The History of China - #167 - S. Song 10: ...Is My Enemy's Enemy, No More, No Less

Episode Date: June 2, 2019

With enemies on all sides, and the Mongol sledgehammer poised to strike its crushing blow against them, the Jin Dynasty seeks an out by plunging southward, only to find that the Song defenses have become the anvil on which they rest. Exhausted, they’ll seek peace at any cost… but will it be enough to save the tatters of their empire? Time Period Covered: 1217-1225 CE Major Historical Figures: Song: Emperor Ningzong (Zhao Kuo) [r. 1194-1224] Emperor Lizong (Zhao Yun) [r. 1224-1264] Empress Yang [1162-1232] Chancellor Shi Miyuan [1164-1233] Crown Prince Zhao Xun [1194-1220] Prince Zhao Hong [1207-1225] General Zhao Fang An Bing, Commandant of Sichuan Jin: Emperor Xuanzong (Wudubu/Wanyan Xun) [r. 1213-1224] Emperor Aizong (Ningjiasu/ Wanyan Shouxu) [r.1224-1234] Mongol: Genghis Khan (Temüjin) [r. 1206-1227] General Mukhali [1170-1223] Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Hey all, before launching in today, there's just a couple of things that I'm pleased as punch to talk to you about. First and foremost, if you're interested in joining fun conversations with other aficionados of history in a place that's not limited by 280 characters like Twitter or Facebook, which actively throttles participation and reach and is just basically an awful website in general, you should join up with our group on Flick. On posts on both of this show's Facebook page and the currently pinned tweet on my Twitter feed,

you can just click the link and join my group totally free and begin chatting with me, fellow podcasters, and other listeners in real time. It's fun. You can also download the app and search for History of China, all one word, to join up with the group and start having conversations. Rather nice. I like it. You should try it. The other thing is that if you're going to be in New York City on the 26th and 27th of this June,

you should go to the super awesome Agora PodCon called Intelligence Beach. David Crowther of the History of England is flying over from foggy London to be there, as is Mike Duncan. Yeah, that's Mike Duncan in his first ever PodCon appearance with us at Agora. How awesome is that? So if you're in the area, drop everything and check it out. It's going to be super fun. I'm super jealous. But hey, maybe my schedule will work out better next year for the second Intelligent Speech Convention, and I'll be able to make it over from China. So make this one successful enough that we can have a second one and then I can go to the History of China. Episode 167 is my enemy's enemy. No more, no less.

Last episode we left off as of the year 1217, on the eve of what would prove to be the last war between this Song and Jin empires. The northern regime had already received more than a bloody nose at the hands and arrow points of the Mongols, but more than just them, the uprising by the Khitan in Manchuria, a war of revenge by the Tanguts of Xixia, and Song's sympathetic Red Jacket rebels that had seized control of most of Shandong in the east. The one-time master of East Asia had been reduced to a pale shadow of its former glory, now confined to little more than the regions of the Yellow River Valley immediately surrounding their last redoubt of Kaifeng. And so what did they do? Why, attack Song China, of course. Apparently, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, whenever it took, to put as many miles between them and the Mongols as was possible. But as we'll see today, the Song armies will quickly remind the Jurchen invaders just why

the Jin had never successfully invaded the Southlands before. From the very outset of hostilities, the Chancellor of Song, Shemiyuan, seems to have done just about everything he could to not take responsibility for the war. At first, he just pretended that there was no war. What war? I don't see the war. At first, he just pretended that there was no war. What war? I don't see a war. For a period of weeks, he simply just did not acknowledge that there had been any formal declaration of hostilities by the Jin against his government. Then when he finally realized that, well, I guess I can't just close my eyes and plug my ears about this. Well, then he'd gone right ahead and covered his mouth by refusing to set up a central military command structure in order to prosecute the conflict,

instead basically telling the regional commanders and frontline generals to, you know, go do whatever you think is best. You know, war stuff. Best of luck. It had all the makings of an absolute fiasco for the Song, and yet that would prove to not be the case this time. Markedly unlike their timid chancellor, the Song military leadership quickly distinguished itself as being bold, decisive, and just pretty much all-around badass in the face of this latest invasion.

