The History of China - #118 - Tang 30: Sow the Wind

Episode Date: February 27, 2017

Dear empire, we’re having a very mild case of severe rebellion, um, everywhere. But don’t worry, it’s totally under control. Everything’s fine, we’ve got this. Don’t panic. PS, rebel leaders if you’re reading this we’ll give you more than you’ve ever dreamed of if you’ll just stop attacking us, pretty please. But no it’s fine, we’re totally going to win, for sure. PPS, Imperial Army please stop refusing to fight. We’re totally serious about this. Joke’s over, it’s not funny anymore. Fight the rebels or we’re going to be, like, super angry with you. Victory is assured. No problem whatsoever. PPS, local magistrates, please recruit your peasants to fight the rebels – promise them whatever you have to. Seriously, anything. Long live the victorious Tang. No, the plane engines only look like they’re on fire. They’re supposed to look like that. That’s completely normal. Love, Emperor Xizong. Time Period Covered: 873-878 CE Major Historical Figures: Tang Dynasty: Emperor Yizong of Tang [d. 873] Emperor Xizong of Tang (Li Wen) [r. 873-888] Tian Lingzi, court eunuch-official General Song Wei General Zhang Zimian Rebel Commanders: Wang Xianzhi, Supreme Rebel General [d. 877] Huang Chao, Heaven-Storming General [d. 884] Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You're listening to an Airwave Media Podcast. TD Direct Investing offers live support. So whether you're a newbie or a seasoned pro, you can make your investing steps count. And if you're like me and think a TFSA stands for Total Fund Savings Adventure, maybe reach out to the History of China. Episode 118, Sewing the Wind

On the 19th day of the 7th month of 873, 12-year-old Li Wen was elevated to the throne of the Tang Empire, and in a manner virtually identical to many of his predecessors, meaning that he had been handpicked by the court eunuchs for his advanced level of mediocrity. The ceremony had been something of a rush job. As you might recall from last time, he'd actually been elevated to the status of heir apparent just one day prior when it had become obvious that his father, Emperor Yizong, was not long for the world. In fact, young Li Wen would be enthroned on the very day of his father's death, so we might imagine it was a rather somber affair.

As the fifth of Yizong's eight sons, Li Wen had received little if any training or education about the affairs of government, much less leading one, and he's written to have much preferred sports and games like archery, swordplay, and horseback riding, and especially football, a favorite sport of the period. He was also something of a gambler, with his particular favorites being dice games and cockfighting. He's written as being an affable and fun-loving young man with a sense of humor, but rather slow-witted. In all, had this been another time, Li Wen, or as he's known to history, Emperor Shizong, might have been a perfectly acceptable placeholder emperor, if nothing else. However, as we'll be seeing today, his era of rule is not a normal time for normal people.

But instead, when the Jenga Tower of State at last has that final, critical piece pulled out from under it. Thus going forward, though it might be tempting to lay what's about to happen at the feet of this admittedly ill-equipped monarch, Professor Robert Summers cautions us, quote, If there was much to criticize in the conduct and leadership of the court during his reign, it must be remembered that Shizong faced a crisis of such complexity and danger that it would have tested to the limit the wisdom and courage of any ruler, much less a young boy." Moreover, it's hard to blame the emperor too terribly much for the government's actions, when for the large majority of his reign he was serving as little more than a figurehead for the true puppet masters. Of course, I mean the eunuchs. These last few decades of the Tang

dynasty will, not surprisingly, mark the nadir of true imperial authority. In Xizong's case, primarily in the person of the eunuch official Tian Lingzi, the commander of the palace army, who went so far as to make political and military appointments all by himself, confiscate wealth from merchants within the capital to raise funds, and ruthlessly execute anyone who dared protest such actions, all without even bothering to consult the emperor about it. It was blindingly obvious where the true power lay within the imperial palace, and it wasn't on the throne.

