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Zheng Huchen Seeks Revenge in Mumian Temple

The above poem is by Zhang Zhiyuan.⁶ After the Song dynasty moved its capital to the south, the years of the Shaoxing [1131–62] and Chunxi [1174–89] reign periods knew no warfare. Hence, the emperor and the ministers considered themselves to be in the midst of peaceful times and indulged in every pleasure to their hearts’ content. Literati scholars toured the scenic lakes and hills, with never a thought of recovering the Central Plains. That is why the last two lines of the above poem read, “Praise not this landscape to the Central Plains; / Xishi of West Lake caused eternal regret.” At that time, West Lake was graced with cassia buds all through the autumn, and the fragrance of flowering lotus filled the air for a distance of ten li. Fringed by wooded hills, the lake, with its green water and reflections of gilded towers and terraces, was indeed a most beautiful resort. Academician Su Dongpo [Su Shi]⁷ had a poem that contained these lines: “Shall I compare the West Lake to Xishi, / Just as charming with makeup heavy or light?” Therefore, the emperor and the ministers were so deeply lost in the pleasures of the scenery that they cast aside all worries about the troubles besetting the empire, just as the state of Wu had fallen under the spell of Xishi.

Xishi was a favorite concubine of Fu Chai, the king of Wu, who spent his days with her enjoying the sights of Hundred Flowers Islet, the Brocade Sail River, and Gusu Terrace. There was an evil minister, Bo Pi, who abetted the king and encouraged him in his dissipated ways while, at the same time, advising him to kill ministers of moral integrity. As a result, when the Yue troops descended upon them, the kingdom fell and the king lost his life.

Now, after the Song dynasty moved its court to the south, it was still possible, for all the rampant power of the barbarians, to recover the Central Plains, because the people there still pledged their loyalty to the house of Zhao. It was by similarly letting some evil ministers hold power that the Song dynasty perished, a victim of its own extravagance and inertia. Who were the evil ministers? They were Qin Hui [1090–1155], Han Tuozhou [1151–1207], Shi Miyuan [d. 1232], and Jia Sidao [1213–75]. During his nineteen years of office as prime minister, Qin Hui assiduously advocated appeasement, murdered Yue Fei, and removed Generals Zhang Jun, Han Shizhong, and Liu Qi from military power. Prime minister for fourteen years, Han Tuozhou ruined Prime Minister Zhao Ruyu, deposed upright ministers, rashly caused disputes at the border, and brought humiliation to the empire and calamity to the people. In his twenty-six years as prime minister, Shi Miyuan murdered Zhao Hong, prince of Ji, and appointed none but the evil to posts in the Censorate and the Bureau of Remonstrance. Almost all men of honor were either demoted or expelled from power.

At the time, with a strong Mongol empire in the north and with the frequent occurrence of strange natural phenomena, the Song dynasty was already well on its way to final collapse. A certain Jia Sidao appeared on the scene as if to accelerate the preordained doom of the dynasty. In his fifteen years as prime minister, he did nothing but deceive the imperial court and seek comfort and pleasure for himself. Even though he was later demoted and deprived of all his titles, and died in Mumian Temple, the damage he had done to the empire was already beyond repair. There is a poem in evidence:

Here begins our story. During the Jiading reign period [1208–24] under Emperor Ningzong of the Southern Song dynasty, there lived in Taizhou, Zhejiang, a man by the name of Jia She. He set out with his page boy on a journey to Lin’an to await appointment for office. On their way, they passed by a place in Qiantang called Phoenix’s Mouth, and, hungry and thirsty after much walking, they stopped at a cottage to ask for lunch. Surrounded by a bamboo fence, the thatched cottage appeared to be quite deserted. Jia She said loudly, “Anybody home?” Thereupon a reed curtain was raised, and out stepped a woman. How did she look?

Seeing Jia She, the woman greeted him calmly with a deep bow. Impressed with her gracefulness, Jia She thought to himself, “Being in the prime of life yet without a son, I would ask for no more than to have this woman for a concubine!” So thinking, he said to her, “I am on my way to the capital to wait for appointment and happened to pass by your house. Would you be so kind as to cook a meal for me? I will certainly pay you for it.”

The woman replied, “Since it is my duty to take care of the kitchen, I will gladly cook for you. What’s more, how could I presume to disobey a distinguished gentleman like you! However, since my husband is away, please do not blame me if I turn out to be a poor hostess.” Her articulateness further pleased Jia She.

Before long, she reemerged from the interior of the house, holding in her hands two bowls of bean soup, saying, “There being no tea in our humble home, please have some of this soup instead, to allay your thirst.” Shortly afterward, she set out a meal for the honored guest and his page boy. Jia She took out some beef jerky and preserved vegetables that he had with him to go with the rice.

The woman placed on the table a big porcelain pot filled with hot water and said, “This is for you to rinse your mouth with.”

Observing her attentiveness, Jia She asked, “What is your name? Why are you living here alone?”

“My surname is Hu. My husband is called Wang Xiaosi. For the last few years, our farm has been doing badly. We are now so poor that he wants us to enter the household of some rich man, but I vowed never to do that. Unable to talk me into it, he has no choice but to find odd jobs for neighboring families to eke out a living while I look after the house all by myself.”

Jia She ventured to remark, “May I say something that might be out of turn?”

“Go ahead, please,” said the woman.

Jia She continued, “I have a good knowledge of physiognomy. Judging from your looks, I don’t think you are destined for a lowly life. Aren’t you ruining your future by staying with a peasant unworthy of you? Moreover, he is too poor to be concerned with your pride. I am a man in the prime of life but still without a son. I am looking for a concubine. Should you be willing, I’d be happy to give your good husband much gold and silk for him to take another wife. Wouldn’t that suit all of us well?”

The woman said, “My husband did indeed want to sell me, but each time I refused. Since you are kind enough to show such compassion, please tell him so yourself when he returns. I dare not take it upon myself to make promises.”

Before she had quite finished, she pointed at the door and said, “My husband is back.”

Wang Xiaosi came into view wearing a tattered cap and a worn-out white shirt, and barged into the house in an inebriated state. Jia She rose and said to him, “I am on my way to the capital to await appointment for office. I happened to pass by and stopped to ask for lunch. I’m sorry for the disturbance.”

“That’s all right,” said Wang Xiaosi. Then he turned to his wife. “My master needs a sewing woman. I’ve seen how good your sewing is, so I told him about you. He wants you to teach his maids and gave me two full strings of cash. This time, you have to do as I say, and go.” (Coincidences lead to matches.)

Standing near the half-raised reed curtain, Hu-shi replied, “I’m too embarrassed to live o other people. No, I won’t go.”

Wang Xiaosi was annoyed. “If you don’t go, I can find no way of supporting you.”

Seeing this as a good moment to put forward his proposition, Jia She feigned a need to relieve himself and left the room but instructed his page boy to lead the man on with hints.

“Sir,” said the page boy, “How can you let your pretty wife live in another man’s house?” (Clever page boy.)

“My little brother,” replied Wang Xiaosi, “you know nothing about the poor. Drop all sense of shame for one day, and you’ll have a full stomach for three days. We can’t a ord to sit around idly drinking and eating as the rich do. If she wants to put on airs, she shouldn’t be living with me.”

The page boy pressed his point further. “If there were a rich man ready to pay you and take your wife, would you be willing to let her go?”

Wang Xiaosi exclaimed, “Why wouldn’t I be!”

“As a matter of fact, my master is looking for a concubine. Should you be willing, I’ll try to convince him to give you some extra strings of cash.” Wang Xiaosi consented.

After the page boy’s report, Jia She instructed him to pull o the deal with Wang at forty taels of silver. Wang asked a village schoolmaster to write for him a statement agreeing to the selling of his wife and drew a cross as his signature. The silver having been weighed out, Wang Xiaosi took it, and Jia She took the statement. Afraid that his wife would be unwilling, Wang Xiaosi coaxed her with sweet words. Little did he know that the woman had already taken a fancy to Jia. The attraction being mutual, it was indeed a match made in heaven.

That same night, Jia She and his page boy were lodged in Wang Xiaosi’s house. Wang also took his bedding out to keep the guests company, leaving the woman to sleep alone in the inner room. The following morning, Jia She rose and urged the woman to speed up her toilette. Breakfast over, Wang Xiaosi rented a draft animal from a villager, and, with the woman sitting on its back, they set o on their way to Lin’an. There is a poem in evidence:

About six months after he took Hu-shi into his temporary quarters in Lin’an, Jia She was appointed vice-magistrate of Wannian County in Jiujiang. He returned to his native town to meet his wife, Tang-shi, before he went, with wife and concubine, to assume his new office.