In the first year of the war, again that's 1217, the primary target of the Jin Southern Expedition was to capture the two cities of Cao Yang and Suizhou, both to serve as footholds south of the Huai River, and then as a series of stepping zones to the larger strategic objective of opening the way for a future assault on the capital city of Jingxi Circuit, which is modern northern Hubei, the mighty bastion of Xiangyang. It was a worthy target for the overall Jin strategy, which was to fortify the border cities and hold out for as long as possible

against the inevitable Mongol southward push. As we'll discuss more in the episodes to come, Xiaoyang will prove to be one of the two garrison cities along the border that will most frustrate Mongol efforts to subdue the southlands, stymieing the northern barbarians for more than six straight years in the 1260s and 70s. But all that in due time. For now, under the command of the local general, Zhao Fang, the Jin advance was rebuffed at both Taoyang and Suizhou, forcing their retreat. Well, no matter, the Jin said. If at first you don't succeed, try try again. Thus, unfazed by their failure in 1217, the Jin army would resume their offensive early the following year, and against the same strategic targets. This time, the encirclement of Suez would last 80 days in all, but once again to no avail.

By the time the Jurchen commanders were forced to once again conclude that they could not achieve a breakthrough in the city and abandon their siege camps, they had reportedly lost some 30,000 men due to both enemy action and the typical wastage of campaign life, disease, malnutrition, exposure, and just basic accidents. It was clear enough that a change of strategy would be needed if any lasting gains were going to be made against the Song. That change would come with the campaign season of 1219. Along the eastern battlefront, along the Huai River border region, the Jin would launch more than 100,000 troops against Chuzhou, Haozhou, and Guangzhou cities. Yet again, they proved almost completely unable to secure even a minor

foothold in the south, and even the minor successes certain elements achieved, such as the capture of Dasan Pass and Shihazhou, were short-lived and quickly retaken by the Song defenders. One of the key reasons this Yichun campaign had sputtered out was the successful inclusion of and coordination with the Shendong Red Jacket Rebels, who proved that even though they were not regular troops, they were more than capable of receiving and carrying out orders from their Song handlers and carrying them out with alacrity. Increasingly, in fact, the Song commanders came to rely on their irregular allies behind enemy lines, eventually to a degree that worried some in government, but we will get back to that. The admirable performance of the Red Jackets should in no way minimize the service and military class of the Song imperial troops. From Davis, quote, The Song troops decidedly outclassed and frightened the Jin. Not only did the Song

succeed in repulsing repeated mass enemy invasions, but they launched some retaliatory strikes that permanently shattered the old myth of Jurchen invincibility. Outside the Shandong theater, southern armies joined by Red Jacket loyalists attacked the strategically vital Sijiao, just north of the Huai River, in the spring of 1218. Another Song offensive followed three years later. Neither ended in lasting success, but Song casualties appear to have been modest. In the central border region of the Song, where they faced heavy and sustained Jin onslaughts, Song armies still mustered the strength to turn from defense to mounting a counter-offensive. That counter-offensive, launched in 1219 and commanded by General Zhao Fang, would assault the two Jin-controlled cities of Tangzhou and Dengzhou in the winter of that year, with a force of about 60,000 regular troops.

The campaign was executed to perfection and put the Jin defenders to flight, inflicting heavy casualties, most notably and influentially including the deaths of several valuable Jin commanders, before seizing control of the two cities. Knowing, however, that any attempt to hold the pair of cities for long, that deep within enemy territory, would be doomed, Zhao Feng instead ordered his troops to simply destroy the Jin caches of supplies stored in each before withdrawing back south, thereby applying further strain on the Jin's already fraught supply situation. The western front displayed as well a near-pinnacle display of Song military might. The formerly disgraced and temporarily banished commandant of the west, An Bing, had returned to Sichuan in 1218,

in an unofficial capacity albeit, and formed an alliance with the Tangut forces of Xi Xia against the Jin. This joint strike was centered on taking the city of Qinzhou. But when the first and then second attempts failed and resulted in heavy Song casualties, the Sichuan generals complained to the imperial court that it had been the bungling of the current commandant, a man named Deng Juyi, who had in fact replaced An Bing back in 1214. Deng, they claimed, had been the one to blame for managing to seize defeat from the jaws of victory. Between this rising chorus of discontent at the perceived mismanagement of the war effort from the top, along with the ever-present threat of rebellion against the Hangzhou court from the

