Chapter 97- King Zhou Burned Himself to Death After His Three Evil Queens...

The sources immediately set the stage with the sheer horror that led to this moment. I mean, if you just read the opening poem, it's not just some political statement. It's a list of specific profound cruelties from King Zhu. It really is. We're talking about a tyranny so immense, it's almost mythological. The poem mentions, you know, wasting civilian blood, building the absolutely horrific Chai Pit. The Scorpion Pit. Yes, a giant pit filled with scorpions. And then burning loyal, honest officials alive. It's a moral decay so complete that the universe itself has to step in. And that's the key takeaway right from the start. The source material is all about this principle of cosmic justice. This level of unrestrained tyranny means that retribution, or Baoyang, isn't just, you know, inevitable. It's imminent. It's active. It's necessary to restore balance. Exactly. Okay, so the Zhu forces have scattered the Yan army. The dynasty is, for all intents and purposes, over. The final job for the heroes, we're talking Yang Jian, Lei Zhenzi, and Wei Hus, to chase down the three spirits who caused all this havoc. That's the nine-headed pheasant spirit, the jade pipa spirit, and of course, the infamous nine-tailed fox spirit, Daji. They're on the run. They're cornered. They're about to be captured. And then, everything stops. We get the biggest traffic jam in mythological history. No! The great goddess, the creator figure, she herself arrives. And it is not a quiet entrance. The text makes it so clear this is a full-on divine spectacle. She's riding a blue phoenix, a King Luan, and there's this dramatic display of multi-colored light and banners. Oh, yeah. The poem talks about heavenly auspicious colors, purple clouds floating, and incense mist surrounding the carriage. It is a literal manifestation of celestial authority. And she just stops the demons. The chase is over. But here is the narrative bombshell you really need to pay attention to. The three demons, they're weeping, they're pleading for their lives, and they remind Nuwa of something. What's that? That she was the one who originally commanded them to go to the capital, to enter the palace, confuse King Zhu, and, well, hasten the collapse of the Yin Dynasty. So they're essentially arguing we were just following orders. Exactly. They claim they were just fulfilling her command to end King Zhu's rule. The Duansong Ta De Tianshe. So if they were just instruments of fate, why are they now facing execution? And what's so fascinating is that Nuwa doesn't deny it. No, she confirms it. She says that using them to end the dynasty was, in fact, aligned with the Tianshu, the celestial mandate. The dynasty had to fall. But wait, if the destruction was mandated, then where exactly was the line? Why did they choose those specific sadistic tortures? Did the text provide any guidance on where their mission ended? That is the entire crux of the judgment. Nuwa draws an incredibly sharp distinction here. The mandate was about regime change. It was not a license for unbound sadism. Okay, so this is where it gets really interesting. Nuwa condemns them not for completing the mission, but because they, quote, unnecessarily created evil. Wu Duansong Ta De Tianshe. That phrase is the core takeaway for us here. It's the difference between doing a necessary job and just indulging in malice. And she lists their specific transgressions, right, to make it clear. She does. She outlines exactly how they went beyond what was necessary. She cites the mass slaughter of innocent civilians, Kan Zhe Xiong Ling, and the fluttering of loyal good officials, Tu Du Zhong Li. So the goal was to confuse the king, to dismantle the government through incompetence and immorality, not to establish, you know, new and horrific torture methods. Precisely. She concludes that their actions showed a cruelty that greatly violated heaven's benevolence. In this cosmology, heaven has Hao Xiong Zhe Ren, this virtue of loving and preserving life. And they violated that. Fundamentally. The mandate was to end the dynasty quickly, to save the people, not to invent worse tyranny under the cover of the gods. So no celestial court appeals here. The judgment is immediate and final. Yes. The consequence for going beyond the mandate is death. Nuwa orders her attendant to use the Fu Ya Sun, the binding demon rope, to secure them and turn them over to Yang Jian. To be delivered directly to Jiang Xia or Xia at the zoo camp for an immediate public execution. And the theological lesson is right there. Fate might guide outcomes, but it does not excuse malice in how you get there. The scene transitions so quickly. The three bound spirits are delivered to the zoo camp, and Xia, the mastermind general of this whole campaign, he's now the judge and executioner. And this is a very public, very political display of justice. He has to demonstrate to all the watching feudal lords why these creatures deserve this specific fate. He doesn't waste time. He reinforces Nuwa's decision by providing this full, gruesome catalog of their crimes. He's reminding everyone present why their actions crossed the line into absolute depravity. This wasn't just chaos. It was the active, inventive destruction of human decency. He lists the specifics, and these details are meant to shock you. We hear about the Peiwulao, that terrible greased copper