Welcome to the first episode. I’ll try to keep this short because I think we both want me to get to the good stuff. It’s just that starting out, selecting the first figure of the first season is tricky. They must be influential, enough to offer a compelling story and properly introduce the podcast. But I also don’t want to cover someone who’s the topic of a dozen episodes elsewhere. While say, Jesus of Nazerath certainly fits the bill of influential early in the 1st century, his story has been told a number of times, so I’d find it difficult to establish a unique narrative.

I also want to set the stage for a progression through history that will focus on famous people from time to time, but largely cover individuals you don’t know, but should. 

Around the turn of the 1st century, the most obvious settings are Rome and China. I settled on China’s Wang Mang, due to him almost single-handedly destroying one of the country’s greatest dynasties but also because of his story’s open-ended nature. This man valued honor and humility over everything, including the lives of his own family, and practically embodied Confucian virtues to a mythical degree. Then, opportunity came knocking—an opportunity he may have created—and he seized dictatorial power in a masterful fashion. Were his honorable deeds an act the whole time? You’ll have to decide yourself.

Along with Wang Mang, I’ll include a subplot about his daughter, a woman with enough titles to make a Game of Thrones character blush, but with a name lost to time. Her story is comparatively minor, but it’s worthy of a Shakespearan tragedy, and serves to illuminate gender roles in Confucian China around the turn of the first millennium. Her most noteworthy title is Empress Ping, so I’ll refer to her as Future Empress Ping until we reach that part of the story.

And, so, we begin.

Wang Mang enters the world in approximately 45 BC. The noble Wang family—the surname comes first here—holds a position of authority and respect in imperial China, but they really come into their own when Wang Zhengjun, Wang Mang’s aunt, rises to the rank of empress following her husband’s ascent to emperor. While she’s not the ruler, Confucian women must support their husbands, and husbands trust them to do so earnestly. Thus, they tend to wield significant indirect power, and like many royal marriages of many civilizations, she disperses that power across her family via lands and titles. Wang Mang’s father dies young though and never receives the land-owning title of marquis like that of his 7 brothers.

Wang Mang then grows up without a direct inheritance. Don’t feel bad for him though. The empress moves him and his mom to the Imperial Palace, allowing Wang Mang to grow up with the movers and shakers of the empire. He takes a quick liking to imperial schooling and his supportive mom shows consistent pride in her son’s efforts.

If all of that’s not enough, he’s still a noble, eating a wide assortment of meats compared to the peasants’ grain-heavy diet, and wears mostly silk and fur compared to their hemp and sometimes cotton. Like other Chinese children of the time, he also likely played games, such as Go, which is still played by 50 million people today, and a rudimentary form of soccer which I’m bringing up specifically because I wanted to fit in for a later event. Suffice to say, Wang Mang is living the dream as a kid in a stable Imperial China.

School educates the boy with Confucian morals and a penchant for scholarship, an education he takes seriously. He’s an A+ student throughout his formative years, maturing into the living embodiment of Confucianism by his early teenage years—which meant a respect for hierarchy, honor, and hard work. Meritocracy, a system that rewards government posts to those deserving based on merit, was alive and well in the Western Han Dynasty—this era that spanned the first couple centuries BC, its named used to separate it from the Eastern Han that would follow for 2 centuries, interrupted by...well, you’ll see.

While you were still better off being lucky than good in Ancient China i.e. born to a wealthy family, many officials truly earned their place in government. Included in this meritocracy was knowledge of Confucian classical texts, creating this self-perpetuating system that described the deserving as Confucian and Confucians as deserving. That meant the more you acted in compliance with these virtues, the more that everyone of note respected you, and your station would rise.

So for the ambitious Wang Mang, his lack of inheritance perhaps worked to his benefit. He builds the foundations of this sterling reputation that will pay dividends down the road. 

As a teenager, one of his uncles grows seriously ill, so he dutifully attends his every personal need. Day and night, Wang Mang waits on his beck and call. Honor, love, and respect are certainly motivators, but it’s a nice bonus that his uncle is commander of the armed forces. When the uncle recovers, he gives a glowing recommendation to Zhengjun, and she immediately sets to rewarding her nephew’s devotion.

However, her husband had passed away a few years ago. She’s now known as Empress Dowager Wang, a dowager because she’s the widow of a nobleman. While losing the title of reigning empress is a blow for some, she still wields almost as much influence as during her late husband’s reign—both because of an apathetic ruler and her own clout. Her recommendations swiftly lead to promotions that make Wang Mang a subcommander of the imperial guards.

He takes nothing for granted throughout his 20s, excelling in his new role while tirelessly expanding his presence in the realm. He’s gracious, says all the right things to impress the Imperial Court, donates chunks of cash to scholarship—again, a Confucian virtue—and hands out gifts to his fellow nobles. He continues to build his image as this paragon of morality, and anyone who’s anyone takes a liking to the young man. Unlike most of his colleagues, he also only ever marries one woman.

