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Title: San Kuo, or romance of the three kingdoms (volume 1 of 2)
Author: Guanzhong Luo
Translator: Charles Henry Brewitt-Taylor
Release date: December 7, 2025 [eBook #77416]
Language: English
Original publication: Shanghai: Kelly & Walsh, Limited, 1925
Credits: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Books project.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAN KUO, OR ROMANCE OF THE THREE KINGDOMS (VOLUME 1 OF 2) ***
SAN KUO,
OR
ROMANCE OF THE THREE KINGDOMS
By C. H. BREWITT-TAYLOR
late of the Maritime Customs Service of China
AN ENGLISH VERSION OF
三國志演義
VOLUME I, WITH MAP
KELLY & WALSH, LIMITED
SHANGHAI : HONGKONG : SINGAPORE
MCMXXV
To the Memory
of my Son Raymond
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
VOLUME I.
Chapter. Page
Preface.
I. Feast in the Garden of Peaches: Brotherhood Sworn:
Slaughter of Rebels: The Brothers Heroes. 1
II. An Official is Thrashed; Uncle Ho Plots to Kill the
Eunuchs. 11
III. Tung Cho Silences Ting Yüan: Li Su Bribes Lü Pu. 23
IV. The Deposition of the Emperor: Prince of Chʻên-liu
Becomes Emperor: Schemes Against Tung Cho: Mêng-tê
Presents a Sword. 34
V. Sending Out the Call: Many Respond: Destroying An Army:
The Three Brothers Fight Against Lü Pu. 43
VI. Burning the Capital, Tung Cho Commits an Atrocity:
Hiding the Seal, Sun Chien Breaks Faith. 55
VII. Yüan Shao Fights with Kungsun Tsan at Pʻanho: Sun Chien
Attacks Liu Piao. 63
VIII. Governor Wang Prepares the “Chain” Scheme: Tung Cho’s
Rages at the Fengi Pavilion. 72
IX. Lü Pu Helps to Suppress Disorder: Chia Hsü Counsels an
Attack on the Capital. 81
X. Ma Tʻeng Serves His Country Well: Tsʻao Tsʻao Avenges
His Father’s Murder. 92
XI. Liu, the Emperor’s Uncle, Rescues Kʻung Jung: Lu,
Marquis of Wen, Defeats Tsʻao Tsʻao. 100
XII. The Prefect Tʻao Thrice Offers His Charge: Tsʻao Tsʻao
Fights A Great Battle. 112
XIII. Great Battle Between Li Tsʻui and Kuo Ssŭ: The Emperor
Rescued. 122
XIV. Tsʻao Mêng-tê Moves the Court: Lü Fêng-hsien Raids
Hsüchun. 134
XV. Tʻaishih Tzŭ Fights for Friendship’s Sake: Sun Po-fu
does Battle with Yen, the White Tiger. 147
XVI. A Feat of Archery: A Battle Lost at Yushui River. 161
XVII. An Army of Seven Divisions Marches Out: Three Generals
are Brought Together. 175
XVIII. Chia Hsü engineers a Great Victory: Hsiahou Tun Loses
an Eye. 184
XIX. Tsʻao Tsʻao Fights at Hsiapʻei: Lü Pu Perishes at the
White Gate Tower. 193
XX. Tsʻao A-man Organises a Hunting Expedition: Tung,
“State Uncle,” Receives a Command in the Palace. 207
XXI. Tsʻao Tsʻao Discusses Heroes: Kuan Yu Slays Chʻê Chou. 218
XXII. Yüan and Tsʻao Both Take the Field: The Two Brothers
Capture Two Captains. 228
XXIII. Mi Hêng Slips his Garment and Rails at Traitors: Cruel
Punishment of the Physician Chi. 240
XXIV. Murder of a Kuei-fei: Liu Pei Defeated; Flight to
Yüan Shao. 253
XXV. From Tʻushan Camp Kuan Yü makes Three Conditions: The
Rescue at Paima releases Tsʻao Tsʻao. 259
XXVI. Yüan Shao is Defeated and Loses a Leader: Kuan Yü
Abandons Rank and Wealth. 270
XXVII. “Beautiful Beard” Rides on a Solitary Journey: And
Slays Six Men at Five Passes. 279
XXVIII. Tsʻai Yang put to Death, the Brothers’ Doubts
Disappear: Meeting at Kuchʻeng, Lord and Liege Fortify
each Other. 290
XXIX. The “Little Chief of the Feudal Lords” Slays Yü Chi:
The “Blue-Eyed Boy” Lays Hold on Chiangtung. 302
XXX. Yüan Shao Defeated at the Ferry: Tsʻao Tsʻao Burns the
Wuchʻao Granaries. 313
XXXI. Tsʻao Tsʻao Overcomes Yüan Shao: Liu Pei Seeks Shelter
with Liu Piao. 325
XXXII. Chʻichou Taken: Yüan Shang Strives: The Chang River
Cut: Hsü Yu’s Scheme. 335
XXXIII. Tsʻao Pʻei Finds a Wife: A Plan for Settling Liaotung. 347
XXXIV. A Woman Overhears a Secret: A Warrior Leaps a Stream. 358
XXXV. Yüan-tê Meets a Recluse at Nanchang: Tan Fu Meets a
Noble Lord at Hsinyeh. 368
XXXVI. Capture of Fanchʻêng: Chuko Liang Recommended. 376
XXXVII. Another Scholar Introduced: The Three visits to the
Recluse. 385
XXXVIII. Plan for Three Kingdoms: The Suns Avenge Themselves. 397
XXXIX. At Chingchou the Son of Liu Piao Thrice Begs Advice:
At Powang Slope the Master Directs his First Battle. 408
XL. The Lady Tsʻai Discusses the Renunciation of Chingchou:
Chuko Liang Burns Hsinyeh. 418
XLI. Liu Pei Leads his People Over the River: Chao Yün
Rescues his Lord. 427
XLII. Chang Fei’s Great Fight at Chʻangpan Slope: Liu Pei,
Defeated, Goes to Hanchingkʻou. 439
XLIII. Chuko Liang Disputes With the Scholars: Lu Su Denounces
the Majority Opinion. 447
XLIV. Kʻung-ming Stirs Chou Yü to Action: Sun Chʻüan Decides
to Attack Tsʻao Tsʻao. 459
XLV. Tsʻao Tsʻao Loses Soldiers: Chiang Kan Victim of a Ruse. 469
XLVI. Kʻung-ming “Borrows” Some Arrows: Huang Kai Accepts a
Punishment. 481
XLVII. Kʻan Tsê Presents the Treacherous Letter: Pʻan Tʻung
Suggests Chaining the Ships Together. 491
XLVIII. Banquet on the Yangtse; Tsʻao Tsʻao’s Song: The Northern
Men Fight on the Chained Ships. 500
XLIX. On the Seven Stars altar Chuko sacrifices to the winds:
At the Three Rivers Chou Yü Liberates Fire. 508
L. Chuko Liang Foresees the Huayung Episode: Kuan
Yün-chʻang Releases Tsʻao Tsʻao. 519
LI. A Great Battle Between North and South: Kʻung-ming
Angers Chou Yü . 527
LII. Chuko Liang talks cunningly to Lu Su: Chao Yün, by a
ruse, captures Kueiyang 537
LIII. Kuan Yu, from a Sense of Righteousness, Releases Huang
Chung: Sun Chʻüan Fights a Great Battle with Chang Liao. 547
LIV. The Dowager Marchioness Sees Her Son-in-law at a Temple:
Liu, the Imperial Uncle, Takes a Worthy Consort. 558
LV. Yüan-tê Rouses the Spirit of his Bride: Kʻung-ming a
Second Time Angers his Rival. 569
LVI. A Banquet in the Bronze Bird Pavilion: Kʻung-ming
Provokes Chou Yü a Third Time. 578
LVII. “Sleeping Dragon” Mourns at Chʻaisang: “Phoenix
Fledgeling” Intervenes at Leiyang. 589
LVIII. An Expedition for Revenge: Expedients to Conceal
Identity. 601
LIX. Hsu Chʻü Strips for a Fight with Ma Chʻao: Tsʻao Tsʻao
Writes a Letter to sow Dissension. 612
LX. Chang Sung Turns the Tables on Yang Hsiu: Occupation
of Shu Discussed. 623
PREFACE.
A. Wylie, in his invaluable Notes on Chinese Literature, says, “Works
of fiction par excellence are not admitted by the Chinese to form a
part of their national literature. Those who have imbibed European
ideas on the subject, however, will feel that the novels and romances
are too important as a class to be overlooked. The insight they give in
the national manners and customs of various ages, the specimens which
they furnish of an ever-changing language, the fact of this being the
only channel through which a large portion of the people gain their
knowledge of history, and the influence which they must consequently
exercise in the formation of character, are reasons too weighty to be
left out of account, notwithstanding the prejudices of scholars on the
subject. Foremost among these in popular estimation is the San Kuo Chih
Yen-i (三國志演義). This is a historical novel, in 120 chapters, written by
Lo Kuan-chung (羅貫中) of the Yüan dynasty (1260–1341). The plot, which is
founded on the historical events immediately succeeding the decadence
of the house of Han, is wrought out with a most elaborate complication
of details, embracing the period from 168 to 265. Following the course
of events from the imbecile reign of Ling Ti of the Han, the tale opens
with an account of the insurrection of the ‘Yellow Caps,’ during which
Liu Pei (劉備), a descendant of the imperial family, enters into a solemn
compact with Kuan Yü (關羽), now the deified Kuan Ti, God of War, and
Chang Fei (張飛) to aid each other till death, in their efforts to uphold
the falling house. The fortunes of Liu Pei are traced through a series
of reverses, till he assumes the royal power, (known afterwards as
Chao-Lieh Ti), and the empire became divided into three states Wei, Shu
and Wu. Tyranny and bloodshed mark the narrative for nearly a century,
till the usurper Tsʻao Mao of the Wei is deposed by his minister Ssŭ-ma
Chao, whose son became the consolidator of the empire, and founder of
the Tsin dynasty, being the Wu Ti of history.”
As a general description of the book, Wylie’s brief note leaves little
to be desired; to amplify it would mean an analysis with which I would
not weary the reader. I will add, however, that the San Kuo is widely
read and very generally known, perhaps, however, better through stage
performances than by actual reading.
The San Kuo is distinctly eastern, a book adapted for the story-teller;
one can almost hear him. It abounds in names and genealogies, which
seem never to tire the eastern reader or listener. Happily, English
admits pronouns in place of so many strangely-spelt names which ought
to appear, and they have been used; and as most persons have at least a
tzŭ in addition to the hsing and ming I have tried to lighten the
burden on the foreign reader’s memory by using only the hsing or hsing
and ming of a man, suppressing his tzŭ except in the case of very
well-known characters.
Manchu, Japanese, Siamese, and possibly other versions of the San Kuo
have been made, and now to these I have attempted to add one in
English, with what measure of success I leave to curious readers
qualified to compare my rendering with the original.
The Wade system of romanisation, in which the vowels are Italian, has
been used.
In conclusion, I wish to put on record my gratitude to Mr. Chen Ti Tsen
who typed the text, and Mr. E. Manico Gull who has read the proofs.
C. H. B.-T.
CHAPTER I.
FEAST IN THE GARDEN OF PEACHES: BROTHERHOOD SWORN:
SLAUGHTER OF REBELS: THE BROTHERS HEROES.
Empires wax and wane; states cleave asunder and coalesce. When the rule
of Chou weakened seven contending principalities sprang up, warring one
with another till they settled down as Tsʻin and when its destiny had
been fulfilled arose Chʻu and Han to contend for the mastery. And Han
was the victor.
The rise of the fortunes of Han began with the slaughter of the White
Serpent. In a short time the whole Empire was theirs and their
magnificent heritage was handed down in successive generations till the
days of Kuang-Wu, whose name stands in the middle of the long line of
Han. This was in the first century of the western era and the dynasty
had then already passed its zenith. A century later came to the Throne
the Emperor Hsien, doomed to see the beginning of the division into
three parts, known to history as The Three Kingdoms.
The descent into misrule hastened in the reigns of the two Emperors
Huan and Ling, who sat in the dragon seat about the middle of the
second century. The former of these two paid no heed to the good men of
his court, but gave his confidence to the palace eunuchs. He lived and
died, leaving the sceptre to Ling, whose trusted advisers were the
General Tou Wu and the Grand Tutor Chʻên Fan. These two, disgusted with
the abuses resulting from the meddling of the eunuchs in affairs of
State, plotted their destruction. But the chief eunuch Tsʻao Chieh was
not to be disposed of easily. The plot leaked out and the two honest
men fell, leaving the eunuchs stronger than before.
It fell upon the day of full moon of the fourth month, second year of
the period Chien-Ning, that the Emperor went in state to the Wên-tê
Hall. As he drew near the Throne a rushing whirlwind arose in the
corner of the hall and, lo! from the roof beams floated down a
monstrous black serpent that coiled itself up on the very seat of
majesty. The Emperor fell in a swoon. Those nearest him hastily raised
and bore him to his palace while the courtiers scattered and fled. The
serpent disappeared.
But there followed a terrific tempest, thunder, hail and torrents of
rain, lasting till midnight and working havoc on all sides. Two years
later the earth quaked in Loyang, while along the coast a huge tidal
wave rushed in which, in its recoil, swept away all the dwellers by the
sea. Another evil omen was recorded ten years later, when the
reign-title was changed: certain hens suddenly developed male
characteristics, a miracle which could only refer to the effeminate
eunuchs meddling in affairs of State. At the new moon of the sixth
month a long wreath of black vapour wound its way into the audience
chamber, while in the following month a rainbow was seen in the Jade
Chamber. Away from the capital a mountain fell in, leaving a mighty
rift in its flank.
Such were some of various omens. The Emperor, greatly moved by these
signs of the displeasure of Heaven, issued an edict asking his
ministers for an explanation of the calamities and marvels. A certain
Tsʻai Yung replied bluntly that showers of insects and changes of
fowls’ sexes were brought about by feminine interference in State
affairs.
The Emperor read this memorial with deep sighs, and the chief eunuch
Tsʻao Chieh, from his place behind the Throne, anxiously noted these
signs of grief. An opportunity offering, he read the document and told
his fellows its purport. Before long a charge was trumped up against
the author, who was driven from court and forced to retire to his
country house. With this victory the eunuchs grew bolder. Ten of them,
rivals in wickedness and associates in evil deeds, formed a powerful
party known as The Ten. One of them, Chang Jang, won such influence
that he became the Emperor’s most honoured and trusted adviser. The
Emperor even called him Daddie. So the Government went quickly from bad
to worse, till the country was ripe for rebellion and buzzed with
brigandage.
At this time in Chülu was a certain Chang family, of whom three
brothers bore the name of Chio, Pao and Liang respectively. The eldest
was an unclassed graduate, who devoted himself to medicine. One day,
while culling simples in the woods, he met a venerable old gentleman
with very bright eyes and fresh complexion, who walked leaning on a
staff. The old man beckoned Chio into a cave and there gave him three
volumes of the “Book of Heaven.” “This book” said he, “is the Way of
Peace. With the aid of these volumes you can convert the world and
rescue mankind. But you must be single-minded, or, rest assured, you
will greatly suffer.”
With a humble obeisance Chang took the book and asked the name of his
benefactor.
“I am the Hsien of the Southern Land of Glory,” was the reply, as the
old gentleman disappeared in thin air.
The new possessor of the wonderful book studied it eagerly and strove
day and night to reduce its precepts to practice. Before long he could
summon the winds and command the rain, and became known as The Mystic
of the Way of Peace. Soon he could test his other powers. With a change
of reign-title appeared a terrible pestilence which ran throughout the
land, whereupon Chang Chio distributed charmed remedies of which the
success gained him the title of the Wise and Good Master. He began to
have a following of disciples whom he initiated into the mysteries and
sent abroad throughout all the land. They, like their master, could
write charms and recite formulae and their fame increased his
following. He began to organise his disciples. He established thirty
six circuits, the larger with a myriad or more members, the smaller
with about half that number. Each circuit had its chief who took the
military title of General. They talked wildly of the death of the blue
heavens and the setting up of the yellow; they said a new cycle was
beginning and would bring universal good fortune, and they persuaded
people to chalk the symbols for the first year of a cycle on the main
door of their dwellings.
With the growth of the number of his supporters grew also the ambition
of the “Wise and Good.” He dreamed of empire. One of his partizans, Ma
Yüan-i, was sent bearing gifts to gain the support of the eunuchs
whereby to have allies within the palace. To his brothers Chang Chio
said, “For schemes like ours always the most difficult part is to gain
the popular favour. But that is already ours. Such an opportunity must
not pass.” And they began to prepare. Many yellow flags were made and a
day was chosen to strike the first blow.
Then they wrote letters to the chief eunuch, Fêng Hsü, and sent them by
a follower, who alas! betrayed their trust and discovered the plot. The
Emperor summoned his trusty General Ho Chin and bade him look to it. Ma
Yüan-i was at once taken and put to death. Fêng Hsü and many others
were cast into prison.
The plot having thus become known the Changs were forced at once to
take the field. They assumed grandiose titles, Tʻien Kung, or Celestial
Duke, Ti Kung, or Terrestrial Duke, Jên Kung, or Duke of Humanity, and
in these names they put forth this manifesto:—“The good fortune of the
Hans is exhausted and the Wise Man has appeared. Discern the will of
Heaven, O ye people, and walk in the way of righteousness, whereby
alone ye may attain to peace.”
Support was not lacking. On every side people bound their heads with a
yellow turban and joined the army of the rebel Chang Chio, so that soon
his strength was exceeding great and the official troops melted away at
a whisper of his coming.
Ho Chin, Guardian of the Throne, memorialised for general preparations
against the rebels and an edict called upon every one to fight against
them. In the meantime Lu Chih, Huangfu Sung and Chu Chien marched
against them in three directions with veteran soldiers.
It is now time to turn to Chang Chio. He led his army into Yuchow, the
northern of the eight divisions of the country. The Prefect was one Liu
Yen, a scion of the Imperial House through a certain Lu, Prince Kung of
Chingling. Learning of the approach of the rebels, the Prefect called
in the Hsiao-yü Tsou Ching to consult over the position. Said Tsou,
“They are many and we few; you must enlist more men to oppose them.”
The Prefect saw this was so and he put out notices calling for
volunteers to serve against the rebels. One of these notices was posted
up in the Cho district, where lived one of whom much will be heard
later.
This man was no mere bookish scholar nor found he any pleasure in
study. But he was liberal and amiable, albeit a man of few words,
hiding all feeling under a calm exterior. He had always cherished a
yearning for high emprise and had cultivated the friendship of men of
mark. He was tall of stature. His ears were long, the lobes touching
his shoulders, and his hands hung down below his knees. His eyes were
very prominent, so that he could see backward past his ears. His
complexion was clear as jade and he had rich red lips. He was a
descendant of a Prince whose father was the grandson of the Emperor
Ching, (the occupant of the dragon throne a century and a half B.C.)
His name was Liu Pei, or more commonly Liu Yüan-tê. Many years before
one of his forbears had been Marquis of that very district, but had
lost his rank for remissness in ceremonial offerings. However, that
branch of the family had remained on in the place, gradually becoming
poorer and poorer as the years rolled on. His father Liu Hung had been
a scholar and an official but died young. The widow and orphan were
left alone and Pei as a lad won a reputation for filial piety.
At this time the family had sunk deep in poverty and the son gained his
living by the sale of straw sandals and weaving grass mats. The family
home was in a village near the district city. Near the house stood a
huge mulberry tree, and seen from afar its curved profile resembled the
tilt of a waggon. Noting the luxuriance of its foliage a soothsayer had
predicted that one day a man of distinction would come forth from the
family. As a child Yüan-tê and the other village boys played beneath
this tree and he would climb up into it, saying he was emperor and was
mounting his chariot. The lad’s uncle recognised that he was no
ordinary boy and saw to it that the family did not come to actual want.
When Yüan-tê was fifteen his mother sent him travelling for his
education. For a time he served Chêng Yüan and Lu Chih as masters and
he became great friends with Kungssun Tsan.
Yüan-tê was twenty eight when the outbreak of the rebellion called for
soldiers. The sight of the notice saddened him and he sighed as he read
it. Suddenly a rasping voice behind him cried, “Noble Sir, why sigh if
you do nothing to help your country?” Turning quickly he saw standing
there a man about his own height, with a bullet head like a leopard’s,
large eyes, a pointed chin and a bristling moustache. He spoke in a
loud bass voice and looked as irresistible as a runaway horse. At once
Yüan-tê saw he was no ordinary man and asked who he was.
“Chang Fei is my name; I am usually called I-tê” replied the stranger.
“I live near here where I have a farm; and I am a wine-seller and a
butcher as well. And I like to become acquainted with worthy men. Your
sighs as you read the notice drew me toward you.”
Yüan-tê replied, “I am of the Imperial Family, Liu by name, and my
distinguishing name is Pei. An I could I would destroy these rebels and
restore peace to the land, but alas! I am helpless.”
“I am not without means,” said Fei. “Suppose you and I raised some men
and tried what we could do.”
This was happy news for Yüan-tê and the two betook themselves to the
village inn to talk over the project. As they were drinking, a huge,
tall fellow appeared pushing a hand-cart along the road. At the
threshold he halted and entered the inn to rest awhile and he called
for wine. “And be quick,” added he “for I am in haste to get into the
town and offer myself for the army.”
Yüan-tê looked over the new-comer item by item and noted his huge
frame, his long beard, his dark brown face and deep red lips. He had
eyes like a phœnix and fine bushy eyebrows like silkworms. His whole
appearance was dignified and awe-inspiring. Presently Yüan-tê crossed
over, sat down beside him and asked his name.
“I am Kuan Yü,” said he; “I used to be known as Shou-chʻang (Long as
eternity), but now am usually called Yün-chʻang (Long as a cloud). I am
a native of the east side of the river, but I have been a fugitive on
the waters for some five years, because I slew a ruffian who, since he
was powerful, was a bully. I have come to join the army here.”
Then Yüan-tê told him his own intentions and all three went away to
Chang Fei’s farm where they could talk over the grand project.
Said Fei, “The peach trees in the orchard behind the house are just in
full flower. To-morrow we will institute a sacrifice there and solemnly
declare our intention before Heaven and Earth. And we three will swear
brotherhood and unity of aims and sentiments; thus will we enter upon
our great task.”
All three being of one mind, next day they prepared the sacrifices, a
black ox, a white horse and wine for libation. Beneath the smoke of the
incense burning on the altar they bowed their heads and recited this
oath:—“We three, Liu Pei, Kuan Yü and Chang Fei, though of different
families, swear brotherhood, and promise mutual help to one end. We
will rescue each other in difficulty, we will aid each other in danger.
We swear to serve the state and save the people. We ask not the same
day of birth but we seek to die together. May Heaven, the all-ruling,
and Earth, the all-producing, read our hearts, and if we turn aside
from righteousness or forget kindliness may Heaven and man smite us!”
They rose from their knees. The two others bowed before Yüan-tê as
their elder brother and Chang Fei was to be the youngest of the trio.
This solemn ceremony performed, they slew other oxen and made a feast
to which they invited the villagers. Three hundred joined them and all
feasted and drank deep in the Peach Garden.
The next day weapons were mustered. But there were no horses to ride.
This was a real grief, but soon they were cheered by the arrival of two
horse dealers with a drove of horses.
“Thus does Heaven help us,” said Yüan-tê and the three brothers went
forth to welcome the merchants. They were from Changshan and went
northwards every year to buy horses. They were now on their way home
because of the rising. They also came to the farm, where wine was set
before them, and presently Yüan-tê told them of the plan to strive for
tranquility. The two dealers were glad and at once gave them fifty good
steeds, and beside, gold and silver and a thousand catties of steel fit
for the forging of weapons.
After the merchants had taken their leave, armourers were summoned to
forge weapons. For Yüan-tê they made a double sword. Yün-chʻang
fashioned a long-handled, curved blade called “Black Dragon” or “Cold
Beauty,” which weighed a full hundredweight, and Chang Fei made himself
an eighteen-foot spear. Each too had a helmet and full armour.
When these were ready the troop, now five hundred strong, marched to
Tsou Ching, who presented them to Liu Yen. When the ceremony of
introduction was over, Yüan-tê declared his ancestry and Yen at once
accorded him the favour due to a relation.
Before many days it was announced that the rebellion had actually
broken out and the leader, Chêng Yüan-chih, had invaded the district
with a huge army. Tsou Ching and the three heroes went out to oppose
them with the five hundred men. Yüan-tê joyfully undertook to lead the
van and marched to the foot of the Tahsing Hills where they saw the
rebels. The rebels wore their hair flying about their shoulders and
their foreheads were bound with yellow turbans.
When the two armies had been drawn up opposite each other Yüan-tê with
his two brothers, one on each side, rode to the front and, flourishing
his whip, began to hurl reproaches at the rebels and called upon them
to surrender. Their leader, full of rage, sent out one Têng Mou to
begin the battle. At once rode forward Chang Fei, his long spear poised
to strike. One thrust and Têng rolled off his horse pierced through the
heart. At this the leader himself whipped up his steed and rode forth
with sword raised ready to slay Chang. But Kuan Yü swung up his
ponderous weapon and rode at him. At the sight fear seized upon Chêng,
and ere he could recover himself the great sword fell, cutting him in
halves.
Two heroes new to war’s alarms,
Ride boldly forth to try their arms.
Their doughty deeds three kingdoms tell
And poets sing how these befell.
Their leader fallen, the rebels threw away their weapons and fled. The
official soldiers dashed in among them. Many thousands surrendered and
the victory was complete. Thus this part of the rebellion was broken
up.
On their return the Prefect met them and distributed rewards. But
before long letters came from the prefecture of Chingchou saying that
the rebels were laying siege to the chief city and it was near falling.
Help was needed quickly.
“I will go,” said Yüan-tê as soon as he heard the news and he set out
at once with his own men, reinforced by a large body under Tsou Ching.
The rebels seeing help coming at once attacked most fiercely. The
relieving force being comparatively small could not prevail and retired
some thirty li, where they made a camp.
“They are many and we but few,” said Yüan-tê to his brothers. “We can
only beat them by superior strategy.”
So they prepared an ambush. The two younger brothers, each with a
goodly party, went behind the hills right and left and there hid. When
the gongs beat they were to move out to support the main army.
These preparations made, the drums rolled for the advance. The rebels
also came forward. Then Yüan-tê suddenly retired. Thinking this was
their chance, the rebels pressed forward and were led over the hills.
Then suddenly the gongs sounded for the ambush to discover itself and
the rebels were attacked on three sides. They lost heavily and fled to
the provincial city. But the Prefect led out the men he had to assist
in the battle and the rebels were entirely defeated and many slain.
Chingchou was no longer in danger.
Tho’ fierce as tigers soldiers be,
Battles are won by strategy.
A hero comes; he gains renown,
Already destined for a crown.
After the celebrations in honour of victory were over Tsou Ching
proposed to return home, but Yüan-tê preferred to go to the aid of his
old master Lu Chih, then struggling with a horde of rebels led by Chang
Chio. So they separated and the three brothers with their troop made
their way of Kuangtsung.
They found the Prefect in camp, were admitted to his presence and
declared the reason of their coming. The Prefect received them with
great joy and they remained with him while he made his plans.
At that time the rebels there were three to one and the two armies were
facing each other. Neither had had any success. The Prefect said to Liu
Pei, “I am surrounding these rebels here but the other two brothers
Chang Liang and Chang Pao are strongly intrenched opposite Huangfu Sung
and Chu Chien at Yingchʻuan. I will give you a thousand more men and
with these you can go to find out what is happening and we can then
settle the moment to attack.”
So Yüan-tê set off and marched as quickly as possible. At that time the
imperial troops were attacking with success and the rebels had retired
upon Changshê. They had encamped among the thick grass, and, seeing
this, Huangfu decided to attack them by fire. So he bade every man cut
a bundle of dry grass and laid an ambush. That night the wind blew a
gale and at the second watch they started a blaze. At the same time the
rebels were attacked. Their camp was set on fire and the flames rose to
the very heavens. The rebels were thrown into great confusion. There
was no time to saddle horses or don armour; they fled in all
directions.
The battle continued till dawn. Chang Liang and Chang Pao, with a few
flying soldiers, found, as they thought, a way of escape. But suddenly
a troop of soldiers with crimson banners appeared to oppose them. Their
leader was a man of medium stature with small eyes and a long beard. He
was one Tsʻao Tsʻao, also known as Tsʻao Mêng-tê, a Pʻeikuo man,
holding the rank of Chi-tu-yü. His father was Tsʻao Sung, who had been
born to the Hsiahou family, but he had been brought up by the eunuch
Tsʻao Tʻêng and had taken his family name. This Tsʻao Tsʻao was Sung’s
son and, as a lad, bore the name of A-man.
As a young man Tsʻao Tsʻao had been fond of hunting and delighted in
songs and dancing. He was resourceful and full of guile. An uncle,
seeing the young fellow so unsteady, used to get angry with him and
told his father Tsʻao Sung of his misdeeds. His father remonstrated
with him.
But the youth was equal to the occasion. One day, seeing his uncle
coming, he fell to the ground in a pretended fit. The uncle alarmed ran
to tell his father, who came, and there was the youth in most perfect
health.
“But your uncle said you were in a fit; are you better?”
“I have never suffered from fits or any such illness,” said Tsʻao
Tsʻao. “But I have lost my uncle’s affection and he has deceived you.”
Thereafter, whatever the uncle might say of his faults, his father paid
no heed. So the young man grew up licentious and uncontrolled.
A certain man of the time said to Tsʻao Tsʻao, “Rebellion is at hand
and only a man of the greatest ability can succeed in restoring
tranquillity. That man is yourself.”
And Ho Yung of Nanyang said of him, “The dynasty of Han is about to
fall. He who can restore peace is this man and only he.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao went to enquire his future of a wise man of Junan.
“What manner of man am I?” asked Tsʻao.
The seer made no reply and again he put the question. Then he replied,
“You are able enough to rule the world, but wicked enough to disturb
it.”
Tsʻao greatly rejoiced to hear this.
He graduated at twenty and began his career in a district near Loyang.
In the four gates of the city he ruled he hung up clubs of various
sorts and any breach of the law met with its punishment whatever the
rank of the offender.
Now an uncle of a eunuch was found one night in the streets with a
sword and was arrested. In due course he was beaten. Thereafter no one
dared to offend and Tsʻao’s name became terrible. Soon he became a
magistrate.
At the outbreak of rebellion he held the rank of Chi-tu-yü and was
given command of five thousand horse and foot to help fight at
Yingchʻuan. He just happened to fall in with the newly defeated rebels
whom he cut to pieces. Thousands were slain and endless banners and
drums and horses were captured and not a little money. However the two
leaders got away and, after an interview with Huangfu Sung, Tsʻao went
in pursuit of them.
We return now to Yüan-tê. He and his brothers were hastening toward the
point of danger when they heard the din of battle and saw flames rising
high toward the sky. However they arrived too late for the fighting.
They saw Huangfu and Chu to whom they told the intentions of Lu Chih.
“The rebel power is quite broken here,” said the chiefs, “but they will
surely make for Kuangtsung to join Chang Chio. You can do nothing
better than hasten back.”
The three brothers retraced their steps. Half way along the road they
met a party of soldiers escorting a prisoner in a cage-cart. When they
drew near the prisoner was no other than the man they were going to
help. Hastily dismounting Liu Pei asked what had happened. Lu Chih
explained, “I had surrounded the rebels and was on the point of
smashing them, when Chang Chio employed some of his supernatural powers
and prevented my victory. The Court sent down a eunuch to enquire into
my failure and that official demanded a bribe. I told him how hard
pressed we were and asked him where, in the circumstances, I could find
a gift for him. He went away in wrath and reported that I was hiding
behind my ramparts and would not give battle and I disheartened my men.
So I was superseded by one Tung Cho and I have to go to the capital to
answer the charge.”
This story put Chang Fei into a rage. He was for slaying the escort and
setting free the prisoner. But Yüan-tê checked him.
“The Government will take the proper course,” said he. “You must not
act hastily.” And they went their ways.
It was useless to continue on that road so Kuan Yü proposed to go back
and they retook the road. Two days later they heard the thunder of
battle behind some hills. Hastening to the top they beheld the
government soldiers suffering great loss and they saw the countryside
was full of Yellow Turbans. On their banners were the words, “Celestial
Duke,” writ large.
“We will attack this Chang Chio,” said Yüan-tê and they galloped out to
join in the battle.
Chang Chio had worsted Tung Cho and was following up his advantage. He
was in hot pursuit when the three brothers dashed into his army, threw
his ranks into confusion and drove him back. Then they returned with
the rescued general to his camp.
“What officers have you?” asked Tung Cho, when he had leisure to speak
to the brothers.
“None,” was the reply. And Tung treated them with disrespect. Yüan-tê
retired calmly, but Chang Fei was furious.
“We have just rescued this menial in a bloody fight,” cried he, “and
now he is rude to us! Nothing but his death can slake my anger.”
He would have dashed into the tent and slain the insulter had not his
elder brothers held him back.
As it was in olden time so it is to-day,
The simple wight may merit well,
officialdom holds sway;
Chang Fei, the blunt and hasty,
where can you find his peer?
But slaying the ungrateful would
mean many deaths a year.
Tung Cho’s fate will be unrolled in later chapters.
CHAPTER II.
AN OFFICIAL IS THRASHED;
UNCLE HO PLOTS TO KILL THE EUNUCHS.
It must here be told who this Tung Cho was. Cho, or Chung-ying, was
born in the west at Lintʻao in modern Shênsi. His father was a prefect.
He himself was arrogant and overbearing. But the day he had treated the
three brothers with contumely had been his last had not the two elders
restrained their wrathful brother.
“Remember he has the government commission;” said Yüan-tê, “who are we
to judge and slay?”
“It is bitter to take orders from such a wretch; I would rather slay
him. You may stay here an you wish to, but I will seek some other
place.”
“We three are one in life and in death; there is no parting for us. We
will all go hence.”
So spake Yüan-tê and his brother was satisfied. Wherefore all three set
out and lost no time in travelling till they came to Chu Chien, who
received them well and accepted their aid in attacking Chang Pao.
At this time Tsʻao Tsʻao had joined himself to Huangfu Sung and they
were trying to destroy Chang Liang and there was a great battle at
Chuyang. At the same time Chang Pao was attacked. The rebel had led his
men to a strong position in the rear of the hills. An attack being
decided upon Yüan-tê was hsien-fêng, or leader of the van. On the rebel
side a subordinate leader, Kao Hsing, came out to offer battle. Chang
Fei was sent to smite him. Out rode Fei at full speed, his spear ready
set. After a few bouts he wounded Kao, who was unhorsed. At this the
main army had the signal to advance. Then Chang Pao, while still
mounted, loosened his hair, grasped his sword and uttered his
incantations. Thereupon began the wind to howl and the thunder to roll,
while a dense black cloud from the heavens settled upon the field. And
therein seemed to be horse and footmen innumerable, who swept to attack
the imperial troops. Fear came upon them and Yüan-tê led off his men,
but they were in disorder and returned defeated.
Chu Chien and Yüan-tê considered the matter. “He uses magic,” said
Chien. “To-morrow, then, will I prepare counter magic in the shape of
the blood of slaughtered swine and goats and dogs. This blood shall be
sprinkled upon their hosts from the precipices above by men whom they
see not. Thus shall we be able to break the power of their black art.”
So it was done. The two younger brothers took each a company of men and
hid them on the high cliffs behind the hills, and they had a plentiful
supply of the blood of swine and goats and dogs and all manner of
filthy things. And so next day, when the rebels with fluttering banners
and rolling drums came out to challenge, Yüan-tê rode forth to meet
them. At the same moment that the armies met, again Chang Pao began his
magic and again the elements began to struggle together. Sand flew in
clouds, pebbles were swept along the ground, black masses of vapour
filled the sky and rolling masses of foot and horse descended from on
high. Yüan-tê turned, as before, to flee and the rebels rushed on. But
as they pressed through the hills the trumpets blared and the hidden
soldiers exploded bombs, threw down filth and spattered blood. The
masses of men and horses in the air fluttered to the earth as fragments
of torn paper, the wind ceased to blow, the thunder subsided, the sand
sank and the pebbles lay still upon the ground.
Chang Pao quickly saw his magic had been countered and turned to
retire. Then he was attacked on the flanks by the two younger brothers,
and in rear by Yüan-tê and Chu Chien. The rebels were routed. Yüan-tê,
seeing from afar the banner of the “Duke of Earth,” galloped toward it
but only succeeded in wounding the “Duke” with an arrow in the left
arm. Wounded though he was, he got away into Yangchʻêng, where he
fortified himself and was besieged by Chu Chien.
Scouts, sent out to get news of Huangfu, reported that he had been very
successful and Tung Cho had suffered many reverses. Therefore the Court
had put Huangfu in the latter’s place. Chang Chio had died before his
arrival. Chang Liang had added his brother’s army to his own but no
headway could be made against Huangfu, whose army gained seven
successive victories. And Chang Liang had been slain at Chüyang. Beside
this Chang Chio’s coffin had been exhumed, the corpse beheaded and the
head, after exposure, had been sent to the capital. The common crowd
had surrendered. For these services Huangfu had been promoted and now
ruled in Ichou.
He had not forgotten his friends. His first act after he had attained
to power was to memorialise concerning the case of Lu Chih, who was
then restored to his former rank.
Tsʻao Tsʻao also had received advancement for his services and was
preparing to go south to his new post.
Hearing these things Huangfu Sung pressed harder yet upon Yangchʻêng
and the approaching break-up of the rebellion became evident. Then one
of Chang Pao’s officers killed his leader and brought his head in token
of submission. Thus rebellion in that part of the country was stamped
out and Chu Chien made his report to the government.
However, the embers still smouldered. Three of the rebels Chao Hung,
Han Chung and Sun Chung, began to murder and rob and burn, calling
themselves the avengers of Chang Chio. The successful Chu Chien was
commanded to lead his veteran and successful troops to destroy them. He
at once marched toward Wanchʻêng, which the rebels were attacking. When
Chu arrived Han Chung was sent to oppose him. Chu Chien sent the three
brothers, our heroes, to attack the south west angle of the city. Han
Chung at once led the best of his men to beat them off. Meanwhile Chu
Chien himself led two companies of armoured horsemen to attack the
opposite corner. The rebels, thinking the city lost, abandoned the
south west and turned back. The three brothers pressed hotly in their
rear and they were utterly routed. They took refuge in the city which
was then invested. When famine pressed upon the besieged they sent a
messenger to offer to surrender but the offer was refused.
Said Yüan-tê, “Seeing that the founder of the Han Dynasty could welcome
the submissive and receive the favourable why reject these?”
“The conditions are different,” replied Chu Chien. “In those days
disorder was universal and the people had no fixed lord. Wherefore
submission was welcomed and support rewarded to encourage people to
come over. Now the Empire is united and the Yellow Turbans are the only
malcontents. To receive their surrender is not to encourage the good.
To allow brigands, when successful, to give way to every licence, and
to let them surrender when they fail is to encourage brigandage. Your
plan is not a good one.”
Yüan-tê replied, “Not to let brigands surrender is well. But the city
is surrounded as by an iron barrel. If the rebels’ request be refused
they will be desperate and fight to the death and a myriad such men
cannot be withstood. In the city there are many times that number, all
doomed to death. Let us withdraw from one corner and only attack the
opposite. They will all assuredly flee and have no desire to fight. We
shall take them.”
Chu Chien saw that the advice was good and followed it. As predicted
the rebels ran out, led by Han Chung. The besiegers fell upon them as
they fled and their leader was slain. They scattered in all directions.
But the other two rebels came with large reinforcements, and as they
appeared very strong, the government soldiers retired and the new body
of rebels entered Wanchʻêng.
Chu Chien encamped ten li from the city and prepared to attack. Just
then there arrived a body of horse and foot from the east. They were
led by one Sun Chien.
Sun Chien had a broad open face, was lithe and yet powerfully built. He
was a native of Wu, a descendant of Sun Wu. His minor name was Wên-tai.
When he was seventeen he was with his father on the Chʻientang River
and saw a party of pirates, who had been plundering a merchant,
dividing their booty on the river bank.
“We can capture these,” said he to his father.
So, gripping his sword, he ran boldly up the bank and cried out to this
side and that as if he was calling his men to come on. This made the
pirates believe the soldiers were on them and they fled, leaving their
booty behind them. He actually killed one of the pirates.
In this way be became known and was recommended for official rank.
Then, in collaboration with the local officials, he raised a band and
helped to quell the rebellion of one Hsü Chʻang, who called himself the
Yangming Emperor. The rebel’s son was also slain. For this he was
commended in a memorial to the throne and received further promotion.
When the Yellow Turban rebellion began he gathered together the young
men of his village, some of the merchant class, got a company and a
half of veteran soldiers and took the field. Now he had reached the
fighting area.
Chu Chien welcomed him gladly and ordered him to attack the south gate.
Other gates were simultaneously attacked, but the east gate was left
free to give the rebels a chance of exit. Sun Chien was the first to
mount the wall and cut down a score of men with his own hand. The
rebels ran, but Chao Hung their leader, rode directly at Sun Chien with
his spear ready to thrust. Sun Chien leaped down from the wall,
snatched away the spear and with it knocked the rebel from his horse.
Then mounting the horse he rode hither and thither, slaying as he went.
The rebels fled north. Meeting Yüan-tê they declined to fight and
scattered. But Yüan-tê drew his bow, fitted an arrow and wounded their
leader Sun Chung, who fell to the ground. The main army came up, and
after tremendous slaughter, the others surrendered. Thus was peace
brought to the country about Nanyang.
Chu Chien led his army to the capital, was promoted to a General of
Cavalry and received the governorship of Honan. He did not forget those
who had helped him to win victory.
Sun Chien, having influential friends to support him, quickly got an
appointment and went to it. But Yüan-tê, in spite of Chu Chien’s
memorial, waited in vain for preferment and the three brothers became
very sad.
Walking along one day Yüan-tê met a Court official, Chang Chün by name,
to whom he related his services and told his sorrows. Chang was much
surprised at this neglect and one day at Court spoke to the Emperor
about it.
Said he, “The Yellow Turbans rebelled because the eunuchs sold offices
and bartered ranks. There was employment only for their friends,
punishment only for their enemies. This led to rebellion. Wherefore it
would be well to slay the eunuchs and expose their heads and proclaim
what had been done throughout the whole empire. Then reward the worthy.
Thereby the land would be wholly tranquil.”
But the eunuchs fiercely opposed this and said the memorialist was
insulting the Emperor and they bade the guard thrust him without.
However, the eunuchs took counsel together and one said, “Surely some
one who rendered some service against rebels resents being passed
over.”
So they caused a list of unimportant people to be prepared for
preferment by and by. Among them was Yüan-tê, who received the post of
magistrate of the Anhsi district, to which he proceeded without delay
after disbanding his men and sending them home to their villages. He
retained a score or so as escort.
The three brothers reached Anhsi, and soon the administration of the
district was so reformed and the rule so wise that in a month there was
no law-breaking. The three brothers lived in perfect harmony, eating at
the same table and sleeping on the same couch. But when Yüan-tê was in
the company of others, the two younger brothers would stand in
attendance, were it even a whole day.
Four months after their arrival there came out a general order for the
reduction of the number of military officers holding civil posts, and
Yüan-tê began to fear that he would be among those thrown out. In due
course the inspecting official arrived and was met at the boundary, but
to the polite obeisance of Yüan-tê he made no return, save a wave of
his whip as he sat on his horse. This made the younger brothers
furious; but worse was to follow.
When the inspector had arrived at his lodging, he took his seat on the
daïs leaving Yüan-tê standing below. After a long time he addressed
him.
“Magistrate Liu, what was your origin?”
Liu Pei replied, “I am descended from Prince Ching. Since my first
fight with the Yellow Turban rebels at Chochün I have been in some
score of battles, wherein I gained some trifling merit. My reward was
this office.”
“You lie about your descent and your statement of services is false,”
roared the inspector. “Now the Court has ordered the reduction of your
sort of low class officials.”
Yüan-tê muttered to himself and withdrew. On his return to the
magistracy he took council with his secretaries.
“This pompous attitude only means he wants a bribe,” said they.
“I have never wronged the people to the value of a single stalk of
stubble; then where is a bribe to come from?”
Next day the inspector had the minor officials before him and forced
them to bear witness that their master had oppressed the people.
Yüan-tê time after time went to rebut this charge, but the doorkeepers
drove him away and he could not enter.
Now Chang Fei had been all day drowning his sorrow in wine and had
drunk far too much. Calling for his horse he rode out past the lodging
of the inspector, and at the gate saw a small crowd of white-haired men
weeping bitterly. He asked why. They said, “The inspector has compelled
the underlings to bear false witness against our magistrate, with the
desire to injure the noble Liu. We came to beg mercy for him, but are
not permitted to enter. Moreover, we have been beaten by the
doorkeepers.”
This provoked the irascible and half intoxicated man to fury. His eyes
opened till they became circles; he ground his teeth; in a moment he
was off his steed, had forced his way past the scared doorkeepers into
the building and was in the rear apartments. There he saw the inspector
sitting on high with the official underlings in bonds at his feet.
“Oppressor of the people, robber!” cried Fei, “do you know me?”
But before he could reply Fei had him by the hair and had dragged him
down. Another moment he was outside and firmly lashed to the hitching
post in front of the building. Then breaking off a switch from a willow
tree Fei gave his victim a severe thrashing, only staying his hand when
the switch was too short to strike with.
Yüan-tê was sitting alone, communing with his sorrow, when he heard a
shouting before his door. He asked what was the matter. They told him
General Chang had bound somebody to a post and was thrashing him.
Hastily going outside he saw who the unhappy victim was and asked the
reason.
“If we do not beat this sort of wretch to death what may we expect?”
said Fei.
“Noble Sir, save me,” cried the victim.
Now Yüan-tê had always been kindly and gracious, wherefore he bade his
brother release the officer and go his way.
Then Kuan Yü came up saying, “Brother, after your magnificent services
you only got this petty post and even here you have been insulted by
this fellow. A thorn bush is no place for a phoenix. Let us slay this
fellow, leave here and go home till we can evolve a bigger scheme.”
