stain on his character: to this day, Li Bai’s fans condemn him for having betrayed the great poet. They tend to neglect the fact that Li Bai was the only public figure who aligned himself with Prince Yong—all other noted literary men, including Du Fu, supported Emperor Suzong. Viewed through this lens, Bai was a national disgrace, a criminal who had worked against the country’s unification, which had become a popular mandate.

  However, there were other friends of Bai’s who worked to get him out of jail. Among them were Cui Huan and Song Ruosi, both high officials who were well connected in the central government. When Bai’s wife learned that Song’s father and Ba
i had been close friends during their time in the capital, she went to Song with Bai’s petition. He agreed to do his best to help. Song was an assistant director of the Royal Censorate and had been traveling with three thousand troops under his command to review criminal cases in the southern prefectures. Through Song Ruosi, Bai’s wife also secured the assistance of Cui Huan. The two officials had heard that Emperor Suzong had wept on learning about his brother’s death. His Majesty flew into a rage, blaming the local official who had had Prince Yong killed without first bringing him to the court. The emperor stripped the official of his post and announced that he would be “unsuitable for employment for the rest of his life.” In fact, this was just a show on the part of the emperor to mask his own guilt—without the order from His Majesty, no one would have dared to put the prince to the sword. Yet by seizing this moment when the emperor appeared to forgive his brother, Cui Huan and Song Ruosi managed to put in a good word for Li Bai and have him released from prison. Bai stayed on Song’s staff as a civilian adviser, where he was safe and could recuperate.