And this is where we see the first breakdown in how Wang Mang represents himself and who he actually is. This man had bonkers levels of affairs. We don’t know how many, but he wasn’t slip into other women by mistake, and he committed adultery as often as a poor college student eats Taco Bell. Concubines—women married to a nobleman but not the primary wife—were all good back in this era, so extramarital affairs gained him nothing vs. marrying concubines, EXCEPT it made him look all that much more honorable.

His efforts pay off when just before his 30th birthday, another of his uncles petitions the emperor, asking that he be allowed to parcel out some of his land to his nephew. The emperor at the time is like sure what do I care and signs off on the request. Wang Mang humbly accepts his new title as marquis.

After taking in the sights, he celebrates by growing his family a bit more. He’ll have four sons and a daughter when all is said and done. We don’t know when his sons are born, but based on their future actions, I’d guess Wang Mang and his wife are on kid 3 or 4.

Inevitably, duty calls, and he returns to the capital, fulfilling new duties as his rank and prestige continues to grow. Ambition fuels his work ethic, and in several years, fate will reward his efforts and patience.

Around 10 BC, yet another of Wang Mang’s uncles falls ill. Turns out commander of the armed forces is practically hereditary, as he’s the current office holder. A bit more on the role—while the army is great and all, the post is actually a political powerhouse, like equal to the prime minister, so it’s an even bigger than deal you think. A debate ensues for who should succeed Wang Mang’s uncle, and the front-runner is Chunyu Zhang, a man who starts out as good friends with the emperor.

Wang Mang sees an opportunity and uses his connections to dig up some dirt on Chunyu. Turns out the man’s been receiving gifts from the emperor’s ex-wife, who isn’t hurting but wants the GRAND life back. Since Chunyu and the emperor are tight, she turns to him to help her reclaim her former glory, either as empress or at least a consort, as sort of a middle ground between primary wife and concubine. 

Chunyu says yeah, keep sending those gifts my way, and promises to help her claim a spousal title just below the proper empress. Thing is, he’s playing her, with no plans to help. The paper trail, though, leads to him all the same, and Wang Mang relays his findings to the emperor, who expels his ex-buddy Chunyu from the court, casting him back to his lands. On his way out, Chunyu donates his horse and carriage to his cousin as a last ditch effort to demonstrate his honorable nature. That cousin petitions the emperor to allow Chunyu to stay. But the emperor knows there’s this feud between Chunyu and the father of his cousin, so he rightfully questions the sincerity of the petition. One thing leads to another. That cousin’s arrested, his dad says you’ve dishonored us and forces him to commit suicide, which then makes the emperor even more suspicious and Chunyu’s life ends in an execution.

With that, the impeccable Wang Mang, at the age of 37, rises to a position of power a smidge below that of emperor. That same year, 8 BC, his wife also gives birth to his daughter, Future Empress Ping.

A significant reason we don’t know her real name is again found in Confucian thought—now five centuries old at this point. While these ideals respect hierarchy, honor, and pursuit of knowledge for males, they differ significantly for females. Women were tasked with dedicating themselves to the support of their family, primarily the males in their lives – the father, husband, and sons. All of this meant that men took center stage, while women acted as the crew, playing an important role that nobody thinks about until they’re not there.

One thing you should take away from this is that we do know the real name of Wang Mang’s aunt, Zhengjun. The Empress Dowager mattered. Making it in the history books is hard enough, but her doing so as a woman is a testament to her continued influence during her life, regardless of who sits the throne. In fact, I’d argue she wields more power than any woman ever will over in the entire existence of the great Western empire of Rome.

Interestingly, she lived at the same time as both women who could challenge her for that title: Cleopatra and Livia Drusilla, who was Augustus Caesar’s wife. I guess this was a good era for powerful women.

Anyway, to highlight the typical role of Chinese women at this time, I’ll refer to a book started a decade before Ping’s birth called the Biographies of Exemplary Women. This text intended to provide women a moral education through biographical accounts. In one example, two daughters of the emperor marry a farmer and help him with everything, including working the fields. Their husband’s family makes frequent attempts on his life, and he survives in part due to his own strength, but also from his wives’ invaluable support. He’s later promoted to General and eventually becomes emperor, all made possible because of his wives’ intelligence, perception, and of course their chastity. Future Empress Ping would later find herself included in these biographies, but we’ll get there.

In the year that Future Empress Ping turns 1, things are good. Her father has worked his way up high into government and is universally respected, she’s a noblewoman, which is great even if girls don’t get much of an education. She’s set up to have a nice life with a much shorter Wikipedia page than she ends up with.

It’s this same year, one year after Wang Mang’s big promotion, the emperor dies. This leads to a series of events that will upend Future Empress Ping’s life. Peter Baelish in Game of Thrones said “Chaos is a ladder”, and it’s here that Wang Mang wraps his fist tight around a rung at eye-level, and he’s ready to climb.