pillar heated with fire so victims would burn as they fell. He lists the Chai Pen, the scorpion pit, and the grotesque excess of the Jianxi Hualin, the wine pool and meat forest, which just consumed vast resources while people starved. But then he moves to the tortures that show pure, unnecessary malice. The ones that violate that Hasheng Zeren the most. Right, like knocking the bones of civilians to see the marrow, Kul Jing An Sun, and maybe the most chilling detail of all. Dissecting pregnant women to check the fetus. Pufu Yan Tai. That detail is so critical. That is not a political move. That is pure sadism. Xena declares this cruelty is unforgivable, a crime that infuriates heaven, earth, and all mankind. But Daji, the nine-tailed fox, is never short on clever strategies, even in chains. Oh, never. Even though she's exposed as a demon, she speaks through the guise of the real, innocent And she delivers this astonishingly persuasive, self-pitying political defense. And she's smart about it. She claims she's just the innocent daughter of Su Hu, a mere woman incapable of influencing the powerful king or his ministers. She's arguing that the dynasty's failure lay with the men, not a mere concubine. And she appeals directly to the feudal lord's ingrained sense of justice. Using the proverb, arguing that sin does not extend to the family. She is trying to weaponize their own moral code against Ziya, suggesting that executing a helpless woman for the king's failings would make the Zhu dynasty look just as cool as the yin. And the sources confirm it worked. The feudal lord's watching started to pity her. It says they have pity in their hearts. I mean, think about that. These lords witnessed the collapse of a dynasty, they saw the bodies, and yet Daji's performance successfully swayed them. Even in the face of absolute proof. That is true power. But Ziya is not swayed by emotional appeals. He instantly rejects her plea. He exposes her spiritual identity, reveals she's the nine-tailed fox who murdered the real Su Daji and borrowed her essence, Xi Kaocheng Xing, to do all this. The trial is over. It's not against a human woman, but a malevolent ancient demon. The plea for mercy is denied. Ziya orders the immediate beheading. Yang Jian and Wei Zhu step forward to perform the executions. And the first two, they proceed successfully. Right. The pheasant spirit and the pipa spirit, who had the bad luck of being previously wounded by Ziya's inkstone, they're dispatched quickly. It's over for them. But when they turn to Daji, the fox spirit, the execution fails. Repeatedly. She is bound, yes, but she is using every ounce of her thousand-year spiritual power and her mastery of illusion. And the text describes it in this sensory detail that's almost overwhelming. She displays hundreds of feminine charms, bimban miwe. It paints a picture of a creature, like a flawless, beautiful jade, a flower about to speak. So wait, even while she's bound and facing a sword, she still has enough spiritual juice left to paralyze trained, hardened soldiers? She absolutely does. The source is explicit about the effect. Her coquetry, her jiu qi, causes the first executioners to become soft-boned and weak-kneed. Slack-jawed and wide-eyed. They're simply unable to lift the blade. They're literally immobilized by her perceived beauty. That is a terrifying demonstration of spiritual ability overcoming human will. Her power wasn't just about making a king fall in love. It was about altering the fundamental perception of reality for anyone who looked at her. Exactly. And Xia sees this, his order being defied, and he is furious. He executes the failed soldiers himself. A grim display of military discipline. Absolutely. He sends Yang Jian and Wei Hu back with a second fresh batch of troops, hoping fresh eyes might work. But the fox spirit's charms work again. These new soldiers are described as east-falling, west-tilted, like fools and drunkards. They can't even stand straight. At this point, Yang Jian and Wei Hu realize this isn't a morale failure, it's a spiritual problem. They assess her as a qian, nian, hua, thousand-year-old fox. One who has absorbed celestial spiritual energy, ri zheng yue. Which has granted her the absolute ability to confuse people, mi hua ren. She's not just charming, she's actively distorting mortal perception and overriding their free will. And this detail is key for you, the listener. It explains why a divine intervention was needed for this execution in the first place. Xia realizes this creature can't be handled by ordinary soldiers. Or even the strongest mortals. Her spiritual deception is total. It requires a higher magical power to neutralize it. So Xia acts decisively. He retrieves the special, powerful gourd, or calabash, given to him much earlier by the immortal Lu Ya. This item is specifically designed to neutralize these kinds of high-level spiritual threats. He sets up a ritual, right. A burning incense altar, he places the gourd on it, removes the lid. What happens next is pure magic. A terrifying white light shoots up, and inside that light, a magical creature appears, spinning, described as having eyebrows, eyes, wings, and feet. This creature, the bīnbēi, or precious item, is the weapon. Right, and Xia bows respectfully to it. He's not commanding the demon, he's commanding the weapon itself, and he speaks the faithful command. Bīnbēi zhēnshēn, precious item, turn