far-flung western region, in short order it was decided that, in spite of his checkered past, Anbing was the only one capable of bringing the Sichuan situation back under control. As such, he was reinstalled as the Commandant. This would prove to be a wise decision, as though he would be unable to launch further offenses against the Jin, Commandant Ahn was able to bring Sichuan to heel and prevent the Jurchen from advancing into the territory. A victory in itself. In most other situations, what we would be describing as conflict between the Song and Jin as would be quite similar to just about every other war between these two

states over the course of the past century. Pretty much a stalemate. Not a whole lot of permanent change was happening. Towns were seized, but then abandoned. The Jin won here and lost there. The Song took this town, but lost that town. They were effectively deadlocked. Even as little as a decade ago, during the Kaishi War, this sort of affair probably would have ultimately resulted in years of finagling over terms of a treaty that either increased or decreased by a minor amount the tributary payment that Song would have to make to Jin annually. And the Jin could have justifiably laughed all the way back to the bank at making the Song pay yet more for the privilege of them occupying northern China.

But let's remember that it's not a decade ago. It's now 1218, and the Jin situation is, well, what's a stronger word than dire? Catastrophic? Oh god, oh god, we're all gonna die? This whole war had been launched, if you'll recall, by the Jin trying to carve their way south and away from the hammer blow that was the Mongol army to their northern flank. And now, now of all times, the southerners have to pick now to become an impenetrable anvil? Even the deepest plunge of the Jin army into Song territories as of 1221, penetrating more than 120 miles to Qizhou city, was in short order reversed and driven back under the daring leadership of Hu Caixin and Li Quan. Davis writes,

This was supposed to have been a walkover, a cheap, quick, and easy means of escaping the galloping doom to the north. Thus, when it had turned out to be anything but, the fighting spirit of the Han soldiers and the Jurchen commanders alike, all the way up to the already reluctant Emperor Xuanzong, fractured. By the close of 1218, then, scarcely more than a year into the war that he had allowed to start, Xuanzong dispatched a peace envoy to Hangzhou,

hat effectively in hand, and wondering what the terms might be that could put this whole little kerfuffle behind us. The Song weren't having it, though. Both the opinion of the imperial court and of the public at large in Hangzhou were firmly of a mind that they were not about to tarry in seeing the Jin punished for their now century of humiliation, such that even the ever-cautious and overly pacifistic Shim Yi Yuan felt he had no choice but to unceremoniously rebuff the peace delegation, not even deigning to allow the procession to enter Song territory under banners of peace, but instead turning them flatly away at the border.

The war would grind on. Meanwhile, not more than a swallow's flight away, the other war against the Jinn ground on as well. That's right, the one in the north, prosecuted by the Mongols. By this point, the Mongol great Khan, Genghis, had turned his attention westward to Samarkand and the emir of Khwarizmia, who had just made the absolutely ridiculous faux pas of attacking the Khan's caravan and drawing Mongol blood. Literally, I just can't even. In any event, he had left the war against the Jin, well, more of the mop-up effort, with the one-time Bo'ol slave of the Borjigins, but now trusted general, Mukhali.

This task, as with all others he'd been assigned by the Khan, Mughalid pursued with diligence, vigor, and relentless competence. He chiefly focused on the region of Shanxi, in particular, cutting off and keeping pressure on the strategically vital fortress city of Taiyuan, which lay about 300 miles southwest of the smoldering ruin of the once great capital, Zhongdu. His efforts would pay off in due course, with the provincial capital falling in 1222. This relentless northern pressure had forced the Jin Emperor to agree to send emissaries to the Mongols, yet again, and humbly beg, not ask, but beg, for a cessation of hostilities. In 1220, then, a peace embassy was dispatched from Kaifeng to seek out the great Mongol Khan and entreat him to once again accept his Jurchan thralls into the great nation. From Frank, quote, the minister, Wugusun Zhongduan, was sent as an

embassy to Genghis Khan, who was encamped at the time in Transoxiana, and offered to recognize the Mongolian Khan as the Jin emperor's elder brother in return for a cessation of hostilities, end quote. As I've brought up before, and at length in the Mongol series, such pseudo-familial relations were typical of many treaties during this period, and especially those of the people of Central Asia. Treaties were sealed by marriage, and therefore fictive blood ties, ostensibly to bind the parties permanently together, for whatever good that ultimately tended to do. Nevertheless, it was known and well understood by anyone who had any interaction whatsoever with Genghis Khan at this point that any deal reached with him would need to include the binding of the families together. That's just how things went. In spite of this, however, the embassy seeking peace was dismissed pretty much out of hand by the Khan. It's certainly possible that

he was just invested enough in his campaign against Khwarizmia at this point that it seemed impractical to go through with such a ceremony. Nevertheless, the more likely explanation is that, well, the Jurchen had had their chance, and they blew it. Genghis had given them preferential terms and married one of his sons to one of their princesses, and then the Jin Emperor had betrayed him by scampering off south like a sneaky little rat man. A man did not entreat with rats, did not marry into rats. No, he exterminated them. Still, the Great Khan was not entirely unreasonable.

