The Rise of a Political Matriarch

In the spring of 180 BCE, Empress Lü Zhi, the formidable widow of Emperor Gaozu and de facto ruler of the Han Dynasty for fifteen years, found herself increasingly troubled by ominous signs. The once indomitable regent who had ruthlessly consolidated power now suffered from sleepless nights, her eyelids twitching uncontrollably as she prepared for the annual Fuxi purification ceremony along the Wei River. Holding up a bronze mirror to examine her aging face, she confided in her trusted eunuch Xuan Qinu: “The empire stands secure, yet I find no peace. All my good deeds for the people—who truly understands them? Who in future generations will believe them?”

This moment of vulnerability revealed the complex legacy of China’s first female sovereign, whose reign marked both unprecedented political stability and shocking brutality. Having risen from humble origins as a village woman to become the power behind two emperors, Lü now stood at the twilight of her rule, haunted by the ghosts of those she had eliminated—particularly the young Prince Ruyi of Zhao and his mother Lady Qi, whose gruesome fates had become legendary.

The Purification Ceremony and Ominous Portents

The grand procession to the Wei River became a revealing tableau of Lü’s reign. Commoners lined the roads to glimpse their rarely-seen ruler, cheering as her yellow-canopied chariot passed. Lü took satisfaction in seeing her numerous nephews and relatives mounted on fine horses—visible symbols of the Lü clan’s dominance. Yet the observant regent noticed her chancellor Shen Yiji’s melancholy demeanor amidst the celebration.

During the elaborate ritual where young Emperor Liu Hong poured libations into the river, traditional rites masked the political reality—a child emperor presiding while the true power sat watching. The ceremony’s conclusion brought no peace to Lü, who confronted Shen about his gloomy disposition. His ominous warning—”I fear our glorious age may crumble in an instant”—foreshadowed the coming storm.

The Ghosts of Past Crimes Return

Returning to Chang’an, Lü’s chariot was attacked by a mysterious black beast resembling a dog—an event witnessed only by her. The creature’s assault left her with a painful, unhealing wound that court physicians could not treat. When court astrologer Tan Pingdi interpreted this as the vengeful spirit of Prince Ruyi—the young boy Lü had murdered years earlier—the aging regent’s superstitions overcame her political pragmatism.

In a remarkable turn, Lü ordered Shen Yiji to restore Prince Ruyi’s neglected tomb, an act of appeasement that shocked the capital. This symbolic gesture, so out of character for the ruthless ruler, revealed her growing awareness of mortality and perhaps, buried guilt. As she confided to Shen: “Killing many brings retribution; it comes late in life but always arrives.”

The Empress Confronts Her Legacy

Bedridden in the Weiyang Palace during her final months, Lü engaged in remarkable soul-searching about her controversial reign. She took pride in maintaining stability after Emperor Gaozu’s death, boasting that while rebellions plagued her husband’s rule, her era saw “commanderies and kingdoms submitting heartily with peace in all directions.” Yet her conversation with an old commoner named Cao Wufang—who dared criticize her lack of benevolence—pierced her carefully constructed self-image as a benevolent ruler.

Lü’s political testament to her nephews Lü Chan and Lü Lu revealed her astute understanding of the precarious situation she left behind. Warning them to control both northern and southern armies while avoiding open confrontation with veteran ministers like Chen Ping and Zhou Bo, she essentially predicted the coming conflict: “Once I’m gone, if you lack troops, anyone will dare trample you.”

The Aftermath and Historical Significance

Lü’s death in August 180 BCE triggered the very crisis she feared. Her nephews’ attempt to maintain Lü clan dominance collapsed within months, as Liu clan loyalists and resentful ministers orchestrated their downfall. The subsequent extermination of the Lü clan marked a violent return to the principle of Liu family supremacy, but Lü’s administrative framework—emphasizing light taxes and minimal interference—became lasting Han policy.

Historically, Empress Lü represents both the possibilities and limitations of female power in imperial China. Her practical governance brought stability and economic recovery after years of war, yet traditional historiography remembers her primarily for her cruelties. The complex portrait that emerges from these final months shows a ruler simultaneously proud of her accomplishments and haunted by her methods, a woman who broke gender barriers only to find herself trapped by the very power structures she mastered.

Her reign established important precedents for later female rulers while also reinforcing Confucian anxieties about women in politics. The system she helped stabilize would endure for four centuries, making the Han Dynasty the foundation of Chinese imperial culture—a paradoxical legacy for this controversial matriarch who ruled in all but name.