ExclusiveChina’s Four Legendary Talented Women: Love, Poetry, Power & Courage --- #ChineseHistory

The pink lotus sheds its fragrance. The jade mat feels of autumn. Gently unfastening my silk ropes, I step alone onto the magnolia boat. Slender clouds fashion clever shapes. Shooting stars convey unspoken grief. Secretly crossing the distant silver river, the bright moon rises above the heavenly mountains. Amidst vast and boundless sea of clouds, wishing to win a single heart and never part even till our hair turns white. The long river of history flows unceasingly while the lingering scent of ink has drained for thousands of years. In the dazzling starry sky of Chinese culture, there are a few such women. Some stand the literary world as masters of graceful poetry. Some steered the tides of politics with extraordinary female brilliance. Some shocked the ages with a true love pledged to life and death. And some recorded the cultural pulse in chaotic times with vast mournful songs. They are the grandmaster of graceful lyric poetry. The most talented woman through the ages. Li Qingzhao, the female prime minister. Political and literary genius Shangguan Wan'er. The devoted lover who eloped and sold wine Zhuo Wenjun. And the guardian of literary heritage who endured hardships and composed the heartbreaking nomad flute Cai Wenji. Today, let us cross the barriers of time and space, brush off the dust of history, and walk into their joys, sorrows, parties, and reunions. Let us listen to the echoes of female lives resounding through the millennia. And feel how amidst the flash of swords and the ink of scholars, they live to become immortal, dazzling legends. Welcome to the Meilin Culture Talk, an executive channel on Ganjin Word. I'm your host, Meilin. Today, we are going to talk about two historical legends, the profound grace and honor they shared, and the ultimate inspiration their story brings to our life today. This is the story of China's greatest female poet and the musician Cai Wenji. Our story begins with an ancient zither burned from the fire. Cai Wenji's father, Cai Yong, was a world-renowned scholar and master's musician of the late Han Dynasty. Legend has it that his recused piece of the burning, the palm-lead wood from the penance, the cooking, spilled and caught into the famous Jiaowei Zither. Thus, the skirt by the fire is produced the most beautiful melodies on earth. This instrument was the perfect metaphor for Wenji's life. He had walked through the fire to achieve his own rebirth. When Wenji was only nine years old, he heard a skirt snapped while her father was playing in his ark. Her father, thinking it was a lucky guess, snapped the false skirt on purpose. Wenji crackedly and definitely ate again. Her extraordinary talent turned Cai's estate into a gathering place for her heirs of the greatest man. It was during her teenage years, that is, her permanent man. It was during her teenage years, it was a permanent man entered her life. Cao Cao, as a frequent guest at her father's house, met Wenji when he was 22 years her senior. In her description of the dynasty, it was a beautiful but a bittersweet timing, born too early, born too late. Wenji deeply admired Cao Cao's grand vision and his powerful, thoughtful poetry. Cao Cao, in turn, was captivated by her beauty, intelligence, and love for learning. A quiet drink. Wenji would always look at him with deep respect and functionally call him the Lloyd Cao. On one such evening, Cao Cao picked up a brush and wrote his famous lines. Sing before wine, for life is short. Like the morning beam, the days slip away. What can dissolve my grief? Only a cup of wine. Wenji gently struck the scorched tales, genders and songs alone in harmony. A brief look between them connected their souls across lifetimes. However, the storms of war never leave room for romance. The brave talent Dong Zhuo seemed to control the government and force Wenji's father into the service. To make matters worse, Dong Zhuo lusted after Wenji's beauty and demanded to her as his concubine. Disappointed, her father sent a secret letter to Cao Cao, begging him to find a husband for Wenji immediately. He even wrote if there's no time, the young students delivering the letters. Wen Zhongdao will do. Holding the letter in his military tent, Cao Cao stood frozen for a long time. This man wears full footwear of the memories of Wenji playing her music and her gentle smell. A guard shouted, General, your horse is ready. Cao Cao grabbed a street to the Cai's estate, where Wenji happily ran to show him a new song he had composed. Cao Cao was deeply moved, but his heart was torn. Wenji was in the primary of her youngs, with his middle ages and living a dangerous life on the battlefield. How could he offer her stably? If he claimed her for himself out of love, he would only drag her into a deadly political strife. Wen Zhongdao, coming from a prestigious family, was a safer choice. The next day, to protect