Chapter 538: The Death of Wang Mang

Zhang Song, who in the chaotic last years of the Xin always managed to follow the victors and keep himself alive, was known in Shangguan Ward as the Wise Old Man. Though he held no office, officials and disciples among his friends often came to consult him on ordinary days.

Zhang Song had initially assumed that Diwu Lun's deliberately farcical antics with the public referendum were merely a cover for the essential reality of "a subject coercing his sovereign," and that in the end, amid a roaring tide of public voices, he would pardon Wang Mang, keep his own hands clean, and win a fine reputation for "benevolence and virtue."

So when all of Chang'an was debating when Wang Mang would die, Zhang Song could mysteriously tell his neighbors that Wang Mang would probably meet the same fate as Jie of Xia: "Nothing more than exile."

Yet even he had never, ever expected that Diwu Lun would actually intend to execute Wang Mang!

Early that morning, a neighbor came to him in high excitement, holding the proclamation: "Old Zhang, you guessed wrong! The court has announced in black and white that on the twenty-fifth day of the fifth month, at the Eastern Watchtower of Weiyang Palace, before the eyes of Chang'an's multitudes, the Wei Son of Heaven will obey Heaven and answer the people, and punish the tyrant with death!"

"Truly… truly kill him!?"

Zhang Song was speechless for a long while. He thought it over for three days and three nights and still could not see what advantage Diwu Lun gained from this. Could it be that he really cared about public opinion? That he actually took the referendum seriously? The Wei Emperor could not be that foolish — surely the voice of the common people was something you merely listened to and then let pass!

The news he got from friends and disciples all said that the Emperor's mind was made up, that he had visited Wang Mang several times, though no one knew what they had talked about, and more confidential matters could not be pried into.

On the day itself, the twenty-fifth, Zhang Song, who had not slept all night, rose hurriedly from his couch at the cock's crow, ate a few distracted mouthfuls of gruel, and by the time his carriage left Shangguan Ward, the sky was just growing light, and the eminent families living in the ward were also setting out one after another.

They had reckoned that today's Chang'an would certainly be livelier than the year-end La Festival days, but they still underestimated the draw of this great event. They had only just reached the vicinity of the Chancellor's office and the arsenal when they found the crowd gradually thickening. As the curfew lifted and Chang'an's gates opened, scholars and commoners from the surrounding areas who had heard the news poured in through the twelve city gates, converging from Hengmen Street, Gao Street, and the East and West Markets below the Eastern Watchtower.

The Eastern Watchtower was named the "Canglong Gate"; it and the Northern Watchtower's "Xuanwu Gate" were both main entrances to Weiyang Palace: the Northern Watchtower faced the barbarian tribes and had once displayed the head of the King of Loulan, while the Eastern Watchtower faced the commanderies and counties of the Nine Provinces.

Today the streets were patrolled by the Commandant of the Capital, guarding every intersection. The great gates of Weiyang Palace were tightly shut, and the Guard Commandant's troops lined the top of the Eastern Watchtower wall, watching everyone warily, while multicolored banners streamed from the battlements.

Further ahead, the square in front of the Eastern Watchtower was already so jammed that not a drop of water could trickle through; carriages could go no further. They could only unhitch the horses and tether them. A servant helped Zhang Song stand on the carriage rail, from which he could just barely make out the scene above: a group of craftsmen in black clothes were assembling some kind of apparatus on top.

And the dark mass of heads in the Eastern Watchtower square all craned upward, eagerly awaiting the hour of noon.

One carriage had stopped not far from Zhang Song's; two brothers in brocade clothes stood on its rail. Zhang Song studied the shorter one's appearance — it seemed to be Ban Si of Anling. Then the tall man beside him — could that be Ban Biao, Ban Shupi, who had resigned his post as court historian and returned home?

It was indeed the Ban brothers. Ban Biao had originally shut himself away in his study, but when he abruptly heard that Diwu Lun really meant to kill Wang Mang, he was so shocked that he could not restrain himself and came with his elder brother to witness this scene unheard-of since ancient times.

The Ban brothers were also holding the official proclamation, poring over Diwu Lun's "Spring and Autumn brushwork."

