A Fateful Night in Xianyang

Under the cover of darkness, a black-sailed boat slipped away from Xianyang, traveling west against the current. Li Si, the shrewd legalist scholar and rising statesman, had received an urgent message from Lü Buwei, the powerful chancellor of Qin. After hastily delegating his duties at the Jing River construction site to Zheng Guo, Li Si rushed back to the capital.

At the city gates, however, he was detained by guards who questioned the authenticity of his identification tablet—a palm-sized bamboo plaque bearing his name, likeness, and official seals. This system, first implemented by Shang Yang during his reforms, had become universal across the warring states. For commoners, any legible identification sufficed, but officials were required to carry state-issued tablets. Li Si, originally from Chu and serving as Lü Buwei’s retainer before his recent appointment as a canal overseer, had neglected to obtain a Qin-issued tablet. Worse, his old Chu tablet was worn and barely legible.

Knowing the strictness of Qin’s legal enforcers, Li Si accepted his predicament without protest. Yet instead of interrogating him, the guards left him in a dim cavern beneath the city walls. Exhausted, he fell asleep against the cold stone.

He awoke to the face of Meng Tian, the young commander of Xianyang’s defenses, who whisked him away in a covered carriage. The journey ended at a secluded dock, where a modest merchant vessel awaited. To Li Si’s astonishment, the figure who emerged from the cabin was none other than Ying Zheng, the young King of Qin.

The King’s Inquiry

Ying Zheng, dressed in a dark cloak, greeted Li Si with deep respect. The purpose of this clandestine meeting soon became clear: the king sought Li Si’s judgment on two critical matters—the Lüshi Chunqiu (Master Lü’s Spring and Autumn Annals), a philosophical compendium Li Si had helped compile under Lü Buwei’s patronage, and the teachings of Li Si’s own mentor, the Confucian-turned-Legalist scholar Xunzi.

The questions were deceptively simple yet politically charged:
– How did Li Si reconcile his work on the Lüshi Chunqiu, which blended multiple schools of thought, with his allegiance to Xunzi’s Legalist-leaning philosophy?
– What was his assessment of the Lüshi Chunqiu as a potential governing doctrine for Qin?

Li Si recognized the stakes. His answers would determine whether he aligned with the king’s vision—or found himself sidelined.

The Clash of Philosophies

Li Si responded candidly. The Lüshi Chunqiu, he argued, was an encyclopedic synthesis of governance theories from the past six centuries, advocating “righteous warfare” and “lenient administration” to soften Qin’s traditionally harsh Legalist policies. It was, he admitted, an eclectic work—neither purely Legalist, Confucian, nor Daoist, but a blend he termed “syncretic.”

In contrast, Xunzi’s teachings, while retaining Confucian elements like benevolent rule, were fundamentally Legalist, prioritizing law as the backbone of governance. Li Si acknowledged that his fellow disciple Han Fei dismissed even Xunzi as insufficiently Legalist, insisting his own philosophy was the only true Legalism.

Ying Zheng listened intently, probing Li Si’s distinctions. When Li Si suggested that Qin’s future path—whether to unify China through military dominance or coexist as a hegemon among states—should determine its choice between Shang Yang’s strict Legalism or the Lüshi Chunqiu’s moderated approach, the king’s reaction was electric.

“One word from you has swept away my doubts!” Ying Zheng exclaimed, calling for wine. The two debated through the night as the boat drifted westward, returning to Xianyang only at dawn.

The Political Storm Brewing

Unbeknownst to Li Si, this meeting was a turning point. Ying Zheng, though young, was asserting his independence from Lü Buwei’s influence. The Lüshi Chunqiu, publicly displayed outside Xianyang’s walls with a bounty for corrections, had become a flashpoint. Lü Buwei hoped its “kingly way” philosophy would temper Qin’s Legalist rigor, but Ying Zheng’s silence signaled resistance.

Meanwhile, factions were shifting. Officials purged during the Lao Ai rebellion were reinstated. Lü Buwei, sensing danger, urged allies like Cai Ze, Wang Wan, and Li Si to leave Qin—a contingency plan should his political gambit fail. Yet Wang Wan, once Lü’s protégé, refused, citing loyalty to the king. Li Si, too, after his river meeting, began distancing himself.

The Fall of a Chancellor

The final blow came when a low-ranking garrison commander, emboldened by the shifting winds, demanded Lü Buwei remove the Lüshi Chunqiu display, citing public disorder. Lü, enraged at the insult, refused. But the message was clear: his authority was eroding.

Li Si’s last encounter with Lü Buwei was tense. The older statesman, feverish and weary, defended his life’s work as a matter of principle—”governance must balance law with humanity.” Li Si, pragmatic as ever, argued for aligning with the king’s Legalist vision. Their parting was inevitable.

Legacy of the Night

The secret river meeting marked Ying Zheng’s emergence as a ruler with his own agenda. Li Si, choosing pragmatism over loyalty, would rise to become Qin’s chief minister, instrumental in its unification of China. Lü Buwei, his influence waning, would soon be exiled and forced to suicide.

The Lüshi Chunqiu survived as a philosophical masterpiece, but its vision of a moderated Qin never took root. Ying Zheng, the future First Emperor, embraced Han Fei’s uncompromising Legalism—a choice that shaped China’s first centralized empire, for better and worse.

That night on the river, between sips of wine and debates over governance, the course of history turned.