The History of China - #69 - S&N 13: The Ransom Of The Boddhisatva Emperor

Episode Date: July 8, 2015

Buddhism has taken Southern China by storm, but few more than its emperor, Wu of Liang. He’ll try to talk a monk out of setting himself on fire, have an awkward chat with the founder of Zen Buddhism, and even enter a monastery and refuse to leave, prompting his whole court to “ransom” him back by bribing the monks to kick him out. All of this while civil war ripples through Northern Wei.Time Period Covered:517-535 CENotable Figures:Emperor Wu of Liang (née Xiao Yan)Consort Ding LingguangCrowned Prince Xiao TongCrowned Prince Xiao GangMarquis Xiao ZhengdeMonk DaoduMonk BoddhidharmaSources Used:Burning for the Buddha by James A. BennZizhi Tongjian by Sima GuangBlue Cliff Record (BiYan Lu) by Yuanwu Keqin Textual History of the Mahāyāna-mahāparinirvāna-sūtra by Stephen Hodge Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Episode 69, The Ransom of the Bodhisattva Emperor Last episode, we chronicled the early life of Xiao Yan, his rise to power, and his eventual overthrow of the Southern Qi Dynasty, an establishment of the Liang Dynasty, with him at its head as Emperor Wu. We then chronicled the travails of his early reign, his conversion to Buddhism, and the catastrophically disastrous military strategy to dam the Huai River, which cost his kingdom tens of thousands of lives, at a minimum, when it inevitably failed. This time, we'll be going through Wu of Liang's middle reign. We'll begin today much as we left off last time,

with Buddhism in Liang and two eminent figures discussing a particular passage of a particular sutra. Emperor Wu of Liang, in early January of 526, held audience with a highly regarded Mahayana Buddhist Gaoseng, or eminent monk, named Daodu. At 66 years old, monk Daodu was one of the senior-most clergy at the Mount Ruona Monastery, which itself lay east of Yangzhou City on the opposite bank of the Yangtze River from Nanjing.

He had also forged a very close personal connection with the royal family by acting as one of Emperor Wu's brother's mentors throughout his childhood. One of the main foci of that conversation was the end of monk Daodu's life, and how and why that ought to be carried out. Now I should point out that Daodu was not in trouble. He was not facing potential execution, nor any specific disease, save the ravages of age itself. Rather, this was a meeting of two minds highly versed in religious scripture, discussing the end of one's mortal existence. We have a wonderful translation of the conversation from the historian James A. Benn in his book

Burning for the Buddha, in which Daodu explains to an almost as fervently Buddhist monarch what he planned to do and why he planned to do it. Quote, and extinguish its life. I have been weary of this physical frame for many a long day. I vow to worship the Buddha, just like the Vadasattva Medicine King. End quote. The Medicine King, it should be noted, was a figure from one of Daodu's favorite sutras, the Lotus Sutra, who ended up burning himself alive as an ultimate sacrifice in order to honor the Buddhas. Now, one might reasonably think that a passing and oblique reference to an obscure religious figure might pass by in a conversation unnoticed. Emperor Wu, however, knew exactly what this meant,

and urged the distinguished monk to rethink his decision and not go through with his plans. Emperor Wu is recorded to have responded, quote, By donating it to the birds and beasts, one completely perfects dhanaparamita and also makes good karma. Because of the 80,000 worms residing within you, it is not appropriate to burn yourself. It is not something that should be encouraged. End quote. In other words, the emperor was both arguing that his body should be used to feed the birds, beasts, and, yes, worms, after he departed, but only after he had died a natural death rather than killing himself in the way of his spiritual hero.