the woman he loved, Cao Cao secretly ordered his troops to intercept and destroy Dong Zhuo's wedding party. He then funded Wenji's wedding to Wen Zhongdao, ensuring it was grand and honorable, and personally saw her off. What a deep and selfless grace this was to love someone not by possessing them, but by ensuring their safety. If Wenji's true choice was just beginning, within a year, her husband died of the illness, having no children. Her in-laws blamed her for his death, forcing her to return home. So after, the capital fell into a trough. His father was arrested and died in prison. Before Wenji could even mourn her losses, the thousand Xiongnu, nomads that invaded China, admitted to the trough when she was captured. However, this famous name, her talent, and her beauty saved her from the sword. It was taken across the border as a prize and given to the Xiongnu's chieftain, the left-wing king. Even a foreigner deserves these completely different costumes and language. Wenji wears the costumes by sorrow. the king deeply respected her talent. Over 12 years, his patience owned her heart and he had two sons together. For 12 long years, whenever she saw the veiled djinns flying in the south, Wenji would visit her homeland and play her zither. She realized he was dead inside the desert. He had no idea that back in China, Cao Cao would have now the unity of the north and the persistent, absolute power would look up at the moon on lonely nights and whisper, Wenji, are you well? The plague in the year 208 AD, H. Cao Cao made his historic decision, declaring like the greatest soldier, Cao Yong, the world to have his legend perceived through his daughter. Cao Cao sent the English carrying immense wealth and 1,000 pounds of gold and priceless jade to Xiongnu to buy Wenji's freedom. This event is celebrated in history as Wenji returned to Han. When it was unveiled, Wenji was torn between joy and honor. She was overjoyed to return home, but the king would only let her live alone. Her two young sons had to stay behind. It was a heartbreaking separation. On one heart stood her culture's duty to reconduct over 4,000 volumes of lost ancient Chinese texts left by her father. On the other hand, Ultimately, it was her duty to history. When she finally returned to the capital, exhausted and weary, and met Cao Cao once again, born with no gray heart. Words filled them. Only tears flowed. Knowing he could not offer her standard marriage due to his political standing, Cao Cao arranged her to marry Deng Si, a young officer who appropriated music. In the beginning, Deng Si was called to her older twice-married life, but fate would twist once more. The following year, Deng Si committed a capital office and face execution. To save her husband in the dead of the winter, a dashboard and bare foot when Deng Si rushed into Cao Cao's screen, the banquet hall. Kneeling before the powerful court officers, he pleaded for her husband's life. Words were so accurate, so full of grace and dignity, and his entire room was moved to tears. Looking at the woman who had suffered so much, it kept his noble spirit. Cao Cao felt a deep ache in his heart. He tested her, saying, but the execution order has already been sent out. What can I do? Wen Jun looked up, her eyes steady. Your accident has the soundness of the first horse and the confidence of the brave soldiers. Would you hold back a single horse to save a dying life? Cao Cao sent in the orders a pardon, moved by her incredible courage. Deng Si finally saw the greatness of his wife's heart. From that day then, the couple lives in perfect harmony and eventually win the politics behind to life, a peaceful life in the country yard. The final chapter of the history was almost like a mess. Years later, during the loved spring afternoon, a familiar, the soulful zither melody echoed near a mountain scream. Cao Cao, who happened to be the hunting, nearby there recognized the toneless intensity. His heart raced. He ran towards a harbored courtesan's sound. Wen Jun, Wen Jun, is that you? But when he's pushed, opened the wooden door, the cottage was empty. The evening sun, the song, our task. We're a piece of the sock that was the price thing. It was her timeless masterpiece. The 18 lambs on a Hu Jia. Cao Cao stood there in silence. He suddenly understood that the soul he had spent a lifetime protecting had finally raised about the human suffering and the finest true home. As we close the story, I wonder if you can also feel the emotional connection stretching across the thousand years. If we look at history through the tense of the recasting, we saw beautiful truths, the grace and honor we created in life do not vanish when our bodies died. They return to us in higher forms. One, the evolution of Cao Cao's history. Cao Cao was a fierce and ruthless politician, but he kept the softest, pursuant part of his soul for Cai Wen Ji. His love transcended the procession. If Cao Cao was alive today, he might not