Introduction: A Scene of Intrigue and Violence

In the opening sequence of Hou Hsiao-hsien’s film The Assassin, a vivid tableau of Tang dynasty life unfolds. A bustling suburban horse market, filled with the clamor of commerce and movement, serves as the backdrop for a procession. A high-ranking official, mounted on horseback and sheltered by an ornate canopy, advances through the crowd, flanked by vigilant guards who loudly command onlookers to clear the path. Amid this ordered chaos, a Daoist nun gestures toward the official, identifying him to a young woman clad in black. She hands the woman a dagger crafted from black goat horn. With purpose, the黑衣女子 moves against the flow of the procession. As she passes the official, she leaps suddenly, driving the blade into his neck. The guards notice nothing; the man rides on for several meters before collapsing, dead. This is the world of Nie Yinniang—a world where chivalry, violence, and political intrigue intertwine.

The Historical Context of Xia: Chivalry in Ancient China

The concept of xia, or chivalrous heroism, has deep roots in Chinese history, emerging long before the Tang dynasty. The term first appeared in the writings of Han Feizi, a Legalist philosopher of the Warring States period. In his work The Five Vermin, Han Feizi criticized both scholars and knights-errant, declaring, “Confucians disrupt the law with their writings; knights-errant violate prohibitions with their arms.” He viewed these figures as threats to state control and advocated for their suppression.

Despite such official disdain, the ideal of xia persisted and evolved. The great historian Sima Qian, in his Records of the Grand Historian, became the first to chronicle the lives of these knights in the Biographies of the Wandering Knights. He wrote of them: “Though their conduct may not align with righteousness, their words are trustworthy, their actions decisive. They keep their promises sincerely and do not cherish their own bodies, rushing to aid those in distress.” This sympathetic portrayal helped cement the romantic image of the knight-errant in Chinese culture.

From the Han through the Wei and Jin dynasties, authorities continued to suppress xia, yet these figures remained active. Their appeal lay in their defiance of corrupt or oppressive systems, and they often embodied a popular sense of justice. The poet Cao Zhi, in his Ode to the White Horse, celebrated a young wandering knight skilled in martial arts, eager to defend his country and sacrifice his life if necessary. This literary tradition helped keep the ethos of xia alive even during periods of political repression.

The Complex Nature of Knight-Errant Culture

Knights-errant were far from a monolithic group. Their motivations and actions varied widely, making it difficult to categorize them simply as heroes or villains. Many embodied the noble spirit of earlier eras, taking it upon themselves to resist tyranny and avenge wrongs. They often acted as protectors of the weak, operating outside the law but in accordance with a personal or communal moral code.

However, not all knights-errant were virtuous. Some used their martial skills and disregard for legal constraints to pursue selfish or destructive ends. They engaged in banditry, harbored criminals, and settled scores with violence, showing contempt for societal norms and laws. This duality made them both celebrated and feared.

Their independence and martial prowess also made knights-errant attractive to political aspirants and rebels. Ambitious leaders often sought to recruit these figures, leveraging their skills and fearlessness. During the founding of the Tang dynasty, for instance, many knights-errant played crucial roles. The future Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin, was known for humbling himself before scholars and knights, offering wealth and patronage to win their loyalty. As the Old Book of Tang records, “He lowered himself to receive scholars, distributed wealth to nurture guests, and great knights and wandering heroes all wished to exert their utmost for him.” Similarly, when Li Yuan entered Chang’an, he received substantial support from local strongmen and knights, with young heroes from good families competing to prove their valor.

The Flourishing of Chivalry in the Tang Dynasty

The Tang dynasty witnessed a remarkable flourishing of knight-errant culture, fueled in part by imperial patronage and a broader cultural openness. Emperors and nobles not only tolerated but sometimes encouraged chivalrous behavior, seeing it as a source of military talent and popular support. This imperial endorsement helped normalize and even glorify the knight-errant lifestyle.

During this period, displays of chivalry became a badge of honor. Historical texts describe these individuals as “lightly regarding death and heavily valuing righteousness, forming cliques and groups, bending their bows at a whisper, drawing their swords at a slight.” Even intellectuals and poets embraced this ethos. The great poet Chen Zi’ang, though physically frail, was known for his chivalrous spirit and determination. It was said that “once his resolve was set, not even naked blades could change it.”

Tang poetry is replete with celebrations of knight-errantry. Du Fu expressed admiration for those who “kill in the world of dust, repaying favors in an instant.” But it was Li Bai who most famously captured the essence of the knight-errant in his Song of the Knight-Errant: “Ten steps, one man slain; a thousand miles, not lingering.” These lines, still beloved today, evoke the image of a consummate warrior, swift, deadly, and untraceable.

