Yang Guifei: Beauty, Love, and the Echoes of The Song of Everlasting Regret

The World She Lived In

In the 8th century, Chang’an was the beating heart of the Tang Empire. With over a million inhabitants, it was the largest and most dazzling city in the world.

Its main avenue, the Imperial Way, stretched wider than a river, lined with willows and stately gates. Palaces gleamed with gold tiles under the sun.

Foreign merchants in bright robes hawked spices, glassware, and precious gems from as far as Persia and Rome. Music from Central Asia mingled with the sound of bells from Buddhist temples. Poetry contests lit up teahouses at night, while lanterns cast shimmering light on the city walls.

Amid this splendor, one woman’s beauty and fate would alter the course of the empire.

Her Arrival at Court

In 745, Yang Yuhuan was 27 when she met Emperor Xuanzong, who was 61. By then, he had reigned for decades and was known for his love of music, painting, and dance. That year, Chang’an’s palaces were alive with spring festivals, and the air carried the fragrance of pear blossoms.

Bai Juyi’s Song of Everlasting Regret describes her entrance into history:

“As she was raised deep in her boudoir, no one knew her beauty. Her heavenly glamour could not be concealed forever. One day she was chosen to entertain the Emperor. When she turned and smiled, the coquetry created was tremendous, rendering all concubines of the six palaces lusterless.”
— translated from The Song of Everlasting Regret

With that smile, she eclipsed all the palace beauties, and the capital whispered her name.

A Love That Consumed an Empire

From then on, the emperor could not bear to be apart from her. Chang’an’s court, once a place of debate over state affairs, became filled with music, incense, and laughter. On warm evenings, the couple wandered through imperial gardens lit by thousands of silk lanterns, while courtiers trailed behind, more concerned with pleasing their sovereign than advising him.

Gifts of Lychee and Devotion

Yang Guifei adored lychee, a fruit that grew only in the empire’s far south. To please her, the emperor ordered fresh lychee to be delivered to the capital by relay of galloping horses. They raced through mountain passes and river valleys, past small villages and watchtowers, until the fruit reached the gates of Chang’an still glistening with dew.

A Woman Who Wanted Only Love

Unlike many palace women, Yang Guifei never sought the title of empress or political authority. She valued sincerity above status. She and the emperor once promised, “Life is uncertain. May we be husband and wife in this life and the next.” In the sheltered courtyards of Chang’an, their bond felt unshakable.

The Rise of Her Family

While she avoided politics, her relatives did not. Her cousin Yang Guozhong rose from obscurity to chancellor, strutting through the streets in silks imported from Sogdiana, his lavish carriages splashing through the city’s canals. His arrogance, coupled with heavy taxes, spread resentment among soldiers and commoners alike. And most importantly, Yang Guozhong had a serious and continuous conflict with the emperor’s favored general, An Lushan, constantly warning the emperor that An was about to rebel. To a certain extent, he was right.

An Lushan’s Rebellion

In December 755, An Lushan launched his rebellion. This decision was driven by two factors: his long-held ambition to seize power and a new sense of urgency stemming from his fear of Yang Guozhong. He had intended to wait until the emperor's death, but felt he could no longer afford to delay.

His 150,000 cavalry thundered down from the northeast, while fear spread through Chang’an’s bustling markets and pleasure quarters. Merchants fled with their goods, musicians packed away their instruments, and the great city began to empty.

By June 756, the rebels reached the gates. The emperor and Yang Guifei fled southwest, leaving behind a capital whose brilliant avenues now echoed with the tramp of enemy boots.

The Mutiny at Mawei

On June 13, at Mawei post station, thousands of imperial guards turned on Yang Guozhong, killing him instantly. Then they demanded Yang Guifei’s death, blaming her family for the empire’s collapse. It was a mutiny.

The emperor refused, his voice breaking, but ministers and soldiers knelt, insisting the survival of the Tang depended on her death. So, under a pear tree, she was strangled.

“The scatter of her precious jewelry on the ground added to the sorrow. Among them was a green jade comb with a decorative gold sparrow. Refrained from saving her, the Emperor covered his face. Tears dropped like her blood shed as he turned to gaze.”
— translated from The Song of Everlasting Regret

She had never commanded troops or written a law, yet the machinery of politics swept her away.

Regret Without End

After her death, the emperor was hollowed by grief. Chang’an eventually returned to his rule, but it was no longer the same city. The laughter in its gardens was muted, its marketplaces quieter. Two years later, he tried to retrieve her body but found nothing. He sought her through Taoist rites, hoping to see her again, yet each attempt failed.

The An Lushan Rebellion raged for seven years, claiming tens of millions of lives. The Tang’s golden age was gone forever.

Legends That Refuse to Fade

Later tales claimed Yang Guifei had not died at Mawei but escaped to distant lands, even across the seas to Japan.

Whether true or not, these rumors show how deeply she lingers in the world’s imagination.

Why We Remember

Yang Guifei was more than a legendary beauty. She was a woman caught in the tide of history, cherished yet powerless. In the memory of Chang’an’s golden days, her shadow still lingers, as eternal as the verses that mourn her.

Stories Behind the Painting

This painting took three weeks to complete. From the very first sketch to the final polished image, you can see the gradual transformation. At the beginning, I even considered including Emperor Xuanzong by her side, but in the end I decided to leave Yang Guifei standing alone.

The greatest challenge was her face. We studied many sources before settling on her appearance and makeup. The story is set in the year 755, when Yang Guifei was already 36 years old. She was still remarkably beautiful, but not the young maiden of her twenties. Her expression needed to carry both maturity and grace, a beauty shaped by time and circumstance.

The background also carries meaning. The most striking feature is the Great Wild Goose Pagoda, a landmark that still stands today in Xi’an as one of its most visited sites. Including it not only anchors the scene in history, but also reflects the splendor of Tang Dynasty Chang’an.

If you are interested in the creative process, you can watch the above video of our artist painting Yang Guifei. Keep in mind that this artwork took three weeks to finish, and what you see in the video is only a small glimpse of that journey.