Yüan-tê contented himself with hanging the official seal about the
inspector’s neck saying, “If I hear that you injure the people I will
assuredly kill you. I now spare your life and I return to you the seal.
We are going.”
The inspector went to the Prefect and complained, and orders were
issued for the arrest of the brothers, but they got away to Taichou and
sought refuge with Liu Hui, who sheltered them because of Liu Pei’s
noble birth.
But nothing will be here related of this. By this time the Ten Eunuchs
had everything in their hands and they put to death all who did not
stand in with them. From every officer who had helped to put down the
rebels they demanded presents, and if these were not forthcoming he was
removed from office. Huangfu and Chu both fell victims to these
intrigues, while on the other hand the eunuchs received the highest
honours. Thirteen of them were ennobled. The government grew worse and
worse and every one was irritated.
Rebellion broke out in Changsha led by one Ou Hsing, and in other
places. Memorials were sent up in number as snow flakes in winter, but
the eunuchs suppressed them all. One day the Emperor was at a feast in
one of the gardens with the eunuchs when a certain high minister Liu
Tʻao suddenly appeared showing very great distress. The Emperor asked
what was the matter.
“Sire, how can you be feasting with these when the Empire is at the
last gasp?” said Liu Tʻao.
“All is well,” said the Emperor, “Where is anything wrong?”
Said Tʻao, “Robbers swarm on all sides and plunder the cities. And all
is the fault of the Ten Eunuchs who sell offices and injure the people,
oppress the prince and deceive their superiors. All virtuous men have
left the services and misfortune is before our very eyes.”
At this the eunuchs pulled off their hats and threw themselves at their
master’s feet.
“His Excellency disapproves of us,” they said, “and we are in danger.
We pray that our lives be spared and we may go to our homes. Lo! we
yield our property to help defray military expenses.”
And they wept bitterly. The Emperor turned angrily to the minister,
saying, “You also have servants; why can you not bear with mine?”
And thereupon he called to the guards to eject Tʻao and put him to
death. Liu Tʻao cried aloud, “My death matters nothing. The pity is
that the Hans, after four centuries of reign, are falling fast.”
The guards hustled him away and were just about to carry cut their
orders when another minister stopped them, saying, “Strike not! Wait
till I have spoken with His Majesty.”
It was the Ssŭ-tu, Chên Tan. He went in to the Emperor, to whom he
said, “For what fault is Liu the Censor to be put to death?” “He has
vilified my servants; and has insulted me,” said the Emperor.
“All the Empire would eat the flesh of the eunuchs if they could, and
yet, Sire, you respect them as if they were your parents. They have no
merit, but they are created nobles. Moreover, Fêng Hsü was in league
with the late rebels. Unless Your Majesty looks to it the State will
fall.”
“There was no proof against Fêng,” replied the Emperor. “Are there none
faithful among the eunuchs?”
The minister beat his forehead on the steps of the throne and did not
desist from remonstrance. Then the Emperor grew angry and commanded his
removal and imprisonment with Liu Tʻao. That night he was murdered.
Then a forged edict went forth making Sun Chien Prefect of Changsha,
with orders to suppress the rebellion, and in less than two months he
reported the district all tranquil. For this he was created Marquis of
Wuchʻêng. Further Liu Yü was made magistrate of Yuchow to move against
Yüyang and suppress Chang Chü and Chang Shun. The Prefect of Taichou
recommended Yüan-tê to Liu Yü, who welcomed him and gave him rank and
sent him against the rebels. He fought with and worsted them, and
entirely broke their spirit. Chang Shun was cruel and his men turned
against him. One of his officers then slew him and brought in his head,
after which the others submitted. The other leader Chang Chü saw that
all was lost and committed suicide.
Yüyang being now tranquil Liu Pei’s services were reported to the
throne and he received full pardon for the insult to the inspector. He
also became an official in Michʻêng. Then Sun Chien stated his previous
good services and he was made Pieh-pu Ssŭ-ma and sent to Pʻingyüan.
This place was very prosperous and Yüan-tê recovered something of his
old manner before the days of adversity. Liu Yü also received
preferment.
In the summer of the year A.D. 189 the Emperor became seriously ill and
summoned Ho Chin into the palace to arrange for the future. This man Ho
had sprung from a humble family of butchers, but a sister had become a
concubine of rank and borne a son to the Emperor, named Pien. After
this she became Huang-hou or Empress and Ho Chin became powerful. The
Emperor had also greatly loved a beautiful girl named Wang who had
borne him a son named Hsieh. The Empress Ho had poisoned the girl from
jealousy, and the babe had been given into the care of the Empress
Dowager Tung, who was the mother of the Emperor Ling. She was the wife
of Liu Chang, the Marquis of Tu-ting. As time went on and the Emperor
Huan had no son of his own he adopted the son of the marquis, who
succeeded as the Emperor Ling. After his accession he had taken his own
mother into the palace to live and had conferred upon her the title of
Tʻai-hou, or Empress Dowager.
The Dowager Empress had always tried to persuade her son to name Hsieh
as the Heir Apparent, and in fact the Emperor greatly loved the boy and
was disposed to do as his mother desired. When he fell ill one of the
eunuchs said, “If Hsieh is to succeed, Ho Chin must be killed.” The
Emperor saw this too and commanded Ho Chin to come to him. But at the
very gates of the palace Ho had been warned of his danger and had
secreted himself. Ho had then called many of the ministers to his side
and they met to consider how to put the eunuchs to death.
At this assembly Tsʻao Tsʻao had spoken saying, “The influence of the
eunuchs dates back half a century and has spread like a noxious weed in
all directions. How can we hope to destroy it? Above all keep this plot
secret or you will be exterminated.”
Ho Chin was very angry at this speech and cried, “What do inferiors
like you know of the ways of government?”
And in the midst of the confusion a messenger came to say the Emperor
was no more. He also told them the eunuchs had decided to keep the
death a secret and forge a command to Ho, the ‘State Uncle,’ to come
into the palace to settle the succession. Meanwhile to prevent trouble
they had inscribed the name of Hsieh on the roll. And as he finished
speaking the edict arrived.
“The matter for the moment is to set up the rightful heir,” said Tsʻao
Tsʻao. “The other affair can wait.”
“Who dares to join me?” asked Ho Chin.
At once one stood forward saying, “Give me five companies of veterans
and we will break into the palace, set up the true heir, slay the
eunuchs and sweep clean the government. Then will follow peace.”
The energetic speaker was Yüan Shao, who then held the rank of
Hsiao-yü.
Ho Chin mustered five companies of the guards. Shao put on complete
armour and took command. Ho Chin, supported by a large number of
ministers, went into the palace and in the hall where lay the coffin of
the late Emperor they placed Pien on the throne. After the ceremony was
over and all had bowed before the new Ruler, Yüan Shao went in to
arrest the eunuch Chien Shih. Shih in terror fled into the palace
garden and hid among the shrubs, where he was discovered and murdered
by another eunuch. The guards under his command went over to the other
side. Shao thought the moment most opportune to slay all the eunuchs
and it had been well if his advice had been taken. But the eunuchs
scented the danger and went to the Empress Dowager Ho.
They said, “The originator of the plan to injure your brother was Chien
Shih; only he was concerned and no other. Now General Ho, on his
lieutenant’s advice, wishes to slay every one of us. We implore thy
pity, O Grandmother.”
“Fear not,” said she, “I will protect you.”
She sent for her brother, and said, “I and you are of lowly origin and
we owe our good fortune to the eunuchs. The misguided Chien Shih is now
dead and need you really put all the others to death as Yüan Shao
advises?”
And Ho Chin obeyed her wish. He explained to his party that the real
offender having met his fate they need not exterminate the whole party
nor injure his colleagues.
“Slay them, root and branch,” cried Shao, “or they will ruin you.”
“I have decided;” said Ho, coldly, “say no more.”
Within a few days Ho became a President of a Board and his friends
received offices.
Tung Tʻai-hou summoned the eunuch Chang Jang and his party to a
council. Said she, “It was I who first brought forward the sister of Ho
Chin. To-day her son is on the throne and all the officials are her
friends and her influence is enormous. What can we do?”
Jang replied, “Madam should administer the state from ‘behind the
veil’; create the Emperor’s son Hsieh a prince; give ‘Uncle’ Tung high
rank and place him over the army and use us. That will do it.”
Tung Tʻai-hou approved. Next day she held a court and issued an edict
in the sense proposed. When Ho Tʻai-hou saw this she prepared a banquet
to which she invited her rival. In the middle of the feast, when all
were well warmed with wine, she rose and offered a cup to her guest
saying, “It is not fitting that we two women should meddle in state
affairs. Of old when Lü Tʻai-hou laid hands upon the government all her
clan were put to death. We ought to remain content, immured in our
palaces, and leave state affairs to the statesmen. That would be well
for the country and I trust you will act thus.”
But the Empress Tung only got angry. “You poisoned the lady Wang out of
jealousy. Now, relying upon the fact that your son sits on the throne
and that your brother is powerful, you speak these wild words. I will
command that your brother be beheaded and that can be done as easily as
I turn my hand.”
Then Empress Ho in her turn waxed wroth and said, “I tried to persuade
you with fair words; why get so angry?”
“You low born daughter of a butcher, what do you know of offices?”
cried her rival.
And the quarrel waxed hot.
The eunuchs persuaded the ladies to retire. But in the night Ho
Tʻai-hou summoned her brother into the palace and told him what had
occurred. He went out and took counsel with the principal officers of
state. Next morn a court was held and a memorial was presented saying
that Tung Tʻai-hou, being the consort of a “frontier” prince—only a
collateral—could not properly occupy any part of the palace. She was to
be removed into Hochien and was to depart immediately. And while they
sent an escort to remove the lady a strong guard was placed about her
brother’s dwelling. They took away his seal of office and he, knowing
this was the end, committed suicide in his private apartments. His
dependents, who wailed his death, were driven off by the guards.
Two of the eunuchs having lost their patroness, sent large gifts to Ho
Chin’s younger brother Miao and his mother, and thus got them to put in
a good word to the Empress Dowager Ho so as to gain her protection. And
so they gained favour once more at court.
A few months later the secret emissaries of Ho Chin murdered Tung
Tʻai-hou in her residence in the country. Her remains were brought to
the capital and buried. Ho Chin feigned illness and did not attend the
funeral.
Yüan Shao went one day to see Ho Chin to tell him that two eunuchs,
Chang Jang and Tuan Kuei, were spreading the report outside that Ho
Chin had caused the death of the late empress dowager and was aiming at
the throne. He urged Ho to make this an excuse to put them finally out
of the way. Shao pointed out how Tou Wu had missed his chance because
the secret had not been kept and urged upon him the ease with which
they could be destroyed under the then favourable conditions. It was a
heaven-sent opportunity.
But Ho Chin replied, “Let me think it over.”
His servants secretly told the intended victims, who sent further gifts
to the younger brother. Corrupted by these he went in to speak with his
sister and said, “The General is the chief support of the new Emperor,
yet he is not gracious and merciful but thinks wholly of slaughter. If
he slay the eunuchs without cause, it may bring about revolution.”
Soon after her brother entered and told her of his design to put the
eunuchs to death. She argued with him. She said that they looked after
palace affairs and were old servants. To kill the old servants just
after the death of their master would appear disrespectful to the
Dynasty. And as Ho was of a vacillating mind he murmured assent and
left her.
“What about it?” said Shao on meeting him.
“She will not consent; what can be done?”
“Call up an army and slay them; it is imperative. Never mind her
consent.”
“That is an excellent plan,” said Ho.
And he sent orders all round to march soldiers to the capital.
But the Recorder, Chʻên Lin, said, “Nay; do not act blindly. The
proverb says ‘To cover the eyes and snatch at swallows is to fool one’s
self.’ If in so small a matter you cannot attain your wish, what of
great affairs? Now by virtue of the imperial prestige and with the army
under your hand you may do as you please. To use such enormous powers
against the eunuchs would resemble lighting up a furnace to burn a
hair. But act promptly; use your powers and smite at once and all the
Empire will be with you. But to summon forces to the capital, to gather
many bold men into one spot, each with his own schemes, is to turn
one’s weapons against one’s own person, to place one’s self in the
power of another. Nothing but failure can come of it, nothing but
confusion.”
“The view of a mere bookworm,” said Ho with a smile.
Then one of those about him suddenly clapped his hands, crying,
“It is as easy as turning over one’s hand! why so much talk?”
The speaker was Tsʻao Tsʻao.
Wouldst thou withdraw wicked men from thy prince’s side
Then seek counsel of the wise men of the State.
What Tsʻao Tsʻao said will be disclosed in later chapters.
CHAPTER III.
TUNG CHO SILENCES TING YÜAN:
LI SU BRIBES LÜ PU.
What Tsʻao Tsʻao said was this: “The eunuch evil is of very old
standing, but the real cause of the present trouble is in the improper
influence allowed them by the ruler, and the misplaced favouritism they
have enjoyed. But a gaoler would be ample force to employ against the
evil. Why increase confusion by summoning troops from the provinces?
Any desire to slay them will speedily become known and the plan will
fail.”
“Then Mêng-tê, you have some scheme of your own to further,” said Ho
with a sneer.
“Ho Chin is the man to throw the empire into confusion,” retorted
Tsʻao.
Then Ho Chin sent swift, secret letters far and wide.
It must be recalled here that the now powerful Tung Cho had failed in
his attempt to destroy the Yellow Turban rebellion and would have been
punished but for the protection of the Ten Eunuchs, whom he had bribed
heavily. Later he obtained an important military command in the west.
But he was treacherous and disloyal at heart. So when he received the
summons to the capital he rejoiced greatly and lost no time in obeying
it. He left a son-in-law Niu Fu to hold Shênsi and set out for Loyang.
Li Ju, his adviser and son-in-law said, “Though a formal summons has
come there are many obscurities in it. It would be well to send up a
memorial stating plainly our aims and intentions. Then we can proceed.”
So he composed one something like this: “Thy servant knows that the
continual rebellions owe their origin to the eunuchs who act counter to
all recognised precept. Now to stop the ebullition of a pot the best
way is to withdraw the fire; to cut out an abscess, though painful, is
better than to nourish the evil. I have dared to undertake a military
advance on the capital, and now pray that Chang Jang and the other
eunuchs be removed for the happiness of the Dynasty and of the whole
land.”
Ho Chin read this memorial and showed it to his partisans. Then said
Cheng Tʻai, “A fierce wild beast; if he come his prey will be men.”
Ho Chin replied, “You are too timorous; you are unequal to great
schemes.”
But Lu Chih also said, “Long have I known this man; in appearance
innocent, he is a very wolf at heart. Let him in and calamity enters
with him. Stop him; do not let him come and thus will you avoid
confusion.”
Ho Chin was obstinate and both these men gave up their posts and
retired, as did more than half the ministers of State, while Ho Chin
sent a warm welcome to Tung Cho, who soon camped at Ying Pool.
The eunuchs knew this move was directed against them and recognised
that their only chance for safety was to strike the first blow. So they
first hid a band of armed ruffians in the palace at the Gate of
Abundant Virtue and then went in to see the Empress.
They said, “The General, feigning to act under command, has called up
armies to the capital to destroy us. We pray you, Grandmother, to pity
and save us.”
“Go to the General and confess your faults,” said she.
“If we did then should we be cut to mincemeat. Rather summon the
General into your presence and command him to cease. If he will not,
then we pray but to die in your presence.”
She issued the requisite command and Ho was just going to her when
Chʻên Lin advised him not to enter, saying the eunuchs were certainly
behind the order and meant him harm. But Ho could only see the command
of the Empress and was blind to all else.
“The plot is no longer a secret”; said Yüan Shan, “still you may go if
you are ready to fight your way in.”
“Get the eunuchs out first,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“Silly children!” said Ho. “What can they do against the man who holds
the forces of the Empire in the palm of his hand?”
Shao said, “If you will go, then we will come as a guard, just as a
precaution.”
Whereupon both he and Tsʻao chose a half company of the best men under
their command, at whose head they placed a brother of Yüan Shao, named
Shu.
Yüan Shu, clad in mail, drew up his men outside the Chingso Gate while
the other two went as escort. When Ho Chin neared the palace the
eunuchs said, “The orders are to admit the General and none other.” So
the escort was detained outside.
Ho Chin went in proudly. At the Gate of Abundant Virtue he was met by
the two chief eunuchs and their followers quickly closed in around him.
Ho began to feel alarmed. Then Chang Jang in a harsh voice began to
revile him.
“What crime had Tung Tʻai-hou committed that she should have been put
to death? And when the Mother of the Country was buried, who feigned
sickness and did not attend? We raised you and your paltry, huckstering
family to all the dignity and wealth you have, and this is your
gratitude! You would slay us. You call us sordid and dirty; who is the
cleaner?”
Ho Chin was panic stricken and looked about for a way to escape, but
the eunuchs closed him in and then the assassins appeared and did their
bloody work.
Closing the days of the Hans, and the years of their rule were
near spent,
Stupid and tactless was Ho Chin, yet stood he highest in office;
Many were they who advised him, but he was deaf as he heard not;
Wherefore fell he a victim under the swords of the eunuchs.
So Ho Chin died. Yüan Shao waited long. By and by, impatient at the
delay, he called through the Gate, “Thy carriage waits, O General.” For
reply the head of the murdered officer was flung over the wall.
A decree was proclaimed that Ho Chin had contemplated treachery and
therefore had been slain. It pardoned his adherents. Yüan Shao shouted,
“The eunuchs have slain the minister. Let those who will slay this
wicked party come and help me.”
Then one of Ho Chin’s officers set fire to the gate. Yüan Shu at the
head of his men burst in and fell to slaying the eunuchs without regard
to age or rank. Yüan Shao and Tsʻao Tsʻao broke into the inner part of
the palace. Four of the eunuchs fled to the Blue Flower Lodge where
they were hacked to pieces. Fire raged, destroying the buildings. Four
of the eunuchs led by Chang Jang carried off the Empress, the heir
apparent and the Prince of Chʻên-liu toward the north palace.
Lu Chih, since he had resigned office, was at home, but hearing of the
revolution in the palace he donned his armour, took his spear and
prepared to fight. He saw the eunuch Tuan Kuei hurrying the Empress
along and called out “You rebels, how dare you abduct the Empress?” The
eunuch fled. The Empress leaped out of a window and was taken to a
place of safety.
Wu Kʻuang burst into one of the inner halls where he found Ho Miao,
sword in hand.
“You also were in the plot to slay your brother,” cried he. “You shall
die with the others.”
“Let us kill the plotter against his elder brother,” cried many.
Miao looked around; his enemies hemmed him in on every side. He was
hacked to pieces.
Shao bade his soldiers scatter and seek out all the families of the
eunuchs, sparing none. In that slaughter many beardless men were killed
in error.
Tsʻao Tsʻao set himself to extinguish the fires. He then begged Ho
Tʻai-hou to undertake the direction of affairs and soldiers were sent
to pursue Chang Jang and rescue the young Emperor.
The two chief eunuchs, Chang Jang and Tuan Kuei, had hustled away the
Emperor and the Prince of Chʻên-liu. They burst through the smoke and
fire and travelled without stopping till they reached the Peimang
Hills. It was then the third watch. They heard a great shouting behind
them and saw soldiers in pursuit. Their leader was shouting “Stop,
stop!” Chang Jang, seeing that he was lost, jumped into the river,
where he was drowned.
The two boys ignorant of the meaning of all this confusion and
terrified out of their senses, dared not utter a cry; they crept in
among the rank grass on the river bank and hid. The soldiers scattered
in all directions but failed to find them. So they remained till the
fourth watch, shivering with cold from the drenching dew and very
hungry. They lay down in the thick grass and wept in each other’s arms,
silently, lest any one should discover them.
“This is no a place to stay in,” said the Prince, “we must find some
way out.”
So the two children knotted their clothes together and managed to crawl
up the bank. They were in a thicket of thorn bushes and it was quite
dark. They could not see any path. They were in despair when, all at
once, millions of fireflies sprang up all about them and circled in the
air in front of the Emperor.
“God is helping us,” said the Prince.
They followed whither the fireflies led and gradually got into a road.
They walked till their feet were too sore to go further, when, seeing a
heap of straw near the road, they crept to it and lay down.
This heap of straw was close to a farm house. In the night, as the
farmer was sleeping, he saw in a vision two bright red suns drop behind
his dwelling. Alarmed by the portent he hastily dressed and went forth
to look about him. Then he saw a bright light shooting up from a heap
of straw. He hastened thither and then saw two youths lying behind it.
“To what household do you belong, young gentlemen?” asked he.
The Emperor was too frightened to reply, but his companion said, “He is
the Emperor. There has been a revolution in the palace and we ran away.
I am his brother Prince of Chʻên-liu.”
The farmer bowed again and again and said, “I am the brother of a
former official and my name is Tsʻui I. My brother was disgusted with
the behaviour of the eunuchs and so resigned and hid away here.”
The two lads were taken into the farm and their host on his knees
served them with refreshment.
It has been said that Min Kung had gone in pursuit of the eunuch Tuan
Kuei. By and by Kung overtook him and cried, “Where is the Emperor?”
“He disappeared. I do not know where he is.”
Kung slew him and hung the bleeding head on his horse’s neck. Then he
sent his men searching in all directions and he rode off by himself on
the same quest. Presently he came to the farm. Tsʻui I, seeing what
hung on his horse’s neck, questioned him and, satisfied with his story,
led him to the Emperor. The meeting was affecting; all were moved to
tears.
“The State cannot be without its ruler,” said Min Kung. “I pray Your
Majesty to return to the city.”
At the farm they had but one sorry nag and this they saddled for the
Emperor. The young prince was taken on Min Kung’s charger. And thus
they left the farm. Soon they fell in with other officials and the
several guards and soldiers made up an imposing cavalcade. Tears were
shed freely as the ministers met their Emperor.
A man was sent on in front to the capital there to expose the head of
the eunuch Tuan Kuei.
As soon as they could they placed the Emperor on a better steed and the
young prince had a horse to himself.
Thus the Emperor returned to Loyang and so it happened after all as the
street boys’ ditty ran:—
Though the Emperor doesn’t rule, though the prince no office fills,
Yet a brilliant cavalcade comes along from Peimang Hills.
The cavalcade had not proceeded far when they saw coming towards them a
large body of soldiers with fluttering banners hiding the sun and
raising a huge cloud of dust. The officials turned pale and the Emperor
was greatly alarmed. Yüan Shao rode out in advance and demanded who
they were. From under the shade of an embroidered banner rode out an
officer demanding if they had seen the Emperor. His Majesty was too
panic-stricken to respond but the Prince of Chʻên-liu rode to the front
and cried, “Who are you?”
Tung Cho replied giving his name and rank.
“Have you come to protect the chariot or to steal it?” said the prince.
“I have come to protect,” said Tung Cho.
“If that is so the Emperor is here; why do you not dismount?”
Cho hastily dismounted and made obeisance on the left of the road. Then
the prince spoke graciously to him.
From first to last the prince had carried himself most perfectly so
that Cho in his heart admired his behaviour, and then arose the first
desire to set aside the Emperor in favour of the prince.
They reached the palace the same day and there was an affecting
interview with Ho Tʻai-hou.
But when they had restored order in the palace the Hereditary Seal, the
special seal of the Emperor, was missing.
Tung Cho camped without the walls but every day he was to be seen in
the streets with an escort of mailed soldiers so that the common people
were in a state of constant trepidation. He also went in and out of the
palace careless of all the rules of propriety.
Pao Hsin spoke of his behaviour to Yüan Shao, saying, “This man
harbours some evil design and should be removed.”
“Nothing can be done till the government is more settled,” said Shao.
Then he saw Wang Yün and asked what he thought.
“Let us talk it over,” was the reply.
Pao Hsin said no more but he left the capital and retired to Tʻaishan.
Tung Cho induced the soldiers of the two brothers Ho to join his
command and privately spoke to his adviser about deposing the Emperor
in favour of the Prince of Chʻên-liu.
“The government is really without a head; there can be no better time
than this to carry out your plan. Delay will spoil all. To-morrow
assemble the officials in the Wênming Garden and address them on the
subject. Put all opponents to death and your prestige is settled.”
So spoke his adviser and the words pleased Tung Cho mightily.
So the next day he spread a feast and invited many guests. As all the
officers went in terror of him no one dared be absent. He himself rode
up to the garden last of all and took his place with his sword girded
on. When the wine had gone round several times Tung Cho stopped the
service and the music and began to speak.
“I have something to say; listen quietly all of you.”
All turned towards him.
“The Emperor is lord of all and if he lacks dignity and behaves in an
unseemly manner he is no fitting inheritor of the ancestral
prerogatives. He who is now on the throne is a weakling, inferior to
the Prince of Chʻên-liu in intelligence and love of learning. The
Prince is in every way fitted for the throne. I desire to depose the
Emperor and set up the Prince in his place. What think you?”
The assembly listened in perfect silence, none daring at first to utter
a word of dissent. But one dared; for suddenly a guest stood up in his
place, smote the table and cried.
“No! No! who are you, that you dare utter such bold words? The Emperor
is the son of the lawful consort and has done no wrong. Why then should
he be deposed? Are you a rebel?”
The speaker was Ting Yüan, governor of Chinchow.
Cho glared at him. “There is life for those who are with me, death for
those against,” roared he.
He drew his sword and made for the objector. But the watchful Li Ju had
noticed standing behind Ting Yüan a particularly dangerous looking
henchman of his, who was now handling his spear threateningly, and
whose eyes were blazing with anger. So he hastily interposed, saying,
“But this is the banquet chamber and state affairs should be left
outside. The matters can be fully discussed to-morrow.”
His fellow guests persuaded Ting Yüan to leave, and after his departure
Tung Cho said, “Is what I said just and reasonable?”
“You are mistaken, Illustrious Sir,” said Lu Chih. “Of old [1] Tai Chia
was unenlightened. Wherefore I Yin immured him in the Tʻung Palace till
he reformed. Later [2] Prince Chʻang I ascended the throne, and in less
than a month he committed more than three thousand categorical faults.
Wherefore Ho Kuang, the regent, declared in the ancestral temple that
he was deposed. Our present Emperor is young, but he is intelligent,
benevolent and wise. He has not committed a single fault. You, Sir, are
not a metropolitan official and have had no experience in state
administration. Neither have you the pure intentions of I Yin which
qualified his actions. Without that justification such an act is
presumption.”
Tung Cho angrily drew his sword to slay the bold speaker, but another
official remonstrated.
“President Lu is the cynosure of the whole country and his violent
death would stir the hearts of all men,” said Pʻêng Po.
Then Tung Cho stayed his hand.
Then said Wang Yün, “A great question like the deposition and
substitution of Emperors is not one to be decided after a wine party.
Let it be put off till another time.”
So the guests dispersed. Cho stood at the gate with drawn sword
watching them depart.
Standing thus he noticed a spearman galloping to and fro on a fiery
steed and asked Li Ju if he knew him.
“That is Lü Pu, the adopted son of Ting Yüan. His ordinary name is
Fênhsien. You must keep out of his way, my lord.”
Tung Cho went inside the gate so that he could not be seen. But next
day a man reported to him that Ting Yüan had come out of the city with
a small army and was challenging to a battle. Tung Cho went forth to
accept the challenge. And the armies were drawn up in proper array.
Lü Pu was a conspicuous figure in the forefront. His hair was arranged
under a handsome headdress of gold and he had donned a beautiful
embroidered fighting robe, a tʻang-ni helmet and breast plate, and
round his waist was a mang belt with a lion’s head clasp. With spear
set he rode close behind his master.
Ting Yüan, pointing his finger at Tung Cho, began to revile him.
“Unhappy indeed was this State when the eunuchs became so powerful that
the people were as if trodden into the mire under their feet. Now you,
devoid of the least merit, dare to talk of deposing the rightful
Emperor and setting up another. This is to desire rebellion and no
less.”
Tung Cho could not reply for Lü Pu, eager for the fight, rode straight
at him. Tung Cho fled and Ting’s army came on. The battle went in their
favour and the beaten men retired and made another camp. Here Tung Cho
called his officers to a council.
“This Lü Pu is a marvel,” said Tung Cho. “If he was only on my side I
would defy the whole world.”
At this a man advanced saying, “Be content, O my lord! I am a fellow
villager of his and know him well, his bravery, his stupidity, his
cupidity and unscrupulousness. With this little, blarneying tongue of
mine I can persuade him to put up his hands and come over to your
side.”
Tung Cho was delighted and gazed admiringly at the speaker, on Li Su a
minor officer of his army.
“What arguments will you use with him?”
“You have a fine horse, the Hare, one of the best ever bred. I must
have this steed, and gold and pearls to win his heart. Then will I go
and persuade him. He will certainly abandon Ting Yüan’s service for
yours.”
“What think you?” said Tung Cho to his adviser Li.
“One cannot grudge a horse to win an empire,” was the reply.
So they gave the corrupter of morals what he demanded—a thousand taels
of gold, ten strings of beautiful pearls and a jewelled belt, and these
accompanied Li Su on his visit to his fellow villager. He reached the
camp and said to the guard, “Please tell General Lü that a very old
friend has come to visit him.”
He was admitted forthwith.
“Worthy brother, have you been well since we last met?”
“How long it is since we last saw each other!” replied Pu, bowing in
return. “And where are you now?”
“I am an officer in the Tiger Company. When I learned you were a strong
supporter of the throne I could not say how I rejoiced. I have come now
to present to you a really fine horse, a thousand li a day horse, one
that crosses rivers and goes up mountains as if they were the level
plain. He is called The Hare. He will be a fitting aid to your valour.”
Lü Pu bade them lead out the horse. He was of a uniform colour like
glowing charcoal; not a hair of another colour. He measured ten feet
from head to tail and from hoof to neck eight feet. When he neighed the
sound filled the empyrean and shook the ocean.
Mark ye the steed swift and tireless, see the dust, spurned by
his hoofs, rising in clouds;
Now he swims the river, anon climbs the hill, rending the purple
mist asunder;
Scornful he breaks the rein, shakes from his head the jewelled
bridle;
He is as a fiery dragon descending from the highest heaven.
Pu was delighted with the horse and said, “What return can I hope to
make for such a creature?”
“What return can I hope for? I came to you out of a sense of what is
right.”
Wine was brought in and they drank.
“We have seen very little of each other, but I am constantly meeting
your honourable father,” said Li Su.
“You are drunk,” said Pu. “My father has been dead for years.”
“Not so; I spoke of Ting Yüan, the man of the day.”
Lü Pu started. “Yes, I am with him but only because I can do no
better.”
“Sir, your talent is higher than the heavens, deeper than the seas. Who
in all the world does not bow before your name? Fame and riches and
honours are yours for the taking. And you say you can do no better than
remain a subordinate!”
“If I could only find a master to serve!” said Lü Pu.
“The clever bird chooses the branch whereon to perch; the wise servant
selects the master to serve. Seize the chance when it comes, for
repentance ever comes too late.”
“Now you are in the government. Who think you is really the bravest of
all?”, asked Lü Pu.
“I despise the whole lot except Tung Cho. He is one who respects wisdom
and reveres scholarship; he is discriminating in his rewards and
punishments. Surely he is destined to be a really great man.”
“I would that I could serve him, but there is no way, I fear.”
Then Su produced his pearls and gold and the jewelled belt and laid
them out before his host.
“What is this? What does it mean?” said Lü Pu.
“Send away the attendants,” said Li Su. And he went on, “Tung Cho has
long respected your valour and sent these by my hand. The Hare was also
from him.”
“But, if he loves me like this, what can I do in return?”
“If a stupid fellow like me can be an officer in The Tigers, it is
impossible to say what honours await you.”
“I am sorry I can offer him no service worth mentioning.”
“There is one service you can do, and an extremely easy one to perform;
but you would not render that.”
Lü Pu pondered long in silence. Then he said, “I might slay Ting Yüan
and bring over his soldiers to Tung Cho’s side; what think you of
that?”
“If you would do that, there could be no greater service. But such a
thing must be done quickly.”
And Lü Pu promised his friend that he would do the deed and come over
on the morrow.
So Li Su took his leave. That very night, at the second watch, Lü Pu
entered, sword in hand, into his master’s tent. He found Ting Yüan
reading by the light of a solitary candle. Seeing who came in he said,
“My son, what is afoot?”
“I am a bold hero,” said Pu, “do you think I am willing to be a son of
yours?”
“Why this change, Fêng-hsien?”
As a reply Lü Pu made one cut at his protector and his head fell to the
earth. Then he called the attendants and said, “He was an unjust man
and I have slain him. Let those who back me stay; the others may
depart.”
Most ran away. Next day, with the head of the murdered man as his gift,
Lü Pu betook himself to Li Su, who led him to Tung Cho. Cho received
him with a warm welcome and had wine set before him.
“Your coming is welcome as the gentle dew to the parched grass,” said
Tung Cho.
Lü Pu made Cho seat himself and then made his obeisance, saying, “Pray
let me bow to you as my adopted father.”
Tung Cho gave his newly won ally gold and armour and silken robes and
spread the feast of welcome. They then separated.
Thence Tung Cho’s power and influence increased rapidly. He gave ranks
of nobility to his brother and Lü Pu, who were leaders of the two
wings, he himself being leader of the centre. The adviser Li Ju never
ceased from urging him to carry out the design of deposing the young
Emperor.
The now all-powerful general prepared a banquet in the capital at which
all the officers of State were guests. He also bade Lü Pu post a
company of armed men right and left ready for action. The feast began
and several courses were served with nothing to distinguish that
banquet from any other. Then suddenly the host arose and drew his
sword, saying, “He who is above us being weak and irresolute is unfit
for the duties of his high place. Wherefore I, as of old did I Yin and
Ho Kuang, will set aside this Emperor giving him the title of Prince
Hung-nung and I will place on the throne the present Prince of
Chʻên-liu. And those who do not support me will suffer death.”
Fear seized them in its grip and they were silent, all but Yüan Shao
who said that the Emperor was innocent of any fault and to set him
aside in favour of a commoner was rebellion and nothing else.
“The Empire is in my hands;” cried Cho, “an I choose to do this thing
who will dare say nay? Think you my sword lacks an edge?”
“If your sword is sharp, mine is never blunt,” said Shao as his sword
flashed out of the sheath.
The two men stood face to face amid the feasters:
When Ting by treacherous murder died,
The loss was great to Yüan’s side.
The fate of Yüan Shao will be disclosed in later chapters.
CHAPTER IV.
THE DEPOSITION OF THE EMPEROR: PRINCE OF CHʻÊN-LIU BECOMES EMPEROR:
SCHEMES AGAINST TUNG CHO: MÊNG-TÊ PRESENTS A SWORD.
It is recorded that Tung Cho was on the point of slaying Yüan Shao, but
his adviser checked him, saying, “You must not kill rashly while the
business hangs in the balance.”
Yüan Shao, his sword still unsheathed, left the assembly. He hung up
the symbols of his office at the east gate and went to Ichow.
Tung Cho said to the Tʻai-fu Yüan Wei, “Your nephew behaved improperly
but I pardon him for your sake; what think you of my scheme?”
“What you think is right,” was the reply.
“If any one opposes the great scheme he will be dealt with by military
law,” said Tung Cho.
The ministers, thoroughly cowed, promised obedience and the feast came
to an end. Tung asked Chou Pi and Wu Chiung what they thought of the
flight of Yüan Shao.
“He left in a state of great anger. In such a state of excitement much
harm may ensue to the present state of affairs, especially as the Yüan
family have been noted for their kindness to the people for four
generations, and their protégés and dependents are everywhere. If they
assemble bold spirits and call up their clients, all the valiant
warriors will be in arms and Shantung will be lost. You had better
pardon him and give him a post. He will be glad at being forgiven and
will do no harm.”
Wu said, “Shao is fond of scheming, but he fails in decision and so is
not to be feared. But it would be well to give him rank and thus win
popular favour.”
Tung Cho followed this advice and thereupon sent a messenger to offer
Yüan Shao the command of Pohai.
In the ninth month the Emperor was invited to proceed to the Hall of
Abounding Virtue where was a great assembly of officials. There Tung
Cho, sword in hand, faced the gathering and said, “The Emperor is a
weakling unequal to the burden of ruling this land. Now listen ye to
the document I have prepared.”
And Li Ju read as follows:—“The dutiful Emperor Ling too soon left his
people. The Emperor is the cynosure of all the people of this land.
Upon the present Emperor Heaven has conferred but small gifts: in
dignity and deportment he is deficient and in mourning he is remiss.
Only the most complete virtue can grace the imperial dignity. The
Empress Mother has trained him improperly and the whole State
administration has fallen into confusion. The Empress Dowager, Jung-lê,
died suddenly and no one knew why. The doctrine of the three bonds and
the continuity of celestial and terrestrial interdependence have both
been injured. But Hsieh, Prince of Chʻên-liu, is sage and virtuous
beside being of handsome exterior. He conforms to all the rules of
propriety, his mourning is sincere; his speech is always correct.
Eulogies of him fill the Empire. He is well fitted for the great duty
of consolidating the rule of Han.
“Now therefore the Emperor is deposed and created Prince Hung-nung and
the Empress Dowager retires from the administration.
“I pray the Prince to accept the throne in conformity with the decrees
of Heaven, the desires of men and the fulfilment of the hopes of
mankind.”
This having been read Tung Cho bade the attendants lead the Emperor
down from the throne, remove his seal and cause him to kneel facing the
north, styling himself minister and requesting commands. Moreover he
bade the Empress Dowager strip off her dress of ceremony and await the
imperial command. Both victims of this oppression wept and every
minister present was deeply affected. One put his discontent into
words, crying, “The false Tung Cho is the author of this insult, which
I will risk my life to wipe away.” And with this he rushed at Tung Cho
threatening him with his ivory bâton of office.
It was the President Ting Kuan and he was removed and summarily put to
death. While he lived he ceased not to rail at the oppressor, nor was
he frightened at death.
The rebel Tung conceived the foul design
To thrust the King aside and wrong his line.
With folded arms the courtiers stood, save one
Ting Kuan, who dared to cry that wrong was done.
Then the Emperor designate went to the upper part of the hall to
receive congratulations. After this the late Emperor, his mother and
the Lady in waiting Tʻang were removed to the Palace of Perpetual Calm.
The entrance gates were locked against all comers.
It was pitiful! There was the young Emperor, after reigning less than
half a year, deposed and another put in his place. The new Emperor was
Hsieh, the second son of the late Emperor and the name under which he
reigned is Hsien. He was nine years of age and the reign-style was
changed to Chʻu-Pʻing or The Inauguration of Tranquillity.
As chief minister Tung Cho was arrogant beyond all reason. When he
bowed before the throne he did not declare his name; in going to court
he did not hasten. Booted and armed he entered the reception halls.
Never had such a thing been seen before. Li Ju impressed upon him
constantly to employ men of reputation so that he should gain public
esteem. So when they told him Chʻai Yung was a man of talent he was
summoned. But he would not go. Cho sent a message to him that if he did
not come he and his whole clan should be exterminated. Then Chʻai gave
in and appeared. Cho was very gracious to him and promoted him thrice
in a month. He became a Shih-chung and seemed to be on most friendly
terms with the tyrant.
Meanwhile the deposed ruler, his mother and the Lady Tʻang were immured
in the palace and found their daily supplies gradually diminishing. The
deposed Emperor wept incessantly. One day a pair of swallows gliding to
and fro moved him to verse.
Spring! and the green of the tender grass,
Flushes with joy as the swallows pass;
The wayfarers pause by the rippling stream,
And their eyes with new born gladness gleam;
With lingering gaze the roofs I see
Of the palace that one time sheltered me.
The messenger, sent by Tung Cho from time to time to the palace for
news of the prisoners, got hold of this poem and showed it to his
master.
“So he shows his resentment by writing poems, eh! A fair excuse to put
them all out of the way,” said Tung.
Li Ju was sent with ten men into the palace to consummate the foul
deed. The three were in one of the upper rooms when he arrived. The
Emperor shuddered when the maid announced the visitor’s name.
Presently Li entered and offered a cup of poisoned wine to the Emperor.
The Emperor asked what this meant.
“Spring is the season of blending and harmonious interchange and the
Minister sends a cup of the wine of longevity,” said he.
“If it be the wine of longevity you may share it too; pledge me first,”
said the Empress.
Then Li became brutally frank.
“You will not drink!” cried he.
He called the men with daggers and cords and bade her look at them.
“The cup, or these?” said he.
Then said the Lady Tʻang, “Let the handmaiden drink in place of her
lord. Spare the mother and her son, I pray.”
“And who may you be to die for a prince?” said Li.
Then he presented the cup to the Empress once more and bade her drink.
She railed against her brother, the feckless Ho Chin, the author of all
this trouble. She would not drink.
Next Li approached the Emperor.
“Let me say farewell to my mother,” begged he, and he did so in these
lines:—
The heaven and earth are changed alas! the sun and the moon leave
their courses,
I, once the centre of all eyes, am driven to the farthest confines.
Oppressed by an arrogant minister my life nears its end,
Everything fails me and vain are my falling tears.
The Lady Tʻang sang:—
Heaven is to be rent asunder, Mother Earth to fall away;
I, handmaid of an Emperor, would grieve if I followed him not.
We have come to the parting of ways, the quick and the dead walk
not together;
Alas! I am left alone with the grief in my heart.
When they had sung these lines they fell weeping into each others’
arms.
“The minister is awaiting my report,” said Li, “and you delay too long.
Think you that there is any hope of succour?”
The Empress broke into another fit of railing.
“The rebel forces us to death, mother and son, and Heaven has abandoned
us. But you, the tool of his crime, will assuredly perish.”
Thereupon Li grew more angry, laid hands on the Empress and threw her
out of the window. Then he bade the soldiers strangle Lady Tʻang and
forced the lad to swallow the wine of death.
He reported the achievement of the cruel deed to his master who bade
them bury the victims without the city. After this Tung’s behaviour was
more atrocious than before. He spent his nights in the palace, defiled
the virgins there and even slept on the imperial couch.
Once he led his soldiers out of the city to Yangchʻêng when the
villagers, men and women, were assembled from all sides for the annual
festival. His men surrounded the place and plundered it. They took away
booty by the cart load, and women prisoners and a large number of
heads. The procession returned to the city and published a story that
they had obtained a great victory over some rebels. They burned the
heads beneath the walls and the women and jewellery were shared out
among the soldiers.
An officer named Wu Fou was disgusted at this ferocity and sought a
chance to slay the tyrant. He constantly wore a breastplate underneath
his court dress and carried concealed a sharp dagger. One day when Tung
came to court Fou met him on the steps and tried to stab him. But Cho
was a very powerful man and held him off till Lü Pu came to his help.
He struck down the assailant.
“Who told you to rebel?” said Tung.
Fou glared at him and cried, “You are not my prince, I am not your
minister: where is the rebellion? Your crimes fill the heavens and
every man would slay you. I am sorry I cannot tear you asunder with
chariots to appease the wrath of the world.”
Tung Cho bade them take him out and hack him to pieces. He only ceased
railing as he ceased to live.
Men praise Wu Fou, that loyal servant of the latter days of Han.
His valour was high as the Heavens, in all ages unequalled;
In the court itself would he slay the rebel, great is his fame!
Throughout all time will men call him a hero.
Thereafter Tung Cho always went well guarded.
At Pohai Yüan Shao heard of Tung Cho’s misuse of power and sent a
secret letter to Wang Yü.
“That rebel Cho outrages Heaven and has deposed his ruler. Men cannot
bear to speak of him. Yet you suffer his aggressions as if you knew
naught of them. How then are you a dutiful and loyal minister? I have
assembled an army and desire to sweep clean the royal habitation, but I
dare not lightly begin the task. If you are willing, then find an
opportunity to plot against this man. If you would use force I am at
your command.”
The letter arrived but Wang Yün could see no chance. One day while
among the throng in attendance, mostly men of long service, he said to
his colleagues, “This is my birthday, I pray you come to a little party
in my humble cot this evening.”
“We certainly will,” they cried, “and wish you long life.”
That night the tables were spread in an inner room and his friends
gathered there. When the wine had made a few rounds the host suddenly
covered his face and began to weep.
The guests were aghast.
“Sir, on your birthday too, why do you weep?” said they.
“It is not my birthday,” replied he. “But I wished to call you together
and I feared lest Tung Cho should suspect, so I made that the excuse.
This man insults the Emperor and does as he wishes so that the imperial
prerogatives are in imminent peril. I think of the days when our
illustrious founder destroyed Tsʻin, annihilated Chʻu and obtained the
Empire. Who could have foreseen this day when that Tung Cho has
subjugated all to his will? That is why I weep.”
Then they all wept with him.
Seated among the guests, however, was Tsʻao Tsʻao, who did not join in
the weeping but clapped his hands and laughed aloud.
“If all the officers of the government weep till dawn, and from dawn
weep till dark, will that slay Tung Cho?” said he.
His host turned on him angrily.
“Your forbears ate of the bounty of the Hans; do you feel no gratitude?
You can laugh?”
“I laughed at the absurdity of an assembly like this being unable to
compass the death of one man. Foolish and incapable as I am I will cut
off his head and hang it at the gate as an offering to the people.”
The host left his seat and went over to Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“These later days,” Tsʻao continued, “I have bowed my head to Tung Cho
with the sole desire of finding a chance to destroy him. Now he begins
to trust me and so I can approach him sometimes. You have a ‘seven
precious’ sword which I would borrow and I will go into his palace and
kill him. I care not if I die for it.”
“What good fortune for the world that this is so!” said the host.
With this he himself poured out a goblet for his guest who drained it
and swore an oath. After this the sword was brought out and given to
Tsʻao Tsʻao who hid it under his dress. He finished his wine, took
leave of the guests and left the hall. Before long the others
dispersed.
Soon after Tsʻao Tsʻao, with this short sword girded on, came to the
palace of the minister.
“Where is the minister?” asked he.
“In the small guest room,” replied the attendants.
So Tsʻao Tsʻao went in and found his host seated on a couch, Lü Pu was
at his side.
“Why so late, Mêng-tê?” said Tung Cho.
“My horse is out of condition and slow,” replied Tsʻao.
Cho turned to his henchman.
“Some good horses have come in from the west. You go and pick out a
good one as a present for him.” And Lü Pu left.