Ban Biao, who possessed genuine learning, pointed out with piercing insight: "Though many people quote Mencius's words, 'I have heard of the punishment of the outcast Zhou, but I have not heard of the killing of a sovereign,' using this to exonerate the Emperor, Brother, just look — what this proclamation cites are the words of Mozi!"

Ban Si was a bibliophile; in years past even Huan Tan had come to his door to seek instruction, and his house held many works of the Hundred Schools. He understood at once: "Someone asked Mozi: 'In former times, Yu campaigned against the Youmiao, Tang attacked Jie, and King Wu attacked Zhou — these men were all established as sage kings. For what reason?'"

"Mozi replied: 'You have not examined the categories of my words, nor understood the reasons behind them. Those were not what is called "aggression"; they are called "righteous punishment."'"

But Ban Si's expertise was in Huang-Lao; his understanding of Confucianism and Mohism was not as deep as Ban Biao's. "What difference is there between this and Mencius's 'punishment of the outcast'?"

"They are utterly different!"

Ban Biao said: "For the Confucians, 'punishment' is the superior chastising the inferior, while 'regicide' is the inferior offending against the superior. Thus when Tang exiled Jie and King Wu attacked Zhou, these were in fact cases of a subject killing his sovereign. Mencius, unwilling to believe the books entirely, patched this hole by refusing to acknowledge Shang Zhou as a sovereign, calling him instead a 'mere fellow.' In this way, the crime of 'regicide' did not exist — Tang and Wu were the true Sons of Heaven, and their exiling and punishing of Jie and Zhou was still the superior chastising the inferior."

"Mozi, however, is different. In Mozi's so-called 'righteous punishment of the tyrant,' there is only the distinction between the just and the unjust. Even if the tyrant is still the sovereign, so long as he wantonly inflicts tyrannical rule, then every man has the right to punish him with death — it does not necessarily require a sage king!"

One was a new heroic emperor punishing a false sovereign; the other was the common people themselves being able to act. The difference was enormous!

Ban Si savored the implications. Since Han times, even Mencius's words had been considered somewhat heterodox, and were not to the liking of sovereigns like Emperor Wu of Han. And now Diwu Lun had actually cited the even more radical words of Master Mozi. What was he trying to do?

A bold notion occurred to him: "Could it be that the Emperor's lack of learning is the cause?"

Ban Biao shook his head. "Even if the Emperor is not versed in the classics, he still has men like Wang Long at his side to assist and draft on his behalf. They would never permit such a grave error."

The two brothers raised their heads and looked at the top of Weiyang Palace's Eastern Watchtower, where the craftsmen were gradually assembling something into shape — a wooden frame, with a coldly gleaming blade at its center. It seemed to be an instrument of execution. At the thought that the old wretch Wang Mang, who had plagued the realm for so many years, would die beneath it, the crowd grew excited for a moment.

Zhang Song, however, looking at the agitated mood of the people to his left and right, felt a chill run through his whole body despite the heat of the day. He now could not fathom Diwu Lun at all, could not understand him.

From the time Wang Mang became Duke Who Pacifies the Han, Zhang Song had served as a hired literary hack for the Xin Dynasty, endlessly singing Wang Mang's praises. Though he had escaped the purge, he still harbored some sentiment for the Xin. Now that Wang Mang was truly about to die, even a weathervane like Zhang Song felt the fox's grief at the hare's death.

As for Ban Biao? The more he watched, the angrier he grew.

"The common people do not understand the distinction, but I do."

"Examining the calamities and downfalls of all the rebellious ministers, villains, and men without principle recorded in the books and traditions, there has never been one so wildly absurd as Wang Mang. The Xin Dynasty and the tyrannical Qin, though their paths differed, came to the same end — both perished in fifteen years. Both were cases of a parched dragon whose breath was cut off, a fate not decreed by Heaven's mandate, a purple sound and a frog's croak, fit only to be assigned to the intercalary position, never the orthodox line. Wang Mang's end should have been to die by the Five Punishments, as the old traitor who usurped the throne, at the hands of a true sage king!"

The outcome Ban Biao longed for was, of course, the successful restoration of the Great Han, with Wang Mang as the usurping minister, trampled under ten thousand feet. His greatest crime lay not in bringing chaos to the realm, but in usurpation and treason.

