A Suspicious Death in the Prime Minister’s Household

In the winter of 1054, during the reign of Emperor Renzong of the Song Dynasty, a grim report reached the Kaifeng prefectural office: Ying’er, a slave girl in the household of Prime Minister Chen Zhizhong, had died under mysterious circumstances. The case immediately drew attention because Song law required autopsies for all non-natural slave deaths. When officials examined Ying’er’s body, they found it covered with bruises and wounds.

Rumors swirled through the capital. Some claimed Ying’er had been tortured to death by Chen’s favorite concubine, Zhang Shi. Others whispered that the prime minister himself had administered the fatal beating. The case became a political lightning rod at a time when the relationship between high officials and censors was particularly tense.

The Iron-Faced Censor Takes Action

Enter Zhao Bian, a palace censor known as the “Iron-Faced Censor” for his fearless impeachment of powerful figures. He immediately submitted a scorching memorial:

“Whether the prime minister personally beat the girl or allowed his concubine to commit murder, he bears responsibility. If the slave committed an offense, she should have been sent to official authorities—not subjected to private violence that violates both law and propriety!”

Emperor Renzong ordered a special investigation tribunal established at Jiaqing Monastery. However, the proceedings quickly became mired in controversy. Chen, while ostensibly cooperating, refused to allow key witnesses from his household to testify. After a month-long inquiry, the tribunal concluded Ying’er had been caned to death for disobedience—but not by the concubine.

The Legal and Moral Quandary

The case exposed troubling aspects of Song law regarding slaves. While the Northern Song saw progress from the Tang Dynasty’s treatment of slaves as property, legal protections remained limited. The penal code stated:

“If a master beats a slave to death for misconduct, he shall receive one year of penal servitude; if intentional, slightly more; if accidental or during punishment, no penalty applies.”

To modern sensibilities, this seems shockingly lenient. But Zhao Bian argued the circumstances were far worse—Ying’er had allegedly been stripped naked in winter, bound, denied food, and confined until death. The censor saw this not just as a legal matter, but a moral test of leadership fitness.

The Political Storm Intensifies

When Chen returned to court after a brief withdrawal, censors launched fresh attacks. Zhao Bian and his colleagues submitted increasingly vehement memorials:

“How can a man who behaves with such cruelty and violates laws continue as prime minister? The public outcry cannot be ignored!”

They accused Chen of broader failings—incompetence, cronyism, and even alleged an improper relationship with Ying’er (though without evidence). The censors’ campaign reflected the growing power of the oversight system during Renzong’s reign, when censors successfully removed twenty-three high officials.

The Emperor’s Dilemma

Emperor Renzong faced a difficult choice. He valued Chen’s loyalty, once remarking, “Chen never deceives me.” Yet the censors’ persistence and public opinion forced his hand. In 1055, he finally dismissed Chen, who retired and died three years later.

The case had lasting repercussions. Censor Zhao Bian and critic Fan Zhen, who had opposed using private matters to attack officials, developed a famous rivalry—yet later, when Fan faced political trouble, Zhao still praised him as “a loyal minister,” demonstrating remarkable professional integrity.

Legacy: The Foundations of Accountable Governance

This 11th-century scandal reveals sophisticated mechanisms of accountability in Song governance. The censors’ ability to challenge even the prime minister reflected a system where:

1. Officials could be removed for misconduct or incompetence
2. Different branches of government checked each other
3. Public opinion (“the discourse under heaven”) carried weight

As one later official nostalgically recalled: “In our ancestors’ time, when high officials faced censure, none could remain if public opinion turned against them—not even the emperor could override this with personal favor.”

The system wasn’t perfect—legal protections for the vulnerable remained inadequate, and political motives sometimes colored censors’ actions. Yet it established principles that would resonate centuries later: that power must answer to scrutiny, and leadership requires both legal and moral legitimacy. The tragic death of a slave girl thus became a catalyst for enduring questions about justice, accountability, and the proper exercise of authority.