Shortly after Xizong's ascension to the throne, the situation surrounding his new administration was laid out in bleak terms. A Hanlin Academy scholar named Liu Shi addressed a memorial to the throne in which he listed off the mounting problems that had been building one atop the other since at least the 860s, and let's face it, since long before that as well. The previous year had been one of widespread and catastrophic drought, which had predictably led to widespread famine. To wit, only half the usual yield of crops had been harvested, in large part due to unseasonable conditions the prior autumn, and in the most affected regions the populace had been reduced to eating little more than sticks, berries, and tree bark. And for all this, the

government was in no position to even remit on the tax levels of the afflicted regions, owing to its own ongoing financial crisis. This had resulted in the peasantry being forced to such extremes as to sell off the timbers from their own houses, hire out their wives as servants, and even as far as selling their children into slavery just to meet the government's quotas. It was a shocking and unacceptable situation, everyone agreed, and the imperial court immediately adopted resolutions pledging to correct this egregious situation. Yet even the most devoted of the officialdom was quick to realize that such proclamations weren't even worth the paper that they were written on. The central government was in no position to effectually aid its desperate populace,

nor could it afford to lower the tax rates. And this is not to say that the officialdom of the 870s was incompetent or blissfully unaware of their citizens' plight. To the contrary, the early period of Xizong's reign especially was full of surprisingly able, intelligent, and experienced bureaucrats. Yet for all that, even they stood powerless to meaningfully impact the vast and intractable problems that the dynasty faced. When the central government breaks down and can no longer guarantee its people safety and security, it is natural that they will seek it out in whatever form that might take, and seek to display their displeasure and suffering to a seemingly uncaring bureaucracy. Thus, it comes as no surprise that the 870s would see a striking uptick in banditry across the

empire. Last time, we looked at two early incidents of that banditry bleeding over into outright rebellion under the respective commands of Qiu Fu and Pang Xun. However, just because we focused on these larger incidents doesn't mean that we should think that they were the only instances of this happening in this period. To the contrary, low-level banditry and criminal activity had by the 870s become such an endemic part of the Tang Empire that it was considered almost normal rather than some aberrant behavior. In 869, for example, the people of the city of Shanzhou, a mere 60 miles away from the secondary capital Luoyang, rose up to expel a governor that they had condemned as cruel and unjust. The following year, a similar incident would occur in Guangzhou,

and in 874, the people of Shanzhou would beat to death their city prefect after he set the prices of their grain payments too low. In each of these instances, the central imperial government did little more than cave to the popular outrage and, in effect, retroactively approve of these actions, an astonishing admission of its own inability to solve the larger problems facing the nation, or to enforce its own laws, for that matter. Summers writes, quote, during ordinary times, such events would have been regarded as astonishing outrages against authority. By the late 860s and early 870s, they were no longer uncommon.

In and of themselves, these sort of localized uprisings against unpopular policies or administrators were embarrassing to the Imperium, but not dangerous. They could be, and frequently were, quelled, either of their own accord or through the application of overwhelming military force. Yet they stand out, both to us and to the Tang officialdom of the time, as indicative of the more widespread problems facing the nation. No matter how many revolts or uprisings they managed to stamp out, or how brutally, large numbers of those disaffected populations were fleeing their farms and cities into the hills and mountains to join up with bandit groups. Crisis and desperation simultaneously swelled the ranks of these outlaws, while critically weakening the central government's own ability to respond to these crises as they emerged. What do we mean by bandit, though?

And what did these groups of disaffected outlaws look like, and how did they operate? Of specific details, there are precious few. Official records often refer to them as the Wangming, those who had abandoned their lot in life by leaving their farm, village, and family behind. And certainly, former farmers would have made up a sizable portion of these bandit groups. But they also gladly took in other downtrodden members of society, those who had grown tired of the menial or despised job classes that they occupied, as well as those who had never even bothered to participate in society at all. Frequently, these kinds of uprisings are referred to in Chinese history as peasant rebellions.