He didn’t poison this particular emperor, but I bet he took notes. The childless emperor had named his nephew his heir, and the succession to the newly titled Emperor Ai goes smoothly. The Wang family is all over the Imperial Court by now, largely thanks to Zhengjun and that doesn’t change with the ascent of the throne’s latest owner.

Emperor Ai takes over the position at age 18. So, not a child, but still suggestible. Especially from his grandma—aka the Princess Dowager Fu of Dingtao but who I’m going to call Grandma Fu to quickly distinguish her—she’s had her eyes on the prize for decades. You see, Grandma Fu can hold a grudge and she was a concubine of the emperors two back. That emperor’s wife was none other than Zhengjun, now Grand Empress Dowager Wang, grand because she’s like Grandmother royalty to the current throne holder. 

Grandma Fu starts scheming once her grandson inherits the throne. Grand Empress Dowager Wang tries to curtail this, limiting visits between Emperor Ai and his mom and grandma to 1 day out of every 10.

Grandma Fu takes a moment, breathes, says no, no, no to that and starts to visit him daily. With each visit, she increasingly pushes for an empress dowager title rather than the princess dowager title given to concubines. She also requests that her relatives receive titles that place them on roughly equal footing with the Wang family.

Zhengjun has a choice here. Either sternly draw a line or embrace Confucian teachings that instruct her to do what’s best for the emperor. She decides to make his life easy and gives the okay to posthumously change some titles that result in Grandma Fu getting everything she wants. To further ease tensions between the two families, the Grand Empress Dowager even orders Wang Mang to resign his lofty post and transfer power to them. The nephew, who has to keep up his pristine image, submits his resignation but…Emperor Ai rejects it. Wang Mang remains the commander of the armed forces, and I have to imagine is pretty happy about it. It may not even strike him as much of a surprise.

At some point in the last several minutes you might’ve thought “Wait, what’s this Grand Empress Dowager doing? How does she still wield so much power? And why is she giving into the demands of this upstart Dowager?”

Remember in the Confucian thought prevalent at the time, women were there to support the men in their lives. Depending on the strength and age of the emperor, that can lead to a lot of trust that leads to a lot of influence. Influence is power and Wang Zhengjun held it in spades. She’s the widow of a respected emperor, and she’s been active in the courts for decades. 

As for why she pushes for Grandma Fu’s demands, it’s possible she genuinely wanted the emperor and by extension, China, to prosper, and thus deemed it best to minimize conflict between the royal families. But she might’ve shrewdly recognized the difficulties in controlling the relationship between a grandson and grandmother and decided to let Grandma Fu hang herself on her own ambition.

The proverbial snowball that starts the avalanche actually begins when the honorable and proper Confucian Wang Mang takes a stand against this mockery of his supposed values. Resigning his post is one thing. There are certain lines though that people shouldn’t cross. When Grandma Fu is to be seated near his aunt, Wang Mang throws a fit. He can’t comprehend such a blatant disregard for hierarchy.

The fallout results in him again resigning his post and Emperor Ai accepting it this time. But Wang Mang is still plenty respected, so Emperor AI says hey, you’re still welcome here. Stick around the capital,why don’t ya? And Mr. Wang eh,...yeah,he accepts.

Grandma Fu, taking this victory to heart, set her sights on a former romantic rival of hers a year later. In 6 BC, she sends an investigator to “find evidence of witchcraft”. This leads to the tortures and deaths of 17 relatives of this poor woman, all the while producing absolutely no evidence of said witchcraft. When the rival learns the investigations originate from Emperor Ai’s powerful grandmother, she commits suicide to spare her family further tragedies.

The year after that, when Future Empress Ping turns 3, Grandma Fu receives another title upgrade. So, she decides it’s time to act on a multi-year grudge she’s held against Wang Mang for about the disrespect shown over table seating arrangements. She demands the emperor strip him of his nobility and demote him to a mere commoner. Emperor Ai says that crazy but if it makes you happy, I’ll send him away from the capital, back to his lands.

Good enough for Grandma Fu. Emperor Ai, however, is starting to look like a fool. He’s overly punitive to anyone questioning his mom and grandma’s new titles and seems to promote and demote officials on whims. It’s a testament to Wang Mang’s standing that he doesn’t face worse punishments. He might’ve also started wondering what the world would like if he were in charge.

Over the next few years, Wang Mang continues to elevate his reputation and think two steps ahead. He limits his associations to prevent false accusations of a plotting rebellions, keeping his distance from any potential troublemakers or perceived regal threats. 

When one of his four sons kills a household servant, he’s perhaps put in a bind. But given that nobility can usually sweep such unseemly incidents under the rug, for Wang Mang, it presents an opportunity. He orders his son to commit suicide, and the legendary nature of the man grows.

