Sigh, it's all just to survive - Cryptocurrency exchange platform

Sigh, it’s all just about survival.

During the reign of the second Qin Emperor, Hu Hai, he clashed with Zhao Gao. Zhao Gao, after framing the horse as a horse, confirmed that the officials were no longer a threat, then assigned Yan Le to assassinate the emperor. Qin Er Shi was cornered and realized he was desperate. People can’t just wait to die, so he bargained with Yan Le:

“I wish to be king of a commandery.” Rejected.

“I wish to be a marquess of ten thousand households.” Rejected.

“I wish to be a commoner with my wife and children, comparable to the princes.” — Maybe just a common folk, old and simple?

Yan Le was too lazy to waste words with him and directly killed him.

Although Sima Qian loved to craft stories, he was not a chatterbox. Such a question-and-answer conversation, when thought about, is very profound:

Once you step onto that stage and have no power to resist, you can only be eaten, with no room for bargaining.

Originally, Hu Hai’s demands weren’t unreasonable: wishing to be a commoner, powerless and insignificant, no longer threatening Zhao Gao. Why then must he be utterly exterminated?

Another example: When the second emperor was assassinated, outside, Xiang Yu and Liu Bang were advancing from two directions toward Xianyang, while behind them was the nominal leader of the Chu State, the de facto banner of Chu, King Huai of Chu. This guy was originally a descendant of Chu, a genuine cattle herder, and after Chu was destroyed, he posed no threat; but when chaos broke out, he was again useful and was supported. So, it’s no wonder Zhao Gao wanted to eliminate Hu Hai completely—though he was useless now, who could bear to see him raised up and rallying others to overthrow? During the uprising of Chen Sheng and Wu Guang, it was falsely claimed that they were acting under the orders of the former Crown Prince Fu Su of Qin, and allied with Xiang Yan, the grandfather of Xiang Yu. A Qin deposed crown prince and a late Chu general, teaming up—it’s all nonsense, but if people believe it, what can you do?

Using Zhao Kuangyin’s words: “By the bedside, how can others sleep soundly?” Both King Huai of Chu and Qin Er Shi fell into this trap, and they were both close enough to the bed. Later, when Zhao Kuangyin dismissed military power over wine, he said sharply: “One day, someone will drape a yellow robe over you and support you as emperor. Will you still be able to do as you please then?” Mr. Li Yuanhong must have thought the same back then: Why would they support me?! What does it have to do with me?!

Therefore, everything threatening on either side of the bed might be eliminated. If everyone doesn’t want to be eliminated, they must fight for their lives.

When Cao Cao was fifty-six, he handed in the famous “Letter of Self-Declaration of the Jiexian County.” The letter was clear:

In his youth, he only read books in summer and autumn, hunted in winter and spring; later, he joined the army, with the ideal of becoming a marquis, and was happy if his tombstone bore the inscription “General of the Western Expedition.” So, later, through chance, he rose to high office, surpassing his own expectations. But:

Want him to surrender military power? No way. Because once he does, he will be harmed by others. He can’t risk being in danger just for a false reputation of not seeking fame.

To put it plainly: Why did I climb so high and squat here? I just don’t want to die!

(However, he was willing to give up the troops and return to serve the Marquis of Wuping, which is truly impossible. Why? Because he fears that leaving the army would lead to being harmed by others. Considering his descendants, if he fails, the country would fall into chaos, so he cannot pursue false fame and risk real harm—that’s what he cannot do.)

Coincidentally, Chen Shou also wrote about Liu Bei with similar words. He believed Liu Bei, despite setbacks, refused to settle under Cao Cao, perhaps because he sensed Cao Cao’s capacity would not tolerate him. So even at forty-six, Liu Bei still refused to be a county official, still went three times to visit Zhuge Liang, and fought against Cao Cao all the way. His actions were not only about competing for the world but also about avoiding harm.

To put it plainly: I don’t want to run around Hebei, Shandong, Hubei, Hunan, Sichuan, Shaanxi everywhere. It’s for the great cause, but also for survival!

(However, his persistence, ultimately, was because he believed the others wouldn’t tolerate him, not just for profit, but to avoid harm.)

