The Ancient City Wall of Liping

The Ancient City Wall of Liping

The Ancient City Wall of Liping is a cultural tourism attraction.

The setting sun blazes like fire, the dying rays crimson as blood...

As the sun dips behind the mountains, I once again climb the ancient city wall at the south gate of Liping. Leaning against the towering, verdant South Spring Mountain, I watch the fiery sun tumble down from the mountaintop—a tragic, solemn descent. The uneven rooftops of the ancient city bathe quietly in the afterglow of the sunset. The wind flips through pages of thread-bound history, stirring my memories. In an instant, crimson clouds transform into reliefs, the neighing of warhorses and the clashing of swords and blades blend into a chaotic roar...

A city wall is built to protect a city—safeguarding the lives and property of its inhabitants from outside invasion and plunder. But can any brick or stone in any city wall across the world be free from the blood and tears of the people? Which wall isn’t steeped in the bitterness and agony of families torn apart and homes destroyed? City walls have gates, and these gates are meant for people to come and go. Since those inside can leave, those outside can also enter—especially for walls built for war. Sooner or later, attackers will breach the defenses. The ancient city wall of Liping is no exception.

The ancient city wall of Liping is the only historical relic that has witnessed 600 years of Liping’s history. Today, only the east and south gate sections of the ancient wall remain, each no more than 10 meters long and 7 meters wide. Liping is no longer the small city it once was—it has long expanded beyond the wall. To the east, it reaches Wanfu Mountain; to the west, it stretches to Zhanjiatai, covering an area of 6.5 square kilometers. Judging from the two remaining wall sections, the square limestone blocks are still firmly stacked, tightly fitted without a single gap, seemingly impregnable. Liping has never been bombarded by cannons, and erosion by wind and rain alone couldn’t have erased them. So why are only two gate arches left today?

According to the *History of Ming*, in the spring of the 11th year of the Hongwu era (1378), Wu Mian, a Dong farmer from the Zhonglan Village of Shanghuang in Liping, led a rebellion of the Dong and Miao peoples, staging a large-scale uprising against the Ming Dynasty. It took Zhu Yuanzhang over ten years of effort to suppress the revolt. In the 18th year of Hongwu (1385), he established the Wukai Guard Command here and stationed troops to maintain control. The following year (1386), Commander Zhou Ji directed the construction of an earthen city at the northwest foot of Shuangfeng Mountain, Jinping Mountain, and South Spring Mountain, and on the southeast bank of the Fuluo River. In the 13th year of Hongwu (1390), Commander Jiang Zhan oversaw the building of a stone wall around the earthen city. Outside the wall, a moat 11 meters wide and 4.33 meters deep was dug. This wall was truly fortified and imposing—it seems Jiang Zhan went to great lengths to ensure the city’s strength.

Jiang Zhan forced the local people of Liping to quarry, carry, and lay stones. Soldiers, with long knives at their waists and whips in hand, supervised the construction site. Anyone who sat down to rest would be whipped mercilessly, leaving the ragged laborers bruised and bleeding—some even lost their lives.

Did the Ming Dynasty’s use of forced labor to build city walls to defend against peasant uprisings actually work? Throughout history, dynasties have built walls to guard against external threats and internal unrest—but which dynasty achieved lasting peace and stability because of its strong fortifications? Once an enemy reaches the capital, the dynasty’s fate is all but sealed. Even if they hold the imperial city, how long can they hold out? No matter how strong a prefectural city’s defenses are, what good does it do? The rebel army led by Wu Mian captured Liping and pressed on to Jingzhou and Lingxi. In March of the 30th year of Hongwu (1397), Lin Kuan led another armed peasant uprising and once again breached Liping. Later came Li Zicheng, Wu Sangui, Shi Dakai, and Yunnan troops—all passing through Liping in a continuous ebb and flow, yet none managed to hold the ancient city. The city was breached time and again, the walls repaired over and over, draining endless manpower and resources, yet it was never fully preserved. Only the two gateways remain, commemorating that history and the souls lost during the wall’s construction.

Standing atop the ancient south gate wall, I watch the glorious sunset cast golden-orange light over the old city, the glass windows of high-rises reflecting dazzling beams. What message does this ancient wall leave for future generations? I ask the setting sun, but it remains silent. I ask the Ximen River, but its waters rush northward without pause. It was only years later, as I read through thread-bound books, that I came to understand: the human heart is made of flesh and is tender, while the city wall is built of stone and is unbreakable. Yet, like water wearing down stone, firmness and softness coexist—winning the hearts of the people naturally means holding the city, but once that trust is lost, the city will fall. If you truly have the people’s support, what need is there for walls?