The Desperate Backdrop of a Dying Kingdom

The year was 226 BCE, and the once-proud state of Yan stood on the brink of annihilation. The Qin war machine, having already crushed Han, Zhao, and Wei, now turned its relentless gaze toward the northern kingdom. Crown Prince Dan, the last hope of Yan, found himself leading a shattered army back to the snow-covered capital of Ji after a catastrophic defeat at the Yi River.

This was no ordinary military failure. The battle had decimated Yan’s elite forces—the Liaodong cavalry, renowned for their prowess, had been reduced to a mere 20,000 survivors. What made this defeat particularly bitter was its context: just years earlier, Prince Dan had orchestrated the famous Jing Ke assassination attempt against Qin’s King Zheng (later Qin Shi Huang). The failed plot had made Yan a marked state, ensuring Qin’s vengeance would be thorough.

The Winter of Discontent: Ji City’s Agonizing Wait

Returning to Ji, Prince Dan faced a capital already hollowed out by his father, King Xi of Yan. The aging monarch, showing more concern for his own survival than his kingdom’s fate, had systematically stripped the city of its fighting men and resources in preparation for retreat to Liaodong. What remained was a ghost town—its markets empty, its walls manned by skeletal soldiers, its civilian population reduced to “half-households” (families without able-bodied men).

The crown prince’s attempt to rally resistance met with eerie silence from both his father and circumstance. Against all expectations, the anticipated Qin assault didn’t materialize that winter. Whispers spread through the frozen streets—perhaps Qin would turn south to handle rebellions in former Han territories. This reprieve, rather than strengthening Yan’s resolve, accelerated its dissolution. Soldiers slipped away to find families, civilians fled the lifeless city, and the remaining Liaodong cavalry grew restless for their homeland.

The Illusion of Refuge: Flight to the Yanshui Valley

When spring came and Qin’s armies finally marched north under General Wang Jian, Prince Dan made his fateful decision. Rather than perish in a doomed defense of Ji, he would lead his loyalists eastward toward the Yanshui River (later renamed Taizi River in his honor). This retreat was no orderly withdrawal—it was a desperate flight, with Qin cavalry under Li Xin in relentless pursuit.

The journey revealed the depth of Yan’s collapse. What began as thousands of followers dwindled to hundreds as civilians, hearing Qin’s policy of sparing non-combatants, abandoned the procession. The prince’s band became spectral—emaciated men on exhausted horses, their once-white armor now stained with mud and blood. Their salvation came unexpectedly from a Liaodong officer who revealed the existence of secret mountain caves, stocked decades earlier by the legendary general Yue Yi.

The Final Betrayal: A Father’s Judgment

In these hidden chambers, Prince Dan experienced a brief resurgence. Proclaiming his loyal officer to the rank of Yaqing (the position once held by Yue Yi), he seemed poised to establish a resistance government. But history had other plans.

King Xi, pressured by Dai’s ruler Zhao Jia (who faced Qin retaliation for sheltering Yan remnants), made his devastating choice. Two thousand Liaodong cavalry surrounded the Yanshui hideout not to rescue, but to execute. The charge? Not failure against Qin, but the vague accusation of “plotting rebellion.” Prince Dan’s final words condemned not Qin, not Dai, but the “imbecilic rulers of Yan’s royal house” before taking his own life.

Legacy in Blood: Why the Taizi River Still Whispers

The murder of Crown Prince Dan did not save Yan. Four years later, Qin forces under Wang Ben would capture King Xi in Liaodong, ending Yan’s eight-century history. Yet the prince’s story endured, transforming geography (the Yanshui becoming Taizi River) and entering folklore.

His tragedy encapsulates the Warring States period’s brutal calculus—where filial piety clashed with state survival, where personal honor conflicted with political reality. Modern historians debate whether Yan could have resisted longer had Prince Dan deposed his father earlier. What remains undisputed is that his death marked more than Yan’s fall—it symbolized the extinguishing of a particular type of aristocratic resistance against Qin’s coldly efficient unification machine.

The snows still fall on the Taizi River valley, now in China’s Liaoning province. Local fishermen claim that on quiet winter nights, one can still hear the ghostly cavalry—their white banners fluttering, their prince’s final cry echoing across the centuries.