be a military ruler, but he was the courageous defender of justice, someone who stands against the tyranny to protect the incompetent and the weak. Second, the transformation of Cai Wen Ji. Cai Wen Ji endured the unimaginable pain and he never became bitter. He turned her suffering into moral music and used his memory to restore China's lost culture's treasures. Today, a soul like his would be the passionate guardians of tradition, culture, sharing ancient wisdom and faith with the world. The fact that we're sitting here today listening to the of the 1,000 years older Caesar is especially connecting in himself. In our modern life, we will face our own truth. When you choose the kindness over personal gain, when you choose to speak to the truth in the world full of illusions, you are harmonizing with the noble spirits of Cao Cao and Cai Wen Ji. Thank you for watching. I look forward to reading your song. Have you ever heard the mournful cry of a phoenix? It is not because of the raging fire, but because in the vast sea of humanity, it cannot find that resonating female phoenix. Over 2,000 years ago in the ancient city of Linquan, a tune of Fengkia Huang plucked the strings of fate. Sima Hongru and Hua Wenjing. One was a destitute but proud scholar. The other was a stunningly beautiful daughter of a wealthy family. Their encounter was a shocking defiance of traditional etiquette, was the solidarity of tending a wine shop together in times of adversity, and was the soul's redemption through the song of white hairs that echoed through the ages. This was not merely a romantic affair between a gifted scholar and a beautiful lady. It was more like a mirror reflecting the gratitude and righteousness between a husband and wife, the rise and fall of karmic affinity and the profound weight in traditional culture that a wife who shared one's hardships should never be abandoned. The afternoon sun is unexpectedly warm in the misty and mountainous land of Shu. Such a winter day is quite rare. A faint scent of medicine lingers, a hazy white mist rises over the stove. The man has not yet woken from his afternoon nap. A small dog dozes by the white-haired woman's feet. It is so quiet. The woman gazes at the man on the bed. This old man suffering from wasting thirst disease. His hands and feet are thin and emaciated. His complexion is dull. She caresses that frail body with her eyes. A lifetime. It has been a whole lifetime. Who is this man? The old woman, Hua Wenjin, props her chin, leans over to look, and asks herself. There was never such a face in her memory. He is balding. Folds of loose skin stack on his neck like a camel's. He no longer looks like the talented scholar of the past, Sima Hongru, but rather like Sima Hongru's father or grandfather. The young Sima was not exactly a handsome man. But his skin was firm. His glances were full of charm. He could play a guqin with such intricate emotion, like a heart full of unspoken feelings. He was also skilled with the sword, and the sound of his guqin always carried the clear and vigorous grace of a sword's dance. It was as if that guqin was not a man-made instrument. Every string was like a cold spring cascading from his fingertips. Green waterfalls clinking, chiming, an endless flow of high mountains and flowing water, belly mist and ravine clouds. She still remembers that distant long night. Newly widowed, his guqin music drifted over, like a lotus bud gently blooming in the midnight. In an instant, a pond of fragrant petals had brilliantly ignited like thousands of flames. She chose that music, risked everything to follow that music. Fleeing from the home of her father, Shuo Wangsheng, from then on, she gave up a life with crowds of servants, and a life of spending money like dirt. She did not feel suddenly impoverished. In her ecstasy, she felt suddenly rich. Being together with Sima Changqing was like intertwining with a rich and elegant Han rhapsody. Every sentence and every pause stunningly beautiful and hard to follow. Ah, she will always remember. It was that extraordinary and uninhibited man who used the most elegant sentences to record the people of a great Han golden age. If Changqing was destined to be the one who recorded the Han dynasty, she intended to be the one who netted this man's entire life with her memories. Yet this man is now old and sickly. Is this person really that person? Has someone secretly swapped him? Shuo Wengen carefully lifts the medicine pot, straining the herbal decoction into a white porcelain bowl. It is still too hot. She will wait a moment before waking him to drink it. The world knows the beautiful tale of the midnight elopement from Ling Qiong. But little do they know that this shocking romance had already planted its karma high up in the nine heavens. Legend has it that in the immortal realm, there was a sentient crimson phoenix who fell deeply in love with a parasol tree fairy grass that absorbed the spiritual essence by the