The Rise and Fall of the Hegemon-King

Xiang Yu (232–202 BCE), the self-styled “Hegemon-King of Western Chu,” remains one of Chinese history’s most compelling tragic figures. Born into a noble family of the fallen Chu state, he emerged as a brilliant military strategist during the rebellion against the Qin Dynasty (221–206 BCE). Alongside his rival Liu Bang (founder of the Han Dynasty), Xiang Yu became a key architect of Qin’s collapse, famously defeating a vastly superior Qin army at the Battle of Julu (207 BCE) through sheer tactical genius.

Yet his meteoric rise contained the seeds of downfall. Unlike the pragmatic Liu Bang, Xiang Yu governed through intimidation, dividing conquered territories among allies while alienating potential supporters. His decision to execute the puppet Emperor Yi of Chu and his infamous massacre at Xianyang—where he burned the Qin palaces and slaughtered surrendered troops—earned him a reputation for brutality. By 203 BCE, the coalition of forces that had once backed him began defecting to Liu Bang’s growing alliance.

The Gaixia Campaign: A Military Collapse

The decisive turning point came at Gaixia (202 BCE), where Liu Bang’s general Han Xin orchestrated a masterful encirclement. Sima Qian’s Records of the Grand Historian paints a haunting scene: Xiang Yu’s forces, trapped and outnumbered ten-to-one, heard Liu Bang’s troops singing Chu folk songs at night—a psychological tactic implying their homeland had fallen. Convinced of betrayal, Xiang Yu’s remaining troops deserted, leaving him with just 28 loyal cavalry by dawn.

What followed was a fighting retreat toward the Wu River, where Xiang Yu demonstrated why he was considered the era’s greatest warrior. Breaking through multiple Han army encirclements, he reportedly killed hundreds of soldiers single-handedly. When a subordinate questioned whether such feats were possible, Xiang Yu replied: “This is why I am defeated—not because I lack martial skill, but because Heaven has abandoned me.” This fatalistic worldview would define his final hours.

The Wu River Dilemma: A Moral Calculus

At the riverbank, history presented Xiang Yu with an escape route. The local ferrymaster, recognizing the fallen king, urged him to cross:

“Though the lands east of the Yangtze are small, they span a thousand li with hundreds of thousands of people—enough to rebuild your kingdom. Hurry, my lord! I alone have a boat; when Han troops arrive, none may pass.”

Here, Sima Qian delivers one of history’s most poignant refusals. Xiang Yu’s laughter—his only recorded laugh in the Records—was not of joy but of tragic realization. His response reveals the warrior’s unshakable code:

“If Heaven wills my destruction, what use is crossing? Eight thousand sons of Jiangxi followed me west—none return. Even if our elders pardoned me and made me king again, how could I face them? Even if they stayed silent, could I live with my shame?”

This moment transcends military defeat, embodying the Confucian ideal of yi (righteousness). Where Liu Bang famously retreated from battles to fight another day (even pushing his own children from a chariot to escape pursuers), Xiang Yu chose honor over survival. His subsequent actions—gifting his warhorse to the ferrymaster, ordering his men to dismount for a final melee—cemented his legend.

The Laugh That Shook History

Sima Qian’s narrative brilliance lies in making laughter the vessel for unbearable sorrow. Unlike:

– Li Bai’s triumphant laugh when summoned by Emperor Xuanzong
– Yang Guifei’s delighted laugh at receiving lychee deliveries
– Cao Cao’s strategic laughs in Romance of the Three Kingdoms (meant to display false confidence)

Xiang Yu’s laugh is pure tragic irony. It acknowledges the absurdity of his situation—a man who once divided kingdoms now unable to cross a river—while affirming his agency in choosing death. When he recognizes an old acquaintance among Han officers and offers his head as a “favor” to help them claim rewards, he transforms defeat into a final act of control.

Cultural Legacy: The Tragedy as National Myth

The Wu River episode became a cultural touchstone:

1. Literature: Poets like Du Mu (803–852) debated whether Xiang Yu should have crossed, while Li Qingzhao (1084–1155) immortalized him as “A hero in life, a king among ghosts in death.”
2. Opera: Peking Opera’s Farewell My Concubine (adapted into Chen Kaige’s 1993 film) juxtaposes his romanticized death with the earlier betrayal of his consort Yu Ji.
3. Modern Politics: Mao Zedong referenced Xiang Yu’s failure to learn from mistakes during the Yan’an Rectification Movement (1942–1944), warning against “arrogance in victory.”

Why the Story Endures

Xiang Yu’s last stand resonates because it encapsulates universal tensions:

– Destiny vs. Agency: His blame of “Heaven” contrasts with his deliberate choices.
– Honor vs. Pragmatism: A counterpoint to Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, which prioritizes victory over glory.
– The Cost of War: The “eight thousand sons of Jiangxi” line personalizes war’s human toll.

In an era where historical figures are often reduced to simplistic heroes or villains, Xiang Yu’s flawed nobility—and that single, devastating laugh—remains profoundly human. His story asks: When all is lost, what do we owe to those who believed in us? The answer, for better or worse, still echoes across the Wu River.