According to the same logic, Liu Bei and Cao Cao, both “heroes of the world, only you and Cao,” should have noble ambitions and grand plans to dominate the world and carve up the mountains and rivers. But in the end, Cao Cao admitted that holding military power was to avoid harm, and Liu Bei, entering Sichuan at over fifty, was also considered to be avoiding harm—so the two of them, establishing their own foundations, were just trying not to be killed by others?

It’s almost like this: once reaching that point, retreat is impossible.

Philip II of Macedon was originally the brother of the reigning king, Perdiccas III. As a youth, he was a hostage in Dabis, like Yan Zitao; fortunately, he was lucky to meet the famous general Amyntas, who taught him many internal skills. Returning home, after his older brother Perdiccas III died, his nephew Amyntas IV ascended the throne, and Philip immediately deposed him, declaring himself king. Eight years after ascending the throne, Philip’s queen, Euripus princess Olympias, gave birth to a son. When the son was born, Olympias dreamed of lightning, and Philip dreamed that he sealed Olympias’ vagina with a lion—such stories, in Chinese history, are naturally full of splendor and exotic fragrance:

This young master would later become Alexander the Great.

Then, at age twenty, Philip II was assassinated by his bodyguard, Pausanias. This case remains unsolved. Aristotle believed Pausanias offended Philip’s father, Atalus; later historians speculated that Pausanias and Philip were lovers, and it was a love killing.

But a Mr. Chading believed it depended on who ultimately benefited—who was it?

A year before Philip II was attacked, Alexander, then nineteen, learned that his parents were divorcing. Philip divorced Olympias and married the niece of the Macedonian noble Atalus—who later became the Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. On the wedding day, the new royal uncle, Atalus, was overjoyed and said: “The Macedonian royal family will have a legitimate heir.”

This meant: Olympias, Alexander’s mother, was now a discarded consort; although Alexander still sat on the throne as heir, his position was unstable. If Cleopatra bore a son, he would inevitably become the future king of Macedonia.

So, what did Alexander do after Philip II died?

He immediately gained the loyalty of the Macedonian army by lowering taxes, launched military campaigns, outflanked the Sicylians, and forced the Sicylians to recognize him as heir; then he advanced to Thermopylae, forcing the Delphic League to acknowledge him as Philip’s successor; the Corinthian League immediately elected him as supreme commander, inheriting Philip’s position. Then:

Shortly after his father’s funeral, Alexander executed Uncle Atalus, allowed Olympias to kill his stepmother Cleopatra and her son. Alexander also executed Amyntas—his father’s nephew and former king of Macedonia—thus eliminating all potential rivals for the throne.

Interestingly, both then and later, one of the most praised qualities of Alexander was his noble virtue. Fuller wrote in “Western Military History”: “Among all his virtues, his moral outlook was most outstanding. In his time, compassion was seen as a heroic virtue, but he could sympathize with others, especially the unfortunate… For most eras, women’s issues were considered a legitimate stain on soldiers, but Alexander’s attitude was in a different moral universe compared to his contemporaries. He not only treated captured wives with royal courtesy but also abhorred rape, which had become common in war.”

Even if Alexander was entangled in his father’s death, and ruthless in dealing with relatives after ascending, his morality at other times was still admirable. Because the stage had changed. In life-and-death situations, moral principles are hard to uphold.

On the stage of these great figures, the world is like “The Hunger Games”: if you don’t kill, you’ll be killed. You must choose sides, find ways to survive. Power is your weapon of self-defense. Many seem greedy, reluctant to give up, perhaps because: they are already caught in this vortex and don’t want to sit and wait for death.

Of course, in a relatively enlightened system, those who give up their self-defense weapons can still live a good, ordinary life. After the Civil War, the South was defeated, and General Lee could still become a school principal and gain fame: because at that time, America was in an era that, if not civilized, at least claimed to be.

But in a less enlightened system, once you lose your weapons, you will immediately face deadly peril. So, we can’t blame the great figures—they often act out of hunger, greed, and overestimating themselves. Maybe they just don’t want to sit and wait for death, so they make the best choice they can at the time. As Cao Cao said, once you give up power, you might be doomed immediately. Under a dark and unclear system, struggles, show-offs, and chaos may seem cruel or foolish to outsiders, but to them, it’s just trying to send signals, connect with friends, and preserve themselves. In the end, it’s all about survival. After all, on a stage without rules, if you have no means of self-defense, you’ll end up like Hu Hai: eliminated to prevent future trouble, with no chance to bargain.