As a young man, Li Houzhu (936-978 AD, generally known to Western scholars as Li Yu) had all that anyone could desire-singing and partying every evening, and the opulent setting of the royal palace. His early poetry, including Spring Pavilion, was a continual celebration of joy. In 975, however, his kingdom was crushed by the Song empire and he was taken as hostage to the enemy capital in Bianjing (modern-day Kaifeng). The desolation of life in exile is described in Song of Midnight. One cannot but shed a tear of sympathy for the sensitive poet languishing away in a hostile land.

Li ascended the throne of the Southern Tang at the age of 24 in 962, one year after Zhao Kuangyin staged a coup and founded the Song dynasty. Immediately after becoming emperor, Li presented a memorial to the emperor Taizu (as Zhao had come to be called) and sent him a generous gift, both of which served to signal that Li had no expansionist ambitions. Li further indicated that his kingdom would number the years of his reign using the Song system. In effect, Li surrendered to the authority of the Song throne and lowered himself to the rank of a senior minister under the Song. Li understood that although he was nominally the emperor of the Southern Tang, in fact he had to bow to the wishes of the Song court. As emperor, Li keenly felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders and sorely missed his carefree days spent romancing the women of the royal palace.

A life of ease

Right from the moment of his birth on the one night of the year when Vega and Altair come together in the night sky (the Chinese equivalent of Valentine's Day), the stars always seemed to have something special in mind for Li Houzhu. It is further said that he had only one incisor, while in one eye he had two pupils, just as had been the case with two legendary emperors of the past. These auspicious signs naturally delighted his family members to no end. He spent his childhood in the thriving metropolises of Yangzhou and Jinling (modern-day Nanjing). The level of culture in these refined cities was very high, and Li showed an uncommon literary talent from very early on. He made his own writing paper, smooth and dense, and used only the rarest inks and writing implements. His calligraphy featured fine yet forceful brush strokes while the bamboo in his ink paintings was of uncommon beauty. His work has always been highly regarded. His poetry was something you couldn't read just once. After the sisters Da Hou Zhu and Xiao Hou Zhu came into his life, almost all of his poetry described his intense affection for the two great loves of his life.

His first wife, Da Hou Zhu, was a very good singer, dancer, and musician. She was especially proficient with the pipa (a four-stringed Chinese lute), and Li's father was so taken with her playing that he actually gave her one of the most well known pipa of all time. These two accomplished individuals shared a life of bliss beyond what most could even dream of.

Later, after Da Hou Zhu died Li married her sister Xiao Hou Zhu, and his poetry gushed her praise. In addition to these two sisters, the life of the court was further enlivened by such concubines as Yao Niang (the famed bound-foot dancer), Qiao (who was extremely well versed in the tenets of Zen Buddhism), and Liu Zhu (an excellent performer on the pipa). Li Houzhu's court represented a pinnacle of aestheticism and pleasure in Chinese history.

Beneath the laughter and poetry, however, there was always an undercurrent of unease. Especially after the Song conquered the neighboring Southern Han kingdom, it was clear that the Southern Tang had become the next target. After the fall of the Southern Han Li immediately ordered his younger brother to lead a tribute mission to the Song court. Li also stopped calling his realm the kingdom of the Southern Tang, and began referring to himself simply as "lord of Jiangnan," which constituted a clear comedown in status. All activities in the ruling house were now carried out without the pomp and circumstance that would imply any claim to imperial status. The nomenclature had caught up with the reality-Li Houzhu was simply a high-ranking minister in another man's empire.

The final ignominy

Unfortunately, the inexorable logic of "geopolitics" is such that no nation can allow a potential adversary to flourish at its very doorstep. It was a foregone conclusion that the emperor Taizu would incorporate the Southern Tang into the Song empire. His armies inched ever closer toward Li's kingdom, whose forces had seen no action in nearly 20 years and were no match for the enemy from the north. Li had always attempted to recruit the most talented men to serve the kingdom, but almost all those whom he brought into service of the realm were scholarly types more accomplished in literature and oratory than anything else. On top of that, Li had made the mistake of executing the talented general Lin Renzhao. As the fall of the Southern Tang loomed, Li remained unaware of just how near the enemy had drawn until the Song troops had Jinling totally encircled. In the end he walked out the city gates together with his ministers of state to proffer his final surrender wearing only a simple white gown, a stark symbol of surrender akin in Chinese culture to the act of running up a white flag. After the surrender he wrote Of Defeat, the first of the melancholy works that would come to characterize his latter years.

How bad can it get?

After Li and his ministers arrived in the Song capital of Bianjing, the emperor Taizu derisively-and as a warning-awarded him the title of "Lord Recalcitrant." Taizu died later that same year and his successor, Taizong, had little patience with Li and his pleading for money. Life in Bianjing was a far cry from the gay times Li had known in Jinling, and in his melancholy exile he spent night after sleepless night composing poetry expressing his sadness at the loss of a kingdom and a way of life.

On Li's 42nd birthday Xiao Hou Zhu and the other concubines put on their happiest faces and celebrated with him, playing music once again as in old times. Moved by the occasion as well as the alcohol, Li put brush to paper and composed a poem that the women set to a well known tune as they sang: "How much longer, the springtime of our lives? The river, like the spring, seems to be rolling away, away. . . ."

Taizong was furious to learn of Li's open yearning for his old kingdom, and sent a servant to Li with a pot of poisoned liquor. Li died an excruciatingly painful death, balled up in a convulsing mass on the floor. Seldom has one who started life so charmed suffered a more horrible end.

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Vacillating over the decision about whether to appoint Han Xizai, a talented official noted for endless carousing, as chief minister, Li Houzhu asked a painter to sit in on one of Han's drunken parties and paint the scene in lieu of a report. The result, shown here, was the famous "Han Xizai's Night Revels." But what would Han Xizai have had to do to shock a party animal like Li Houzhu? (courtesy of the Palace Museum, Beijing)