Yet Summers cautions against such terminology, since it gives the impression that it was primarily conducted within the purview of the peasantry, that is, the landed subsistence farmer class, and that it would be the one taking up arms against the government. Instead, Summers points out that most farmers, however poor and put upon they might have been, would have been simply unwilling to give up what little they did have, land, and at least some promise of honest pay—for the life of an outlaw, with neither a roof over her head nor much hope of long-term

survival when, and if, the government decided to track you down. Thus, though some peasant farmers certainly did run off to join the bandits, those to whom such a lifestyle might have appealed were far more from the already landless class— the vagrants, squatters, and dispossessed underclasses of society. Furthermore, labeling the uprisings of Qiufu and the upcoming rebellions of Wang Xianzhi and Huang Chao as peasant rebellions paints these rebel leaders potentially as peasant heroes of the people, which patently wasn't the case. As we're going to see today, these bandit groups-come-rebel armies were no heroes of the people, but regularly pillaged and terrorized them in their rampages across the countryside.

Summers says that the bands were, quote, an interlocking confederation of bandit gangs, not a peasant army, and must indeed have posed an ever-present and terrifying threat to ordinary peasants. They never sought to advance the interests of the peasantry, and their leaders proved only too eager to accept positions from the dynasty once the terms were right." As a bit of an aside, there is a Tang-era poem I've come across by the poet Yuan Jie, and though he lived about a century prior to the events of today's episode, I found its verses just as applicable to the 870s as they were to his own period of the 770s.

The work is called, appropriately enough, To the Tax Collectors After the Bandits Retreat, and it goes, quote, For years now I have been serving in the army. When I began here I was serving as an official. The mountain bandits were rising again. But the town was so small it was spared by the thieves, and the people so poor and pitiable, that all other districts were looted, and this one this time let alone. Do you imperial commissioners mean to be less kind than bandits? The people you force to pay the toll are like creatures frying over a fire. And how can you sacrifice human lives just to be known as able collectors?

End quote. It does a really good job of describing the rock and hard place situation so many people were finding themselves, squeezed dry first by the outlaws in the hills coming down to take whatever they had, and then again by the government supposedly tasked with defending them against the criminals. Though we might remain uncertain about the specific makeup of the rank-and-file bandits, we do have considerably more information about their leadership. There seems to have been three primary wells from which bandit leaders of this era sprung. The first were those like Chiu Fu and Pang Xun, disgruntled or outcast elites, officials, and nobility, able to lead a likewise disaffected corps of professional soldiers and rally peasants through victory. The second class was that of the

local rural strongman, who held no official position or education, but nevertheless, through personal connections and sheer force of personality, proved able to exert tremendous influence on their region's local affairs. The third and final class of leader was that which came directly from the underclass itself. Described variously as toughs and riffraff, they seem to have been the most violent and overtly predatory, and often attracted like minds to their sides. But regardless from which class they came from, these outlaw leaders all shared at least one common trait,

which was a keen skill in military tactics and command. In the absence of a unifying central force from the imperial government, as I mentioned earlier, it's quite natural for men to seek that kind of protection from alternative sources. What's interesting in this instance, though, is that these bandit leaders won over their followers by seeming to embody, at least in their followers' eyes, the Chinese idea of renxia, that is, mutual loyalty and protection, even going so far as to have entire bands of outlaws all adopt the same surname of the Big Brother in charge, an occurrence among bandits and rebels that would remain common in China all the way through the 20th century. So the pair of bandit-turned-rebel

leaders we're going to focus on for the rest of this episode are Wang Xianzhi and Huang Chao, respectively, with the latter becoming the eponym of the rebellion he would help to lead. Wang Xianzhe, according to Summers, "...led no highly organized military machine, but rather a confederation of individual bandit gangs or clusters of gangs, each with its own leader, to whom members were tied by mutual bonds of personal loyalty or mutual advantage." Wang's force, in total, numbered some 3,000 men or so, with each component gang numbering as few as a couple of dozen to a hundred or more, although Summers points out that a raid including more than a hundred men was exceptional at this time, and usually meant several otherwise independent gangs coalescing for a single take before once again going their