By allowing other living things to use his cast-off form in such a way, he'd be displaying universal compassion and thereby gaining karma, rather than burning it all away. In addition, should he set himself alight, he would actually be inflicting harm on the parasites, the worms that live within him, which was another reason in Buddhist thought not to do such a thing. Nevertheless, and in spite of what would be the official imperial order not to do so, Daodu's mind was made up. Almost exactly one full year later, he was making final preparations for his end, when apparently, heaven itself began performing miracles in anticipation,

a preemptive response to, and affirmation of, his impending actions. It happened across a month-long period beginning in late December of 526 and lasting through mid-January of 527, and was centered around Daodu's own Buddhist monastery complex on the slopes of Mount Ruona. The seemingly miraculous events began on the 22nd of December, when the monastery's bell began ringing of its own accord, and then did so again five days later. Taking these signs as a powerful portent from the heavens, Gaudu set his plans in motion by inviting more than a hundred of his fellow practitioners to join him in a religious retreat

higher up the slopes of the mountain. In all, more than 300 people, monks and laypersons alike, would climb the heights of Mount Rona to participate in the ceremonies, of whom some 170 would convert to Daodu's brand of Mahayana Buddhism and were baptized by the eminent monk himself. There, at the top of Mount Rona, the assembled group would ultimately bear witness to the remarkable events that were about to unfold. Historian James A. Benn again relates, quote, Having made these conversions, and thereby formed karmic connections to those he would leave behind him, Daodu ceased eating.

Each day, he drank no more than a pint of water that he drew from the well with a bucket. On the morning of January 13th, Daodu's fellow monks were astonished to discover five colored rays of light and multicolored vapor emanating from this humble vessel. So Daodu had stopped eating, spent his days meditating, and was clearly preparing to exit the world. And it seemed that heaven itself was responding by making the well bucket he was taking water from shine with a multicolored light and smoke. Continuing the passage, quote, Four days later, the abbot and several other monks entered Daodu's meditation chamber and found a purple glow emanating from a niche within it.

Towards evening on the same day, January 17th, a vast flock of birds, some five or six hundred strong, suddenly descended on the monastery. The birds perched together on a single tree before simultaneously taking off and flying together towards the west. In the early hours of that night, the whole monastery complex was illuminated by vivid displays of light that lit up the buildings for several hours. Around midnight, from the summit of the mountain came the sound of a stone chime being struck and someone reciting verses on impermanence. The monk heard the cracking sounds of wood starting to burn. Scrambling up the mountain to investigate, they discovered their comrade, Daodu, seated calmly with his palms together

facing west. His whole body was engulfed in flames. End quote. The monk Daodu had self-emulated, leaving behind the material world in a brilliant blaze of heat and light. In the aftermath of his death, the miraculous events continued to unfold. His mortal remains were collected and carefully interred underneath a sacred pagoda. And for a long period thereafter, monks on the mountain reported hearing that same stone chime being rung, though there was no one there to ring it.

Moreover, a large, dead tree that had in life been a favorite place of Daodu to meditate, sprang to life and flourished once again, though it had sat dead and leafless for more than a decade. Whether or not we choose to accept the more miraculous aspects of the story, the more earthly aspects of the tale, the conversation between the emperor and the gaoseng, the conversions and then the self-immolation, are all grounded in historical documentation, and moreover, grounded in Buddhist doctrine, as pointed out by Dadu himself.

For our purposes, it serves as a reminder of just how powerful a spiritual and motivational force the Buddhist faith had become in the south of China by the early 6th century. It was not something merely for princes and emperors, but as in the north, it had been rapidly and fervently taken up by the common people as well. Of course, we can hardly call Daodu Gaoseng a commoner, because he was quite the opposite, the elite class of monk, worthy to serve and converse with the imperial clan directly. James A. Benn is quick to note, however, that this cream of the crop represented something less than 1 20th of 1% of the clergy in southern China.

We shift now back to the imperial palace, and backwards a few years in time to 522, with a member of the royal household in flight. He was Xiao Zhengde, who we mentioned last episode as Emperor Wu's nephew, his younger brother's third son, who had been briefly adopted by Wu before he'd won the civil war and actually become the emperor. This adoption had been, if anything, an insurance policy, since Wu's younger brother had already had several sons, but himself none. He therefore had needed an heir, you know, just in case. In fact, such political adoptions, though relatively uncommon in imperial China, had been positively the norm over the span of

the Roman Empire on the far side of the world. Of the five Judeo-Claudian emperors, for instance, from Augustus to Nero, only Tiberius had been a natural son. But anyway, Wu's adoption of his nephew ultimately proved an unnecessary precaution, and one of the emperor-to-be's concubines ultimately produced a son in 501, rendering poor Xiao Zhengde, well, superfluous. He was subsequently unadopted by Emperor Wu and returned to his birth father's household,

