Chapter 976: Storms Over the South

As for the south, as the strategic focus of the Great Han and a direction of key concern, it naturally saw its share of turbulent winds and clouds. Ever since the great war in the north ended in victory for the Great Han and the Han court turned its gaze southward, the few remaining powers all felt tremendous pressure, chiefly the Southern Tang and the Southern Han—especially the Southern Tang.

The court grew ever more aggressive, while the Southern Tang retreated step by step. Though they knew of the Great Han's ambition to unify the realm, they dared not defy the court's will, dared not resist before it moved its troops, and dared not fall short on their annual tribute. The entire Southern Tang was plunged into a state of waiting for death; from top to bottom, all were mired in despair. Because of that despair, knowing the end was inevitable, they gradually sank into degeneracy and decadence.

After the Huainan War between Han and Tang ended, the Jiangbei literati faction led by Han Xizai held power for a time, vigorously implementing reforms—striking at powerful nobles, great landowners, and official-merchants—and achieved a measure of success, with state finances also improving.

During those years, though the Southern Tang's national strength was weakened by the complete loss of Jiangbei, on the whole it remained stable. With Jiangnan's foundations intact and ties to Jiangbei not yet severed, the economy even enjoyed a period of prosperity.

During that time, beyond meeting the annual tribute, the Southern Tang managed to accumulate considerable funds and grain, which were used to develop the military and expand armaments. The Runzhou Army, the cream of the Tang army's fighting strength, was trained by Lin Renzhao during that period. The common people benefited as well—land annexation was curbed, and social contradictions were alleviated. But the price was that conflicts among the upper echelons grew increasingly acute, and those powerful nobles, bureaucrats, and landowners whose interests were damaged formed a complete alliance.

Thus, good times did not last long. As the Tang sovereign Li Jing gradually indulged in pleasure again, succession issues loomed with hidden dangers, the Feng brothers and the Jiangnan aristocratic faction were rehabilitated and restored to power, and bureaucrats like Zhong Mo who leaned toward the north began conspiring—a whole series of circumstances cast a heavy shadow over the Southern Tang's fortunes.

When Li Hongji's murder of his uncle erupted, Han Xizai, as a political ally, was implicated and completely lost power. The Feng brothers took the reins once more, and that formally proclaimed the end of the Southern Tang's fragile stability and prosperity. All policies unfavorable to nobles, bureaucrats, landowners, and merchants were abolished, and Han Xizai's reform achievements ultimately came to naught.

From top to bottom, everything returned to its former state—and because of the larger situation, it became even more frenzied and extreme. After losing Jiangbei, the economic complementarity and balance between north and south of the Yangtze was shattered, and the state's ever-heavier burdens were shifted entirely onto the shoulders of ordinary people. In just these few years, though grain and cloth production in the once-prosperous Jiangnan heartland remained high, the lower classes grew increasingly impoverished, and popular resentment ran deep.

As for Li Jing personally, he had not failed to see the results of the reforms. Why did he change course, abandon Han Xizai, and instead let the Jiangnan literati hold power? Such a choice cannot simply be dismissed as the act of a muddle-headed ruler.

The deeper reason lay in the risks Li Jing perceived. The Southern Tang's founding had depended on the support of literati and landowners from both Jiangnan and Jiangbei, and the powerful nobles were its very flesh and blood. The southern literati had always been stronger than the northern, and with all the Jiangbei prefectures lost, the disparity in strength became even more pronounced. When the bureaucrats, meritorious nobles, landowners, and merchants of Jiangnan—all vested interests—united, even Li Jing found it daunting.

Had a ruler of firm resolve and iron hand been in his place, perhaps he could have withstood the pressure and defended the fruits of reform. But Li Jing was not such a man; weakness was his hallmark, and he utterly lacked the boldness to accomplish great things.

Thus, when that powerful conservative force launched its counterattack, Li Jing retreated, choosing to cast aside Han Xizai. From that point, the Southern Tang's final years of decline and decay began—a steady slide downhill, with the ancestral temple destined for ruin.