“He is doomed,” thought Tsʻao Tsʻao. He ought to have struck then, but
Tsʻao knew Cho was very powerful and he was afraid; he wanted to make
sure of his blow.
Now Tung Cho’s corpulence was such that he could not remain long
sitting, so he rolled over and lay face inwards. “Now is the time,”
thought the assassin, and he gripped the good sword firmly. But just as
he was going to strike, his victim happened to look up and in a mirror
he saw the reflection of Tsʻao Tsʻao behind him with a sword in his
hand.
“What are you doing, Mêng-tê?” said he turning suddenly. And at that
moment Lü Pu came along leading a horse.
Tsʻao Tsʻao in a flurry dropped on his knees and said, “I have a choice
sword here which I wish to present to Your Benevolence.”
Tung Cho took it. It was a fine blade, over a foot in length, inlaid
with the seven precious signs and very keen; a fine sword in very
truth. He handed the weapon to Lü Pu while Tsʻao Tsʻao took off the
sheath which he also gave to Lü Pu.
Then they went out to look at the horse. Tsʻao Tsʻao was profuse in his
thanks and said he would like to try him. So Cho bade them bring saddle
and bridle. Tsʻao led the creature outside, lept into the saddle, laid
on his whip vigorously and galloped away eastward.
Lü Pu said, “Just as I was coming up it seemed to me as if that fellow
was going to stab you, only a sudden panic seized him and he presented
the weapon instead.”
“I suspected him too,” said Cho. Just then Li Ju came in and they told
him.
“He has no family here but lodges quite alone and not far away,” said
he. “Send for him. If he comes forthwith the sword was meant as a gift,
but if he makes any excuses he had bad intentions. And you can arrest
him.”
They sent four prison warders to call Tsʻao Tsʻao. They were absent a
long time and then came back saying Tsʻao Tsʻao had not returned to his
lodging but had ridden in hot haste out of the eastern gate. To the
gate-warden’s questions he had replied that he was on a special message
for the minister. He had gone off at full speed.
“His conscience pricked him and so he fled; there is no doubt that he
meant assassination,” said Li Ju.
“And I trusted him so well!” said Tung Cho in a rage.
“There must be a conspiracy afoot: when we catch him we shall know all
about it,” said Li Ju.
Letters and pictures of the fugitive were sent everywhere with orders
to catch him. A large reward in money was offered and a patent of
nobility, while those who sheltered him would be held to share his
guilt.
Tsʻao Tsʻao travelled in hot haste toward Chʻiaochün. On the road at
Chungmou he was recognised by the guards at the gate and made prisoner.
They took him to the magistrate. Tsʻao declared he was a merchant,
named Huangfu. The magistrate scanned his face most closely and
remained in deep thought.
Presently he said, “When I was at the capital seeking a post I knew you
as Tsʻao Tsʻao, why do you try to conceal your identity?”
He ordered him to the prison till the morrow when he could be sent to
the capital and the reward claimed. He gave the soldiers wine and food
as a reward.
About midnight he sent a trusty servant to bring the prisoner into his
private rooms for interrogation.
“They say the Minister treated you well; why did you try to harm him?”
said he.
“How can swallows and sparrows understand the flight of the crane and
the wild goose? I am your prisoner and am to be sent to the capital for
a reward. Why so many questions?”
The official sent away the attendants and turning to the prisoner said,
“Do not despise me. I am no mere hireling, only I have not yet found
the lord to serve.”
Said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “My ancestors enjoyed the bounty of the Hans and
should I differ from a bird or a beast if I did not desire to repay
them with gratitude? I have bowed the knee to Tung Cho that thereby I
might find an opportunity against him, and so remove this evil from the
State. I have failed for this time. Such is the will of heaven.”
“And where are you going?”
“Home to my village. Thence I shall issue a summons calling all the
bold spirits to come with forces to kill the tyrant. This is my
desire.”
Thereupon the magistrate himself loosened the bonds of the prisoner,
led him to the upper seat and bowed saying, “I am called Chʻên Kung. My
aged mother and family are in the east. I am deeply affected by your
loyalty and uprightness and I will abandon my office and follow you.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao was delighted with this turn of affairs. The magistrate at
once collected some money for the expenses of their journey and gave
his prisoner a different dress. Then each took a sword and rode away
toward the home of Tsʻao. Three days later at eventide they reached
Chʻêngkao. Tsʻao Tsʻao pointed with his whip to a hamlet deep in the
woods and said, “There lives my uncle, Lü Po-shê, a sworn-brother of my
father. Suppose we go and ask news of my family and seek shelter for
the night?”
“Excellent!” said his companion and they rode over, dismounted at the
farm gate and entered.
Their host said, “I hear the government has sent stringent orders on
all sides to arrest you. Your father has gone into hiding to Chʻên Lu.
How has this all come about?”
Tsʻao Tsʻao told him and said, “Had it not been for this man here with
me I should have been already hacked to pieces.”
Po-shê bowed low to Chʻên Kung saying, “You are the salvation of the
Tsʻao family. But be at ease and rest, I will find you a bed in my
humble cottage.”
He then rose and went into the inner chamber where he stayed a long
time. When he came out, he said, “There is no good wine in the house, I
am going over to the village to get some for you.”
And he hastily mounted his donkey and rode away. The two travellers sat
a long time. Suddenly they heard at the back of the house the sound of
sharpening a knife.
Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “He is not my real uncle; I am beginning to doubt the
meaning of his going off. Let us listen.”
So they silently stepped out into a straw hut at the back. Presently
some one said, “Bind before killing, eh?”
“As I thought;” said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “now unless we strike first we shall
be taken.”
Suddenly they dashed in, sword in hand, and slew the whole household
male and female; in all eight persons.
After this they searched the house. In the kitchen they found a pig
bound ready to kill.
“You have made a huge mistake,” said Chʻên Kung, “and we have slain
honest folk.”
They at once mounted and rode away. Soon they met their host coming
home and over the saddle in front of him they saw two vessels of wine.
In his hands he carried fruit and vegetables.
“Why are you going, Sirs?” he called to them.
“Accused people dare not linger,” said Tsʻao.
“But I have bidden them kill a pig! Why do you refuse my poor
hospitality? I pray you ride back with me.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao paid no heed. Urging his horse forward he suddenly drew his
sword and rode after Lu.
“Who is that coming along?”
Lu turned and looked back and Tsʻao at the same instant cut him down.
His companion was frightened.
“You were wrong enough before,” cried he. “What now is this?”
“When he got home and saw his family killed, think you he would bear it
patiently? If he had raised an alarm and followed us we should have
been killed.”
“To kill deliberately is very wrong,” said Chʻên Kung.
“I would rather betray the world then let the world betray me,” was the
reply.
Chʻên Kung only thought. They rode on some distance by moonlight and
presently knocked up an inn for shelter. Having first fed their horses,
Tsʻao Tsʻao was soon asleep, but his companion lay thinking.
“I took him for a true man and left all to follow him, but he is cruel
as a wolf. If I spare him he will do more harm,” thought Chʻên.
And he rose intending to kill his companion.
In his heart lie cruelty and venom, he is no true man;
In nought doth he differ from his enemy Tung Cho.
The further fortunes of Tsʻao Tsʻao will be told in later chapters.
CHAPTER V.
SENDING OUT THE CALL: MANY RESPOND:
DESTROYING AN ARMY: THE THREE BROTHERS FIGHT AGAINST LÜ PU.
At the close of the last chapter Tsʻao Tsʻao’s companion was about to
slay him. But the memory of why he had decided to join his fortunes
with his companion’s stayed his hand. Rising from his bed before dawn
he mounted his horse and rode away toward his home in the east. Tsʻao
Tsʻao awoke with the day and missed his companion. Thought he, “He
thinks me brutal because of a couple of egoistic phrases I used and so
he has gone. I ought to push on too and not linger here.”
So he travelled as quickly as possible toward home. When he saw his
father he related what had happened and said he wanted to dispose of
all the property and enlist soldiers with the money.
“Our possessions are but small”; said his father, “and not enough to do
anything with. However, there is a graduate here, one Wei Hung,
careless of wealth but careful of virtue, whose family is very rich.
With his help we might hope for success.”
A feast was prepared and the rich man invited. Tsʻao made him a
speech:—“The Hans have lost their lordship and Tung Cho is really a
tyrant. He flouts his prince and is cruel to the people, who gnash
their teeth with rage. I would restore the Hans but my means are
insufficient. Sir, I appeal to your loyalty and public-spirit.”
He replied, “I have long desired this but, so far, have not found a man
fit to undertake the task. Since you, Mêng-tê, have so noble a desire I
willingly devote all my property to the cause.”
This was joyful news and the call to arms was forthwith prepared and
sent far and near. So they established a corps of volunteers and set up
a large white recruiting banner with the words “Loyalty and Right”
inscribed thereon. The response was rapid and volunteers came in like
rain drops in number.
One day came a certain Yo Chin, whose minor name was Wên-chʻien, and
another Li Tien, also known as Man-chʻêng. These two were appointed to
Tsʻao’s personal staff. Another was one Hsiahou Tun. He was descended
from Hsiahou Ying and had been trained from his early boyhood to use
the spear and the club. When only fourteen he had been attached to a
certain master-in-arms. One day some one spoke disrespectfully of his
master and Tun killed him. For this deed, however, he had to flee and
had been an exile for some time. Now he came to offer his services,
accompanied by his brother. Each brought a company of trained men.
Really these two were brothers of Tsʻao Tsʻao by birth since his father
was originally of the Hsiahou family, and had only been adopted into
the Tsʻao family.
A few days later came two other brothers, Tsʻao Jên and Tsʻao Hung,
each with a company. These two were accomplished horsemen and trained
in the use of arms. Then drill began and Wei Hung spent his treasure
freely in buying clothing, armour, flags and banners. From all sides
poured in gifts of grain.
When Yüan Shao received Tsʻao Tsʻao’s call to arms he collected all
those under his command to the number of three legions. He came to take
the oath to Tsʻao. Next a manifesto was issued:—
“Tsʻao and his associates, moved by a sense of duty, now make this
proclamation. Tung Cho defies heaven and earth. He is destroying the
State and injuring his prince. He pollutes the palace and oppresses the
people. He is vicious and cruel. His crimes are heaped up. Now we have
received a secret command to call up soldiers and we are pledged to
cleanse the Empire and destroy the evil-doers. We will raise a
volunteer army and exert all our efforts to maintain the dynasty and
succour the people. Respond to this, O Nobles, by mustering your
soldiers.”
Many from every side answered the summons as the following list shows:—
The Prefect of Nanyang, Yüan Shu.
The Governor of Ichow, Han Fu.
The Governor of Yüchow, Kʻung Yu.
The Governor of Yenchow, Liu Tai.
The Prefect of Honei, Wang Kʻuang.
The Prefect of Chʻên-liu, Chang Mo.
The Prefect of Tungchun, Chiao Mao.
The Prefect of Shanyang, Yüan I.
The Hsiang of Chipei, Pao Hsin.
The Prefect of Peihai, Kʻung Yung.
The Prefect of Kuangling, Chang Chʻao.
The Governor of Hsüchow, Tʻao Chʻien.
The Prefect of Hsiliang, Ma Tʻêng.
The Prefect of Peipʻing, Kungsun Tsan.
The Prefect of Shangtang, Chang Yang.
The Prefect of Chʻangsha, Sun Chien.
The Prefect of Pohai, Yüan Shao.
These contingents varied in size, but each was complete in itself with
its officers, civil and military, and battle-leaders, and they
assembled at Loyang.
The Prefect of Peipʻing, Kungsun Tsan, while on his way with his force
of a legion and a half, passed through Pʻingyüan. There he saw among
the mulberry trees a yellow flag under which marched a small company.
When they drew nearer he saw the leader was Liu Yüan-tê.
“Good brother, what do you here?”
“You were kind to me once and on your recommendation I was made
magistrate of this district. I heard you were passing through and came
to salute you. May I pray my elder brother to enter into the city and
rest his steed?”
“Who are these two?” said Tsan pointing to the other two brothers.
“These are Kuan Yü and Chang Fei, my sworn brothers.”
“Were they fighting with you against the rebels?”
“All my success was due to their efforts,” said Yüan-tê.
“And what offices do they fill?”
“Kuan Yü is a mounted archer: Fei is a foot archer.”
“Thus are able men buried!” said Tsan, sighing. Then he continued. “All
the highest in the land are now going to destroy the rebellious Tung
Cho. My brother would do better to abandon this petty place and join us
in restoring the House of Han. Why not?”
“I should like to go,” said Yüan-tê.
“If you had let me kill him that other time you would not have this
trouble to-day,” said Chang Fei.
“Since things are so let us pack and go,” said Kuan Yü.
So without more ado the three brothers, with a few horsemen, joined
Kungsun Tsan and marched with him to join the great army.
One after another the feudal lords came up and encamped. Their camps
extended over three hundred li and more. When all had arrived Tsʻao, as
the head, prepared sacrificial bullocks and horses and called all the
lords to a great assembly to decide upon their plan of attack.
Then spake the Prefect Wang saying “We have been moved by a noble sense
of right to assemble here. Now must we first choose a chief and bind
ourselves to obedience.”
Then said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “For four generations the highest offices of
state have been filled by members of the Yüan family and his clients
and supporters are everywhere. As a descendant of ancient ministers of
Han, Yüan Shao is a suitable man to be our chief lord.”
Yüan Shao again and again declined this honour. But they all said, “It
must be he; there is no other.” And then he agreed.
So a three-storeyed altar was built and they planted about it the five
banners of the divisions of space. And they set up white yaks’ tails
and golden axes and emblems of military authority and the seals of
leadership round about.
All being ready the chief lord was invited to ascend the altar. Clad in
ceremonial robes and girt with a sword, Yüan Shao reverently ascended.
There he burned incense, made obeisance and recited the oath:—
“The House of Han has fallen upon evil days, the bands of imperial
authority are loosened. The rebel minister, Tung Cho, takes advantage
of the discord to work evil, and calamity falls upon honourable
families. Cruelty overwhelms simple folk. We, Shao and his
confederates, fearing for the safety of the imperial prerogatives, have
assembled military forces to rescue the State. We now pledge ourselves
to exert our whole strength and act in concord to the utmost limit of
our powers. There must be no disconcerted or selfish action. Should any
depart from this pledge may he lose his life and leave no posterity.
Almighty Heaven and Universal Mother Earth and the enlightened spirits
of our forefathers, be ye our witnesses.”
The reading finished, he smeared the blood of the sacrifice upon his
lips and upon the lips of those who shared the pledge. All were deeply
affected by the ceremony and many shed tears.
This done the oath-chief was supported down from the high place and led
to his tent, where he took the highest place and the others arranged
themselves according to rank and age. Here wine was served.
Presently Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “It behoves us all to obey the chief we
have this day set up, and support the State. There must be no feeling
of rivalry or superiority based upon numbers.”
Shao replied, “Unworthy as I am, yet as elected chief I must
impartially reward merit and punish offences. Let each see to it that
he obeys the national laws and the army precepts. These must not be
broken.”
“Only thy commands are to be obeyed,” cried all.
“My brother, Yüan Shu, is appointed Chief of the Commissariat. He must
see to it that the whole camp is well supplied. But the need of the
moment is a van-leader who shall go to Ssŭshui Pass and provoke a
battle. The other forces must take up positions in support.”
Then the Prefect of Chʻangsha offered himself for this service.
“You are valiant and fierce, and equal to this service,” said Yüan
Shao.
The force under Sun Chien set out and presently came to the Pass. The
guard there sent a swift rider to the capital to announce to the tyrant
the urgency of the situation.
Ever since Tung Cho had secured his position he had given himself up to
luxury without stint. When the urgent news reached the adviser Li Ju,
he at once went to his master, who much alarmed called a great council.
Lü Pu stood forth and said, “Do not fear, my father, I look upon all
the lords without the Pass as so much stubble and with the men of our
fierce army I will put every one of them to death and hang their heads
at the gates of the capital.”
“With your aid I can sleep secure,” said Tung Cho.
But some one behind Lü Pu broke in upon his speech saying “A butcher’s
knife to kill a chicken! There is no need for the Marquis to go: I will
cut off their heads every one as easily as I would take a thing out of
my pocket.”
Cho looked up and his eyes rested on a stalwart man of fierce mien,
lithe and supple. He had a small round head like a leopard and
shoulders like an ape’s. His name was Hua Hsiung. Cho rejoiced at his
bold words and at once gave him high rank and command over five legions
of horse and foot. He, with Li Su, Hu Chên and Chao Tsʻên hastily moved
toward the Pass.
Among the feudal lords Pao Hsin was jealous lest the chosen van-leader
should win too great honours. Wherefore he endeavoured to meet the foe
first and so he secretly despatched his brother Chung with three
companies by a bye-road. As soon as this small force reached the Pass
they offered battle. Hua Hsiung at the head of half a company of
mail-clad horsemen swept down from the Pass crying “Flee not, rebel.”
But Pao Chung was afraid and turned back. Hsiung came on, his arm rose,
the sword fell, and Chung was cut down from his horse. Most of his
company were captured. His head was sent to the minister’s palace. Hua
Hsiung was promoted to Tu-tu, or Commander in Chief.
Sun Chien presently approached the Pass. He had four captains: Chʻêng
Pʻu, whose weapon was an iron-spined snaky lance; Huang Kai, who
wielded an iron whip; Han Tang, a swordsman, and Tsu Mou, who fought
with a pair of swords.
The Commander Sun wore a helmet of fine silver wrapped round with a
purple turban. He carried across his body his sword of ancient ingot
iron and rode a dappled horse with flowing mane.
He advanced to the Pass and hailed the defenders, calling them helpers
of a fool, and summoned them to surrender. A half legion under Hu Chên
went out against him whom Chʻêng Pʻu with the snaky lance rode out and
engaged. After a very few bouts Hu Chên was killed on the spot by a
thrust through the throat. Then the signal was given for the main army
to advance. But from the Pass they rained down showers of stones, which
proved too much for the assailants and they retired into camp at
Liangtung to await further help from Yüan Shao.
An urgent message for supplies was sent to the commissary. But one said
to him, the Controller: “This Sun Chien is a very tiger. Should he take
the capital and destroy Tung Cho we should have a tiger in place of a
wolf. Do not send him grain. Starve his men and that will decide the
fate of that army.”
And Yüan Shu gave ear to the detractors and sent no grain or forage.
Soon the hungry soldiers showed their disaffection by indiscipline and
the spies bore the news to the defenders of the Pass, who decided upon
a speedy attack in front and rear. They hoped to capture the Sun Chien.
So the soldiers of the attacking face were told off and given a full
meal. At dark they left the Pass and crept by secret paths to the rear
of Sun Chien’s camp. The moon was bright and the wind cool. They
arrived about midnight and the drums beat an immediate attack. Sun
Chien hastily donned his fighting gear and rode out. He ran straight
into Hua Hsiung and the two warriors engaged. But before they had
exchanged many passes Li Su’s men came up and set fire to whatever
would burn.
Sun’s army were thrown into confusion and fled like rats. A general
mêlée ensued and soon only Tsu Mou was left at his chief’s side. These
two broke through the pass and fled. Hua Hsiung coming in hot pursuit,
Sun Chien took his bow and let fly two arrows in quick succession, but
both missed. He fitted a third arrow to the string, but drew the bow so
fiercely that it snapped. He cast the magpie painted bow to the earth
and set off at full gallop.
Then spake Tsu Mou saying, “My lord’s purple turban is a mark that the
rebels will too easily recognise. Give it to me and I will wear it.”
So Sun Chien exchanged his silver helmet with the turban for his
faithful friend’s headpiece, and the two men parted, riding different
ways. The pursuers looking only for the purple turban went after its
wearer and Sun escaped along a bye-road.
Tsu Mou, hotly pursued, then tore off the headdress which he hung on
the post of a half-burned house as he passed and dashed into the thick
woods. Hua Hsiung’s men seeing the purple turban standing motionless
dared not approach, but they surrounded it on every side and shot at it
with arrows. Presently they discovered the trick, went up and seized
it.
This was the moment that the hidden man awaited. At once he rushed
forth, his two swords whirling about, and dashed at the leader. But Hua
Hsiung was too quick. With a loud yell he slashed at Tsu Mou and cut
him down. Day had now broken and the victor led his men back to the
Pass.
The three other leaders in time met their chief and the soldiers
halted. Sun Chien was much grieved at the loss of his generous
subordinate.
When news of the disaster reached Yüan Shao he was greatly chagrined
and called all the lords to a council. They assembled and Kungsun Tsan
was the last to arrive. When all were seated in the tent Yüan Shao
said, “The brother of General Pao, disobeying the rules we made for our
guidance, rashly went to attack the enemy; he was slain and with him
many of our soldiers. Now Sun Wên-tʻai has been defeated. Thus our
fighting spirit has suffered and what is to be done?”
Every one was silent. Lifting his eyes the chief looked round from one
to another till he came to Kungsun Tsan and then he remarked three men
who stood behind his seat. They were of striking appearance as they
stood there, all three smiling cynically.
“Who are those men behind you?” said the chief.
Kungsun told Yüan-tê to come forward, and said, “This is Liu Pei,
magistrate of Pʻingyüan and a brother of mine who shared my humble
cottage.”
“It must be the Liu Yüan-tê who broke up the Yellow Turban rebellion,”
said Tsʻao.
“It is he,” said his patron and he ordered Liu Pei to make his
obeisance to the assembly, to whom he then related his services and his
origin, all in full detail.
“Since he is of the Han line he should be seated,” said the chief and
he bade Liu Pei sit.
Liu Pei modestly thanked him.
Said Shao, “This consideration is not for your fame and office; I
respect you as a scion of the imperial family.”
So Liu Pei took his seat in the lowest place of the long line of lords.
And his two brothers with folded arms took their stations behind him.
Even as they were at this meeting came in a scout to say that Hua
Hsiung with a company of mail-clad horsemen was coming down from the
Pass. They were flaunting Sun Chien’s captured purple turban on the end
of a bamboo pole. The enemy was soon hurling insults at those within
the stockade and challenging them to fight.
“Who dares go out to give battle?” said the chief.
“I will go,” said Yü Shê, a leader who belonged to the train of Yüan
Shu.
So he went and almost immediately one came back to say that he had
fallen in the third bout.
Fear began to lay its cold hand on the assembly. Then said another, “I
have a brave warrior among my men. Pʻan Fêng is his name and he could
slay this Hua Hsiung.”
So Pʻan was ordered out to meet the foe. With his great battle-axe in
his hand he mounted and rode forth. But soon came the direful tidings
that he too had fallen. The faces of the gathering paled at this.
“What a pity my two able leaders, Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou, are not
here! Then should we have some one who would not fear this man,” said
the chief.
He had not finished when from the lower end a voice cried, “I will go,
take his head and lay it before you here.”
All turned to look at the speaker. He was tall and had a long beard.
His eyes were those of a phœnix and his eyebrows thick and bushy like
caterpillars. His face was a swarthy red and his voice deep as the
sound of a great bell.
“Who is he?” asked the chief.
Kungsun Tsan told them it was Kuan Yü, brother of Liu Yüan-tê.
“And what is he?”
“He is in the train of Liu Yüan-tê as a mounted archer.”
“An insult to us all!” roared the chief’s brother from his place. “Have
we no leader? How dare an archer speak thus before us? Let us beat him
forth!”
But Tsʻao Tsʻao intervened. “Peace, O Kung-lu! Since he speaks great
words, he is certainly valiant. Let him try. If he fail, then you may
reproach him.”
“Hua Hsiung will laugh at us if we send a mere archer to fight him,
said the chief.”
“He looks no common person. And how can the enemy know he is but a
bowman?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“If I fail then can you take my head,” cried Kuan.
Tsʻao Tsʻao bade them heat some wine and offered a stirrup cup to Kuan
Yü as he went out.
“Pour it out,” said Kuan. “I shall return in a little space.”
He went with his sword in his hand and vaulted into the saddle. Those
in the tent heard the fierce roll of the drums and then a mighty sound
as if skies were falling and earth rising, hills trembling and
mountains tearing asunder. And they were sore afraid. And while they
were listening with ears intent, lo! the gentle tinkle of horse bells,
and Kuan Yü threw at their feet the head of the slain leader, their
enemy Hua Hsiung.
The wine was still warm!
This doughty deed has been celebrated in verse.
The power of the man stands first in all the world;
At the gate of the camp was heard the rolling of the battle drums;
Then Yün-chʻang set aside the wine cup till he should have
displayed his valour,
And the wine was still warm when the enemy had been slain.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was pleased at this success. But Chang Fei’s voice was
heard, shouting, “Brother, you slew the leader; why did you not break
through the Pass and seize Tung Cho? Could there have been a better
time?”
Again arose the voice of the peevish Yüan Shu, “We high officials are
too meek and yielding. Here is the petty follower of a small magistrate
daring to flaunt his prowess before us! Expel him from the tent, I
say.”
But again Tsʻao Tsʻao interposed, “Shall we consider the station of him
who has done a great service?”
“If you hold a mere magistrate in such honour then I simply withdraw,”
said Yüan Shu.
“Is a word enough to defeat a grand enterprise?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
He told Kungsun Tsan to lead his three companions back to their own
camp and the other chiefs then dispersed. That night he secretly sent
presents of flesh and wine to soothe the three after this adventure.
When Hua Hsiung’s men straggled back and told the story of defeat and
death Li Su was greatly distressed. He wrote urgent letters to his
master who called in his trusted advisers to a council. Li Ju summed up
the situation. “We have lost our best leader and the rebel power has
thereby become very great. Yüan Shao is at the head of this confederacy
and Yüan Wei of the same family is holder of high office in the
government. If those in the capital combine with those in the country
we may suffer. Therefore we must remove them. So I request you, Sir
Minister, to place yourself at the head of your army and break this
confederation.”
Tung Cho agreed and at once ordered Li Tsʻui and Kuo Ssŭ to take half a
company and surround the residence of Yüan Wei, the Tʻai-fu, slay every
soul, and hang the head of the high officer outside the gate as a
trophy. And Cho commanded twenty legions to advance in two armies. The
first five legions were under Li Tsʻui and Kuo Ssŭ and they were to
hold Ssŭshui Pass. They should not necessarily fight. The other fifteen
legions under Tung Cho himself went to Tigertrap Pass.
This Pass is fifty li from Loyang and as soon as they arrived Tung Cho
bade Lü Pu take three legions and make a strong stockade on the outside
of the Pass. The main body with Cho would occupy the Pass.
News of this movement reaching the confederate lords the chief summoned
a council. Said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “The occupation of the Pass would cut our
armies in two, therefore must we oppose Tung Cho’s army on the way.”
So eight of the confederate lords went in the direction of the Pass to
oppose their enemy. Tsʻao Tsʻao and his men were a reserve to render
help where needed.
Of the eight, the Prefect of Honei was the first to arrive and Lü Pu
went to give battle with three companies of mailed horsemen.
When Wang Kʻuang, Prefect of Honei, had ordered his army, horse and
foot, in battle array he took his station under the great banner and
looked over at his foe. There he saw Lü Pu, a conspicuous figure in
front of the line. On his head was a triple curved headdress of ruddy
gold. He wore a robe of Ssŭchʻuan silk embroidered with flowers and
over that breast and back mail adorned with a gaping animal’s head,
joined by rings at the sides and girt to his waist with a belt fastened
by a beautiful lion-head clasp. His bow and arrows were slung on his
shoulders and he carried a trident-halberd (hua-chi). He was seated on
his snorting steed “The Hare”. Indeed he was the man among men, as his
steed was the horse among horses.
“Who dares go out to fight him?” asked Wang Kʻuang turning to those
behind him. In response a tried warrior named Fang spurred to the
front, his spear set ready for battle. The two met: before the fifth
bout Fang fell under a thrust of the halberd and Lü Pu dashed forward.
Wang Kʻuang’s men could not stand and scattered in all directions. Lü
Pu went to and fro slaying all he met. He was quite irresistible.
Happily two other troops came up and rescued the wounded leader and his
opponent retreated. The three having lost many men withdrew thirty li
and made a stockade. And before long the remaining five lords came up
and joined them. They held a council.
“This Lü Pu is irresistible,” said they.
And while they sat there anxious and uncertain, it was announced that
Lü Pu had returned to challenge them. Each mounted his horse and placed
himself at the head of his force, each body in its station on lofty
cliffs. Around them was the opposing army, innumerable horse and foot,
their embroidered banners waving in the breeze.
They attacked. Mu Shun, a leader from Shangtang, rode out, but fell at
the first encounter with Lü Pu. This frightened the others. Then
galloped forth Wu An-kuo of the iron mace. Lü Pu whirling his halberd
and urging on his steed came to meet him. The two fought, well matched
for half a score bouts, when a blow from the halberd broke Wu An-kuo’s
wrist. Letting his mace fall to the ground he fled. Then all eight of
the lords led forth their men to his rescue and Lü Pu retired.
The fighting then ceased and after their return to camp another council
met.
Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “No one can stand against the prowess of Lü Pu. Let
us call up all the lords and evolve some good plan. If only Lü Pu were
taken, his master could easily be killed.”
While the council was in progress again came Lü Pu to challenge them
and again they moved out against him. This time Kungsun Tsan,
flourishing his spear, went to meet the enemy. After a very few bouts
Tsan turned and fled, Lü Pu following at the topmost speed of “The
Hare.”
“The Hare” was a thousand-li-a-day horse, swift as the wind. As they
watched “The Hare” gained rapidly upon the flying horseman and his
rider’s spear was poised ready to strike Tsan just behind the heart.
Just then dashed in a third rider with round glaring eyes and a
bristling moustache, and armed with a long snake-like spear.
“Stay, O thrice named slave!” roared he, “I, Chang Fei, await you.”
Seeing this opponent Lü Pu left the pursuit of Tsan and engaged the new
adversary. Fei fought with all his energies. They two were worthily
matched and they exchanged half a hundred bouts with no advantage to
either side. Then Kuan Yü rode out with his huge and weighty
moon-curved sword and attacked Lü Pu on the other flank. The three
steeds stood like the letter T and their riders battered away at each
other for nearly two score bouts, yet still Lü Pu stood firm. Then Liu
Yüan-tê rode out to his brothers’ aid, his double sword raised ready to
strike. The steed with the flowing mane was urged in at an angle and
now Lü Pu had to contend with three warriors at whom he struck one
after another, and they at him, the flashing of the warriors’ weapons
looking like the revolving lamps suspended at the new year. And the
spectators gazed rapt with amazement at such a battle.
But Lü Pu’s guard began to weaken and fatigue seized him. Looking hard
in the face of Yüan-tê he feigned a fierce thrust thus making him
suddenly draw back. Then, lowering his halberd, Lü dashed through the
angle thus opened and got away.
But was it likely they would allow him to escape? They whipped their
steeds and followed hard. The men of the eight armies cracked their
throats with thunderous cheers and all dashed forward, pressing after
Lü Pu as he made for the shelter of the Pass. And first among his
pursuers were the three heroic brothers.
An ancient poet has told of this famous fight in these lines:
The fateful day of Han came in the reigns of Huan and Ling,
Their glory declined as the sun sinks at the close of day.
Tung Cho, infamous minister of state, pulled down the youthful
sovereign from his throne.
It is true Liu Hsieh was a weakling, too timid for his times.
Then Tsʻao Tsʻao proclaimed abroad these wicked deeds,
And the great lords, moved with anger, assembled their forces.
In council met they and chose as their oath-chief Yüan Shao,
Pledged themselves to maintain the ruling house and tranquillity.
Of the warriors of that time peerless Lü Pu was the boldest
His valour and prowess are sung by all within the four seas.
He clothed his body in silver armour like the scales of a dragon,
On his head was a golden headdress, fastened with a massive pin,
About his waist a shaggy belt, the clasp, two wild beasts’ heads
with gripping jaws,
His flowing, broidered robe fluttered about his form,
His swift courser bounded over the plain, a mighty wind following,
His terrible halberd flashed in the sunlight, bright as a placid
lake.
Who dared face him as he rode forth to challenge?
The bowels of the confederate lords were torn with fear and their
hearts trembled within them.
Then leaped forth Chang Fei, the valiant warrior of the north,
Gripped in his mighty hand the long snakelike spear,
His moustache bristled with anger, standing stiff like wire.
His round eyes glared, lightning flashes darted from them.
Neither quailed in the fight, but the issue was undecided.
Kuan Yün-chʻang stood out in front, his soul vexed within him,
Black Dragon his sword shone white as hoar frost in the sunlight,
His bright coloured fighting robe fluttered like butterfly wings,
Demons and angels shrieked at the thunder of his horse hoofs,
In his eyes was fierce anger, a fire to be quenched only in blood.
Next Yüan-tê joined the battle, gripping his twin sword blades,
The heavens themselves trembled at the majesty of his wrath.
These three closely beset Lü Pu and long drawn out was the battle,
Always he warded their blows, never faltering a moment.
The noise of their shouting rose to the sky, and the earth
re-echoed it,
The heat of battle ranged to the frozen pole star.
Worn out, feeling his strength fast ebbing, Lü Pu thought to flee,
He glanced at the hills around and thither would fly for shelter.
Then, reversing his halberd and lowering its lofty point,
Hastily he fled, loosing himself from the battle;
With head low bent, he gave the rein to his courser,
Turned his face away and fled to Hulaokuan.
The three brothers maintained the pursuit to the Pass. Looking up they
saw an immense umbrella of black gauze fluttering in the west wind.
“Certainly there is Tung Cho,” cried Chang Fei. “What is the use of
pursuing Lü Pu? Better far seize the chief rebel and so pluck up the
evil by the roots.”
And he whipped up his steed toward the Pass.
To quell rebellion seize the leader if you can;
If you need a wondrous service then first find a wondrous man.
The following chapters will unfold the result of the battle.
CHAPTER VI.
BURNING THE CAPITAL, TUNG CHO COMMITS AN ATROCITY:
HIDING THE SEAL, SUN CHIEN BREAKS FAITH.
Chang Fei rode hard up to the Pass but the defenders sent down stones
and arrows like rain so that he could not enter and he returned. The
eight lords all joined in felicitations to the three heroes for their
services and the story of victory was sent to Yüan Shao, who ordered
Sun Chien to advance.
Thereupon Sun with two trusty friends went over to the camp of Yüan
Shu. Tracing figures on the ground with his staff Sun Chien said, “Tung
Cho and I had no personal quarrel. Yet now I have thrown myself into
the battle regardless of consequences, exposed my person to the risk of
wounds and fought bloody battles to their bitter end. And why? That I
might be the means of ridding my country of a rebel and—for the private
advantage of your family. Yet you, heeding the slanderous tongues of
certain enemies, formerly withheld the supplies absolutely necessary to
me, and so I suffered defeat. How can you explain, General?”
Yüan Shu, confused and frightened, had no word to reply. He ordered the
death of the slanderers to placate Sun.
Then suddenly they told Sun, “Some officer has come riding down from
the Pass to see you, General; he is in the camp.”
Sun Chien therefore took his leave and returned to his own camp where
he found the visitor was an officer, much beloved of Tung Cho, named Li
Tsʻui.
“Wherefore come you?” said Chien.
He replied, “You are the one person for whom my master has respect and
admiration, and he sends me to arrange a matrimonial alliance between
the two families. He wishes that his daughter may become the wife of
your son.”
“What! Tung Cho, that rebel and renegade, that subverter of the throne!
Would that I could destroy his nine generations as a thank-offering to
the Empire! Think you I would be willing to have an alliance with such
a family? I will not slay you as I ought, but go, and go quickly! Yield
the Pass and I may spare your lives. If you delay I will grind your
bones to powder and make mincemeat of your flesh.”
Li Tsʻui threw his arms over his head and ran out. He returned to his
master and told him what a rude reception he had met with. Cho asked
his adviser Li Ju how to reply to this and he said that as Lü Pu’s late
defeat had somewhat blunted the edge of his desire for battle it would
be well to return to the capital and remove the Emperor to Chʻangan, as
the street boys had been lately singing:—
“A Han on the west, a Han on the east.
The deer will be safe in Chʻangan, poor beast.”
Li continued “If you think out this couplet it applies to the present
juncture. Half the first line refers to the founder of the dynasty, who
became ruler in the western city, which was the capital during twelve
reigns. The other half corresponds to Kuang-Wu who ruled from Loyang,
the capital during twelve later reigns. The revolution of the heavens
brings us to this moment and if the minister remove to Chʻangan there
will be no need for anxiety.”
Tung Cho was exceedingly pleased and said, “Had you not spoken thus I
should not have understood.”
Then taking Lü Pu with him he started at once for the capital. Here he
called all the officials to a great council in the palace and addressed
them thus:—
“After two centuries of rule here the royal fortune has been exhausted
and I perceive that the aura of rule has migrated to Chʻangan, whither
I now desire to move the court. All you had better pack up for the
journey.”
The minister Yang Piao said, “I pray you reflect. Within that city all
is destruction. There is no reason to renounce the ancestral temples
and abandon the imperial tombs here. I fear the people will be alarmed.
It is easy to alarm them but difficult to pacify them.”
“Do you oppose the State plans?” said Cho angrily.
Another official, Huang Yüan, supported his colleague, “In the
rebellion of Wang Mang, in the days of Kêng Shih and Fan Chʻung of the
Red Eyebrows, the city was burned and became a place of broken tiles.
The inhabitants scattered all but a few. It is wrong to abandon these
palaces for a desert.”
Tung Cho replied, “East of the Pass is full of sedition and all the
Empire is in rebellion. The city of Chʻangan is protected by Yaohan and
very near Shênsi, whence can be easily brought building material. In a
month or so palaces can be erected. So an end to your wild words!”
Yet another raised a protest against disturbing the people but the
tyrant overbore him also.
“How can I stop to consider a few common people when my scheme affects
the Empire?”
That day the three objectors were degraded to the rank of ordinary
people.
As Cho went out to get into his coach he met two other officers who
made obeisance. They were the President, Chou Pi, and the Captain of
the City Gate, Wu Chʻing. Cho stopped and asked them what they wanted.
Said the former, “We venture to try to dissuade you from moving the
capital to Chʻangan.”
Cho replied, “They used to say you two were supporters of Yüan Shao;
now he has already turned traitor and you are of the same party.”
And without more ado he bade his guards take both outside the city and
put them to death.
The command to remove to the new capital immediately was issued. On the
advice of Li Ju, who pointed out that money was short and the rich
people of Loyang could be easily plundered and that it was a good
occasion to remove the supporters of their opponents, Cho sent five
companies out to plunder and slay. They captured very many wealthy folk
and, having stuck flags on their heads saying they were traitors and
rebels, drove them out of the city and put them to death. Their
property was all seized.
The task of driving forth the inhabitants, some millions, was given to
two of Tung Cho’s creatures. They were sent off in bands of a hundred,
each band between two parties of soldiers, who urged them forward.
Enormous numbers fell by the road side and died in the ditches, and the
escort plundered the fugitives and defiled the women. A wail of sorrow
arose to the very sky. The tyrant’s final orders as he left were to
burn the whole city, houses, palaces and temples, and everything was
devoured by the flames. The capital became but a patch of scorched
earth.
Tung Cho sent Lü Pu to desecrate the tombs of the Emperors and their
consorts for the jewels therein, and the common soldiers took the
occasion to dig up the graves of officers and plunder the cemeteries of
the wealthy. The spoil of the city, gold and silver, pearls and silks,
and beautiful ornaments, filled many carts and with these and the
persons of the Emperor and his household Tung Cho moved off to the new
capital.
The city being thus abandoned the commander at Ssŭshui Pass evacuated
that post of vantage, which Sun Chien at once occupied. The three
brothers took Tigertrap Pass and the confederate lords advanced.
Sun Chien hastened to the late capital which was still in flames. When
he arrived dense smoke hung all over it and spread for miles around. No
living thing, not a fowl, or a dog, or a human being, remained. Sun
told off his men to extinguish the fires and set out camping places for
the confederate lords.
Tsʻao Tsʻao went to see the chief and said, “Tung has gone west; we
ought to follow and attack without loss of time; why do you remain
inactive?”
“All our colleagues are worn out and there is nothing to be gained by
attack,” said Yüan Shao.
Tsʻao Tsʻao urged him to strike a blow for the moment was most
propitious in the utter confusion that reigned, palaces burned, the
Emperor abducted, the whole world upset and no one knowing whither to
turn. But all the confederate lords seemed of one mind and that mind
was to postpone action. So they did nothing. However, Tsʻao Tsʻao and
his subordinates, with a full legion of soldiers, started in pursuit.
The road to the new capital led through Jungyang, and when the
cavalcade reached it the Prefect went to welcome Tung Cho. Li Ju said,
“As there is some danger of pursuit it would be well to order the
Prefect of this place to lay an ambush ready to cut off the retreat of
our pursuers when our army beats them off. That will teach any others
not to follow.”
Then Lü Pu was ordered to command the rear guard. Very soon they saw
Tsʻao Tsʻao coming up and Lü Pu laughed at his colleague’s foresight.
He set out his men in fighting order.
Tsʻao Tsʻao rode forward crying, “Rebels, abductors, drovers of the
people, where are you going?”
Lü Pu replied, “Treacherous simpleton, what mad words are these?”
Then from Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army rode against him Hsiahou Tun with his
spear set and they two engaged. The combat had hardly begun when Li
Tsʻui with a cohort came in from the left. Tsʻao Tsʻao bade Hsiahou
Yüan meet this onslaught. However, on the other side appeared Kuo Ssŭ,
against whom was sent Tsʻao Jên. The onrush on three sides was too much
to withstand and Lü Pu showed no signs of being vanquished, so Hsiahou
Tun had to retire to the main line. Thereupon Lü Pu’s mail-clad men
attacked and completed the defeat. The beaten men turned toward
Jungyang.
They got as far as the foot of a bare hill in the second watch, about
nine in the evening, and the moon made it as light as day. Here they
halted to reform. Just as they were burying the boilers to prepare a
meal there arose a great noise of shouting on all sides and out came
the men from the ambush fresh to attack.
Tsʻao Tsʻao, thrown into a flurry, mounted and fled. He ran right in
the way of the waiting Prefect. Then he dashed off in another
direction, but the Prefect shot an arrow after him which struck him in
the shoulder. The arrow still in the wound, he fled for his life. As he
went over the hill two soldiers lying in wait among the grass suddenly
dashed out and wounded his horse, which fell and rolled over, and as
its rider slipped from the saddle he was seized and made prisoner.
Just then a horseman riding at full speed and whirling his sword came,
up, cut down both the captors and rescued Tsʻao Tsʻao. It was his
brother Tsʻao Hung.
Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “I am doomed, good brother, go and save yourself.”
“My lord, mount my horse quickly; I will go afoot,” said Hung.
“If those wretches come up, what then?”
“The world can do without me, but not without you, my brother.”
“If I live I shall owe you my life,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
So he mounted. His brother tore off his own breastplate, gripped his
sword and went on foot after the horse. Thus they proceeded till the
fourth watch when they saw before them a broad stream, and behind they
still heard the shouts of pursuers drawing nearer and nearer.
“This is my fate;” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. “I am really doomed.”
His brother helped him down from his horse. Then taking off his
fighting robe he took the wounded man on his back and waded into the
stream. When they reached the further side the pursuers had already
gained the bank whence they shot arrows. Tsʻao Tsʻao all wet pushed on.
Dawn was near. They went on another thirty li and then sat down to rest
under a precipice. Suddenly loud shouting was heard and a party of
horse appeared. It was the Prefect of Jungpang who had forded the river
higher up. Just at this moment Hsiahou Tun and his brother, with a half
score men, came along.
“Hurt not my lord!” cried Hsiahou to the Prefect, who at once rushed at
him. But the combat was short. The Prefect speedily fell under a spear
thrust and his men were driven off. Before long Tsʻao Tsʻao’s other
captains arrived. Sadness and joy mingled in the greetings. They
gathered together the few hundreds of men left and then returned to
Honei.
The story broke off leaving the confederate lords in their various
camps at Loyang. Sun Chien, after extinguishing the fires, camped
within the walls, his own tent being set up near the Chienchang Hall of
the palace. His men cleared away the débris and closed the rifted
tombs. The gates were barred. On the site of the Dynastic Temple he put
up a mat shed containing three apartments, and here he begged the lords
to meet and replace the sacred tablets, with solemn sacrifices and
prayers.
This ceremony over, the others left and Sun Chien returned to his camp.
That night the stars and moon vied with each other in brightness. As
Sun sat in the open air looking up at the heavens he noticed a mist
spreading over the stars of the Constellation Draco.
“The Emperor’s stars are dulled,” said he with a sigh, “No wonder a
rebellious minister disturbs the State, the people sit in dust and
ashes, and the capital is a waste.”
And his tears began to fall. Then a soldier pointing to the south said,
“There is a beam of coloured light rising from a well.”
He bade his men light torches and descend into the well. Soon they
brought up the corpse of a woman, not in the least decayed although it
had been there many days. She was dressed in palace clothing and from
her neck hung an embroidered bag. Opening this a red box was found,
with a golden lock, and when the box was opened they saw a jade seal,
square in shape, an inch each way. On it were delicately engraved five
dragons intertwined. One corner had been broken off and repaired with
gold. There were eight characters in the seal style of engraving which
interpreted read, “I have received the command from Heaven: may my time
be always prosperous.”
Sun Chien showed this to Chʻêng Pʻu who at once recognised it as the
hereditary seal of the Emperor.
He said, “This seal has a history. In olden days one Pʻien Ho saw a
phœnix sitting on a certain stone at the foot of Ching Hill. He offered
the stone at court. King Wên of Chʻu split open the stone and found a
piece of jade. Early in the Tsʻin dynasty a jade cutter made a seal
from it and Li Ssŭ engraved the characters. Two years later it was
thrown overboard in a terrific storm on the Tungtʻing Lake as a
propitiatory offering, and the storm immediately ceased. Ten years
later again, when the Emperor was making a progress and had reached
Huaying, an old man by the road side handed a seal to one of the
attendants saying, “This is now restored to the ancestral dragon,” and
had then disappeared. Thus the jewel returned to Tsʻin. The next year
Emperor Shê died.”
“Later Tzŭ-ying presented the seal to the founder of the Han dynasty.