its body. And the moment is instant. The creature spins two or three times in the light, and Daji's head immediately falls to the ground, scattering blood. She's finally dead. No more charm, no more paralysis. And here's the final, remarkable insight into her power. Even after her immediate, brutal death, the sources note that the attending feudal lords still held a sense of pity. Her spiritual charm was so potent that the perception she created lingered, even after her physical form was destroyed. And the stage is set. King Zhu isn't out there leading a counterattack. He's just sitting alone. The text says, yǎn yǎn dù zhǔ, melancholy, in his private chambers. In the Xingying Hall. Exactly. And the army of King Wu is literally at the city gates. So this isn't just about a military loss, it's total spiritual bankruptcy. Okay, so, as the world is just crumbling outside, what is the first truly devastating piece of news Zhu gets in his isolation? It's news that basically confirms his failure on every single level. As a king, as a husband, as a man. Right. A court official comes back, weeping, and reports that the heads of his three concubines— The three queens. Yes, the three queens who are loyal to the dynasty but who meet alienated—their heads have been severed, and they're being displayed at the Zhu camp's gates. Yeah. That's an immediate visceral punch. It is. He rushes up to the Five Phoenix Tower to see it for himself, and the text describes his reaction not as this, you know, tyrannical rage— Which you'd expect. Exactly. But as this profound, shocking sorrow. His heart is sick-sore since then. So is this genuine grief, do you think? Or is it more self-pity for his own lost pleasure? It's a mix. And I think that's what makes him a fascinating villain, even at the end. He actually cries as he writes this poem, mourning them. Yeah. Lamenting that their beauty is wasted. He writes, Jade shattered, fragrance faded, truly pitiful, lovely faces and cloudy hair hung high. He's mourning his lost pleasures, for sure, but maybe. For a moment, his personal loss outweighs the political one. It's like the last flicker of humanity. It is, before the supernatural just completely takes over. And it's an incredibly short moment of reflection, isn't it? Because that grief is just instantly swallowed by reality. Instantly. A cannon sounds, the zoo troops shout, and he realizes the great momentum is gone. Dashi and Kuu. He knows it's over. He knows. He has to make his final move, which means rushing toward the Star-Picking Tower. And this is where the story just leaves military history behind completely. As he's moving from the hall to the tower, he doesn't encounter enemy soldiers. He encounters, well, the physical manifestation of his own karmic debt. You mean the wind. The wind. The text describes this strange swirling wind, a sueyufemang, that just wraps around him. It's a clear signal of the supernatural transition. So from the earthly battle to a spiritual reckoning. Precisely. And the purpose of that wind is spelled out, which is chilling. It says the wind's job is to gather ancient grievances and let the wronged ghosts speak their debt. All because of his extreme cruelty. It's like a mechanism of cosmic justice. It is. It's personalized vengeance delivered by a whirlwind. And right after the wind come the spirits he created. The first ones are visually terrifying. They're the ghosts from the infamous Scorpion Pit. The Chai Pin. That was his preferred method of execution for people who angered him, correct? Correct. And these ghosts are described as bloody, stinking naked, just crying for their lives The constant reminder of his worst atrocity. His role. And they're joined by two very specific ghosts-powerful named victims who are high ministers. Zhao Qi and Mei Bo. Okay, so who were they? Why are their appearances so significant? They really represent the failure of the moral order. Zhao Qi was known for his wise counsel, which they of course rejected. And Mei Bo. Mei Bo was the one Zhu had, well, minced. Sliced up for daring to speak against him. And now these two are right in his face, shouting, celebrating. You have your day of defeat too, oh homicidal ruler. So the ultimate consequence of executing your most loyal minister is in the most gruesome ways imaginable. Exactly. But here's the thing. Despite being surrounded by all this, Zhu doesn't just drop dead. He actually manages to fight back for a moment. How? How does he possibly survive that supernatural onslaught? This is a really crucial cosmological detail. Zhu still has a tiny sliver of the residual power of the Sun of Heaven. He repels them by focusing his yang energy, his yang qi cheng qu. In Chinese cosmology, yang is light, life masculine power. So his own imperial force, even though he's corrupted it, is what pushes away the dark cold yin energy of the ghosts. For a moment, yes. He's basically fighting off the spirit world with the last gasps of his divine mandate. His soul is being ripped apart, but his imperial qi is holding the line. Just long enough for him to keep moving. But just as those, let's say, political ghosts retreat, three much more specific female figures attack him. Yes. And these are the literal ghosts of the women he personally wronged and killed. Their accusations are intensely personal. They must have just torn at his sanity. Completely. First is Empress Jiang, his former wife. She physically