The Rise of a Military Dynasty

The Wang family stood as one of the most formidable military dynasties during Qin’s unification wars. Wang Jian, the elder statesman of this remarkable clan, had served as Qin’s most trusted general through decades of campaigns against rival states. His son Wang Ben inherited not just his father’s military genius but also that characteristic Wang family stubbornness – an unshakable resolve that made them both invaluable and occasionally frustrating to Emperor Qin Shi Huang.

When Wang Jian died while pacifying the southern regions, the loss struck Wang Ben with devastating force. The emperor, recognizing the depth of Wang Ben’s grief, made unprecedented accommodations. He personally attended Wang Jian’s funeral rites, oversaw the construction of the family mausoleum, and even permitted Wang Ben an extended mourning period – highly unusual breaks from standard Qin protocol. Most remarkably, Qin Shi Huang allowed Wang Ben’s son Wang Li to inherit Wang Jian’s noble title of Wucheng Hou, creating the rare spectacle of three living generations holding marquisates simultaneously.

A General’s Descent into Grief

Despite the emperor’s thoughtful gestures, Wang Ben sank deeper into melancholy. For three years, the once-vibrant general became a shadow of himself – barely eating, rarely speaking, dividing his days between ritual offerings at his father’s tomb and listless sleep. Reports from the local magistrate and court physicians painted a bleak picture: “The Marquis Tongwu remains despondent, speaking little and eating less. Each day he visits the ancestral graves, then returns home to sleep.”

The emperor tried everything to rouse his old comrade. He consulted the mystic Xu Fu, hoping for some spiritual remedy, only to be told: “My arts cannot penetrate a military man’s heart. General Wang’s spirit is as unyielding as the Great Wall itself.” When even a proposed hunting expedition against the Xiongnu failed to spark Wang Ben’s interest, Qin Shi Huang could only watch helplessly as his finest general wasted away.

The Final Audience

News of Wang Ben’s critical condition reached the emperor during court proceedings. Abandoning all ceremony, Qin Shi Huang raced to PinYang in his fastest chariot. What he found at the Wang estate shattered him – the once-powerful warrior now lay skeletal beneath a white military blanket, his beard gone completely white, barely clinging to life in a simple thatched pavilion.

Their final conversation would haunt the emperor for his remaining days. With death approaching, Wang Ben mustered strength for startlingly candid counsel:

“First,” he gasped, “should war come, do not make my son Wang Li a commander. My father warned the boy lacks steadfastness and would surely fail.” The emperor, tears flowing freely, promised only to let the young man gain experience.

“Second,” Wang Ben continued, “make Li Xin your Grand Commandant. His steadfast courage makes him ideal for protecting our realm.”

Then came the bombshells. “You work too hard, Majesty. Name an heir. Despite his faults, the eldest prince remains our best choice. Deploy Meng Tian and Li Xin to support him… And lastly,” here Wang Ben hesitated before plunging ahead, “I have long observed that Chancellor Li Si maneuvers too much for personal advantage. As your health declines, stabilize the court. Internal threats now outweigh external ones…”

With these startling words – including the first serious criticism of Li Si the emperor had ever heard from a senior minister – Wang Ben exhaled his last breath. Qin Shi Huang collapsed over his friend’s body, weeping uncontrollably.

The Emperor’s Lonely Vigil

Wang Ben received a funeral surpassing even his father’s in grandeur. The emperor personally composed the epitaph for the mausoleum arch: “Two Generations of Renown, Pillars Supporting Heaven.” When Li Si volunteered to inscribe these words in his renowned calligraphy, Qin Shi Huang declined – “I owe the Wang family too much” – and carved the characters himself.

In the quiet aftermath, during the first winter snows, the emperor walked alone through the Wang family cemetery, using a walking stick Wang Ben had personally polished. The 300-acre grounds lay blanketed in white, mirroring the emptiness Qin Shi Huang now felt. The Wangs had represented something irreplaceable – not just military brilliance, but that rare quality of absolute integrity. Wang Jian had possessed it, though tempered with diplomatic grace. Wang Ben had embodied it in purer form – blunt, uncompromising, yet utterly reliable.

As snowflakes swirled around him, the emperor’s thoughts turned to succession. Wang Ben’s warning about Li Si nagged at him. For thirty years, Li Si had been his closest advisor. Their families were intermarried multiple times over. Yet now, in death, Wang Ben had sown doubt. Was Li Si’s famed adaptability actually opportunism? His political flexibility a mask for self-interest?

Echoes of Rebellion

During the mourning period, disturbing reports arrived – mass desertions by corvée laborers in SiShui commandery, a failed uprising at Mount Li led by a mysterious figure calling himself Qing Bu (Tattooed Bu). These weren’t mere isolated incidents, but symptoms of deeper unrest. Wang Ben’s final warning – “internal threats outweigh external ones” – rang ominously true.

The emperor walked on through the snow, stopping at Wang Ben’s fresh grave. “I’ve remembered your words, old friend,” he murmured. Come spring, he would tour the northern frontier, assess the situation with Meng Tian’s armies, and – quietly, subtly – begin implementing Wang Ben’s advice. But as the snow accumulated on his shoulders, Qin Shi Huang couldn’t shake the feeling that his empire’s golden age had died with the Wang generals. The pillars had fallen, and the roof now creaked ominously.

In that silent cemetery, with only the whispering snow as witness, China’s first emperor wept for his lost friend, for his fading health, and perhaps unconsciously, for the dynasty that would crumble so soon after his own passing – just as Wang Ben had feared.