"But now, it is not even counted as 'punishing a mere fellow' — it is directly 'righteous punishment of the tyrant'! This means that until his death, in Diwu Lun's eyes, Wang Mang is still a sovereign!"

"This is truly letting Wang Mang off far too lightly!"

Yet just at that moment, nine clear, crisp tolls of a bell rang out, shaking the whole crowd into silence.

But only an instant later, the people erupted once more in cheers that resounded across the entire Eastern Watchtower, Weiyang Palace, and even the city of Chang'an!

Because a figure robed in the Twelve Symbols and wearing a crown and cap had appeared atop the Eastern Watchtower.

"His Majesty the Emperor has arrived!"

…

It was not only Diwu Lun who had come; Wang Mang had also arrived. The white-haired old man was dressed entirely in plain white, with no cangue, chains, or ropes, merely leaning on a staff as he walked amid the procession, as though he were not a criminal, but an elder whom the Emperor had invited to observe the ceremony.

But over a thousand pairs of eyes — the Guard Commandant's troops and the Gentlemen of the Palace Guard — were fixed upon the old fellow.

Wang Mang, however, paid them no heed. He only watched as, beneath the Canglong emblem of the Eastern Watchtower, the Commandant of Justice, Peng Chong, holding a simple voice-amplifying device, read out the summary of Wang Mang's crimes, compiled after months of joint tribunal review. These were only simplified outlines; Diwu Lun had already ordered the specific details and content compiled into volumes, to serve as source material for the official history.

"The Xin's toppling momentum was more perilous than that of Jie and Zhou, yet Wang Mang remained complacent, fancying himself a second Emperor or Shun. He then gave free rein to his arrogance, brandished his ferocious deceptions, raged against Heaven and cruelly abused the people, plumbed the depths of evil, spread his poison throughout the Xia lands, and extended the chaos to the Man and Mo barbarians, yet still could not sate his desires. Thus within the Four Seas, the people cried out in despair, losing all heart for a happy life; within and without, all were filled with fury and resentment, and far and near alike rose up. And so the realm was torn asunder, cities and towns became mounds of ruins, harm spread to all living people, and calamity reached even to rotted bones…"

Diwu Lun stood at the very center. His frame was not particularly tall, yet he did not resort to such self-deceiving tricks as placing bricks beneath his feet. The young Emperor swept his gaze over the dark mass of people below the Eastern Watchtower — what was he thinking, no one knew.

Wang Mang, however, was thinking of that day, of his final conversation with Diwu Lun.

In the pouring rain, the two had talked for a long while longer, and Diwu Lun had continued speaking of the "Announcement of Zhong Hui."

"The Yin-Shang boasted that their replacement of the Xia dynasty accorded with the Way of Heaven, because Shang Tang affirmed the governance of Yu the Great, while deeming that Jie of Xia had thrown Great Yu's constant laws into chaos, and that he himself was in truth setting right disorder and restoring order."

"Old Wang, you are even more particular."

Diwu Lun had said this to him in the rain: "You were once like Great Yu, and you did rouse yourself, wishing to forge a great enterprise, to restore the rule of the Three Dynasties, and let the world once more enjoy peace. But Old Wang, in the end, you still lived to become Jie of Xia!"

"Old Wang's determination to bring about change is worthy of praise."

"But your crime of throwing the realm into chaos must also be punished!"

Wang Mang now admitted the mistakes he had made, but the one thing he could not accept was Diwu Lun's condescending attitude. He had ability, but no virtue: "You little whelp, are you truly fit to judge and punish me?"

But Diwu Lun had laughed heartily and said: "You are wrong. The one who punishes Old Wang with death is not Diwu Lun, nor is it simply a matter of the victor being king and the loser a bandit. It stems from the will of Heaven and the hearts of the people!"

The recollection came to an abrupt halt. As Peng Chong finished the preliminaries, Diwu Lun personally took the simple voice-amplifying device, and the volume suddenly swelled as he read out the final line of the edict:

"Lun, though lacking in ability, today obeys Heaven and answers the people, and together we punish this tyrant with death!"

With these words, he actually faced the nearly one hundred thousand people below the Eastern Watchtower, clasped his hands, and bowed!