pulls him back, scolding him. And her accusation is the most politically devastating. What is she saying? She doesn't just mention killing her and her son. She accuses him of destroying the social order, yume yilun, and failing his ancestors. She is confirming his status as the final wicked emperor of the dynasty. Okay, then Queen Wang appears. Covered in blood and stench, she cries out that he brutally threw her off the star picking tower. The very place he's running to. The very place. She says he caused her to be powdered bone and shattered body. It's an immediate physical warning of what that tower represents. And the third. Madame Jia. She confronts him for violating her honor. The ultimate violation of fealty. A ruler violating a minister's wife. She demands revenge and literally strikes at him. Wow. The combination of personal, political, and physical violations all coming at him at once. And what's fascinating is how the narrative focuses on his mental state. The text says the only thing saving him from being completely overwhelmed is a sliver of his true spirit, his zongling. His yang god startling him awake. Right. He's only momentarily sane, surrounded by the literal consequences of his cruelty. He's a man being chased up a burning political ladder by the ghosts of his own making. So Zeus finally stumbles onto the top of the star picking tower. He knows he has to choose his end before the army gets to him. And he summons his palace officer, a man named Zhu Sheng, for his final, terrible order. He lays out his rationale for self-immolation, for burning himself. He does. He's terrified of being captured by. In his words, petty men. Crooked. Guerrilla. And suffering the humiliation of a public execution. He decides that burning himself, Zifen, is cleaner, more dignified in a twisted sort of way. But is it really just about avoiding shame? I mean, he specifically referenced his ancient prophecy, doesn't he? He does. And this is a huge point. He reveals that years ago, he'd ordered his ministers to consult King Wen's famous Yijing divination. And that ancient prophecy foretold this exact doom, that he would suffer the calamity of self-immolation. So this shifts the entire tragedy. It wasn't just his political failure. No, it was cosmically mandated. Tian Ding, heaven ordained. He wasn't just running from King Wu, he was fulfilling a pre-written destiny. Which brings us to the tragedy of Zhu Sheng. This palace officer, he's devastated. Absolutely crushed. He cries. He argues. He says he cannot participate in burning his own sovereignty. But Zhu, even now, he's still a tyrant. To the very end, he angrily forces Zhu Sheng to comply, threatening to charge him with the crime of defiance. Funny Zhu. It's an agonizing paradox. He forces the most loyal person he has left to ensure his dignified exit. And Zhu Sheng, weeping, gathers the wood. He sets the fire. And then in this shocking act of supreme, final loyalty, Gu Sheng, he throws himself into the flames. To die with his king. It's a statement that his loyalty was to the office, not the man, and he couldn't live as the instrument of the sovereign's destruction. So describe this final scene for us. Zhu is dressed in his full imperial robes, holding his jade scepter. Sitting calmly as the fire just rages beneath him. And he utters his final regret. Not listening to loyal advice. And the description of the inferno itself. It's spectacular. The text uses a powerful poetic foo. Fire and wind combine. The tower structure collapses, soaring into the clouds. Everything turns to ash and red dust. And the tragedy doesn't just consume the king. No. The whole surrounding palace burns, killing countless people, innocent and guilty alike. The eight concubines, the nine royal women, all the innocent palace maids trapped there. The scope of destruction matches the scale of the tyranny. Meanwhile, outside the city walls, the new ruler, King Wu, and his strategist, Jiang Xia, are watching this. A crucial moment. What's King Wu's reaction? It's so unexpected. King Wu sees Zhu's ghostly imperial figure rising in the smoke, and instead of celebrating, he covers his face. He covers his face. Yeah. He says that even though Zhu was wicked, he was once their ruler, and they shouldn't witness his death. He shows this deep, unexpected mercy, and immediately retreats back to camp. That wasn't just a kind gesture, was it? That was a profound political statement. Absolutely. It cemented the legitimacy of the new dynasty. Jiang Xia compares him to Cheng Tang, the founder of the Shang, who exiled the wicked King Ji but didn't gloat. King Wu's pity, his Ren Mingzhu Ai, immediately confirms his moral fitness to rule. By showing respect for the office of the fallen tyrant, he affirms the sanctity of the mandate of heaven itself. The political transition is sanctified by an act of restraint. So the tower collapses, Zhu is ash, but his story isn't quite over. Not quite. The text confirms his spirit, his yuling, departs immediately to the platform of investiture of the gods. His ultimate fate is to be part of the heavenly bureaucracy. The king is dead, but his spirit still has a role to play. And the final poem summarizing Zhu's life acknowledges his immense talent, his legendary physical strength, fighting tigers, lifting beams, power surpassing past and present. But it concludes that all that glorious talent was just wasted, overshadowed by his cruelty.