High on Lizicheng Jian, Li Zicheng, the Dashing King, surveyed his domain. He, a simple farmer’s son from Shaanxi, had risen to become King of Xinshun. His army, swelled by those desperate for change, had swept across northern China like a wildfire. Lizicheng Jian, this rugged peak, was not just a natural landmark, but a symbol of his ambition. Here, Li Zicheng had proclaimed himself emperor of the Shun dynasty in 1644, a bold challenge to the crumbling Ming empire. He promised land redistribution and abolition of grain taxes, rallying the peasantry to his banner. His name, once whispered in hushed tones, was now sung in the streets: “Killing cattle and sheep, preparing tasty wine and opening the city gate to welcome the Dashing King.” But Lizicheng Jian also witnessed the fragility of his reign. Just months after his victory in Beijing, the combined forces of the Manchus and a defecting Ming general, Wu Sangui, crushed Li’s army at the Battle of Shanhai Pass. The Dashing King, driven from his newly won capital, retreated west. Lizicheng Jian stood silent, a stark reminder of the fleeting nature of power. The echoes of his grand pronouncements faded, replaced by the winds of change that swept in a new dynasty. The Shun dynasty was extinguished, Li Zicheng’s dream shattered, his fate shrouded in mystery, rumored to have been killed by villagers while scavenging for food. Yet, Lizicheng Jian remembers. It remembers the farmer who dared to dream of an empire, the king who ruled for a fleeting moment, and the echoes of rebellion that still whisper through the valleys.
Центральный дом работников искусств
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