Once the initial embassy had been sent home in failure, a second was dispatched in 1221-1222 to ask, again, again, pretty please with cherries on top, won't you not kill us? This time, the Khan gave a bit more consideration than his initial flat no. The Khan, quote, recommended to the Jin representative that Xuanzong renounce his imperial rank and instead become king of Henan under Mongolian Cesarity. End quote. Sure, you want peace? I'll give you peace. Just lay down your crown and bow before me. In a decision that is somehow both shocking and entirely expected, that was a bridge too far for the Jin government. They would not, could not, accept an inferior rank of government, and thus the peace talks came to an end. The war would grind on. It always feels vaguely strange when the rulers of two powers die very close to one another.

Even to a modern mind, there's always the propensity to ascribe to it more meaning, magnitude, or pretentiousness than it really might actually merit. Be it historical heavyweights or modern celebrities, our pattern-seeking and pattern-creating brains will, well, yeah, seek and create patterns and then derive meaning from them, even when none might really exist. People die. They die every single day, and for all number of reasons, almost none of which have anything to do with one another. And so it was with the respective rulers of the Jin Empire and Southern Song. They didn't die super close to each other.

This isn't some John Adams-Thomas Jefferson both dying on the same 4th of July situation or anything. But both Jin Xuanzong and Song Ningzong did die within a year of one another, with the Jurchen monarch shuffling off his mortal coil in mid-January 1224, and his Song counterpart doing the same that September. Both of these deaths, as you might expect, had significant ramifications on their respective governments and their abilities to prosecute the ongoing war effort between them. In the case of the Jin, the succession was a known quantity, and with minimal fuss, Xuanzang's third son, the then 25-year-old Prince Ningjiasu, was enthroned. He would sit the throne of Jin, such as it was, for little more than a decade, and would prove to be the last emperor.

As such, his posthumous temple name would be a title no one would ever want, the pitiable ancestor, Aizong. He took the throne in Kaifeng over a crumbling ruin of a once mighty state. The Jurchin homelands of Manchuria and virtually all of the territories north of the Yellow River were forever lost to them, as were now all of their former vassal peoples, virtually all of whom were now actively at war against their former overlords. It was this existential crisis, wars on every front and against everyone, that Emperor Aizong undertook as his first major act in office. True, the Mongols were unwilling to be treated with,

but perhaps the jinn's other neighbors would prove more tractable. Hi everyone, this is Scott. If you want to learn about the world's oldest civilizations, find out how they were rediscovered, follow the story of Mark Antony and Cleopatra's descendants over ten generations, or take a deep dive into the Iron Age or the Hellenistic era, then check out the Ancient World Podcast. Available on all podcasting platforms, or go to ancientworldpodcast.com. That's the Ancient World Podcast. As it stood, the Mongol problem let up a bit as of 1223, in spite of the Great Khan's imperious demand that the Jin Emperor surrender his imperial title in order to conclude peace. This was largely because the general he'd left in command, Mukhali, died after taking ill while besieging a city in Shanxi. On his deathbed, he had said

to have declared with pride that in his whole life he had never once known defeat. Ultimately, his son, Bol, would be appointed by Genghis Khan to take up his father's mantle as a subjugator of the Jurchen. But the lag time between the general's death and Bol's assumption of formal command gave the Jin this space they needed to at least momentarily catch their breath. The new emperor, Aizong, would not let it go to waste. One of his first actions, in fact, would be to once again open negotiations with the Song in order to finally bring an end to this ill-conceived and ill-carried-out war. Ai Zong's predecessor had, of course, been flatly rejected in his overtures to the Song,

but now a new tact was necessary. Namely, stop treating the Song like a vassal and give up on that whole notion altogether. That meant giving up all tribute payments whatsoever, and the two rulers referring to one another now as co-equals. It was a gambit, but it was one that proved to be super effective, and the treaty was finalized that very year in 1224, ending the war between Song and Jin, as well as the pattern of relations between the two states, with Jin playing the part of the superior partner and Song the lesser subjugant, that had effectively become the status quo over the course of the prior century.