In Wang Mang’s rebellion the Emperor struck two of the rebels with the
seal and broke off a corner, which was repaired with gold. Kuang-Wu got
possession of it at Iyang and it has been regularly bequeathed
thereafter. I heard it had been lost during the trouble in the palace
when ‘The Ten’ hurried off the Emperor. It was missed on His Majesty’s
return. Now my lord has it and certainly will come to the imperial
dignity. But you must not remain here. Quickly go east where you can
lay plans for the accomplishment of the great design.”
“Your words exactly accord with my thoughts,” said Sun Chien.
“To-morrow I will make an excuse that I am unwell and get away.”
The soldiers were told to keep the discovery a secret. But who could
guess that one among them was a compatriot of the elected chief of the
confederacy? He thought this might be of great advantage to him so he
stole away out of the camp and betrayed his master. He received a
liberal reward and Yüan Shao kept him in his own camp. So when Sun
Chien came to take leave saying “I am rather unwell and wish to return
to Changsha,” Shao laughed saying “I know what you are suffering from;
it is called the Hereditary Seal!”
This was a shock to Sun Chien and he paled but he said, “Whence these
words?”
Shao said, “The armies were raised for the good of the State and to
relieve it from oppression. The seal is State property and since you
have got hold of it you should publicly hand it over to me as chief.
When Tung Cho has been slain it must go back to the government. What do
you mean by concealing it and going away?”
“How could the seal get into my hands?”
“Where is the article out of the well?”
“I have it not: why harass me thus?”
“Quickly produce it, or it will be the worse for you.”
Sun Chien pointing toward the heavens as an oath said, “If I have this
jewel and am hiding it myself may my end be unhappy and my death
violent!”
The lords all said, “After an oath like this we think he cannot have
it.”
Then Shao called out his informant. “When you pulled that thing out of
the well, was this man there?” asked he of Sun.
Sun Chien’s anger burst forth and he sprang forward to kill the man.
The chief also drew his sword saying “You touch that soldier and it is
an insult to me.”
In a moment on all sides swords flew from their scabbards. But the
confusion was stayed by the efforts of the others and Sun Chien left
the assembly. Soon he broke up his camp and marched to his own place.
The chief was not satisfied. He wrote to Chingchou and sent the letter
by a trusty hand to tell the governor to stop Sun Chien and take away
the seal.
Just after this came the news of the defeat and misfortune of Tsʻao
Tsʻao and when he was coming home Shao sent out to welcome him and
conduct him into camp. They also prepared a feast to console him.
During the feast Tsʻao Tsʻao said sadly, “My object was for the public
good and all you gentlemen nobly supported me. My plan was to get Yüan
Shu with his Honei men to approach Mêngching and Suantsao while the
others of you held Chʻêng-kao and took possession of the granaries and
guarded Taku, and so controlled the points of vantage. Yüan Shao was to
occupy Tanshi and go into Wukuan to help the three supports, all were
to fortify their positions and not fight. Advantage lay in an uncertain
military force showing the Empire’s possibilities of dealing with the
rebellion. Victory would have been ours at once. But then came delays
and doubts and inaction and the confidence of the people was lost and I
am ashamed.”
No reply was possible and the guests dispersed. Tsʻao Tsʻao saw that
the others mistrusted him and in his heart knew that nothing could be
accomplished, so he led off his force to Yangchou.
Then Kungsun Tsan said to the three brothers, “This Yüan Shao is an
incapable and things will go agley. We had better go too.”
So he broke camp and went north. At Pʻingyüan he left Liu Pei in
command and went to strengthen his own position and refresh his men.
The Prefect of Yenchou wished to borrow grain of the Prefect of
Tungchun. Being denied he attacked the camp, killed the leader and took
over all his men. Yüan Shao seeing the confederacy breaking up also
marched away and went east.
Now the Governor of Chingchou, Liu Piao, was a scion of the imperial
house. As a young man he had made friends with many famous persons and
he and his companions were called the Eight Dilettanti. The other seven
were Chʻên Hsiang, Fan Pʻang, Kʻung Yu, Fan Kʻang, Tʻan Fu, Chang Chien
and Tsʻên Ching. He was friends with all these. He had three famous men
who helped him in the government of his district. They were Kʻuai
Liang, Kʻuai Yüeh and Tsʻai Mao.
When the letter detailing the fault of Sun Chien arrived the two Kʻuai
and Tsʻai were sent with a legion of soldiers to bar the way. When Sun
Chien drew near the force was arranged in fighting order and the
leaders were in the front.
“Why are you thus barring the road with armed men?” asked Sun.
“Why do you, a minister of Han, secrete the Emperor’s special seal?
Leave it with me at once and you go free,” said Kʻuai Yüeh.
Sun Chien angrily ordered out a leader Huang Kai, who exchanged a few
bouts with Tsʻao Mao and presently dealt him a blow with the iron whip
just over the heart. Mao turned his steed and fled and Sun Chien got
through with a sudden rush.
However, there arose the sound of gongs and drums on the hills behind
and there was Prefect Liu in person with a large army. Sun Chien rode
straight up to him and bowing low spoke thus. “Why did you, on the
faith of a letter from Yüan Shao, try to coerce the chief of a
neighbouring district?”
“You have concealed the State jewel and I want you to restore it,” was
Liu’s reply.
“If I have this thing may I die a violent death!”
“If you want me to believe you let me search your baggage.”
“What force have you that you dare come to flout me thus?”
And only the Prefect’s prompt retirement prevented a battle.
Sun Chien proceeded on his way. But from the rear of the second hill an
ambush suddenly discovered itself and Kʻuai and Tsʻai were still
following. Sun Chien seemed entirely hemmed in.
What doth it advantage a man to hold the imperial seal if its
possession lead to strife?
How Sun Chien got clear of the difficulty will presently be told.
CHAPTER VII.
YÜAN SHAO FIGHTS WITH KUNGSUN TSAN AT PʻANHO:
SUN CHIEN ATTACKS LIU PIAO.
At the close of the last chapter Sun Chien was surrounded. However he
eventually fought his way through, though with the loss of three of his
best leaders and more than half his men and he returned to Chiangtung.
Henceforward he and Liu Piao were open enemies.
Yüan Shao was in Honei. Being short of supplies he sent to borrow from
Ichou, whence he obtained the wherewithal to support his army. Then his
adviser, Fêng Chi, said to him, “You are really the strongest power
here about, why then depend upon another for food? Ichou is rich and
wide; why not seize it?”
“I have no good plan,” replied Yüan.
“You could secretly send a letter to Kungsun Tsan to attack, promising
him your support. The Prefect Han Fu being incapable must ask you to
take over his country and you will get it without lifting a finger.”
So the letter was sent, and when Kungsun Tsan saw therein the proposal
to make a joint attack and divide the territory, he agreed to give his
help. In the meantime Yüan Shao had sent to warn Han Fu of his danger.
Han sought advice from Hsün Shên and Hsin Pʻing. The former said that
if Kungsun came to attack them they could not stand against him,
especially if he had the help of Liu and Chang. So he counselled
getting aid from their powerful neighbour. “Yüan Pên-chʻu is bolder
than most and he has many able and famous leaders under him. You cannot
do better than ask him to assist in administering this district. He
will certainly treat you with generosity and you need have no fear from
Kungsun Tsan.”
The Prefect agreed and sent a message to Yüan Shao. But the commandant
of the palace, Kêng Wu, remonstrated with his master saying, “Yüan Shao
is a needy man with a hungry army and as dependent on us for existence
as an infant in arms on its mother. Stop the flow of milk and the
infant dies. Why should you hand the district over to him? It is
nothing less than letting a tiger into the sheepfold.”
Han Fu replied, “I am one of the clients of the Yüan family and I know
the abilities of Pên-chʻu. Why are you all so jealous? The ancients
counselled yielding to the sage.”
Kêng Wu sighed, “Ichou is lost!” said he.
When the news got abroad two score of officers of Ichou left their
employment and the city. However Kêng and Kuan hid in the suburbs to
await the arrival of Yüan Shao.
They had not long to wait. Soon Yüan Shao with his soldiers came and
the two men tried to assassinate him. This attempt failed. Yen Liang
killed one of them and Wên Chʻou the other. Thus both died and the
object of their hatred entered the prefecture.
His first act was to confer on Han Fu a high sounding title, but the
administration was entrusted to four of his own confidants who speedily
deprived the Prefect of all power. Full of chagrin Han soon abandoned
all, even his family, and took refuge with the Prefect of Chʻên-liu.
Hearing of Shao’s invasion Kungsun Tsan sent his brother, Yüeh, to see
the usurper and demand his share of the district. The brother was sent
back to request Kungsun himself to come, but on the homeward road he
was killed by assassins who loudly proclaimed they belonged to the
Minister, Tung Cho. Those of his followers who escaped carried the news
to their late master’s brother.
Kungsun Tsan was very angry and said, “He prevailed on me to attack and
now he has taken possession. Also he pretends the murderers of my
brother were not his men. Shall I not avenge my brother’s injury?”
Then he brought up all his force to the attack. Yüan sent out his army
and they met at Pʻanho. They halted on opposite sides of a stream, over
which was a bridge. Kungsun Tsan took his station on the bridge and
cried to his enemy, “Renegade, how dared you mislead me?”
Yüan rode to his end of the bridge and, pointing at Kungsun Tsan,
replied, “Han Fu yielded place to me because he was unequal to the
rule. What concern is it of yours?”
Kungsun replied, “Formerly you were regarded as loyal and public
spirited and we chose you chief of the confederacy. Now your deeds
prove you cruel and base, wolf-hearted and currish in behaviour. How
can you look the world in the face?”
“Who will capture him?” cried Yüan in a rage.
At once Wên Chʻou rode out with his spear set. Kungsun Tsan rode down
the bridge to the enemy’s side, where the two engaged. Half a score
bouts showed Tsan he had met his master so he drew off. The enemy came
on. Tsan took refuge within his formation, but Wên Chʻou cut his way in
and rode this way and that, slaying right and left. The four best of
Tsan’s captains offered joint battle, but one fell under the first
stroke of the doughty warrior and the other three fled, Wên Chʻou
following clear through to the rear of the army. Kungsun made for the
mountains. Wên Chʻou forced his horse to its utmost pace crying
hoarsely, “Down! Dismount and surrender.”
Kungsun fled for life. His bow and quiver dropped from his shoulders,
his helmet fell off and his hair streamed straight behind him as he
rode in and out between the sloping hills. Then his steed stumbled and
he was thrown, rolling over and over to the foot of the slope.
Wên Chʻou was now very near and poising his spear for the thrust. Then
suddenly came out from the shelter of a grassy mound on the left a
leader of youthful mien, but sitting his steed bravely and holding a
sturdy spear. He rode directly at Wên Chʻou and Kungsun crawled up the
slope to look on.
The new warrior was of middle height with bushy eyebrows and large
eyes, a broad face and a heavy jowl, a youth of commanding presence.
The two exchanged some fifty bouts and yet neither had the advantage.
Then Kungsun’s rescue force came along and Wên Chʻou turned and rode
away. The youth did not pursue.
Kungsun Tsan hurried down the hill and asked the young fellow who he
was.
He bowed low and replied that his name was Chao Yün, or Tzŭ-lung, and
he was of Chêngting.
“I first served Yüan Shao, but when I saw that he was disloyal to his
prince and careless of the welfare of the people I left him and I was
on my way to offer service to you. This meeting in this place is most
unexpected.”
Kungsun was very pleased and the two went together to the camp, where
they at once busied themselves with preparations for a new battle.
Next day Kungsun prepared for fight by dividing his army into two
portions, like the wings of a bird. He had five thousand cavalry,
nearly all mounted on white horses and because he had formerly seen
service against the frontier tribes, the Chʻiang (Ouigours) where he
always placed his white horses in the van of his army, he had won the
sobriquet of General of the White Horse. The tribes held him so much in
fear that they always fled as soon as the white horses appeared.
On Yüan Shao’s side Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou were leaders of the van.
Each had a company of archers and crossbowmen. They were set out half
on either side, those on the left to shoot at Kungsun Tsan’s right and
those on the right to shoot at his left. In the centre was Chʻü I with
a small company of bowmen and a legion and a half of foot. The chief
took command of the reserve force in the rear.
In this fight Kungsun Tsan employed his new adherent Chao Yün for the
first time and, as he did not feel assured of his good faith, put him
in command of a company at the rear. The van-leader was Yen Kang and
Kungsun himself commanded the centre. He took his place on horseback on
the bridge beside an enormous red standard on which was displayed the
word “General” in gold embroidery.
From shên (7 a.m.–9 a.m.) till ssŭ (9 a.m.–11 a.m.) the drums rolled
for the attack, but Yüan’s army made no move. Chʻü I made his bowmen
hide under their shields. They heard the roar of explosions, the
whistling of arrows and the rattle of the drums, as Yen Kang approached
from the other side, but Chʻü I and his men lay closer than ever and
never stirred. They waited till Yen Kang had got close on them and
then, as the sound of a bomb rent the air, the whole company, eight
hundred men, let fly their arrows in a cloud. Yen Kang was quite taken
aback and would have retired, but Chʻü I rode furiously toward him,
whirled up his sword and cut him down. So Kungsun’s men lost that
battle. The two wings that should have come to the rescue were kept
back by the bowmen under Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou and Yüan’s men
advanced right up to the bridge. Then Chʻü I rode forward, slew the
standard bearer and hacked through the staff of the embroidered banner.
Seeing this Kungsun Tsan turned his steed and galloped away.
Chʻü I followed. But just as he caught up the fugitive there came
prancing forth Chao Yün, who rode directly at him with spear ready to
strike. After a few passes the pursuer was laid in the dust. Then Chao
Yün attacked the soldiers and turned the tide. Plunging forward on this
side, dashing in on that, he went through as if there were no
antagonists and, seeing this, Kungsun Tsan turned and came again into
the fight. The final victory was on his side.
From the men sent to find out how the battle went Yüan Shao heard the
good news of Chʻü I’s success in slaying the standard bearer, capturing
the flag and his pursuit. So he took no further care but rode out with
his captains and a few guards to look on at the defeated enemy and
enjoy his victory.
“Ha ha!” he laughed. “The poor fool! He is an incapable.”
But even as he spoke he saw in front the redoubtable Chao Yün. His
guards hastened to prepare their bows, but before they could shoot Chao
with a few followers was in their midst and men were falling before him
wherever he went. The others fled. Kungsun Tsan’s army then gathered
round and hemmed in Yüan Shao.
Tʻien Fêng then said to his master, “Sir, take refuge in this empty
building here.”
But Yüan dashed his helmet to the ground, crying “The brave man rather
faces death in the battle than seeks safety behind a wall!”
This bold speech gave new courage to his men who now fought desperately
and with such success that Chao Yün could nowhere force his way in.
Shao was soon reinforced by the arrival of his main body and Yen Liang,
so that Chao Yün could only just get his master safe out of the press.
When clear they both returned to the bridge. But Yüan’s men still came
on and fought their way across the bridge, forcing multitudes of their
adversaries into the water, where many were drowned.
Yüan was leading in person and his men still advanced. But not very
far, for soon a great shouting was heard behind some hills, whence
suddenly burst out a body of men led by the three brothers.
At Pʻingyüan they had heard of the struggle between their protector and
his enemy, Yüan Shao, and had at once set out to help. Now the three
riders, each with his peculiar weapon, flew straight at Yüan, who was
so frightened that his soul seemed to leave his body and fly beyond the
confines of heaven. His sword fell from his hand and he fled for his
life. He was chased across the bridge when Kungsun Tsan called in his
men and they returned to camp.
After the usual greetings Kungsun said, “If you had not come to our
help, we should have been in very bad case.”
Yüan-tê and Chao Yün were made acquainted with each other and a warm
affection sprang up from the very first so that they were always
together.
Yüan had lost that battle and Kungsun Tsan would not risk another. He
strengthened his defences and the armies lay inactive for over a month.
In the meantime news of the fighting had reached the capital and Tung
Cho was told.
His adviser, Li Ju, went to see his master and said, “The two active
warriors of to-day are Yüan Shao and Kungsun Tsan, who are at grips at
Pʻanho. Pretend you have a command to make peace between them and both
will support you out of gratitude for your intervention.”
“Good!” said Tung Cho. So he sent a Grand Preceptor and a Court
Chamberlain on the mission. When these men were arriving Yüan sent out
to welcome them a hundred li from his headquarters and received the
command with the greatest respect. Then the two officers went to
Kungsun Tsan and made known their errand. Kungsun sent letters to his
adversary proposing friendship. The two emissaries returned to report
their task accomplished. Kungsun drew off his army. He also sent up a
memorial eulogising Liu Yüan-tê, who was raised in rank.
The farewell between Liu Pei and Chao Yün was affecting. They held each
other’s hands a long time, their eyes streaming with tears, and could
not tear themselves apart.
Chao Yün said with a sob, “I used to think Kungsun noble, but I see now
that he is no different from Yüan. They are both alike.”
“But you are in his service, and we shall surely meet again.” said
Yüan-tê.
Both men wept freely as they separated.
Now Yüan Shu, hearing that his brother had come into Ichou, sent to beg
a thousand horses. The request was refused and enmity sprang up between
the brothers. He also sent to Chingchow to borrow grain, which Liu Piao
would not send. In his resentment he wrote to Sun Chien trying to get
him to attack Liu Piao. The letter ran like this:—
“When Liu Piao stopped you on your way home it was at the instigation
of my brother. Now the same two have planned to fall upon your
district, wherefore you should at once strike at Liu Piao. I will
capture my brother for you and both resentments will be appeased. You
will get Chingchow and I shall have Ichou.”
“I cannot bear Liu Piao.” said Sun Chien as he finished reading this
letter. “He certainly did bar my way home and I may wait many years for
my revenge if I let slip this chance.”
He called a council.
“You may not trust Yüan Shu; he is very deceitful,” said Chʻêng Pʻu.
“I want revenge on my own part; what care I for his help?” said Chien.
He despatched Huang Kai to prepare a river fleet, arm and provision
them. Some craft were to take horses on board. The force soon set out.
News of these preparations came to Liu Piao and he hastily summoned his
advisers and warriors. Kʻuai Liang told him to be free from anxiety,
and said, “Put Huang Tsu at the head of the Chianghsia army to make the
first attack and you, Sir, support him. Let Sun Chien come ‘riding the
rivers and straddling the lakes;’ what can he do?”
So Huang Tsu was bidden to prepare to march and a great army was
assembled.
Here it may be said that Sun Chien had four sons, all the issue of his
wife who was of the Wu family. Their names were Tsʻê (Po-fu), Chʻüan
(Chung-mou), I (Shu-pi) and Kʻuang (Chi-tso). His wife’s sister was his
second wife, and she bore him a son and daughter, the former called
Lang (Tsao-an), the latter Jên. He had also adopted a son from the Yü
family named Shao (Kung-li). And he had a younger brother named Ching
(Yu-tʻai).
As Sun Chien was leaving on this expedition his brother with all his
sons stood near his steed and dissuaded him, saying, “Tung Cho is the
real ruler of the State for the Emperor is a weakling. The whole
country is in rebellion, every one is scrambling for territory. Our
district is comparatively peaceful and it is wrong to begin a war
merely for the sake of a little resentment. I pray you, brother, to
think before you start.”
Chien replied, “Brother, say no more. I desire to make my strength felt
everywhere and shall I not avenge my injuries?”
“Then father, if you must go, let me accompany you,” said the eldest
son.
His request was granted, and father and son embarked to go to ravage
Fanchʻêng.
Now Huang Tsu had placed archers and crossbowmen along the river bank.
When the ships approached a flight of arrows met them. Sun ordered his
men to remain under cover in the ships, which then sailed to and fro
drawing the fire for three days. Several times a landing was tried, but
showers of arrows repulsed each attempt. At last the arrows of the
defenders were all shot away and Sun, who collected them, found he had
many myriads. Then with a fair wind Sun’s men shot them back at the
enemy. Those on the bank were thrown into great disorder and retired.
The army then landed and two divisions set out for Huang Tsu’s camp
along different roads. Between them marched Han Tang and under this
triple attack Huang Tsu was worsted. He left Fanchʻêng and hastened to
Têngchʻêng.
Leaving the ships under the command of Huang Kai, Sun led the pursuing
force. Huang Tsu came out of his city and drew up for battle in the
open country. When Sun had disposed his army he rode out to the
standard. His son, clad in armour, placed himself beside his father.
Huang Tsu rode out with two captains Chang Hu and Chʻên Shêng.
Flourishing his whip, the chief abused his enemy, “You swarm of rebels
from Chiangtung, why do you invade the land of a scion of the ruling
house?”
Chang Hu challenged to combat and Han Tang went out to accept. The two
champions fought two score bouts and then Chʻên Shêng, seeing his
fellow captain becoming exhausted, rode to his aid. Sun Chien saw him
coming, laid aside his spear, reached for his bow and shot an arrow
wounding Chʻên Shêng in the face. He fell from his horse. Panic seized
upon Chang at the fall of his comrade and he could no longer defend
himself. Then Han Tang with a slash of his sword clove his skull in
twain.
Both having fallen, Chʻêng Pʻu galloped up to make prisoner of Huang
Tsu, who threw off his helmet, slipped from his steed and mingled for
safety among his men. Sun Chien led on the attack and drove the enemy
to the Han water, where he ordered Huang Kai to make an immediate
attack on Hanchiang.
Huang Tsu led his defeated men back and told Liu Piao they were no
match for Sun Chien. Kʻuai Liang was called in to advise and he said,
“Our newly defeated men have no heart for fighting now. Therefore we
must fortify our position, while we seek help from Yüan Shao. Then we
can extricate ourselves.”
“A stupid move,” said Tsʻai Mao. “The enemy is at the city gates; shall
we fold our hands and wait to be slain? Give me men and I will go out
and fight to the finish.”
So he was placed in command of a legion and went out to the Hsien hills
where he drew up his battle line. Sun Tsʻê led the invaders, now
flushed with success. When Tsʻai approached, Sun Chien looked at him
and said, “He is brother-in-law to Liu Piao; who will capture him?”
Chʻêng Pʻu set his supple spear and rode out. After a few bouts Tsʻai
Mao turned and fled. The Suns smote him till corpses filled the
country-side and he took refuge in Hsiangyang.
Kʻuai Yen said, “Tsʻai ought to be put to death by military law. This
defeat was due to his obstinacy.” But Liu Piao was unwilling to punish
the brother of his newly wedded wife.
Sun Chien surrounded Hsiangyang and assailed the walls daily. One day a
fierce gale sprang up and the pole bearing his standard was broken.
“Very inauspicious!” said Han Tang. “We ought to go back.”
His lord said, “I have won every battle and the city is on the point of
falling. Shall I return because the wind breaks a flagstaff?”
He flouted the advice and attacked the walls still more vigorously.
Within the city they had seen an omen. It was told Liu Piao that a
great star had fallen into the wild country without the city, and they
had calculated that it inferred the fall of their enemy. Piao was
advised to seek help from Yüan Shao.
So he wrote. But who would undertake to fight his way through with the
letter? One Lü Kung, a warrior of great strength, offered himself for
this service. Kʻuai Liang said, “If you undertake this service listen
to my advice. You will have five hundred men; choose good bowmen. Dash
through the enemy’s formation and make for Hsien Hill. You will be
pursued, but send a hundred men up the hill to prepare large stones and
place a hundred archers in ambush in the woods. These are not to flee
from the pursuers but to beguile them along devious ways round to the
place where the boulders have been prepared. There stones will be
rolled down and arrows shot. If you succeed, fire off a series of bombs
as a signal and the men in the city will come out to help. If you are
not pursued get away as fast as possible. To-night will be suitable as
there is very little moon. Start at dusk.”
Lü Kung, having received these directions, prepared his force to carry
them out. As soon as day began to close in he went quietly out at the
east gate. Sun Chien was in his tent when he heard shouting and at once
mounted and rode out with thirty men to discover the cause. Lü Kung’s
men had already hidden themselves in the thick woods. Chien rode ahead
of his escort and soon he found himself alone and close to the enemy.
He called out to them to halt. Lü at once turned back and came as if to
fight. But they had only exchanged a single pass when he again fled,
taking the road among the hills. Sun followed but soon lost sight of
his foe.
Sun turned up the hill. Then the gongs clanged and down the hills fell
showers of stones, while from among the trees the arrows flew in
clouds. Sun was hit by several arrows and a huge stone crushed in his
head. Both he and his steed were killed. And so his life ended at the
age of thirty seven.
His escort was overpowered and every man of them slain. Then Lü let off
a series of bombs, the sign of success, as agreed. At this signal three
armies came out of the city and fell upon the Chiangtung men, throwing
them into the utmost confusion.
When Huang Kai heard the sound of battle he led up the men from the
ships. He met Huang Tsu and took him prisoner after a brief fight.
Chʻêng Pʻu set out to bear the sad news to Sun Tsʻê. While he was
seeking a way out he came across Lü Kung. He at once put his horse at
full speed and engaged him. After a few bouts Lü went down under a
spear thrust. The battle became general and continued till daylight
broke, when each drew off his army. Liu Piao withdrew into the city and
when Sun Tsʻê returned to the river he heard that his father had
perished in the fight, and his body had been carried within the enemy’s
walls. He uttered a great cry and the army joined him with wailing and
tears.
“How can I return home leaving my father’s corpse with them?” cried Sun
Tsʻê.
Huang Kai said, “We have Huang Tsu as our prisoner. Let one enter the
city and discuss peace, giving up our prisoner for our lord’s body.”
He had barely finished speaking when Huang Kʻai offered himself as
messenger saying he was an old friend of Liu Piao. So he went and peace
was discussed. Liu Piao told him the body was already laid in a coffin
and ready to be delivered as soon as Huang Tsu returned. “Let us both
cease fighting and never again invade each other’s district,” said he.
Huan Kʻai thanked him and took his leave. But as he went down the steps
Kʻuai Liang suddenly broke in, saying, “No, No! Let me speak and I will
see to it that not a single breastplate returns. I pray you first put
this man to death and then employ my means.”
Pursuing his enemy, Sun Chien dies;
Even on a peaceful mission Huang Kʻai is threatened.
The fate of the ambassador will be disclosed in a later chapter.
CHAPTER VIII.
GOVERNOR WANG PREPARES THE “CHAIN” SCHEME:
TUNG CHO’S RAGES AT THE FENGI PAVILION.
This is what Kʻuai Liang said, “Sun Chien is now gone and his sons are
but youths. Seize this moment of weakness to break into Chiangtung and
it is yours in one beat of the drum. If you return the corpse and make
peace, you give them time to grow powerful and evil will ensue to this
district.”
“How can I leave Huang Tsu in their hands?” said the Prefect.
“Why not sacrifice this blundering warrior for a district?”
“But he is my dear friend and to abandon him is wrong.”
So Huan Kʻai was allowed to return to his own side with the
understanding that Sun Chien’s dead body should be given in exchange.
Sun Tsʻê freed his prisoner, brought away his father’s coffin and the
fighting ceased. Sun Chien was interred in the border of Chüa and when
the ceremonies were over Sun Tsʻê led his army home again.
In his district Sun Tsʻê set himself to the task of ruling well. He
invited to his side men of wisdom and valour and so bore himself that
all the best and bravest of the country gathered about him.
But this part of his story will not be told here. Tung Cho at the
capital, when he heard of the death of the turbulent prefect, said, “An
evil that pressed hard upon my heart has been removed.” He asked what
sons he had left and when they told him the eldest was but seventeen he
dismissed all anxiety from his thoughts.
From this time forward his arrogance and domineering spirit waxed worse
and worse. He styled himself Shang Fu or “Imperial Rector,” a name full
of honour, and in all his behaviour aped imperial state. He created his
younger brother a marquis and made him Generalissimo of the Left. A
nephew was placed in command of the Palace guards and everyone of his
clan, young or old, was ennobled. At some distance from the capital he
laid out a city, an exact replica of Chʻangan, with its palaces,
granaries, treasuries and magazines, and employed a quarter of a
million people to build it. Here he accumulated supplies sufficient for
twenty years. He selected eight hundred of the most beautiful maidens
and sent them to dwell in his new city. The stores of wealth in every
form were incalculable. All his family and retainers found quarters in
this new city named Meiwu.
Tung Cho visited his city at intervals of a month or so and every visit
was like an imperial progress, with booths by the roadside to refresh
the officials and courtiers who attended him to the Hêngmên and saw him
start.
On one occasion he spread a great feast for all those assembled to
witness his departure and while it was in progress there arrived a
large number of malcontents from the north who had voluntarily
surrendered. The tyrant had them brought before him as he sat at table
and meted out to them wanton cruelties. The hands of this one were
lopped off, the feet of that; one had his eyes gouged out; another lost
his tongue. Some were boiled to death. Shrieks of agony arose to the
very heavens and the courtiers were faint with terror, but the author
of the misery ate and drank, chatted and smiled as if nothing was going
on.
Another day Tung Cho was presiding at a great gathering of officers who
were seated in two long rows. After the wine had gone up and down
several times Lü Pu entered and whispered a few words in his master’s
ear. Cho smiled and said, “He was always so. Take Chang Wên outside.”
The others all turned pale. In a little time a serving man brought the
head of their fellow guest on a red dish and showed it to their host.
They nearly died with fright.
“Do not fear,” said Cho smiling. “He was in league with Yüan Shu to
assassinate me. A letter he wrote fell by mistake into the hands of my
son so I have had him put to death. You gentlemen, who have no reason,
need have no fear.”
The officials hastened to disperse. One of them, Governor Wang Yün, who
had witnessed all this, returned to his palace very pensive and much
distressed. The same evening, a bright moonlight night, he took his
staff and went strolling in his private garden. Standing near one of
the creeper trellises he gazed up at the sky and the tears rolled down
his cheeks. Suddenly he heard a rustle in the peony pavilion and some
one sighing deeply. Stealthily creeping near he saw there one of the
household singing girls named Tiaochʻan or Sable Cicada.
This maiden had been brought up in his palace, where she had been
taught to sing and dance. She was then just bursting into womanhood, a
pretty and clever girl whom Wang Yün regarded more as a daughter than a
dependant.
After listening for some time he suddenly called out, “What mischief
are you up to there, you naughty girl?”
The maiden dropped on her knees in terror, “Would thy unworthy handmaid
dare to do anything wrong?” said she.
“Then what are you sighing about out here in the darkness?”
“May thy handmaid speak from the bottom of her heart?”
“Tell me the whole truth; do not conceal anything.”
And the girl said, “Thy handmaid has been the recipient of bountiful
kindness. She has been taught to sing and dance and been treated so
kindly that were she torn in pieces for her lord’s sake it would not
repay a thousandth part. She has noticed lately that her lord’s brows
have been knit in distress and knows it is on account of the State
troubles. But she has not dared to ask. This evening he seemed more sad
than ever and she was miserable on her lord’s account. But she did not
know she would be seen. Could she be of any use she would not shrink
from a myriad deaths.”
A sudden idea came to Wang and he stuck the ground with his staff. “Who
would think that the fate of the Hans lay on your palm? Come with me!”
The girl followed him into the house. Then he summoned all the waiting
women and girls, placed Sable Cicada on a chair and bowed before her.
She was frightened and threw herself on the ground, asking in terror
what it all meant.
Said he, “You can sympathise with the people of Han,” and the fount of
his tears opened afresh.
“As I said just now, use me in any way; I will never shrink,” said the
girl.
Wang Yün knelt saying, “The people are on the brink of destruction, the
prince and his officers are in jeopardy, and you, you are the only
saviour. That wretch Tung Cho wants to depose the Emperor and not a man
among us can find means to stop him. Now he has a son, a bold warrior
it is true, but both father and son have a weakness for beauty and I am
going to use what I may call the “chain” plan. I shall first propose
you in marriage to Lü Pu and then, after you are betrothed, I shall
present you to Tung Cho and you will take every opportunity to force
them asunder and turn away their countenances from each other, cause
the son to kill his adopted father and so put an end to the great evil.
Thus you may restore the altars of the land that it may live again. All
this lies within your power; will you do it?”
“Thy handmaid has promised not to recoil from death itself. You may use
my poor self in any way and I must do my best.”
“But if this gets abroad then we are all lost!”
“Fear not,” said she, “if thy handmaid does not show gratitude, may she
perish beneath a myriad swords!”
“Thank you; thank you!” said Wang Yün.
Then they took from the family treasury many pearls and bade a cunning
jeweler make therewith a fine golden headdress which was sent as a
present to Lü Pu. He was delighted and came to thank the donor. When he
arrived he was met at the gate by the host himself and within found a
table full of dainties for his delectation. He was conducted into the
private apartments and placed in the seat of honour.
He said, “I am but a simple officer in the palace of a minister; you
are an exalted officer of State, why am I treated thus?”
“Because in the whole land there is no warrior your equal. Poor Yün
bows not to an officer’s rank; he bows to his ability.”
This gratified Lü Pu mightily and his host continued to praise and
flatter and ply him with wine and to talk of the virtues of the
minister and his henchman.
Lü Pu laughed and drank huge goblets.
Presently most of the attendants were sent away, only a few kept to
press the guest to drink. When the guest was very mellow Wang Yün
suddenly said, “Let the child come in!”
Soon appeared two attendants, dressed in black, leading between them
the exquisite and fascinating Sable Cicada.
“Who is this?” said Lü Pu startled into sobriety.
“This is my little girl, Cicada. You will not be annoyed at my
familiarity, will you? But you have been so very friendly, I thought
you would like to see her.”
He bade the girl present a goblet of wine and her eyes met those of the
warrior.
The host feigning intoxication said, “The little one begs you,
Commandant, to take a cup or two. We all depend upon you, all our
house.”
Lü Pu begged the girl to sit down. She pretended to wish to retire. Her
master pressed her to remain, saying that she might do so since the
guest was a dear friend. So she took a seat modestly near her master.
Lü Pu kept his gaze fixed upon the maid while he swallowed cup after
cup of wine.
“I should like to present her to you as a handmaid; would you accept?”
The guest started up. “If that is so you may rely upon my abject
gratitude,” said he.
“We will choose a propitious day ere long and send her to the palace.”
Lü Pu was over-joyed. He could not keep his eyes off the girl and
loving glances flashed from her liquid orbs.
However the time came for the guest to leave and Wang said, “I would
ask you to remain the night but the Minister might suspect something.”
The guest thanked him again and again and departed. Some few days later
when Wang Yün was at court and Lü Pu was absent he bowed low before
Tung Cho and said, “I would that you would deign to come to dine at my
lowly cottage, could your noble thought bend that way!”
“Should you invite me I would certainly hasten,” was the reply.
Wang Yün thanked him. He went home and prepared in the reception hall a
feast in which figured every delicacy from land and sea. Beautiful
embroideries surrounded the chief seat in the centre and elegant
curtains were hung within and without. At noon next day, when the
Minister arrived, his host met him at the gate in full court costume.
He stood by while Tung Cho stepped out of his chariot and he and a host
of armed guards crowded into the hall. Tung Cho took his seat at the
top, his suite fell into two lines right and left, while the host stood
humbly at the lower end. Tung Cho bade his people conduct Wang to a
place beside himself.
Said Wang, “The great minister’s abundant virtue is as the high
mountains; neither I Yin nor Duke Chou could attain thereto.”
Tung Cho smiled. They bore in the dishes and the wine and the music
began. Wang Yün plied his guest with assiduous flattery and studied
deference. When it grew late and the wine had done its work the guest
was invited to the inner chamber. So he sent away his guards and went.
Here the host raised a goblet and drank to his guest saying, “From my
youth up I have understood something of astrology and have been
studying the aspect of the heavens. I read that the days of Han are
numbered and that the great Minister’s merits command the regard of all
the world as when Shun succeeded Yao and Yü continued the work of Shun,
conforming to the mind of heaven and the desire of man.”
“How dare I expect this?” said Cho.
“From the days of old those who walk in the way have replaced those who
deviate therefrom; those who lack virtue have fallen before those who
possess it. Can one escape fate?”
“If indeed the decree of heaven devolve on me; you shall be held the
first in merit,” said Tung Cho.
Wang Yün bowed. Then lights were brought in and all the attendants were
dismissed save the serving maids to hand the wine. So the evening went
on.
Presently the host said, “The music of these everyday musicians is too
commonplace for your ear, but there happens to be in the house a little
maid that might please you.”
“Excellent!” said the guest.
Then a curtain was lowered. The shrill tones of reed instruments rang
through the room and presently some attendants led forward Cicada, who
then danced on the outside of the curtain.
A poem says:—
For a palace this maiden was born,
So timid, so graceful, so slender,
Like a tiny bird flitting at morn
O’er the dew-laden lily-buds tender.
Were this exquisite maid only mine,
For never a mansion I’d pine.
Another poem runs thus:—
The music calls; the dancer comes, a swallow gliding in,
A dainty little damsel, light as air;
Her beauty captivates the guest yet saddens him within,
For he must soon depart and leave her there.
She smiles; no gold could buy that smile, no other smileth so,
No need to deck her form with jewels rare,
But when the dance is over and coy glances come and go,
Then who shall be the chosen of the fair?
The dance ended, Tung Cho bade them lead the maiden in, and she came,
bowing low as she approached him. He was much taken with her beauty and
modest grace.
“Who is she?” said he.
“A singing girl; we call her Sable Cicada.”
“Then can she sing?”
The master bade her sing and she did so to the accompaniment of
castanets. There is a measure describing her youthful beauty:—
You stand, a dainty maiden,
Your cherry lips so bright,
Your teeth so pearly white,
Your fragrant breath love-laden;
Yet is your tongue a sword;
Cold death is the reward
Of loving thee, O maiden.
Tung Cho was delighted and praised her warmly. She was told to present
a goblet of wine to the guest which he took from her hands and then
asked her age.
She replied, “Thy unworthy handmaid is just sixteen.”
“A perfect little fairy!” said Tung Cho.
Then Wang Yün rose and said, “If the Minister would not mind I should
like to offer him this little maid.”
“How could I be grateful enough for such a kindness?”
“She would be most fortunate if she could be your servant,” said Wang.
Cho thanked his host warmly.
Then the orders were given to prepare a closed carriage and convey
Sable Cicada to the palace.
Soon after Tung Cho took his leave and Wang Yün accompanied him the
whole way.
After he had taken leave he mounted to ride homeward. Half way he met
two lines of men with red lamps who were escorting Lü Pu on horseback
and armed with his halberd. Seeing Wang Yün he at once reined in,
stopped, seized him by the sleeve and said angrily, “You promised
Cicada to me and now you have given her to the Minister: what foolery
is this?”
Wang Yün checked him. “This is no place to talk; I pray you come to my
house.”
So they went together and he led Lü Pu into a private room. After the
usual exchange of polite greetings Wang said, “Why do you find fault
with me, Commander?”
“Somebody told me that you had sent Cicada to the Minister’s palace in
a covered carriage: what does it mean?”
“Of course you do not understand. Yesterday when I was at court the
Minister told me he had something to talk to me about in my own house.
So naturally I prepared for his coming and while we were at dinner he
said, “I have heard something of a girl named Sable Cicada whom you
have promised to my son Fêng-hsien. I thought it was mere rumour so I
wanted to ask if it was true. Beside I should like to see her.” I could
not say no, so she came in and made her bow to the lord of lords. Then
he said that it was a lucky day and he would take her away with him and
betroth her to you. Just think, Sir; when the Minister had come
himself, could I stop him?”
“You were not so very wrong,” said Pu, “but for a time I had
misunderstood you. I owe you an apology.”
“The girl has a small trousseau, which I will send as soon as she has
gone over to your dwelling.”
Pu thanked him and went away. Next day he went into the palace to find
out the truth, but could hear nothing. Then he made his way into the
private quarters and questioned the maids. Presently one told him that
the Minister had brought home a new bedfellow the night before and was
not up yet. Pu was very angry. Next he crept round behind his master’s
sleeping apartment.
By this time Cicada had risen and was dressing her hair at the window.
Looking out she saw a long shadow fall across the little lake. She
recognised the headdress and peeping around she saw it was indeed no
other than Lü Pu. Thereupon she contracted her eyebrows, simulating the
deepest grief, and with her dainty handkerchief she wiped her eyes
again and again. Lü Pu stood watching her a long time.
Soon after he went in to give morning greeting. His master was sitting
in the reception room. Seeing his henchman he asked if there was
anything new.
“Nothing,” was the reply and he waited while Tung Cho took his morning
meal. As he stood beside his master he glanced over at the curtain and
saw a woman there behind the screen showing a half face from time to
time and throwing amorous glances at him. He felt it was his beloved
and his thoughts flew to her. Presently Cho noticed his expression and
began to feel suspicious.
“If there is nothing you may go,” said he.
Lü Pu sulkily withdrew.
Tung Cho now thought of nothing but his new mistress and for more than
a month neglected all affairs, devoting himself entirely to pleasure.
He was a little indisposed and Cicada was constantly at his side, never
even undressing to show her solicitude. She gratified his every whim.
Cho grew more and more fond of her.
One day Lü Pu went to enquire after his father’s health. Tung Cho was
asleep and Cicada was sitting at the head of his couch. Leaning forward
she gazed at the visitor, with one hand pointed to her heart, the other
at Tung Cho asleep, and her tears fell. Lü Pu felt heartbroken. Cho
drowsily opened his eyes, and seeing his son’s gaze fixed on something
behind him, turned over and saw who it was. He angrily rebuked Pu
saying, “Dare you make love to my beauty?” He told the servants to turn
him out and not allow him to come in again.
Lü Pu went off home very wrath. Meeting Li Ju he told him the cause of
his anger. The adviser hastened to see his master and said, “Sir, you
aspire to be ruler of the State, why then for a small fault do you
blame the Marquis? If he turn against you, it is all over.”
“Then what can I do?” said Cho.
“Recall him to-morrow; treat him well; overwhelm him with gifts and
fair words and all will be well.”
So Tung Cho did so. He sent for Lü Pu and was very gracious and said,
“I was irritable and hasty yesterday owing to my illness and I wronged
you, I know. Forget it.”
He gave him ten catties of gold and twenty rolls of brocade. And so the
quarrel was made up. But though Lü’s body was with Tung his heart was
with his promised bride.
Tung Cho having quite recovered went to court again and Lü Pu followed
him as usual. Seeing Tung Cho deep in conversation with the Emperor, Lü
Pu, armed as he was, went out of the palace and rode off to his chief’s
residence. He tied up his steed at the entrance and, halberd in hand,
went to the private apartments to seek his love. He found her and she
told him to go out into the garden where she would join him soon. He
went, taking his halberd with him, and he leaned against the rail of
the Phoenix Pavilion to wait for Cicada.
After a long time she appeared, swaying gracefully as she made her way
under the drooping willows and parting the flowers as she passed. She
was exquisite, a perfect little fairy from the Palace of the Moon.
Tears were in her eyes as she came up and said, “Though I am not the
Governor’s real daughter yet he treated me as his own child. The desire
of my life was fulfilled when he plighted me to you. But Oh! to think
of the wickedness of the Minister, stealing my poor self as he did. I
suffered so much. I longed to die, only that I had not told you the
real truth. So I lived on, bearing my shame as best as I could but
feeling it mean still to live. Now that I have seen you I can end it
all. My poor sullied body is no longer fit to serve a hero. I can die
before your eyes and so prove how true I am!”
Thus speaking she seized the curving rail as if to jump into the lily
pond. Lü Pu caught her in his strong arms and wept as he held her
close.
“I knew it; I always knew your heart,” he sobbed. “Only we never had a
chance to speak.”
She threw her arms about Lü Pu. “If I cannot be your wife in this life
I will in the ages to come,” she whispered.
“If I do not marry you in this life, I am no hero,” said he.
“Every day is a year long. O pity me! Rescue me!”
“I have only stolen away for a brief moment and I am afraid that old
rebel will suspect something, so I must not stay too long,” said Pu.
The girl clung to his robe.
“If you fear the old thief so much I shall never see another sunrise.”
Lü Pu stopped. “Give me a little time to think,” said he. And he picked
up his halberd to go.
“In the deep seclusion of the harem, I heard the stories of your
prowess; you were the one man who excelled all others. Little did I
think that you of all men would rest content under the dominion of
another.”
And tears rained again!
A wave of shame flooded his face. Leaning his halberd against the
railing he turned and clasped the girl to his breast, soothing her with
fond words. The lovers held each other close swaying to and fro with
emotion. How could they bring themselves to say farewell?
In the meantime Tung Cho missed his henchman and doubt filled his
heart. Hastily taking leave of the Emperor, he mounted his chariot and
returned to his palace. There at the gate stood Lü Pu’s well known
steed, riderless. He questioned the doorkeepers and they told him the
Marquis was within. He sent away his attendants and went alone to the
private apartments. Lü Pu was not there. He called Cicada, but she did
not reply. He asked where she was and the waiting maids told him she
was in the garden among the flowers.
So he went into the garden and there he saw the lovers in the pavilion
in most tender talk. Lü Pu’s halberd was leaning on the railing beside
him.
A howl of rage escaped Tung Cho and startled the lovers. Lü Pu turned,
saw who it was and ran away. Cho caught up the halberd and ran in
pursuit. But Lü Pu was fleet of foot while his master was very stout.
Seeing no hope of catching the runaway Cho hurled the halberd. Lü Pu
fended it off and it fell to the ground. Cho picked it up and ran on.
But by this time Lü Pu was far ahead. Just as Cho was running out at
the garden gate he dashed full tilt against another man running in, and
down he went.
Surged up his wrath within him as the billows heavenward leap,
Crashed his unwieldy body to earth in a shapeless heap.
We shall presently see who the other runner was.
CHAPTER IX.
LÜ PU HELPS TO SUPPRESS DISORDER:
CHIA HSÜ COUNSELS AN ATTACK ON THE CAPITAL.
The person who collided with the irate Tung Cho was his most trusty
adviser Li Ju. Li had not fallen in spite of the shock and at once
helped his master to regain his feet and led him inside to the library,
where they sat down.
“What were you coming about?”
“Happening to be passing your gates I heard that you had gone into your
private garden to look for your adopted son. Then came Lü Pu running
and crying out that you wanted to kill him, and I was coming in as fast
as I could to intercede for him when I accidentally collided with you.
I am very sorry. I deserve death.”
“The wretch! How could I bear to see him toying with my fair one? I
will be the death of him yet.”
