From Humble Beginnings to Imperial Advisor

Zhou Chang’s story begins in the turbulent transition from the Qin Dynasty to the Han. Born in Pei County—the same hometown as Liu Bang, the eventual founder of the Han Dynasty—Zhou started his career as a low-ranking clerk in the Qin administration, earning a modest salary of 100 shi of grain. When Liu Bang rebelled against the Qin, Zhou joined his cause, proving his worth during the campaigns that toppled the Qin and established the Han. His loyalty and competence earned him promotions, first to Commandant of the Capital (Zhongwei) and later to Imperial Censor (Yushi Dafu), culminating in his ennoblement as the Marquis of Fenyin.

Zhou’s rise was not just a product of circumstance but of his unshakable character. Unlike many officials who flattered their way to power, Zhou was renowned for his blunt honesty—a trait that even senior statesmen like Xiao He and Cao Shen respected. His refusal to compromise his principles set the stage for his dramatic confrontations with Emperor Gaozu (Liu Bang), whose mercurial temperament and disdain for courtly decorum were legendary.

The Emperor and the Censor: A Clash of Wills

One of the most revealing anecdotes about Zhou’s fearless nature occurred during an unannounced visit to the emperor. Finding Liu Bang off-duty and embracing his favorite concubine, Lady Qi, Zhou turned on his heel to leave. The emperor, ever the provocateur, chased Zhou down, leaped onto his back, and demanded, “What kind of ruler am I?” Zhou, straining to look up from beneath the imperial weight, retorted, “Your Majesty is no better than the tyrants Jie and Zhou!” (a reference to two notorious despots of antiquity). Instead of punishing him, Liu Bang laughed—but from that moment, he regarded Zhou with wary respect.

This incident encapsulates the fraught dynamic between the emperor and his outspoken censor. Liu Bang, a former peasant rebel with a penchant for humiliating scholars (he once urinated in a Confucian scholar’s hat), thrived on testing his officials’ limits. Yet Zhou’s defiance, delivered with physical and verbal audacity, marked him as uniquely unbreakable.

The Battle for the Heir: A Stutter That Shaped History

Zhou’s most consequential moment came during the succession crisis of 195 BCE. Liu Bang, swayed by Lady Qi’s influence, sought to replace Crown Prince Liu Ying (later Emperor Hui) with her son, Liu Ruyi. The court erupted in opposition, but Zhou’s protest stood out. Afflicted with a stutter and trembling with fury, he declared, “I c-c-cannot speak well, but I know this is wrong! Even if Your Majesty wishes it, I cannot obey!” His repeated “qi qi” (期期) interruptions—later immortalized in the idiom “qi qi ai ai” (期期艾艾, describing halting speech)—amused the emperor enough to pause the plan.

The crown prince’s mother, Empress Lü, eavesdropping nearby, later knelt to thank Zhou: “Without you, my son would have been cast aside.” This episode not only saved Liu Ying’s position but also underscored Zhou’s role as a bulwark against imperial caprice.

The Limits of Loyalty: Tragedy and Withdrawal

Zhou’s integrity came at a personal cost. After Liu Bang’s death, Empress Lü’s vendetta against Lady Qi and Liu Ruyi unfolded with horrific brutality. Despite Zhou’s efforts as Chancellor of Zhao to protect the young prince, he failed—a betrayal of his promise to the late emperor that haunted him. Disillusioned, Zhou withdrew from court, refusing to serve under Lü’s regency, and died three years later. His story became a cautionary tale about the limits of moral courage in the face of unchecked power.

Legacy: The Enduring Symbol of the “Strong-Necked Official”

Zhou Chang’s legacy transcends his lifetime. Alongside figures like Dong Xuan of the Eastern Han—the “Iron-Necked Magistrate” who defied Emperor Guangxu’s sister to execute a murderer—Zhou embodies the Confucian ideal of remonstrance: the duty to correct rulers, even at personal risk. His stutter, far from a weakness, became a symbol of unyielding conviction.

Modern discussions of governance and dissent still invoke Zhou’s example. In an era where authoritarianism often stifles criticism, his story reminds us that the most enduring officials are those who prioritize principle over survival—a lesson as relevant today as in the halls of Chang’an.

Conclusion: The Price and Power of Integrity

Zhou Chang’s life oscillated between triumph and tragedy. His defiance saved a dynasty’s succession but could not shield the innocent from a tyrant’s wrath. Yet his name endures, a testament to the paradoxical truth that history often rewards those who speak truth to power—even if the reward is posthumous. As the Records of the Grand Historian preserves his words, so too does his spirit challenge every generation to ask: How far would we go for what is right?