and that had never sat well with Zhengde as he'd grown up. Not one bit. So, by 522, he had made up his mind. If he wasn't to be declared the crowned prince of Liang, as he felt was his right, well then, he'd find a way to take it by force. As such, he fled Liang entirely, making for Northern Wei in the hopes that he would be able to find some assistance to seize the southern throne for himself. As it turned out, though, Zhengde really should have done a little research before actually heading up north to seek their help. Because as it were, the Northern Wei court was not in a particularly helpful mood for angsty southern marquise with entitlement

issues. Much to his surprise, and surely horror, in spite of being the nephew of the Liang emperor, Zhengde was greeted by the way officials and officers he met with not just coldness, but outright hostility. One of the officials, as it turned out, was actually the brother-in-exile of the former and final emperor of southern Qi, Bao Juan. You know, the guy this Zhengde's uncle had killed and usurped. And it was his opinion that a little payback was well in order, and recommended that Northern Wei execute this agent of Liang at once. The emperor, and Emperor Stowager, however, rejected the suggestion to lop off his head and spare Zhengde's life, but that was pretty much all they were willing to do for him. No help would be forthcoming from the north. Embarrassed and humiliated, Xiao Zhengde was forced to return home where Emperor

Wu awaited. His uncle, however, did not punish Zhengde for his would-have-been treachery, perhaps realizing that his own actions that had driven Zhengde to such extremes. Instead, he merely, and reportedly tearfully, rebuked his nephew before restoring his position in the Liang court. Later that year, 523, Liang went into a bit of a currency crisis. Coins were typically forged out of copper, but that had for some time now been presenting a problem,

one that could no longer be ignored. The problem was forgery. Copper had become widespread enough and was easy enough to rework that it seemed just about anyone with a hammer, a fire, and some time on their hands could, hey, mint their own imperial cash, or close enough, at least. This was a problem, to put it mildly, and Wu's administration came up with an unorthodox solution. Abolish copper as a medium of currency and replace it with iron coins.

It is somewhat unclear as to the actual economic impact of this currency change, but we know well enough that it was a historical anomaly. Chinese dynasties would go back to copper coins soon enough, and traditional Chinese histories made after this point typically regarded the idea of iron coinage as silly and untenable. As to why? Well, one of the reasons Wu chose iron in the first place was that, as a much harder metal than copper, it would be significantly more difficult to forge and shape, or even mine out of the ground for that matter. Maybe it was too difficult to work with, or perhaps too difficult to mine in large enough quantities at that point to support a full-scale economy.

In other words, it's possible the Chinese gave up on iron coins because as a metal, its security features were actually too good for the era. 524 would prove a very good year for Liang. As Northern Wei was tied down battling off the rising tide of agrarian rebellions to its north and west, the Liang armies were dispatched to take advantage of their adversary's distraction and retake the middle reaches of the Yangtze and Huai River plains. Given that the bulk of the Wei military strength was off fighting its own peoples in an ultimately losing series of civil wars, the Liang imperial forces were able to move in and occupy, or in many cases reoccupy,

vast stretches of territory, and all of that virtually unopposed. They were even able to take over the strategically vital Peng City in the process by the spring of 525. That run of military success, however, would be short-lived. Once Peng City had been secured, Emperor Wu turned control of it over to one of his sons, Prince Xiao Zong. Now the thing about Prince Zong is that no one was ever really quite sure as to whether he was really Emperor Wu's son at all, and it was widely speculated that he was actually the offspring of the former emperor of southern Qi, Xiao Baozhuang. This whole rumor mill had come about because Zong's mother had previously been Emperor Baozhuang's concubine, but had been taken by Wu for himself when he had assumed the throne. This whole rumor mill had come about because Zong's mother had previously been Emperor