own ways. We can get a real sense then of the level of personal charisma that figures like Wang Xianzhi and Huang Chao must have possessed in order to command these forces as they did. They must have been exceptional leaders to even get these hundreds of groups walking the same direction, much less following orders for any period of time. Even as early as Emperor Shizong's first year on the throne, the rising threat posed by these marauding bandit groups was proving a difficult challenge for the harried imperial armies. By the midpoint of 874, they'd begun marauding not only through rural areas, but had also become so bold as to start raiding the prefectural capitals of the Tianping province. The following year, a force led by Wang Xianzhi attacked first Puzhou and then Caozhou cities, only to be joined by Huangqiao shortly thereafter, leading his own contingent of about 2,000 bandits. To this shocking wave of attacks against population centers,

the Tang government's response was largely conventional and reserved. In essence, they deemed these bandit attacks to be nothing more than local problems to be dealt with by the local magistrates, and waived off petitions by the governor of Tianping to send the imperial armies to aid in their suppression. The Tianping governor, rebuffed by the capital, had little choice but to lead his own armies against Wang Xianzhi and Huang Chao, but in the course of a single encounter, he was decisively defeated. Over the course of 875, as victory upon victory mounted for the bandit force, they not only expanded their area of operation, but likewise attracted new members and groups to their burgeoning confederation.

By the end of the year, this local problem had swelled into a force with the potential to threaten the very foundations of the Tang imperial state. In the second half of the year, Wang Xianzhe claimed the title of Supreme General and issued a proclamation denouncing the imperial government for its corruption and injustice. Nevertheless, in spite of this widely circulated and public declaration, Supreme General Wang seems to have been targeting only a specific subset of the larger Chinese populace, that is, the other bandit leaders and gangs roving across the countryside, rather than the peasantry at large, or the members of the imperial military for that matter. Indeed, late that year, Wang would actually go so far as to reject outright

a contingent of mutinous imperial soldiers who wanted to join his force, in all likelihood being understandably unsure about their true loyalties or motivations in wishing to join him. The climate itself proved yet another agent of chaos and suffering for the Tang Empire at this time, with the Yellow River unleashing yet another devastating flood across the Northlands, followed by a plague of locusts sweeping across whatever remained. The resultant famines and displacement served as a boon to Wang Xianzhi and Huang Chao, however, and the thousands upon thousands of newly homeless and starving peasants bolstered their ranks even more, while further crippling the Tang government's ability to respond to their raids in force.

By the latter half of 875, Wang and Huang's bandit force claimed the ability to raid with impunity across more than ten prefectures in the Middle and Lower Yellow River Valley, and stretching as far south as the Huai River. Though the imperial government attempted to reinforce the clearly outmatched local levies with garrisons pulled from the Shunzi Palace army, as well as forces from surrounding regions, their strategy remained the same as always, root out the rebels and then crush them with overwhelming force. The problem with that was that the Tang was no longer sending enough soldiers, or even could send enough soldiers, to complete that overwhelming force part.

From Fort Sumter to the Battle of Gettysburg. From the Emancipation Proclamation to Appomattox Courthouse. From the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments to the Compromise of 1877. From Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman. To Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. The Civil War and Reconstruction was a pivotal era in American history. I'm Rich. And I'm Tracy. And we're the hosts of a podcast that takes a deep dive into that era, when a war was fought to save the Union and to free the slaves. And when the work to rebuild the nation after that war was over turned into a struggle to guarantee liberty and justice for all Americans. Look for The Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts. By this point, the bandits were raiding in groups ranging from several hundred to more than a thousand strong,

meaning that they were more than a match for all but the most well-equipped and staffed garrison armies. And since the bandits raided wherever they pleased, they maintained the initiative and forced the government to ineffectually react rather than to take the battle to them. By the first month of 876, the government had all but declared defeat.