This dude was living his best Confucian life away from the Imperial Courts, and there is no doubt it molded his daughter, Future Empress Ping. During her formative years, she watches her father live a life in abject pursuit of the moral code that pervades Chinese society at the time. And as I said, that code is different for woman. She would learn to value the importance of the relationships to the men in her life, and those values placed the husband ahead of the father. She’s 6, so we’re not quite to where that’s relevant, but it’s closer than you’d hope. 

Back at the Imperial Courts, Grandma Fu dies in 2 BC. She had alienated herself from much of the nobility and little love outside of her family is lost in her passing. If not for her grandson sitting on the throne, her death may have arrived even sooner. As it stood, her ambitions hadn’t hurt her as much as it did the reputation of Emperor Ai and those closely associated with him.

That same year, commoners and government officials alike clamor for Wang Mang’s return. Commoners like farmers were actually well-respected in the Western Han dynasty, more than you’d expect of a monarchy from this time, so their wishes meant something (not that it meant they had money, but hey it was something). 

Wang Mang’s representation of meritocratic ideals leads to a perceived kinship between him and commoners compared to other nobles. That said, he’s popular with nobles too, benefitting from his living in or around the Palace for most of his life’s first four decades.

One year later, as if Emperor Ai hadn’t alienated himself enough from his court, he makes his biggest blunder yet, a blunder actually 3 years in the making. Over this time, he’s continually promoted one particular man over and over, up from a commoner and through the ranks until finally this man attains Wang Mang’s former position of commander of the armed forces of the empire. This man didn’t reach this rank through talent and efforts though (not that anyone but a noble likely could’ve). Instead he happened to be the very likely lover of the Emperor, a relationship that spawned a Chinese idiom about love: “Passion of the cut sleeve” or “cut sleeve” for short. When in bed together one morning, Emperor Ai’s lover rested his head on the sleeve of his robe. Rather than wake him, the emperor cut his sleeve to quietly exit from bed. What. A. Gesture. This man knew romance, but statecraft? Not so much.

It’s important to note their romantic relationship wasn’t a big deal. As long as the emperor kept the overt structure of husband-wife at the forefront, he was good to go. Across the globe, Rome had a similarish outlook on same-sex relationships, though it required parties of two different social statuses so nobody lost face. Anyway, the relationship itself was all good here.

The issue arose from the emperor promoting a nobody with no qualifications to one of the empire’s 3 highest ministerial posts, xand the Imperial court was justified in their ire. The new commander barely spares a glance for his duties, instead just staying at Emperor Ai’s side like nothing changed. Dissenters especially didn’t like their punishments—which ranged from demotions to imprisonments—for their attempts to dissuade the emperor from giving his lover so much power. With the young commander’s new title also came gains for his family, but they weren’t to last.

Half a year after this wild promotion, in 1 BC, the emperor suddenly dies at the age of 24. Apparently, due to a mysterious chronic illness that is also the chief suspect for him not producing an heir. Could totally be the case, but circumstantial evidence points to foul play. Hear me out.

First, we have no clue to the nature of Emperor Ai’s illness. It’s easy to imagine a world where his inept ability to govern caught up with him. He’s antagonized most of his court by now and with his grandmother out of the picture, has few allies. North of China, the Xiongnu steppe nomads in modern day Mongolia pose an ever present threat. Though these nomads are relatively weak now due to losses between 50-100 years ago, they’re never a group China ignores. 

Strong leadership in the government and military is needed to curtail these foes, and few trust Ai to do the job. Meanwhile, the Wang family acts like model leaders in their various posts. Wang Mang also happens to be itching for more formal power again. Without an obvious heir to the throne, it’s easy to imagine he saw a great time to steady that chaos ladder of his.

Again, all circumstantial. There’s no evidence that Emperor Ai was poisoned, but the convenient timing of his death for Wang Mang is suspect and like much of unrecorded history, we can’t say for sure.

Either way, Grand Empress Dowager Wang Zhengjun is the first to act following the emperor’s death.

The emperor apparently named his lover as the heir on his deathbed, and allowing this succession would almost certainly throw the realm into chaos given he lacked any education or talent for rule. So, as soon as word of the emperor’s passing came, she marches over to the imperial palace and nabs the imperial seal, which is this crafted piece of pure jade, meant to symbolize purity and inner beauty. When Zhengjun starts issuing orders to keep power out of the former’s lover hand, the presumptive heir can’t muster a rebuttal. His tale ends with demotion, eventually followed by he and his wife sadly committing suicide. I say sadly because despite all this nonsense, this dude likely didn’t care about his promotions, had no interest in power, and Emperor Ai put a target the size of a nation on his back.

To keep things in order, the Grand Empress Dowager promotes Wang Mang back up to commander of the armed forces, the strongest position in an empire without an emperor. It’s here, amid the chaos, that he is mere feet from the top of the ladder. 

And it’s here we must question whether the possibility for absolute power corrupted Wang Mang or if what follows is the culmination of a plan decades in the making.