Bao Juan's concubine, but had been taken by Wu for himself when he had assumed the throne. Now that was pretty typical of the time, and in their eyes at least, was all well and good. But then, she ended up giving birth to Prince Zong a mere seven months later. It is possible that Xiao Zong was simply premature, but it's also possible that Consort Wu had been knocked up by her former husband a couple of months before his overthrow. Regardless, Prince Zong, now in his mid-twenties, seemed to have believed the rumors surrounding his parentage. And so, when he was given control of Peng City, he promptly turned around and defected it to Northern Wei,

and gave the city back to them. The result of this remarkable betrayal was that Liang's northward push was effectively stalled out in the summer of 525. 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. By contrasting both the experiences of contemporaries and the conclusions of historians, Grey History dives into the detail and unpacks one of the most important and disputed events in human history. From a revolution based on hope and liberty to its descent into the infamous reign of terror, there's plenty to discuss

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There would be one bit of silver lining to the following summer, though, when Emperor Wu decided that his previous idea to dam the Huai River and drown Shouyang City would definitely work if he just, you know, tried it one more time. Sure, the last time he'd committed hundreds of thousands to such an enterprise, it had resulted in the dam bursting and countless of his own people drowning instead, but, you know, the second time is the charm, isn't it? Well, as it turned out, yes. The second Huai Dam was completed, and this time adequately

maintained against structural breach. As a result, Shouyong was indeed flooded and abandoned, and when the dam was opened, this time in a controlled, non-catastrophic manner, thank you very much, Liang troops were able to retake the deluged city at long last. 526 would prove to be a difficult year for both Emperor Wu and his heir, Crown Prince Xiao Tong. Up until this point, the two had enjoyed a very positive father-son relationship. But 526 would see the untimely death of Crown Prince Tong's mother, Consort Ding, and with it, a souring of the pair's relationship. The split would come as a result of a difference of opinion over Consort Ding's funeral arrangements.

Emperor Wu had buried his wife on a plot of land Prince Tong had specifically been convinced to purchase because he had been persuaded that it would bring good luck to his mother in the afterlife. All for a modest fee, of course. Once she was buried, however, a Taoist monk convinced the crown prince then that this particular plot of land was actually bad luck, and persuaded him to allow the monk to buy several spiritually significant items, particularly mentioning wax ducks, curiously enough, in order to bury in the ground and drive out the bad fortunes. All for a modest fee, of course. Now all of this would have been well and good. What Emperor Wu didn't know wouldn't hurt him. But at some later date, the crown prince went and pissed off one of the officials who had known about his stealth Taoist ritual. And so, of course, the official went straight to Wu

and ratted Prince Tong out, accusing him of practicing witchcraft on the tomb of his mother. Wu was, to put it mildly, not amused. In fact, he was furious and began a full investigation into the purported witchcraft

being conducted against his departed wife. When the burial plot was combed, lo and behold, they dug up the wax ducks, a sure sign of Malthusians, if ever Wu had seen one. Enough questions were put to enough people that the Taoist monk who had recommended the ceremony in the first place was ultimately arrested and executed on charges of sorcery. And as for Crown Prince Tong, though he was spared any official punishment or demotion for his part in the ordeal, the incident would cost him his relationship with his father and drive a permanent wedge between them.

At this point, we are going to step away from historical works momentarily, and instead turn to legend, because 527 would prove an auspicious but curious year for Emperor Wu of Liang, at least if such tales are to be believed. Of course, the year had begun with the highly unusual events we began today's episode with, surrounding the Ruona Monastery, the monk Daodu, his self-immolation, and, if we were to take Buddhist's dailies on the subject at face value at least, the miraculous events that surrounded it all. But according to other Buddhist legends, that year would also be marked by the Emperor Wu supposedly being paid a visit by the founder of Chan Buddhism, better known in the West as Zen Buddhism, in the form of the monk Bharadharma. Bharadharma, known in Chinese

as Puotidamu, was not Chinese, but according to the various contemporary records of the 6th century, was possibly from Persia, India, or maybe one of the Greek-speaking kingdoms of Central Asia that had been the legacy of Alexander the Great's conquests. Chan Buddhist texts frequently refer to him as Bi Yan Hu, translated as the Blue-Eyed Barbarian, a testament to his highly unusual physical features as well as his frequently less-than-friendly disposition. According to the Blue Cliff Record, compiled in 1125 under the Song dynasty. The encounter between monk and emperor did not fare so well. Its first koan, or short story in Zen tradition meant to provoke deep thought and introspection, related the exchange as, quote, Emperor Wu asked the monk,