Tang-shi was a jealous woman with a violent temper, and Jia She quite a hen-pecked husband. Now that she saw a concubine in the house, she seethed with indignation and threw temper tantrums at home every day. When she got word that Hu-shi was three-months pregnant, she thought to herself, “My husband has never had a son. If this cheap little woman bears him a son, she’ll naturally be even more favored by him. By that time, she’ll be too well established for me to do anything. Even if I do get a child of my own in the future, her son will still be the first-born and old enough to bully mine. I’d be better o if I could get rid of this root of all troubles as soon as possible.” Accordingly, she found an excuse and gave Hu-shi a sound beating. Taking o Hu-shi’s nice clothes, she made her do menial jobs with maidservants of the house such as boiling tea, cooking meals, sweeping the floor, wiping tables, and making the beds. She also forbade her husband to sleep with her. Not a day passed without her finding some excuse to beat and scold Hu-shi. All this was done to make her lose the baby in a miscarriage. Jia She was choked with fury, but there was nothing he could do.

One day, Chen Lüchang, the county magistrate, invited Jia She for a drink. As they came from the same prefecture, the two families were on very friendly terms. In the midst of the drinking in the magistrate’s tribunal, Chen noticed that Jia She looked troubled and asked him why. Jia She could not very well deny the facts but gave him a detailed account of his wife’s jealousy of the concubine. “The continuation of my family line,” said he, “depends entirely on her. Do you have any suggestion as to how to protect my concubine? Should she be blessed with good fortune and give birth to a son, my ancestors in the underworld will all be grateful to you.”

After a moment of reflection, Chen said, “It’s not hard to protect her, but my only fear is that you’d hate to part with her.”

“I am not allowed to be intimate with her anyway,” said Jia She. “It’s as if we’re worlds apart, even though she may be right by my side. Why wouldn’t I bear parting with her!”

Chen whispered into his ear, “If you want to protect her until she reaches full term, just do thus-and-thus.” He took out a red silk flower and handed it surreptitiously to Jia She, bidding him to give the flower to Hu-shi as a secret mark that the whole plan would depend upon, as was proved by later developments. There is a poem that attests to this:

One day, word got to Magistrate Chen that the vice-magistrate had engaged a doctor to treat his wife, Tang-shi, for a slight illness. After she had recovered, Magistrate Chen had his wife visit her with a gift of four boxes of tea and fruit. (Good chance for a social call.) Tang-shi kept the visitor for a snack, with a row of maids attending on the side. In the midst of the conversation, the visitor said, “It is so nice that you have many maids to attend to you. But our household is short of hands. It’s so annoying to have no one to wait on you when you are in need. Since we can’t find anyone at the moment, could we borrow one of your maids to help us out? We’ll give her back to you when we find someone capable.”

Tang-shi said, “How can you say ‘borrow’? I’m afraid that our maids are too clumsy to be of any use to you, but feel free to pick anyone you like. I’ll give her to you as a present.”

After thanking her, the magistrate’s wife saw, standing among the maids, a pretty girl with the red silk flower in her hair. Realizing that this was none other than Hu-shi, she pointed to her and said, “I would like to borrow this girl.”

Tang-shi, being consumed with jealousy, was only too happy to be rid of her.This request accorded exactly with her wishes. She knew her husband would not object, for how could a vice-magistrate dare turn down his superior, the magistrate? Readily she gave her consent, saying, “This maid’s surname is Hu. She has not been with us long. Since you would like to have her, I’ll have her follow you home right away.”

After the table was cleared, the magistrate’s wife took her leave. Hu-shi made four bows to Tang-shi, put together a few pieces of clothing, and followed Madam Chen’s sedan-chair to the county tribunal. It was only then that Tang-shi told Jia She about it, whereupon Jia She sighed in mock regret. Truly,

Upon Hu-shi’s arrival at the tribunal, the magistrate’s wife gave her a full account of what had happened and prepared a separate room for her to stay in. Time flew by like an arrow. Before anyone knew it, she had reached full term. On the eighth day of the eighth month, after spasms of pain, Hu-shi gave birth to a son. The magistrate’s wife kept the fact from the family, claiming to all that the baby was the son of one of her maids. It so happened that Jia She went to another prefecture to check upon a case, and, before his return in the ninth month, he got to see the magistrate quite often. Chen quietly sent him the good news. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Jia She told Chen of his wish to see the newborn baby, whereupon Chen had a maid ask Hu-shi to stand behind a curtain while the maid carried the baby out and handed him to Jia She. Happy as he was with the baby in his arms, Jia She kept his eyes upon the curtain and could not restrain his tears from flowing. Separated by the curtain, Jia She and Hu-shi exchanged a few tender words. Hu-shi then bade the maid take the baby back. Jia She returned by himself. From then on, he often sent money secretly to Hu-shi for her expenses.The entire family except Tang-shi learned about this.

Time sped by, and, before they knew it, two years had elapsed. The magistrate, having served his full term of office, received a promotion and was about to leave Lin’an. Jia She was left with no choice but to acquaint Tang-shi with the facts, for the mother and the son needed to be brought back home. Upon hearing this, Tang-shi became hysterical and started ranting and raving. Not even the magistrate’s wife was spared from her curses. She ended up demanding that the child not return unless her husband marry o Hu-shi to some other man. If marrying o Hu-shi were the only condition, Jia She would have accepted it, but he hesitated for fear that if the baby were brought home, Tang-shi would stop feeding him or murder him by some other means.

In the midst of Jia She’s debates with himself, a visitor from Taizhou was announced. Jia She hastened to greet the visitor, who turned out to be his older brother Jia Ru. Jia Ru was in charge of picking girls from good families to send to the imperial palace for possible selection as concubines for the crown prince. His daughter Jia Yuhua was already among those selected. (This is where Imperial Consort Jia started.) He was here to take his brother’s counsel about how best to bribe the grand commandant Liu Ba into helping his daughter rise in status. Jia She was on friendly terms with the commandant because it was the commandant’s house that he had rented during his sojourn in Lin’an. At the sight of his brother, Jia She thought to himself, “He couldn’t have come at a better time.” He related to Jia Ru the whole story in detail, from his taking a concubine to the birth of the son and the jealousy of Tang-shi. “As Mr. Chen is about to leave his post,” he continued, “I have no one to send the child to. If, for the sake of the Jia family line, you would take him with you and raise him, I would be deeply grateful.”

Jia Ru said, “I have no son so far. As we’re of the same branch of the clan, who else can you entrust the child to but me?”

Immensely delighted, Jia She quietly hired a wet nurse, took the child back from the magistrate, and handed the boy to the wet nurse. Reminding his brother to take good care of the boy, he wrote a letter to Liu Ba and also gave Jia Ru some travel money. He then asked Mr. Chen the magistrate to take Hu-shi with him and let her remarry.

However reluctant Jia She and Hu-shi were to part with each other, there was nothing they could do. Tang-shi was, on the other hand, greatly satisfied to hear from her husband that both mother and son were to be out of her sight. The really miserable one was Hu-shi. Deprived of her baby, away from her husband, she followed Magistrate Chen on his journey, so heartbroken that in spite of Mrs. Chen’s e orts to placate her, she wept bitterly every step of the way. Chen was annoyed. When approaching Yangzhou, he told the boatmen to find a local matchmaker to marry her o . As long as the man was honest and trustworthy, no wedding gift would be necessary. Now, who would not jump at the o er of a wife who costs nothing?

Before long, a matchmaker brought forth a man, claiming that he was a fine stonemason and greatly praising his sincerity and honesty. You may well say that there could hardly have been only this stonemason for a candidate in a city as big as Yangzhou. Let me tell you why. It is often said, “A greedy lot are the women of the nine professions.”⁹ A promise of extra strings of cash reward was enough to buy over the money-grabbing matchmaker. The stonemason bowed four times to Magistrate Chen and stepped back to stand to one side. Learning that the cleanly dressed young man of strong physique in front of him had never married before and could a ord to support a wife with his skilled craftsman’s hands, Chen gave Hu-shi away to him. At no expense whatever to himself, the stonemason led Hu-shi away as his wife. But of them, for the time being, no more.

Since his separation from Hu-shi and his son, Jia She spent his days in misery. One day, Tang-shi suddenly fell ill and lay down on her bed. Failing to respond to medicine, she died. Jia She bought a coffin, resigned from his post, and escorted the coffin with her body to his native town, where he was as pleased to see his son growing up well as he was saddened to learn that he was not to see Hu-shi, for she had remarried. Indeed,

Jia’s son was now a seven-year-old boy of unusual intelligence. He needed to read a text only once before he could recite it from memory. His father gave him the name Sidao and the courtesy name Shixian. At fifteen, Jia Sidao had read all the books he could get his hands on and was able to write improvised essays as fast as his brush-pen could go. As bad luck would have it, his father, Jia She, and his Uncle Jia Ru died of illness one after the other. The funerals and the burials over, he found himself free of disciplinary restraints and plunged right into gambling, cock-fighting, horse-racing, drinking, and whoring. In four or five years, he squandered away all of his inheritance from both families. He had once heard in family circles that his biological mother, Hu-shi, was married to a stonemason in Yangzhou and that his sister Jia Yuhua¹⁰ was an imperial consort living in the palace. He thought to himself, “Yangzhou is too far from here, and a stonemason living o his trade can’t be a rich man. I know that my sister was selected to be a consort for their prince of Yi, but now that the prince is the emperor, I wonder if his favorite consort Jia is my sister. Why don’t I go to the capital and find out?” It was the first year of the Duanping reign period [1234] under Emperor Lizong of the Song dynasty and the year that Jia Sidao was predestined to start his rise in the world. He sold what was left of the household e ects for a few strings of cash, packed up his baggage, and set out for Lin’an.

Lin’an, the capital of the empire, was a bustling place swarming with people, but Jia Sidao, being a newcomer, had no acquaintances from whom to get information. He spent his days roaming around the lake and venturing into the gambling houses and prostitutes’ quarters. Not many days passed by before he found himself penniless and in rags, sponging meals o rich households in the West Lake area.

One day, groggy with wine, he was taking a nap at the foot of Qixia Hill when a cotton-robed Taoist with a feather fan passed by. At the sight of Jia Sidao, he stopped in his tracks and stared at Jia for a considerable time before saying, “Have some self-respect for yourself. You will have a career as illustrious as the great general Han.” Who was this Han? Well, he was Han Shizhong, lord of Qi [1089–51].¹¹ Being the prime minister as well as a general, he was held in admiration by the Chinese as well as by foreigners. How many men have there ever been whose fame could match his? Jia Sidao dismissed the prediction as nothing more than words of jest not to be taken seriously. (This was indeed said in jest. But, as it turned out, Sidao, in his later years, was to take these words of jest all too seriously.) The Taoist left.

A few days later, a drunken Jia Sidao fell down the steps in the midst of a gambling brawl at the house of Madam Zhao in the prostitutes’ quarters. His forehead hit the ground and there was blood all over his face. Though he was in no danger, he ended up with a scar on his forehead. One day, he ran into the Taoist again in a wineshop. Stamping his foot, the Taoist sighed, saying, “What a shame! What a shame! Now that your forehead is marred by a scar, even though you will attain immense fame, you will die a violent death.” (Such is the will of heaven.)

Grabbing the Taoist by his clothes, Jia Sidao asked, “If there is indeed fame and fortune in store for me, I don’t mind dying after enjoying even one day of fulfillment. (So that’s the full extent of his ambition!) But, as things are now, how can you talk about wealth and power when I’m such a penniless wanderer, with no one to turn to for help?”

The Taoist took another close look at his complexion and said, “Your bad luck is over. Within three days, you will meet someone who will miraculously start you on a meteoric rise in the world. But mark this: In your days of glory, on no account should you set yourself against scholars.” With this admonition, the Taoist took himself o , leaving Jia Sidao unsure whether or not to believe what he had heard.

The days dragged by. On the third day after the encounter with the Taoist, Chen Erlang of the gambling house came to Jia Sidao and said, “Recently, the emperor granted the title of imperial consort to a favorite concubine of his named Jia, whose every wish he indulges. Claiming that Taizhou is her native town, she has sent Grand Commandant Liu Ba to visit her relatives there. (Good plot.) Could she be the sister you often mention? I am telling you about this so that if you are truly related to her, you can go and see Commandant Liu. You’ll surely have something to gain.”

These words had the e ect of awakening Jia Sidao from a dream. He thought to himself, “While Father was alive, he did often say that he had rented a house from Commandant Liu, with whom he developed quite a friendship. It was also through the commandant’s help that Sister got to serve the emperor. I should have gone to him the moment I arrived in Lin’an instead of foolishly wasting time wandering around! But I’m all in rags. How can I go to see the commandant like this?” An idea came to him. From a pawnshop he rented a nice robe and a new cap. Jauntily he betook himself to the residence of Commandant Liu and, announcing himself as the son of an old friend, Mr. Jia of Taizhou, asked to see the commandant.

Commandant Liu was, at this point, packing for his trip to Taizhou to visit Consort Jia’s relatives. Afraid that the visitor might be another pretender, he sent a trusted valet to check his background before letting him in. In a short while, his valet reported back, “It is indeed Jia She’s son, Jia Sidao.”

“Quickly invite him in!” said the commandant.

The commandant’s residence was known for its strict rules. In ordinary circumstances, visitors were just “let” in. The word “invite” was rarely heard. Such courtesy on this occasion was due to the imperial consort’s exalted status.

At the sight of the commandant, Jia Sidao sank to his knees and kowtowed. Though the commandant returned the greeting, doubts still remained in his mind about the visitor’s identity. Only after a detailed questioning was he reassured that this was no pretender. He kept the visitor for some tea and a meal and put him up in the study for the night.

The following morning, he reported the visit to Consort Jia, who, in turn, told Emperor Lizong about it. The emperor then summoned Jia Sidao into the palace to greet the imperial consort. As they chatted about family matters, sister and brother fell upon each other’s shoulders in a flood of tears.

Leading Jia Sidao into the presence of the emperor, the imperial consort said between sobs, “This is the only brother I have. In your august benevolence, please do something for this homeless bachelor.”

The emperor took up his brush-pen and appointed him director of the Sacred Fields, a position entitled to a mansion in the city of Lin’an, ten court ladies for wife and concubines, three thousand taels of gold, and a hundred thousand taels of silver for household expenses—all to be claimed from Commandant Liu.

After thanking the emperor for his grace, Jia Sidao followed Commandant Liu out of the palace and said to him, “The house that the emperor is bestowing upon me must be near West Lake to suit my taste.” (He is going to enjoy the best time of his life there.)

Only too eager to ingratiate himself with Jia Sidao for the sake of the imperial consort, the commandant picked a huge mansion by the side of the lake, and paid double the amount allowed by the government, using his own money to make up the di erence. He then presented the house, complete with servants, furniture, and housewares of every description, to Jia. On the following day, the ten court ladies arrived along with more than ten carriages loaded with valuables sent as a personal gift from the imperial consort. With all this wealth attained overnight, Sidao rewarded Chen Erlang with a hundred taels of gold for his information. Another hundred taels of gold was sent to the pawnshop to thank the owner for having rented him the clothes. But how could the pawnshop owner dare accept the money? On the contrary, the owner came with lavish gifts to o er his congratulations.

From then on, Consort Jia often summoned Jia Sidao to the palace. The emperor himself, while on his outings to the lake, also visited him at his residence and played games and drank with him as with a family member. Matchless indeed were the favors showered upon him. Taking full advantage of his royal connections, Jia Sidao cast all appearances of decency to the winds and visited celebrated courtesans in his sedan-chair or horse-carriage day in and day out. When he met one who struck his fancy, regardless of all rules of propriety, he would take her on his boat to keep company with guests touring West Lake. When there were too many guests, the whole company would be accommodated by several boats that sailed side to side. There was also a neverending flow of small boats that carried wine and food. You may well ask, how could a man of humble origins such as Jia Sidao have any guests to entertain? As the ancients put it so well, “A poor man is deserted by kith and kin; a rich man attracts friends galore.” Now that Jia Sidao was a royal kinsman wallowing in ever-increasing imperial favors, who would not fawn upon him? If one got in, he would bring in others, and it was no surprise that the house became as crowded as a marketplace. Of men of letters, there were Liao Yingzhong, Weng Yinglong, and Zhao Fenru; of military officers, there were Xia Gui and Sun Huchen, just to mention a few of the more famous of the guests. The rest we shall not list one by one.

One day, Emperor Lizong was on Phoenix Hill on one of his excursions when he saw bright candles lightening up the night sky over West Lake. “That must be Jia Sidao,” he said to his followers. He ordered a man to go posthaste on horseback to investigate. It was indeed Sidao touring the lake. The emperor told the imperial consort about this and sent over another carriageful of gold and silk for Jia Sidao’s wine expenses. Henceforth, Sidao became even more unscrupulous in his dissipated ways, as these lines attest:

At the time, the Song dynasty had just wiped out the Jurchens with the aid of the Mongolian army. However, following the advice of Zhao Fan and Zhao Kui, the court engaged the Mongols in hostilities over control of the Yellow River and Yougu Pass and demanded to recover the three cities of Kaifeng, Luoyang, and Yingtian. It was a move that triggered a Mongolian invasion in retaliation against the Song breach of their agreement. The Huai and Han River valleys were thrown into turmoil, and the emperor took alarm.

Having undeservingly won the favor of the emperor, Jia Sidao knew that he could not very well further seek royal titles without incurring reprobation. High position was not possible unless he won top honors by driving the invaders away from the borders, which was the very first priority of the empire. (It’s all right to treat something as a first priority, as long as no fuss is made over a trifle.) Therefore, claiming that he was well-versed in military strategies, he o ered his services and volunteered to go to Yangzhou to raise an army and crush the enemy for the protection of the southeastern region in the name of the emperor. Immensely delighted, Emperor Lizong appointed him military commissioner of the Huai region,¹² to be stationed in Yangzhou. Sidao thanked the emperor, left the court, and, with his wife, concubines, and retainers, went to Yangzhou to assume his post.

Three days later, he quietly sent a trusted retainer to visit his biological mother, Hu-shi. The man found out that she was indeed living at the east end of Guanglingyi with a stonemason. Having ascertained the fact, he reported as much to Sidao, who immediately dispatched a sedan-chair procession to bring her to him. When an official of the tribunal led the sedan-chair carriers in bowing to Hu-shi, the woman was so frightened she almost fainted and did not pull herself together until the official explained his mission entrusted to him by the commissioner.

“Since I am married,” said she, “I cannot do anything without my husband’s knowledge.” Right away, she sent someone to bring the stonemason back and told him about the situation. As the stonemason wanted to follow her, she could not very well refuse him and had to take him along. With Hu-shi riding in front in the sedan-chair and the stonemason on a horse following behind, the procession made its way to the commissioner’s residence. Sidao invited his mother into his private quarters. Mother and son fell upon each other’s shoulders and wept. When they were separated, Sidao was only three years old and Hu-shi in her twenties. More than thirty years had passed before this reunion. How could they not have been filled with emotion?

Hearing that the stonemason was also there, Sidao was ill-disposed toward meeting him. He took out three hundred taels of silver and sent a trusted follower to accompany the stonemason on a business trip down the river. Acting on Sidao’s secret instructions, the man got the stonemason drunk when they were half-way down the river and pushed him into the water. At the report of the stonemason’s death from some illness, Hu-shi felt sorrowful. Henceforth, never an obstacle came between mother and son.

By a stroke of luck, during the six years that Sidao served as commissioner in Yangzhou, all was peaceful and well in the southeastern region of the empire. To please the imperial consort, who missed her brother, the emperor summoned Sidao back to the court and appointed him vice-director of the Bureau of Military A airs, an appointment that coincided with Wu Qian’s replacement of Ding Daquan as vice–prime minister. With the courtesy name Lüzhai, Wu Qian was a self-assured man of bold spirit and got all of his brothers important positions in the court. Jealous of Wu Qian for being higher than himself in the echelons of officialdom, Jia Sidao made up a song and told a young court valet to sing it to the emperor. This is how the song went:

The emperor asked Sidao, “What kind of omen is implied in this song, which I understand is circulating among children of the city?”

Sidao replied, “All such songs are taught to children by the god of the planet Mars in the disguise of a child. Since this is a portent from heaven, we cannot but analyze it carefully. Since wu is the same as the surname Wu, as I see it, the centipedes [wugong] refer to the power-abusing Wu brothers. Should their ambition be further nurtured, they will certainly bring ruin upon the imperial court. Your Majesty being the dragon in the sky, it is by heaven’s will that the song warns about the dragon being eaten. The best course to avoid calamity is to dismiss Wu Qian from the office of prime minister and replace him with a worthier man.”

The emperor believed him and immediately ordered a member of the Hanlin Academy to draft an edict sending Wu Qian into exile in Xunzhou and stripping his brothers of all official posts. Replacing Wu Qian as the vice–prime minister, Sidao sent a trusted follower to order Liu Zongshen, the prefect of Xunzhou, to rake up incriminating evidence against Wu. Unable to endure the persecution, Wu Qian took poison and died. (Having already stripped them of their official posts, how can he have the heart to go further and take their lives? What a vicious man!) This is how vicious Sidao could be.

Meanwhile, Mongke [1209–59], the Mongol Khan, had stationed his troops outside the city wall of Hezhou and sent his brother Kublai [1215–94] to lay siege to Ezhou and Xiangyang. The menacing situation struck terror into people’s hearts. In one day, the Bureau of Military A airs received three emergency appeals, to the great consternation of the imperial court. Jia Sidao was then named director of the Bureau of Military A airs and concurrently the Jing-Hu pacification commissioner, and was to lead the army to Hanyang to lift the siege against Ezhou. Sidao dared not refuse but had to accept the appointment with all due deference. He tried to recruit Zheng Long, a student at the National University who was, as he was told, accomplished in both the military and civil arts. Well aware of Sidao’s treachery, Zheng Long was afraid of working with him and instead sent him a name card with the following poem written on it:

This poem makes the explicit point that, being in an exalted position, Jia Sidao should, in all modesty, exercise caution in going about his business. Should Jia gladly follow this advice after reading the poem, it would be worthwhile for Zheng Long to enter his service, if only briefly. Who would have expected that Jia Sidao would be so irritated at the admonishing tone of the poem that he would tear it to pieces, calling Zheng Long a deranged bookworm? Of this, no more need be said.

Supported by his retainers, among whom were Liao Yingzhong and Zhao Fenru, distinguished for their scholarly merits, and Xia Gui and Sun Huchen, distinguished for their military accomplishments, Jia Sidao carefully selected two hundred thousand experienced soldiers of the imperial army and spared no expense in equipping them with weapons and armor. On a chosen day, the mighty army left the capital. It was an awe-inspiring sight indeed.

Not many days passed before they arrived in Hanyang, where they pitched camp. The Mongolian troops’ attack was so vehement that Ezhou was moments away from falling. Sidao was petrified with fear. How could he dare charge forward? After consulting Liao Yingzhong and others, he wrote a letter and had it sent by a trusted follower, Song Jing, to the Mongolian side, asking for their withdrawal in exchange for the Southern Song’s humble subordination and tributes of money. Kublai declined the o er, but Sidao insisted and sent his messengers back and forth three or four more times. At this juncture, Mongke, khan of Mongolia, died at the foot of Mount Diaoyu in Hezhou. With his heart set upon taking over the throne, Kublai lost all interest in the battle and accepted Sidao’s peace o er to pay annual tribute money as a subordinate of the khan. Both parties having sworn to the settlement, Kublai broke camp and left to attend the funeral and succeed to the throne.

Now that the Mongol troops had gone north and Ezhou was out of danger, Jia Sidao submitted a memorial to the emperor, exaggerating his accomplishments while suppressing the truth about his o er to pay tribute in exchange for peace. The memorial claimed only that the Mongol army had fled out of fear of his awe-inspiring name. He bade Liao Yingzhong write a victory report and a “chronicle of achievements” to record his accomplishments at Ezhou. When Mongolia sent a messenger to discuss the matter of the annual tribute, Sidao ordered that the man be put under house arrest in Zhenzhou, out of fear that Sidao’s lies would be exposed. As long as the imperial court could be fooled, what did he care if he broke his promise to the barbarians? To reward Jia Sidao for what was thought to be his great merit, Emperor Lizong issued an edict in praise of him, added to his titles that of junior preceptor, and bestowed upon him an untold amount of gold and silk and more land in the Ge Hills to enlarge his residence. His mother, Hu-shi, was also granted the title Lady Liangguo.

In all complacency, Jia Sidao gave himself the airs of a true hero who had rendered the empire great service. Day and night, he caroused on the lake with his concubines and took pleasure from their singing and dancing. Tribute flowed to him from all directions in a steady and endless stream. All of his retainers, to a man, were granted important offices, including positions wielding military power. Truly, he was under only one man, but above all the rest of the empire. Every year on his birthday, on the eighth day of the eighth month, thousands of lyric poems of praise poured in. Sidao read each one of them to evaluate the quality. For a time, those poems were on everyone’s lips and were copied so widely that paper became a rare commodity. The masterpiece that emerged was one by Lu Jingsi to the tune of “Eight Beats of a Ganzhou Song”:

Poems of a like nature were too many to be enumerated here. One day, Sidao was amusing himself with his concubines on a tower overlooking the lake when there came approaching the bank in a small boat two well-dressed and refined-looking young scholars carrying feather fans. One concubine in the company said under her breath, “What handsome young men they are!” Sidao heard the remark and said, “If you wish to marry those two, I will certainly make them send you a betrothal letter.” In consternation, the woman asked for forgiveness. Before long, Sidao assembled the concubines and had a maid step forward with a box in her hands. Sidao said, “There was among you one who just expressed admiration for some young scholars touring the lake. I have already accepted a betrothal request for her.” The concubines did not believe what they heard. When the box was opened, what confronted their eyes was that woman’s head. No one present did not tremble with fear. This was how ruthless Sidao could be with his concubines.

Many a time he also ordered his followers to smuggle hundreds of boats of salt into Lin’an for sale. A poem by a student at the National University had this to say of him:

Sidao now wished for a plan to build up the economic and military power of the empire. Censor Chen Yaodao suggested that the best way to raise army provisions and promote the interests of the empire as well as those of the people would be to limit the possession of land. How would this plan work? As things stood at the time, the rich possessed huge tracts of land, whereas the poor did not even have a speck of land of their own in which to stick an awl. Those with land did not do the tilling, whereas those willing to till had no land. Therefore, the plan was to limit the amount of land owned by officials according to their ranks. Officials of a certain rank were to be allowed only a certain amount of land, whereas farmers under their rule were also to be allowed a certain amount of land. Extra land could be either bought back by the original owner with no time limit or bought through designation by those rich households whose quota for land had not yet been reached, or be bought by the government as “public land” to be tilled by hired hands, with the land rent collected therefrom to be used for army provisions. The plan was to be tried first in western Zhejiang and then, if successful, to be carried out throughout the empire. (There does appear to be good sense in what he does. But if the sophistry of fame-seeking villains is taken as good sense, evil is being bred without anyone’s realizing it.) Most of the land bought by private households had poor soil but was taxed at the regular rate, whereas good land was bought by the government at a price lower than the actual cost. This resulted in chaos and bankruptcies throughout the Zhejiang region. (This is only to be expected. If justice prevails and the people are given freedom of action, even Wang Anshi’s Green Seedling Method¹⁴ would be a good policy, and nothing bad could come of it.) Resentment was widespread. That student of the National University now had this to say:

Seeing that his policy was not working, Jia Sidao contributed to the government more than ten thousand mu¹⁵ of his own land in Zhejiang. As word of this spread around, all court officials, to a man, contributed some of theirs in their eagerness to please the prime minister. (Doing disservice to himself as well as to others.) Xu Jingsun, a member of the Hanlin Academy, wrote a memorial enumerating the harms wrought by the public land policy but was removed from office through impeachment by Censor Shu Youkai at Sidao’s bidding. Editorial Director Chen Zhu also submitted a memorial accusing Sidao of deceiving the emperor and impoverishing the people, only to be dismissed from office upon some false charge from Sidao. Chen Maolian, the official in charge of public land, who witnessed all the wrongdoings, handed in his resignation and left. There was also a certain Ye Li, courtesy name Taibai, a native of Qiantang and an old acquaintance of Sidao, who wrote a letter of remonstration that so incensed Sidao that Ye ended up exiled in Zhangzhou with his face tattooed with ink, as was done to criminals. Henceforth, no one at the imperial court dared breathe a word of dissent.

Sidao then proceeded to establish the policies of “history-checking” and “land-measuring.” What did this mean? Well, an owner of land would be ordered to produce deeds and the history of all past transactions of his land. If investigations found discrepancies in his account, he would be charged with perjury and his land would be confiscated. This was the policy of history-checking. There was also the measuring of land. If it turned out that there was actually more land than was reported, the owner would be charged with the crime of failure to report the exact amount of land, which would, as a result, also be confiscated. This was the land-measuring policy. With these policies in place, an untold amount of private land was lost through confiscation. That National University student wrote another poem that said,

There was also someone who wrote a lyric poem to the tune of “Spring in Qin’s Garden”:

As repeated reports of the National University student’s satires reached his ears, Sidao burned with rage. After taking counsel with Censor Chen Boda, he proposed a new system of registration for the examinations. All examinees, including those exempted from examinations at the local levels, were issued a form for personal information. They were to describe on the form, in their own handwriting, their appearance, age, family background, and schooling and present the form to examiners at the prefectural level, who would then check the handwriting as a preventive measure against fraud. Meanwhile, spies were sent out for secret investigation. All those talented in the writing of poems were suspected as possible sources of slander and, consequently, were disqualified, for one reason or another, when their handwriting was subjected to examination. As a result, sycophants moved up whereas the truly talented felt only frustration. A contemporary had this to say:

There was also a lyric poem to the tune of “Spring in Qin’s Garden”:

When Chen Boda got hold of the poem, he showed it to Jia Sidao, who then sent spies to find out who had written it, but to no avail. Knowing that it must have been the work of a scholar, he took advantage of the death of Emperor Lizong and declared cancellation of the imperial examinations for that year, thus incurring the deep anger of all potential examinees at the National University, the Military School, and the School for the Imperial Family. There were, however, some shameless scholars who led a campaign to sing the praises of Jia Sidao, who, in a bid to befriend the academics, showered them with handsome rewards. Those grateful for the favors were more than willing to enter into his service. As the scholars were by no means of one mind, nothing was done to redress the injustices, but of this, no more need be said. (Detestable.)

With the succession of Emperor Duzong to the throne, the reign title was changed to Xianchun [1265–74]. When Emperor Duzong was still living in the east wing of the palace, Sidao had done him a favor by instating him as crown prince. Now that he had ascended the throne, he granted Sidao the titles of grand preceptor and duke of Wei. At every session of the court, the Son of Heaven invariably returned Sidao’s bows and addressed him not by his name but as “Prime Minister.” Moreover, Sidao was allowed to report to the court only once every ten days, with the rest of the time at his own disposal. All a airs of the empire, big or small, were dealt with in his private residence. A two-line song began to spread around:

One day, Sidao summoned Vice–Prime Minister Ma Tingluan and Military A airs Commissioner Ye Mengding for a drink on the lake. As a drinking game, Sidao suggested that each make up a story about presenting a gift to an ancient historical figure, who would then respond with a couplet. He started o the game by saying, “I have a chess game that I gave to Qiu the chess master, who responded with this couplet:

Ma said, “I have a bamboo pole that I gave to Lü Wang the angler,¹⁸ who responded with this couplet:

Ye Mengding came up with these lines: “I had a plow that I gave to Yi Yin the venerable ancient,¹⁹ who responded with this couplet:

Sidao detected sarcasm in both men’s words. The following day, at his suggestion, the emperor dismissed the two men from office on some made-up charges.

In the meantime, the Mongols had become powerful under the new dynastic name of Yuan. That the Mongol troops had kept Xiangyang and Fancheng under siege for three years was a fact known to all in the imperial court except the emperor himself. Well aware that the empire was in imminent danger, Sidao wallowed in pleasures nonetheless. On the day of the Clear and Bright Festival,²⁰ he composed the following poem while touring the lake:

On the Ge Hills, he built a most elegant mansion—complete with exquisite towers, terraces, and pavilions—that came to be filled with beautiful women (prostitutes and nuns included) selected from among the commoners. Hearing about the beauty of Ye-shi, a court lady, he bribed a eunuch with access to the private chambers of the palace and brought her out to be his concubine. Day or night, his dissipation knew no bounds. Halls were erected to store his mountain-high collections of rare works of art, which he had acquired by every conceivable means. His daily visits to the halls to admire his possessions grew into a habit. Anyone who so much as mentioned the trouble at the borders met with immediate punishment.

One day, Emperor Duzong asked him, “I heard that Xiangyang has been under siege for a long time. What is to be done?” (It’s not that Emperor Duzong cares nothing about border defense, but, had he appointed some competent man to be prime minister, how could the empire have ended up in such a wretched state?)

Sidao replied, “The northern troops have long since retreated. Why do you ask?”

The emperor said, “A consort of mine told me about it just now. The prime minister should know if that is the truth.”

“It is a lie. Do not believe a word of it. If there is any trouble, I will certainly take it upon myself to lead a mighty army and wipe out the enemy for Your Majesty.” (Boastful words to fool the emperor.) With these words, court was dismissed. Sidao had the eunuch in charge of the inner chambers of the palace quietly find out the name of that consort and upon some made-up charge, ordered her to take her own life within the palace grounds. Indeed,

After the death of the court lady, no one inside or outside the palace ever brought up the subject of war again. It was not overnight that the empire found itself in such peril.

Sidao started another construction project. This time, it was the Half-Leisure Hall, with his own statue in the main hall, which was flanked by hundreds of side rooms to accommodate necromancers and traveling Taoists. On a day of leisure, Sidao would sit in meditation in the central hall and converse with the necromancers and Taoists. Many a man among his retainers wrote lyric poems in praise of the Half-Leisure Hall. Sidao’s favorite was one to the tune of “Tangduoling”:

There was a necromancer called Fuchunzi who excelled in using the sound of wind and the cries of birds to prophesy events. Jia Sidao summoned him to test his art. When asked what would happen on the next day, Fuchunzi wrote something secretly on a piece of paper, sealed it, and said, “Do not open it until late at night.”

The following day, Sidao gave a banquet on the lake by the hills. He was standing on the bow of the boat, sending o the guests, when the bright moon in the sky inspired him to intone a couplet by Cao Cao:²² “By the light of the bright moon and sparse stars, / The crows are flying south.” At this, Liao Yingzhong, who was standing by his side, advised him, “Now is the time for you to open the seal and look at the prophecy.”

It turned out that the piece of paper contained nothing but this couplet: “By the light of the bright moon and sparse stars, / The crows are flying south.” Sidao was astounded. Thus convinced of the man’s uncanny powers, Sidao took his counsel again about what lay in his future. Fuchunzi o ered him this advice: “Your wealth and eminence are unparalleled in history, but you are incompatible with the surname Zheng. Keep yourself at a safe distance from any man named Zheng.”

Long ago in his childhood, Sidao had once dreamed that he was rising to heaven on the back of a dragon, only to fall down into a ditch at the blow of a fierce warrior wearing a vest on which were embroidered the characters “Xingyang,” and Xingyang County was the home base of the Zheng clan. How could he not believe in Fuchunzi now that the warning against Zheng tallied with his own dream?

Henceforth, Sidao kept a close watch over the roster of court officials and did everything he could to oust any man with the surname Zheng. Sure enough, the court was soon cleared of all Zhengs. Having guessed what Sidao was after, a retainer of his said, “Zheng Long, a student at the National University, must be got rid of on account of all those poems he’s written that mock the court.”

Remembering the insult he had su ered from the poems of criticism some time ago, Sidao ordered the National University to banish the man, on some framed-up charge, to Enzhou as a tattooed criminal. (How abhorrent! How pitiful!) Zheng Long had gone only part of the way when he died of anguish.

There was a man skilled in the art of glyphomancy who could foretell the future with miraculous accuracy. Now that Sidao had attained as much wealth and eminence as any man could ever hope for, he gradually developed the ambition of taking over the throne. However, afraid that the secret deal he had made with the Mongols would come to light, in which case he would not be able to escape the censure of the court, he was tempted to follow the examples of Dong Zhuo and Cao Cao.²³ In his indecision, he summoned the glyphomancer and traced with his cane the character qi on the ground for the man to analyze. After a moment of thought, the glyphomancer said, “Whatever plan you have will not go through, because the upper part of this character would have been the character ‘to establish’ [li] if it didn’t share its bottom horizontal line with the lower part of the character, which means ‘permitted’ [ke]. As it is, if you want to ‘establish,’ it is not ‘permitted.’ If you wish to go by the lower part of the character and get ‘permission,’ you will be breaking up the upper part, which means ‘to establish,’ and therefore fail in your endeavor.” (Clever.)

Sidao fell silent and sent the glyphomancer away with a generous reward of gold and silk. Afraid that the man would reveal the secret, Sidao ordered to have him murdered half-way on his journey. From then on, his ambition for the throne declined. Noticing that Sidao was acting strangely, Fuchunzi fled elsewhere, afraid that some calamity might befall him. He was, indeed, a man who knew what was best for himself.

Now let us return to Lady Hu, Sidao’s mother, who, supported by her son for about forty years, died in her eighties one day in the third month of the tenth year of the Xianchun reign period [1274]. (After her death, the Jia family went into decline, and so did the House of Song. Contemporaries said that the woman had her worth, for all appearances to the contrary. That is a valid comment.) We need hardly say that the burial clothes, coffin, and funeral services were of the most extravagant kind. After observing the forty-nine days of mourning, Jia Sidao escorted the coffin to Taizhou to be buried in the same grave as Jia She. On the day of the burial, the imperial court dispatched the emperor’s guards of honor. Imperial relatives and court officials of all ranks under the empress dowager vied with each other in laying out sacrificial altars all along the route of the procession. Some altars were piled up so high that just decking them out with sacrificial items claimed a number of lives. All in mourning clothes, the assembly of court officials accompanied the coffin for a hundred li. The emperor cancelled his court sessions. In a downpour of torrential rain, the ground was submerged in water three feet deep. (Heaven is disgusted with him.) Drenched in rain and splattered with mud, all in the procession plodded through waist-high water, but no one dared take a step back. After the burial, thirty thousand monks were fed because their blessings were needed for the deceased in the netherworld. One monk put his alms bowl upside down on the ground after the meal and went away. As no one was able to lift the bowl, (Remarkable) Sidao was informed of the matter. In disbelief, Sidao arrived at the spot to take a look for himself. To his great astonishment, as he gently lifted the bowl, he saw written inside it with white sand two lines of characters in an exquisite style:

He was still wondering about the meaning when the characters suddenly disappeared. Sidao asked all his retainers about the meaning of the couplet, but no one could come up with an explanation. It was not until he later died in Mumian Temple that the meaning was revealed. Generally speaking, the rich and the powerful had by no means been of any common sort in their previous lives. That was why a holy monk had come along to caution Sidao to relinquish his evil ways and avoid disaster. As it turned out, Jia Sidao was so blinded by his avarice that he failed to come to his senses. Such, indeed, is the case since ancient times with most powerful men who do not end up well.

Let us digress no more. The burial service over, Jia Sidao wrote a memorial to the emperor in acknowledgment of his gratitude. As the emperor issued an edict summoning him back to the imperial court, Sidao requested an extension of his leave, ostensibly to observe the full term of the mourning period, but, at the same time, he enjoined the censors to suggest that the emperor not fill the office of prime minister during his absence but keep the position for him until his return. (Sidao does know how to maneuver the censors.) There poured in a stream of imperial edicts urging him to return to the court. It was not until the beginning of the seventh month that he went to see the emperor and resumed his post.

Toward the end of the same month, Emperor Duzong died. The crown prince acceded to the throne, to be known in history as Emperor Gongzong. Shi Tianze and Bo Yan, the two co–prime ministers of the Yuan, led troops in a southward expedition, striking out in di erent directions. Xiangyang, Dengzhou, and the Huai and Yangzhou regions all sent in emergency appeals. Knowing full well that young Emperor Gongzong was a faint-hearted sort, Jia Sidao deliberately exaggerated the desperateness of the situation and asked to be allowed to lead troops to engage the enemy at the borders. (Boastful words to fool the emperor.) At the same time, he privately instructed the censors to advise the emperor to keep him at court. And this is what the censors said to the emperor: “The prime minister is the only one to fall back on. If he is appointed to lead the troops, he will be hard put to take care of the Xiang-Han and Yangzhou regions all at the same time. (How abominable the censors’ words are!) The best alternative is to have him remain in the heart of the empire and devise strategies that will assure victories a thousand li away. Should he leave your presence, who would be left for you to consult?” (What use is there in consulting Sidao?) The emperor agreed. “How can I manage without the prime minister for even one day?” he said.

Within several months, the city of Fancheng fell, followed by Ezhou. Lü Wenhuan, having guarded Xiangyang for five years against heavy odds, now found himself without reinforcements and the food supply for the city exhausted. Unable to hold out any longer, he could do no better than surrender to the Yuan army (A fine man Lü Wenhuan is! What a pity!), which then pushed farther south. This time, Jia Sidao knew that he could not hide the truth any longer from the emperor. The emperor was appalled at his report. “With the Yuan troops bearing down so closely upon us,” he said, “there is no better person to lead the troops than you, Prime Minister.”

Sidao replied, “I did ask for the appointment early on, but Your Majesty turned me down. If you had listened to me earlier, the barbarians would not have gotten this far.” (The temerity!) Thereupon the emperor issued an edict authorizing Jia Sidao to be the commander in chief. Sidao, in his turn, recommended that Lü Shikui be his military consultant. And so it was that in the first year of Deyou [1275] under Emperor Gongzong, Sidao led his troops on their way by land and by water. It was a grand sight, with banners and flags blocking out the sky and boats and ships stretching out for a thousand li. Sidao himself, his two sons, his wife and concubines, and their supplies and household e ects took up over a hundred boats. His retainers also went along, bringing their families. (Sidao is not planning on returning.) The military consultant preceded him and arrived in Jiangzhou to surrender the city to the Yuan troops, who then went ahead and took Chizhou as well. When word got to Sidao, he dared not venture forward, but stopped at Lugang. Both Bandit-Suppression Commissioner of the Infantry Sun Huchen and his naval counterpart, Xia Gui, were Jia Sidao’s retainers. They had impressed Sidao with their eloquence in daily conversation, but neither had the mettle of Zhang Jun, Han Shizhong, Liu Qi, or Yue Fei.²⁴ How could they expect to win a major battle by sheer luck? (Sidao fools the Son of Heaven. His retainers, in turn, fool him.)

After Sun Huchen had stationed his troops in Dingjiazhou, the Yuan troops, led by Commander Ashu [Bayan, 1227–1280], descended in an attack. Overpowered by the enemy, Sun Huchen mounted his horse and fled for his life. The infantrymen all took to their heels and ran pellmell in all directions. Bayan set men to shout at the boats of the Song army, “The Song infantry is finished! What are you navy men waiting for? Surrender now!” The men were so terrified at the words that they lost all will to fight. The only thought on their minds was to make their escape. In the ensuing chaos, the boats tossed about and bumped into one another. Numerous men were drowned. Unable to put a stop to the confusion, Sidao summoned Xia Gui for an emergency consultation. Xia said, “With our troops already put to rout, fighting would serve no purpose. In my opinion, our best course is to go to Yangzhou, where we shall recruit survivors and ride to the sea. Unworthy as I am, I am more than willing to defend the Huaixi region to my death.” With these words, he took himself o .

In a short while, Sun Huchen stepped o a boat and said tearfully, with his hand beating his chest, “It is not that I didn’t want to put up a hard fight, but what more could I do when I had no one willing to risk his life?” Before Sidao could answer, a sentry boat approached to report that Commissioner Xia had already departed by boat, destination unknown. (A nice try at “defending the region to my death!” )

At the strike of the fourth watch, the sentry boat came back and reported to Sidao, who was at his wits’ end, “The Yuan troops are coming from all directions!” Sidao’s face turned the color of dirt. With all the haste he could muster, he ordered gongs to be struck to announce the retreat. His troops were put to total defeat. Supported by Sun Huchen, Sidao fled to Yangzhou in a small boat. A runner named Weng Yinglong retrieved the commander in chief’s seal and went to Lin’an with all speed.

The following day, the river was filled with boats carrying the defeated men. Sidao ordered Sun Huchen to step onto the bank and wave a flag to rally the men together, but there was no response other than curses. “That crook Jia Sidao pulled the wool over the emperor’s eyes! It’s his fault that the enemy has grown so strong. What a scourge he is to the empire and the people! Look at what he brought us to now!” There were also voices saying, “Why don’t we kill those crooks to avenge the tens of thousands of people out there!” Before the voices had died down, arrows flew into the boat, knocking Sun Huchen to the ground. Realizing that a rebellion was on his hands, Sidao hurriedly ordered the boatmen to dodge the arrows and fled all the way to the city of Yangzhou, where he hid himself from the public, pleading illness.

Let us now leave him and come to the vice–prime minister, Chen Yizhong, who had gained his office through ingratiating himself to Sidao in every way. Seeing Weng Yinglong running back in great haste, Chen Yizhong asked, “Where is the prime minister?” Weng said that he did not know. Assuming that Sidao had died in the chaos, Yizhong composed a memorial to the emperor, charging Jia Sidao with the crime of treason and defeat at war, and requesting the eradication of the entire Jia clan to atone for the damages done to the empire. Consequently, the censors, in their haste to please Yizhong, relayed the vice–prime minister’s memorial to the emperor. (What better example than this of the treachery of officialdom!) It was not until then that Emperor Gongzong realized Sidao’s treachery and issued an edict enumerating his crimes. The gist of the edict was as follows:

Upon hearing of Sidao’s demotion, Liao Yingzhong, who was also in Yangzhou with his entire family, went to Sidao’s residence to extend his sympathy. When the two men met, both were too overcome with emotion for words. Liao asked for wine, and until the striking of the fifth watch of the night, they downed cup after cup while tearfully singing in grief.

Back in his own residence, instead of going to bed, Yingzhong asked his favorite concubine to brew some tea for him. When the tea was served, he sent her away for some wine and then secretly swallowed a handful of borneol. Now, borneol is a most poisonous substance, which, if swallowed, brings certain death. As it would take a few moments for the borneol to take e ect, Yingzhong began to fear that he might not die after all, and frantically asked for the heated wine, with which, when it was brought to him, he swallowed several more handfuls of borneol that he had hidden in his sleeves. It was only then that the concubine realized what he was doing. She rushed forth and snatched away the poison, but it was already too late. As she held him in her arms, weeping, Yingzhong said, fighting back his tears, “There, there, don’t cry. Throughout my twenty years of service for the prime minister, I enjoyed much wealth and luxury. Now that disaster has struck, I consider myself fortunate to be able to die at home.” His words were still in the air when he died, with blood flowing from all the nine apertures of his head and body. Woeful it is that such a brilliant and learned man, a master of prose and verse, should serve as a lackey for the powerful and end with such a violent death! As the poem says (However unworthy, Yingzhong was, at least, loyal to Sidao, and superior to Chen Yizhong on that score),

Meanwhile, Jia Sidao’s demotion caused a flurry of talk at the imperial court, and the consensus was that his crimes were worse than this. The court ministers submitted another memorial, requesting that Sidao be decapitated by axe. The emperor, however, could not bear the thought of subjecting a senior official of the court to such violence. Instead, Sidao was further demoted to the position of military training commissioner of Gaozhou, with the freedom of settling down in Xunzhou. All of his estate was confiscated for the benefit of the military. The notice of demotion was issued on the eighth day of the eighth month, which happened to be Sidao’s birthday. The speech that Sidao wrote himself to mark his birthday is summarized here as follows:

As stipulated by law in Song times, any court minister banished to a faraway place had to be escorted by a guardian whose job was more to keep watch over the prisoner than to provide protection, as the name might suggest. In the case of Sidao’s banishment to Xunzhou, the court deliberated upon the choice of a guardian, who had to be a capable, sharp, and resourceful man with a grudge against Jia Sidao. But Xunzhou was too far away to attract any volunteers.

There was only one official who willingly o ered to go. You may ask, who was this official? He was Zheng Huchen, marshal of Kuaiji, who had just arrived in the capital upon expiration of his term of office. He was none other than the son of Zheng Long, the National University student who was banished as a branded criminal by Jia Sidao and died on his way to exile. Huchen volunteered so as to give vent to his pent-up resentment. (In this life, you never know whom you’ll meet again somewhere. That’s why you should, on no account, make an enemy of anyone.) Upon learning the facts, the court gave its consent and duly appointed him as the guardian.

Though unaware that Huchen was Zheng Long’s son, Jia Sidao did remember the dream he had when he was a boy as well as the admonition of Fuchunzi the fortune-teller. Now that a man named Zheng was coming his way, his consternation could be well imagined. Before setting out on his journey into exile, Sidao prepared a feast for Huchen, who readily took the seat of honor. Calling Huchen the emperor’s messenger and himself a criminal, Sidao o ered him gifts of exquisite curios worth tens of thousands of taels of gold. With tears in his eyes, he sobbed out an account of his childhood dream. “May the emperor’s messenger show the compassion of a bodhisattva,” he implored, “and preserve my worthless life. I shall never dare to forget to repay you for your kindness in this life and thereafter.” This said, he dropped to his knees.

With a dry smile on his lips, Zheng Huchen said, “Please rise. These curios bring nothing but disasters. How can you expect me to accept them? Let us get on our way first before we talk about anything else.” To Sidao’s repeated supplications for mercy, Huchen responded with only a smile. Sidao was seized with even greater fear.

The following day, they set out on the journey at Huchen’s urging, with more than ten carriages of gold, silver, and other valuables and nearly a hundred maidservants and page boys. Huchen did not protest at the beginning, but several days later, he grew impatient at the way the cumbersome entourage was slowing down the journey and gradually drove away the servants. At every temple they passed by, he forced Sidao to give away gold and treasure as donations. Sidao dared not object. (Hurrah!) In half a month, all that remained were three carriages and fewer than ten servants, old and young, who dared not get near Sidao for fear of Huchen’s constant beatings and scoldings. On the carriage where Sidao sat stood a bamboo pole with a silk banner, on which was written, “Escorting by imperial decree Jia Sidao, the scourge of the empire, to Xunzhou for his banishment.” Overcome with shame, Sidao covered up his face with his sleeves all day long. (Hurrah!) Other abuses from Huchen throughout the journey were too numerous to be listed here.

Many more days passed before they came upon Luoyang Bridge in Quanzhou.²⁷ There came into view a traveler hurrying along in their direction. At the sight of the inscription on the banner, he shouted, “It’s been a long time since I saw you last, Prime Minister! Who would have expected us to meet here after twenty years!” Taking him to be an old friend, Sidao lowered his arm, and who do you suppose it was? (Fated enemies are bound to run into each other on a narrow road.) It was Ye Li, courtesy name Taibai, a native of Qiantang, whom Sidao had banished to Zhangzhou as a branded criminal because of his remonstrations against Sidao’s ways. After the downfall of Sidao, all those who were persecuted by him were rehabilitated and allowed to return to their native places. Having received his pardon, Ye Li was on his way back to Qiantang by way of Quanzhou when he ran into Sidao and deliberately called out a greeting. A shame-faced Jia Sidao dismounted and saluted him, o ering profuse apologies. Ye Li asked for a piece of paper and a pen from Zheng Huchen and wrote a lyric poem for Sidao. The poem read,

Back in the days of Emperor Renzong²⁸ of the Northern Song dynasty, Prime Minister Kou Zhun repelled the Liao invaders from the north at Chanyuan,²⁹ but the evil court minister Ding Wei cast aspersions on him and contrived to have him demoted to the post of comptroller of revenue of Leizhou. Before long, Ding Wei was exposed for his treachery and ended up being banished to Yazhou. When he was passing through Leizhou on his way to his destination, Kou Zhun had a messenger send him a steamed lamb as a gift from himself as a local resident. Ashamed, Ding Wei dared not stay in Leizhou, but quietly stole away in the night. Ye Li used this story in his lyric poem to make the point that, as the ways of heaven are by no means immutable, one would do well not to bring total destruction to one’s enemy. Overcome with shame upon receiving the poem, Sidao o ered Ye Li a package of valuables to use for travel expenses. Ye Li refused to take it and continued on his way. Zheng Huchen thundered, “Who wants those ill-gotten goods of yours? Even dogs and pigs would turn up their noses at such things!” So saying, he snatched the package from Sidao’s hands and tossed the contents on the ground. This done, he ordered the driver to start quickly moving and unleashed another torrent of angry curses at Sidao, whose eyes had not a dry moment.

Zheng Huchen’s plan was to bully Jia Sidao into committing suicide. Little did he expect Sidao to cling so desperately to life. By the time they reached Zhangzhou, the servants had all slipped away, leaving Sidao and his two sons to fend for themselves. With no decent clothes or good food, they found themselves as lowly as slaves and as poor as beggars. Their misery indeed defies description.

Zhao Fenru, the prefect of Zhengzhou, happened to be a former retainer of Jia Sidao’s. Hearing that his former patron was arriving, he went outside the city gate to welcome him. Saddened though he was at the sight of the pitiable state Sidao was in, he dared not show much hospitality, for fear of incurring the anger of the scowling Zheng Huchen. That very day, Zhao Fenru prepared a feast at their inn in honor of Zheng Huchen. When he asked that Sidao be seated at the same table as Zheng Huchen and himself, Huchen declined the request. Sidao himself also said in all humility, “How dare I, a criminal, sit at the same table with the emperor’s messenger?” An apologetic Zhao Fenru could do nothing more than set another table in a separate room for Sidao attended by the controller general, whereas he himself sat with Huchen.

In the midst of the drinking, Fenru found out through the conversation that Huchen had a deep hatred of Sidao. He asked purposefully, “With the emperor’s messenger escorting him here over such a distance, I assume that he does not have long to live. Why don’t you make him die sooner? Wouldn’t that save you some trouble?”

Huchen replied with a laugh, “That’s because that wretch would rather su er than die a more honorable death.”

Zhao Fenru knew better than to venture further remarks. At the fifth watch of the night, Huchen urged the men to be on their way before the prefect could come to bid them farewell.

At the first light of dawn they came upon a temple five li away from the city. Huchen ordered that they take a rest in the temple, where they could wash and eat breakfast. At the sight of the characters “Mumian Temple” inscribed on the horizontal board of the monastery, Jia Sidao was dumbfounded. “Two years ago,” he said, “a monk with supernatural powers left me a poem in his alms bowl, saying, ‘At Mian will flowers bloom and fruit be borne.’ Could it be that the prophecy is to be fulfilled today? In that case, I’ll be dead!”

Once inside the temple, he hastened to summon his two sons for a few words, but Huchen had already put them in a separate room. Sidao knew that death was imminent. While washing his face, he took out a package of borneol that he had hidden on himself and swallowed it with water. Stung with sharp pains in the stomach, he asked for a nightstool and sat down, looking more dead than alive.

Guessing that he had taken poison, Huchen lashed out, “You mean wretch! Millions of people died at your hands. You slowed down the journey a good many days, and now you want to take your own life, but I won’t let you!” With that, he swung his heavy cudgel and struck twenty to thirty blows against Sidao’s head, smashing it to a pulp. After it was all over, he sent word to Sidao’s two sons, saying, “Your father has taken poison. Come quickly to take a look.” At the sight of their father’s dead body, the sons broke into wails of grief. In a rage, Huchen finished them o with one blow each. He then had his men drag the bodies to one side and spread word that the two sons had taken flight.

Throwing the cudgel onto the ground, Huchen said with a sigh, “Now that I have avenged my father and rid the people of a scourge, I can leave this world without regrets.” He wrapped up Sidao with a straw mat and buried the body, together with the articles of clothing of the deceased, at the side of the temple. This done, he wrote a report to Prefect Zhao Fenru, claiming that Jia Sidao had died of illness. Knowing only too well that this was the work of Huchen, Zhao Fenru dared not question him, out of fear for his violent temper. There was no alternative for the prefect but to pass on the report to related bureaus for settlement of the case. It was only after Zheng Huchen had left that he prepared a coffin, dug up Sidao’s body, and buried it properly in a grave. He composed an elegy that included these lines: “Alas! Wu Qian perished in Sichuan at the hands of Zongshen. My master perished in Fujian at the hands of Huchen. How tragic!” (Short as it is, the elegy makes clear the author’s feelings. The work of a master.)

Wu Qian was the prime minister at Emperor Lizong’s court. Coveting his office, Jia Sidao charged him with false crimes and had him banished to Xunzhou, where Liu Zongshen, the prefect, forced him to take poison. As for Jia Sidao himself, he died an even more tragic death in Mumian Temple without even reaching Xunzhou, his destination. In a subtle way, the elegy was a reminder of the law of heavenly retribution. Even though he had lived under Jia Sidao’s patronage, Zhao Fenru still retained some conscience, after all.

But enough of such idle comments. After Sidao’s banishment, his landed estates were confiscated by the government, but the huge mansion in the Ge Hills with the high terraces and winding ponds was left unattended. As the days went by, the walls crumbled and the estate was reduced to a scene of bleak desolation. Visitors to the area, one and all, sighed with emotion. Following are two of the many poems written on the doors and the walls:

And