It was under these circumstances that Han Xizai, more than thirty years after crossing south of the Yangtze, with a bumpy official career and several rises and falls, saw his grand ambitions ultimately unfulfilled. He turned instead to indulgence in music and women, no longer concerning himself with state affairs. And the famous "Han Xizai's Night Banquet" scroll, which would leave a great name in history, was painted by Gu Hongzhong during this period—appearing ahead of its time.

Perhaps out of guilt, upon learning of Han Xizai's condition, Li Jing specially bestowed considerable wealth upon him and selected several beautiful palace maids from the Tang palace to serve him in the Han residence. He also halted the Jiangnan literati's attempts to settle scores with Han Xizai. In this way, Li Jing could probably feel somewhat better about himself.

However, Li Jing ultimately did not live to see the Southern Tang's final fall. He died of illness in the Tang palace in the eleventh month of winter in the thirteenth year of Qianyou. For Li Jing, this was perhaps a kind of release—at least the title of "sovereign who lost his kingdom" would not fall upon him.

Crown Prince Li Congjia, supported by the assembled ministers of Jinling, succeeded to the throne that same year and changed his name to Li Yu. This emperor of a thousand ci poems formally stepped onto the stage of history. Yet for Li Yu, this was clearly no blessing. Facing the rolling tide of history, he was an unqualified helmsman controlling a leaking, broken ship, struggling forward through turbulence.

Compared to Li Jing, Li Yu's position after taking the throne was more difficult, and his control over the court weaker. The chaos in governance and the suffering of the people grew even worse. Still, he did do a few things—for instance, maintaining the policy of deference to the Central Plains court. Immediately after his accession, he sent envoys to present a memorial. To meet the annual tribute demands, he continued to levy heavy taxes on the people, making the people of Jiangnan increasingly resentful.

At the same time, he abandoned those self-deceiving pretenses and fully assumed the posture of a Central Plains vassal and sovereign of Jiangnan, with all ceremonial protocols reduced in rank accordingly. Li Yu vainly hoped that through such attitudes and actions he could win the court's favor and avoid invasion by the great power's armies.

Of course, anyone with sense knew this would have no effect whatsoever. In the fourteenth year of Qianyou, on Liu Chengyou's thirty-first birthday, an edict was issued inviting the Jiangnan sovereign Li Yu to the capital—and he refused once again.

Li Yu's reason was that he had only recently ascended the throne, the realm was not yet tranquil, and he could not easily leave his post. He merely sent envoys bearing lavish gifts to congratulate Liu Chengyou. The primary reason, however, was fear—fear of being detained. Li Yiyin was a cautionary precedent. Thus, he risked offending the Han emperor by refusing.

For Li Yu and for Jinling, they knew the kingdom was doomed yet could do nothing about it. But as for voluntarily surrendering and offering up their territory, that was a choice they would not make until the very last moment.

The young Jiangnan sovereign, faced with the nation's peril, did not rouse himself to action. Unable to bear the rot of state affairs, he ultimately handed military and political matters to his ministers and secluded himself in the deep palace, indulging in poetry and romance. In the year-plus of his reign, aside from matters concerning the Great Han, he rarely concerned himself with anything, instead immersing himself entirely in art and entangled in love affairs, leaving behind no small number of erotic palace verses. Perhaps only when the Han army marched south would he be jolted awake...

With the change of sovereign, the reformist faction sank into complete despondency, and militarily, the Southern Tang suffered yet another blow. The greatest blow was the death by illness of Liu Renshan, Military Governor of Ezhou. Liu Renshan had long served as the defensive pillar of Jinling's upper reaches; his passing meant Jiangnan lost a commander and lost a bulwark.

Jiangnan's generals had long been in a state of scarcity between generations. By the fifteenth year of Qianyou, only Lin Renzhao remained a usable commander. Fortunately, Li Yu heeded advice and transferred Lin Renzhao north from Nanchang Prefecture, entrusting the Yangtze defense line to him. Yet when the Han army marched south, how could a mere Lin Renzhao hold the line?