How much karmic merit have I earned from ordaining Buddhist monks, having sutras copied and commissioning Buddha images? To which Bhadradharma replied, None. Good deeds done with worldly intent bring good karma, but no merit. Surprised, Emperor Wu then inquired, So then, what is the most profound truth of existence? Bhadradharma again replied directly, There is no noble truth. There is only emptiness. By now incensed at this apparent impudence,

Emperor Wu demanded, Then who are you to stand before me and dare speak to me so? Bhadadharma simply stated, I do not know, Your Majesty. End quote. Evidently, this had not been the answer Emperor Wu had been hoping to hear. And soon thereafter, monk Bada Dharma left the Liang Empire for the Shaolin Temple,

where he'd ultimately make a more dramatic impression, but only after gazing at a wall without speaking for nine years, until he was finally admitted, and again, legendarily, taught the Shaolin their now world-famous martial prowess. Regardless of the veracity of the legend of Bodhidharma and Wu, it does seem that something spiritually significant might have indeed happened to the Liang Emperor in 527,

as he was recorded as having suddenly made a decision to leave the capital and make what would be his first submission and offer of direct service to the Buddha at Tongtai Temple. There, he spent some three days in meditation and seclusion before finally returning to Nanjing. And it is worth noting that though this was a rather strange event for Wu, it was not something radically out of left field for him either. He was a very interesting person, and had some peculiarities that stood out enough for even historians generations later to take note of. Sima Guang, the historian and author of the Zizit Hongjian, for instance,

wrote of Wu, quote, He extensively studied mysticism, astrology, horse riding, archery, music, calligraphy, and Weiqi, which we know in the West as the strategy game Go. He worked hard, and even in the coldest winter times, he would get up at the fourth watch to review important matters of state, and as his pen-wielding hand was exposed to the cold air, his skin would break. His single daily meal only contained vegetables

and rough rice grains. Sometimes, when he was busy, he would flush his mouth and no longer eat after noon. Each hat he wore he would use for three years, and each comforter he used, he would use for two years. The emperor disliked alcohol, and unless he was offering sacrifices to the ancestors, feasting with the imperial officials, or holding Buddhist ceremonies, he used no music. Even when he was alone in a dark room, he wore proper clothing and sat carefully. No matter how hot the weather was, he would not peel up his sleeves or expose his arms. 528 would prove highly profitable for the Liang dynasty, and linked to the ongoing turmoil of the northern Wei at the time.

As you might remember from episode 67, the Wei Empress Dowager had poisoned her son the Emperor, and subsequently been overthrown by the rogue general Ardu Rong, triggering what would wind up being the mighty Northern Dynasty's death spiral. Ah, further instability in the North? The Dynasty itself breaking down into factionalized and warring parties? Why, this might be the perfect time for, yep, another invasion. Since we already did use episode 67 to cover the strategy employed by Wu to try to seize the North as a vassal state, I'll just briefly here rehash the major points.

The Prince of Beihai had sought asylum from potential execution as the North went to war with itself, and defected to Liang in 528. And Emperor Wu then decided to use him as an agent of his will, sending him along with a southern army to re-enter northern Wei territory and make a claim for the throne himself. However, once situated in Suiyang city, the prince of Beihai turned on Wu in a bid to use the army he had under his command to take back Wei for himself without having to submit to the Southern Emperor. This ultimately proved futile, however, when both the Prince and the Liang army were crushed by General Ar Zhurong's counterattack.