All accounts at this point paint Wang Mang as a saint. He’s done no wrongs within his society, and sacrificed much for the good of the empire. But people don’t change overnight. What if he happily played bit parts until the opportunity for a leading role arose? What if he facilitated the events that led to this moment? What if the righteous nephew whispered into his aunt’s ears the necessary acts to save the empire?

We don’t know the answers, but whether power corrupted him or he showcased a political masterclass must factor into whether or not we believe Emperor Ai was actually poisoned. Either way, this is a major tipping point from an innocent, or subtle manipulator, to an outright grab for power.

...this tipping point also puts us at a great place to take a short break so I will be right back with the second half of the story…

...the second half begins... now...

Wang Mang, with the support of his aunt, work together to expel from government the relatives of Grandma Fu and Emperor Ai’s lover. They then summon the Grand Empress Dowager’s final surviving grandson to the palace and proclaim him Emperor Ping, naming Wang Mang his regent. The new emperor is 8, and guess who’s conveniently close in age? Wang Mang’s daughter, Future Empress Ping.

Acutely aware of this, he flatters his aunt with honeyed words while ramping up the purges behind her back. Years of effort results in the removal of his potential enemies from seats of power, with allies talking him up into this reverent, almost mythical, figure.

Word around the empire is that this is a man who is the embodiment of righteousness and Confucian values, a man who walked away when it would’ve fractured the empire years ago, a man who values honor over his own son’s life, he’s the rare nobleman with one wife and not a single concubine, a man who has nothing but the best interests of the Han empire at heart.

And perception becomes reality.

It gets to the point where a new Duchy is created just for him, something that’s never happened in the 200-year history of the Han empire. I don’t mean that a duchy had never been created, I mean the title never existed. Not everyone is blind to the writing on the wall though. Wang Mang’s own son—not that he has a great relationship with him—conspires with Emperor Ping’s uncles against him. Their plan is simple—egregiously so—they’d send someone to a toss a bottle of blood on Wang Mang’s door and convince him that this omen portends a disaster if they don’t transfer his regency to the emperor’s uncles. 

As if that would’ve persuaded him anyway.

The savvy Wang Mang discovers the plot, executes them all except his son, who is forced to commit suicide (2 down, 2 to go for those keeping score), and uses the opportunity to clean house of anyone left who might stand against him via demotions, exiles, and executions. He revives an ancient ceremony that basically tells the country: I’m the boss.

When the time comes to find a spouse for Emperor Ping, he subverts the Grand Empress Dowager’s proclamation that the Wang clan should be excluded, and arranges a mass of petitioners who clamor for his daughter.

Future Empress Ping! Future Empress Ping, They demand...or something like that. And what Wang Mang wants, Wang Mang gets.

In 4 AD, Future Empress Ping becomes Empress Ping at 11 years old. She doesn’t see all of the steps her father is taking to cement his power. Her lot.. is to support to her husband. And she does this to the best of her ability for the rest of her life.

Meanwhile, the emperor starts to resent Wang Mang’s execution of his uncles along with barring his own mother from visiting him. The latter act stands in stark contrast to how Wang Mang’s aunt handled Emperor Ai, quickly conceding to requests that the young man should be able to regularly see his mother and grandmother. When we’re looking at the morally superior way to handle things, I think it’s fair to say...she’s a better litmus test. While the emperor’s resentment doesn’t lead to any specific action, Wang Mang sees his hold on the boy waning. 

He poisons him—this time with historical evidence—and while the boy’s life hangs in the balance, Wang Mang writes a petition to the gods asking them to spare the emperor’s life by taking his. The petition never sees the light of day, but it’s one of those acts that demonstrates he’s covering his bases. In the unlikely event the boy survived, he’d have this on hand as a semblance of proof of his innocence. This was a common thing back in this era...across the globe. Usually nothing came of it besides political posturing, but side story: about 40 years from now, a Roman Emperor named Caligula will force a bunch of Senators to kill themselves who made such proclamations after he recovered from a serious illness. As for Wang Mang, the intent of his act was to prove that a man writing such a letter couldn’t have been behind the poisoning. *cough* yeah, right *cough.

THIS emperor though succumbs to the poison, leaving Empress Ping a widow at age 13. She’ll spend the rest of her life in silent support of the former Han dynasty. Yes, I said former. It’s all about to come crashing down.

She sequesters herself and avoids imperial gatherings, often claiming illness. This persists into adolescence, a time when her dad tries to make everything right for murdering her husband by setting her up with the son of one of his top officials. The son shows up at her doorstep dressed to the nines, but the act so greatly offends her that she straight up stops receiving guests.

Records make little note of her from here on out. It’s fair to assume a status quo develops, the poor woman living the rest of her short life out as a widow, isolated from the world. She embraced Confucian ideals, supporting her child husband as a child herself, and in return was not only stripped of her purpose but of the father from her childhood. The man who had extolled Confucian virtues now spurned them for power, making a mockery of all she held dear. It’s no wonder she abandons the outside world. And it’s this tale of devotion to her late husband—one where she refuses to remarry—that makes it into the Biographies of Exemplary Women that I mentioned earlier.

