The Rise and Fall of a Ming Dynasty Strategist

In the first month of 1371, as the people of Nanjing celebrated the Lunar New Year, Liu Bowen (also known as Liu Ji) quietly left the capital. Unlike his departure in 1368, this exit was an official retirement—one forced by political machinations rather than personal choice. The key figures behind his downfall were Hu Weiyong and Wang Guangyang, two rising stars in Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang’s court.

Liu Bowen had once been Zhu Yuanzhang’s most trusted advisor, a brilliant strategist whose counsel helped establish the Ming Dynasty in 1368. Yet, within just three years, he found himself sidelined, his warnings ignored, and his influence waning. His retirement was not a peaceful retreat but a desperate bid for survival in a court growing increasingly hostile.

The Political Landscape of Early Ming

The early Ming Dynasty was a turbulent period of consolidation. Zhu Yuanzhang, a former peasant rebel, had unified China under his rule but remained deeply suspicious of potential rivals. His reliance on the “Huai Faction”—officials from his home region—created factional tensions. Among them, Hu Weiyong emerged as a dominant figure, leveraging his administrative skills and ruthless ambition.

When Chancellor Li Shanchang fell ill in 1371, Zhu Yuanzhang restructured the government, appointing Hu Weiyong as Left Chancellor and Wang Guangyang as Right Chancellor. Though neither held the title of Prime Minister, Hu effectively controlled the Central Secretariat. Liu Bowen, who had previously warned against Hu’s appointment, now faced a dangerous adversary.

The Machinations of Hu Weiyong

Hu Weiyong moved swiftly to consolidate power. He reshuffled bureaucratic appointments, sidelined opponents, and cultivated loyalty among officials. His disdain for Liu Bowen was no secret. Once, he remarked to Wang Guangyang:

“That chair beneath Liu Bowen should have been removed long ago.”

Wang, ever the opportunist, agreed. Yet before they could act, Liu Bowen preempted them. Recognizing the danger, he requested an audience with the emperor and formally resigned.

Zhu Yuanzhang’s Calculated Indifference

Zhu Yuanzhang’s reaction was telling. For years, he had relied on Liu Bowen’s wisdom, but now he viewed the aging advisor with detachment. When Liu knelt before him, pleading frailty and uselessness, the emperor studied his face—deeply lined, devoid of its former vitality.

“Yes, Master Liu, you have indeed grown old,” Zhu conceded, his tone briefly softening before turning cold again. He granted the retirement but offered no protection.

Liu Bowen left Nanjing that night, unnoticed. The gatekeepers barely registered the departure of a stooped old man. His exit was less a dignified retirement than a strategic retreat from a court that no longer had room for him.

The Unwritten Threat in Poetry

Back in his hometown of Qingtian, Liu Bowen remained uneasy. Before his departure, Zhu Yuanzhang had gifted him a poem, “Farewell to Liu Bowen,” praising his contributions while hinting at his irrelevance.

Liu’s son, Liu Lian, saw it as an honor. But the elder Liu sensed danger. “This letter carries the scent of blood,” he muttered. He immediately drafted a “Memorial of Gratitude,” overflowing with flattery and self-deprecation, affirming his loyalty and insignificance. It was a desperate attempt to placate the emperor—a man who, Liu knew, could recall him to court—or worse—at any moment.

The Legacy of a Reluctant Sage

Liu Bowen’s retirement was not the end of his struggles. In 1375, he would die under mysterious circumstances, with many suspecting poisoning orchestrated by Hu Weiyong. His life and downfall became a cautionary tale about the perils of serving an absolute ruler.

Later Ming literature, such as “The Romance of the Ming Heroes,” dramatized his exit, framing it as a clash between wisdom and tyranny. In one scene, Zhu Yuanzhang berates a statue of Zhang Liang (a Han Dynasty strategist), a thinly veiled critique of Liu Bowen. The message was clear: even the most brilliant minds could not escape the emperor’s suspicion.

Conclusion: The Inescapable Game of Power

Liu Bowen’s story reflects the brutal realities of Ming politics. His attempts to retire—first in 1368, then in 1371—were never truly escapes. In Zhu Yuanzhang’s empire, no official, no matter how loyal or retired, was beyond the emperor’s reach.

His life serves as a timeless lesson: in the courts of absolute power, even the wisest advisors are expendable. The same intellect that elevates a man can also mark him for destruction. Liu Bowen’s fate was sealed not by failure, but by the very success that made him indispensable—and therefore, dangerous.