Li Bai himself embodied many traits of the knight-errant. He claimed to have loved swordplay since age fifteen and, though of modest stature, possessed a heart “brave enough to face ten thousand men.” Throughout his tumultuous life, he never abandoned his chivalrous ideals, once sighing, “With a long sword and a cup of wine, such is the heart of a man.”

Cultural Influences: Han Traditions and Barbarian Winds

The prevalence of knight-errantry in the Tang dynasty drew from two major cultural wellsprings: indigenous Han Chinese traditions and the influence of foreign, particularly Central Asian, customs. The Han legacy included a long history of martial valor and individual heroism, dating back to the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods. This was complemented by the vibrant, open atmosphere of the Tang, which welcomed diverse influences.

The Tang imperial family itself had strong connections to non-Han cultures. Descended from the military aristocracy of the Northern Dynasties, they retained elements of steppe culture, including an appreciation for martial prowess and personal bravery. As the dynasty grew in power and prestige, it attracted peoples from across Asia—traders, soldiers, artists, and adventurers from Persia, Sogdiana, and the Turkic realms. These newcomers brought with them the vigorous, nomadic values of the steppes, further energizing Tang society. Contemporaries noted that “Chang’an has acquired a barbarian heart,” reflecting the profound impact of these cultures.

It is in this context that we encounter figures like Kong Kong’er in The Assassin—a character of obvious non-Han origin, embodying the exotic and the formidable. This blending of Han and barbarian elements created a unique cultural environment where knight-errantry could thrive as both a ideal and a practice.

The Emergence of Chivalric Fiction

Against this rich historical and cultural backdrop, Tang dynasty writers produced a wealth of tales centered on knights and extraordinary feats. These stories, known as chuanqi or “transmitting the strange,” combined elements of history, folklore, and imagination to create compelling narratives of heroism and mystery.

Among the most celebrated of these tales are The Red Thread and The Story of Nie Yinniang. Both are set against the political turmoil of the late Tang, when regional military governors, or jiedushi, wielded enormous power, often in defiance of the central government. Notably, both stories are connected to the Tian family of the Weibo Commandery, a powerful clan that controlled one of the most formidable藩镇 in the Hebei region.

These stories did not merely entertain; they reflected contemporary anxieties and aspirations. In a time of political fragmentation and violence, knights-errant represented a force that could operate across boundaries, challenging corrupt authorities and restoring a sense of justice. They became cultural icons, embodying the tension between order and freedom, law and morality.

The Legend of Nie Yinniang: From Fiction to Film

Nie Yinniang is a fictional character, yet her story has captivated audiences for centuries. According to the original tale, she was the daughter of Nie Feng, a general under the Weibo commandery. In some versions, including Hou Hsiao-hsien’s film, her father is reimagined as the commander of the garrison’s disciplinary forces.

The legend begins when Yinniang is ten years old. A Buddhist nun—changed to a Daoist nun in the film—comes to the Nie family begging for food. Upon seeing Yinniang, the nun is struck by the girl’s unusual资质 and asks to take her as an apprentice. Nie Feng refuses. Undeterred, the nun declares, “Even if you lock her in an iron chest, I will steal her away.” Despite Nie Feng’s precautions, Yinniang vanishes that very night.

What follows is a rigorous apprenticeship in the arts of stealth and combat. The nun takes Yinniang to a remote mountain, where she trains her in supernatural skills. After five years, Yinniang returns home, transformed into a master of assassination. She recounts to her parents how she learned to kill—first primates, then tigers and panthers, and eventually human targets. Her education is both physical and spiritual, blending deadly precision with an almost mystical detachment.

The Legacy of Nie Yinniang and Tang Chivalry

The story of Nie Yinniang endures because it encapsulates broader themes in Chinese culture: the conflict between duty and compassion, the allure of the extraordinary, and the enduring fascination with figures who operate outside conventional norms. Through her, we glimpse the complexities of Tang society—its vibrancy, its violence, and its capacity for both creativity and destruction.

Today, Nie Yinniang remains a powerful symbol, reinterpreted in literature, theater, and film. Hou Hsiao-hsien’s cinematic adaptation brings her story to a global audience, emphasizing not only the action and intrigue but also the emotional and psychological dimensions of her journey. The film, like the original tale, invites viewers to ponder the price of power, the meaning of loyalty, and the possibility of redemption.

The knight-errant ethos, too, has left a lasting imprint. It influenced later literary traditions, from the wuxia novels of the Republican period to contemporary global media. Characters like Nie Yinniang remind us that the appeal of the hero—flawed, fierce, and ultimately human—transcends time and culture.

In exploring her legend, we uncover not just the story of one fictional assassin, but a window into the soul of the Tang dynasty—an era of unparalleled cultural exchange, artistic achievement, and dynamic social change. The knights-errant, whether historical or imagined, continue to challenge and inspire, embodying the eternal tension between the individual and the empire, the sword and the scroll.