Back to that fateful day of her husband’s murder, the throne is left without an obvious heir. Nobody alive can trace their lineage back to Grand Empress Dowager Wang’s deceased husband. The court then looks at relatives to the emperor before him, meaning five  emperors back. Wang Mang wants to crown a child who he can control, so he contrives a reason that disallows all adults from contention. To demonstrate to anyone not paying attention who actually leads the realm now, he falsifies his heritage to proclaim himself a descendant of the Yellow Emperor, a godly figure from 2,000 years ago. He also forces his aunt to issue an edict that proclaims him Acting Emperor.

Up to this point, I do question Zhenjun’s involvement. By all accounts, Wang Mang paid special attention to his aunt to keep him in her good graces until he consolidated power. He designed a false narrative of his regency, complete with showing her around the capital to show her how great everything was. Records portray her as the unwitting tool in her nephew’s ascent to the throne. Through lies and deceit, he manipulates her into giving him everything he needs. But this was a woman who ends up living 83 years, saw multiple emperors rise and fall, and knew how to play the Imperial Court. While it’s easy for people’s love of relatives to blind them to the truth, this woman was no sweet summer child. There’s certainly more evidence that paints her as an unwitting party here than not, but rarely is the truth so binary. I think she knew some of Wang Mang’s plans, but he balanced revealing details with hiding them in order to maintain her trust. After all, his actions mostly benefitted her too in terms of political power.

 Either way, there’s a clear rift from this point on, although she never acts directly against him, and he treats her well. Just in case though, he begins issuing orders on her behalf to curtail her ability to thwart his plans, as she’s the only one internal stopgap left against him seizing the throne.

In 6 AD, Wang Mang, now Emperor for all intents and purposes, selects a 1-year old baby to “rule”. Several rebellions by various nobles and officials follow the obvious usurpation of the throne over the next 3 years. One such rebellion ends with Wang Mang flooding the leader’s house. I laughed at this at first because that seemed like an underwhelming punishment, but flooding a house takes effort and likely served as an over the top demonstration of power.

The failed rebellions merely embolden Wang Mang. He takes the final step and proclaims himself the first ruler of a new empire: the Xin dynasty, seemingly ending the Han. He asks his aunt for the imperial seal, but Zhengjun, enraged by his request, throws the it on the ground, chipping it. Wang Mang orders the perfect jade seal repaired with gold, an act that if this were a novel studied in a literature class, we’d talk about as symbolic. This man who espoused the purity of morality was dead, replaced by an authoritarian figure of self-righteousness.

With all serious opposition dismantled, Wang Mang wishes to show his gratitude to Aunt Zhengjun for all she’s done—inadvertently or not. He offers to abolish her Grand Empress Dowager title to grant her one more unique and prestigious. Offended, she rejects the notion, and he instead simply adds another title: The Illustrious Mother, signifying her as a cofounder of his dynasty. For the next several years, he’ll continue to send her gifts and invite her to parties. Regretting her part with what’s transpired, she fades to a passive role in government and orders her ladies to observe the Han calendar and wear Han uniforms. Despite his attempts to ingratiate himself to her, she gradually sees him less and less. That’s okay because he’s got more pressing matters, like running the country. Usurping the throne and actually ruling it require different talents. 

This dude rose to power, woke up on sunny morning, greeted the world with a nice big stretch, and shouted to the heavens “Time to F my empire up.”

He dials the land distribution system back 1,000 years, pissing off nobles and commoners alike, with only corrupt officials winning. He theoretically intended a proto-communist redistribution of lands between the elite and poor, but Wang Mang botches the execution. Government officials lack any oversight, so bribes flow freely and sometimes redistribute public land away from commoners. This stems partially from good old-fashioned greed, but Wang Mang also abolishes his officials’ salaries until he could figure out the perfect system to pay them. He also relies on eunuchs to screen reports for him, who decide what to deliver to him based on personal whims (and probably fear of his responses).

His overriding goal with all these decisions is to return China to the good ole days of a 1,000 years ago. Because everything was better back in the day. He’s changing geographical names just because that’s how they were, and nobody has any idea what’s where anymore.

Then, he thinks, you know, I’ve got fresh ideas to throw into the mix too. He introduces China’s first income tax and a state monopoly on liquor and weapons, which again he may have intended to help commoners with by controlling wealth disparity, except he also creates this sloth tax, requiring all citizens to produce a bare taxable minimum or pay fines. This leads to retirees leaving their quaint home in the mountains to move back in with their kids to avoid taxation. These initiatives lead to nobles, merchants, and commoners alike all asking wtf, mate?

It even gets to the point where you have to wonder if he simply grew too attached to the “chaos is a ladder” thing because his rule goes off the rails in 10 AD.