The atmosphere was ignited once more. Though the people could not understand the refined, literary language of the proclamation, most of them had taken part in casting tiles to decide Wang Mang's life or death, and had long felt a sense of participation. They had gazed at the stars and moon, waiting and waiting, until this day finally came — their excitement was beyond words. On ordinary days, even the execution of a robber at the East Market drew crowds that packed the walls; how much more so today, when it was the execution of a former dynasty's Emperor!

They even faced the Eastern Watchtower, raised their hands, and shouted slogans they themselves barely understood.

"Kill Wang Mang!"

"Execute the tyrant!"

Only Ban Biao, who grasped the profound weight of those three words "execute the tyrant," stood engulfed by the roar of voices, looking utterly alone.

Yet the target of this condemnation, Wang Mang, still stood quietly, unshaken by the clamor. After Diwu Lun had taken him captive, he had imagined, over and over, how his "martyrdom" would look — it was to be heroic and tragic, and he had even prepared the words he would speak before death:

"For what my heart holds dear, though I die nine deaths, I shall never regret it!"

Such were the times. Since the Xin Dynasty had fallen, the Red Eyebrows had collapsed, and the cause of restoring the Three Dynasties and bringing Great Peace could never be realized — the world would sink back into utter darkness — then let him die.

But now, standing a single step from death, Wang Mang felt a twinge of reluctance.

For on the day the torrential rain fell, Diwu Lun had spoken with him at length, and had actually said that the land equalization, the enrichment of the state, even the expansion Wang Mang had once envisioned — all were things he himself would carry out in the future. Though the concrete measures differed, their ideals converged by different paths.

Diwu Lun had even laughed at Wang Mang's past failed reforms, saying they had dug countless pits for him, so that even land equalization had to be done in secret, only advancing bit by bit by desperately splitting the powerful clans; currency had to be handled with even greater caution, because the common people had been utterly ruined by Wang Mang's meddling.

At court and in the provinces, countless people used the failure of the Five Equalizations and Six Monopolies under Wang Mang's Xin as a pretext to resist Diwu Lun's efforts to bring salt, iron, wine, waterways, marshes, and mines back under state control.

"The cart ahead has overturned, and it still blocks the road for the cart behind. Old Wang, you have done me no small harm."

"The difference is, Old Wang, your reach exceeded your grasp — you only ever thought about it."

"But I — I will get it done!"

Though he found it laughable, this very thing suddenly stirred in Wang Mang a faint desire to cling to life. He wanted to see how Diwu Lun would do it — how he would accomplish what Wang Mang had poured all his heart into, yet failed to achieve both at court and in the provinces. For all his stubborn denials, what Wang Mang had seen and heard on this westward journey made it clear to him: though everything was still in its rough beginnings, in many respects, it was already on the right track.

But Wang Mang would never have that chance.

…

By the Eastern Watchtower, amid waves of cheering, Diwu Lun looked with satisfaction upon all that he had orchestrated. He turned back — the guillotine was fully assembled; the "altar" was ready.

"All that's missing is a sacrificial offering, a victim."

Because the guillotine Diwu Lun had personally designed had only been tested on flat ground and not yet trialed since being moved up and installed here, the veterans of the Boar-Rush Braves in the Guard Commandant's army — men who hated Wang Mang — personally stepped forward, carrying several Eastern Mound melons to test the blade and make the final adjustments.

Diwu Lun, meanwhile, walked toward Wang Mang and waved a hand, dismissing the soldiers flanking him.

"Old Wang, are you prepared to meet your death?"

Wang Mang did not answer. He only stared fixedly into Diwu Lun's eyes. Yes, he should have understood long ago…

He himself, Yang Xiong, Liu Xin — all had wanted to be sages. Yang Xiong sought to do it through establishing teachings; Liu Xin, through establishing achievements. And Wang Mang had wanted, like the Duke of Zhou, to establish virtue — to reverse the collapse of ritual and music, to create a system that would endure ten thousand generations!

"Diwu Lun — so you too wish to be a sage, to bring about Great Peace?"

That much was obvious. But what Wang Mang could not fathom was why Diwu Lun's eyes held such confidence, such certainty. This was Wang Mang's final question.

