The Unfinished Chronicle

The great historian Sima Qian declared that his monumental work, Records of the Grand Historian, concluded with the Taichu era . Yet, this endpoint was not absolute. Subsequent events were occasionally recorded, but these additions were often brief and fragmented, resembling supplementary bamboo slips hastily attached to a completed manuscript. For instance, the mission of Su Wu to the Xiongnu in 100 BCE receives only a passing mention in the “Treatise on the Xiongnu.” The catastrophic defeat of Li Ling, grandson of the famed general Li Guang, in 99 BCE is covered in a mere two to three hundred characters. This is profoundly significant, as the Li Ling affair constituted the greatest personal disaster in Sima Qian’s own life. His sparse treatment forces us to turn to another source: Ban Gu’s Book of Han.

Ban Gu: The Orthodox Historian’s Complexity

Ban Gu is often categorized as an “orthodox historian,” a label that is accurate but potentially misleading. To assume he was a mere propagandist, simplistically praising Han emperors and condemning traitors, is to underestimate his considerable complexity and literary talent. The case of Li Ling’s defeat and surrender to the Xiongnu was a deep wound to the Han dynasty’s pride. How should such a sensitive event be narrated? Ban Gu approaches the task with nuance, carefully constructing a portrait of Li Ling that makes his ultimate fate all the more tragic.

He informs us that Li Ling “in his youth served as a supervisor of the Jianzhang Palace.” This position, a Palace Attendant, meant his workplace was within the imperial palace confines, indicating that Li Ling grew up in the presence of Emperor Wu himself. Ban Gu further notes that Li Ling’s close friends included Huo Guang and Shangguan Jie, two men who would become the most trusted advisors in Emperor Wu’s later years. This detail is crucial: Li Ling’s social circle was intimately connected to the emperor’s innermost circle. Emperor Wu admired Li Ling, believing he possessed the qualities of his illustrious grandfather, Li Guang—a statement that also subtly reminds readers that the emperor had once appreciated the elder Li’s talents.

The Stage is Set: Imperial Ambitions and Personal Pride

For years, Emperor Wu assigned Li Ling minor military commands, where he performed competently. However, this was a period of relative quiet on the northern frontier, offering little opportunity for major glory. The situation changed in 99 BCE. The emperor planned a significant campaign against the Xiongnu, appointing General Li Guangli, who held the title “Ershi General,” to lead thirty thousand cavalry from Jiuquan to attack the Xiongnu’s Right Wise King in the Tian Shan region. Emperor Wu’s initial intention was for Li Ling to oversee the supply train for Li Guangli’s army.

During an audience with the emperor, however, Li Ling made a bold counter-proposal. He declared that the soldiers under his command were “brave warriors, exceptional talents, and master swordsmen from the Jing and Chu regions,” men capable of “strangling tigers with their bare hands and hitting any target with their arrows.” He requested permission to lead an independent force to the south of the Langan Mountains, intending to divert the Chanyu’s forces and prevent them from concentrating their attack on Li Guangli’s main army.

Emperor Wu perceived Li Ling’s underlying motive: a reluctance to serve under Li Guangli. The emperor reminded Li Ling that the campaign was large-scale and that he had no additional cavalry to allocate. This was a genuine logistical problem. The year 99 BCE was only two years after the costly but victorious expedition to Ferghana, which had nearly exhausted the Han dynasty’s horse reserves. The prized Ferghana horses were being kept as breeding stock and were not yet ready for deployment. Undaunted, Li Ling made an astonishing claim: he required no cavalry. “I wish to attack the many with a few,” he said, “to march five thousand infantrymen into the Chanyu’s court.”

This audacious display of courage moved Emperor Wu, who still considered the plan dangerously risky. As a compromise, the emperor ordered the veteran general Lu Bode, Commandant of the Strong Crossbows, to position his troops to provide support and reinforcement for Li Ling’s army. This decision set in motion a chain of misunderstandings with fatal consequences.

A Veteran’s Pride and an Emperor’s Wrath

Lu Bode was an old and accomplished general, famous for pacifying Nanyue with the title “General Who Calms the Waves.” He felt it beneath his dignity to act as a rear guard for the younger, less experienced Li Ling. Furthermore, as one of only two generals who had risen from Huo Qubing’s command, it is plausible he held some disdain for the descendants of Li Guang, Huo Qubing’s rival. Lu Bode submitted a memorial to the throne suggesting a delay. He argued that it was autumn, when the horses were fat and strong, making it an unfavorable time to engage the Xiongnu. He proposed that he and Li Ling wait until spring, when each could lead five thousand cavalry and surely capture the Chanyu.

From a tactical standpoint, Lu Bode’s advice was not unreasonable; it was, in fact, quite sound. Autumn was indeed the season of peak strength for the nomadic Xiongnu. A spring campaign, by contrast, offered distinct advantages for the Han. After a long winter with scarce resources, the Xiongnu, their horses, and their livestock would be at their weakest. Furthermore, in spring, the tribes would be desperate for fresh pasture, making their movements more predictable. Lu Bode, however, insisted that cavalry were essential for any successful operation.

This memorial infuriated Emperor Wu. He misinterpreted it as a sign that Li Ling had changed his mind and conspired with Lu Bode to avoid combat. Suspecting Li Ling of cowardice and duplicity, the emperor reacted decisively. He reassigned Lu Bode to another task and commanded Li Ling to commence his mission immediately.