Okay, well, that's a bit strong, but orders came down from Chang'an, instructing the governors of Fujian, Jiangxi, and Hunan to start training up their own soldiers, and that every village in the empire was to, quote, ready archers, swordsmen, and drummers to guard against the bandits, end quote. The message could hardly have been clearer. We are unable to stop these bandits or their raids, so you're pretty much on your own. Best of luck. Summers writes, quote, The emphasis on local preparedness in South China is evidence of the government's meager military

presence in the region, and a sign that banditry was becoming a universal danger. This was the first time during the Tang that such militia for local self-defense were established formally by the central government. That it departed from its usual policy of keeping weapons out of the hands of the peasant population is evidence of how seriously the court viewed the crisis. End quote. Law and order on a national scale had broken down, and the empire was being forced to admit that it either must devolve that power to the local level or risk total defeat one city at a time. This is not to say that there were no setbacks for the bandit forces. In 876, for example, the Battle of Yizhou would prove that they were not, in fact, invincible to the imperial countermeasures. Yet even in this moment of victory, the imperial agents in charge of the armies managed to undercut their own position. The ancient commander of the imperial army tasked with defeating the bandit force,

General Song Wei, proclaimed not just victory at Yizhou, but a total annihilation of the rebel force, along with the death of its supreme general, Wang Xianzhe. And then, went ahead and disbanded his own troops and returned to the provisional capital of Pinglu. Okay, a couple of things wrong with this course of action. First off, yeah, he had defeated the rebels, but he had not annihilated them. Nor had he killed Wang Xianzhe. And finally, when he'd summarily disbanded his troops and peaced out, he'd left them high and dry. It's not clear if there had been some promise undelivered upon or payment not received, but it is clear that in the wake of victory at Yizhou, the imperial troops wandered off

none too happy with the way that things had panned out for them. Large groups of them once again attempted to join up with rebel force, which was apparently no less dangerous or significantly less numerous than it had been before the battle. But they were once again turned away by the distrustful, and still very much alive, General Wang. Why had Song Wei so misrepresented what had happened at Yizhou? Why claim total victory and ride off into the sunset, when it was evidently a tactical victory at best? Summers says, quote, Song Wei may have intentionally falsified initial battle reports in order to gain credit for Wang Xianzhe's death and the destruction of the bandit army. He was capable of great deceit. But it is quite likely that Song had simply misjudged his enemy. The court had no clear

idea of the internal composition of the bandit army, or even its size, which the court consistently exaggerated. The final months of 876 would throw the imperial court into full panic mode. Once it became clear that reports of the rebel army's destruction had been somewhat exaggerated, they staffed the mountain passes leading to the two capitals with defensive armies while wringing their hands together. Then, when the rebel force broke through and captured the city of Zhuzhou, a mere 45 miles southeast of Luoyang in the ninth month of the year, the officialdom broke into a cold sweat and pulled their final card, buying the leadership off. An imperial emissary was dispatched to the rebel headquarters with generous terms in

hand. To the Supreme General, an officership in the left Shunsa army, as well as several other choice posts to several of his immediate subordinates. It would have been a very difficult offer to turn down, and had indeed proved the unmaking of prior rebellions like those of Qiu Fu and Pang Xun. Critically, however, the commissions and pardons on offer did not include Huang Chao or any of his officers, a situation that he was definitely not cool with. Huang angrily chastised Wang in public for considering this offer at the expense of the men who had followed his command for so long, stating, from the Zizhi Tongjian,