He broadens China’s simple, intuitive currency system into one using 28 types of coins ranging from gold to tortoise shells. He recalls all the Han coinage, creating a gold shortage felt as far as Rome. Counterfeits run rampant, and nobody can identify real money. Through a series of four reforms, Wang Mang eventually reduces this to two coins, but the people aren’t having it. They reject the Xin dynasty’s bizzaro-world currency and create a black market for money. Yes, a black market for money.

This man then tries to abolish slavery maaaaybe for noble reasons, but probably because it weakens nobles who could oppose him. After all, he went so far as to penalize slave owners with...wait for it...slavery. Oh, and remember that “sloth tax”? Yeah people have been enslaving themselves to pay it, further undermining his own initiatives.

Then there’s the Xiongnu, those steppe nomads in modern-day Mongolia. I brought them up earlier because even though they’ve played a minimal role these past 6 decades, what follows makes it clear they’re very much on China’s mind.

There’s this seal that the Han empire gave to the leader of the Xiongnu a while back that basically marks them as a semi-independent tributary. But Wang Mang is like hey, the Xin are in charge now. You need a new seal, it just says the Xin rule now instead of the Han, no big deal. But in the not-so-fine print of what’s probably a bronze seal no longer than a single page, Wang Mang has changed the wording so that it says the Xiongnu are vassals now, not just tributaries. The nomadic leader doesn’t read this until the next day, cause the diplomats probably got him drink, and to be fair, he probably didn’t expect the emperor to start their relationship with a lazy deception. When he reads the seal, he’s pissed. The diplomats though, says no backsies, GOD SMITED the old seal, so we can’t help you, sorry.

The Xiongnu chieftain says hell no. He starts building defensive structures and sweet talking kingdoms to their west, an act expressly forbidden by China. Wang Mang then pulls a similar stunt with tribes to the southwest, and forces a ruler swaparoo with the Western kingdoms that the Xiongnu were talking to. All of this chaos leads to increased border conflicts and raids. China doesn’t lose any territory, but it costs them financially and sets people on edge.

 Wang Zhengjun’s health begins to deteriorate around this time. As a last ditch effort to show his love for his aunt in only the way he can, Wang Mang destroys the temple of her deceased husband’s resting place in order to make room for a more extravagant, magnificent tomb for her. I don’t know what he was expecting desecrating the resting place of not only her beloved spouse, but the last great emperor of the Western Han dynasty to which she was still loyal. She curses his name and refuses to see him until her dying breath less than a year later. Wang Mang takes a break from ruining China to bury his aunt alongside her husband, then dons mourning clothes for 3 years. He makes frequent visits to her tomb, making animal sacrifices to appease her soul. I obviously don’t know how well her soul received these gifts, but if further degradation in the empire is any sign, then the answer is... not well.

By 17 AD, all of Wang Mang’s missteps have started taking their toll, amplified by the effects of flood 6 years ago from China’s second-longest river, the Yellow River. 

People are starving, their homes are gone, and the stable economy of China is in a tailspin. Rebellions spring up across the country, with local successes inciting further rebellions elsewhere. Wang Mang sends messengers to these rebels, offering pardons if they disband. Their response is clear: disaster and economic reforms made it impossible to earn a living legally. Wang Mang drills his fingers into ears, said nyah nyah nyah, and fires any messengers who tell him this, and instead listen to liars who say the rebels are just evil troublemakers. He doesn’t do much to actually stamp out this “evil” though.

This response is mirrored elsewhere in his political mandates. It’s his way or the highway, damn everyone else. Now, we can’t know the true intent of Wang Mang’s decrees, whether they stemmed from authoritarian bids to secure power or if he truly believed that only he and he alone knew the right path for China. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle.

Maybe everyone telling him “You’re the best” for 4 decades before his rule all went to his head. It can be hard to think you’re ever wrong when you’ve been right for so long, but his sheer arrogance is the prime culprit in his downfall. He doesn’t listen to anyone unless it fits his narrative.

As more revolts crop up, and overall dissatisfaction rises, one thing he remains good at is sniffing out direct threats to his rule.

11 years into his dynasty, In 20 AD, he orders yet another of his 2 remaining sons to commit suicide. You see, Wang Mang had an affair with this woman, as he does, and his son also had an affair with her. The son and her got to talking about killing daddy-not-so-dearest and taking his place. Wang Mang susses out the plot, brings his son before him and orders him to commit suicide by poison, but the son in a final act of defiance uses a sword instead. Way to show him. Wang Mang’s 4th and final son also dies this same year, probably to yet another father-enforced suicide cause why stop at 3, but there aren’t details.

Two years after that, Wang Mang finally starts taking these rebellions seriously. They’ve been rising up and spreading around the country for 5 years at this point. He sends an army to quell a few of the big ones. Things are going pretty well until he forces the army to fight past their breaking point, resulting in a total breakdown due to fatigue. They lose momentum in regrouping and though a plague outbreak does set back the rebels some, it just delays the inevitable.