The conclusion of the Treaty of 1224 would occur very close, either slightly before or possibly even after, the death of Song and Beroning Song. But as it did not have a notable effect on the diplomatic processes, I'm going to come back to the Song succession in just a minute. Because before we get to that, we're going to have to briefly turn to the other other major participant in this four-way war, the Tangut kingdom of Western Xia, and its own little side war against the Jurchen. Just as a brief reminder, the Tangut Xia had been a vassal of the Jin, only to flip over to the Mongol side when Genghis Khan had invaded them in 1210, and rather than riding to the rescue, the Jin had said, yeah, well, good luck with that. That had made the Tangut emperor only too happy to partake in hostilities

against the Jurchen at the Great Khan's behest when the time came only a year or so later. But Genghis was far to the west by now, busying himself around Zamarkand. The Tanguts had, they thought, played the Khan like a horsehead fiddle when they had been asked to fulfill their obligation to provide troops to the Western campaign, but had demurred and eventually sent back a mealy-mouthed reply stating, Oh, we thought that you were strong. Surely you don't need little of us to do your fighting for you, right? Oh, great one. It's one of those instances where you look back and you just wonder, so you really thought that was a good idea, huh? But Genghis had not returned yet to see to his vassal's education about what obligation meant to him.

Even so, by 1224, it was almost certain that the Tanguts had realized that Genghis was pretty much done in the West, and that he was heading back toward them, and that they might not have totally thought this whole collectively thumbing their noses at him as he rode into the distance idea. Thus, they concluded that, you know what, maybe peace with the Jurchen doesn't sound so bad after all. Negotiations were opened at the Jin Emperor's request in 1224, and lasted until September of 1225, when the final Jin-Sha treaty was signed, sealed, and propagated. From Frank, quote, the Sha ruler was acknowledged as the younger brother of the Jin emperor. Both states also agreed to use their own reign titles in diplomatic correspondence,

which resulted in a rise in status for the Xi-Sha because they were no longer considered to be vassals of Jin. The border trade was also resumed, a vital matter for the Jin because their cavalry had to rely largely on the import of Tangut horses now that the grazing grounds of Manchuria had been lost to them. End quote. It would be a peace that the Tanguts of Xia would be able to enjoy for... Well, actually not at all, because already the wrath of Genghis was bearing down upon their state for their impertinence.

But for Jin, it heralded a moment's respite. Even more than that, though, it was the end of a political era. In concluding the treaty with Xia, they had formally renounced all of their vassals and any claim to them, and in so doing, had given up all hopes for an expansionist policy. Though saying that they were content might be pushing it, the Jin had seen the writing on the wall. Their days of mightiest state lording over all others was over, and they would have to get by on what they had left, if they could, stabilizing their remaining holdings along the Yellow River and, just possibly, seizing back control of Shandong from the Red Jackets. It was a hope that wouldn't even last

out the decade. Alright, so let's get back down south to the Song, because we've got an emperor to kill and a new one to enthrone there. So we're going to finish out today with a goodly dose of palace intrigue, successional dispute, and backroom dealings. The juicy stuff. You'll surely remember our old friend from earlier, Chancellor of Song, Shi Miyuan, the guy so timid that he wouldn't even acknowledge that the war was on until he was literally forced to, and then abdicated responsibility

for its oversight to the military commanders. A non-decision that wound up working rather well, but that's pretty much beside the point. Well, Chancellor Shi might still have had his job, but pretty much the entire rest of the court and the government and the military had neither forgotten nor forgiven his, in their estimation, just badness at it. The one person who seemed to unfailingly hold Shi and his policies in high regard was, who else, Emperor Nengzong. So, while the emperor yet lived, Shi's position was secure. Nengzong's familial situation was one that paralleled a curiously high number of late Song dynasty royalty, not quite in fertility but certainly very low

fertility, and a disturbing propensity for those offspring, few and far between as they were, to die early and often. David suggests in his paper, Trouble in Paradise, The Shrinking Royal Family in Southern Song, that this high incidence of child mortality, the low fertility among the royals, and the increasing incidence of emotional and mental instability among the Zhao clan might be explainable by the very wealth they commanded. Lead was used in many of the finer goods the Song state produced, including its porcelain, its paints, and even its children's toys, which of course the imperial family would have had unparalleled access, and therefore exposure, to. So too with

