Chapter 32: Explaining the Candlelight and Axe Shadow Incident to Zhao Kuangyin

Each incendiary word, each outrageous accusation, pierced straight into Zhao Kuangyin’s ears. His hand gripping the jade axe involuntarily tightened.

“Compared to the brief accounts in the ‘Annals of the Founding Emperor,’ the ‘Comprehensive Records of the Song Dynasty’ offers a more detailed report. It states that on the night of November 19th, His Majesty fell gravely ill and summoned Prince Jin, Zhao Guangyi, to entrust him with his affairs. That night, heavy snow fell as the emperor and Prince Jin drank together in the Wansui Hall, dismissing all attendants. No one knows what was said between them. Observers from afar saw, by the flickering candlelight, Prince Jin’s figure cast upon the windowpane. Occasionally, he would rise and bow to the emperor, showing a demeanor of humility and deference. Soon after, the emperor was seen leaning on the jade axe, tapping it on the floor, uttering ‘Very well! Very well!’ Some records say ‘easy to do, easy to do.’”

“And then?”

After a pause, Zhao Kuangyin looked at Li Cheng and spoke, his expression calm once more. His grip on the jade axe had loosened, his thoughts unreadable.

“Afterwards, the emperor quickly fell asleep, snoring thunderously. At the fifth watch, attendants noticed he had not risen and sensed no movement. Upon entering, they found the emperor had passed away.”

Li Cheng carefully observed Zhao Kuangyin’s expression, noting that his face remained as somber and dark as ever, betraying no further emotion.

“That doesn’t explicitly say I was harmed by Prince Jin,” Zhao Kuangyin said slowly, sensing Li Cheng’s gaze.

“How could such matters be clearly recorded? The Song Dynasty long lost the grandeur of the Tang, and the scholars lacked backbone. When recording history, especially sensitive events, there was always a tendency to observe taboos for the revered. If we still had the integrity of scribes from ancient times, there wouldn’t be so many mysteries and controversies left behind. Moreover, Zhao Guangyi was notoriously narrow-minded, so such veiled accounts are understandable. Even this subtle record was banned during Emperor Huizong’s reign. The ‘Xiangshan Wild Records’ by the monk Wenying was forbidden because Emperor Huizong, who succeeded his elder brother, inherited the throne after Emperor Zhezong died without an heir. Zhezong was a commendable ruler, securing victories that erased past humiliations. Naturally, the succession from brother to brother led many to speculate about the relationship between the emperor and Prince Jin. Hence, Wenying’s ‘Xiangshan Wild Records,’ the earliest book mentioning the flickering shadows and axe sounds, was censored. Wenying was a renowned monk from Qiantang and tutor to Qian Weiyan’s two sons. Qian Weiyan was the son of King Qian Chu of Wuyue and married Ding Wei’s daughter. With such connections, Wenying’s writings carried some weight. Emperor Huizong’s ban only fueled further speculation.”

Li Cheng recounted what he knew about the flickering shadows and axe sounds to Zhao Kuangyin.

“But as the emperor himself said, there is no definitive record stating that Prince Jin harmed him. This explains the centuries of debate. The theory that Prince Jin caused the emperor’s death is the most prevalent and convincing. Yet some oppose it, insisting the emperor died naturally. For instance, it’s clearly recorded that the emperor summoned Prince Jin because he was seriously ill.”

Li Cheng noticed that Zhao Kuangyin’s dark expression seemed to lighten slightly on hearing this. It appeared he preferred to believe in death by illness rather than betrayal by his own brother.

“That explanation, however, is not very credible. Historical records show that in the ninth year of the Kaibao era, the emperor was actively engaged in affairs — inspecting the imperial guards, receiving envoys. In March, he spent a month in Luoyang. Even on October 4th, just half a month before his death, records show he watched troops perform martial exercises on the training grounds. There was no sign of illness. Sudden severe illness is unlikely. Even if seriously ill enough to discuss succession, how could he have been drinking with Prince Jin that snowy night? Moreover, since I personally met the emperor, I know he favored naming his second son heir, so if he were arranging his affairs, he would have summoned the second son, not Prince Jin. That possibility is ruled out. Some speculate the emperor died from excessive drinking. But I find that unlikely, as he himself said, ‘To indulge in wine is unworthy of a man.’ Of course, not everyone agrees with that — like those who repeatedly vow to quit gambling but never do. We must ask the emperor himself: was he addicted to alcohol?”

Li Cheng looked at Zhao Kuangyin, asking. Due to the ambiguous nature of the records, later generations could not clarify these matters, but he could ask the man involved.

“I did say that. Early on, I once erred due to drinking, but it was not serious. Since then, I vowed never to repeat that mistake. Being in the military, abstaining entirely was impossible, but I rarely drank more than a little. After ascending the throne, I no longer needed to drink for social reasons, so I drank even less — only occasionally, just a small amount.”

Li Cheng was unsurprised by this response. He knew that a man who spoke so plainly was unlikely to be a slave to wine. Great achievements require unwavering resolve. Even Lü Bu, once undone by wine and women, could quit drinking; Zhao Kuangyin, destined to be an emperor, certainly could.

“Some say the emperor’s years of campaigning left him frail with old injuries, causing his death. I asked him about this before; he admitted to leg and shoulder ailments but no lasting complications, so that is unlikely. Others suggest he had hypertension, citing descendants of Emperor Renzong, a prince of Jin, who suffered fainting spells. Since hypertension can be hereditary, it’s plausible to suspect the emperor had it too. They suggest that drinking with Prince Jin triggered a hypertensive crisis causing cerebral hemorrhage. May I ask, did you experience headaches, chest tightness, palpitations, dizziness, or head pressure?”

Zhao Kuangyin thought carefully and shook his head. “No.”

“Good, that rules out another possibility.”

“Some argue that many Song emperors, including you, had short lifespans, implying a hereditary illness within the Zhao family. I find that far-fetched. Which dynasty, no matter how long it lasted, had emperors who generally lived long lives? Need I mention the Eastern Han, the Tang, or even the Ming? To single out the Song as uniquely afflicted is unreasonable.”

With all other theories eliminated, only one remained — the widely accepted belief that the emperor’s sudden death was caused by Prince Jin.

“That’s still not right,” Zhao Kuangyin shook his head. “Though I am older than my third brother, he is nowhere near my skill. Even with one hand and one leg, I could defeat him. Even if he wielded the jade axe and I were unarmed, I could subdue him in an instant. How could he have harmed me?”