“Your Graciousness is making a mistake. It is the ‘plucked tassel’
story over again. But if you remember Prince Chuang of Chʻu made no
fuss about the liberties taken with his lady love, although the
hat-tassel in her hand betrayed the culprit. His restraint stood him in
good stead, for the same man saved his life when he was hemmed in by
the hosts of Tsʻin. After all Cicada is only a woman, but Lü Pu is your
trustiest friend and most dreaded commander. If you took this chance of
making the girl over to him, your kindness would win his undying
gratitude. I beg you, Sir, to think over it well.”
Tung Cho hesitated a long time; he sat murmuring to himself. Presently
he said, “What you say is right. I must think over it.”
Li Ju felt satisfied. He took leave of his master and went away. Cho
went to his private rooms and called Cicada.
“What were you doing there with Lü Pu?” said he.
She began to weep. “Thy handmaid was in the garden among the flowers,
when he rushed in on me. I was frightened and ran away. He asked why I
ran away from a son of the family and pursued me right to the pavilion,
where you saw us. He had that halberd in his hand all the time. I felt
he was a vicious man and would force me to his will so I tried to throw
myself into the lily pond, but he caught me in his arms and held me so
that I was helpless. Luckily just at that moment you came and saved my
life.”
“Suppose I send you to him.”
She shrieked with terror.
“After having been yours to be given to a mere slave! Never! I would
rather die.”
And with this she snatched down a dagger hanging on the wall to kill
herself. Tung Cho plucked it from her hand and, throwing his arms about
her, cried, “I was only joking.”
She lay back on his breast hiding her face and sobbing bitterly. “This
is the doing of that Li Ju,” said she. “He is much too thick with Lü
Pu. He suggested that, I know. Little he cares for your reputation or
my life. Oh! I would like to eat him alive.”
“Do you think I could bear to lose you?”
“Though you love me yet I must not stay here. That Lü Pu will do me
some harm if I do. I fear him.”
“We will go to Meiwu to-morrow, you and I, and we will be happy
together and have no cares.”
She dried her tears and thanked him. Next day Li Ju came again to
persuade Tung Cho to send the damsel to Lü Pu. “This is a propitious
day,” said he.
“He and I standing in the relation of father and son I cannot very well
do that,” said Tung Cho. “But I will say no more about his fault. You
may tell him so and soothe him as well as you can.”
“You are not being beguiled by the woman, are you?” said Li.
Tung Cho coloured. “Would you like to give your wife to some body else?
Do not talk about this any further. It would be better not to.”
Li left the chamber. When he got outside he cast his eyes up to heaven,
saying, “We are dead men, slain by the hand of this girl.”
When a certain student of history reached this episode he wrote a verse
or two:—
Just introduce a woman,
Conspiracies succeed;
Of soldiers, or their weapons,
There really is no need.
They fought their bloody battles,
And doughty deeds were done;
But in a garden summer house
The victory was won.
The order was given to journey to Meiwu and the whole body of officers
assembled to add lustre to the start. Cicada, from her carriage, saw Lü
Pu among the crowd. She at once dropped her eyes and assumed an
appearance of deepest melancholy. After the cavalcade started and when
her carriage had almost disappeared in the distance, the disappointed
lover reined in his steed on a mount whence he could watch the dust
that rose around it. Unutterable sadness filled his heart.
Suddenly a voice said, “Why do you not accompany the Minister, Marquis,
instead of standing here and sighing?”
It was Wan Yün. “I have been confined to the house by illness these few
days,” continued he, “so I have not seen you. But I had to struggle out
to-day to see the Minister set off. This meeting is most fortunate. But
why were you sighing?”
“Just on account of that damsel of yours,” said Lü Pu.
Feigning great astonishment he said, “So long a time and yet not given
to you!”
“The old ruffian has fallen in love with her himself.”
“Surely this cannot be true.”
Lü Pu related the whole story while Wang Yün listened, silent, but
stamping on the ground as with irritation and perplexity. After a long
time he said, “I did not think he was such a beast.”
Taking Lü Pu by the hand he said, “Come to my house and we will talk it
over.”
So they went away together to the house and retired to a secret room.
After some refreshments, Lü Pu told the whole story of the episode in
the garden just as it happened.
“He seems to have corrupted my little girl and has stolen your wife. He
will be an object of shame and ridicule to the whole world. And those
who do not laugh at him will laugh at you and me. Alas! I am old and
powerless and can do nothing. More’s the pity! But you, Commander, you
are a warrior, the greatest hero in the world. Yet you have been put to
this shame and exposed to this contempt.”
A wave of fierce wrath rolled up in Lü Pu. Banging the table he shouted
and roared. His host ostentatiously tried to calm him saying, “I forgot
myself. I should not have spoken like that. Do not be so angry, I
pray.”
“I will kill the wretch, I swear it. In no other way can I wash away my
shame.”
“No, no! Do not say such a thing,” said Wang, putting his hand over the
other’s mouth. “You will bring trouble on poor me.”
“When a man is born great he cannot be patient for long under another
man’s domination,” said Lü Pu.
“It needs some one greater than the Minister to limit the scope of such
talents as yours.”
Lü Pu said, “I would not mind killing the old wretch were it not for
the relation in which we stand. I fear to provoke the hostile criticism
of posterity.”
His host smiled. “Your name is Lü; his is Tung. Where was the paternal
feeling when he threw the halberd at you?”
“I had been misled if you had not said that,” said Lü hotly.
Wang Yün saw the effect of his words and continued, “It would be a
loyal deed to restore the House of Han, and history would hand down
your name to posterity perpetually fragrant. If you lend your aid to
Tung Cho you will be a traitor and your name will stink through all the
ages.”
Lü Pu rose from his place and bowed to Wang Yün. “I have decided,” said
he. “You need not fear, Sir.”
“But yet you may fail and bring upon yourself misfortune,” said Wang.
Lü Pu drew his dagger and pricking his arm swore by the blood that
flowed.
Wang fell on his knees and thanked him. “Then the Han sacrifices will
not be cut off and you will be their saviour. But this must remain a
secret and I will tell you how the plot shall be worked out.”
Lü Pu took leave with great emotion.
Wang Yün took into his confidence two colleagues, Sun Jui and Huang
Yüan. The former said, “The moment is favourable. The Emperor has just
recovered from his illness and we can despatch an able talker to Meiwu
to persuade Tung Cho to come here to discuss affairs. Meanwhile we will
obtain a secret decree as authority for Lü Pu. Lay an ambush just
inside the palace gates to kill Cho as he enters. This is the best plan
to adopt.”
“But who would dare to go?”
“Li Su would go. He belongs to the same district as Lü Pu and is very
angry with the Minister for not advancing him. His going would excite
no suspicions.”
“Good,” said Wang Yün. “Let us see what Lü Pu thinks of it.”
When Pu was consulted he told them that this man’s persuasion had led
him to kill Ting, his former benefactor. “If he refuse this mission I
will kill him,” said he.
So they sent for Li Su. When he arrived Lü Pu said, “Formerly you
talked me into killing Ting and going over to Tung Cho. Now we find
Tung Cho means evil for the Emperor and is an oppressor of the people.
His iniquities are many and he is hated of gods and men. You go to
Meiwu, say you have a command from the Emperor to summon Tung Cho to
the palace. He will come and he will be put to death. You will have the
credit of being loyal and restoring the Hans. Will you undertake this?”
“I also wish to slay him,” was the reply. “But I could not find any to
assist me. How can I hesitate? Your intervention is directly from
heaven.”
And he snapped an arrow in twain as register of his oath.
“If this succeed, what glorious rank will be yours!” said Wang Yün.
Next day Li Su, with a small escort, set out for Meiwu and announced
himself as bearer of a decree. He was conducted into Tung Cho’s
presence. After he had made his obeisance Tung asked what the decree
was.
“His Majesty has recovered and wishes his ministers to meet him in the
palace to consider the question of his abdication in your favour. That
is what this summons means.”
“What does Wang Yün think of the scheme?”
“Wang Yün has already begun the construction of the Terrace of
Abdication and only awaits my lord’s arrival.”
“Last night I dreamed a dragon coiled round my body,” said Tung Cho
greatly pleased, “and now I get this happy tidings! I must not neglect
the opportunity.”
So he gave instructions for the safekeeping of his city and announced
his intention of starting on the morrow.
“When I am Emperor you shall be my Precursor,” said he.
“Your minister thanks you,” said Li.
Cho went to bid farewell to his aged mother. “Whither are you going, my
son?”
“I go to receive the abdication of Han; and soon you will be Empress
Dowager.”
“I have been feeling nervous and creepy these few days. It is a bad
sign.”
“Any one about to become the mother of the State must have
premonitions,” said her son.
He left her with these words. Just before starting he said to Cicada,
“When I am Emperor, you shall be Kuei-fei, the first of my ladies.” She
bowed low thanking him, but she knew and inwardly rejoiced.
He went out and mounted his carriage, and began his journey to the
Capital with an imposing escort. Less than half way the wheel of his
carriage broke. He left it and mounted a horse. Soon after the horse
snorted and neighed, threw up his head and snapped the reins.
Tung Cho turned to Li Su and asked what these things portended.
“It means that you are going to receive the abdication of the Hans,
which is to renew all things, to mount the jewelled chariot and sit in
the golden saddle.”
And Cho believed him. During the second day’s journey a violent gale
sprang up and the sky became covered with a thick mist. The wily Li Su
had an interpretation for this also. “You are ascending to the place of
the dragon; there must be bright light and lurid vapour to dignify your
majestic approach.”
Cho had no more doubts. He presently arrived and found many officials
waiting without the city gate to receive him, all but Li Ju who was ill
and unable to leave his chamber. He entered and proceeded to his own
palace, where Lü Pu came to congratulate him.
“When I sit on the throne, you shall command the whole armies of the
Empire, horse and foot,” said he.
That night Cho slept in a tent in the midst of his escort. In the
suburbs that evening some children at play were singing a little ditty
and the words drifted in on the wind.
“The grass in the meadow looks fresh now and green,
Yet wait but ten days, not a blade will be seen.” [3]
The song sounded ominous but Li Su was again prepared with a happy
interpretation. “It only means that the Lius are about to disappear and
the Tungs to be exalted.”
Next morning at the first streak of dawn Tung Cho prepared for his
appearance at court. On the way he saw a Taoist, dressed in a black
robe and wearing a white turban, who carried in his hand a tall staff
with a long strip of white cloth attached. At each end of the cloth was
drawn a mouth.
“What is the meaning of this?” said Tung Cho.
“He is a madman,” said Li Su, and he told the guards to drive the
fellow away.
Tung Cho went in and found all the officials in court dress lining the
road. Li Su walked beside his carriage, a sword in his hand. When he
reached the side room on the north he found soldiers drawn up outside
and only the pushers of the palace carriage, a score or so, were
allowed to proceed further. When he arrived near the Reception Hall he
saw that Wang Yün and all the other officials standing at the door were
armed.
“Why are they all armed?” said he to Li Su. Li Su was silent. The
pushers urged the carriage forward swiftly to the entrance.
Suddenly Wang Yün shouted, “The rebel is here! where are the
executioners?”
At this call sprang from both sides men armed with halberds and spears
who attacked Tung Cho. He had not put on the breastplate he usually
wore and a spear pierced his breast. He sank down in the carriage
calling loudly for his son, “Where is Fêng-hsien?”
“Here, and with a decree to deal with a rebel,” said Lü Pu savagely, as
he appeared in front of his “father.”
Thereupon he thrust his halberd through his victim’s throat. Then Li Su
hacked off the head and held it up. Lü Pu, his left hand holding his
halberd, thrust his right hand into his bosom whence he drew the
decree, crying, “The decree was to slay the rebel Tung Cho; no other.”
The whole assembly shouted, “Live for ever! O Emperor.”
A sympathetic poet has written a few lines in pity:—
Await the time, O noble, and be king,
Or failing, reap the solace riches bring;
Heaven n’er is partial, but severely just,
Meiwu stood strong yet now it lies in dust.
The lust of blood awakened, Lü Pu urged the slaughter of Li Ju, who had
been the confidant of the murdered Minister and Li Su volunteered to go
in search of him. But just then a shouting was heard at the gates and
it was told them that a household slave had brought their intended
victim in bonds. Wang Yün ordered his immediate execution in the market
place.
Tung Cho’s head was exposed in a crowded thoroughfare. He was very fat
and the guards made torches by sticking splints into the body. The
passers-by pelted the poor head and spurned the body with their feet.
A large force under Lü Pu was sent to destroy Meiwu. His first captive
was Cicada. Then they slew every member of the Tung family, sparing
none, not even his aged mother. Some of his particular adherents, with
the “Flying Bear” force, fled to Chingchou. In Meiwu were hidden many
young ladies of good family. These were set free. The spoil was
enormous; stores of wealth in all its forms had been collected there.
When they returned to report success Wang Yün rewarded and feasted the
soldiers. Banquets were held in the halls to which all the officials
were invited. They drank and congratulated each other. While the
feasting was in progress it was announced that some one had come and
was wailing over the corpse exposed in the market place.
“Tung Cho has been put to death,” said Wang Yün, angrily. “Every body
is glad to be rid of him and yet one is found to lament over him. Who
is this?”
So he gave orders to arrest the mourner and bring him in. Soon he was
brought in and when they saw him all were startled. For he was no other
than Tsʻai Yung the Shih-chung.
Wang Yün spoke to him angrily, “Tung Cho has been put to death as a
rebel and all the land rejoices. You, a Han Minister, instead of
rejoicing, weep for him. Why?”
Yung confessed his fault. “I am without talent, yet know I what is
right. Am I the man to turn my back on my country and toward Tung Cho?
Yet once I experienced his kindness and I could not help mourning for
him. I know my fault is grave but I pray you to regard the reasons. If
you will leave my head and only cut off my feet, you may use me to
continue the History of Han, whereby I may have the good fortune to be
allowed to expiate my fault.”
All were sorry for him, for he was a man of great talents and they
begged that he might be spared. The Preceptor Ma secretly interceded
for him, pointing out that he was famous as a scholar, that he could
write glorious history, and that it was inadvisable to put to death a
man renowned for rectitude. But in vain. The Great Councillor was now
strong and obdurate.
“Ssŭ-ma Chʻien was spared and employed on the annals, with the result
that many slanderous stories have been handed down to us. This is a
trying period of great perplexity and we dare not let a specious fellow
like this wield his pencil in criticism of those about the court of a
youthful prince and abuse us as he will.”
Remonstrance and appeal being vain Ma retired. But he said to his
colleagues, “Is Wang Yün then careless of the future? Worthy men are
the mainstay of the State: laws are the canons of action. To destroy
the mainstay and nullify the laws is to hasten destruction.”
As was just said Wang Yün was obdurate. The man whose offence was an
expression of gratitude was thrown into prison and there strangled. The
people of that day wept for him, for they refused to see any offence in
what he had done and death was a harsh punishment.
Tung, the harsh dictator,
Tyrannised the State,
Fell and his sole mourner
Shared his direful fate.
Chuko in seclusion
Was content to dream.
Felt his worth and never
Helped a traitor’s scheme.
Those of his adherents whom Tung Cho had left to guard his city fled
when their master was slain and went into Shênsi. Thence they sent in a
memorial entreating amnesty. But Wang Yün would not hear of it. Four of
them were the chief instruments of Cho’s aggressions. Now though a
general amnesty were proclaimed these men should be excluded from its
benefit.
The messenger returned and told the four there was no hope of pardon
and they could only flee.
Adviser Chia Hsü said, “If we throw away our arms and flee singly then
we shall fall easy victims to any village beadle who may seize us.
Rather let us cajole the Shênsi people to throw in their lot with us
and make a sudden onslaught on the capital and so avenge our master. If
we succeed, we control the court and the country. It will be time
enough to run away if we fail.”
The plan was adopted and they spread abroad the story that Wang Yün
intended to harry the district. Having thus thrown the people into a
state of terror they went a step farther and said, “There is no
advantage in dying for nothing. Revolt and join us.” So they cajoled
the people into joining them and gathered a host equal to ten legions.
This horde was divided into four parts and they all set out to raid the
capital. On the way they fell in with a son-in-law of their late chief,
with a number of soldiers. He had set out to avenge his father-in-law
and he became the van-leader of the horde.
As they advanced the news came to Wang Yün and he consulted Lü Pu.
“They are a lot of rats,” said he. “Never mind how many there are of
them. Be not in the least anxious.”
So Lü Pu and Li Su went to oppose them. The latter was in advance and
met Niu Fu. They fought; Niu Fu was outmatched and retired. But
unexpectedly Niu Fu returned in a night attack, found Li Su quite
unprepared and drove his force some thirty li, slaying many.
Li went to tell his chief who raged at him saying, “You have sullied my
reputation as a warrior and destroyed my prestige.”
And he put Li Su to death, exposing his head at the camp gate.
Next day Lü Pu advanced his own force and engaged Niu Fu. Could the
result be the least dubious? Niu Fu was driven off. That night he
called in his friend Hu Chʻih-êrh to advise him.
“Lü Pu is too doughty a fighter for us to hope to overcome him. Our
case is hopeless. Our best course is to desert these four men, secrete
our valuables and leave the army with just a few of our followers.”
The plan of Niu Fu was adopted and the two traitors that very night
packed up and made their way out of camp. They were only half a dozen.
They came to a river and, while crossing, Hu Chʻih-êrh, tempted by the
lust of wealth, slew his companion. Then he went to offer the head to
Lü Pu. Lü Pu enquired into the matter and when a follower told him the
truth, he put the double traitor to death.
Then he advanced against the rebels and fell in with Li Tsʻui’s force.
Without giving them time to form in battle array, he attacked. Horses
curvetting and spears set, the men dashed in irresistibly and Li Tsʻui,
making no stand, fell back a long way. He took up a position under a
hill and thence sent to call his fellows to council.
Li Tsʻui said, “Lü Pu though brave in battle is no strategist and so
not really formidable. I will lead my men to hold the mouth of the
gorge and every day I will incite him to attack and, when he comes
toward me, Commander Kuo can smite his rear, after the manner of Pʻêng
Yüeh when he fought against Chʻu. While thus I am alternating attack
and retreat you other two will march off in different directions toward
Chʻangan. Such an attack at two points must end in his defeat.”
They set themselves to carry out this scheme. As soon as Lü Pu reached
the hills a force came out to attack him. Pu made an angry dash toward
the enemy, who retired up the hill, whence they shot arrows and hurled
stones like rain. Lü Pu’s men halted. At this moment the report came
that the rear was being attacked and there appeared Kuo Ssŭ. At once Lü
Pu wheeled toward the new enemy, but immediately the rolling drums gave
the signal to retire and Lü Pu could not come to blows with them. As he
called in his men the gongs clanged on the other side and his former
opponent came as if to smite him. But before he could join battle his
rear was again threatened by Kuo, who in his turn drew off without
striking a blow.
Thus Lü Pu was baited till his bosom was near bursting with rage. The
same tactics continued for several days. He could neither strike his
enemies nor escape them; his men had no rest.
In the midst of these distracting manœuvres a messenger rode up in hot
haste to say that the capital was in imminent danger from a double
attack. He at once ordered a march to save the capital, which became a
rout when both his opponents came in pursuit. His loss was heavy.
He soon reached Chʻangan and found the rebels there in enormous numbers
and the city quite surrounded. Lü Pu’s attack had but little effect and
as his temper became more savage under defeat many of his men went over
to the rebels.
He fell into deep melancholy. Then a remnant of Tung Cho’s adherents
still in the city, led by Li Mêng and Wang Fang, began to lend aid to
the attackers and by and by they secretly opened the city gate and the
besiegers poured in. Lü Pu exerted himself to the utmost but could not
stem the tide. At the head of a few horse he dashed over to the Chingso
Gate, or “Gate of the Black Lock,” and called out to Wang Yün, who was
on the other side, that the case was desperate and bade him mount and
ride to a place of safety.
Wang Yün replied, “If I am gifted with the holy spirit of the State I
shall succeed in restoring the tranquillity which I desire, but if I
have it not, then I offer my body a sacrifice. I will not quail before
dangers. Thank the noble supporters east of the pass for their efforts
and bid them remember their country.”
Lü Pu urged him again and again, but he would not leave. Soon flames
started up all over the city and Lü Pu had to leave, abandoning his
family to their fate. He fled and joined Yüan Shu.
Li Tsʻui and his fellow leaders gave full licence to their ruffians,
who robbed and murdered their fill. Many high officers perished. In
time they penetrated to the inner palace and the eunuchs begged the
Emperor to proceed to the Hsüanpʻing Mên (the Gate of Pervading Peace)
to try to quell the rioting. At sight of the yellow umbrella Li Tsʻui
and Kuo Ssŭ checked their men and they all shouted “Long life O
Emperor!” (Wan-sui!). The Emperor stood by the tower and addressed
them, “Nobles, what means it that you enter the capital in this unruly
manner and without my summons?”
The two leaders looked up and said, “Tung Cho, Your Majesty’s Minister,
has been slain by Wang Yün and we are here to avenge him. We are no
rebels, Sire. Let us only have Wang Yün and we draw off our men.”
Wang Yün was actually among the courtiers and at the Emperor’s side.
Hearing this demand he said, “The plan was made for the benefit of the
Throne, but as this evil has grown therefrom Your Majesty will not
grudge losing me. I have brought about evil and I will go down to these
rebels.”
The Emperor was torn with sorrow and wavered. But the faithful Minister
leaped from the wall crying, “Wang Yün is here.”
The two leaders drew their swords, crying, “For what crime was our
master slain?
“His crimes filled the heavens and covered the earth; no tongue can
tell them. The day he died was a day of rejoicing in the whole city as
you well know,” said Wang.
“And if he was guilty of some crime what had we done not to be
forgiven?”
“Seditious rebels, why bandy words? I am ready to die.”
And he was slain at the foot of the tower.
Moved by the people’s sufferings,
Vexed at his prince’s grief,
Wang Yün compassed the traitor’s death,
That they might find relief.
Every one knows him a hero,
Leal to the State alway:
Living he guarded the princely towers,
His soul keeps guard to-day.
Having done the loyal Minister to death at his master’s feet they
proceeded to exterminate also his whole family. Every one mourned.
Then said the ruffians to each other, “Having gone so far what could be
better than to make away with the Emperor and complete our scheme?”
The traitor condoned his crime,
Rebellion ought to cease;
But his licentious followers
Disturb the Empire’s peace.
The fate of the Emperor will be disclosed in the next chapter.
CHAPTER X.
MA TʻENG SERVES HIS COUNTRY WELL:
TSʻAO TSʻAO AVENGES HIS FATHER’S MURDER.
In the last chapter the two arch rebels proposed to murder the Emperor
Hsien, but their followers Chang and Fan opposed this.
“No; the people will not approve of his death now. Restore him to power
and get the leaguers inside the gates. Remove his supporters and then
we can compass his death. And we shall be able to do what we wish.”
So they ceased the attack. The Emperor again spoke from the tower,
saying, “Why do you still remain? You have slain Wang Yün now withdraw
these soldiers.”
Then Li and Kuo replied, “Your servants desire rank us a reward for
their good service to your dynasty.”
“And what rank, Sirs?”
All four wrote their wishes and handed them up to the Emperor who had
no choice but to accede to the request and they were created “Generals”
(Chiang-chün) and received ranks of nobility and thereupon they went
away and camped at Ssŭnung. The inferior leaders also were gratified
with ranks. And once more the capital was free of troops.
Tung Cho’s followers having so far succeeded did not forget their late
leader. They sought his corpse for burial, but only a few fragments
were discoverable. Then they graved an image of fragrant wood in his
likeness, laid that out in proper form and instituted a noble’s
sacrifices and prayers. The remains were dressed in the robes of a
prince laid in a princely coffin for burial. They selected Meiwu for
his tomb and having found an auspicious day conveyed the coffin
thither.
But a terrific thunder storm came on at the time of inhumation and the
ground was flooded. The coffin was riven asunder and the poor remains
thrown out. A second time they buried the coffin, but a similar thing
happened in the night. And yet a third time in another place but the
earth rejected the remains. Meanwhile the thunder-fire had entirely
consumed them. So it may be said justly that Heaven was exceeding angry
with Tung Cho.
So now Li Tsʻui and Kuo Ssŭ wielded the real power of the sceptre and
they were hard upon the people. They also removed the attendants from
the palace and replaced them by their own creatures, who maintained a
most perfect watch over every movement of the Emperor so that he was
greatly hampered and embarrassed. All appointments were made by the
late rebels. For the sake of popularity they especially summoned Chu
Chien to court, made him a High Chamberlain and associated him with the
government.
One day came a report that Ma Tʻêng, the Prefect of Hsiliang, and Han
Sui, with ten legions, were rapidly approaching the capital with the
intention of attacking the rebels.
Now these men from the west had laid careful plans. They had sent
trusty friends to the capital to find out who would support them. They
had conspired with three officials to be their inside allies and plot
against the rebels. These three obtained from the throne two secret
edicts conferring the ranks of Commander, “Conqueror of the West,” on
Ma Tʻêng and Commander, “Warden of the West,” on Han Sui. With these
powers the two officials joined forces and began their march.
The four leaders of the party in power held a consultation as to how to
meet the attack. The adviser, Chia Hsü, said, “Since the attackers are
coming from a distance our plan is to fortify and wait till shortage of
food shall work for us. In a hundred days their supplies will be
consumed and they must retire. We can pursue and we shall capture
them.”
Li Mêng and Wang Fang rose and said, “This plan is bad. Give us a
legion and we will put an end to both of them and offer their heads
before your ensign.”
“To fight forthwith means defeat,” said the adviser.
The other two cried with one voice, “If we fail we are willing to lose
our heads, but if we win then your head is forfeit.”
Chia Hsü then said, “Two hundred li west of the capital stand the
Chouchih Hills. The passes are narrow and difficult. Send Generals
Chang and Fan to occupy this point of vantage and fortify themselves so
that they may support Li and Wang.”
Li Tsʻui and Kuo Ssŭ accepted this advice. They told off a legion and a
half of horse and foot and Li and Wang left. They made a camp two
hundred and eighty li from Chʻangan.
The force from the west arrived and the two officers led out their men
to the attack. They found their opponents in battle array. The two
leaders, Ma Tʻêng and Han Sui, rode to the front side by side. Pointing
to the rebel leaders they abused them, calling them traitors and asking
who would capture them.
Hardly were the words spoken when there came out a youth with a clear,
white complexion, eyes like shooting stars, lithe of body and strong of
limb. He was armed with a long spear and bestrode an excellent steed.
This young leader was Ma Chʻao, son of Ma Tʻêng, then seventeen years
of age.
Though young he was valiant and skilful. Wang Fang, despising him on
account of his youth, galloped forth to fight him. Before they had
exchanged many passes Wang Fang was disabled and fell to a thrust of
the young man’s spear. The victor turned to retire into the formation,
but Li Mêng rode after him to avenge his fallen colleague. Ma Chʻao did
not see him, but his father called out “You are followed!” Hardly had
he spoken when he saw that the pursuer was a prisoner seated on his
son’s steed.
Now Ma Chʻao had known he was followed, but pretended not to see,
waiting till his enemy should have come close and lifted his spear to
strike. Then he suddenly wheeled about. The spear thrust met only empty
air, and as the horses passed Ma Chʻao’s powerful arm shot out and
pulled Wang Fang from the saddle. Thus the soldiers were left
leaderless and fled in all directions. The army dashed in pursuit and a
complete victory was scored. They pressed into the pass and made a
camp. They decapitated Li Mêng and exposed his head.
When Li Tsʻui and Kuo Ssŭ heard that both the boastful captains had
fallen under the hand of one young man they knew that Chia Hsü had
given good advice and was gifted with clear prescience. So they valued
his plans the more highly and decided to act on the defensive. They
refused all challenges to combat.
Surely enough after a couple of months the supplies of the Hsiliang men
were all exhausted and the leaders began to consider retreat.
Just at this juncture a household servant of Ma Yü’s family betrayed
his master and told of the conspiracy of the three men to assist the
attackers. The two chief rebels in revenge seized the three
conspirators, with every member of their households, and beheaded them
in the market place. The heads of the three were exposed at the gate.
Being short of food and hearing of the destruction of their three
adherents in the city, the only course for Ma and Han was to retreat.
At once Chang Chi went in pursuit of Ma Tʻêng and Fan Chʻou followed
Han Sui. The retreating army under Ma was beaten and only by Ma Chʻao’s
desperate efforts were the pursuers driven off.
Fan Chʻou pursued the other army and when he had come close Han Sui
rode boldly up and addressed him, saying “You and I, Sir, are fellow
villagers. Why then behave so unfriendly?”
Chʻou replied, “I must obey the commands of my chief.”
“I am here for the service of the State; why do you press me so hard?”
said Han.
At this Fan Chʻou turned his horse, called in his men and left him in
peace. Unwittingly a nephew of Li Tsʻui had been a witness of this
scene and when he saw the enemy allowed to go free he returned and told
his uncle. Angry that his enemy had escaped, Li would have wreaked
vengeance on his lieutenant, but his adviser again came in saying it
was dangerous to provoke another war. He proposed inviting the
defaulting officer to a banquet and, while the feast was in progress,
executing him for dereliction of duty. This seemed good to Li so the
banquet was prepared. The two officers accepted their invitations and
went cheerfully. Toward the latter part of the entertainment a sudden
change came over their host and he suddenly asked Fan Chʻou, “Why have
you been intriguing with Han Sui? You are turning traitor, eh?”
The unhappy guest was taken aback and before he could frame his words
to reply he saw the assassins rush out with swords and axes. In a
moment all was over and his head lay beneath the table.
Scared beyond measure his fellow-guest grovelled on the floor. “He was
a traitor,” said the host, raising him by the arm, “and he has his
deserts; you are my friend and need not fear.”
He gave Chang Chi command of the murdered man’s troop with which he
returned to Hungnung. No one of the nobles among the leaguers dared
attempt an attack on the party newly risen from Tung Cho’s
disaffection, while on the other hand Chia Hsü never ceased to urge his
masters to exert themselves for the welfare of the people and thus to
tempt wise men to join them. And by these means the government began to
prosper.
However, a new trouble arose in the shape of a resurgence of Yellow
Turbans. They came, without apparent head or leader, in large numbers
and plundered any place they reached. Chu Chien said he knew of one who
could destroy this sedition, and when asked who was the man he proposed
he said, “You want to destroy this horde of rebels; you will fail
unless you get the services of Tsʻao Mêng-tê.”
“And where is he?” asked Li Tsʻui.
“He is Prefect of Tung Chün. He has a large army and you have only to
order him to act; the rising will be broken.”
A messenger went post haste with a command for Tsʻao Tsʻao and Pao Hsin
to act together in quelling the rebellion. As soon as Tsʻao Tsʻao
received the court command he arranged with his colleague first to
attack the rebels at Shouyang. Pao Hsin made a dash right into their
midst, inflicting damage wherever he could, and Tsʻao Tsʻao pursued
them as they fled. So many surrendered. Then he put his quondam enemies
in the van and when his army reached any place many more surrendered
and joined him. After three months of these tactics they had won over
many thousands, both of soldiers and ordinary folk.
Of these new adherents the strongest and boldest were made soldiers and
the others were sent home to their fields. In consequence of these
successes Tsʻao Tsʻao’s prestige and fame became very great and
increased daily. He reported his success to the capital and was
rewarded with the title of Commander, “Warden of the East.”
At his headquarters in Yenchow Tsʻao Tsʻao welcomed wise counsellors
and bold warriors, and many gathered around him. Two clever men, uncle
and nephew, came at the same time, both Yingchow men, named Hsün Yü and
Hsün Yu. The uncle had once been in the service of Yüan Shao. Tsʻao
Tsʻao rejoiced when he had won the elder Hsün to his side saying he was
his teacher. The nephew was famed for his ability and had been in the
court service but had abandoned that career and retired to his village.
The uncle said to Tsʻao Tsʻao, “There is a certain wise man of Yenchow
somewhere, but I do not know in whose service he is.”
“Who is he?”
“Chʻêng Yü; he belongs to the eastern district.”
“Yes; I have heard of him,” said Tsʻao. So a messenger was sent to his
native place to enquire. He was away in the hills engaged in study, but
he came at Tsʻao Tsʻao’s invitation.
“I shall prove unworthy of your recommendation,” said he to his friend
Hsün, “for I am rough and ignorant. But have you forgotten a fellow
villager of yours, Kuo Chia? He is really able. Why not spread the net
to catch him?”
“I had nearly forgotten,” said Hsün Yü suddenly. So he told his master
of this man, who was at once invited. Kuo, discussing the world at
large with his master, spoke in high terms of one Liu Yeh; and when he
had arrived he was the means of inviting two more, Man Chʻung and Lü
Chʻien, who were already known to Tsʻao Tsʻao by reputation. These two
brought to their new master’s notice the name of Mao Chieh, who also
came and was given office. Then a famous leader, with his troop of some
hundreds, arrived to offer service. This was Yü Chin of Tʻaishan, an
expert horseman and archer, and skilled beyond his fellows in every
form of military exercise. He was made an army inspector.
Then another day Hsiahou Tun brought a really fine, handsome fellow to
present to Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“Who is he?” asked Tsʻao.
“He is from Chʻên-liu and is named Tien Wei. He is the boldest of the
bold, the strongest of the strong. He was one of Chang Mo’s men, but
quarrelled with his tent companions and killed a lot of them with his
fists. Then he fled to the mountains where I found him. I was out
shooting and saw him follow a tiger across a stream. I persuaded him to
join my troop and I recommend him.”
“I see he is no ordinary man,” said Tsʻao. “He is handsome and straight
and looks very powerful and bold.”
“He is. He killed a man once to avenge a friend and carried his head
through the whole market place. Hundreds saw him, but dared not come
near. The weapon he uses now is a two-branched spear over a hundred
pounds in weight, and he vaults into the saddle with this under his
arm.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao bade the man give proof of his skill so he galloped to and
fro carrying the spear. Then he saw away among the tents a huge banner
swaying dangerously with the force of the wind and on the point of
falling. A crowd of soldiers were vainly struggling to keep it steady.
Down he leaped, shouted to the men to clear out and held the staff
quite steady with one hand, keeping it perfectly upright in spite of
the strong wind.
“This is old Wu Lai again,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. He gave the strong man a
post in the army and besides made him presents of an embroidered robe
and a swift steed with a handsome saddle.
Thus Tsʻao Tsʻao encouraged able men to assist him and he had advisers
on the civil side and valiant captains in the army. He became famous
through all Shantung.
Tsʻao’s father, Sung, was living at Langya, whither he had gone as a
place free from the turmoil of the partizan struggles and, as a dutiful
son, Tsʻao sent the Prefect of Tʻaishan to escort his father to
Yenchow. The old man read the letter with joy and the family prepared
to move. They were some forty in all, with a train of a hundred
servants and many carts.
Their road led through Hsüchou where the Prefect, Tʻao Chʻien, was a
sincere and upright man who had long wished to get on good terms with
Tsʻao Tsʻao but, hitherto, had found no means of effecting a bond of
union. Hearing that the family of the great man was passing through his
district he went to welcome them, treated them with great cordiality,
feasting and entertaining them for two days, and when they left he
escorted them to his boundary. Further he sent with them one Chang Kʻai
with a special escort.
The whole party reached Huafei. It was the end of summer, just turning
into autumn, and at this place they were stopped by a tremendous storm
of rain. The only shelter was an old temple and thither they went. The
family occupied the main rooms and the escort the two side wings. The
men of the escort were drenched, angry and discontented. The leader
called some of his petty officers to a secret spot and said, “We are
old Yellow Turbans and only submitted to Tʻao because there was no help
for it. We have never got much out of it. Now here is the Tsʻao family
with no end of gear and we can be rich very easily. We will make a
sudden onslaught to-night at the third watch and slay the whole lot.
Then we shall have plenty of treasure and we will get away to the
mountains.”
They all agreed. The storm continued into the night and as Tsʻao Sung
sat waiting anxiously for signs of clearing he suddenly heard a hubbub
at the west end of the temple. His brother Tsʻao Tê, drawing his sword,
went out to see what it was about and was at once cut down. Tsʻao Sung
seized one of the concubines by the hand, rushed with her through the
passage toward the back of the temple so that they might escape. But
the lady was stout and could not get through the narrow doors so the
two hid in one of the small outhouses at the side. However, they were
seen and slain.
The unhappy Prefect fled for his life to Yüan Shao. The murderers fled
into Huainan with their plunder after having set fire to the old
temple.
Tsʻao Tsʻao, whom the ages praise,
Slew the Lüs in former days;
Nemesis ne’er turns aside,
Murdered too his family died.
Some of the escort escaped and took the evil tidings to Tsʻao Tsʻao.
When he heard it he fell to the earth with a great cry. They raised
him. With set teeth he muttered, “His men have slain my father: no
longer can the same sky cover us. I will sweep Hsüchou off the face of
the earth. Only thus can I satisfy my vengeance.”
Leaving one small army to guard the east he set forth with all the
remainder to destroy Hsüchou and avenge his father.
Now the Prefect of Kiukiang was a close friend of Tʻao Chʻien. Hearing
Hsüchou was threatened he set out with half a legion to his friend’s
aid. Tsʻao sent Hsiahou Tun to cut him off while still on the march. At
this time Chʻên Kung was in office in the east and he was also on
friendly terms with Tʻao. Hearing of Tsʻao’s design to destroy the
whole population he came in haste to see his former companion. Tsʻao
knowing his errand put him off at first and would not see him. But he
could not forget the kindness he had formerly received and presently
the visitor was called to his tent.
Chʻên Kung said, “They say you go to avenge your father’s death on
Hsüchou, to destroy its people. I have come to say a word. The Prefect
is humane and a good man. He is not looking out for his own advantage,
careless of the means and of others. Your worthy father met his unhappy
death at the hands of Chang Kʻai. Tʻao Chʻien is guiltless. Still more
innocent are the people and to slay them would be an evil. I pray you
to think over it.”
Tsʻao retorted angrily, “You once abandoned me and now you have the
impudence to come to see me! Tʻao Chien slew my whole family and I will
tear his heart out in revenge. I swear it. You may speak for your
friend and say what you will. I shall be as if I heard not.”
Intercession had failed. He sighed and took his leave. “Alas! I cannot
go to Tʻao and look upon his face.” So he rode off to the Chʻên-liu
district.
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army of revenge laid waste whatever place it passed
through, slaying the people and desecrating their cemeteries.
When Tʻao Chʻien heard the terrible tidings he looked up to heaven
saying, “I must be guilty of some fault before Heaven to have brought
this evil upon my people.” He called together his officials to consult.
One of them, Tsʻao Pao, said, “Now the enemy is upon us, we cannot sit
and await death with folded hands. I for one will help you to make me a
fight.”
The army went out. From a distance the enemy spread abroad like hoar
frost and rushed far and wide like snow. In their midst was a large
white flag and oh both sides was written “Vengeance.”
When he had ranged his men Tsʻao Tsʻao rode out dressed in mourning
white and abused Tʻao Chʻien. But Tʻao advanced and from beneath his
ensign bowed low and said, “I wished to make friends with you,
Illustrious Sir, and so I sent Chang Kʻai to escort your family. I knew
not that his rebel heart was still unchanged. The fault does not lie at
my door as you must see.”
“You old fool, you killed my father and now you dare to mumble this
nonsense,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. And he asked who would go out and seize
him.
Hsiahou Tun undertook this service and rode out. The Prefect fled to
the inner portion of his array and as Hsiahou Tun came on Tsʻao Pao
went to meet him. But just as the two horses met a hurricane burst over
the spot and the flying dust and pebbles threw both sides into the
utmost confusion. Both drew off.
The Prefect retired into the city and called his officers to council.
“The force against us is too strong,” said he. “I will give myself up
as a prisoner and let him wreak his vengeance on me. I may save the
people.”
But a voice was heard saying, “You have long ruled here and the people
love you. Strong as the enemy are they are not necessarily able to
break down our walls, especially when defended by you and your people.
I have a scheme to suggest that I think will make Tsʻao Tsʻao die in a
place where he will not find burial.”
These bold words startled the assembly and they eagerly asked what the
scheme was.
Making overtures for friendship he encountered deadly hate,
But, where danger seemed most threatening, he discovered safety’s
gate.
The next chapter will disclose who the speaker was.
CHAPTER XI.
LIU, THE EMPEROR’S UNCLE, RESCUES KʻUNG JUNG:
LU, MARQUIS OF WEN, DEFEATS TSʻAO TSʻAO.
It was one Mi Chu who said he knew how to defeat Tsʻao Tsʻao utterly.
He came of a wealthy family of merchants trading in Loyang. One day
travelling homeward from that city in a carriage he met an exquisitely
beautiful lady trudging along the road, who asked him to let her ride.
He stopped and yielded his place to her. She invited him to share the
seat with her. He mounted, but sat rigidly upright never even glancing
in her direction. They travelled thus for some miles when she thanked
him and alighted. Just as she left she said, “I am the embodied spirit
of the Southern Heat. I am on my way to execute a decree of the Supreme
to burn your dwelling, but your extreme courtesy has so deeply touched
me that I now warn you. Hasten homeward, remove your valuables for I
must arrive to-night.”
Thereupon she disappeared. Mi Chu hastily finished his journey and as
soon as he arrived moved everything out of his house. Sure enough that
night a fire started in the kitchen and involved the whole house. After
this he devoted his wealth to relieving the poor and comforting the
afflicted. Tʻao Chʻien gave him the office he then held.
The plan he proposed was this. “I will go to Pohai and beg Kʻung Jung
to help; another should go to Chʻingchow on a similar mission, and if
the armies of these two places march on our enemy he will certainly
retire.”
The Prefect accepted the plan and wrote letters. He asked for a
volunteer to go to Chʻingchow and a certain Chʻên Têng offered himself
and, after he had left, Mi Chu was formally entrusted with the mission
to the north. Meanwhile they would hold the city as they could.
This Kʻung was a native of Chʻüfou in the old state of Lü, one of the
twentieth generation in descent from the great Teacher Confucius. He
had been noted as a very intelligent lad, somewhat precocious. When ten
years old he had gone to see Li Ying, the Governor, but the doorkeeper
demurred to letting him in. But when he said, “I am Minister Li’s
intimate friend,” he was admitted. Li asked him what relations had
existed between their families that might justify the term intimate.
The boy replied, “Of old my ancestor (Kʻung) questioned yours (Lao Tzŭ,
whose name was Li Erh) concerning ceremonies. So our families have
known each other for many generations.” His host was astonished at the
boy’s ready wit.
Presently another visitor of high rank came in, to whom Li Ying told
the story of his youthful guest. “He is a wonder, this boy,” said Li.
The visitor replied, “It does not follow that a clever boy grows up
into a clever man.”
The lad took him up at once saying “By what you say, Sir, you were
certainly one of the clever boys.”
They all laughed. “The boy is going to be a noble vessel,” said they.
Thus from boyhood he was famous. As a man he rose to be a Chung-lang
Chiang, and was sent as Governor to Pohai, where he was renowned for
hospitality. He used to quote the lines:—
“Let the rooms be full of friends,
And the cups be full of wine.”
“That is what I like,” said he.
After six years at Pohai the people were devoted to him. The day that
Mi Chu arrived he was, as usual, seated among his guests and the
messenger was ushered in without delay. In reply to a question about
the reason of the visit he presented his letter which said that Tsʻao
Tsʻao was pressing on the city and the Prefect prayed for help.
Then said Kʻung Jung, “Your master and I are good friends and your
presence here constrains me to go to his aid. However I have no quarrel
with Tsʻao Mêng-tê either, so I will first write to him to try to make
peace. If he refuses my offer, then I must set the army in motion.”
“Tsʻao Tsʻao will not listen to proposals of peace; he is too certain
of his strength,” said the messenger.
Kʻung Jung wrote his letter and also gave orders to muster his men.
Just at this moment happened another rising of the Yellow Turbans, and
the ruffians began to rob and murder at Pohai. It was necessary to deal
with them first and Kʻung led his army outside the city.
The rebel leader rode out to the front saying, “I know this district is
fruitful and can well spare ten thousand ‘stone’ of grain. Give me that
and we retire: refuse, and we will batter down the city walls and
destroy every soul.”
The Prefect shouted back, “I am a servant of the great Hans, entrusted
with the safety of their land. Think you I will feed rebels?”
The leader Kuan Hai whipped his steed, whirled his sword around his
head and rode forward. Tsung Pao, one of Kʻung’s captains, set his
spear and rode out to give him battle, but after a very few bouts was
cut down. Soon the soldiers fell into confusion and rushed pell-mell
into the city for protection. The rebels then laid seige to the city on
all sides. Kʻung Jung was very down-hearted and Mi Chu, who now saw no
hope for the success of his mission, was grieved beyond words.
The sight from the city wall was exceeding sad, for the rebels were
there in enormous numbers. One day as the Prefect stood on the wall, he
saw a man armed with a spear riding hard in among his enemies and
scattering them before him like chaff before the wind. Before long he
had reached the foot of the wall and called out, “Open the gate!” But
the defenders would not open to an unknown man and in the delay a crowd
of rebels gathered round the rider along the edge of the moat. Suddenly
wheeling about, the warrior dashed in among them and bowled over half a
score at which the others fell back. At this the Prefect ordered the
wardens to open the gates and let the stranger enter. As soon as he was
inside he dismounted, laid aside his spear, ascended the wall and made
humble obeisance to Kʻung Jung.
He said his name was Tʻaishih Tz’ŭ and he came from Laihuang. His aged
mother had sent him out of gratitude for the kindness shown her by
Kʻung. “I only returned home yesterday from the north and then I heard
that your city was in danger from a rebel attack. My mother said you
had been very kind to her and told me I should try to help. So I set
out all alone and here I am.”
This was cheering. The Prefect already knew Tʻaishih by reputation as a
valiant fighting man although they two had never met. The son being far
away from his home the Prefect had taken his mother, who dwelt a few
miles from the city, under his especial protection and saw that she did
not suffer from want. This had won the old lady’s heart and she had
sent her son to show her gratitude.
Kʻung showed his appreciation by treating his guest with the greatest
respect, making him presents of clothing and armour, saddles and
horses.
Presently said Tʻaishih, “Give me a company and I will go out and drive
off these fellows.”
“You are a bold warrior, but these are very numerous. It is a serious
matter to go out among them,” said Kʻung.