jade pool. One day, the fairy grass suffered a calamity of withering to the bone. The phoenix burned with anxiety and actually spat out the warm blood from his heart to nourish the fairy grass. This act violated the rules of the immortal realm. The heavenly emperor sighed and said, since you two have the desire to be husband and wife, go take a journey through the mortal realm. If you can survive the trials of love without breaking your bond of gratitude and righteousness, only then may you return to the immortal realm. Thus, the crimson phoenix transformed into the utterly destitute Sima. Han grew in the land of Shu, while the parasol fairy grass was reincarnated as Huo Wenjin, daughter of a mega-rich family in Ling Qiong. That was a predestined bond from a past life sealed deep within their souls. Washed by the river of forgetfulness yet remaining scorching hot, so, the deeply secluded Huo Wenjin, hearing only a single melody, desperately fled into the night. That was not a momentary impulse. It was the soul's instantaneous recognition. During the reign of Emperor Jing of Han, Sima Hangru's talents went unrecognized, and he lodged in Ling Qiong at the banquet of the mega-rich Huo Wansin. Shangru, having long heard that Huo's daughter Wenjin was well-versed in music, tuned his strings, and plucked out the timeless piece Feng Ke Huang of Phoenix Seeks His Mate. Phoenix, oh phoenix, return to your homeland. Roaming the four seas seeking his mate. The Goukin music was clear, bright, and lingering, carrying a desperate, reckless affection. Behind the folding screen, Shuo Wenjin's heartstrings were heavily strung. That night, a light rain fell on Ling Qiong, and Huo Wenjin made the bravest decision of her life, to elope in the dead of night. However, reality was cruel. When Huo Wansin learned of his daughter's elopement, he angrily cut off all financial support. Facing the predicament of absolute destitution, this young lady, who grew up in luxury, did not complain. She took off her silk skirts, changed into coarse linen clothes, and said to Hangru, let's go back to Ling Qiong and open a tavern. Thus, a peculiar scene appeared on the streets of Ling Qiong. Sima Hangru wore an apron and washed wine vessels with the servants, while the noble and beautiful Huo Wenjin, calmly tended the bar and sold wine. This is Wenjin tending the bar, and Hangru washing the vessels. These days were the starting point of their marital gratitude and righteousness. Gratitude came first, righteousness followed. Wenjin did not disdain his poverty, lowering her precious self to the marketplace. This is gratitude. Hangru performed menial labor without complaint, carefully protecting his wife amidst the noise of the market. This is righteousness. A turning point in their fate arrived after Emperor Wu of Han ascended the throne. Sima Hangru, because of his rhapsody on Sir Vacuous and rhapsody on the Imperial Park, was highly valued by the imperial court. He rapidly rose to power, his fame shaking the government and the public. However, the prosperity of Chengding intoxicated the eyes of this talented scholar. He gradually forgot his wife far away in the land of Shu, and even entertained the thought of taking a concubine and abandoning his first wife. One day, a letter from home was delivered to Huo Wenjin. On the rice paper, there were no sweet words of love, only 13 stark, large characters. The numbers went from one to ten thousand, lacking only the character four hundred million yi. No yi meant no affection. At that moment, it felt like being struck by lightning. Wenjin remembered the wind and rain of the midnight elopement from Linquan, remembered the hardships of tending the bar and selling wine. It turned out that worldly wealth really could turn stone into gold, and it could also corrupt a pure heart beyond recognition. The phoenix lost himself in the dazzling world, forgetting that fairy grass by the jade pool who had bled dry for him. However, Huo Wenjin had the noble and proud spirit of the parasol fairy grass in her bones. She did not cry and make a scene like an ordinary resentful wife. Instead, she spread out the rice paper, took up her brush, and wrote the historically renowned Song of White Hairs. Weaving those numbers from one to ten thousand forwards and backwards, denouncing her husband's fickleness. After one parting, the two lands are suspended in longing. This letter and the Song of White Hairs were like evening drums and morning bells, striking fiercely against Sima Hongru's heart. Reading the verses written with blood and tears, Hongru felt as if struck by a deity. The scenes of Wenjin warming wine for him in the past and sharing joys and sorrows surfaced one by one. Friends made in poverty and lowly status must not be forgotten. A wife who shared one's hardships must never be cast out. In traditional Chinese culture, husband and wife are a covenant of morality and justice. If a man abandons the wife who shared his