The March to浚稽山

Thus, in the autumn of 99 BCE, Li Ling set out from Juyan at the head of his five thousand infantry. It is important to note that this number represented his core fighting force. His total contingent was larger, including various military clerks responsible for documentation and a substantial number of conscripts tasked with managing the supply wagons. They marched north for thirty days, eventually establishing a camp at浚稽山. This mountain was a significant Xiongnu stronghold, which modern scholars identify as part of the eastern extension of the Khangai Mountains. The straight-line distance from Juyan was approximately five hundred kilometers—a formidable journey for an infantry force carrying supplies for a sixty-day round trip, including fodder for the animals pulling their wagons, deep into hostile territory.

Li Ling’s plan was a classic example of using a small, elite force as bait. By threatening the heart of the Xiongnu territory, he hoped to draw the Chanyu’s main army onto himself, thereby relieving pressure on Li Guangli’s larger cavalry force. It was a strategy born of supreme confidence in the quality of his troops and his own leadership. He had maps of the terrain painted and sent back to the emperor, confident of success. Yet, he was walking into a trap of his own making, compounded by imperial impatience and the professional jealousy of a fellow commander.

The Clash at浚稽山

Upon arriving at浚稽山, Li Ling’s force made contact with the enemy. The Chanyu, surprised by the appearance of a Han army so deep within his territory, initially believed it was a small scouting party or a diversion. He sent a contingent of roughly three thousand cavalry to test the Han lines. Li Ling, demonstrating the prowess of his “Jing-Chu勇士,” deployed his infantry in a formidable defensive formation. The Han crossbows, with their superior range and power, wreaked havoc on the Xiongnu horsemen. The first engagement was a resounding success for Li Ling, with the Xiongnu fleeing back into the hills, leaving behind thousands of dead.

This victory, however, proved to be a pyrrhic one. It revealed to the Chanyu the true nature and location of Li Ling’s army. Instead of being a minor nuisance, it was now clear this was a significant Han force operating independently. The Chanyu saw an opportunity to destroy it completely. He summoned his main force, which according to Ban Gu, eventually swelled to over eighty thousand riders. Li Ling’s five thousand infantry were now facing a vast nomadic army in open terrain.

What followed was a masterclass in tactical withdrawal under extreme pressure. Over several days, Li Ling fought a series of desperate running battles as he led his men southward towards the relative safety of the Han frontier. His men fought with incredible discipline and bravery. They used the terrain to their advantage, forming shield walls and unleashing volleys of crossbow bolts that stalled the Xiongnu charges. At night, Li Ling would fortify makeshift camps. The Xiongnu, suffering heavy casualties, began to grow wary. Some chieftains even suggested breaking off the pursuit, fearing they were being led into a larger ambush.

The Final Stand and Surrender

The Han soldiers’ endurance was pushed to the absolute limit. They were exhausted, running low on arrows, and their numbers were dwindling with each skirmish. The final blow came when a subordinate officer, captured by the Xiongnu, revealed the dire state of Li Ling’s army: they were out of arrows and had no reinforcements. With this knowledge, the Chanyu renewed his attacks with redoubled vigor.

The end came when Li Ling’s force was within a day’s march of the Han border. Surrounded, with his army reduced to a fragment of its original size and their weapons nearly useless, Li Ling faced an impossible choice. He could order a final, suicidal charge, ensuring the annihilation of every man under his command. Or, he could surrender. In a moment that would define his legacy, he chose the latter, stating, “If I do not die, I will not forget the Han.” He surrendered to the Xiongnu, hoping to find an opportunity to return to the emperor in the future.

The Aftermath: A Historian’s Fate and a General’s Legacy

News of Li Ling’s surrender, not his valiant fighting retreat, reached Emperor Wu. The court was outraged. Surrender was seen as the ultimate disgrace, far worse than death in battle. Emperor Wu, feeling betrayed by a man he had nurtured, ordered the execution of Li Ling’s entire family. It was at this juncture that Sima Qian, then the Grand Historian, made his own fateful intervention. He spoke in Li Ling’s defense, arguing that Li Ling was a loyal officer who had fought against impossible odds and that his surrender was a strategic decision, not an act of treason. This defense enraged Emperor Wu, who interpreted it as an insult to Li Guangli, whose own campaign had been far less successful. Sima Qian was sentenced to the punishment of castration.

This personal catastrophe explains the profound silence in the Records of the Grand Historian. The pain was too fresh, the event too closely tied to his own suffering. To write about it in detail would have been an unbearable act of remembrance.

Ban Gu, writing later, provides the detailed narrative. He does not explicitly condemn Li Ling. Instead, by meticulously detailing Li Ling’s background, his valor, and the circumstances of his defeat, Ban Gu creates a portrait of a tragic hero, a victim of bad luck, miscommunication, and imperial wrath. The legacy of Li Ling became a cautionary tale about the perils of military overreach, the fragility of imperial favor, and the immense human cost of Emperor Wu’s expansionist policies. His story echoes through Chinese history as a poignant reminder of the complex interplay between personal honor, loyalty, and survival. The sparse bamboo slips in Sima Qian’s great work speak volumes through their silence, while Ban Gu’s fuller account ensures that the悲歌 of浚稽山 is never forgotten.