“My mother sent me because of your goodness to her. How shall I be able
to look her in the face if I do not raise the siege? I would prefer to
conquer or perish.”
“I have heard Liu Yüan-tê is one of the finest warriors in the world
and if we could get his help there would be no doubt of the result. But
there is no one to send.”
“I will go as soon as I have received your letter.”
So Kʻung wrote letters and gave them to his new helper. Tʻaishih put on
his armour, mounted his steed, attached his bow and quiver to his
girdle, took his spear in his hand, tied his packed haversack firmly to
his saddle bow and rode out at the city gate. He went quite alone.
Along the moat a large party of the besiegers were gathered and they
came to intercept the solitary rider. But he dashed in among them and
cut down several and so finally fought his way through.
The rebel leader, hearing that a rider had left the city, guessed what
his errand would be and followed Tʻaishih with a party of horsemen. He
spread them out so that the messenger rider was entirely surrounded.
Then Tʻaishih laid aside his spear, took his bow, adjusted his arrows
one by one and shot all round him. And as a rider fell from his steed
with every twang of his bowstring, the pursuers dared not close in.
Thus he got clear away and rode in hot haste to Liu Yüan-tê. He reached
Pʻingyüan and after greeting his host in proper form he told how Kʻung
Pohai was surrounded and had sent him for help. Then he presented the
letter which Liu Pei read.
“Who are you?” asked he.
“I am Tʻaishih Tz’ŭ, a stupid fellow from Tunghai. I am not related by
ties of kin to Kʻung Jung, nor even by ties of neighbourhood, but I am
by the bonds of sentiment and I share his sorrows and misfortunes. The
rebel Kuan has invested his city and he is distressed with none to turn
to and destruction is very near. You are known as humane and righteous
and you are able to rescue him. Therefore at his command I have braved
all dangers and fought my way through his enemies to pray you to save
him.”
Liu Yüan-tê smiled, saying, “And does he know of my existence?”
So the three brothers told off three companies and set out to help
raise the siege. When the rebel leader saw these new forces arriving he
led out his army to fight them, thinking he could easily dispose of so
small a force.
The brothers and Tʻaishih Tz’ŭ with them sat on their horses in the
forefront of their array. Kuan Hai, the rebel leader, hastened forward.
Tʻaishih held back to allow Kuan Yü to open the combat. He rode forth
and the two steeds met. The soldiers set up a great shout, for how
could there be any doubt of the result? After a few bouts Black Dragon
rose and fell, and with the stroke fell the rebel leader.
This was the signal for the two other warriors to take a share and they
advanced side by side. With their spears ready they dashed in and
Yüan-tê urged forward his men. The besieged Prefect saw his doughty
rescuers laying low the rebels as tigers among a flock of sheep. None
could withstand them and he then sent out his own men to join in the
battle so that the rebels were between two armies. The rebels’ force
was completely broken and many men surrendered, while the remainder
scattered in all directions.
The victors were welcomed into the city and as soon as possible a
banquet was prepared in their honour. Mi Chu was presented to Liu
Yüan-tê and he related the story of the murder of Tsʻao Sung by Chang
Kʻai and Tsʻao’s vengeful attack on Hsüchou and his coming to beg for
assistance.
Yüan-tê said, “Tʻao Kung-tsu is a kindly man of high character, and it
is a pity that he should suffer this wrong for no fault of his own.”
“You are a scion of the imperial family,” said the Prefect, “and this
Tsʻao Tsʻao is injuring the people, a strong man abusing his strength.
Why not go with me to rescue the sufferers?”
“I dare not refuse, but my force is weak and I must act cautiously,”
said Liu Pei.
“Though my desire to help arises from an old friendship, yet it is a
righteous act as well. Is it that your heart is not inclined toward the
right?” said Kʻung.
Liu Pei said, “This being so, you go first and give me time to see
Kungsun Tsan from whom I may borrow more men and horses. I will come
anon.”
“You surely will not break your promise?” said the Prefect.
“What manner of man think you that I am?” said Yüan-tê. “The wise one
said, ‘Death is common to all: the man without truth cannot maintain
himself.’ Whether I get the men or not, certainly I shall myself come.”
So the plan was agreed to. Mi Chu set out to return forthwith while
Kʻung Jung prepared for his expedition.
Tʻaishih Tz’ŭ took his leave saying, “My mother bade me come to your
aid and now happily you are safe. Letters have come from my fellow
townsman, Liu Yu, Governor of Yangchou, calling me thither and I must
go. I will see you again.”
Kʻung pressed rewards upon him but he would accept nothing and went
away. When his mother saw him she was pleased at his success saying she
rejoiced that he had been able to prove his gratitude, and after this
he departed for Yangchou.
Here nothing will be said of the departure of the relieving force. But
Yüan-tê went away to his friend Kungsun Tsan and laid before him his
design to help Hsüchou.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao and you are not enemies; why do you spend yourself for the
sake of another?” said Tsan.
“I have promised,” he replied, “and dare not break faith.”
“I will lend you two companies, horse and foot,” said Tsan.
“Also I wish to have the services of Chao Tzŭ-lung,” said Yüan-tê.
Tsan agreed to this also.
They marched away, their own men being in the front and Chao Tzŭ-lung,
with the borrowed men, being in rear.
In due course Mi Chu returned saying that Kʻung Jung had also obtained
the services of the three warrior brothers. The other messenger, Chʻên
Yüan-lung, came back and reported that Tʻien Kʻai would also bring
help. Then was the Prefect’s heart set at ease.
But both the leaders, though they had promised aid, greatly dreaded
their antagonist and camped among the hills at a great distance,
fearful of coming to close quarters. Tsʻao Tsʻao knew of their coming
and divided his army into parts to meet them, so postponing the attack
on the city itself. Presently Liu Pei came up and went to see Kʻung
Jung, who said, “The enemy is very powerful and Tsʻao Tsʻao handles his
army skilfully. We must be cautious. Let us make most careful
observations before we strike a blow.”
“What I fear is famine in the city,” said Liu Pei. “They cannot hold
out very long. I will put my men with yours under your command while I
with Chang Fei make a dash through to see Tʻao Chʻien and consult with
him.”
Kʻung Jung approved of this, so he and Tʻien Kʻai took up positions on
the “ox horn formation,” with Kuan Yü and Chao Yün on either side to
support them.
The day that Liu Pei and his company made their dash to get through
Tsʻao’s army they got as far as the flank of his camp when there arose
a great beating of drums, and horse and foot rolled out like billows on
the ocean. The leader was Yü Chin. He checked his steed and called out,
“You mad men from somewhere, where are you going?”
Chang Fei heard him but deigned no reply. He only rode straight to
attack the speaker. After they had fought a few bouts Yüan-tê waved his
double sword as signal for his men to come on and they drove Yü Chin
before them. Chang Fei led the pursuit and in this way they reached the
city wall.
From the city wall the besieged saw a huge banner embroidered in white
with the name of Liu Pei and the Prefect bade them open the gate for
the rescuers to enter. The leader was made very welcome, conducted to
the residency and a banquet prepared in his honour. The men also were
feasted.
Tʻao Chʻien was delighted with Liu Pei, admiring his noble appearance
and clear speech. He bade Mi Chu offer him the seal and insignia of
office. But the visitor shrank back startled.
“What does this mean?” said he.
Tʻao said, “There is trouble on every side and the kingly rule is no
longer maintained. You, Sir, are a member of the family and eminently
fitted to support them and their prerogatives. I am verging on senility
and I wish to retire in your favour. I pray you not to decline and I
will report my action to the Court.”
Liu Pei started up from his seat and bowed before his host saying,
“Scion of the family I may be, but my merit is small and my virtue
meagre. I doubt my fitness even for my present post and only a feeling
of doing right sent me to your assistance. To hear such speech makes me
doubt. Surely you think I came with greed in my heart. May God help me
no more if I cherished such a thought.”
“It is a poor old man’s real sentiment,” said Tʻao Chʻien.
Time after time Tʻao Chʻien renewed his offer to retire, but how could
Liu Pei accept it?
In the midst of this came Mi Chu to say the enemies had reached the
wall and something must be done to drive them off. The matter of one
officer retiring in favour of the other could await a more tranquil
time.
Said Liu Pei, “I ought to write to Tsʻao Tsʻao to press him to raise
the siege. If he refuse, we will attack forthwith.”
Orders were sent to the three camps to remain quiescent till the
letters could reach Tsʻao Tsʻao.
It happened that Tsʻao Tsʻao was holding a council when a messenger
with a war letter was announced. The letter was brought in and handed
to him and, when he had opened and looked at it, he found it was from
Liu Pei.
This is the letter, very nearly:—“Since meeting you outside the pass,
fate has assigned us to different quarters of the world and I have not
been able to pay my respects to you. Touching the death of your noble
father, the Marquis, it was owing to the vicious nature of Chang Kʻai
and due to no fault of Tʻao Kung-tsu. Now while the remnant of the
Yellow Turbans is disturbing the provinces and Tung Cho’s partizans
have the upper hand in the capital, I would that you, illustrious Sir,
would regard the critical position of the Court rather than your
personal grievances and so divert your forces from the attack on
Hsüchou to the rescue of the State. Such would be for the happiness of
that city and the whole world.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao gave vent to a torrent of abuse. “Who is this Liu Pei that
he dares write and exhort me? Beside, he means to be satirical.”
He issued orders to put the bearer of the letter to death and to press
on the siege. But Kuo Chia remonstrated, “Liu Pei has come from afar to
help Tʻao and he is trying the effect of politeness before resorting to
arms. I pray you, my master, reply with fair words that his heart may
be lulled with a feeling of safety. Then attack with vigour and the
city will fall.”
Tsʻao found this advice good, so he spared the messenger telling him to
wait to carry back his reply. While this was going on a horseman came
with news of misfortune. Lü Pu had made a raid on Yenchou.
When Li and Kuo, the two partizans of Tung Cho, succeeded in their
attack on the capital Lü Pu had fled to Yüan Shu, who however looked
askance at him for his instability, and refused to receive him. Then he
had tried Yüan Shao, who had made use of him in an attack upon Chang
Yen in Chʻangshan. But his success filled him with pride and his
arrogant demeanour so annoyed the other commandants that Shao was on
the point of putting him to death. To escape this he had gone away to
Chang Yang, who accepted his services.
About this time Pʻang Hsü, who had been protecting Lü’s family since
his disappearance, restored them to him, which deed angered Li and Kuo
so that they put Pʻang to death and wrote to Lü Pu’s protector to serve
him the same. To escape this Lü Pu once again had to flee and this time
joined himself to Chang Mo.
He arrived just as Chang Mo’s brother was introducing Chʻên Kung. Kung
said to Mo, “The disrupture of the Empire has begun and warriors are
seizing what they can. It is strange that you, with all the advantages
you enjoy, do not strike for independence. Tsʻao Tsʻao has gone on an
expedition against the east leaving his own district defenceless. Lü Pu
is one of the fighting men of the day. If you and he together attacked
and got Yenchow you could then proceed to the dominion.”
Chang Mo was pleased and resolved to try. Soon Lü Pu was in possession
of Yenchou and its neighbourhood, all but three small departments,
which were desperately defended. Tsʻao Jên had fought many battles but
was always defeated and the messenger with the evil tidings had come
from him asking help.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was greatly disturbed by this and said, “If my own city be
lost I have no home to return to. I must do something at once.”
“The best thing would be to become friends with Liu Pei at any cost and
return to Yenchou,” said Kuo Chia.
Then he wrote to Liu Pei, gave the letter to the waiting messenger and
broke camp. The news that the enemy had left was very gratifying to the
Prefect, who then invited his various defenders into the city and
prepared banquets and feasts in token of his gratitude.
At one of these, when the feasting was over, he proceeded with his
scheme of retirement in favour of Liu Pei. Placing him in the seat of
highest honour he bowed before him and then addressed the assembly.
“I am old and feeble and my two sons lack the ability to hold so
important an office as this. The noble Liu is a descendant of the
imperial house. He is of lofty virtue and great talent. Let him then
take over the rule of this district and only too willingly I shall
retire to have leisure to nurse my health.”
Liu Pei replied, “I came at the request of Kʻung Wên-chü because it was
the right thing to do. Hsüchou is saved, but if I take it surely the
world will say I am a wicked man.”
Mi Chu said, “You may not refuse. The House of Han is failing, their
realm is crumbling and now is the time for doughty deeds and signal
services. This is a fertile district, well populated, and you are the
man to rule over it.”
“But I dare not accept.”
“The Prefect is a great sufferer,” said Chʻên Têng, “and cannot see to
matters. You may not decline, Sir.”
Said Yüan-tê, “Yüan Shu belongs to a family of rulers and the highest
offices of state were held four times in three generations. The whole
empire respects him, why not invite him to this task?”
“Because he is a rotting bone in a dark tomb; not worth talking about.
This opportunity is a gift from Heaven and you will never cease to
regret its loss,” said Kʻung.
So spake Kʻung Jung, but still Liu Pei obstinately refused. Tʻao Chʻien
besought him with tears. “I shall die if you leave me and there will be
none to close my eyes.”
“Brother, you should accept the offer thus made,” said Kuan Yü.
“Why so much fuss?” said Chang Fei. “We have not taken the place; it is
he who wishes to give it you.”
“You all persuade me to do what is wrong,” said Liu Pei.
Thrice did Tʻao entreat Liu Pei and thrice was he refused. Then he
said, “As he is set in his determination perhaps he will consent to
encamp at Hsiaopʻei. It is only a little town, but thence he can keep
watch and ward over this city.”
They all with one voice prayed Liu Pei to consent so he gave in. The
feast of victory being now ended the time came to say farewell. When
Chao Yün took his leave Liu Pei held his hands alternately while
dashing away the falling tears. Kʻung Jung and his leader went home to
their own place.
When Liu Pei and his brothers took up their abode in Hsiaopʻei, they
first repaired the defences and then they put out proclamations in
order to calm the inhabitants.
In the meantime Tsʻao Tsʻao had marched toward his own district. His
cousin, Tsʻao Jên, met him and told him Lü Pu was very strong and he
had Chʻên Kung as adviser. Yenchou was as good as lost, with the
exception of three small districts which had been desperately defended.
Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “I own that Lü Pu is a bold fighter but nothing more;
he has no craft. So we need not fear him seriously.”
Then he gave orders to make a strong camp till they could think out
some victorious plan. Lü Pu, knowing of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s return, called
two of his subordinate captains, Hsüeh Lan and Li Fêng, to him and
assigned to them the task of holding Yenchou, saying “I have long
waited for opportunity to employ your skill: now I give you a legion
and you are to hold the city while I go forth to attack Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
They made no objection. But Chʻên Kung, the strategist, came in hastily
saying, “You are going away; whither?”
“I am going to camp my men at Puyang, that vantage point.”
“You are making a mistake,” said Chʻên Kung. “The two you have chosen
to defend this are unequal to the task. For this expedition remember
that about one hundred and eighty li due south, on the road to
Tʻaishan, is a very advantageous position where you should place your
best men in ambush. Tsʻao Tsʻao will hasten homeward by double marches
when he hears what has happened and if you strike when half his men
have gone past this point you may seize him.”
Said Lü Pu, “I am going to occupy Puyang and see what develops. How can
you guess?”
So he left the two captains in command at Yenchou and went away.
Now when Tsʻao Tsʻao approached the dangerous part of the road near
Tʻaishan, Kuo Chia warned him to take care as there was doubtless an
ambush. But his master laughed, “We know all his dispositions. Do you
think he has laid an ambush? I shall tell Tsʻao Jên to besiege Yenchou
and I shall go to Puyang.”
When Chʻên Kung heard of the enemy’s approach he spoke, saying “The
enemy will be fatigued with long marches so attack quickly before they
have time to recover.”
Lü Pu replied, “I, a single horseman, am afraid of none. I go and come
as I will. Think you I fear this Tsʻao Tsʻao? Let him settle his camp;
I will take him after that.”
Now Tsʻao Tsʻao neared Puyang and he made a camp. And soon after he led
out his commanders and they arrayed their men in open and desert
country. Tsʻao Tsʻao took up his station on horseback between the two
standards, watching while his opponents arrived and formed up in a
circular area. Lü Pu was in front, followed by eight of his captains,
all strong men. Two were called Chang Liao and Tsang Pa; and there were
six others. They had five legions.
The drums began their thunderous roll and Tsʻao, pointing to his
opponent, said, “You and I had no quarrel, why then did you invade my
land?”
“The Empire of Han is the possession of all; what is your special
claim?” said Lü.
So saying he ordered Tsang Pa to ride forth and challenge. From Tsʻao’s
side the challenge was accepted by Yo Chin. The two steeds approached
each other, two spears were lifted both together and they exchanged
near two score blows with no advantage to either. Then Hsiahou Tun rode
out to help his colleague and, in reply, out went Chang Liao from Lü
Pu’s side. And they four fought.
Then fierce anger seized upon Lü Pu. Setting his spear he urged his
steed forward to where the fight was waging. Seeing him approach
Hsiahou and Yo both fled, but Lü Pu pressed on after them and Tsʻao
Tsʻao’s army lost the day. Retiring a long way they made a new camp. Lü
Pu called in and mustered his men.
The day having gone against him Tsʻao Tsʻao called a council and Yü
Chin said, “From the hill tops to-day I saw a camp of our enemies on
the west of Puyang. They were but few men therein, and to-night after
to-day’s victory, it will not be defended. Let us attack and if we can
take the camp we shall strike fear into the heart of Lü Pu. This is our
best plan.”
Tsʻao thought so too. He and six of his lieutenants and two legions
left that night by a secret road for the camp.
In Lü Pu’s camp was rejoicing for that day’s victory when Chʻên Kung
reminded him of the west camp and its importance, and said that it
might be attacked, Lü Pu replied that the enemy would not dare approach
after that day’s defeat.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao is a very able commander,” replied Kung. “You must keep a
good lookout for him lest he attack our weak spot.”
So arrangements were made for defence. At dusk Tsʻao Tsʻao reached the
camp and began an immediate attack on all four sides. The defenders
could not hold him off. They ran in all directions and the camp was
captured. Near the fourth watch, when the party told off to help defend
the camp reached it, Tsʻao Tsʻao sallied forth to meet them and met Kao
Shun. Another battle then began and waged till dawn. About that time a
rolling of drums was heard in the west and they told Tsʻao that Lü Pu
himself was at hand. Thereupon Tsʻao Tsʻao abandoned the attack and
fled.
They pursued him, Lü Pu taking the lead. Two of Tsʻao’s lieutenants
attacked the pursuers but could not check them. Tsʻao went away north.
But from behind some hills came out more of Lü Pu’s army and as they
could not be beaten off Tsʻao sought safety in the west. Here again his
retreat was barred.
The fight became desperate. Tsʻao Tsʻao dashed at the enemy’s array.
The din was terrible. Arrows fell like pelting rain upon them and they
could make no headway. He was desperate and cried out in fear, “Who can
save me?”
Then from the crush dashed out Tien Wei with his double lance, crying
“Fear not, my master.” He leapt from his steed, leaned his double lance
against a wall and laid hold of a handful of darts. Turning to his
followers he said, “When the ruffians are at ten paces, call out to
me.”
Then he set off with mighty strides, plunging forward careless of the
flying arrows. Lü Pu’s horsemen followed and when they got near the
followers shouted, “Ten paces!”
“Five, then call!” shouted back Tien Wei, and went on.
Presently, “Five paces!”
Then Tien Wei spun round and flung the darts. With every fling a man
fell from the saddle and never a dart missed.
Having thus slain half a score the remainder fled and Tien quickly
remounted his steed, set his twin lance and rushed again into the fight
with a vigour that none could withstand. One by one his opponents
yielded and he was able to lead Tsʻao Tsʻao safely out of the press of
battle. Tsʻao and his captains went to their camp.
But as evening fell the noise of pursuit fell on their ears and soon
appeared Lü Pu himself. “Tsʻao, you rebel, do not flee!” shouted he as
he approached with his halberd ready for a thrust.
All stopped and looked in each others’ faces: the men were weary, their
steeds spent. Fear smote them and they looked around for some place of
refuge.
You may lead your lord safely out of the press,
But what if the enemy follow?
We cannot say here what Tsʻao Tsʻao’s fate was, but the next chapter
will relate.
CHAPTER XII.
THE PREFECT TʻAO THRICE OFFERS HIS CHARGE:
TSʻAO TSʻAO FIGHTS A GREAT BATTLE.
The last chapter closed with Tsʻao Tsʻao in great danger. However, help
came. Hsiahou Tun with a small body of soldiers found his chief,
checked the pursuit, and fought with Lü Pu till dusk. Rain fell in
torrents swamping everything and as the daylight waned they drew off
and Tsʻao Tsʻao reached camp. He rewarded Tien Wei richly and advanced
him in rank.
When Lü Pu reached his camp he called in his adviser Chʻên Kung. The
latter proposed a new stratagem. He said, “In Puyang there is a rich
family, Tʻien by name, who number thousands, enough to populate a whole
district in themselves. Make one of these people go to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
camp with a pretended secret letter about Lü Pu’s ferocity, and the
hatred of the people, and their desire to be rid of him. End by saying
that only Kao Shun is left to guard the city and they would help any
one who would come to save them. Thus our enemy will be inveigled into
the city and we will destroy him either by lire or ambush. His skill
may be equal to encompassing the universe but he will not escape.”
Lü Pu thought this trick might be tried and they arranged for the Tʻien
family letter to be sent. Coming soon after the defeat, when Tsʻao
Tsʻao felt uncertain what step to take next, the secret letter was read
with joy. It promised help and said the sign should be a white flag
with the word “Rectitude” written thereon.
“Heaven is going to give me Puyang,” said Tsʻao joyfully. So he
rewarded the messenger very liberally and began to prepare for the
expedition.
Then came Liu Hua saying, “Lü Pu is no strategist but Chʻên Kung is
full of guile; I fear treachery in this letter and you must be careful.
If you will go, then enter with only one third your army leaving the
others outside the city as a reserve.”
Tsʻao agreed to take this precaution. He went to Puyang, which he found
gay with fluttering flags. Looking carefully he saw among them, at the
west gate, the white flag with the looked-for inscription. His heart
rejoiced.
That day, just about noon, the city gates opened and two bodies of
soldiers appeared as if to fight. Tsʻao Tsʻao told off two of his
captains to oppose them. Neither body, however, came on to engage but
fell back into the city. By this move the assailants had been drawn
close up to the drawbridge. From within the city several soldiers were
seen taking any chance of confusion to escape and come outside. To
Tsʻao Tsʻao they said they were clients of the Tʻien family and they
gave him secret letters stating the signal would be given about watch
setting by beating a gong. That would be the time to attack. The gates
would be opened.
So the rescuers were stationed and four trusty captains told off to
accompany Tsʻao Tsʻao into the city. One of these, Li Tien, pressed
upon his master the precaution of letting him go first. But Tsʻao Tsʻao
bade him be silent. “If I do not go, who will advance?” And so at the
time appointed he led the way. The moon had not yet arisen.
As he drew near the west gate they heard a crackling sound, then a loud
shouting, and then torches moved hither and thither. Next the gates
were thrown wide open and Tsʻao Tsʻao, whipping up his steed, galloped
in.
But when he reached the residence he noticed the streets were quite
deserted and then he knew he had been tricked. Wheeling round his horse
he shouted to his followers to retire. This was the signal for another
move. An explosion of a signal-bomb was heard close at hand and it was
echoed from every side in a deafening roar. Gongs and drums beat all
around with a roar like rivers rushing backward to their source and the
ocean boiling up from its depths. From two sides came bodies of
soldiers eager to attack.
Tsʻao dashed off toward the north only to find his way barred; he tried
for the south gate, but met enemies led by Kao Shun and Hou Chʻêng. His
trusty henchman Tien Wei, with fierce eyes and gritting teeth, at last
burst through and got out, with the enemy close after him.
But when he reached the drawbridge he glanced behind him and missed his
master. Immediately he turned back and cut his way inside. Just within
he met Li Tien.
“Where is our lord?” cried he.
“I am looking for him.”
“Quick! get help from outside,” shouted Tien Wei. “I will seek him.”
So one hastened for aid and the other slashed his way in, looking on
every side for Tsʻao Tsʻao. He was not to be found. Dashing out of the
city Tien Wei ran up against Yo Chin, who asked where their lord was.
“I have entered the city twice in search of him, but cannot find him,”
said Tien.
“Let us go in together,” said Yo Chin.
They rode up to the gate. But the noise of bombs from the gate tower
frightened Yo Chin’s horse, so that it refused to pass. Wherefore Tien
Wei alone went in, butting through the smoke and dashing through the
flames. But he got in and searched on every side.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao saw his sturdy protector cut his way out and disappear
leaving him surrounded, he again made an attempt to reach the north
gate. On the way, sharply outlined against the glow, he saw the figure
of Lü Pu coming toward him with his halberd ready to kill. Tsʻao Tsʻao
covered his face with his hand, whipped up his steed and galloped past.
But Lü Pu came galloping up behind him and tapping him on the helmet
with the halberd cried, “Where is Tsʻao Tsʻao?”
Tsʻao turned and, pointing to a dun horse well ahead, cried, “There; on
that dun! that’s he.”
Hearing this Lü Pu left pursuing Tsʻao Tsʻao to gallop after the rider
of the dun.
Thus relieved Tsʻao Tsʻao set off for the east gate. Then he fell in
with Tien Wei, who took him under his protection and fought through the
press leaving a trail of death behind till they reached the gate. Here
the fire was raging fiercely and burning beams were falling on all
sides. The earth element seemed to have interchanged with the fire
element. Tien Wei warded off the burning pieces of wood with his lance
and rode into the smoke making a way for his lord. Just as they were
passing through the gate a flaming beam fell from the gate tower. Tsʻao
just warded it off with his arm but it struck his steed on the quarters
and knocked him down. Tsʻao’s hand and arm were badly burned and his
hair and beard singed.
Tien Wei turned back to his rescue. Luckily Hsiahou Yüan came along
just then and the two raised Tsʻao and set him on Yüan’s horse. And
thus they got him out of the burning city. But the fighting went on
till daybreak.
Tsʻao Tsʻao returned to his camp. His officers crowded about his tent,
anxious for news of his health. He soon recovered and laughed when he
thought of his escape.
“I blundered into that fool’s trap, but I will have my revenge,” said
he.
“Let us have a new plan soon,” said Kuo Chia.
“I will turn his trick to my own use. I will spread the false report
that I was burned in the fire and that I died at the fifth watch. He
will come to attack as soon as the news gets abroad and I will have an
ambush ready for him in Maling Hills. I will get him this time.”
“Really a fine stratagem!” said Kuo.
So the soldiers were put into mourning and the report went everywhere
that Tsʻao Tsʻao was dead. And soon Lü Pu heard it and he assembled his
men at once to make a surprise attack, taking the road by the Maling
Hills to his enemy’s camp.
As he was passing the hills he heard the drums beating for an advance
and the ambushed soldiers leapt out all round him. Only by desperate
fighting did he get out of the mêlée and with a sadly diminished force
returned to his camp at Puyang. There he strengthened the
fortifications and could not be tempted forth to battle.
This year locusts suddenly appeared and they consumed every green
blade. There was a famine and in the east grain rose to fifty “strings”
a hu (bushel). People even took to cannibalism. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army
suffered from want and he marched them to Chuangchʻêng. Lü Pu took his
men to Shanyang. Perforce therefore the fighting ceased.
It is time to return to Hsüchou. Tʻao Chʻien, over sixty years of age,
suddenly fell seriously ill and he summoned his confident, Mi Chu, to
his chamber to make arrangements for the future. As to the situation
the adviser said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao abandoned his attack on this place
because of his enemy’s seizure of Yenchou and now they are both keeping
the peace solely because of the famine. But Tsʻao will surely renew the
attack in the spring. When Liu Yüan-tê refused to allow you to vacate
office in his favour you were in full vigour. Now you are ill and weak
and you can make this a reason for retirement. He will not refuse
again.”
So a message was sent to the little garrison town calling Liu Pei to a
counsel on military affairs. This brought him with his brothers and a
slender escort. He was at once called in to the sick man’s chamber.
Quickly disposing of the enquiries about his health Tʻao soon came to
the real object of his call for Liu Pei.
“Sir, I asked you to come for the sole reason that I am dangerously ill
and like to die at any time. I look to you, illustrious Sir, to
consider the Hans and their Empire as more important than anything
else, and so to take over the symbols of office of this district, the
commission and the seal, that I may close my eyes in peace.”
“You have two sons, why not depute them to relieve you?” said Liu Pei.
“Both lack the requisite talents. I trust you will instruct them after
I have gone, but do not let them have the guidance of affairs.”
“But I am unequal to so great a charge.”
“I will recommend to you one who could assist you. He is Sun Chʻien who
could be appointed to some post.”
Turning to Mi Chu he said, “The noble Liu here is the most prominent
man of the time and you should serve him well.”
Still would Liu Pei have put from him such a post, but just then the
Prefect, pointing to his heart to indicate his sincerity, passed away.
When the ceremonial wailings of the officials were over, the insignia
of office were brought to Liu Pei. But he would have none of them. The
following days the inhabitants of the town and country around crowded
into the residence bowing and with tears calling upon Liu to receive
the charge. “If you do not we cannot live in peace,” said they. To
these requests his brothers added their persuasion, till at length he
consented to assume the administrative duties. He forthwith appointed
Sun and Mi as his official advisers and Chʻên Têng his secretary. His
guard came up from Hsiaopʻei and he put forth proclamations to reassure
the people.
He also attended to the burial ceremonies, he and all his army dressing
in mourning. After the fullest sacrifices and ceremonies a burial place
for the late Prefect was found close to the source of the Yellow River.
The dead man’s testament was forwarded to Court.
The news of the events in Hsüchou duly reached the ears of Tsʻao Tsʻao,
then in Chüanchʻêng. Said he, angrily, “I have missed my revenge. This
Liu has simply stepped into command of the district without expending
half an arrow; he sat still and attained his desire. But I will put him
to death and then dig up Tʻao’s corpse in revenge for the death of my
noble father.”
Orders were issued for the army to prepare for a new campaign against
Hsüchou. But an adviser, Hsün Yü, remonstrated with Tsʻao saying, “When
the founder of the Han dynasty secured Kuanchung and his illustrious
successor on the throne, Kuang-wu, took Honei, they both first
consolidated their position whereby they could command the whole
Empire. Their whole progress was from success to success. Hence they
accomplished their great designs in spite of difficulties. Illustrious
Sir, your Kuanchung and your Honei are Yenchow, which you had first,
and Hochi which is of the utmost strategic value. If you undertake this
expedition against Hsüchou leaving many men here, you will not
accomplish your design; if you leave too few, Lü Pu will fall upon us.
And finally if you lose this and fail to gain Hsüchou whither will you
retire? That prefecture is not vacant. Although Tʻao has gone, Liu Pei
holds it, and since the people support him they will fight to the death
for him. To abandon this place for that is to exchange the great for
the small, to barter the trunk for the branches, to leave safety and
run into danger. I would implore you to reflect well.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “It is not a good plan to keep soldiers idle here
during such scarcity.”
“If that is so it would be more advantageous to attack the east and
feed your army on their supplies. Some remnant of the Yellow Turbans
are there with stores and treasures of all kinds that they have amassed
by plundering wherever they could. Rebels of their stamp are easily
broken. Break them, and you can feed your army with their grain.
Moreover, both the Court and the common people will join in blessing
you.”
This new design appealed strongly to Tsʻao Tsʻao and he quickly began
his preparations to carry it out. He left Hsiahou Tun and Tsʻao Jên to
guard Chüanchʻêng while his main body, under his own command, marched
to seize Chʻênchʻêng. This done they went to Juying.
Now when the Yellow Turbans knew that Tsʻao Tsʻao was approaching they
came out in a great body to oppose him. They met at Goat Hill. Though
the rebels were numerous, they were a poor lot, a mere pack of foxes
and dogs without organisation and lacking discipline. Tsʻao Tsʻao
ordered his strong archers and vigorous crossbowmen to keep them in
check.
Tien Wei was sent out to challenge. The rebel leader chose a
second-rate champion for his side, who rode out and was vanquished in
the third bout. Then Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army pushed forward and they made a
camp at Goat Hill.
The following day the rebel Huang Shao himself led forth his army and
made his battle array along a circle. A leader advanced on foot to
offer combat. He wore a yellow turban on his head and a green robe. His
weapon was an iron mace. He shouted, “I am Ho Man the Yakcha who shoots
across the sky; who dare fight with me?”
Tsʻao Hung uttered a great shout and jumped from the saddle to accept
the challenge. Sword in hand he advanced on foot and the two engaged in
fierce combat in the face of both armies. They exchanged some scores of
blows, neither gaining the advantage. Then Tsʻao Hung feigned defeat
and ran away. Ho Man went after him. Just as he closed Hung tried a
feint and then suddenly wheeling about, wounded his adversary. Another
slash, and Ho Man lay dead.
At once Li Tien dashed forward into the midst of the enemy and laid
hands on the rebel chief whom he carried off captive. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s men
then set on and scattered the rebels. The spoil of treasure and food
was immense.
The other leader, Ho I, fled with a few horsemen toward Kopei.
While on their road thither there suddenly appeared a force led by a
certain swashbuckler, who shall be nameless for the moment. This bravo
was a shortish man, thickset and stout, with a waist ten span in girth.
He used a long sword.
He barred the way of retreat. The rebel leader set his spear and rode
toward him. But at the first encounter the bravo caught him under his
arm and bore him off a prisoner. All his men were terror-stricken,
dropped from their horses and allowed themselves to be bound. Then the
victor drove them like cattle into an enclosure with high banks.
Presently Tien Wei, still pursuing the rebels, reached Kopei. The
swashbuckler went out to meet him.
“Are you also a Yellow Turban?” said Tien Wei.
“I have some hundreds of them prisoners in an enclosure here.”
“Why not bring them out?” said Tien.
“I will if you win this sword from my hand.”
This annoyed Tien Wei who attacked him. They engaged and the combat
lasted for two long hours and then was still undecided. Both rested a
while. The swashbuckler was the first to recover and renewed the
challenge. They fought till dusk and then, as their horses were quite
spent, the combat was once more suspended.
In the meantime some of Tien Wei’s men had run off to tell the story of
this wondrous fight to Tsʻao Tsʻao who hastened in amazement, followed
by many officers to watch it and see the result.
Next day the unknown warrior rode out again and Tsʻao Tsʻao saw him. In
his heart he rejoiced to see such a doughty hero and desired to gain
his services for his own side. So he bade his champion feign defeat.
Tien Wei rode out in answer to the challenge and some score of bouts
were fought. Then Tien Wei turned and fled toward his own side. The
bravo followed and came quite close. But a flight of arrows drove him
away.
Tsʻao Tsʻao hastily drew off his men for some distance and then
secretly sent a certain number to dig a pitfall and sent hookmen to lie
in ambush.
The following day Tien Wei was sent out with a small company of horse.
His adversary nothing loth came to meet him.
“Why does the defeated leader venture forth again?” cried he laughing.
The swashbuckler spurred forward to join battle but Tien Wei, after a
faint show of fighting, turned his horse and rode away. His adversary
intent upon capture, took no care and he and his followers all
blundered into the pitfall. The hookmen took them all captive, bound
them and carried them before their chief.
As soon as he saw the prisoners, Tsʻao advanced from his tent, sent
away the soldiers and with his own hands loosened the leader’s bonds.
Then he brought out clothing and dressed him, bade him be seated and
asked who he was and whence he came.
“I am named Hsü Chʻu, and by my near friends called Chungkʻang. I am
from Chao. [4] When the rebellion broke out I and my relations built a
stronghold within a rampart for protection. One day the robbers came
but I had stones ready for them. I told my relatives to keep on
bringing them up to me and I threw them, hitting somebody every time I
threw. This drove off the robbers.”
“Another day they came and we were short of grain. So I agreed with
them to an exchange of plough oxen against grain. They delivered the
grain and were driving away the oxen when the beasts took fright and
tore off to their pens. I seized two of them by the tail, one with each
hand, and hauled them backwards a hundred or so paces. The robbers were
so amazed that they thought no more about oxen but went their way. So
they never troubled us again.”
“I have heard of your mighty exploits,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. “Will you
join my army?”
“That is my strongest desire,” said Hsü.
So he called up his clan, some hundreds in all, and they formally
submitted to Tsʻao Tsʻao. The strong man received the rank of Tu-yü and
received ample rewards. The two rebel leaders were executed.
Juying being now perfectly quiet Tsʻao Tsʻao withdrew his army. His
lieutenants came out to welcome him and they told him that spies had
reported Yenchou to be left defenceless, all its garrison having given
themselves up to plundering the surrounding country, and they wanted
him to go against it without loss of time. “With these soldiers fresh
from victory the city will fall at a tap of the drum,” said they.
So the army was marched to the city. An attack was quite unexpected but
the two leaders, Hsüeh and Li, hurried out their few soldiers to fight.
Hsü Chʻu, the latest recruit, said he wished to capture these two and
he would make of them an introductory gift.
The task was given him and he rode forth. Li Fêng with his halberd
advanced to meet Hsü Chʻu. The combat was brief as Li fell in the
second bout. His colleague retired with his men. He found the
drawbridge had been seized so that he could not get shelter within the
city. He led his men toward Chüyeh. He was followed and slain. His
soldiers scattered to the four winds. And thus Yenchou was recaptured.
Next an expedition was prepared to take Puyang. The army moved out in
perfect order with van leaders, commanders of the flanks and rear
guard. Tsʻao Tsʻao led the centre; Tien Wei and Hsü Chʻu were van
leaders. When they approached Puyang, Lü Pu wished to go out in person
and alone to attack but his adviser protested, begging him to await the
arrival of his officers.
“Whom do I fear?” said Lü.
So he threw caution to the winds and went. He met his foes and he began
to revile them. The redoubtable Hsü Chʻu went to fight with him, but
after a score of bouts neither combatant was any the worse.
“He is not the sort that one man can overcome,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao, and
he sent Tien Wei to assist. Lü Pu stood the double onslaught. Soon
after the flank commanders joined in and Lü Pu had six opponents. These
proved really too many for him so he turned his horse and rode back to
the city.
But when the members of the Tʻien family saw him coming back beaten
they raised the drawbridge. Pu shouted to open the gates, but the
Tʻiens said, “We have gone over to Tsʻao Tsʻao.” This was hard to hear
and the beaten man abused them roundly before he left. The faithful
Chʻên Kung got away through the east gate taking with him the general’s
family.
Thus Puyang came into Tsʻao Tsʻao’s hands and for their present
services the Tʻien family were pardoned their previous fault. However,
Liu Hua said that savage Lü Pu left alive was a great danger and he
should be hunted down. Wherefore Tsʻao Tsʻao determined to follow Lü Pu
to Tingtʻao whither he had gone for refuge.
Lü Pu and many of his captains were assembled in the city, but certain
of them were out foraging. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army arrived but did not
attack for many days and presently he withdrew a long way and made a
stockade. It was the time of harvest and he set his men to cut the
wheat for food. The spies having reported this to Lü Pu he came over to
see, but when he saw that Tsʻao Tsʻao’s stockade lay near a thick wood
he feared an ambush and retired. Tsʻao Tsʻao heard that he had come and
gone and guessed the reason.
“He fears an ambush in the wood,” said he. “We will set up flags there
and deceive him. There is a long embankment near the camp but behind it
there is no water. There we will lay an ambush to fall upon Lü Pu when
he comes to burn the wood.”
So he hid all his soldiers behind the embankment except half a hundred
drummers, and he got together many peasants to loiter within the
stockade as though it was empty.
Lü Pu rode back and told his adviser what he had seen. “This Tsʻao
Tsʻao is very crafty and full of wiles,” said the adviser; “great care
is necessary.”
“I will use fire this time and burn out his ambush,” said Lü Pu.
Next morning he rode out and there he saw flags flying everywhere in
the wood. He ordered his men forward to set fire on all sides. But to
his surprise no one rushed out to make for the stockade. Still he heard
the beating of drums and doubt filled his mind. Suddenly he saw a party
of soldiers move out from the shelter of the stockade. He galloped over
to see what it meant.
Then the signal-bombs exploded; out rushed the men and all their
leaders dashed forward. Lü Pu was at a loss and fled into the open
country. One of his captains was killed by an arrow. Two thirds of his
men were lost and the beaten remainder went to tell Chʻên Kung what had
come to pass.
“We had better leave” said he. “An empty city cannot be held.”
So he and Kao Shun, taking their chief’s family with them, abandoned
Tingtʻao. When Tsʻao Tsʻao’s soldiers got into the city they met with
no resistance, one leader burned himself to death, the other fled to
Yüan Shu.
Thus the whole of Shantung fell under the power of Tsʻao Tsʻao.
How he tranquillised the people and rebuilt the cities will not be told
here. But Lü Pu in his retreat fell in with his foragers and Chʻên Kung
also rejoined him so that he was by no means broken.
“I have but few men,” said he, “but still enough to break Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
And so he retook the backward road.
Thus does fortune alternate, victory, defeat,
The happy conqueror to-day, to-morrow, must retreat.
What was the fate of Lü Pu will appear later.
CHAPTER XIII.
GREAT BATTLE BETWEEN LI TSʻUI AND KUO SSŬ:
THE EMPEROR RESCUED.
The last chapter told of the defeat of Lü Pu, and his gathering the
remnant of his army at Haipin. When all his lieutenants had joined him
he began to feel strong enough to try conclusions with Tsʻao Tsʻao once
again.
Said Chʻên Kung, who was opposed to this course, “He is too strong;
seek some place where you can rest a time before trying.”
“Suppose I went to Yüan Shao,” said Lü Pu.
“Send first to make enquiries.”
Lü Pu agreed. The news of the fighting between Tsʻao and Lü Pu had
reached Ichou and one of Yüan’s advisers, Shên Pʻei, warned him saying,
“If this savage Lü Pu gets possession of Yenchou he will certainly
attempt to add this district to it. For your own safety you should help
to crush him.”
Wherefore Yen Liang, with five legions, was sent. The spies heard this
and at once told Lü Pu, who was greatly disturbed and called in the
faithful Chʻên Kung.
“Go over to Liu Pei, who has lately succeeded to Hsüchou.”
Hence Lü Pu went thither. Some one urged Liu Pei to go out to meet such
a warrior and receive him with honour. Mi Chu was strongly against
receiving him at all saying he was a cruel, bloodthirsty beast.
But Pei replied, “How would misfortune have been averted from this
place if he had not attacked Yenchou? He cannot be our enemy now that
he comes seeking an asylum.”
“Brother, your heart is really too good. Although it may be as you say
yet it would be well to prepare,” said Chang Fei.
The new Prefect with a great following met Lü a long way outside the
city gates and the two chiefs rode in side by side. They proceeded to
the residence and there, after the elaborate ceremonies of reception
were over, they sat down to converse.
“After Wang Yün’s plot to slay Tung Cho and my misfortune in the Li-Kuo
sedition, I drifted about from one place to another and none of the
nobles seemed willing to receive me. When Tsʻao Tsʻao wickedly invaded
this district and you, Sir, came to its rescue, I aided you by
attacking Yenchou and thus diverting a portion of his force. I did not
think then that I should be the victim of a vile plot and lose my
leaders and my soldiers. But now if you will I offer myself to you that
we may together accomplish great designs.”
Liu Pei replied, “When the late Prefect died there was no one to
administer Hsüchou and so I assumed that task for a time. Now since you
are here, General, it is most suitable that I retire in your favour.”
Whereupon he handed the insignia and the seal to Lü Pu. Lü was on the
point of accepting them when he saw Kuan and Chang, who stood behind
the Prefect, glaring at him with angry eyes, so he put on a smile and
said, “Lü may be something of a fighting man but he could not rule a
place like this.”
Yüan-tê repeated his offer. Chʻên Kung said, “The strong guest does not
oppress his host. You need not fear, O Prince Elect.”
Then Yüan-tê desisted. Banquets were held and dwelling places prepared
for the guest and his retinue. As soon as convenient Lü Pu returned the
feast. Liu Pei went with his two brothers. Half through the banquet Lü
Pu requested his guest to retire to one of the inner private rooms,
whither the brothers followed him. There Lü Pu bade his wife and
daughters bow as to their benefactor. Here also Yüan-tê showed
excessive modesty and Pu said, “Good younger brother, you need not be
so very modest.”
Chang Fei heard what he said and his eyes glared. “What sort of a man
are you that dares call our brother, ‘younger brother’?” cried he. “He
is one of the ruling family (a golden branch, a jade leaf). Come out;
and I will fight you three hundred bouts for the insult.”
Yüan-tê hastily checked the impulsive one and Kuan Yü persuaded him to
go away. Then the host apologised saying, “My poor brother talks wildly
after he has been drinking. I hope you will not blame him.”
Lü Pu nodded, but said nothing. Soon after the guests departed. But as
the host escorted Liu Pei to his carriage he saw Chang Fei galloping up
armed as for a fray.
“Lü Pu, you and I will fight that duel of three hundred!” shouted he.
Liu Pei bade Kuan Yü check him. Next day Lü Pu came to take leave of
his host. “You, O Prince, kindly received me but I fear your brothers
and I cannot agree. So I will seek some other asylum.”
“General, if you go, my brother’s fault becomes grave. My rude brother
has offended and must eventually apologise. In the meantime what think
you of a temporary sojourn at the town where I was encamped for some
time, Hsiaopʻei? The place is small and mean, but it is near and I will
see to it that you are supplied with all you need.”
Lü Pu thanked him and accepted this offer. He led his men there and
took up residence. After he had gone Liu Pei buried his annoyance and
Chang Fei did not again refer to the matter.
That Tsʻao Tsʻao had subdued Shantung has been stated before. He
memorialised the throne and was rewarded with the title of General with
the epithet “Firm Virtue” and a marquisate. At this time the rebellious
Li Tsʻui had made himself Ta-ssŭ-ma, or Minister of War, and his
colleague styled himself Grand Commander. Their conduct was abominable
but no one dared to criticise them. The Tai-yü Yang Piao and the
Minister of Agriculture, Chu Chien, privately talked with the Emperor
Hsien and said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has twenty legions of soldiers and many
capable advisers and leaders; it would be well for the Empire if he
would lend his support to the imperial family and help to rid the
government of this evil party.”