asbestos, which was used with great frequency at this time period in the upscale mansions and palaces of the realm as a fire retardant, knowing of course that either of these compounds were highly toxic and can lead to mental degeneration, reproductive problems, and ultimately death. It's no smoking gun, even Davis himself doesn't draw a firm conclusion, but it is an intriguing and seemingly likely possibility. In any event, earlier in life, Ning Zong had fathered two sons, but both had died in early childhood. He'd go on to father at least seven more sons and a single daughter, but none of them survived more than a few months past birth. Something was obviously wrong here.

By 1197, now ten times bereaved and no doubt despairing of the possibility of ever producing a viable heir of his own, Ningzong turned to that time-tested second-string method of securing an heir, a royal adoption. He took into his household the four-year-old Zhao Xun, a distant cousin but also of the line of Song Taizu, as was Ningzong. Xun was made the heir apparent when he was 16 in 1209, and he would spend the next decade learning the tools of the trade that he would spend the next decade learning the tools of the trade that

he would eventually inherit. It seems to have been widely accepted that Zhao Xun was a promising and good choice to be the next emperor. But then, in 1220, the prince died at 28 for unknown reasons, though illness does seem to be the most likely, leaving his now 52-year-old imperial father, as well as his government, both bereaved and scrambling to find yet another replacement. Ningzong was deemed too old, by the standards of the notoriously short-lived Song emperors at least, so that adoption of a young child, typically the ideal, was deemed foolish and impractical. It would likely as not ultimately lead to an extended regency, and of all the headaches and backstabbing that went along

with that. Given that stipulation, as well as the obvious fact that it had to be someone from his own family line, he re-adopted the adopted son of yet another cousin, apparently the 13 or 14-year-old Zhao Hong. It would quickly prove to have been a regrettable decision. From Davis, quote, Zhao Hong proved as prince to be exceedingly abrasive and rebellious, making no secret of his enmity for Shemiyuan. He threatened him with future banishment to the remote south. Zhao Hong was not in the least discreet, and his feelings became common knowledge in the capital.

End quote. Like, hey, little kid, shut up. You're barely sprouting chin hairs, but you're threatening the most powerful minister in the realm about how you're going to punish him if you live long enough to do so? Pure brilliance, that. Nor was Shi the only one who quickly grew sour on the impertinent youth. Empress Yang likewise found Prince Hong to be offensive, crude, cruel, and undeserving of the throne. Hey, you remember the last time those two both decided that someone had to go? Yeah, Han Tojo got himself beaten to death in a garden as a result, but sure little kid,

keep running your mouth. In short order, the warnings began pouring in about this stupidity of the course this arrogant little princeling was pursuing. In the summer of 1222, for instance, Minister Zheng Dexiu issued a formal admonition of Zhao Hong, warning him, If your highness, the emperor's son, can be filial to your beneficent mother and reverent to high officials, then heaven's mandate will be vested in you. If not, you can imagine the serious consequences. Even Ningzong seemed to almost immediately realize that Zhao Hong had been a terrible choice and chose not to install him formally as crown prince after his adoption. For three years following this adoption, no further change was made to the line of imperial succession.

Until, that is, the summer of 1224 when Emperor Ningzong fell into what would prove a terminal illness. By early September, his condition had worsened, and it was clear enough that he was unlikely to recover. Thus it was at this 11th hour that a stunning reversal would take place. An edict dated to that period, and officially sealed with the royal marker, elevated another youth to the imperial household, as co-equal of the presumptive heir, Zhao Hong. He was, in fact, one of Hong's own close kinsmen, his very replacement as the heir to the line of Zhao Dazhao, the 19-year-old Zhao Yun.

