Chinese History & Mythology

In the story of the Three Kingdoms, the most fascinating parts were never really the flashing blades and clashing weapons on the battlefield. They were the conversations inside military tents, the calculations hidden in letters, and the tests carried out over wine at banquets. In Chinese popular culture, there is a saying: young people should try not to read Water Margin, because that book mainly tells stories of fighting. Water Margin is full of violence, rebellion against the court, brotherhood, revenge, and personal justice. Young people who read it may easily imitate the behavior of those heroes, using violence or brotherly loyalty to solve problems, and may even end up breaking the law. So why do people also say, “Old people should not read Romance of the Three Kingdoms”?

When we peeled back the labels, we found that both of them were far more complex than those simple names. In today’s episode, we are going to change our perspective. We will not talk about the lords, but about the fighters. We will not talk about the people playing the game of chess, but about the pieces charging across the board — the famous military generals in the story of Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

In China, there is a very important exam. It can even be said that this exam determines the fate of ninety percent of Chinese people. Why can one exam stir up such enormous social energy?

 A lower-class man who started out selling straw sandals had no money, no territory, and no powerful background. Why was he able to make outstanding men like Guan Yu and Zhang Fei follow him with total loyalty for their entire lives? Why was he able to make a heaven-sent talent like Zhuge Liang devote himself completely until death? Why was he able to make Tao Qian hand over the entire Xuzhou to him? Why was he able to take Yizhou from Liu Zhang, almost by deception, and still make the people of Yizhou feel that he was their savior?

In Romance of the Three Kingdoms, he is often written as a “treacherous hero”: suspicious, ruthless, skilled in political tricks, and always standing opposite Liu Bei’s image of “benevolence and righteousness.” For many Chinese audiences, when they hear the name  from childhood, what appears in their minds is often not simply a politician or a military strategist, but a complicated, dangerous, intelligent, and even somewhat frightening figure.

How many of you have ever imagined that life in ancient China was probably nothing but darkness after sunset? That the moment the sun went down, everyone immediately went to bed, and the entire country fell into silence. Part of that impression is true, but much more of it is filled with unexpected energy and detail. The nighttime schedule, entertainment, street sounds, lights, and shadows of ancient people actually form a very vivid history of society, economy, and culture. We can follow the timeline, starting from the oldest farming traditions, moving all the way to the flourishing urban life of the Song Dynasty, and then returning to the quieter world of the Ming and Qing dynasties, to take a complete look at what nightlife in ancient China was really like.

Now, in Chengdu, the Later Lord Liu Shan heard that Deng Ai had already captured Mianzhu, and that Zhuge Zhan and his son had both died in battle. He immediately turned pale with shock and hurriedly gathered all the civil and military officials to discuss what to do. Close attendants from the palace came again to report, “Outside the city, the common people are carrying the old and leading the young, crying loudly enough to shake the sky, and fleeing for their lives one after another. The situation is extremely urgent!” When the Later Lord heard this, he completely lost his senses.

In the tenth month of winter, in the fifth year of Jingyao in Shu Han, Great General Jiang Wei ordered men to repair the plank roads through the night, organize military grain and weapons, and transfer boats from the water routes in Hanzhong. After everything was ready, he submitted a memorial to the Later Lord, saying, “I have gone on campaign many times. Although I have not yet achieved great merit, I have already shaken the morale of the Wei army. Now the troops have been maintained for a long time. If they do not fight, they will grow idle, and if they grow idle, they will easily fall ill. Besides, the officers and soldiers have long been eager to try. They are willing to give their lives for the state and build merit. If I do not win, I am willing to accept death.”

In the first month of the second year of Zhengyuan in Wei, Guanqiu Jian, Commander of Yangzhou and General Who Guards the East, heard that Sima Shi had removed and established emperors on his own authority. He was extremely angry. His eldest son, Guanqiu Dian, advised him, “Father, you hold a high regional office. Now Sima Shi controls power alone and has deposed the ruler. The state is as dangerous as a pile of eggs. How can you simply guard yourself in peace?”

There is an old Chinese saying: “A tall tree catches the wind.” In other words, the more successful and visible you become, the more likely you are to attract trouble. Perhaps it was this successful commercial collaboration that brought this previously unremarkable milk tea brand to the attention of the global luxury company Louis Vuitton. So what exactly happened?