The Rise of a Queen in Turbulent Times

In the rugged northwest frontier of the Qin state, two ancient palaces stood as silent witnesses to history: the primitive stone fortress of Xizhi and the elegant summer retreat at Mount Liang. These structures embodied the dual nature of early Qin – a warrior state forged through centuries of brutal conflict with western tribes, yet increasingly drawn to the refined pleasures of settled civilization.

Xizhi, the first Qin capital established five centuries earlier, represented the dynasty’s humble beginnings. When King Ping of Zhou enfeoffed the Qin as feudal lords, he gave them a perilous mission: “The Rongdi tribes have seized our ancestral lands. Drive them out, and the territory shall be yours.” The Qin built Xizhi as a military outpost from which to wage this endless war. By the time of our story, this once-vital stronghold had become a forgotten relic, maintained only through occasional government repairs.

Mount Liang, where the summer palace stood, offered a stark contrast. Later chronicles would describe it poetically: “Mount Liang rises 374 zhang, its twin southern peaks facing each other across lush valleys, while the northern peak stands tallest, rivaling the grandeur of Jiuzong Mountain to the east.” This became the preferred retreat for Qin rulers seeking escape from the capital’s stifling summers and political intrigues.

A Royal Marriage of Convenience

Into this landscape came Zhao Ji, the captivating consort from Zhao state whose life would become entangled with Qin’s most powerful men. Married to Prince Yiren (later King Zhuangxiang) as part of merchant Lü Buwei’s political machinations, Zhao Ji found herself trapped between personal desires and royal obligations.

The vivacious Zhao woman never adapted to Qin’s humid climate or rigid court protocols. She particularly detested Xianyang – its endless political debates, stifling formality, and the constant murmur of government business that reminded her of “an ocean threatening to swallow her whole.” After her husband’s premature death, Zhao Ji’s isolation deepened. As regent for her young son Ying Zheng (the future First Emperor), she possessed nominal power but found herself increasingly marginalized.

Her sole comforts were the natural beauty of Mount Liang and fleeting romantic encounters. The summer palace became her sanctuary, where she could relive memories of her carefree youth in Zhao. “Only in Liangshan,” the records note, “could she recapture the spirited independence of her girlhood.”

The Scandalous Affair That Shook the Court

Zhao Ji’s life took a dramatic turn when Lü Buwei, her former lover and now chancellor, began visiting regularly under the pretext of government business. Their rekindled passion soon became an open secret at court. To maintain appearances, Lü instituted a formal policy: the last three days of each month would be designated for “policy discussions between chancellor and regent.”

But the relationship proved unstable. Lü Buwei, ever the political calculator, grew increasingly anxious about the risks. “You are the queen mother,” he reminded Zhao Ji. “I am the chancellor. As the king comes of age, this cannot continue.” His physical withdrawal left Zhao Ji desperate – she alternated between furious horseback rides between palaces and depressive episodes where she would “weep silently through the night.”

The crisis reached its peak when Zhao Ji, now showing visible signs of stress including premature gray hair, threatened drastic action: “Either marry me openly, or let us abandon our positions and live in seclusion like Fan Li and Xi Shi!” Faced with this ultimatum, Lü Buwei disappeared from her life for months.

The Arrival of Lao Ai

Lü’s solution to this political time bomb was both ingenious and reckless. He introduced a remarkable character into Zhao Ji’s household: Lao Ai, a physically imposing man from the northern frontiers whose legendary endowment had become the stuff of court gossip.

Disguised as a eunuch (though historical accounts suggest the castration may have been faked), Lao Ai brought raw, uncomplicated passion into Zhao Ji’s life. Their affair burned with such intensity that the queen mother’s health and appearance transformed almost overnight. “The pale,憔悴的赵姬又变成了一个红润娇艳的美妇人,” the records note with barely concealed astonishment, “her gray hairs miraculously vanished.”

As their relationship became increasingly open, Zhao Ji used her authority to elevate Lao Ai to high office, granting him lands and titles equivalent to a senior minister. This brazen act of nepotism caused widespread consternation, particularly as rumors spread that the queen mother had become pregnant.

The Political Fallout

The scandal reached its climax when Zhao Ji, now visibly pregnant, casually dismissed her physician’s concerns: “If a woman doesn’t bear children, is she still a woman? This queen has conceived – it’s not you who are pregnant, so why should you fear?”

Her son Ying Zheng’s silent disapproval spoke volumes. The young king pointedly stopped visiting his mother, creating a diplomatic crisis. While protocol prevented him from openly challenging his mother’s appointments, his refusal to acknowledge Lao Ai’s promotions sent a clear message.

Zhao Ji’s complete absorption in her affair had devastating political consequences. She began neglecting state affairs entirely, even missing critical events like the spring plowing ceremony that required the regent’s participation. The records capture her dismissive attitude: “Oh, the chancellor’s office? Can’t you see I’m busy? Stop bothering me!”

Legacy of a Royal Scandal

The Zhao Ji-Lao Ai affair represents more than just personal drama – it illuminates several critical aspects of late Warring States politics:

1. The precarious position of royal women, even those holding formal power
2. The complex interplay between personal relationships and state governance
3. The growing tension between traditional Qin values and the decadence of settled power

Ultimately, this scandal would contribute to Ying Zheng’s determination to centralize authority completely when he became the First Emperor. The lessons of his mother’s reign – how personal passions could undermine state interests – may well have influenced his later policies, including the strict control of royal women and the harsh punishment of any perceived challenges to imperial authority.

The stone walls of Xizhi and the summer palace at Mount Liang still stand as silent witnesses to this extraordinary chapter in Chinese history, where the personal and political collided with consequences that would echo through the ages.