"Diwu Lun, why are you so sure you can succeed?"

Wang Mang pointed at the roaring, surging crowd below the Eastern Watchtower, his expression impossible to read — whether grief or indignation.

"When I first became Duke Who Pacifies the Han, I too won the support of the entire city of Chang'an. The people saw me as the Duke of Zhou reborn, and as they kept saying it, I came to believe it myself."

"When I built the Three Harmony Halls, a single proclamation drew over a hundred thousand people from around Chang'an to rush to the worksite, carrying bricks and hauling earth. In just twenty days, the new buildings of the Imperial Academy were completed — a true wonder."

"When I replaced the House of Han, not one commoner longed for the Han; every man was willing for me to usher in Great Peace!"

"Yet in the end, I still failed. Diwu Lun, do not think that because the masses are stirred by you now, following like an arm obeys a finger — as you yourself have said, the water that bears the boat can also overturn it. How do you know that my today will not be your tomorrow?"

"What virtue, what ability do you possess, that makes you so certain you can accomplish, one by one, all that I left unfinished!?"

Diwu Lun remained silent for a long, long time. At last, he only smiled.

"Of course I can."

Diwu Lun continued walking toward Wang Mang, all the way to his side, and whispered in his ear: "Old Wang and I share the same ideals, but our methods differ. In the final reckoning, it comes down to the difference in our breadth of vision."

"Old Wang's 'Three Dynasties' are the fanciful imaginings of Confucian scholars about high antiquity — illusory and groundless. To apply fabrications and nonsense to a degenerate age only adds chaos upon chaos."

"But I — I have truly, genuinely, seen the Three Dynasties!"

These words fell with ringing finality. Having left Wang Mang with a statement that would baffle him no matter how he pondered it, Diwu Lun sealed his lips. Their figures drew apart, and the conversation came to an abrupt halt.

The Diwu brat had spoken only half his meaning. Wang Mang could not grasp the import of those words. As the bell tolled from the top of the Eastern Watchtower at Weiyang, the hour had come. At Diwu Lun's signal, the executioner, Commandant of Justice Peng Chong, invited Wang Mang to step toward the guillotine.

But Wang Mang only stared fixedly at Diwu Lun — at those still-confident eyes, at that enigmatic smile. It made old Wang Mang's head spin; he could not comprehend it.

As Wang Mang appeared at the edge of the Eastern Watchtower wall, the common people began cheering again, their voices brimming with impatience. The multitude melts metal — this heat wave was fiercer than the May sun, nearly enough to melt Wang Mang!

At that moment, Wang Mang did a very strange thing.

The old man turned his head once more toward Diwu Lun, his lips moving faintly as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, no words came. He simply raised both hands and touched the empty air above his head, as though removing the imperial crown of the Son of Heaven that was not there.

Wang Mang was a great Confucian scholar; he understood perfectly the difference between "executing a tyrant" and "executing a mere commoner." This meant that, until the very moment of his death, he remained a "sovereign."

He had once told Fan Chong of the Red Eyebrows that his original plan had been, after the Red Eyebrows' reforms succeeded, to reveal his identity and then gladly accept his fate — but before dying, to abdicate the throne of the Son of Heaven to one who could carry on his cause.

Though events had deviated somewhat from what he had envisioned, and this "successor" was a man of talent but lacking virtue, with whom he shared a great enmity — still, at the very brink of death, Wang Mang had at last found him.

Reluctantly, unwillingly, Wang Mang slowly raised his hands, as if bearing a weight of ten thousand jun, and then, before the eyes of a multitude, extended them through the air toward Diwu Lun!

Since Diwu Lun wanted to use him as the sacrificial offering, to thereby complete this "revolution" and inaugurate Great Peace — then let Wang Mang, who had spent a lifetime tirelessly striving for Great Peace, grant him this.

Diwu Lun was first taken aback, then grasped Wang Mang's meaning. But he did not accept this empty, intangible title. He only shook his head at Wang Mang.

He patted the emperor's crown on his own head, pointed first to the heavens above, then to the Eastern Watchtower! To the ten thousand people!

I do not need your abdication.

My mandate as Son of Heaven comes from the will of Heaven and the hearts of the people.