adversity when he becomes rich, that is intolerable by heavenly laws. Hongru shed tears of shame, his memories from his past life and his conscience. Awakened at this moment, he immediately readied a high carriage drawn by four horses and personally rushed back to Shu, taking Hua Wenjin back to Chang'an. From then on, he held the hand of this one person and never mentioned taking a concubine again. He used tolerance and awakening to consummate the destiny of this couple. Closing this heavy, long scroll of history, my heart could not calm down for a long time. Modern people are always chasing novelty in fast food-like relationships. Once the passion fades, they easily give up. Look at Sima Hongru and Hua Wenjin. Their affinity was the breathtaking amazement of Fengqiao Huang, but their perseverance was the self-reflection of the Song of White Hares. The person you meet in this life might just be the fairy grass that bled its heart out for you in a previous life, or the phoenix that guarded you for a thousand years. Every couple who can enter into marriage and eat a bowl of hot noodle soup together has cultivated their bond for a hundred years. When we are utterly destitute, do not take our partner's devotion for granted. When we one day achieve success and meteoric rise, we must never forget the wife who once shared our hardships, tending the bar and selling wine. True love is when, faced with temptation and confusion, you suddenly remember the gratitude from when you first held hands, and are willing to rein in the horses of desire for the other person. Turn around and go home. Cherish the one in front of you. Do not wait until the kin strings break to understand the calamity of the phoenix. History is never just a boring pile of old papers. It is a relentlessly rushing river. And in the depths of this river, there are always some names. No matter how they are washed by the years, that still shine brightly. Imagine, in the 7th century Chang'an inside the Damning Palace, deep within the inner courts, amidst the glint and flash of swords, a newly born infant, along with her mother, because of a political purge, was condemned to be an official slave in the Yedding Palace prison. The beginning of her life was a desperate dead end. However, it was exactly such a woman, who started as a lowly maid in the Yedding, and step by step entered the core of power. She governed the Tang Dynasty's Phoenix Pavilion, drafting imperial edicts for the realm. She influenced the deposition and establishment of emperors for two generations, and shaped the literary style of an era. Her name was Shangguan Waner. Some say she was a scheming and cunning politician. Some say she was a brilliantly talented poet. And countless people wonder, behind the fog of history, what kind of thrilling counterattack did she truly experience? And when we gaze at her today, the resonance of souls across a millennium in our hearts, could she be my past life? What exactly are we searching for? In the year 660 for AD, an infant was born in a prison of the Great Tang. Her grandfather was Prime Minister Shangguan Yi. Because he drafted the edict for Emperor Gaozong of Tang to depose Wu Zetian, he suffered Wu Zetian's thunderous revenge. The entire Shangguan family was executed. According to Tang law, the female family members of condemned officials were sent to the yetting as slaves. This infant was Shangguan Waner. Her childhood had no fine clothes or rich food, only cold palace walls and omnipresent surveillance. But the wonderful thing about destiny is, it gave her the lowest status, yet endowed her with the noblest mind. Her mother, Lady Zheng, came from a prominent family. Despite being in prison, she did not give up on her daughter's education. In the deep night under the dim light of an oil lamp, Lady Zheng taught her to read, recite poetry, and practice calligraphy. Shangguan Waner displayed astonishing talent. Having a photographic memory and writing thousands of words with a single stroke, if the story followed an ordinary palace script, she might have grown old and died in obscurity in some corner of the damning palace. But history favors legends. In the year 677 AD, Wu Zetian heard that in the yetting there was a brilliantly talented, palace maid skilled in poetry and prose, and so summoned her. This was an interview that determined life and death. Fourteen-year-old Shangguan Waner stood before the all-powerful heavenly empress, neither haughty nor humble. Wu Zetian ordered her to improvise a poem on the theme of courtyard grass or inner palace. Waner picked up the brush and let the ink flow, without pausing to draft. In a moment, a poem with gorgeous diction and profound imagery leaped onto the paper. Every year the girls of Yustrin remember picking lotus together. Wu Zetian was greatly amazed. She looked at the frail but determined girl before her as if seeing her own younger self. In that moment, the granddaughter of her enemy became Wu