Wu Zetian’s magnanimity set her apart. When Luo Binwang wrote a scathing manifesto against her, she didn’t rage—she admired his prose. “Such talent wasted on the other side,” she lamented. “That is the chancellor’s fault.” Most rulers would have ordered his head.
Nor did she indulge those closest to her. Her favorite, Xue Huaiyi, once swaggered through the court and was slapped by Chancellor Su Liangsi. Xue complained, but Wu replied, “The southern hall is for ministers. You provoked them; they had every right to act.” She knew the line between state and personal affairs—unlike Empress Dowager Cixi, who diverted naval funds for her birthday.
When Li Zhaode warned that her nephew Wu Chengsi held too much power, Chengsi retaliated. Wu Zetian defended Li: “With him, I feel secure. You are no match for him.” With a ruler like that, who wouldn’t give their all?
Those who tried to follow her path—Cixi, Empress Wei, Princess Taiping, Princess Anle—either failed the state or met tragic ends. They had her ambition and cruelty, but not her vision or breadth. That’s why so many dreamed of being Wu Zetian, yet ended up even less than Cixi.