In the waning years of the Eastern Han Dynasty, the land of China was a fractured tapestry of warring states, where heroes rose and fell like waves upon the Yangtze. Among these figures, none stood taller in the hearts of the people than Guan Yu, known by the courtesy name Yunchang. A man of immense stature with a beard that flowed like silk and a face the color of dark jujube, he was the living embodiment of 'yi'—a complex concept of loyalty, righteousness, and honor. Alongside his sworn brothers Liu Bei and Zhang Fei, Guan Yu had pledged in a peach garden to restore the Han Dynasty, a vow that would define his life and, ultimately, his transition into the divine.
By the year 219 AD, Guan Yu was at the peak of his military prowess. Tasked with defending the strategic Jing Province, he launched a northern campaign that struck terror into the hearts of his enemies in the Kingdom of Wei. It was during this campaign that he famously flooded the seven armies of Cao Ren, capturing the esteemed general Yu Jin and executing the defiant Pang De. His fame was so great that even the Cao Cao, the hegemon of the north, considered moving the capital to avoid Guan Yu's advancing blade, the Green Dragon Crescent Blade. However, this peak of power was also the beginning of his descent. His pride and the fragility of the alliance between Liu Bei's Shu Han and Sun Quan's Eastern Wu created a rift that the Wu general Lü Meng was eager to exploit.
While Guan Yu was preoccupied with the siege of Fancheng, Sun Quan's forces launched a stealthy invasion of Jing Province. Betrayed by his own subordinates, Mi Fang and Fu Shiren, Guan Yu found his path of retreat severed. He was forced to flee toward the small, isolated town of Maicheng. The winter was harsh, and his troops, exhausted and demoralized, began to desert in the face of the overwhelming Wu forces. Despite his legendary strength and the presence of his loyal son, Guan Ping, the general was eventually cornered. In a desperate attempt to break through the siege, Guan Yu and his son were captured in an ambush near Zhangxiang. Refusing to surrender to Sun Quan, the two were executed, their lives ending in a cold, lonely clearing far from the grand battles they had once dominated.
But the death of Guan Yu was not the end of his presence in the world of the living. According to local lore and the historical-mythological traditions that followed, the general’s spirit refused to depart. The injustice of his betrayal and the weight of his unfulfilled oath to his brothers anchored him to the mortal realm. It is said that in the nights following his execution, the peasants and soldiers near Mount Yuquan in Dangyang began to witness a terrifying sight. A massive, ghostly figure mounted on a spectral Red Hare—the horse that could travel a thousand li in a day—would appear in the mists. The spirit carried the Green Dragon Crescent Blade, its edge gleaming with an ethereal light, and a booming voice would echo through the valleys, crying out with a soul-shaking demand: 'Return my head! Give me back my head!'
The terror of this manifestation spread throughout the region. The spirit was a 'li gui'—a restless, vengeful ghost whose martial prowess in life made him an unstoppable force in death. It was at this juncture that the divine met the mortal on the slopes of Mount Yuquan. A Buddhist monk named Pujing (in some traditions associated with the later Master Zhiyi, the founder of the Tiantai school) resided in a simple hut on the mountain. One night, as the wind howled and the spectral general descended from the clouds to demand his head once more, the monk did not flee in fear. Instead, he struck a wooden fish and looked up at the towering ghost.
Pujing called out to the spirit, 'General, where is Yunchang?' The ghost stopped, hovering in the air, surprised by the monk's composure. The monk then asked a piercing question: 'You cry out for your head, which was taken by your enemies. But what of the heads of Yan Liang, Wen Chou, and the five generals at the five passes whom you slew? To whom shall they go to demand their heads back?' The logic of karma—the inescapable cycle of cause and effect—struck the general's spirit like a physical blow. Guan Yu had been a man of war, and while his cause was righteous in his eyes, he had spilled an ocean of blood. He realized that his current suffering was the fruit of his own actions and that his thirst for vengeance would only bind him to an eternal cycle of pain.