A year later, many disparate rebel groups come together in an alliance that declares the Han empire reborn. They start to capture territories rather than raid them, eventually culminating in the final meaningful battle of the Xin empire, the Battle of Kunyang. On one side, we have the rebels, equipped with what they’ve raided or what meager equipment disaffected nobles could provide. The Xin dynasty’s army, by contrast, had the full complement of military technology at the time. This included sabers for cavalry, crossbows, and armor made of rawhide, leather, or steel depending on the soldier’s rank.

The most well known historian to chronicle the era (who would come several decades later) estimated the rebels at the Battle of Kunyang numbered 10,000-20,000 and the Xin empire 430,000. A contemporary of his though put the Xin empire at 30,000, which is likely low but still closer to the truth. The larger number likely approximates the nation’s entire army, rather than the army brought to this battle. Yet despite the imperial forces seemingly holding every advantage, they lose due to two reasons.

One – the Xin general severely underestimates his opponent. While this general is laying siege to the town of Kunyang, one of the rebel leaders brings a force of a few thousand men to meet them. The Xin general countered by splintering off 10,000 troops, expecting to run over this new comer, but the small engagement benefits the savvy rebel leader, who outmaneuvers and slays the general. 

Worse for the Xin army, they’d been given the order to wait for the general’s return. Confusion following his demise leads to havoc when the besieged rebels sally forth. While the Xin still hold the numerical edge, they lack leadership, and panic at the two-pronged assault.

As bad as that was, a second catastrophe quashes the Xin dynasty’s final hopes, one of the natural variety. Legends say a meteorite from the heavens struck the larger army. More likely a bad thunderstorm sews chaos, flooding the nearby river and driving them from their position into one far more precarious.

Whatever the truth, 3 months later the rebels march on the capital. Those inside the walls quickly turn on their lord and storm palace. Former Empress Ping, at age 30, commits suicide, like her brothers, jumping into a fire. No doubt she feared the angry mob, but it’s fair to wonder if after 17 years of mourning her child husband, after watching the empire crumble around her, that she felt responsible for all that transpired and thus deserved her fate. If true, that’s an even sadder tale to her end. She embraced society’s values, yet was punished at every turn for doing so...

...A swarm of rioters and soldiers eventually reach Emperor Wang, who is preparing a final stand to save both his honor and kingdom….yeah...no, he’s indulging in a harem of women. The mob murders the 67-year old emperor, who is so hated that a fight to claim credit for his death leads to dozens of soldiers killing each other. After that, they dice his body into pieces and hang his head on the city wall. Then another mob takes that down and plays pseudo-soccer with it before officials finally store it in a court vault that, 2 centuries later, would burn down. Remember when I said Wang Mang probably played a rudimentary form of soccer as a kid? In this podcast, everything comes full circle, though perhaps now always so morbidly.

Phew, Oh, and that rebel leader who outsmarted the Xin general at the battle of Kunyang? 2 years later, he would restore the Han dynasty as its emperor, an empire history would come to call the Eastern Han dynasty.

You can’t make this stuff up, and well...while, there’s not much good to say about Wang Mang after he took power, we might not know about it even if there were. The primary source for what we know about his rule was only able to compile his records with the blessing of the Han emperors a few decades after this time period. Surely, they would want to paint this upstart as inept, a reminder that veering from the glory of the Han is dangerous. Don’t get me wrong, this historian was legit—he sacrificed a lot for the history he did record— and it’s clear Wang Mang didn’t have a clue how to rule, with initiatives that attempted to drag his empire back to a mythical era of glory, but some parts, like the 430,000 troops losing 10,000, certainly feels like an exaggeration.

All of this is to say we can’t remove bias from history, and why I’ll occasionally add my own hypotheticals to these stories (though I’ll make sure to note them). There’s always more to the story than we can ever know, and I feel it’s both healthy and fun to discuss these possibilities.

From this, you might wonder: if Wang Mang’s rule was twisted for propaganda’s sake, why not also add that Emperor Ai was poisoned? Why is there no record of it? Well, to defend my supposition: there’s a clear delineation between Wang Mang the man and Wang Mang the ruler. One is honorable, one is despotic. One demonstrates adherence to Confucian virtues, one shows the absence, and these impart their own lessons.

These values spread west, though not as far as another product of China—silk. We know that by the time of Wang Mang’s death, this unique material has been available in Rome to wealthy citizens for a century. So, as geography and trade links China with Rome, so will this podcast. Next episode, I’ll focus not on a ruler, but a soldier turned scholar: Pliny the Elder, who ultimately met his demise in the volcanic eruption of Pompeii. As always, his story will begin as this one ends, with the death of one historical figure coinciding with the birth of another, this time in 23 AD. Talk you then, and thanks for listening to Linked by History.

Oh, and for any future show notes, I’ll put them here at the end instead of the beginning so we can always get straight into it.