The Twilight of a Visionary Ruler

In the spring of 338 BCE, as the Plowing Ceremony marked the renewal of life across the Qin countryside, Duke Xiao lay dying. Against expectations that his health might improve with warmer weather, the ruler who had transformed Qin from a marginal state into a rising power entered his final days. His son and heir, Prince Ying Si, presided over the ritual with none of the usual festivity—courtiers and commoners alike moved through the motions with heavy hearts. That night, the duke grasped the hand of his chief minister, Shang Yang, whispering a final request: “Tomorrow… to Hangu Pass.” The cryptic command, laden with unfulfilled ambition, set in motion a poignant journey that would become a defining moment in Qin’s history.

The Road to Hangu: A King’s Farewell to His Realm

At dawn, a solemn procession departed Xi’yang’s eastern gate—1,000 cavalry escorting a specially modified carriage with triple-layered leather wheels and thick black curtains to cushion its precious occupant. Shang Yang and Prince Ying Si rode alongside, while senior officials trailed behind. The contrast between the vibrant spring landscape and the procession’s gravity was striking: willows swayed over earthen roads, wheat fields shimmered green, yet the air thrummed with impending loss.

Passing through former capitals like Yongcheng and Yueyang (now demoted to a county seat), Duke Xiao gazed at the salt-alkali wastelands—nearly a million acres of untapped potential. “With canals,” Shang Yang urged, “this could feed millions.” The duke fixed his heir with a meaningful look; Prince Ying Si’s vow to fulfill this vision echoed across the plains.

The Strategic Jewel: Hangu Pass Through a Reformer’s Eyes

The journey climaxed at Hangu Pass, the mountainous choke point that shielded Qin from eastern rivals. As the convoy navigated narrow gorges where “two horsemen could barely ride abreast,” the dying ruler marveled at defenses so formidable that “a few thousand troops here could repel tenfold invaders.” Upon arrival, young general Sima Cuo offered a litter, but Duke Xiao insisted on climbing the fortress steps himself—a final act of defiance against his failing body.

From the battlements at sunset, the vista unfolded: the Yellow River snaking through distant plains, villages veiled in twilight haze. Here, the duke’s mind blazed with visions of black-armored Qin legions pouring through the pass to unify China—a dream now slipping beyond reach. “Heaven denies me twenty more years,” he lamented as blood stained his lips, collapsing into Shang Yang’s arms.

The Deathbed Covenant: Power, Reform, and a Fragile Transition

In his final moments, Duke Xiao bound his heir and minister in a charged testament: “Shang Yang… if my son proves unfit, you must take the throne.” The shocking mandate—nearly unprecedented in Zhou dynasty politics—revealed both his pragmatism and faith in the reforms that had strengthened Qin. As the ruler’s eyes stayed stubbornly open until Prince Ying Si closed them, the fortress horns wailed across the sunset, marking the end of an era.

Shang Yang’s immediate lockdown of Hangu (preventing news from reaching rival states) and stealthy return to Xi’yang showcased his mastery of realpolitik. Yet the true testament to Duke Xiao’s legacy emerged during the funeral—an organic outpouring of grief that stunned foreign envoys.

A People’s Mourning: Salt of the Earth Honors Their Architect

When torrential rain threatened to halt the funeral procession on Beiban slope, hundreds of white-haired elders from Mei County intervened. With military precision, they assembled a wooden frame as 99 bare-chested men lifted the carriage, chanting work songs that morphed into a collective lament:

“Our good duke gone too soon!”
“Who’ll lead us now?”

For six li, this human engine—farmers, soldiers, and elders alike—carried their ruler uphill through the storm. As the clouds parted upon reaching the summit, the message was clear: Duke Xiao’s true monument wasn’t just legalist reforms or territorial gains, but the loyalty of ordinary Qin subjects whose lives his policies had transformed.

The Unfinished Symphony: Why Duke Xiao’s Vision Endured

Though Duke Xiao died at 46, his partnership with Shang Yang laid foundations that Qin Shi Huang would later build upon to unify China. The salt flats he eyed became fertile via Zheng Guo Canal; Hangu Pass remained impregnable until Qin’s eastern campaigns. Most crucially, the funeral revealed something terrifying to rival states: a populace so devoted to their leader’s vision that they’d defy heaven itself to honor it.

In the annals of power transitions, few moments capture the interplay of personal ambition and institutional legacy as vividly as that rain-soaked ascent to Beiban. The elders’ shoulders bore not just a coffin, but the weight of history—proof that the most enduring reforms are those that turn subjects into stakeholders. As Confucius observed, genuine grief outweighs ritual pomp; in Qin’s case, it also foreshadowed an empire waiting to be born.