A Rainy Afternoon in the Wu Palace

On a damp afternoon in April 1366 (lunar calendar), Zhu Yuanzhang—future founder of the Ming Dynasty—sat brooding in his Wu royal palace. As rainwater dripped from the eaves, his mind wandered to an ancient phrase: yijin huanxiang—”return home in silken robes.” Before him materialized an ink-wash image: a broad-shouldered warrior clad in black armor galloping toward his Jiangdong homeland. This was Xiang Yu, the Hegemon-King of Chu who toppled the Qin Dynasty only to reject establishing his capital in favor of returning to his roots.

Xiang Yu’s legendary declaration—”What use is wealth and honor if one cannot parade them before his hometown?”—resonated deeply with Zhu. Both men rose from obscurity leading armies of fellow provincials; both understood the magnetic pull of ancestral lands. Yet where Xiang Yu’s homecoming symbolized triumph, Zhu’s impending visit to Haozhou (modern Fengyang, Anhui) carried the weight of unresolved grief—his parents lay buried in unmarked graves, a lifelong shame for this filial son of peasants.

The Burden of Memory

Zhu’s conversation with advisor Liu Bowen that afternoon revealed layers of psychological complexity. As raindrops pattered against palace windows, the warlord confessed his deepest anguish:

“The greatest pain of my life isn’t starvation on Huangjue Temple’s steps, nor watching brothers fall in battle—it’s knowing my parents rest without proper tombs.”

Liu—a brilliant strategist versed in geomancy—recognized both the political necessity and personal catharsis of this journey. With Zhang Shicheng’s forces crumbling, Zhu could finally address this open wound. Yet their exchange became a delicate negotiation between emotion and statecraft:

– The Unmovable Graves: Liu forbade reburial, warning that disturbing ancestral graves could fracture the dynasty’s fengshui fortune
– The Compromise: Simple renovations were permitted, with twenty households assigned as tomb guardians
– The Legacy: These modest beginnings would evolve into the magnificent Ming Imperial Mausoleum—a site later ravaged by rebel Zhang Xianzhong in 1642

Engineering Destiny: The Nanjing Capital Project

Returning from Haozhou in May 1366, Zhu complained of suffocating energy in Yingtian (modern Nanjing). Liu Bowen interpreted this as a cosmic sign:

“We must build a capital worthy of heaven’s mandate.”

Thus began one of history’s most ambitious urban projects. As construction commenced in August 1366, layers of Nanjing’s past resurfaced:

### Historical Stratigraphy
– 571 BCE: Chu Kingdom establishes Tangyi—Nanjing’s first administrative record
– 472 BCE: King Goujian of Yue builds “Yue City” near present-day Zhonghua Gate
– 229 CE: Sun Quan makes Jianye (Nanjing) capital of Eastern Wu, beginning its “Six Dynasties” golden age
– 589 CE: Sui Dynasty razes palaces to farmland, attempting to break the city’s “imperial aura”

Liu’s design synthesized fengshui principles with military pragmatism:

– Location: Eastern foothills of Purple Mountain (Zijin Shan), embracing its dragon-vein energy
– Defenses: 34km walls (14-21m high) with 13 gates featuring multi-layered barbicans
– Construction: 150 million bricks, each stamped with origin and craftsmen’s names for accountability

The Prophecy of Swallows

During a violent thunderstorm, Zhu impulsively shifted the palace site backward—a decision Liu quietly criticized:

“This will necessitate future capital relocation.”

When questioned about the city’s impregnability, Liu offered an enigmatic reply:

“No army may breach these walls… but swallows shall fly in.”

This prophecy materialized in 1402 when Zhu Di (the “Swallow Prince”) captured Nanjing, becoming Emperor Yongle and eventually moving the capital to Beijing—fulfilling both the avian metaphor and Liu’s relocation prediction.

Conclusion: The Dual Edifice

Zhu Yuanzhang’s 1366 journey reveals how personal memory shaped imperial geography. The Ming Imperial Mausoleum and Nanjing’s walls stand as twin monuments—one honoring familial roots, the other projecting dynastic power. Yet as Liu Bowen foresaw, neither could defy the cyclical nature of Chinese history, where even the mightiest constructions yield to time’s relentless flow.

The swallows still nest in Nanjing’s walls today, their wings brushing against bricks inscribed with the names of long-dead artisans—a living testament to how ambition and remembrance intertwine in the corridors of power.