Zetian's close personal attendant. From slave to brain trust, Shangguan Waner completed the most thrilling grade skipping of her life. Becoming Wu Zetian's right-hand woman did not mean mere wealth and glory, but stepping onto a tightrope where she could be dashed to pieces at any moment. Beside Wu Zetian, Waner not only had to handle complex memorials, but also fathom the unfathomable mind of this empress. Legend has it, Waner once angered Wu Zetian, some say by pleading for someone else, others say by remonstrating frankly, and was struck in the face by Wu Zetian's knife, nearly losing her nose. Ultimately, considering her talent, she was spared the death penalty and instead given the punishment of facial tattooing. However, the clever Waner turned this mark of disgrace into fashion. She tattooed a delicate red plum blossom over the scarred area, not only covering the scar, but unexpectedly setting an aesthetic trend throughout the Tang court and even among the common people. This is the historically famous plum blossom makeup. As Wu Zetian ascended the throne and established the Hou dynasty, Shangguan Waner's power reached its peak. She was not only the inner secretary responsible for drafting the emperor's edicts, wielding great power over the court, but also the supreme judge of the literary world at the time. In the third year of Chang'an 703 AD, Waner formally suggested Wu Zetian expand the Shaolin Institute and issue a decree to recruit talents across the realm. With the unique sensitivity of a woman and the broad vision of a politician, she hosted a literary feast that resonated nationwide. The literati of the world all took pride in receiving Shangguan Waner's appreciation. She stood at the highest point of the damning palace and with a female body, participated in writing the golden age of an empire. The historical Shangguan Waner in the midst of the Shenlong coup, Empress Wei's chaotic reign, and the turbulent storms of the Tanglong coup demonstrated astonishing political adaptability. In Wu Zetian's later years, she befriended the brothers Heng Yizhi and Heng Changzong to stabilize the palace situation. After the Shenlong coup, when Emperor Hongzong of Tang was restored, she was titled Horong, taking charge of the inner court and even allied with Empress Wei and Princess Anli, attempting to emulate Wu Zetian to become an empress regnant or empress dowager. However, history does not tolerate double ambitions. In the year 710 AD, Li Longji launched the Tanglong coup, leading an army into the palace. Shangguan Waner came out to greet him holding Wu Zetian's testamentary edict, showing Li Longji the edict she had drafted to protect the Li imperial family, attempting to spare herself from death. But under the flashing blades, Li Longji gave her no chance. A generation's talented woman perished under the boy hall of the damning palace. At only 47 years old, when we gaze at Shangguan Waner's legendary and tragic life, many people will feel a strong sense of destiny in their hearts. Why does her life combine such extreme talent and loneliness, power, tragedy, and brilliance? In folklore, there were eccentric mystics who asserted that Shangguan Waner was the descent of the wank star god of literature or the reincarnation of some guilty fairy coming to the human world to experience 81 hardships, using blood and ink to finish her world-shaking script. But from the perspective of modern psychology and philosophy of history, that question of Waner's reincarnation in each of our hearts is actually not about seeking some metaphysical code. But about searching for a spiritual gene. When you are under the heavy pressure and trials of life and turn your scars into plum blossom makeup, living out your own dignity and elegance, that is the inheritance of Waner's wisdom of blooming in desperate straits. When a modern woman in the workplace or in society proves her value with talent and independence, isn't she the best spiritual reincarnation of Shangguan Waner in the contemporary era? She is not someone else's deity. She is the myth of her own destiny. In the year 710 AD, the bloodstains of that palace coup had long been washed away by Chang'an's spring rain. The glazed tiles of the damning palace also turned into the dust of history. But the profound impact Shangguan Waner left us has never vanished with the wind. Looking back from today, we often lament the unfairness of destiny and complain about the limitations of our starting points. However, she used her life to show us, it doesn't mean you can't play it beautifully to win, even if life deals you a terrible hand. However, Shangguan Waner used her life to give us the most shocking answer. From a female slave with no dignity, she stepped into the power center of the empire. She relied not on luck, but on the carving of her talent in countless desperate dark nights. And on the unextinguished clarity and ambition amidst flashing swords. Her life was full of