Compared to Jiangnan's precarious state, the Southern Han was hardly tranquil either. Liu Chang was dissolute and cruel, eunuchs and sorcerers wielded power, governance was dark and chaotic, the people suffered in misery, and grievances filled the roads and fields. "When a kingdom is about to perish, demons must appear"—that was the truest portrayal of the Southern Han.

Here, one must mention the disputes between the Han and the Yue states. Initially, Liu Chang harbored ambitions of proclaiming himself emperor and received stern reprimands and warnings from the Han court.

Faced with the threat of the Han emperor's decree—being both young and reckless, ignorant and fearless—Liu Chang flew into a rage. Not only did he ignore all counsel and expel the court's envoys, but in the eighth month of the twelfth year of Qianyou, he restored the imperial title at Xingwang Prefecture, ascending the throne as emperor, and simultaneously cut off all contact with the Central Plains.

Such a slap in the face to the central authority naturally enraged Liu Chengyou, who directly ordered the Han army in Hunan to march south in two columns to punish the Southern Han. One column, with Pan Mei as commander, led ten thousand troops south from Quanzhou to attack Guizhou; the other, with Cao Bin as commander, dispatched ten thousand troops south from Chenzhou to attack Shaozhou.

Judging by the mobilized forces, the Great Han had not exerted even a fraction of its strength—the mobilization was confined to Jinghu. The intent was merely to teach the Southern Han a lesson and to prepare for the future annexation of Lingnan. Though angered by Liu Chang's actions, the Han court maintained its composure, and Liu Chengyou restrained his fury.

Even so, Pan Mei and Cao Bin gave the Southern Han a bitter taste of defeat. The Yue state could field an army of a hundred thousand; though its fighting quality was poor, the sheer numbers were there—perhaps that was the source of Liu Chang's fearlessness.

Facing the Han army's punitive expedition, the Yue side naturally responded with toughness. Their response had three main characteristics: first, since the Han army came in two columns, they too split their forces to deal with both; second, eunuchs led the troops; third, they were eager for battle, seeking to engage the Han army head-on.

To deal with the Han invasion, Liu Chang assembled a total of sixty thousand troops from various regions. On the Guizhou front, they lost four battles in a row; on the Shaozhou front, they lost three consecutive engagements. The result: in the west, Guizhou was lost; in the east, Shaozhou was held, but Lianzhou was taken by Cao Bin, with nearly forty thousand casualties in men and horses.

Had their forces not been insufficient and their momentum exhausted, Pan and Cao could have destroyed the Yue state outright. Pan Mei also took the opportunity to memorialize the court, stating that the Yue army was weak, the people did not support them, and requesting reinforcements to annihilate the state. At the time, Liu Chengyou was genuinely tempted, but after comprehensive consideration, he gave up the idea, instead replying with orders for them to rest and regroup in place, planning for future years. Fighting outnumbered had its costs, after all.

As for Liu Chang, the string of defeats finally woke him up. In panic, he at last accepted counsel, submitted a memorial, and sent envoys to sue for peace, while quickly removing his imperial title.

Seeing that he knew his place, the Han court agreed, but increased his annual tribute quota. Compared to Jinling, the Yue state's tribute burden had never been particularly heavy; this was a lesson to them. As for the lost cities and territories, there was naturally no question of returning them.

Liu Chang had been the Southern Han emperor for less than four months in total—a taste of the imperial thrill, but at the cost of lost troops, lost territory, and increased tribute, becoming a laughingstock for a time.

Speaking of the south, one more power must be mentioned: the Dali Kingdom, sequestered in the southwest. When the court turned its gaze southward, Dali took the initiative to send envoys to the Eastern Capital to establish friendly relations, hoping to become good neighbors.

The Duan clan of Dali had ruled for twenty-five years, now in its fourth generation, with Duan Sicong on the throne. They had always played their own game, but amid the dramatic transformation of the realm's situation, how could they remain aloof?

Especially after the Great Han destroyed the Meng Shu, they had to be on guard. Add to that Wang Quanbin sharpening his blade in the southwest—how could they not panic? When a weak state faces a strong one, if it cannot humble itself and remain fearful, then it is not far from ruin.