His Majesty wept, “I am weary of the insults and contempt of these
wretches and should be very glad to have them removed,” said he.
“I have thought of a plan to estrange Li and Kuo and so make them
destroy each other. Then Tsʻao could come and cleanse the Court,” said
Piao.
“How will you manage it?” asked the Emperor.
“Kuo’s wife is very jealous and we can take advantage of her weakness
to bring about a quarrel.”
So Yang Piao received instruction to act, with a secret edict to
support him.
Piao’s wife made an excuse to visit Madam Kuo at her palace and, in the
course of conversation, said “There is talk of secret liaison between
the General, your husband, and the wife of the Minister Li. It is a
great secret, but if the Minister knew it he might try to harm your
husband. I think you ought to have very little to do with that family.”
Madam Kuo was surprised but said, “I have wondered why he has been
sleeping away from home lately, but I did not think there was anything
shameful connected with it. I should never have known if you had not
spoken. I must put a stop to it.”
By and by, when Madam Yang took her leave, her hostess thanked her
warmly for the information she had given.
Some days passed and Kuo Ssŭ was going over to the dwelling of his
colleague to a dinner. His wife did not wish him to go and she said,
“This Tsʻui is very deep and one cannot fathom his designs. You two are
not of equal rank and if he made away with you, what would become of
your poor handmaid?”
Kuo Ssŭ paid no attention and his wife could not prevail on him to stay
at home. Late in the afternoon some presents arrived from the Li palace
and Kuo’s wife secretly put poison into the delicacies before she set
them before her lord. He was going to taste at once but she said, “It
is unwise to consume things that come from outside. Let us try on a dog
first.”
They did and the dog died. This incident made Kuo doubt the kindly
intentions of his colleague.
One day, at the close of business at Court, Li invited Kuo to his
palace. After Kuo arrived home in the evening, rather the worse for too
much wine, he was seized with a colic. His wife said she suspected
poison and hastily administered an emetic, which relieved the pain. Kuo
Ssŭ began to feel angry.
“We did everything together and helped each other always. Now he wants
to injure me. If I do not get in the first blow, I shall suffer some
injury.”
So Kuo began to prepare his guard for any sudden emergency. This was
told to Li and he in turn grew angry, saying, “So Kuo is doing so and
so.”
Then he got his guard under way and came to attack Kuo. Both houses had
several legions and the quarrel became so serious that they fought a
pitched battle under the city walls. When that was over both sides
turned to plunder the people.
Then a nephew of Li’s suddenly surrounded the palace, put the Emperor
and Empress Dowager Fu in two carriages and carried them off. The
palace attendants were made to follow on foot. As they went out of the
rear gate they met Kuo’s army who began to shoot at the cavalcade with
arrows. They killed many attendants before Li’s army came up and forced
them to retire.
It is unnecessary to say how the carriages were got out of the palace
but they eventually reached Li’s camp, while Kuo’s men plundered the
palace and carried off all the women left there to their camp. Then the
palace was set on fire.
As soon as Kuo Ssŭ heard of the whereabouts of the Emperor he came over
to attack the camp. The Emperor between these two opposing factions was
greatly alarmed.
Slowly the Hans had declined but renewed their vigour with
Kuang-Wu,
Twelve were the rulers before him, followed him also twelve others.
Foolish were two of the latest, dangers surrounded the altars,
These were degenerate days, with authority given to eunuchs.
Then did Ho Chin the simple, the inept, who commanded the army,
Warriors call to the capital, wishing to drive out the vermin;
Though they drove out the leopard, tigers and wolves quickly
entered,
All kinds of evil were wrought by a low class creature from
Hsichou.
Wang Yün, honest of heart, beguiled this wretch with a woman,
Much desired of his henchman, thus sowing seeds of dissension.
Strife resulted, and peace no longer dwelt in the Empire.
No one suspected that Li and Kuo would continue the evil,
Much to the sorrow of China; yet they strove for a trifle.
Famine stalked in the palace, grief for the clashing of weapons;
Why did the warriors strive? Why was the land thus partitioned?
We had turned aside from the way appointed of Heaven.
Kings must ponder these things; heavy the burden lies on them,
Chiefest in all the realm theirs is no common appointment,
Should the King falter or fail, calamities fall on the people,
The Empire is drenched with their blood, grisly ruin surrounds
them.
Steeped in sorrow and sad, read I the ancient records,
Long is the tale of years; the tale of sorrow is longer.
Wherefore he who would rule, chiefly must exercise forethought.
This and his keen-edged blade, these must suffice to maintain him.
Kuo Ssŭ’s army arrived and Li Tsʻui went out to give battle. Kuo’s men
had no success and retired. Then Li Tsʻui removed the imperial captives
to Meiwu with his nephew as gaoler. Supplies were reduced and famine
showed itself on the faces of the eunuchs. The Emperor sent to Li to
request five measures of rice and five sets of bullock bones for his
attendants. Li angrily replied, “The Court gets food morning and
evening; why do they ask for more?”
He sent putrid meat and rotten grain and the Emperor was very vexed at
the new insult.
Yang Piao counselled patience. “He is a base creature but, under the
present circumstances, Your Majesty must put up with it. You may not
provoke him.”
The Emperor bowed and was silent, but the tears fell on his garments.
Suddenly some one came in with the tidings that a force of cavalry,
their sabres glittering in the sun, was approaching to rescue them.
Then they heard the gongs beat and the roll of the drums.
The Emperor sent to find out who it was. But it was Kuo Ssŭ, and the
sadness fell again. Presently arose a great din. For Li had gone out to
do battle with Kuo, whom he abused by name.
“I treated you well and why did you try to kill me?” said Li.
“You are a rebel, why should I not slay you?” cried Kuo.
“You call me rebel when I am guarding the Emperor?”
“You have abducted him; do you call that guarding?”
“Why so many words? Let us forgo a battle and settle the matter in
single combat, the winner to take the Emperor and go.”
They two fought in front of their armies but neither could prevail over
the other. Then they saw Yang Piao come riding up to them, crying,
“Rest a while, O Commanders! for I have invited a party of officers to
arrange a peace.”
Wherefore the two leaders retired to their camps. Soon Yang Piao, Sun
Chʻien and three score other officials came up and went to Kuo’s camp.
They were all thrown into confinement.
“We came with good intentions,” they moaned, “and we are treated like
this.”
“Li Tsʻui has run off with the Emperor but I have got his officers,”
said Kuo.
“What does it mean? One has the Emperor, the other his officers. What
do you want?” said the peace-maker, Yang Piao.
Kuo lost patience and drew his sword, but a certain Yang Mi persuaded
him not to slay the speaker. Then he released Yang Piao and Sun Chʻien;
but kept the others in the camp, “Here are we two officers of the
throne and we cannot help our lord. We have been born in vain,” said
Yang Piao.
Throwing their arms about each other they wept and fell swooning to the
earth. Sun Chʻien went home, fell seriously ill and died.
Thereafter the two adversaries fought every day for nearly three months
each losing many men.
Now Li Tsʻui was irreligious and practised magic. He often called
witches to beat drums and summon spirits, even when in camp. Chia Hsü
used to remonstrate with him, but quite uselessly.
A certain Yang Chi said to the Emperor, “That Chia Hsü, although a
friend of Li’s, never seems to have lost the sense of loyalty to Your
Majesty.”
Soon after Chia Hsü himself arrived. The Emperor sent away his
attendants and said to him weeping the while, “Can you not pity the
Hans and help me?”
Chia prostrated himself, saying, “That is my dearest wish. But, Sire,
say no more, let they servant work out a plan.”
The Emperor dried his tears and soon Li Tsʻui came in. He wore a sword
by his side and strode straight up to the Emperor, whose face became
the colour of clay. Then he spoke.
“Kuo Ssŭ has failed in his duty and imprisoned the court officers. He
wished to slay Your Majesty and you would have been captured but for
me.”
The Emperor joined his hands together in salute and thanked him. He
went away. Before long Huangfu Li entered and the Emperor, knowing him
as a man of persuasive tongue and that he came from the same district
as Li, bade him go to both factions to try to arrange peace. He
accepted the mission and first went to Kuo, who said he was willing to
release the officers if Li Tsʻui would restore the Emperor to full
liberty. He then went to the other side.
To Li he said, “Since I am a Hsiliang man the Emperor and the officers
have selected me to make peace between you and your adversary. He has
consented to cease the quarrel; will you agree to peace?”
“I overthrew Lü Pu; I have upheld the government for four years and
have many great services to my credit as all the world knows. That
other fellow, that horse-thief, has dared to seize the officers of
state and to set himself up against me. I have sworn to slay him. Look
around you. Do you not think my army large enough to break him?”
“It does not follow,” said Huangfu Li. “In ancient days in Yuchʻing,
Hou I, proud of and confident in his archer’s skill, gave no thought to
gathering difficulties and so perished. Lately you yourself have seen
the powerful Tung Cho betrayed by Lü Pu, who had received many benefits
at his hands. In no time his head was hanging over the gate. So you see
mere force is not enough to ensure safety. Now you are a General, with
the axes and whips and all the symbols of rank and high office, your
descendants and all your clan occupy distinguished positions. You must
confess that the State has rewarded you liberally. True, Kuo has seized
the officers of State, but you have done the same to “The Most
Revered.” Who is worse than the other?”
Li angrily drew his sword and shouted, “Did the Son of Heaven send you
to mock and shame me?”
But Yang Fêng checked him. “Kuo Ssŭ is still alive,” said he, “and to
slay the imperial messenger would be giving him a popular excuse to
raise an army against you. And all the nobles would join him.”
Others also persuaded Li and gradually his wrath cooled down. The
messenger of peace was urged to go away. But he would not be satisfied
with failure. He remained there and cried loudly, “Li Tsʻui will not
obey the Emperor’s command. He will kill his Prince to set up himself.”
Hu Miao tried to shut his mouth saying, “Do not utter such words. You
will only bring hurt upon yourself.”
But Huangfu Li shrieked at him also. “You also are an officer of state
and yet you even back up the rebel. When the prince is put to shame the
minister dies. If it be my lot to suffer death at the hands of Li
Tsʻui, so be it!”
And he maintained a torrent of abuse. The Emperor heard of the
incident, called in Huangfu Li and sent him away to his own country.
Now more than half Li Tsʻui’s men were from Hsiliang and he had also
the assistance of the Chʻiang, or tribes beyond the border. The stories
spread by Huangfu Li, that Li Tsʻui was a rebel and so were those who
helped him, and that there would be a day of heavy reckoning, were
readily believed and the soldiers were much disturbed. Li Tsʻui sent
one of his officers to arrest Huangfu Li, but the officer had a sense
of right and instead of carrying out his orders returned to say he
could not be found.
Chia Hsü tried to work on the feelings of the barbarian tribes. He said
to them. “The Emperor knows you are loyal to him and have bravely
fought and suffered. He has issued a secret command for you to go home
and then he will reward you.”
The tribesmen had a grievance against Li Tsʻui for not paying them, so
they listened readily to the insidious persuasions of Chia Hsü and
deserted. Then Chia represented to the Emperor the covetous nature of
Li and asked that honours be heaped upon him now that he was deserted
and enfeebled. So he was raised to the rank of President of a Board of
State. This delighted him greatly and he ascribed his promotion to the
potency of his wise women’s prayers and incantations. He rewarded those
people most liberally.
But his army was forgotten. Wherefore Yang Fêng was angry and he said
to one Sung Kuo, “We have taken all the risks and exposed ourselves to
stones and arrows in his service, yet instead of giving us any reward
he ascribes all the credit to those witches of his.”
“Let us put him out of the way and rescue the Emperor,” said Sung.
“You explode a bomb within as signal and I will attack from outside.”
So the two agreed to act together that very night in the second watch.
But they had been overheard and the eavesdropper told Li Tsʻui. The
traitorous Sung was seized and put to death. That night Yang waited
outside for the signal and while waiting, out came Li himself and found
him. Then a fight began, which lasted till the fourth watch. But Yang
Fêng got away and fled to Hsian (Sian) in the west.
But from this time Li Tsʻui’s army began to fall away and he felt more
than ever the losses caused by Kuo’s frequent attacks. Then came news
that Chang Chi, at the head of a large army, was coming down from the
west to make peace between the two factions. Chang said he would attack
the one who was recalcitrant. Li Tsʻui tried to gain favour by
hastening to send to tell Chang Chi he was ready to make peace. So did
Kuo Ssŭ.
So the strife of the rival factions ended at last and Chang Chi
memorialised asking the Emperor to go to Hungnung near Loyang. He was
delighted saying he had longed to go back to the east. Chang Chi was
rewarded with the title of General of Cavalry and was highly honoured.
He saw to it that the Emperor and the Court had good supplies of
necessaries. Kuo Ssŭ set free all his captive officers and Li Tsʻui
prepared transport for the Court to move to the east. He told off
companies of his veterans to escort the cavalcade.
The progress had been without incident as far as Hsinfung. Near Paling
the west wind of autumn came on to blow with great violence, but soon
above the howling of the gale was heard the trampling of a large body
of horse. They stopped at a bridge and barred the way.
“Who comes?” cried a voice.
“The Imperial Chariot is passing and who dares stop it?” said Yang Chi,
riding forward.
Two leaders advanced, “General Kuo has ordered us to guard the bridge
and stop all spies. You say the Emperor is here; we must see him and
then we will let you pass.” So the beaded curtain was raised and the
Emperor said, “I the Emperor am here. Why do you not retire to let me
pass, Gentlemen?” They all shouted, “Long Life! Long Life!” and fell
away to allow the cortège through.
But when they reported what they had done Kuo was very angry. “I meant
to outwit Chang Chi, seize the Emperor and hold him in Meiwu. Why have
you let him get away?”
He put the two officers to death and set out to pursue the cavalcade,
and overtook it just at Huayin. The noise of a great shouting arose
behind the travellers and a loud voice commanded the chariot to stop.
The Emperor burst into tears.
“Out of the wolf’s den into the tiger’s mouth!” said he.
No one knew what to do, they were all too frightened. But when the
rebel army was just upon them they heard the beating of drums and from
behind some hills came into the open a cohort of soldiers preceded by a
great flag bearing the well known name of that trusted leader, Yang
Fêng.
Now after Yang Fêng’s defeat he had camped under Chungnanshan and had
come up to guard the Emperor as soon as he knew of his journey. Seeing
it was necessary to fight now, he drew up his line of battle and Tsʻui
Jung, one of Kuo’s leaders, rode out and began a volley of abuse. Yang
Fêng turned and said, “Where is Kung-ming?”
In response out came a valiant warrior gripping a heavy battle-axe. He
galloped up on his fleet bay, making directly for Tsʻui Jung, whom he
felled at the first blow. At this the whole force dashed forward and
routed Kuo. The defeated army went back some twenty li, while Yang Fêng
rode forward to see the Emperor who graciously said, “It is a great
service you have rendered; you have saved my life.”
Yang bowed and thanked him and the Emperor asked to see the actual
slayer of the rebel leader. So he was led to the chariot where he bowed
and was presented as “Hsü Huang, also known as Hsü Kung-ming, of
Yangchün.”
Then the cavalcade went forward, Yang Fêng acting as escort as far as
Huayin the halting place for the night. The General there supplied them
with clothing and food and the Emperor passed the night in Yang Fêng’s
camp.
Next day Kuo Ssŭ, having mustered his men, appeared in front of the
camp and Hsü Huang rode out to engage. But Kuo threw his men out so
that they entirely surrounded the camp and the Emperor was in the
middle. The position was very critical, when help appeared in the
person of a galloping horseman from the south-east and the rebels fell
away. Then Hsü Huang smote them and so scored a victory.
When they had time to see their helper they found him to be Tung
Chʻêng, the “State Uncle.” The Emperor wept as he related his sorrows
and dangers.
Said Tung, “Be of good courage, Sire. We pledge ourselves to kill both
the rebels and so purify the world.”
The Emperor bade them travel east as soon as possible and so they went
on night and day till they reached their destination.
Kuo led his defeated army back and meeting Li Tsʻui told him of the
rescue of the Emperor and whither he was going. “If they reach Shantung
and get settled there, they will send out proclamations to the whole
country, calling up the nobles to attack us and we and our families
will be in danger.”
“Chang Chi holds Chʻangan and we must be careful. There is nothing to
prevent a joint attack on Hungnung when we can kill the Emperor and
divide the country between us,” said Li.
Kuo found this a suitable scheme, so their armies came together in one
place and united in plundering the countryside. Wherever they went they
left destruction behind them. Yang and Tung heard of their approach
when they were yet a long way off so they turned back to meet them and
fought the rebels at Tungchien.
The two rebels had previously made their plan. Since the loyal troops
were few as compared with their own horde they would overwhelm them
like a flood. So when the day of battle came they poured out covering
the hills and filling the plains. The two leaders devoted themselves
solely to the protection of the Emperor and the Empress. The officials,
the attendants, the archives and records and all the paraphernalia of
the Court were left to care for themselves. The rebels ravaged
Hungnung, but the two faithful soldiers got the Emperor safely away
into the north of Shênsi.
When the rebels showed signs of pursuit Yang and Tung sent to offer to
discuss terms of peace, at the same time sending a secret edict to
Hotung calling upon the old “White Wave General” Han and Li Yüeh and Hu
Tsʻai for help. Li Yüeh was actually a brigand but the need for help
was desperate.
These three being promised pardon for their faults and crimes and a
grant of official rank, naturally responded to the call and thus the
loyal side was strengthened so that Hungnung was recaptured. But
meanwhile the rebels laid waste whatever place they reached, slaying
the aged and weakly, forcing the strong to join their ranks. When going
into a fight they forced these people-soldiers to the front and they
called them the “Dare-to-die” soldiers.
The rebel force was very strong. When Li Yüeh, the late brigand,
approached, Kuo Ssŭ bade his men scatter clothing and valuables along
the road. The late robbers could not resist the temptation so a
scramble began. The rebels fell upon the disordered ranks and did much
damage. Yang and Tung could not save them so they took the Emperor away
to the north.
But the rebels pursued. Li Yüeh said, “The danger is grave. I pray Your
Majesty to mount a horse and go in advance.”
The Emperor replied, “I cannot bear to abandon my officers.”
They wept and struggled on as best they could. Hu Tsʻai was killed in
one attack. The enemy came very near and the Emperor left his carriage
and went on foot to the river where they sought a boat to ferry him to
the other side. The weather was very cold and the Emperor and Empress
cuddled up close to each other shivering. They reached the river but
the banks were too high and they could not get down into the boat. So
Yang Fêng proposed to fasten together the horses’ bridles and lower
down the Emperor slung by the waist. However, some rolls of white silk
were found and they rolled up the two imperial personages in the silk
and thus they lowered them down near the boat. Then Li Yüeh took up his
position in the prow leaning on his sword. The brother of the Empress
carried her on his back into the boat.
The boat was too small to carry everybody and those unable to get on
board clung to the cable, but Li Yüeh cut them down and they fell into
the water. They ferried over the Emperor and then sent back the boat
for the others. There was a great scramble to get on board and they had
to chop off the fingers and hands of those who persisted in clinging to
the boat.
The lamentation rose to the heavens. When they mustered on the farther
bank many were missing, not a score of the Emperor’s suite were left. A
bullock cart was found in which the Emperor travelled to Tayang. They
had no food and at night sought shelter in a poor, tile-roofed house.
The cottagers gave them some boiled millet but it was too coarse to be
swallowed.
Next day the Emperor conferred titles on those who had protected him so
far and they pushed on. Soon two officers of rank came up with the
cortège and they bowed before His Majesty with many tears. They were
Yang Piao and Han Jung. The Emperor and Empress lifted up their voices
and wept with them.
Said Han Jung to his colleague, “The rebels have confidence in my
words. You stay as guard of the Emperor and I will take my life in my
hands and try to bring about peace.”
After he had gone the Emperor rested for a time in Yang’s camp and then
was requested to make Anihsien the capital. But the town contained not
a single lofty building and the court lived in grass huts devoid even
of doors. They surrounded these with a fence of thorns as a protection,
and within this the Emperor held counsel with his ministers. The
soldiers camped round the fence.
Li Yüeh and his fellow ruffians showed their true colours. They wielded
the powers of the Emperor as they wished and officials who offended
them were beaten or abused even in the presence of the Emperor. They
purposely provided thick wine and coarse food for the Emperor’s
consumption. He struggled to swallow what they sent. Li Yüeh and Han
Hsien joined in recommending to the throne the names of convicts,
common soldiers, sorcerers, leeches and such people who thus obtained
official ranks. There were more than two hundred of such people. As
seals could not be engraved pieces of metal were hammered into some
sort of a shape.
Now Han Jung went to see the two rebels who listened to him and set
free the officials and palace people.
A famine occurred that same year and people were reduced to eating
grass from the roadside. Starving they wandered hither and thither but
food and clothing were sent to the Emperor from the surrounding
districts and the Court began to enjoy a little repose.
Tung Chʻêng and Yang Fêng sent workmen to restore the palaces in Loyang
with the intention of moving the Court thither. Li Yüeh was opposed to
this and when argued with, that Loyang was really the capital as
opposed to the paltry town of Ani, and removal would be but reasonable,
he wound up by saying, “You may get the Court to remove but I shall
remain here.”
But when the consent of the Emperor had been given and a start made Li
Yüeh secretly sent to arrange with Li Tsʻui and Kuo Ssŭ to capture him.
However, this plot leaked out and the escort so arranged as to prevent
such a thing and they pressed on to Chikuan as rapidly as possible. Li
heard this and without waiting for his colleagues to join him set out
to act alone.
About the fourth watch, just as the cavalcade was passing Chikuan, a
voice was heard shouting, “Stop those carriages! Li and Kuo are here.”
This frightened the Emperor greatly and his terror increased when he
saw the whole mountain side suddenly light up.
The rebel party, erstwhile split in twain,
To work their wicked will now join again.
How the Son of Heaven escaped this peril will be told in the next
chapter.
CHAPTER XIV.
TSʻAO MÊNG-TÊ MOVES THE COURT:
LÜ FÊNG-HSIEN RAIDS HSÜCHUN.
The last chapter closed with the arrival of Li Yüeh who shouted out
falsely that the army was that of the two arch rebels Li and Kuo come
to capture the imperial cavalcade. But Yang Fêng recognised the voice
of Li Yüeh and bade Hsü Huang go out to fight him. He went and in the
first bout the traitor fell. His men scattered and the travellers got
safely through Chikuan. Here the Prefect, Chang Yang, supplied them
plentifully with food and other necessaries and escorted the Emperor to
Chihtao. For his timely help the Emperor conferred upon Chang Yang the
rank of a Ta-ssŭ-ma, or President, and he went and camped at Yehwang.
Loyang was presently entered. Within the walls all was destruction. The
palaces and halls had been burned, the streets were overgrown with
grass and brambles and obstructed by heaps of ruins. The palaces and
courts were represented by broken roofs and toppling walls. A small
“palace” however was soon built and therein the officers of court
presented their congratulations, standing in the open air among thorn
bushes and brambles. The reign style was changed from Hsing-Pʻing to
Chien-An (firm tranquillity).
The year was a year of grievous famine. The Loyang people, even reduced
in numbers as they were to a few hundreds, had not enough to eat and
they prowled about stripping the bark off trees and grubbing up the
roots of plants to satisfy their starving hunger. Officers of the
Government of all but the highest ranks went out into the country to
gather fuel. Many people lay down and died quietly behind the ruined
walls of their houses. At no time during the decadence of Han did
misery press harder than at this period.
A poem written in pity for the sufferings of that time says:—
Mortally wounded, the serpent poured forth his life blood at
Mantang;
Blood-red pennons of war waved then in every quarter,
Chieftain with chieftain strove and raided each other’s borders,
’Midst the turmoil and strife the Kingship even was threatened.
Wickedness stalks in a country when the King is a weakling,
Brigandage always is rife, when a dynasty’s failing,
Had one a heart of iron, wholly devoid of feeling,
Yet would one surely grieve at the sight of such desolation.
The Tai-yü Yang Piao memorialised the Throne saying, “The decree issued
to me some time ago has never been acted upon. Now Tsʻao Tsʻao is very
strong in Shantung and it would be well to associate him in the
government that he might support the ruling house.”
The Emperor replied, “There was no need to refer to the matter again.
Send a messenger when you will.”
So the decree went forth and a messenger bore it into Shantung. Now
when Tsʻao had heard that the Court had returned to Loyang he called
together his advisers to consult. Hsün Yü laid the matter before him
and the council thus:—“Of old Duke Wen supported Prince Hsiang of the
Chou dynasty and all the feudal lords backed him. The founder of the
Hans won the popular favour by wearing mourning for the Emperor I (who
never really sat on the throne). Now the Emperor has been a fugitive on
the dusty roads. To take the lead in offering an army to restore him to
honour is to have an unrivalled opportunity to win universal regard.
But you must act quickly or some one will get in before you.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao understood and at once prepared his army to move. Just at
this moment an imperial messenger was announced with the very command
he wanted and he immediately set out.
At Loyang everything was desolate. The walls had fallen and there were
no means of rebuilding them, while rumours and reports of the coming of
Li and Kuo kept up a state of constant anxiety.
The frightened Emperor spoke with Yang Fêng saying, “What can be done?
There is no answer from Shantung and our enemies are near.”
Then Yang Fêng and Han Hsien said, “We, your ministers, will fight to
the death for you.”
Tung Chʻêng said, “The fortifications are weak and our military
resources small, so that we cannot hope for victory and what does
defeat mean? I see nothing better to propose than a move into
Shantung.”
The Emperor agreed to this and the journey began without further
preparation. There being few horses, the officers of the Court had to
march afoot. Hardly a bowshot outside the gate they saw a thick cloud
of dust out of which came all the clash and clamour of an advancing
army. The Emperor and his Consort were dumb with fear. Then appeared a
horseman; he was the messenger returning from Shantung. He rode up to
the chariot, made an obeisance and said, “General Tsʻao, as commanded,
is coming with all the military force of Shantung, but hearing that Li
and Kuo had again approached the capital he has sent Hsiahou Tun in
advance. With him are many capable leaders and five legions of proved
soldiers. They will guard Your Majesty.”
All fear was swept away. Soon after Hsiahou Tun and his staff arrived
and they were presented to the Emperor who graciously addressed them.
Then one came to say a large army was approaching from the east and at
the Emperor’s command Hsiahou Tun went to ascertain who these were. He
soon returned saying they were Tsʻao Tsʻao’s infantry.
In a short time Tsʻao Hung and his officers came to the chariot and
their names having been duly communicated the chief said, “When my
brother heard of the approach of the rebels he feared that the advance
guard he had sent might be too weak so he sent me to march quickly and
reinforce him.”
“General Tsʻao is indeed a trusty servant,” said the Emperor.
Orders were given to advance, the escort leading. By and by scouts came
to say that the rebels were coming up very quickly. The Emperor bade
Hsiahou Tun divide his force into two parts to oppose them, whereupon
the armies threw out two wings with cavalry in front and foot behind.
They attacked with vigour and beat off the rebels with great loss. Then
they begged the Emperor to return to Loyang and Hsiahou Tun guarded the
city.
Soon Tsʻao Tsʻao came with his great army and having got them duly
camped he went into the city to audience. He knelt at the foot of the
steps, but was called up hither to stand beside the Emperor and be
thanked.
Tsʻao replied, “Having been the recipient of great bounty thy servant
owes the State much gratitude. The measure of evil of the two rebels is
full, I have a score of legions of good soldiers to oppose them and
they are fully equal to securing the safety of Your Majesty and the
Throne. The preservation of the state sacrifice is the matter of real
moment.”
High honours were conferred on Tsʻao Tsʻao.
The two rebels wished to attack Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army while fatigued from
its long march, but their adviser Chia Hsü opposed this, saying there
was no hope of victory. In fact he advised submission. Li Tsʻui was
angry at the suggestion, saying that the adviser wished to dishearten
the army and drew his sword on Chia. But the other officers interceded
and saved him. That same night Chia stole out of the camp and, quite
alone, took his way home to his native village.
Soon the rebels decided to offer battle. Tsʻao sent out in reply a
small company of horse with three warriors as leaders. These dashed
into the rebels army but quickly retired. This manœuvre was repeated,
and again repeated before the real battle array was formed. Then Li
Hsien and Li Pieh, nephews of Li Tsʻui, rode out. At once from Tsʻao’s
side dashed out Hsü Chʻu and cut down the former. Li Pieh was so
startled that he fell out of the saddle. He too was slain. The victor
rode back to his own side with the two heads. When he offered them to
the chief, Tsʻao Tsʻao patted him on the back crying, “You are really
my Fan Kʻuai! (Preserver).”
Next a general move forward was made, Hsiahou Tun and Tsʻao Jên leading
the two wings and Tsʻao Tsʻao in the centre. They advanced to the roll
of the drum. The rebels fell back before them and presently fled. They
were pursued, Tsʻao himself leading, sword in hand. Many were killed
and many more surrendered. The two leaders went west, flying in panic
like dogs from a falling house. Having no place of refuge they took to
the hills and hid among the brushwood.
The army returned and camped again near the city. Then Yang Fêng and
Han Hsien said one to another, “This Tsʻao has done a great service and
he will be the man in power. There will be no place for us.” So they
represented to the Emperor that they wished to pursue the rebels and
under this excuse withdrew and camped at Taliang.
One day the Emperor sent to summon Tsʻao Tsʻao to audience. The
messenger was called in. Tsʻao noticed that he looked remarkably well
and could not understand it seeing that everyone else looked hungry and
famine stricken. So he said, “You look plump and well, Sir, how do you
manage it?”
“Only this; I have lived maigre for thirty years.”
Tsʻao nodded. “What office do you hold?”
“I am a graduate. I had an office under Yüan Shao, but came here when
the Emperor returned. Now I am one of the secretaries. I am a native of
Tingtʻao called Tung Chao.”
Tsʻao got up from his place and crossed over saying, “I have heard of
you. How happy I am to meet you!”
Then wine was brought into the tent and Hsün Yü was called in and
introduced. While they were talking a man came in to report that a
party was moving eastward. Orders were given to find out whose men
these were but the visitor knew at once. “They are old leaders under
the rebels, Yang Fêng and the “White Wave General” Han. They are
running off because you have come, Illustrious Sir!”
“Do they mistrust me?” said Tsʻao.
“They are not worthy of your attention. They are a poor lot.”
“What of this departure of Li and Kuo?”
“Tigers without claws, birds without wings will not escape you very
long. They are not worth thinking about.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao saw that he and his guest had much in common so he began to
talk of affairs of State.
Said Tung Chao, “You, Illustrious Sir, with your noble army have swept
away rebellion and have become the mainstay of the throne, an
achievement worthy of the five chieftains. But the officials will look
at it in very different ways and not all favourably to you. I think you
would not be wise to remain here and I advise a change of capital to
Hsütu in Honan. However, it must be remembered that the restoration of
the capital has been published far and wide and the attention of all
the people is concentrated on Loyang, hoping for a period of rest and
tranquillity. Another move will displease many. However, the
performance of extraordinary service may mean the acquisition of
extraordinary merit. It is for you to decide.”
“Exactly my own inclination!” said Tsʻao Tsʻao, seizing his guest’s
hand. “But are there not dangers? Yang Fêng at Taliang and the Court
officials?”
“That is easily managed. Write to Yang and set his mind at rest. Say
plainly that there is no food in the capital here and so you are going
to another place where there is, and where there is no danger of
scarcity. When the higher officials hear it they will approve.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao had now decided and as his guest took leave he seized his
hands once more saying, “All my success I shall only owe to you.”
Tung Chao thanked and left. Thereafter Tsʻao and his advisers secretly
discussed the change of capital.
Now as to that a certain official named Wang Li, who was a student of
astrology, said to one Liu Ai, “I have been studying the stars. Since
last spring Venus has been nearing the ‘Guard’ star in the
neighbourhood of the ‘Measure,’ and the ‘Cowherd’ [5] crossing the
River of Heaven. [6] Mars has been retrograding and came into
conjunction with Venus in the Gate of Heaven, [7] so that ‘Metal’ and
‘Fire’ are mingled. Thence must emerge a new ruler. The aura of the
Hans is exhausted and Chin and Wei must increase.”
A secret memorial was presented to the Emperor Hsien saying, “The
Mandate of Heaven has its course and the five elements are out of
proportion. ‘Earth’ is attacking ‘Fire’ and the successor to the Empire
of Han is in Wei.”
Tsʻao heard of these sayings and memorials and sent a man to the
astrologer to say, “Your loyalty is well known, but the ways of Heaven
are past finding out. The less said the better.”
Hsün, the adviser, expounded the meaning thus: “The virtue of Han was
fire; your element is earth. Hsütu is under the influence of earth and
so your fortune depends on getting there. Fire can overcome earth, as
earth can multiply wood. Tung Chao and the astrologer agree and you
have only to bide your time.”
So Tsʻao made up his mind. Next day at Court he said, “The capital is
deserted and cannot be restored nor can it be supplied easily with
food. Hsütu is a noble city, standing close to a fruitful district. It
is everything that a capital should be. I venture to request that the
Court move thither.”
The Emperor dared not oppose and the officials were too overawed to
have any independent opinion so they chose a day to set out. Tsʻao
commanded the escort and the officials all followed. When they had
travelled a few stages they saw before them a high mound and from
behind this there arose the beating of drums. Then Yang and Han came
out and barred the way. In front of all stood Hsü Huang, who shouted,
“Tsʻao Tsʻao is stealing away the Emperor!”
Tsʻao rode out and took a good look at this man. He seemed a fine
fellow and in his secret soul Tsʻao greatly admired him, although he
was an enemy. Then he ordered Hsü Chʻu to go and fight him. The combat
was axe against broadsword and the two men fought more than half a
hundred bouts without advantage to either side. Tsʻao then beat the
gongs and drew off his men.
In the camp a council was called. Tsʻao said, “The two rebels
themselves need not be discussed; but Hsü Huang is a fine captain and I
was unwilling to use any great force against him. I want to win him
over to our side.”
An officer, Man Chʻung, replied, “Do not let that trouble you; I will
have a word with him. I shall disguise myself as a soldier this evening
and steal over to the enemy’s camp to talk to him. I shall incline his
heart toward you.”
That night Man Chʻung, duly disguised, got over to the other side and
made his way to the tent of Hsü Huang, who sat there by the light of a
candle. He was still wearing his coat of mail. Suddenly Chʻung ran out
in front and saluted saying, “You have been well since we parted, old
friend?”
Hsü jumped up in surprise, gazed into the face of the speaker a long
time and presently said, “What! you are Man Po-ning of Shanyang? What
are you doing here?”
“I am an officer in General Tsʻao’s army. Seeing my old friend out in
front of the army to-day I wanted to say a word to him. So I took the
risk of stealing in this evening and here I am.”
Hsü Huang invited him in and they sat down. Then said Man Chʻung,
“There are very few as bold as you on the earth; why then do you serve
such as your present chiefs? My master is the most prominent man in the
world, a man who delights in wise men and appreciates soldiers as every
one knows. Your valour to-day won his entire admiration and so he took
care that the attack was not vigorous enough to sacrifice you. Now he
has sent me to invite you to join him. Will you not leave darkness for
light and help him in his magnificent task?”
Hsü Huang sat a long time pondering over the offer. Then he said, with
a sigh, “I know my masters are doomed to failure, but I have followed
their fortunes a long time and do not like to leave them.”
“But you know the prudent bird selects its tree and the wise servant
chooses his master. When one meets a worthy master and lets him go one
is a fool.”
“I am willing to do what you say,” said Hsü, rising.
“Why not put these two to death as an introductory gift?” said Man.
“It is very wrong for a servant to slay his master. I will not do
that.”
“True; you are really a good man.”
Then Hsü, taking only a few horsemen of his own men with him, left that
night and deserted to Tsʻao Tsʻao. Soon some one took the news to Yang
Fêng, who at the head of a strong company of horsemen, set out to
capture the deserter. He called out to him to come back.
But when Yang was getting near he fell into an ambush. Suddenly the
whole mountain-side was lit up with torches and out sprang Tsʻao’s men,
he himself being in command. “I have been waiting here a long time; do
not run away,” cried he.
Yang Fêng was completely surprised and tried to draw off, but was
quickly surrounded. His colleague came to his rescue and a confused
battle began. Yang Fêng succeeded in escaping, while Tsʻao Tsʻao kept
up the attack on the disordered army. A great number of the rebels gave
in and the leaders found they had too few men left to maintain their
independence so they betook themselves to Yüan Shu.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao returned to camp the newly surrendered man was
presented and well received. Then again the cavalcade set out for the
new capital. In due time they reached it and they built palaces and
halls and an ancestral temple and an altar, terraces and public
offices. The walls were repaired, storehouses built and all put in
order.
Then came the rewards for Tsʻao Tsʻao’s adherents. Thirteen were raised
to rank of hou, or marquis. All good service was rewarded; certain
others again, who deserved it, were punished, all according to Tsʻao
Tsʻao’s sole decision. He himself was made a Generalissimo and Marquis
of Wupʻing. The advisers became Presidents of Boards and filled such
offices. Mao Chieh and Jên Hsün were put over the military stores. Tung
Chao was made magistrate of Loyang and Man Chʻung of Hsütu. All good
service received full recognition.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was then the one man of the Court. All memorials went first
to him and were then submitted to the Throne.
When State matters were in order a great banquet was given in his
private quarters to all Tsʻao’s advisers, and affairs outside the
capital were the subject of discussion. Then Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “Liu Pei
has his army at Hsüchou and he carries on the administration of the
prefecture. Lü Pu fled to him when defeated and Pei gave him Hsiaopʻei
to live in. If these two agreed to join forces and attack, my position
would be most serious. What precautions can be taken?”
Then rose Hsü Chʻu, saying, “Give me five legions and I will give the
Minister both their heads.”
Hsün Yü said, “O Leader, you are brave, but you are no strategist. You
cannot start sudden war just as the capital has been changed. However,
there is a certain ruse known as The Rival Tigers. Liu Pei has no
decree authorising him to govern the district. You, Illustrious Sir,
can procure one for him, and when sending it, and so conferring upon
him right in addition to his might, you can enclose a private note
telling him to get rid of Lü Pu. If he does, then he will have lost a
vigorous warrior from his side and he could be dealt with as occasions
serve. Should he fail, then Lü Pu will slay him. This is The Rival
Tiger ruse; they wrangle and bite each other.”
Tsʻao agreed that this was a good plan so he memorialised for the
formal appointment, which he sent to Liu Pei. Pei was created General
“Conqueror of the East” and a Marquis as well. At the same time a
private note was enclosed.
When Liu Pei heard of the change of capital he began to prepare a
congratulatory address. In the midst of this an imperial messenger was
announced and was met which all ceremony outside the gate. When the
epistle had been reverently received a banquet was prepared for the
messenger.
The messenger said, “This decree was obtained for you by the Minister
Tsʻao.”
Yüan-tê thanked him. Then the messenger drew forth his secret letter.
When he had read this Liu Pei said, “This matter can be easily
arranged.”
The banquet over and the messenger conducted to his lodging to seek
repose, Yüan-tê, before going to rest, called in his councillors to
consider the letter.
“There need be no compunction about putting him to death,” said Chang
Fei; “he is a bad man.”
“But he came to me for protection in his weakness, how can I put him to
death? That would be immoral,” said Liu Pei.
“If he was a good man; it would be difficult,” replied Fei.
Liu Pei would not consent. Next day, when Lü Pu came to offer
congratulations, he was received as usual. He said, “I have come to
felicitate you on the receipt of the imperial bounty.”
Liu Pei thanked him in due form. But then he saw Chang Fei draw his
sword and come up the hall as if to slay Lü Pu. He hastily interfered
and stopped him. Lü Pu was surprised and said, “Why do you wish to slay
me, I-tê?”
“Tsʻao Tsʻao says you are immoral and tells my brother to kill you,”
shouted Chang Fei.
Liu Pei shouted again and again to him to go away, and he led Lü Pu
into the private apartments out of the way.
Then he told him the whole story and showed him the secret letter. He
wept as he finished reading.
“This is that miscreant’s scheme for sowing discord between us.”
“Be not anxious, elder brother,” said Liu Pei. “I pledge myself not to
be guilty of such an infamous crime.”
Lü Pu again and again expressed his gratitude and Liu Pei kept him for
a time. They remained talking and drinking wine till late.
Said the other two brothers, “Why not kill him?”
Liu Pei said, “Because Tsʻao Mêng-tê fears that Lü and I may attack
him, he is trying to separate us and get us to ‘swallow’ each other,
while he steps in and takes the advantage. Is there any other reason?”
Kuan nodded assent, but Chang Fei said, “I want to get him out of the
way lest he trouble us later.”
“That is not what a noble man should do,” said his elder brother.
Soon the messenger was dismissed and returned to the capital with the
reply from Liu Pei. The letter only said the plan would be made later.
But the messenger, when he saw Tsʻao Tsʻao, told him the story of Liu
Pei’s pledge to Lü Pu. Then said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “The plan has failed;
what next?”
Hsün Yu replied, “I have another trick called ‘The Tiger and the Wolf’
in which the tiger is made to gobble up the wolf.”
“Let us hear it,” said Tsʻao.
“Send to Yüan Shu to say that Liu Pei has sent up a secret memorial
that he wishes to subdue the southern districts. Shu will be angry and
attack him. Then you will order Pei to dispose of Shu and so set them
destroying each other. Lü Pu will certainly think that is his chance
and turn traitor. This is The Tiger-Wolf trick.”
Tsʻao thought this good and sent the messenger and also sent a false
edict to Liu Pei. When this came the messenger was received with all
the ceremonies and the edict ordered the capture of Yüan Shu. After the
departure of the bearer Liu called Mi Chu who pronounced it a ruse.
“It may be,” said his master, “but the royal command is not to be
disobeyed.”
So the army was prepared and the day fixed. Sun Chʻien said that a
trusty man must be left on guard and Pei asked which of his brothers
would undertake this task.
“I will guard the city,” said Chang Fei.
“I am constantly in need of your advice so how can we part?”
“I will guard the city,” said Chang Fei.
“You will fail,” said Pei. “After one of your drinking bouts you will
get savage and flog the soldiers. Beside you are rash and will not
listen to any one’s advice. I shall be uneasy all the time.”
“Henceforth I drink no more wine. I will not beat the soldiers and I
will always listen to advice,” said Fei.
“I fear the mouth does not correspond to the heart,” said Mi Chu.
“I have followed my elder brother these many years and never broken
faith; why should you be contemptuous?” said Fei.
Yüan-tê said, “Though you say this I do not feel quite satisfied. I
will order friend Yüan-lung to help you and keep you sober. Then you
will not make any mistake.”
Chʻên Têng was willing to undertake this duty and the final orders were
given. The army of three legions, horse and foot, left Hsüchou and
marched toward Nanyang.
When Yüan Shu heard that a memorial had been presented proposing to
take possession of this district he broke out into abuse of Liu Pei.
“You weaver of mats! You plaiter of straw shoes! You have been smart
enough to get possession of a large district and elbow your way into
the ranks of the nobles. I was just going to attack you and now you
dare to scheme against me! How I detest you!”
So he at once gave orders to prepare an army of ten legions, under Chi
Ling, to attack Hsüchou. The armies met at Hsüi, where Liu Pei was
encamped in a plain with hills behind and a stream on his flank, for
his army was small.
Chi Ling, his opponent, was a native of Shantung. He used a very heavy
three-edged sword. After he had made his camp he rode out and began
abusing his opponents. “Liu Pei, you rustic bumpkin, how dare you
invade this land?”
“I have a decree ordering me to destroy the minister who behaves
improperly. If you oppose you will be assuredly punished,” replied Pei.
Chi angrily rode out brandishing his weapon. But Kuan Yü cried, “Fool,
do not attempt to fight!” and rode out to meet him. Then they two
fought and after thirty bouts neither had an advantage. Then Chi cried
out for a rest. So Kuan turned his horse away, rode back to his own
array and waited for him.
When the moment came to renew the combat Chi sent out one of his
officers to take his place. But Kuan said, “Tell Chi Ling to come: I
must settle with him who shall be cock and who shall be hen.”
“You are a reputationless leader and unworthy to fight with our
general,” replied the officer, Hsün Chêng.
This reply angered Kuan, who made just one attack on Hsün and brought
him to the ground. At this success Liu Pei urged on the army and Chi
Ling’s men were defeated. They retired to the mouth of the Huaiyin
River and declined all challenges.
However, many of their men came privately into Liu Pei’s camp to try to
do what mischief they could and many, so found, were slain.
But the armies will be left facing each other while we relate what
happened in Hsüchou.
After Liu Pei had started on his expedition Chang Fei placed his
colleague and helper in charge of the administration of Hsüchou,
keeping military affairs under his own supervision. After thinking over
the matter for some time he gave a banquet to all the military officers
and when they were all seated he made a speech. “Before my brother left
he bade me keep clear of the wine cup for fear of accidents. Now,
gentlemen, you may drink deep to-day but from to-morrow wine is
forbidden for we must keep the city safe. So take your fill.” And with
this he and all his guests rose to drink together.
The wine bearer came to one Tsʻao Pao who declined it, saying he never
drank as he was forbidden of heaven.
“What! a fighting man not drink wine!” said the host. “I want you to
take just one cup.”
Tsʻao Pao was afraid to offend so he drank.
Now the host drank huge goblets with all his guests on every hand and
so swallowed a huge quantity of liquor. He became quite intoxicated.
Yet he would drink more and insisted on a cup with every guest. It came
to the turn of Tsʻao Pao who declined.
“Really, I cannot drink,” said Pao.
“You drank just now: why refuse this time?”
Chang Fei pressed him, but still Tsʻao Pao resisted. Then Fei in his
drunken madness lost control of his temper and said, “If you disobey
the orders of your general you shall be beaten.” And he called in his
guards.
Here Chʻên Yüan-lung interfered reminding him of the strict injunctions
of his brother.
“You civilians attend to your civil business and leave us alone,” said
Fei.
The only way of escape for the guest was to beg remission and he did
so, but added, “Sir, if you saw my son-in-law’s face you would pardon
me.”
“Who is your son-in-law?”
“Lü Pu.”
“I did not mean to have you really beaten, but if you think to frighten
me with Lü Pu I will. I will beat you as if I was beating him,” said
Fei.