contradictions and tragedy. But it is exactly this imperfect, uncompromising posture of daring to dance in the storm that allowed her to transcend the limitations of her era and become an eternally unfalling superstar in the historical starry sky. My friends, when you face life's confusion and setbacks late at night, you might as well close your eyes and imagine that 1,300 years ago, the woman grinding ink and putting pen to paper under the lamp shadows of the damning palace. She washed away the loneliness of her birth with blood and tears and amazed the entire Haitang with her poetry. Perhaps in the heart of each of us sleeps a Shangguan Waner. They are not afraid of the dark night and yearn for the dawn. Having sailed past a thousand sails, they return still bearing strength of character. This is the charm of history and also the entire meaning of why we still remember her today. In the starry river of song poetry, polished by later generations to be as smooth as jade, Li Qingzhao's name is a highly discordant rift. We are used to confining her on the pedestal of the master of delicate and restrained poetry, watching her drown in wine, watching her pity the flowers, watching her guard that doomed dream under the fading candlelight. As if, as long as she is mournful enough, it is enough to adorn the collective nostalgia of later literati for the romance of the Song Dynasty. But if you truly understand her, you will be surprised that the figure overlooking the masses from the pinnacle of poetry was never a boudoir woman locked behind heavy curtains. She was a madman within the order of the Northern Song Dynasty, in that dense web woven by feudal ethical codes. She drank, played mayang dama, and flash married. She even dared to boldly flip the table on the chessboard of men's power struggles. As a woman, she cared about the state. With her fragile body, she questioned the broken universe of the common people. Li Qingzhao's destiny set sail with a silver spoon. Her father, Li Gefei, was a student of Cixi. From a prominent family, her mother was the daughter of former Prime Minister Wengi, a scholarly family. Such a family background endowed her with better educational resources than the vast majority of men at that time. However, she was not the kind of well-behaved lady from a noble house. At only 25 years old, with a stroke of her pen, she wrote a critique of poetry that shocked the literary world. In that immortal article, she scolded all the top figures in the poetry circles of the Northern Song Dynasty. She said Liu Yang's diction was vulgar, and Qin Guan focused only on emotion with few historical allusions. Even her father's teacher, the generation's literary giant Cixi, was not spared. She bluntly pointed out that the poems written by these masters were either like uncultured, vulgar tunes, or were simply poems forcibly broken into uneven lines. Just imagine, in that era of strict Confucian ideology and seniority, a young woman in her 20s dared to tell the giants of the literary world that what they wrote was a joke. This was not just arrogance. This was absolute confidence in her talent. This dimensional strike against the literary world made Li Qingzhao the most controversial female demon of her time. But history proved that she was right. Her unforgiving sharpness, in fact, precisely meant to preserve the dignity of Xi, poetry as an independent art form. If it were merely outstanding literary talent, she would just be an excellent literati. But Li Qingzhao possessed a highly grounded and vibrant soul. She never concealed her love for wine. So intoxicated, I forgot the way home. This was not a loss of composure. This was the complete relaxation of a free soul in the mortal world. In the evening breeze at the Creek Pavilion, she mistakenly entered the depths of the lotus flowers, startling the gulls and herons. The joy of that moment, was so vivid and bright. She also had another special skill gambling. Her love story with Hao Mingcheng was not just the elegance of exchanging poems, but also the playful betting on books and spilling tea. The two competed in memory, competing on who would be penalized to drink tea if they lost. Li Qingzhao won more often than she lost. But because she laughed so wildly, she always spilled the tea on herself. There was sweetness even in clumsiness. During those days, were the softest moments of light and shadow in his life. In an era that imprisoned women, she lived her life like a poem. This informal nature seems like a genuine temperament today. But back then, it was a silent rebellion against the ethical codes. She tells us that a woman's charm is never limited to the shyness between her brows, but lies more in the vital tension of full immersion in her passions. However, life is not only romance, but also harsh winds and bitter frost. Hao Mingcheng passed away from illness, and the prosperity of Li Qingzhao's first half of life collapsed instantly. Amidst loneliness