When we started this rebellion, we all swore a grand oath as brothers to each other. Since then, we have all marched through great distances with you. Now you think to accept this office and go to the left Shunzi army. What should the 5,000 men you leave behind do? End quote. He then clapped Wang Xianzhe over the head with the flat of his sword, while the whole time the army awaiting his decision chanted for him to turn the offer down. And wouldn't you know it, 5,000 angry armed rebels shouting you down

is even more convincing than a commission to the imperial army. Wang would wind up rejecting the offer. I mean, what else could he really do? Accepting would have almost certainly meant that he would find himself face down in a pool of blood before he could depart camp. In spite of him turning the imperial offer down, this moment would mark a break in the until-now-unified rebel front. The armies would split in two,

with one segment of 3,000 remaining loyal to and following Wang Xianzhi to the Oye region of the middle Yangtze River valley, where they would raise the city of Zhezhou to the ground, while the other 2,000 rode off to the south behind Huangqiao, where the loot was more plentiful and the imperial garrisons smaller. At a different time, such a fracture might have proved exploitable by an imperial army to divide and conquer the now two rebel forces. Yet at this point, even its own top military commander, General Song Wei, was looking out for number one rather than seeking victory for the government. To explain the situation, last episode during the Pangshun Rebellion,

the then imperial commander charged with defeating the rebels had been General Gang Zhenxun, who had proved highly successful against the rebels. Too successful, in fact, in the eyes of the imperial court. Following his military victory, Gang was briefly awarded top honors and a cushy job in He Dong. Yet by 870, court officials had become concerned that he might seek to parlay that military career into a civil career that might threaten their own positions. And so they lobbied Emperor Yizong to remove him from his post, with accusations of avoiding battle and general cowardice, which you have to admit is a truly bizarre set of claims given that he'd, you know, won the war and all. Nonetheless, in 870, Geng had been removed from office and banished to the southern border,

an unprecedented humiliation for a victorious commander, and at a time that the dynasty could have ill-afforded to alienate its military brass. Later, with the accession of Shizong, that banishment had been reversed and Gang allowed to return north, but the damage to the government's reputation was done. And now in 876, General Song Wei remembered that situation all too well. After all, he'd been an officer under Gang Jeon-shun during that campaign, and had witnessed firsthand just what things might lay in store for him once he won. Instead, Song Wei now opted to adopt a wait-and-see approach to this little rebellion. Oh sure, he'd make the right motions and give the correct sounding orders and assurances,

but in private, he and his deputy commander had agreed to avoid the rebels whenever possible, and try to stay on Wang Xianzhe's good side. As for why, if, say, General Wang somehow got it into his head to claim the imperial title for himself, well then, Song and his deputy would still have the option of switching over to his side, since they wouldn't have actually fought against him or tried to defeat him. Eventually, the imperial court caught wise and started seeing through Song Wei's placations and assurances that the war was just going swimmingly, thanks, and they began to demand that this increasingly obvious treachery be punished and that the army's commander be replaced. However, very quickly, the court found itself

split into an acrimonious debate over just who should replace Song and lead the army to victory, fracturing their united front into now bitterly opposed camps. And then there was that whole bit of Song Wei simply refusing to be replaced. Edicts summoning him back to the capital or announcing a new military commander were either ignored outright or waved off with a, yeah, sorry, can't comply right now, big war to win and all, try back later. The court quickly realized that there was precious little they could do about this situation. Song Wei had command of the imperial army, and he wasn't giving it up. Pushing him on this right now wasn't likely to lead to any result but him being forced into active rebellion against the government, rather than just passive treachery. As autumn gave way to the winter

of 876, things looked very grim indeed for the Tang regime. Both the north and the south were terrorized by bandit groups meeting only occasional and ineffective resistance, while the grand imperial army assembled to combat this now stood idly by, simply refusing to engage the rebels, its commander now far more interested in establishing his own regional power base and potentially even pledging himself to a usurper. To just add to all of this, the border troops of the north had broken into open mutiny, and each passing day seemed to bring new reports of new outbreaks of rebellion in all corners of the empire, and all while the imperial court bickered with one another,

unable to even agree that Wang Qianzhi was anything other than a petty bandit of any greater import or threat than Pangxun had been years ago. And yet, the critical split in the rebels between Wang and Huangqiao at least gave the Tang dynasty a little breathing room to regain its footing. Very little, but just enough. The year 877, not even four years into Xizong's reign, saw an unprecedented degree of rebel activity which spared few parts of China. Wang Xianzhi and Huangqiao remained formidable, not even four years into Xizong's reign, saw an unprecedented degree of rebel activity, which spared few parts of China. Wang Xianzhi and Huang Chao remained formidable. Confident that they could now strike anywhere with impunity, they even attacked provincial capitals, where the government's regional armies were located. By early that spring, the government