The general, who had been charged with leading the Liang army to victory over the North, named Cheng Qingzhi, managed to survive his army's destruction and retreated virtually alone back to Liang, where he expected to face the emperor's wrath for his failure. Wu, however, had realized in the interim that the task he'd given to the general had been doomed from the outset. Not only was he trying to conduct a war of conquest against a significantly more powerful foe, but he'd been trying to do so while his own charge had all the while been conspiring against him and had purposefully stopped reinforcements from the south. Therefore, far from punishing General Chun for his failure

to secure an impossible objective, Emperor Wu instead rewarded the commander with the title of Marquis for the difficult and unlikely series of victories he had managed to achieve over the course of the campaign, doomed though it ultimately had been. The following year would see Emperor Wu once again journey to Tongtai Monastery to pledge himself to the service of Buddha. However, unlike his first trip, which had really been more like a weekend retreat, this time he was in it for the long haul. Well, relatively speaking, anyway. This go-round he traveled with no imperial regalia, but rather appeared at the temple alone and dressed in simple monastic clothing. Within, he devoted himself to the ascetic lifestyle of the true adherents of the faith, and devoted his days to the daily chores of the temple, cleaning, preparing food, meditating, and the like.

As well as serving as kind of a guest lecturer on one of his personal favorite seminal works of the Mahayana school, the Nirvana Sutra. Now, the Nirvana Sutra had come out of southeastern India, and is thought to have been compiled in either the 1st or the 2nd century CE. It had, as had almost all things Buddhist, migrated into China largely through the Silk Road. It had been both translated and expanded upon in the 5th century by the traveling India monk Dramaksama, known in Chinese as Xu Fa Feng, after having been captured by soldiers of the short-lived Northern Liang dynasty

in the year 420. As a work, this particular sutra would prove to be deeply influential in especially East Asian variants of Buddhist thought. Its central premises center around the examination of the end of time and the ultimate destiny of all things. From professor of history Stephen Hodge, quote, the Tathagatagarbha, or Buddha nature, doctrine was promoted precisely as a means to save as many people as possible in as short a time. Put simply, this doctrine teaches that Buddhahood already lies within all beings as an innate spiritual nature. This spiritual nature is

concealed by ignorance and multitudes of afflictive factors, and needs to be awakened and revealed. The presence of this nature implies that all beings, in theory, may awaken to Buddhahood quite rapidly, if only they would recognize the presence of that nature within themselves. End quote. One can understand, in that context, why such a document might have been deeply appealing to those who came into contact with it, because it's a bit like the late-night evangelical television preacher for the 6th century. Act now, and you can achieve eternal salvation and godhood today. In all, Emperor Wu would spend almost two weeks teaching, learning,

praying, and laboring in the service of Buddha at Tongtai Monastery. And while he was away, his court officials grew increasingly panicked. What was the policy if the emperor became a monk? Was there even a policy? How could the affairs of the worldly state be left to a monarch if he renounced the worldly entirely? Ultimately, on the 12th day of Wu's pilgrimage, the officials finally figured out a solution. They would bribe the emperor back into power. Not by paying money to him, of course. That would have been pointless. Instead, they made a donation, a large donation, a tremendous donation, to the Tongtai monks. In fact, the Book of Liang states it was a sum to the tune of 100 million coins,

though, as always, we should be wary of placing much faith at all in such figures. In the typically highly poetic and symbolic nature of classical Chinese texts, numbers are stated for their effect far more than for their accuracy. Suffice it to say, though, it was an absurdly large sum of money, and the author of the Book of Liang wanted to make sure that everyone knew it. And all this on the understanding that they would ensure that Wu would make his way back to the capital, kicking and screaming if need be, to resume his political duties. This whole event would formally be known thereafter as the Qingqiu Shuhui Huangdi Pusa, or the

Ransom of the Bodhisattva Emperor. And so, ready, willing, or not, Emperor Wu returned to Nanjing and resumed his role as head of state for Liang, a role in which he'd continue to have a rather muddled result. In 530, with the breakdown of Northern Wei now in full swing, the armies of Liang made yet another attempt at northward conquest, and using much the same strategy as they'd done the last time. Under the auspice of asserting an exiled Prince of Wei, returning and reclaiming the throne from the now dual usurpers, Arju Zhao and Arju Shilong, who as we discussed in episode 67, had overthrown and killed Emperor Xiaozhuang of Wei after he had ambushed and killed their respective uncle, Arju Rong.

