A Kingdom’s Burning Desire for Revenge

When Lu Zhonglian arrived in dust-covered Ji City, Yue Yi had already departed southward. The envoy’s corpse being returned to the Yan capital sent shockwaves through the court and populace. For days, crowds chanting “Punish the tyrannical Qi! Avenge our national humiliation!” flooded the palace gates, their blood-oath petitions hanging like crimson banners across the carriage square. King Zhao of Yan summoned Yue Yi, gesturing at the fluttering red flags in the autumn wind with a rare smile: “The King of Qi has done me a great service, what does the Assistant Minister think?” Yue Yi responded solemnly: “The people’s fury burns bright—the time for military action is now.”

This moment represented the culmination of nearly two decades of meticulous preparation. Since Qi’s treacherous abandonment of the allied forces during the Hexi Campaign and subsequent annexation of Song, the state had become the pariah of the Warring States. King Zhao’s thirst for vengeance had nearly led to premature attacks on several occasions, each time thwarted by Yue Yi’s strategic wisdom. The Assistant Minister understood that Qi—now boasting 600,000 troops and territory rivaling Chu—could not be challenged alone. Like mantis stalking cicadas unaware of the oriole behind, Yan needed powerful allies to avoid becoming prey itself.

The Grand Strategy Takes Shape

Yue Yi’s vision was nothing less than a coordinated assault by the major powers—a vertical alliance (合纵) against Qi. Through secret diplomatic channels spanning years, Yan had secured agreements with four states, all awaiting the perfect moment to strike. The envoy’s murder provided that casus belli, igniting public fury that even the cautious King Zhao couldn’t ignore.

Yet one critical piece remained missing—Qin, the mightiest of the Warring States. This omission was deliberate. Unlike other states that viewed Qi with unbridled hatred, Qin maintained an enigmatic relationship with its eastern counterpart. The two had even briefly proclaimed themselves “Emperors” of East and West before abandoning the ill-fated titles. Yue Yi recognized this complex dynamic: “Qin roasts Qi over slow fire while Tian Di mistakes it for warmth in snow.”

The Diplomatic Gambit in Xianyang

Yue Yi’s secret mission to Qin represented the alliance’s final hurdle. His first meeting wasn’t with Queen Dowager Xuan or King Zhaoxiang—who both owed him personal debts from their exile years in Yan—but with Bai Qi, the formidable Qin general. Their rapport proved immediate over hearty Qin liquor and military discourse. When Yue Yi tested the waters regarding Qin’s participation, Bai Qi’s response was telling: “That timing should be right.”

The subsequent audience with King Zhaoxiang unfolded with deliberate symbolism. Meeting in the eastern side hall rather than formal chambers, the king served Yanshan tea—a nostalgic nod to shared history. Yet when discussion turned to state matters, Zhaoxiang deftly redirected Yue Yi to Chancellor Wei Ran, preserving personal bonds while maintaining political distance.

Wei Ran’s negotiations revealed Qin’s startling position: 50,000 troops with their own provisions, demanding no Qi territory. This magnanimous termsheet, bearing the king’s seal, left Yue Yi profoundly moved. Qin was repaying Yan’s past kindnesses while strategically positioning itself as a righteous power rather than the “Ruthless Tiger of Qin.”

The Parting at Peach Forest

Yue Yi’s departure from Qin took an unexpected turn when Queen Dowager Xuan intercepted him at Tao Lin Highlands. Their poignant farewell beneath the Kuafu Mountains—where legend says the giant chased the sun to his death—transcended politics. As she played the zither singing of unattainable unions, and he responded with Yan’s heroic ballads, their personal and national destinies intertwined like the setting sun’s rays across the wilderness.

“Go,” she finally told him. “You must chase your own sun after all.”

The Legacy of Strategic Patience

Yue Yi’s mission secured the final piece for history’s most successful coalition war. The subsequent campaign would see five states dismantle Qi in 284 BCE, with Yan’s armies nearly destroying the once-dominant power. Yet the true victory lay in Yue Yi’s decades-long preparation—demonstrating how strategic patience, psychological insight into rival states, and calculated relationship-building could achieve what brute force alone could not.

The Tao Lin farewell also revealed the human dimension behind grand strategy. Just as Kuafu’s mountain and peach grove remain eternally paired yet separate, so too would Yue Yi and Xuan remain bound by mutual respect across battle lines—their personal “sun” being the unattainable ideal where statecraft and human connection might coexist without conflict.

In the annals of Chinese statecraft, few diplomatic missions have so perfectly blended realpolitik with emotional resonance, proving that even in the ruthless Warring States era, human bonds could shape the course of history.