was forced to issue an edict outlining the seriousness of the rebellions, stating, quote, Such an admission was quite the 180 from the previous year, when the court had dismissed Wang Xianzhe as merely another petty rebel. Nevertheless, the edict went on that the government was entirely confident that the rebel's defeat was inevitable, and that the emperor himself expressed his love for the people, promising to, quote, equalize food and clothing so that all might be prosperous, end quote, while by the same token vowing to, quote, use force without regret, end quote, against all who would stand against imperial law. The real target of the edict, though, were the rebel leaders themselves. The government offered exceptionally generous terms of surrender to the rebel bandits. Its leaders would receive office, title, and reward, one and all, and the

surrendered commanders would, quote, serve in the provinces, where each would receive office and sustenance according to his ability, end quote. For the rest of the rabble, well, they would be allowed to return to their homes and lands with a full pardon, no worse for the wear. The edict went further, though, then addressing the imperial armies of Songwei, saying that it totally knew that lots of its commanders were not doing their best to win the war, and that any officer or commander found to be avoiding battles or shirking their duties We're super serious, guys. Super serious. The final part of the edict was perhaps the most telling, though. In it, the government instructed the local authorities of villages and pastureland to seek out and recruit men of talent and courage to act as peasant leaders against the bandits. These virtuous peasants, too, were to be offered titles

and rewards for their service to the realm. So, just to recap all that, dear Empire, we're having a very mild case of severe rebellion. Um, everywhere. But don't worry. It's under total control. Everything's fine. We've got this. Don't panic. P.S.

Rebel leaders, if you're reading this, we'll give you more than you've ever dreamed of if you'll just stop attacking us, pretty please. But no, it's fine. We're totally gonna win for sure. P.P.S. Imperial Army, please stop refusing to fight. We're totally serious about this jokes over it's not funny anymore fight the rebels or we're gonna be like super angry with you but victory is assured no problem whatsoever

P PPS local magistrates please start recruiting your peasants to fight the rebels for us promise them whatever you have to seriously anything long live the victorious Tong no the plain Indians only look like they're on fire. They're supposed to look like that. That's completely normal. Love, Emperor Shanzong. In response, and showing both the rebels' newfound confidence in their own position, as well as the overall weakness of the by now patently desperate Tang government, the rebel armies of Wang and Huang opted to band together once again and launch an attack on the city of Songzhou,

which just so happened to be the headquarters of General Songwei and his imperial army. The city was put under siege that summer and was only lifted with the timely arrival of another imperial force of 7,000 under the command of General Zhang Zimian, which inflicted a serious defeat on the rebel armies who were then forced to scatter. Once again though, the latent fractures within the dynasty's command structure reared their ugly heads, and rather than uniting their forces to follow up upon this great victory, Song and Jiang, who disliked one another so intensely that Jiang was convinced he'd be straight-up murdered if he were ever put under Song Wei's command, began to argue over how best to proceed, and, of course, who should be in command.

While the imperial commanders hemmed and hawed over who should get credit for what and command of what, and with Song Wei all the while just outright refusing to give up his command no matter what anyone said, the rebels were able to regroup and then start proceeding further south. Summers puts it, quote, in themselves, but equally important was the exacerbation of political factionalism at court and the increased tension and mistrust which arose between the political leaders in the capital and their commanders in the field. Repeated failure to give proper credit to loyal and successful commanders lost for the government the dwindling goodwill and loyalty to the dynasty, which remained its most precious asset." So well done, everyone. Just well done. But we'll finish off today with Wang Xianzhi's final ride.