Emperor Ningzong slipped into a coma and died on the night of September 17, 1224, at the age of 56. He left in his final will instructions to finally pull the pin out of that successional grenade he'd apparently snuck over on his would-be heir, Hong, and ordered that it should be Zhao Yun, not Zhao Hong, to accede to the throne of Song upon his passing. Davis writes of the incident, quote, Shen Meiyuan then summoned Zhao Yun to the palace late that night and supervised,

under heavy guard, the 19-year-old's accession as the new emperor. With assistance from the palace guard commander Xia Zhen, who had been the assassin of Han Tuozhou 17 years earlier, Shim Yuan disarmed Zhao Hong's guards and read out the imperial testament, Yi Shu, that disinherited Zhao. Shim Yuan then made Zhao Hong pay obeisance to the new emperor. There was no violence and no resistance from the empress or from the divested prince, who was immediately exiled to Huzhou, some 60 miles from the capital. Xim Yun's tight grip on the court had precluded open confrontation. End quote. Straight, cold-blooded, like a boss.

It's easy to look at this situation and how it played out, with Shiz ruthlessly clockwork carrying out of the command and kicking Zhao Hong out of the capital in one single night, and assume that he must have masterminded the whole thing as something of a palace coup against the prince who threatened to fire him. I mean, he had the means, the motive, and the opportunity all right there. As chancellor, he was the one who wrote the imperial edict enthroning Zhao Yun, after all. That's certainly what many traditional historians have concluded about Shi, and often condemned him as a result, even though they typically have agreed that Zhao Yun was definitely the better decision to rule in the end. But such a conclusion fails to take into account Shen Yu'an's own professional and personal leanings, as well as

his relationship with Empress Yang, or her quiet but firm hand on the levers of imperial power. It's highly unlikely that Xie would have acted without not just the consent, but the full-on enthusiastic cooperation of the Empress, just as it had likely been the case 17 years before. Now, as then, the Empress seems to have been content to let her point man Xieie, take both the credit and the blame, and keep herself out of the limelight while pulling the true strings from behind the veil. Davis writes, She was hardly one to be easily cowed, and the chief counselor, knowing her better than most,

surely recognized her importance as arbiter of palace matters involving the imperial family. She must have at least consulted if indeed she did not join Shemuen in initiating the switch. That she should be called upon after the accession to govern from behind the bamboo screen as regent confirms her political stature at the time, although it was an honor she declined. End quote.

And that, kids, is why you don't telegraph your actions to those with power over you. For all of this cloak-and-dagger double-dealing, we might well think that there would have been some kind of uproar over such an unusual and clearly manipulated succession. But there wasn't. The Song bureaucracy, which seems like it ought to have been only too happy to flood the court with sternly worded letters about the hated Shen Miuyan's bald-faced hijacking of the imperial line of

succession, was instead notably silent on the matter. Yeah, they might not have been thrilled about the methodology of it all, but in all likelihood, Zhao Hong had proven himself to them all as a disaster in the making were he allowed to assume the throne, and so they were willing to overlook a little fudging of the details just to see the back of him. In any event, Zhao Yun would accede to the throne of Song as Lizong, the reasonable, marking him as the dynasty's 14th monarch and the 5th in the south. He came to the throne over a realm in a curious state of repose. For the past three and a half decades, spanning the reigns of both Guangzong and Ningzong, the Song Empire had been confronted by some of its greatest challenges to date.

Within the government, levels of factionalism and infighting such as had rarely been seen except at the worst of times. Two major border wars with the Jin that had seen it lose face, only to have suddenly gained it back, all and more. Indigenous uprisings and rebellions, and the ever-present threats of regional military commanders in regions like Sichuan, throwing off the imperial command structure and having a go for it themselves. A succession of natural disasters, which, though not as severe as those that had plagued Jin, still served to exacerbate things, and often as not at the most delicate of times.

And of course, imperial leadership that was at best inattentive and at worst mentally incompetent. In spite of all this, Song had endured, it had survived, and the future for its citizenry suddenly seemed strangely bright. The Jin were all but vanquished, and could not any longer even pretend to lord over the southern Chinese. With their collapse would come that possibility long dreamed of, perhaps reclaiming the ancestral lands of the north

and bringing the realm back to its former glory. These Mongols were, by every indication, utterly bent on wiping out the Jurchen dynasty, but they had no cause or quarrel with the Song. Surely they could be treated with, and they could exist peacefully alongside one another. Surely they would assent to the Chinese reclaiming their homelands along the Yellow River. Surely these Mongols were reasonable people, right? Thanks for listening. work to rebuild the nation after that war was over turned into a struggle to guarantee

liberty and justice for all Americans. I'm Tracy. And I'm Rich. And we want to invite you to join us as we take an in-depth look at this pivotal era in American history. Look for The Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts.