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Careful balancing of powers in the bureaucracy, through which the rulers acted and from which they received advice and information, was essential to good government in China. The demonstrated success of this principle in early Bei Song so impressed later scholars that they described it as the art of government. It became a lost art under Shenzong, however, in the reform zeal and more so in the subsequent eagerness to do away with the reforms.
The reign of Zhezong (1085–1100) began with a regency under another empress dowager, who recalled the conservatives to power. An anti-reform period lasted until 1093, during which time most of the reforms were rescinded or drastically revised. Though displaying integrity, the conservatives offered few constructive alternatives. They managed to relax tension and achieve a seeming stability, but this did not prevent old problems from recurring. Some conservatives objected to turning back the clock, especially by swinging to the opposite extreme, but they were silenced. Once the young emperor took control, he undid what the empress dowager had put in place; the pendulum swung once again to a restoration of the reforms, a period that lasted to the end of the Bei Song. In such repeated convulsions, the government could not escape dislocation, and the society became demoralized. Moreover, the restored reform movement was a mere ghost without its original idealism. Enough grounds were found by conservatives out of power to blame the reforms for the fall of the dynasty.
Zhezong’s successor, Huizong (reigned 1100–1125/26), was a great patron of the arts and an excellent artist himself, but such qualities did not make him a good ruler. Indulgent in pleasures and irresponsible in state affairs, he misplaced his trust in favorites. Those in power knew how to manipulate the regulatory system to obtain excessive tax revenue. At first, the complacent emperor granted more support to government schools everywhere; the objection that this move might flood the already crowded bureaucracy was dismissed, seeing the significant gains it would bring in popular support among scholar-officials. The emperor then commissioned the construction of a costly new imperial garden. When his extravagant expenditures put the treasury in deficit, he rescinded scholarships in government schools. Support for him among scholar-officials soon vanished.
More serious was carelessness in war and diplomacy. The Song disregarded the treaty and coexistence with the Liao empire, allied itself with the expanding Juchen from Manchuria, and made a concerted attack on the Liao. The Song commander, contrary to long-held prohibition, was a favored eunuch; under him and other unworthy generals, military expenditures ran high, but army morale was low. The fall of Liao was cause for court celebration, but because the Juchen had done most of the fighting, they accused the Song of not doing its share and denied it certain spoils of the conquest. The Juchen soon turned on the Song. Huizong chose to abdicate at that point, giving himself the title of Daoist “emperor emeritus” and leaving affairs largely in the unprepared hands of his son, Qinzong (reigned 1125/26–1127), while seeking safety and pleasure himself by touring the Yangtze region.
During that period the government became increasingly ineffective. The reform movement had enlarged both the size and duties of the clerical staff. The anti-reform period brought a cutback but also a confusion that presented manipulative opportunities to some clerks. Supervision was difficult because officials stayed only a few years, whereas clerks remained in office for long periods. Bureaucratic laxity spread quickly to the clerical level. Bribes for appointments went either to them or through their hands. It was they who made cheating possible at examinations, using literary agents as intermediaries between candidates and themselves.
The Juchen swept across the Huang He plain and found the internally decayed Song an easy prey. During their long siege of Kaifeng (1126), they repeatedly demanded ransoms in gold, silver, jewels, other valuables, and general supplies. The court, whose emergency call for help brought only undermanned reinforcements and untrained volunteers, met the invaders’ demands and ordered the capital residents to follow suit. Finally, an impoverished mob plundered the infamous imperial garden for firewood. The court remained convinced that financial power could buy peace, and the Juchen lifted the siege briefly. But once aware that local resources were exhausted and that the regime, even with the return of the emperor emeritus, no longer had the capability of delivering additional wealth from other parts of the country, the invaders changed their tactics. They captured the two emperors and the entire imperial house, exiled them to Manchuria, and put a tragic end to the Bei Song.
Nan (Southern) Song (1127–1279)
The Juchen could not extend their conquest south of the Yangtze River. In addition, the Huai River valley, with its winding streams and crisscrossed marshlands, made cavalry operations difficult. Though the invaders penetrated this region and raided several areas below the Yangtze, they found the weather there too warm and humid for them. Moreover, the farther they went, the stronger the resistance they met, as they penetrated into areas that had been leading the country in productivity and population and therefore in defense capability. Besides, the Juchen felt concerned about the areas in the rear that they had already occupied: one after another of their puppet rulers there had failed to secure popular support, and the Juchen had been forced to consolidate control by setting up their own administration, following the Liao model of dual government.
Survival and consolidation
Despite the fall of the Bei Song, the majority of scholar-officials refused to identify themselves with the conquerors. The same was generally true at the grassroots level, among numerous roving bands of former volunteer militias, army units that had disintegrated, and bandits who had arisen during the disorder. As time went on, both civilians and soldiers turned toward the pretender to the throne, Gaozong. He was the only son of the former emperor Huizong who had been absent from Kaifeng and thus spared captivity.
As the founder of the Nan Song, Gaozong devoted his long reign (1127–62) to the arduous task of putting the pieces together. He rediscovered the lost arts of his ancestors: recruiting bureaucrats, securing fiscal resources, and extending centralized control. Because he started with no more than a few thousand troops, he had to place a much greater reliance on sophisticated politics, which he often artfully disguised. By praising the old, established ways of his predecessors, he pleased the conservatives who remained opposed to the reform system. In reality, he modified the system he had inherited where it had obviously failed and pragmatically retained the parts that were working. He honored the scholar-officials who had refused to serve under the puppet rulers, but he was also glad to have those who had compromised their integrity in so serving. Although he denounced the notorious favorites who had misled his father, he used the excuse of being broad-minded in picking many of their former subordinates for key positions, especially those experienced in raising tax revenue. A new network of officials called the fiscal superintendent generals was set up in each region, but they reported directly to court. Urban taxes were increased; they were easier to collect than rural revenues, and prosperous cities did not suffer much from the imposition. The high priority placed on fiscal matters, though not publicized as in the previous reform period in order to avoid a bad image, persisted throughout the Nan Song, which was a long era of heavy taxation.
Some officials, anxious to recover the central plains, wished to have the capital located in Nanjing, or farther up the Yangtze in central China. Gaozong discreetly declined such advice because these locations were militarily exposed. Instead, he chose Hang (present-day Hangzhou), renaming it Lin’an (“Temporary Safety”), as it occupied a more defensible location. It was popularly referred to as the place of imperial headquarters (Xingzai), later known to Marco Polo as Quinsai. Economically, it had the advantage of being at the corner of the lower Yangtze delta, the wealthy core of the new empire.
The Nan Song, through continuous development, eventually became wealthier than the Bei Song had been. Though its capital was near the sea—the only such instance among the Chinese empires—and international trade increased, the country was not sea-oriented. Gaozong maintained a defensive posture against periodic Juchen incursions from the north and meanwhile proceeded to restore imperial authority in the hinterland as far west as the strategic Sichuan and in parts of Shaanxi to its immediate north.
No less important was the need for adequate military forces. Neither conscription nor recruitment would suffice. Because his position was militarily weak but financially strong, Gaozong adopted the zhao’an policy, which offered peace to the various roving bands. The government granted them legitimate status as regular troops, and it overlooked their minor abuses in local matters. Thus, the size of imperial forces swelled, and the problem of internal security was largely settled. The court then turned its attention to the control of these armies, which was inseparable from the issue of war or peace with the Juchen.
Gaozong did not want to prolong the war; he valued most the security of his realm. A few minor victories did not convince him that he could hope to recover northern China. Rather, he saw war as a heavy drain on available resources, with the risk of eventual defeat. Nor did he feel comfortable with the leading generals, on whom he would have to rely in case the war went on. He had to get around the critics at court, however, who found the Juchen peace terms humiliating and unacceptable: in addition to an enormous yearly tribute, the Juchen demanded that the Nan Song formally admit, with due ceremonials, its inferior status as a vassal state. The shrewd emperor found an impeccable excuse for accepting the terms by claiming filial piety: he sought the return of his mother from captivity. To this no Confucian could openly object. Significantly, Gaozong refrained from asking the release of former emperor Qinzong, as such a move would have called into question the legitimacy of his succession.
A dramatic crisis occurred in 1141. On the eve of concluding peace negotiations, Gaozong decided to strip the three leading generals of their commands. The generals, summoned to the capital on the pretext of rewarding their merits, were promoted to military commissioners, while their units were reorganized into separate entities directly under imperial control. Two of the generals reconciled themselves to the nominal honors and sizable pensions, but the third, Yue Fei, openly criticized the peace negotiations. He was put to death on a trumped-up charge of high treason. He later became the subject of a great legend, in which he was seen as a symbol of patriotism. At the time, however, his elimination signified full internal and external security for the court.