In the last month of 877, the Tang government finally got its act somewhat together, at least enough to actually prosecute something resembling a war effort. When General Wang sacked the city of Guangzheng, the government was forced to restore Zhang Zimian's command over an army of his own, since, after all, Song Wei wasn't moving out of Songzhou for anything in the world. The government then charged this general to aggressively pursue the rebel force. Meanwhile, Wang's rebel army was then moving against the Jingnan provincial capital of Jiangling along the Middle Yangtze River, a city whose governor would prove so incompetent that he supposedly was continuing to write his poems even as the rebel army massed outside his city gates.

General Wang was able to quickly take the city and sack it, and in the process slaughtered one third of the population within. Remember how I said that these guys weren't peasant heroes? Yeah. Then just ahead of an imperial cavalry force sent to aid the city, they fled, loot in hand. Wang's escape this time, however, would be less than ideal. His army was closely pursued by the deputy commander of the imperial army, who had finally decided to stop sitting on his hands and break with his previous agreement with Song Wei,

and actually, you know, try to win the war or something. The imperial army would catch up with Wang Xianzhe at Shenzhou, where it inflicted a terrible defeat upon the rebel host. In light of this staggering defeat, the imperial court finally felt confident enough to order the replacement forthwith of Song Wei, installing his deputy as the new commander and moving a further 15,000 troops into the region to continue the push.

This move would prove decisive. Wang Xianzhi, battered and badly weakened, continued to flee south, but was intercepted once again at Zhezhou, where the Supreme General was at last killed. His army, we've already said, was essentially a cult of personality, held together solely by his own personal gravitas. With Wang now fallen, and no one else capable of filling that void, the remnants of Wang's rebel force either splintered into their constituent gangs and scattered to the winds, or turned to the only commander left available to them, Huang Chao, who had remained to the north in Shandong. And so next time, we'll be picking up with Huang Chao, having at last taken

up the mantle of undisputed rebel leader against the Tang government. And it will be up to him to take this force from its lowest point to an all-out war against the regime, and in the process, adopt the title Chongqian Dajiangjun, the Heaven-Storming General. Thanks for listening. As you are no doubt aware, The History of China is a member of the Agora Podcast Network, which brings together some of the best history, economic, and political podcasts there are, all in one place.

But did you know that in addition to our own shows, we Agorans just love working together? It's true. Under the firm but enlightened hand of Tom Daley, Agora puts out shows like The Exchange and Fifty Shades of Great, which just so happens to feature a particularly great episode on the merits of Emperor Taizong versus Marcus Aurelius. Check them all out, as well as all the other great shows, over at www.theagorapodcastnetwork.com. One other thing before launching in, THOC is, as of this recording, nearing its two millionth listen, which is, well, incredible. So as we are so near to the end of the Tang Empire, I'd like to once more open up the lines

to any and all questions, comments, or topics you might want to write about and have on the show, be it about this era or any other. We're still several weeks out from when this is likely to take place, so you've got time to think up a really good question. You can send it to me via our homepage, thehistoryofchina.wordpress.com, or over at Facebook or Twitter under the handle at THOCpodcast, or via regular old email at THOCpodcast at gmail.com. In addition, to those of you who've been kind enough to join the Watchers on the Great Wall as a patron of the show via Patreon or PayPal, I know, I know, I've been terrible about

thanking you in person. I'm planning on getting everyone I should have thanked already together and putting them into the special End of Dynasty show. So I haven't forgotten you, I promise. If you're not yet a member of the Eternal Imperial Court, it's not too late to earn yourself a title and promotion as governor of a realm all your own, as well as a coveted position on our VIP page. All you need to do is go to the webpage or directly to patreon.com slash thehistoryofchina and select what you think we're worth. Thanks everyone, and now, enjoy the show. History isn't black and white, yet too often it's presented as such. Grey History, The French Revolution is a long-form history podcast dedicated to exploring the ambiguities and nuances of the past.

From a revolution of hope and liberty to the infamous Reign of Terror, you can't understand the modern world without understanding the French Revolution. So search for the French Revolution today.