and the chaos of war, she met Heng Ruzhou. This was a disastrous marriage. What Heng Ruzhou coveted were the antiquities in her hands. When he realized the value of the antiquities had been hollowed out by the war, Heng Ruzhou revealed his hideous true face. And even became physically abusive towards her. For Li Qingzhao, this was not only a drop in her quality of life, but also a loss of dignity. In the Song Dynasty, where women had to follow their husbands upon marriage, and divorce meant total ruin, she made a decision that shocked the world reporting her husband for official fraud. Even if the price was two years in prison, this was not just a divorce. This was a life and death struggle for liberation. She knew well that in a society where women had no right to initiate a divorce, the only way was mutually assured destruction. Her resolute statement, although the situation is extremely miserable, it is not my intention to surrender, tore apart the facade of feudal ethics. In the end, Heng Ruzhou's reputation was ruined, and Li Qingzhao regained her freedom after spending nine days in prison. This boldness to cut her losses, traversing a thousand years, still makes modern women feel humbled. She never compromised for the sake of peace. Her very bones were engraved with, I will not make do. This is what makes her truly extraordinary. She could reassemble her shattered life into the shape she desired in the most absolute way. Some say Li Qingzhao had the demeanor of a female scholar. Actually, she not only had talent, but also great vision. As early as 16, when literary predecessors dumped all the blame for the Anqi Rebellion on Yang Guifei, Li Qingzhao dared to take up her pen and refute them. Why are the troops always defeated in battle? Delivering lychees cost many horses to die. She pointedly indicated that the decline of the nation's destiny was due to the corruption of the court, rather than the sins of a woman. This perspective completely broke away from the old trope of femme fatale. What she cared about was the rise and fall of the nation. What she pondered was the underlying logic of history. Reaching the Wu River, the river waters surged, endless for a thousand years. When the world is still chewing on Li Qingzhao's line about tender affection, an inch of sorrow, a thousand threads of grief, perhaps everyone has forgotten. That deep in the bones of this woman, surprisingly, lay the soul of the hegemon king of Western Chu. Alive, be a hero among men. Dead, be a champion among ghosts. Until today, we still remember Shang Yu, who refused to cross over to Jiangdong. This sigh, how could it be merely reciting history? This was clearly Li Qingzhao's cruelest slap in the face to that era of temporary complacency. In that precarious Song dynasty, the court officials, just to survive, retreated step by step, retreating into the gentle lands of Jiangnan and beside this group of so-called men. Li Qingzhao stubbornly pointed at Shang Yu and said, look, that is a true hero. Even if he lost the whole world, he would rather be broken as jade at the Wu River than cross the river to drag out an ignoble existence. To Li Qingzhao, Shang Yu's refusal was the last trace of dignity as a human being. And this dignity, in that moment, also became her most silent questioning of her husband, Hao Mingcheng. When Hao Mingcheng abandoned the city and fled during the rebellion, with a pathetic back, the great song in Li Qingzhao's eyes was completely shattered. This poem is Li Qingzhao's sword. She doesn't speak of romantic love. She doesn't write of boudoir grievances. She uses the coldest strokes to carve one word under the setting sun of the Southern Song Dynasty shame. A talented woman, a prideful spirit, an outburst of anger at the era. This is the real Li Qingzhao, the extraordinary woman of the great song who dared to measure the baseline of heroes with her life thousand years ago. Life is like a game of chess. Since I have seen through the disastrous defeat of this game, why should I obsess over this unrecoverable endgame? True strength is not refusing to be broken, but even when crushed to pieces, still blooming in the dust with a backbone that looks down upon all flowers. Reading up to here, perhaps a question will also surface in your mind. In today's era of information explosion, with so many choices, do we still possess the courage like Li Qingzhao? To defend the baseline of our souls, to dare to overthrow the status quo, and to start all over again? A thousand years later, we may not all face chaotic times of ruined states and destroyed homes, but everyone may face unavoidable dilemmas at some point in life. What Li Qingzhao left to future generations is perhaps not just eternal masterpieces, but more importantly, the courage to never bow to reality when destiny capsizes. All right, that's all for today's story. I hope you will gain some insights and accomplishments. I am Meiling, see you in our next program.