The Wei prince, however, quickly realized that with the two Arjus in uncontested control of Luoyang, he stood no chance whatsoever of actually reclaiming the Northern Wei throne, and therefore returned to Liang in defeat that winter. The following year would offer Liang despair of a different sort. The crown prince Xiaotong died. Ever since his mother's death in 526, and his subsequent humiliation after the fact, he had never really recovered. He had mourned deeply for his departed mother over the entire mourning period of three years, and for a long period of time had even refused to eat anything at all,

and had only assented to doing so when his father had demanded that he eat again for the welfare of the state. He then reluctantly accepted eating plain rice porridge, but little else. And though he was described throughout his youth as being rather portly, fat even, in the months and years following Consort Ding's death, he became a shadow of his former self. By 531, his lack of care for his health had taken its toll, and he had been stricken gravely ill. Even so, due to the ongoing strife between him and his father, he felt uncomfortable revealing his condition and carried on in his work as though nothing were wrong,

right up until his death at age 29 or 30. The death of his son and heir, regardless of interpersonal drama, devastated Emperor Wu, and he interned the crowned prince with full honors due to a reigning emperor. Following the funeral, he summoned Tong's eldest son, Prince Xiaohuan, to the capital, in preparation to follow Confucian custom and declare him the next crowned prince. But he just couldn't quite let go of the whole row over the Taoist wax ducks, and hesitated over officially naming Prince Huan the new heir of Liang, ultimately deciding against doing so.

Instead, he turned to his second son with consort Ding, Grand Prince Tong's full-blooded brother, Xiao Gang, and declared that he would instead succeed Wu to the throne. This move not only ran afoul of standard inheritance policies, but was a direct affront to his mourning, but expectant, grandchildren. Though he attempted to mollify them with bestowments of large, powerful principalities on all three of Xiaotong's sons, these consolation prizes would do little to stem their lingering resentment over having been snubbed by Granddad, and only added more tender to the as-yet-unlit pyre underlying the Liang government. But for the moment, the state that was truly in trouble was not Liang, the Wei. As we discussed last time, the Arju brothers had seized control of the northern giant

out from under the Yuan clan emperors, and had themselves become embroiled in a civil war against General Gao Huan, who had supported a rival claimant to the throne. As the civil war had raged on, the Liang imperial army was able to use the conflict to their advantage by once again nibbling around the southern edges of the increasingly unstable Northern Wei Empire, and as such were able to capture several territories that had previously been lost, though they would refrain from making any truly bold or decisive moves against the north for the duration.

In 534, according to the Zizitongjian, Emperor Wu's astrologers came to him bearing an omen from heaven. Now, before launching into this celestial warning, I'm going to pause here and remind us all that the Zizitongjian, fascinating and informative though it is, was compiled, very much like the Siji before it, in the 11th century, which is to say, about half a millennia after these events actually happened. This means that numbers, figures, amounts, and yes, heavenly warnings, really must be taken with a grain of salt. And assuming we discount truly divine providence,

this particular portent seems more like a literary flourish with hindsight rather than actual warning at the time. But here it goes. Wu's astrologers supposedly came to him, warning that the stars had aligned against him. Quote, That autumn, during the seventh month of the Jizhou year, the Fire Star, which is Mars,

entered the southern dipper, whence it would remain for sixty days. The astrologers warned, When Mars is in the dipper, the imperial house is in danger. The sovereign must exit his palace barefoot and circle it to stave off such catastrophe. The emperor did so, but as he circled his residence, word reached him of catastrophe befalling the emperor of Wei. Embarrassed, but relieved, he exclaimed, He was, of course, referring to the ruling Yuan clan of Northern Wei, who you'll recall were not ethnically Han Chinese,

but instead Tuoba Xianbei, hence him calling them barbarians. The Yuan clan was, of course, in the midst of being overthrown, and Northern Wei itself torn apart. It seems that he was surprised that astrological signs would deign to show the affairs and travails of people that he considered so far beneath him. Wu had, so the story goes, dodged a celestial bullet that hit Northern Wei instead. For the time being, as of 535, his reign would remain secure, while Wei would capsize and split in two. And so, today, we're going to let him have his moment of relief, and leave off there. Because next time, we'll be tracking his late reign and eventual violent death.

But not only that, we'll see what the world looks like between the South and the North now that Northern Way is no more, and its warring successors look south not for conquest, but for possible aid. Thank you for listening. 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 10 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.