A Kingdom in Crisis: The Frustration of King Xuan

King Xuan of Chu, Mi Liangfu, paced his palace in agitation, repeatedly demanding of his attendants: “Has Minister Jiang Yi returned yet?”

The middle-ranking minister Jiang Yi had been dispatched as a secret envoy to the rival states of Wei and Qi. Three months had passed without word, and the king’s anxiety grew by the day. The grand alliance of six states at Fengze had collapsed—pledges of unity against the rising power of Qin had dissolved like mist, and even the division of smaller territories among the coalition had failed. Mi Liangfu had initially believed that, apart from Qi, no state was more eager than Chu to crush Qin. Confident in his strategy, he had returned to his capital, Ying, and waited, neither mobilizing troops nor seeking alliances, merely sending three spies to Wu Pass to observe Qin’s movements. His plan was simple: let others fight while Chu reaped the rewards.

The King’s Arrogance and Misguided Philosophy

Mi Liangfu was a man of towering self-regard. He considered himself the wisest ruler in Chu’s history, far surpassing his ancestors. For centuries, Chu’s kings had waged wars without expanding beyond the Huai River. Yet here he was, through sheer cunning, positioning Chu as the second-greatest power in the alliance—without shedding a drop of blood. He envisioned effortlessly seizing vast territories, pushing Chu’s borders to the Yellow River’s northern reaches.

His guiding philosophy? “Never be the leader; always the second.” He saw the top position as a target, inviting relentless opposition. Better to manipulate from behind the scenes, extracting benefits without the burdens of leadership. To justify this, he invoked Laozi’s teachings, ordering his court to study the Dao De Jing—though he himself had never read it. When an old minister chastised him for his decadence by quoting Laozi, Mi Liangfu, baffled and humiliated, silenced all discussion of the sage.

A Decade of Decline and Desperation

Ten years passed, and Mi Liangfu’s grand strategy bore no fruit. His attempts to annex minor states were thwarted by Wei and Qi. The “second-greatest power” found itself ignored, and the king grew restless. His once-confident demeanor gave way to frustration, his already corpulent frame swelling further under the weight of his anxieties.

Then, inspiration struck—or so he believed. In a moment of drowsy contemplation, he conceived a new plan: consult the heavens. He summoned Minister Jiang Yi and ordered him to find two legendary astrologers, Gan De and Shi Shen, whose celestial insights could guide Chu’s destiny.

The Mystics and the Omen

Gan De and Shi Shen were no ordinary diviners. They belonged to an ancient tradition of celestial observation, tracing back to the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties. Unlike common fortune-tellers, they studied the stars to decipher the will of heaven, their predictions carrying immense political weight.

At the king’s request, the two astrologers ascended Jing Mountain’s observatory. That night, a blazing comet streaked across the western sky—an omen of upheaval. Gan De and Shi Shen interpreted it as a sign of a rising power in the west: Qin, the very state Mi Liangfu despised.

The king was incredulous. “Qin? A barbarous backwater? Impossible!” Yet the astrologers stood firm: “Heaven favors virtue, not pedigree.”

The King’s Rejection and a Minister’s Resolve

Disillusioned, Mi Liangfur dismissed the prophecy. Jiang Yi, however, saw an opportunity. He argued that omens were tools—useful if favorable, ignorable if not. He reminded the king of Chu’s past glories under King Zhuang and the reforms of Wu Qi, urging action over superstition.

Flattered and reinvigorated, Mi Liangfu promoted Jiang Yi to high minister, tasking him with revitalizing Chu. But as Jiang Yi prepared to propose sweeping reforms, he discovered the king’s true plan: not revival, but another short-sighted scheme.

The Legacy of Missed Opportunities

Chu’s history was one of squandered potential. Wu Qi’s reforms under King Dao had briefly made it a formidable power, only to collapse in a storm of aristocratic backlash. Now, Mi Liangfu’s refusal to heed the heavens—or his minister’s counsel—doomed Chu to further stagnation.

As Jiang Yi rode out of Ying on another futile mission, the comet’s message loomed large: Qin’s ascent was inevitable, and Chu’s decline, self-inflicted.

Conclusion: The Cost of Ignoring Heaven and History

King Xuan’s story is a cautionary tale of arrogance and miscalculation. His rejection of celestial warnings and reliance on hollow stratagems left Chu unprepared for the seismic shifts of the Warring States era. By the time Qin unified China, Chu was but a memory—a kingdom that might have ruled, had its king only listened.

The heavens spoke. The stars foretold. And Mi Liangfu, in his hubris, chose not to hear.