Wang Mang let out a mirthless laugh. In the end, it was all misplaced.

Dejected, he turned back, and following the direction of Diwu Lun's pointing finger, paced to the edge of the Eastern Watchtower wall. The guards blocked him, wary that he might jump, but Wang Mang only wanted to look at the crowd below. For a moment, his eyes reddened, and then he bowed deeply to them with clasped hands!

Was this an apology, or a farewell?

But all that greeted him were curses, growing ever louder.

To the accompaniment of these curses, Wang Mang stepped onto the execution device Diwu Lun called the "guillotine." It seemed somewhat more dignified than being torn apart by five horses or suffering the Five Punishments.

There were wooden bars to hold Wang Mang's head in place. He refused to lie face down, choosing instead to lie on his back and face death directly.

The wooden bars were even carved with fine woodwork, the patterns ingeniously conceived: rows upon rows of common people's hands, supporting Wang Mang's white-haired head.

And the crossbeam above the guillotine? It was woven with auspicious clouds, as if reflecting the hidden will of Heaven.

As for the slanting, trapezoidal blade, its pattern depicted Xingtian dancing with shield and battle-axe.

The official ordered to carry out the execution was the Commandant of Justice, Peng Chong. His father was Peng Hong, the Governor of Yuyang under the Han, who had been killed for opposing Wang Mang. Peng Chong bore a family blood-feud against Wang Mang. Back when Diwu Lun first brought him into Chang'an, it was precisely as a last resort — so that, if circumstances demanded it, Peng Chong could strike and finish Wang Mang off…

Who could have guessed that, having evaded Tianfeng, he would not evade Wude. Peng Chong was reluctant, but he also realized this was a chance to leave his name in the annals of history. And so, with trembling hands, he gripped the guillotine's release mechanism. One sharp pull, and the axe-blade would plunge down and sever Wang Mang's hoary head!

The crowd suddenly fell silent, swallowing hard, eyes wide, standing on tiptoe, waiting to witness this unprecedented scene.

And upon the city wall, those ministers who either bitterly hated Wang Mang or secretly pitied him held their breath as well.

Wang Mang himself, however, simply stared blankly at the blade. All men must die — some deaths are weightier than Mount Tai, others lighter than a goose feather. What did his own count for?

He suddenly felt utterly, utterly weary; the whole world spun around him. Only in a murmur did Wang Mang utter his final words.

"Diwu Lun, my sole wish is that you… can truly, on my behalf, mend… the great wrongs, and bring peace to all under Heaven…"

The light faded from his eyes, and even his breathing stopped. His life ceased in the moment before the execution.

But no one noticed this. The executioner swept aside Wang Mang's white hair. With a crisp drumbeat, Peng Chong released his grip. The blade hurtled down, and the spurting blood stained the top of the Eastern Watchtower crimson!

After a brief silence, as Peng Chong raised Wang Mang's severed head high for all to see, Chang'an erupted into a sea of cheers!

Amid the crowd, someone let out a long breath of relief.

Atop the city wall, the assembled ministers were heavy with worry.

Inside the Anding Hostel, someone wept until their face was streaked with tears.

And Diwu Lun merely stood fixed in place and bowed once more toward Wang Mang's corpse.

"Rest in peace."

The past history was severed at this point.

A new history — it was now his to create.

……

Everything seemed to stop, and yet it seemed not to stop.

The world sank into darkness.

The first sound to emerge was a heartbeat — his own heartbeat, thump-thump, as if a life long dormant were struggling to revive.

Then came a jumble of noise flooding his ears: all around him were languages he could not understand, and strange sounds ticking and clicking away, while his nostrils caught an indescribable scent.

By the time he gradually regained consciousness, he discovered that he seemed to be neither atop the Eastern Watchtower nor beneath the guillotine, but lying flat on a soft "couch."

After a desperate effort, he opened his eyes — but at once, a fierce glare stabbed into them, forcing him to shut them again.

Summoning his courage once more, he at last tentatively reopened his eyes, and immediately his pupils dilated sharply.

Wang Mang saw the blinding source of light.

Suspended from the spotless white ceiling, an enormous, dazzling "candle" radiated a light like the sun itself.