A Scholar Defying Expectations

In the tumultuous final years of the Yuan Dynasty, an extraordinary figure emerged from the rural landscapes of Jurong (modern-day Zhenjiang, Jiangsu). Sun Yan, styled Borong, was a man who defied conventions in every way. Standing just two chi tall (roughly 64 cm, likely an exaggeration for effect), with skin “black as charcoal” and a pronounced limp, his appearance alone made him unforgettable. Yet, Sun Yan was far more than his physical peculiarities—he was a brilliant scholar, a masterful debater, and a man who openly scorned the imperial examination system, dismissing its graduates as “pedantic Confucians” unfit for practical governance.

After abandoning farming—a profession ill-suited to his stature—Sun Yan carved a niche among southern China’s intellectual elite. His razor-sharp wit and literary talent earned him respect, including the friendship of Liu Bowen (Liu Ji), the famed strategist and philosopher. Despite Liu’s repeated offers to recruit him into government service, Sun Yan rebuffed them with biting sarcasm. Their paths diverged until 1356, when Zhu Yuanzhang’s rebel forces captured Nanjing. Sensing opportunity, Sun Yan limped his way to the city and delivered a stirring analysis of the collapsing Yuan regime, urging Zhu to “gather talents to achieve greatness.” Impressed, Zhu appointed him military governor of Chuzhou.

The Mission to Recruit Liu Bowen

When Zhu tasked Sun Yan with recruiting the reluctant Liu Bowen, the challenge became personal. Earlier attempts had failed, but Sun Yan boasted, “A trivial matter! Leave it to me.” His approach, however, was anything but conventional. Rather than visiting Liu in person, Sun Yan—now basking in his newfound authority—sent a letter dripping with grandiosity. He painted Zhu as a near-mythical savior:

> “Wherever [Zhu] passes, fierce beasts spare the weak, phoenixes sing, and tigers lead mountain creatures in dance… He is the Bodhisattva who will expel the Mongols and restore China!”

Sun Yan then invoked their friendship, declaring he’d found his purpose—and Liu’s too: serving Zhu. The subtext was clear: My invitation is your last chance.

Liu’s reply was icy. Citing fading energy and disinterest in “ambition and mystical arts,” he gifted Sun Yan a ancestral sword as a token of respect—but refused to join. Undeterred, Sun Yan returned the sword with a veiled threat: “Such a blade belongs with the Son of Heaven, to strike down those defying destiny.” The message shook Liu, forcing him to confront the irreversible tide of history.

The Psychology of Resistance

Liu Bowen’s hesitation was rooted in deeper conflicts. As a Yuan Dynasty jinshi (metropolitan graduate), he grappled with loyalty to a regime he once served. Scholar-officials like Taibuhua and Yu Que had died defending the Yuan; joining its enemies felt like betrayal. Yet he also recognized the dynasty’s rot. Moreover, Zhu Yuanzhang was an enigma—a rebel praised by sycophants. Other contenders like Zhang Shicheng and Xu Shouhui seemed equally viable.

Sun Yan’s letters and a final visit tipped the scales. “The past is gone; the future isn’t here. Seize the present,” Sun urged. Liu’s mother added pressure: “Three invitations are enough. Refusing now is arrogance.” Even nature seemed to intervene—a chance encounter with a “child prophet” (likely later folklore) allegedly pointed Liu toward Fengyang, Zhu’s homeland.

The Reluctant Strategist’s Legacy

In 1360, Liu Bowen finally left his reclusion. His departure was solemn; he entrusted his local militia to his son with the order: “Guard our home. Do not make me worry.” His slow march to Zhu’s capital belied the seismic shift it represented—an intellectual’s pact with a rising warlord.

Liu’s recruitment became legendary, but its real significance lay in Sun Yan’s unorthodox diplomacy. His blend of flattery, psychological pressure, and strategic ambiguity showcased the era’s fluid loyalties. For Zhu, securing Liu Bowen was a coup; for Liu, it was a reluctant embrace of historical inevitability.

Modern Reflections

This episode illuminates timeless themes: the tension between principle and pragmatism, the role of persuasion in leadership, and how individuals navigate collapsing orders. Sun Yan—a disabled, anti-establishment scholar—became an unlikely kingmaker, while Liu Bowen’s internal struggle mirrors modern dilemmas of ethical compromise in times of crisis. Their story, part history and part parable, reminds us that even the wisest must sometimes yield to the currents of change.

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