The guests interposed to beg him off, but their drunken host was
obdurate and the unhappy guest received fifty blows. Then at the
earnest prayers of the others the remainder of the punishment was
remitted.
The banquet came to an end and the beaten man went away burning with
resentment. That night he sent a letter to Hsiaopʻei relating the
insults he had received from Chang Fei. The letter told Lü Pu of the
prefect’s absence and proposed that a sudden raid should be made that
very night before Chang Fei had recovered from his drunken fit. Lü Pu
at once summoned Chʻên Kung and told him.
“This is only a place to occupy temporarily,” said Kung. “If you can
seize Hsüchou, do so. It is a good chance.”
Lü Pu got ready at once and soon on the way with half a company,
ordering Chʻên Kung to follow him with the main body. Kao Shun was to
follow him.
Hsiaopʻei being only about forty li away, one gets there almost as soon
as one is mounted and Lü Pu was under the walls at the fourth watch. It
was clear moonlight. No one on the ramparts saw him. Pu came up close
to the wall and called out, “Liu Pei’s secret messenger has arrived.”
The guards on the wall were Tsʻao Pao’s men and they called him. He
came and when he saw who was there he ordered the gates to be opened.
Lü Pu gave the secret signal and the soldiers entered shouting.
Chang Fei was in his apartment sleeping off the fumes of wine. His
servants hastened to arouse him and told him an enemy had got the gates
open and was in the city. Chang savagely got into his armour and laid
hold of his mighty spear, but as he was mounting his horse at the gate
the soldiers came up. He rushed at them but being still half
intoxicated made but a poor fight. Lü Pu knowing his prowess did not
press him hard and Chang Fei made his way, with a small escort, to the
east gate, and there went out, leaving his brother’s family to their
fate.
Tsʻao Pao, seeing Chang had but a very small force and was still half
drunk as well, came in pursuit. Fei saw who it was and was mad with
rage. He galloped toward him and drove him off after a few passes. He
followed Pao to the moat and wounded him in the back. His frightened
steed carried him into the moat and he was drowned.
Once well outside the city Chang Fei collected his men and they rode
off toward the south.
Lü Pu having surprised the city set himself to restore order. He put a
guard over the residence of Liu Pei so that no one should disturb the
family.
Chang Fei with his few followers went to his brother’s camp and told
his story of treachery and surprise. All were greatly distressed.
“Success is not worth rejoicing over; failure is not worth grieving
over,” said Liu Pei with a sigh.
“Where are our sisters?” asked Kuan.
“They shared the fate of the city.”
Liu Pei nodded his head and was silent.
Kuan Yü with an effort controlled his reproaches and said, “What did
you say when you promised to guard the city and what orders did our
brother give you? Now the city is lost and therewith our
sisters-in-law. Have you done well?”
Chang Fei was overwhelmed by remorse. He drew his sword to kill
himself.
He raised the cup in pledge,
None might say nay;
Remorseful, drew the sword,
Himself to slay.
Chang Fei’s fate will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XV.
TʻAISHIH TZŬ FIGHTS FOR FRIENDSHIP’S SAKE:
SUN PO-FU DOES BATTLE WITH YEN, THE WHITE TIGER.
In the last chapter it was recorded that Chang Fei was about to end his
life with his own weapon. But his brother rushed forward and caught him
in his arms, snatched away the sword and threw it on the earth saying,
“Brothers are hands and feet; wives and children are as clothing. You
may mend your torn dress, but who can re-attach a lost limb? We three,
by the Oath of the Peach Garden, swore to seek the same death-day. The
city is lost, it is true, and my wife and little ones, but I could not
bear that we should die ere our course be run. Beside, the city was not
really mine and Lü Pu will not harm my family but will rather seek to
preserve them. You made a mistake, worthy brother, but is it one
deserving of death?”
And he wept. His brothers were much affected and their tears fell in
sympathy.
As soon as the news of Lü Pu’s successful seizure of his protector’s
district reached Yüan Shu, he sent promises of valuable presents to Lü
to induce him to join in a further attack on Liu Pei. The presents are
said to have been fifty thousand measures of grain, five hundred
horses, ten thousand taels of gold and silver and a thousand pieces of
coloured silk. Lü Pu swallowed the bait and ordered Kao Shun to lead
forth five legions. But Liu Pei heard of the threatened attack, so he
made inclement weather an excuse to disband his few soldiers and left
Hsüi, before the attacking force came up.
However, Kao Shun demanded the promised reward through Chi Ling, who
put him off saying, “My lord has gone away, I will settle this as soon
as I can see him and get his decision.”
With this answer Kao Shun returned to Lü Pu, who could not decide what
to do. Then came a letter from Yüan Shu saying that although Kao Shun
had gone to attack Liu Pei, yet Pei had not been destroyed and no
reward could be given till he was actually taken. Lü Pu railed at what
he called the breach of faith and was inclined to attack Yüan Shu
himself. However, his adviser opposed this course, saying, “You should
not; he is in possession of Shouchʻun and has a large army, well
supplied. You are no match for him. Rather ask Liu Pei to take up his
quarters at Hsiaopʻei as one of your wings and, when the time comes,
let him lead the attack. Then both the Yüans will fall before you and
you will be very powerful.”
Finding this advice good he sent letters to Yüan-tê asking him to
return.
The story of Liu Pei’s attack on Kuangling, the attack on his camp and
his losses, has been told. On his way back he met the messenger from Lü
Pu, who presented the letter. Yüan-tê was quite content with the offer
but his brothers were not inclined to trust Lü.
“Since he treats me kindly, I cannot but trust him,” replied Yüan-tê.
So he went back to Hsüchou. Lü Pu, fearing that Liu Pei might doubt his
sincerity, restored his family and when the ladies, Kan and Mi, saw
their lord they told him that they had been kindly treated and guarded
by soldiers against any intrusion, and provisions had never been
wanting.
“I knew he would not harm my family,” said Yüan-tê to Kuan and Chang.
However, they were not pleased and would not accompany their brother
into the city when he went to express his thanks. They went to escort
the two ladies to Hsiaopʻei.
At the interview Lü Pu said, “I did not wish to take the city, but your
brother behaved very badly, drinking and flogging the soldiers, and I
came to guard it lest some evil should befall.”
“But I had long wished to yield it to you,” said Yüan-tê.
Thereupon Lü Pu pretended to wish to retire in favour of Yüan-tê who,
however, would not hear of it. He returned and took up his quarters in
Hsiaopʻei, but his two brothers would not take the situation kindly and
were very discontented.
Said Yüan-tê, “One must bow to one’s lot. It is the will of Heaven and
one cannot struggle against fate.”
Lü Pu sent presents of food and stuffs and peace reigned between the
two houses.
But there is no need to write of this. As the story runs, Yüan Shu
prepared a great banquet for his soldiers on the occasion of a victory
gained by Sun Tsʻê over Lu Kʻang, the Prefect of Luchiang. Yüan Shu
summoned the victor, who made obeisance at the foot of the hall of
audience. Shu, sitting in State, asked for details of the campaign and
then invited Sun Tsʻê to the banquet.
After the unhappy death of his father Sun Tsʻê had returned to
Chiangnan, where he had devoted himself to peaceful ends, inviting to
his side good men and able scholars. Afterwards when a quarrel broke
out between his mother’s uncle, the Prefect of Tanyang, and Tʻao
Chʻien, he removed his mother with all the family to Chʻüa, he himself
taking service under Yüan Shu, who admired and loved him greatly.
“If I had a son like him,” said Shu, “I should die without regret.”
He employed Sun Tsʻê as a soldier and sent him on various expeditions,
all of which were successful. After this banquet to celebrate the
victory over Lu Kʻang, Sun Tsʻê returned to his camp very bitter over
the arrogant and patronising airs of his patron. Instead of retiring to
his tent he walked up and down by the light of the moon.
“Here am I, a mere nobody and yet my father was such a hero!” And he
cried out and wept in spite of himself.
Then suddenly appeared one who said, laughing loudly, “What is this, O
Po-fu? While your noble father enjoyed the light of the sun he made
free use of me and if his son has any difficulty to resolve why does he
not refer it to me also instead of weeping here alone?”
Looking at the speaker Sun Tsʻê saw it was one Chu Chih, whose less
formal name was Chün-li, a native of that district, who had been in his
father’s service. Sun Tsʻê then ceased weeping and they two sat down.
“I was weeping from regret at being unable to continue my father’s
work,” said he.
“Why stay here bound to the service of a master? Why not get command of
an army under the pretence of an expedition to relieve Chiangtung? Then
you can accomplish great things.”
While these two were talking another man suddenly entered saying, “I
know what you two are planning, noble Sirs. Under my hand is a band of
bold fellows ready to help Po-fu in whatever he wishes to do.”
The speaker was one of Yüan Shu’s advisers named Lü Fan. They three
then sat and discussed schemes.
“The one fear is that the soldiers will be refused,” said the newcomer.
“I still have the Imperial Seal that my father left me; that should be
good security.”
“Yüan Shu earnestly desires that jewel,” said Chu Chih. “He will
certainly lend you men on that pledge.”
The three talked over their plans, gradually settling the details, and
not many days after Sun Tsʻê obtained an interview with his patron.
Assuming the appearance of deep grief he said, “I have been unable to
avenge my father. Now the Prefect of Yangchow is opposing my mother’s
brother and my mother and her family are in danger. Wherefore I would
borrow a few companies of fighting men to rescue them. As perhaps,
Illustrious Sir, you may lack confidence in me I am willing to deposit
the Imperial Seal, left me by my late father, as a pledge.”
“Let me see it, if you have it,” said Shu. “I do not want the jewel
really, but you may as well leave it with me. I will lend you three
companies and five hundred horses. Return as soon as peace can be made.
As your rank is hardly sufficient for such powers I will memorialise to
obtain for you higher rank with the title of General, ‘Exterminator of
Brigands,’ and you can soon start.”
Tsʻê thanked his patron most humbly and soon put the army in motion,
taking with him his two new friends as well as his former captains.
When he reached Liyang he saw a body of troops in front of him, at
their head a dashing leader of handsome and refined mien. As soon as
this man saw Sun Tsʻê he dismounted and made obeisance. It was Chou Yü.
When Sun Chien was opposing the tyrant Minister Tung Cho, the Chou
family had removed to Shu, in modern Anhui, and as Chou Yü and Sun Tsʻê
were of the same age all but two months, they became exceedingly good
friends and sworn brothers, Tsʻê being the “elder” in virtue of his two
months’ seniority. Chou Yü was on his way to visit Sun Tsʻê’s uncle,
Prefect of Tanyang, when the happy meeting took place.
Naturally Sun Tsʻê confided his projects and inmost ideas to his
friend, who at once promised fidelity and service. They would work out
the grand design together.
“Now that you have come the design is as good as accomplished,” said
Sun.
Chou Yü was introduced to Chu Chih and Lü Fan.
Chou Yü said, “Do you know of the two Changs of Chiangtung? They would
be most useful men in working out your schemes.”
“Who are they, the two Changs?” said Sun.
“They are men of transcendent genius who are living near here for the
sake of tranquillity in these troublous times. Their names are Chang
Chao and Chang Hung. Why not invite them to help you, brother?”
Sun Tsʻê lost no time in sending letters and gifts, but they both
declined. Then he visited them in person, was greatly pleased with
their speech and by dint of large gifts and much persuasion, got them
to promise to join him. They were given substantial offices.
The plan of the attack upon Yangchou was the next matter for
discussion. The Prefect, Liu Yu, was of Tunglai, a scion of the
Imperial family and brother of the governor of Yenchow. He had long
ruled in Yangchou, but Yüan Shu had forced him to leave his usual
abiding city and retire to Chʻüa.
Hearing of the meditated attack on him he summoned his captains to take
counsel. Said Chang Ying, “I will take an army and entrench at Niuchu.
No army can get past that, whatever its strength.”
He was interrupted by another who shouted, “And let me lead the van!”
All eyes turned to this man; is was Tʻaishih Tzŭ who, after raising the
siege of Pohai, had come on a visit to the Prefect and stayed on.
Hearing him offer to undertake the hazardous post of van-leader Liu Yu
said, “But you are still young and not yet equal to such a charge.
Rather stay by my side and obey my orders.”
Tʻaishih Tzŭ withdrew in high dudgeon. Soon Chang Ying led his army to
Niuchu, leaving his stores of grain at Tiko. When Sun Tsʻê approached,
Chang Ying went to meet him and the two armies faced each other above
Niuchutʻan, (Bullock Island Rapid). Chang Ying roundly abused his
opponent and Huang Kai rode out to attack, but before the combat had
proceeded far there arose an alarm of fire in Chang Ying’s camp. Chang
Ying turned back and then Sun Tsʻê advanced in full force, compelling
the enemy to abandon their possession. The defeated general fled to the
hills.
Now the incendiaries who had brought about this result were two, named
Chiang Chʻin and Chou Tʻai, both from the Kiukiang district, who in
these troublous times had got together a band of kindred spirits and
lived by plundering the country along the Yangtse River. They knew Sun
Tsʻê by reputation as a man who treated able men very liberally and
wished to join him. So they came with their band, three hundred strong,
and helped him in this way as an introduction. Sun Tsʻê welcomed them
and gave the leaders rank. After taking possession of the stores of all
kinds abandoned by the runaways, and enlisting a large number of those
who surrendered into his own ranks, he moved forward to attack
Shêntʻing.
After his defeat Chang Ying returned to his master and told his
misfortune. Liu Yu was going to punish his failure by death, but
listened to his advisers, who asked for mercy for the unfortunate man,
and sent him to command the garrison in Lingling. He himself set out to
meet the invaders. He camped under the hills at Lingnan. Sun Tsʻê
camped on the opposite side of the hills.
Sun Tsʻê enquired if there was a temple to Kuang-Wu, of the Hans, in
the vicinity, and was told there was a temple on the summit of the
hills.
“I dreamed last night that he called me so I will go and pray there,”
said Tsʻê.
He was advised not to go as the enemy was on the other side and he
might fall into an ambush.
“The spirit will help me; what need I fear?”
So he put on his armour, took his spear and mounted, taking with him
twelve of his officers as an escort. They rode up the hills,
dismounted, burned incense and they all bowed in the shrine. Then Tsʻê
knelt and made a vow saying, “If I, Sun Tsʻê, succeed in my task and
restore the authority of my late father then will I restore this temple
and order sacrifices at the four seasons.”
When they had remounted he said, “I am going to ride along the ridge
and reconnoitre the enemy’s position.”
His followers begged him to refrain but he was obstinate and they rode
away together, noting the villages below. A soldier going along a
bye-road quickly reported the presence of horsemen on the ridge and Liu
Yu said, “It is certainly Sun Tsʻê trying to inveigle us to battle. But
do not go out.”
Tʻaishih Tzŭ, the bold, jumped up saying, “What better chance to
capture him?”
So, without orders he armed himself and rode through the camp crying,
“If there be any valiant men among you follow me!”
No one moved save a subaltern who said, “He is a valiant man and I will
go with him.” So he also went. The others only laughed at the pair.
Now having seen all he wished Sun Tsʻê thought it time to return and
wheeled round his horse. But when he was going over the summit some one
shouted, “Stay, Sun Tsʻê!”
He turned; two horsemen were coming at full speed down the next hill.
He halted and drew up his little escort right and left, he himself with
his spear ready.
“Which is Sun Tsʻê?” shouted Tʻaishih.
“Who are you?” was the reply.
“I am Tʻaishih Tzŭ, of Tunglai, come to take him prisoner.”
“Then I am he,” said Sun Tsʻê laughing. “Come both of you together; I
am not afraid of you. If I was, I should not be Po-fu.”
“You and all your crowd come on and I will not blench,” cried Tʻaishih
putting his horse at a gallop and setting his spear.
Sun braced himself for the shock and the battle began. Fifty bouts were
fought and still neither combatant had the advantage. Sun Tsʻê’s
followers whispered to each other their admiration and amazement.
Tʻaishih saw that the spearmanship of his opponent showed no weak point
whereby he could gain the advantage so he decided to resort to guile.
Feigning defeat he would lead Sun to pursue. Tʻaishih however did not
retire along the road by which he had come, but took a path leading
around the hill instead of over it. His antagonist followed, shouting,
“He who retreats is no worthy son of Han!”
But Tʻaishih thought within himself, “He has twelve others at his back
and I only one. If I capture him, the others will retake him. I will
inveigle him into some secret spot and then try.” So flying and
fighting by turns he led Sun Tsʻê, an eager pursuer, down to the plain.
Here Tʻaishih suddenly wheeled about and attacked. Again they exchanged
half a hundred bouts, without result. Then Sun made a fierce thrust
which his opponent evaded by gripping the spear under his oxter, while
Tʻaishih did the same with his opponent’s spear. Neither was wounded
but each exerting his utmost strength to pull the other out of the
saddle they both came to the ground.
Their steeds galloped off they knew not whither while the two men, each
dropping his spear, began a hand to hand struggle. Soon their fighting
robes were in tatters. Sun gripped the short lance that Tʻaishih
carried at his back, while Tʻaishih tore off the other’s helmet. Sun
tried to stab with the short lance but Tʻaishih fended off the blow
with the helmet as a shield.
Then arose a great shouting. Liu Yu had come up with a company of
soldiers. Sun seemed now in sore straits. His twelve followers came up
and each combatant let go his hold. Tʻaishih quickly found another
steed, seized a spear and mounted. Sun Tsʻê, whose charger had been
caught by Chʻêng Pʻu, also mounted, and a confused battle began between
the handful of men on one side and a whole company on the other. It
swayed and drifted down the hill side. However, soon Chou Yü came to
the rescue, and as evening drew on a tempest put an end to the fight.
Both sides drew off and returned to camp.
Next day Sun Tsʻê led his army to the front of Liu Yu’s camp and the
challenge was accepted. The armies were drawn up. Sun hung the short
lance he had seized from Tʻaishih Tzŭ at the end of his spear and waved
it in front of the line of battle and ordered his soldiers to shout,
“If the owner of this had not fled he would have been stabbed to
death.”
On the other side they hung out Sun’s helmet and the soldiers shouted
back “Sun Tsʻê’s head is here already.”
Both sides thus yelled defiance at each other, one side boasting, the
other bragging. Then Tʻaishih rode out challenging Sun to a duel to the
death and Sun would have accepted, but Chʻêng Pʻu said, “My lord should
not trouble himself, I will take him,” and he rode forth.
“You are no antagonist for me,” said Tʻaishih. “Tell your master to
come out.”
This incensed Chʻêng, who rode at his opponent, and they two fought
many bouts. The duel was stopped by the gongs of Liu Yu.
“Why did you sound the retreat?” said Tʻaishih. “I was just going to
capture the wretch.”
“Because I have just heard that Chʻüa is threatened. Chou Yü is leading
a force thither and a certain Chʻên Wu is in league with him to betray
the city. The loss would be irremediable. I will hasten to Moling to
get the help of Hsüeh Li and Chai Jung.”
The army retired, Tʻaishih Tzŭ with it, without being pursued. On the
other side Chang Chao said to Sun Tsʻê, “Chou Yü’s threatened attack is
the cause of this move; they are in no mood to fight. A night raid on
their camp would finish them.”
The army was divided into five divisions for the night surprise and
hastened toward the camp where they were victorious. Their opponents
scattered in all directions. Tʻaishih alone made a determined stand and
as he could not withstand a whole army he fled with a few followers to
Chinghsien.
Now Sun Tsʻê acquired a new adherent in the person of Chʻên Wu. He was
a soldier of middle height, sallow of complexion and dark eye, an odd
looking man. But Sun held him in high esteem, gave him rank and put him
in the van for the attack on Hsüeh Li. As van-leader he and half a
score horsemen made a dash into the enemy’s formation, where they slew
half a hundred men. So Hsüeh Li would not fight but remained within his
defences. As Sun was attacking the city a spy came in with the news
that Liu Yu and Chai Jung had gone to attack Niuchu, which made Sun
move thither in haste. His two opponents were ready for battle.
“I am here,” said Sun Tsʻê, “you had better give in.”
A horseman came out from behind the two leaders to accept the
challenge. It was Yü Mi. But in the third bout Sun Tsʻê made him
prisoner and carried him off to the other side.
Seeing his colleague thus captured Fan Nêng rode out to the rescue and
got quite close. But just as he was going to thrust, all the soldiers
shouted “There is a man behind you going to strike secretly!” At this
Sun Tsʻê turned and shouted so thunderously loud that Fan Nêng fell out
of his saddle from mere fright. He split his skull and died. When Sun
Tsʻê reached his standard he threw his prisoner to the ground. And he
was also dead, crushed to death between the arm and the body of his
captor. So in a few moments Sun Tsʻê had disposed of two enemies, one
crushed to death and one frightened to death. Thereafter Sun Tsʻê was
called the Little Prince.
After Liu Yu’s defeat the greater portion of his force surrendered and
the number of those put to death exceeded ten thousand. Liu Yu himself
sought safety with Liu Piao.
An attack on Moling was the next move. As soon as Sun Tsʻê arrived at
the moat he summoned the commander, Hsüeh Li, to surrender. Some one
let fly a furtive arrow from the wall which wounded Sun in the left
thigh so severely that he fell from his steed. Hastily his officers
picked up their wounded chief and returned to the camp where the arrow
was pulled out and the wound dressed with the medicines suitable for
injuries by metals.
By Sun Tsʻê’s command the story was spread abroad that the hurt had
been fatal and all the soldiers set up cries of lamentation. The camp
was broken up. The defender of the city made a night sortie, but fell
into a carefully prepared ambush and presently Sun himself appeared on
horseback shouting “Sun Tsʻê is here still.”
His sudden appearance created such a panic that the soldiers dropped
their weapons and fell on their faces. Sun gave orders not to kill them
but their leaders fell, one from a spear thrust as he turned to run
away, another wounded by an arrow, and the commander in chief was slain
in the first rush. Thus Sun Tsʻê got possession of Moling. Having
calmed the people he sent his soldiers away to Chinghsien, where
Tʻaishih Tzŭ was in command.
Tʻaishih Tzŭ had assembled two companies of veterans in addition to his
own troop for the purpose of avenging his master. Sun Tsʻê and Chou Yü
on the other hand consulted how to capture him alive. The latter’s plan
was to attack the city on three sides, leaving the east gate free for
flight. Some distance off an ambush would be prepared, when their
victim, his men fatigued and horses spent, would fall an easy victim.
The latest recruits under Tʻaishih Tzŭ’s banner were mostly hillmen and
unaccustomed to discipline. Beside the walls of the city were pitiably
low. One night Sun ordered one Chʻên Wu to strip off his long dress,
leave his arms save a dagger, clamber up the ramparts and set fire to
the city. Seeing the flames spreading the commander made for the east
gate and, as soon as he got outside, Sun Tsʻê followed in pursuit. The
pursuit was maintained for some thirty li when the pursuers stopped.
Tʻaishih Tzŭ went on as long as possible, finally halting to rest in a
spot surrounded by reeds. Suddenly a tremendous shouting arose.
Tʻaishih was just starting when tripping ropes arose all round, his
horse was thrown and he found himself a prisoner.
He was taken to camp. As soon as Sun Tsʻê heard the news he himself
rode out to meet the successful man and ordered the guards to leave the
prisoner, whose bonds he loosened with his own hands. Then he took off
his own embroidered robe and put it on the captive. They entered the
camp together.
“I knew you were a real hero,” said Sun. “That worm of a Liu Yu had no
use for such as you and so he got beaten.”
The prisoner, overcome by this kindness and good treatment, then
formally surrendered.
Sun Tsʻê seized his hand and said, laughing, “If you had taken me at
that fight we had near the shrine, would you have killed me?”
“Who can say?” said Tʻaishih smiling.
Sun Tsʻê laughed also and they entered his tent, where the captive
leader was placed in the seat of honour at a banquet.
Tʻaishih said, “Can you trust me so far as to let me go to muster as
many as I can of the soldiers of my late master? Under the smart of
this defeat they will turn against him and they would be a great help
to you.”
“Exactly what I most desire. I will make an agreement with you that at
midday to-morrow you will return.”
Tʻaishih agreed and went off. All the captains said he would never
return.
“He is trustworthy and will not break his word,” said the chief.
None of the officers believed he would come back. But the next day they
set up a bamboo rod in the gate of the camp and just as the shadow
marked noon Tʻaishih Tzŭ returned, bringing with him about a thousand
men. Sun Tsʻê was pleased and his officers had to confess that he had
rightly judged his man.
Sun Tsʻê had now several legions and Chiangtung was his. He improved
the conditions of the people and maintained order so that his adherents
and supporters daily increased. He was called Sun Lang (the Bright
One). When his army approached the people used to flee in terror, but
when it had arrived and they saw that no one was permitted to loot and
not the least attempt was made on their houses, they rejoiced and
presented the soldiers with oxen and wine, for which they were in turn
duly rewarded. Gladness filled the country side. The soldiers who had
followed Liu Yu were kindly treated. Those who wished to join Sun’s
army did so; those who preferred not to be soldiers were sent home with
presents. And thus Sun Tsʻê won the respect and praise of every one in
Kiangnan and became very powerful.
Sun Tsʻê then settled his mother and the remainder of the family in
Chʻüa, setting his brother Chʻüan and Chou Tʻai over the city.
Then he headed an expedition to the south to reduce the Wu districts.
At that time there was a certain Yen Pai-hu, or the White Tiger, who
styled himself Prince Tê of Eastern Wu and ruled over the Wu districts.
Hearing of Sun Tsʻê’s approach, the “Prince” sent his brother Yen Yü
with an army against him and they met at Fêngchʻiao.
Yen Yü, sword in hand, took his stand on a bridge and this was reported
to Sun Tsʻê, who prepared to accept the challenge. Chang Hung tried to
dissuade him saying, “Forasmuch as my lord’s fate is bound up with that
of the army, he should not risk a conflict with a mere robber. I would
that you should remember your own value.”
“Your words, O Elder One, are as gold and precious stones, but I fear
that my soldiers will not carry out my commands unless I myself share
their dangers.”
Then he sent forth Han Tang to take up the challenge. Just as he
reached the bridge, Chiang Chʻin and Chʻên Wu, who had dropped down the
river in a small boat, passed under the bridge. Though the arrows fell
in clouds on the bank, the two men rushed up and fiercely attacked Yen
Yü as he stood on the bridge. He fled and Han Tang went in pursuit
smiting up to the gate of the city into which he entered.
Sun Tsʻê laid siege to Soochow both by land and water. For three days
no one came out to offer battle. Then at the head of his army he came
to the Chʻang Gate and summoned the warden. An officer of
inconsiderable rank came out and stood with one hand resting on a beam
while with the other he gave point to his abuse of those below. Quickly
Tʻaishih Tzŭ’s hands sought his bow and an arrow was on the string.
“See me hit that fellow’s hand,” said he, turning to his companions.
Even as the sound of his voice died away, the bowstring twanged, the
arrow sped and lodged in the beam, firmly pinning thereto the officer’s
hand. Both sides, those on the wall and those below it, marvelled at
such marksmanship.
The wounded man was taken away and when the White Tiger heard of the
exploit he said, “How can we hope to withstand an army with such men as
this in it?”
And his thoughts turned toward a peace. He sent his brother Yü out to
see Sun Tsʻê, who received him civilly, invited him into the tent and
set wine before him.
“And what does your brother propose?” said Sun.
“He is willing to share this district with you,” was the reply.
“The rat! how dare he put himself on a level with me?” cried Sun.
He commanded to put the messenger to death. Yü started up and drew his
sword, but out flew Sun Tsʻê’s blade and the unhappy messenger fell to
the ground. His head was hacked off and sent into the city to his
brother.
This had its effect. The White Tiger saw resistance was hopeless, so he
abandoned the city and fled. Sun Tsʻê pressed the attack. Huang Kai
captured Chiahsing (Kashing) and Tʻaishih Tzŭ took Wuchʻêng. The
district was quickly subdued. The White Tiger rushed off toward
Hangchow in the east, plundering on all sides, till a band of villagers
under the leadership of one Ling Tsʻao checked his career of robbery
there. He then went toward Kueichi.
The Lings, father and son, then went to meet Sun Tsʻê, who took them
into his service as a reward for their service and the joint forces
crossed the river.
The White Tiger gathered his scattered forces and took up a position at
the western ford, but Chʻêng Pʻu attacked him there and scattered the
defenders, chasing them as far as Huichi. The Prefect of the place,
Wang Lang, was on their side and inclined to support them actively.
But, when he proposed this, one of his men stood forth saying, “No! No!
Sun Tsʻê as a leader is humane and upright, while the White Tiger is a
savage ruffian. Rather capture him and offer his person as a peace
offering to Sun Tsʻê.”
The Prefect turned angrily toward the speaker, who was an official
named Yü Fan, and bade him be silent. He withdrew sighing deeply. And
the Prefect went to the help of the White Tiger with whom he joined
forces at Shanyin.
Sun Tsʻê came up. When both sides were arrayed Sun Tsʻê rode out and
addressed Wang Lang, saying, “Mine is an army of good men and my aim is
to restore peace to Chekiang, but you give your support to a rebel!”
Wang Lang replied, “Your greed is insatiable. Having got possession of
Wu you want also my district, and so as an excuse you have vengeance to
wreak on the Yens.”
This response greatly angered Sun Tsʻê. Just as battle was to be joined
Tʻaishih Tzŭ advanced and Wang Lang came toward him waving his sword.
Before they had exchanged many passes Chou Hsin dashed out to help
Wang. Thereupon Huang Kai rode out to make the sides more equal. These
latter two were just engaging when the drums rolled on both sides and a
general battle began.
Suddenly confusion was caused in the rear of Wang’s army by the sudden
onslaught of a small troop. Wang Lang galloped off to see to it. Then
an attack was made on his flank, so that he was in a hopeless position,
and he and the White Tiger, fighting desperately, only just managed to
reach the shelter of the city. The drawbridges were raised, the gates
closed and preparations made to sustain a siege.
Sun Tsʻê followed right up to the walls and then divided his men so as
to attack all four gates. Seeing that the city was being fiercely
attacked Wang Lang was for making a sortie, but the White Tiger opposed
this as hopeless against so strong a force outside. They could only
strengthen their position and remain behind the shelter of the ramparts
until hunger forced the besiegers to retire. Wang Lang agreed and the
siege went on.
For several days a vigorous attack was maintained, but with little
success. Taking counsel with his officers Sun Ching, who was the uncle
of Sun Tsʻê, said, “Since they are holding the city with such
resolution it will be difficult to dislodge them. But the bulk of their
supplies is stored at Chʻatu, distant only some score li. Our best plan
is to seize this place, thus attacking where the enemy is unprepared,
and doing what they do not expect.”
Sun Tsʻê approved saying, “My uncle’s plan is admirable and will crush
the rebels.” So he issued orders to kindle watch fires at all the
gates, and leave the flags standing to maintain the appearance of
soldiers in position while the expedition went south.
Chou Yü came to utter a warning, “When you, my lord, go away the
besieged will surely come out and follow you. We might prepare a
surprise for them.”
Sun Tsʻê replied, “My preparations are complete and the city will be
captured to-night.”
So the army set out.
Wang Lang heard that the besiegers had gone and he went up to the tower
to reconnoitre. He saw the fires blazing, the smoke rising, and the
pennons fluttering in the breeze as usual and hesitated.
Chou Hsin said, “He has gone and this is only a stratagem. Let us go
out and smite them.”
The White Tiger said, “If he has gone, it is to attack Chʻatu. Let us
pursue.”
“The place is our base of supply,” said Wang Lang, “and must be
defended. You lead the way and I will follow with reserves.”
So the White Tiger and Chou Hsin went forth with five companies and
drew near their enemy about the first watch, at twenty li from the
city. The road led through dense forest. Then suddenly the drums beat
and lighted torches sprang up on all sides. The White Tiger was
frightened, turned his horse and started to retreat. At once a leader
appeared in front in whom, by the glare of the torches, he recognised
Sun Tsʻê. Chou Hsin made a rush at him but fell under Sun Tsʻê’s spear.
The men surrendered. However, the White Tiger managed to cut his way
out.
Wang Lang soon heard of the loss and not daring to return to the city
retreated in all haste to Haiyü. And so Sun Tsʻê got possession of the
city.
Having restored order, a few days later a man came bringing the head of
the White Tiger as an offering to Sun Tsʻê. This man was a native of
the district. He was of medium height, with a square face and wide
mouth. He was named Tung Hsi, and was given an office. After this peace
reigned in all the east and, having placed his uncle in command of the
city and made Chu Chih Prefect, Sun Tsʻê returned to his own place.
While Sun Tsʻê was absent a band of brigands suddenly attacked
Hsüanchʻêng, left in the care of his brother Chʻüan and the leader Chou
Tʻai. As the onslaught was made on all sides at once, and in the night,
the brigands got the upper hand. Chou Tʻai took the youth in his arms
and mounted a horse, but as the robbers came on with swords to attack
him he dismounted, and though without mail, met the robbers on foot and
slew them as they came up. Then came a horseman armed with a spear, but
Chou Tʻai laid hold of his spear and pulled him to the earth. Then he
mounted the robber’s horse and thrusting this way and that with the
spear fought his way out. So Sun Chʻüan was preserved, but his saviour
had received more than a dozen wounds.
These wounds being due to metal would not heal but swelled enormously,
and the brave soldier’s life hung in the balance. Sun Tsʻê was deeply
grieved. Then Tung Hsi said, “Once in an engagement with some pirates I
received many spear wounds, but a certain wise man named Yü Fan
recommended a surgeon who cured me in half a month.”
“Surely this must be Yü Chung-hsiang,” replied Sun Tsʻê.
“That is he; he is so called.”
“Yes, truly a wise man; I will employ him.”
So Sun Tsʻê sent two officers to invite him and he came at once. He was
treated in most friendly fashion and appointed an official forthwith.
Then the question of treating the wounded man was brought up.
“The surgeon is one Hua Tʻo, who has perfectly marvellous skill in the
leech’s art. I will get him to come,” said Yü Fan.
Shortly the famous leech arrived, a man with the complexion of a youth
and a snowy beard. He looked more like a saint who had passed the gates
of this life. He was treated very handsomely and taken to see the sick
soldier’s wounds.
“The case is not difficult,” said the surgeon and he prepared certain
drugs that healed the wounds within a month. Sun Tsʻê suitably
acknowledged his care and skill and he was allowed to leave.
Next Sun Tsʻê attacked the brigands and destroyed them, so restoring
complete tranquillity to Chiangnan. After this he set garrisons at all
the strategical points, and this done, memorialised what he had
achieved. He came to an understanding with Tsʻao Tsʻao and sent letters
to Yüan Shu demanding the return of the Seal he had left in pledge.
But Yüan Shu, secretly cherishing the most ambitious designs, wrote
excuses and did not return the State jewel. In his own place he hastily
summoned his officers to a council and said, “Sun Tsʻê borrowed an army
from me and set out on an expedition which has made him master of
Chiangtung. Now he says nothing of repayment but demands the token of
his pledge. Truly he is a boor and what steps can I take to destroy
him?”
The Recorder, Yang Ta-chiang, replied, “You cannot do any thing against
him for he is too strongly placed. You must first remove Liu Pei in
revenge for having attacked you without cause, and then you may think
about Sun Tsʻê. I have a scheme to put the former into your hands in a
very short time.”
He went not to destroy the tiger, but instead
Against a dragon forth his army led.
The means he employed will be made plain in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XVI.
A FEAT OF ARCHERY:
A BATTLE LOST AT YUSHUI RIVER.
“What is your plan of attack on Liu Pei?” said Shu.
Yang Ta-chiang replied, “Though Liu Pei, now camped at Hsiaopʻei, could
easily be taken, yet Lü Pu is strongly posted at the chief city near,
and I think he would help Pei if it was only for the grudge he bears
against you for not having given him the gold and stuffs, grain and
horses you promised. First of all you should send Lü Pu a present
whereby to engage his affections and keep him quiet while you deal with
Liu Pei. You can see to Lü Pu after this is done.”
Thereupon a large quantity of millet was sent, with letters, by the
hand of Han Yin. The gift pleased Lü Pu greatly; and he treated the
messenger with great cordiality. Feeling sure of no trouble from that
quarter Yüan Shu told off the leaders of the expedition against
Hsiaopʻei.
When Liu Pei heard these things he called his officers to take counsel.
Chang Fei was for open war forthwith. Sun Chʻien said their resources
were too small: they must lay the position before Lü Pu and ask help.
“Do you think that fellow will do anything?” said Chang Fei cynically.
Liu Pei decided in favour of Sun’s proposal and wrote as follows:—
“Humbly I venture to remind you that I am here by your orders and enjoy
repose as the result of your kindness, extensive as the heavens. Now
Yüan Shu, moved by a desire for revenge, is sending a force against
this place and its destruction is imminent unless you intervene to save
it. I trust you will send an army quickly to protect the town, and our
happiness will be inexpressible.”
Receiving this Lü Pu called in Chʻên Kung to whom he said, “I have just
received gifts from Yüan Shu and a letter, with the intent of
restraining me from helping Liu Pei. Now comes a letter from him asking
help. It seems to me that Yüan-tê where he is can do me no harm, but if
Yüan Shu overcomes Liu Pei then the power of the north is so much
nearer and I should be unable to resist the attacks of so many leaders
and should never sleep secure. I will aid Liu Pei; that is the better
course for me.”
Now the force sent against Hsiaopʻei went thither as quickly as
possible and soon the country to the southeast fluttered with pennons
by day and blazed with watch fires by night, while the rolling of the
drums reverberated from heaven to earth.
The few men at Liu Pei’s disposal were led out of the city and arranged
to make a brave show, but it was good news to him to hear that Lü Pu
had arrived and was quite near. He camped only a li away to the
south-west. When Yüan Shu’s general, Chi Ling, heard of his arrival he
wrote letters reproaching Lü Pu for his treachery. Lü Pu smiled as he
read them.
“I know how to make both of them love me,” said he. So he sent
invitations to both leaders to come to a banquet. Liu Pei was for
accepting the invitation and going, but his brothers dissuaded him
saying, “There is some treachery in his heart.”
“I have treated him too well for him to do me any harm,” said Yüan-tê.
So he mounted and rode away, the two brothers following. They came to
the camp.
The host said, “Now by a special effort I have got you out of danger; I
hope you will not forget that when you come into your own.”
Yüan-tê thanked him heartily and was invited to take a seat. The two
brothers took up their usual place as guards.
But when Chi Ling was announced Yüan-tê felt a spasm of fear and got up
to go away.
“You two are invited for the particular purpose of a discussion,” said
the host. “Do not take it amiss.”
Yüan-tê, being quite ignorant of his intentions, was very uneasy.
Presently his fellow guest entered. Seeing Yüan-tê in the tent, and in
the seat of honour, he was puzzled, hesitated and tried to withdraw.
But the attendants prevented this and Lü Pu, advancing, laid hold of
him and drew him into the tent as he had been a child.
“Do you wish to slay me?” asked he.
“Not at all,” replied Lü Pu.
“Then you are going to slay Long-ears?”
“No; not that.”
“Then what does it mean?”
“Yüan-tê and I are brothers. Now, General, you are besieging him and so
I have come to the rescue.”
“Then slay me,” said Chi Ling.
“There would be no sense in that. All my life I have disliked fighting
and quarrels, but have loved making peace. And now I want to settle the
quarrel between you two.”
“May I ask how you think of doing so?”
“I have a means and one approved of heaven itself.”
Then he drew Ling within the tent and led him up to Pei. The two men
faced each other, full of mutual suspicion, but their host placed
himself between them and they took their seats, Liu Pei on the right
hand of the host.
The banquet began. After a number of courses almost in silence, Lü Pu
spoke, saying, “I wish you two gentlemen to listen to me and put an end
to your strife.”
Liu Pei made no reply but Chi Ling said, “I have come with an army of
ten legions at the express bidding of my master to take Liu Pei. How
can I cease the strife? I must fight.”
“What!” exclaimed Chang Fei drawing his sword. “Few as we are we regard
you no more than a lot of children. What are you compared with a
million Yellow Turbans? You dare to hurt our brother!”
Kuan Yü urged him to be silent. “Let us see what General Lü has to say
first; after that there will be time to go to our tents and fight.”
“I beg you both to come to an understanding. I cannot let you fight,”
said Lü Pu.
Now on one side Chi Ling was discontented and angry; on the other Chang
Fei was dying for a fight and neither of the two chiefly concerned
would signify assent. Then suddenly the host turned to his attendants
saying, “Bring my halberd!” They did so and he sat there gripping the
graceful but effective weapon in his right hand. Both guests felt very
ill at ease and turned pale. Lü Pu went on, “I have tried to persuade
you to make peace for that is the command of the Most High. It shall be
put to the test.”
He then bade his servants take the halberd outside beyond the gate and
set it up. Then speaking to his two guests he said, “That gate is one
hundred and fifty paces distant. If I can hit that centre branch of the
halberd-head with an arrow, you will both withdraw your armies. If I
miss, you can go away and prepare for immediate battle. I shall compel
you to abide by what I say.”
Chi Ling thought to himself, “That small mark at that distance! How
could any one hit it?” So he assented, thinking he would have plenty of
fighting after his host had missed the mark. Of course Liu Pei was
willing.
They all sat down again and wine was served. When this had been drunk
the host called for his bow and arrows. Yüan-tê silently prayed that he
would hit the mark.
Lü Pu turned back his sleeves, carefully fitted an arrow to the string
and pulled the bow to its utmost stretch. A slight exclamation escaped
him as the bow curved like the harvest moon sailing through the sky.
“Twang!” went the bowstring and the arrow sped like a falling star. And
it struck the slender tongue of the halberd head full and square. A
roar of acclamation from all sides greeted the exploit.
O Lü was a wonderful archer,
And the arrow he shot sped straight;
By hitting the mark he saved his friend
That day at his yamên gate.
Hou I, the archer of ancient days,
Brought down each mocking sun,
And the apes that gibbered to fright Yuchi
Were slain by him, one by one.
But we sing of Lü Pu that drew the bow,
And his feathered shaft that flew;
For a myriad men could doff their mail
When he hit the mark so true.
Lü Pu laughed loud at the success of his shot. Dropping his bow he
seized his guests by the hands saying, “The command of Heaven indeed!
And now you cease from fighting!”
He ordered the soldier attendants to pour out great goblets of wine and
each drank. Liu Pei in his inmost heart felt rather ashamed; his fellow
guest sat silent, nodding his head. Presently he said, “I cannot
disobey your command, General, but let me depart. What will my master
say and will he believe me?”
“I will write a letter and confirm it,” said Lü Pu.
After a few more rounds of the wine Chi Ling asked that he might have
the letter and after that departed. When the brothers took their leave
Lü Pu again reminded Liu Pei that he owed him his deliverance.
In a short time the soldiers had gone. Here nothing will be said of the
entry of two of the actors in the drama into their own towns. When Chi
Ling had got back to Huainan and told the story of the feat of archery
and the peace-making that followed, and had presented the letter, his
lord was very wroth.
“He repays me for all my grain with this bit of play-acting!” cried he.
“He has saved Liu Pei, but I will lead a large army myself and settle
him, and take Lü Pu too.”
“Be careful, my lord,” said Chi Ling. “He is braver and stronger than
most men and has wide territory. He and Liu Pei together make a
powerful combination, not easy to break. But there is another course. I
have found out that his wife, the lady Yen, has a daughter just of
marriageable age and as you have a son, you could arrange a marriage
alliance with Lü Pu. If his daughter wedded your son he would certainly
slay your enemy for you. This is the nothing-can-separate-relations
plan.”
This scheme appealed to Yüan Shu, who soon set about its
accomplishment. He sent presents by the hand of Han Yin, who was to
discuss the question. When Han saw Lü he spoke of the immense respect
his master had for him and his desire to ensure perpetual alliance
between the two families by a marriage, an alliance such as existed
between the states Tsʻin and Chin.
Lü Pu was well disposed toward the scheme, but went in to consult his
wife. Now Lü Pu had two wives and one concubine. He first married a
lady of the Yen family and she was the legal wife. Then he took Little
Cicada as a concubine, and while he was living at Hsiaopʻei he had
married a secondary wife, a daughter of Tsʻao Pao. She had died quite
young leaving no issue. Neither had his concubine borne any children.
So that he had but one child, this daughter, of whom he was dotingly
fond.
When he broached the subject his wife said, “The Yüan’s have dominated
their part of the country these many years. They have a large army and
are very prosperous. One day a Yüan will become Emperor and our
daughter may hope to be an Empress. But how many sons has he?”
“Only this one.”
“Then we should accept the offer. Even if our daughter does not become
an Empress, Hsüchou is nothing to be sad about.”
Lü Pu decided to accept and so treated the messenger with extreme
generosity. Han Yin went back with a favourable answer. The wedding
gifts were then prepared ready for Han Yin to take to the bride’s
family. They were received and banquets and merry-making filled all the
time.
One day Chʻên Kung went to see the messenger in his lodging, and when
the usual ceremonies and greetings had been exchanged, the two men sat
down to talk. When the servants had been sent out of earshot Chʻên Kung
said, “Who originated this scheme by which Yüan Shu and Lü Pu are to
become connections by this marriage so that Liu Pei’s head may fall?”
Han Yin was terrified. “I pray you not to let it get abroad,” said he.
“I certainly shall keep it secret. But if there be any delay some other
person will find it out and that spells failure.”
“What had best be done?”
“I will see Lü Pu and get him to send the girl immediately so that the
marriage may be concluded quickly.”
“If it happened thus my master would indeed hold you in high respect.”
With this Chʻên Kung took his leave and sought an interview with Lü Pu.
“I hear your daughter is to be married to Yüan Shu’s son. That is
capital, but no one knows when.”
“That has yet to be considered.”
“There were certain fixed rules as to the period between sending
presents and consummation of the marriage; Emperors, a year; nobles,
half a year; high officers, three months; and common people, one
month.”
Lü Pu replied, “As to Yüan Kung-lu, Heaven has already put into his
hands one Imperial jewel and he will surely arrive at the dignity one
day. So, I should think the Imperial rule would apply.”
“No; it will not.”
“The nobles’ rule, then?”
“No; nor that.”
“The high officers’?”
“Not even that.”
Lü Pu laughed. “Then you mean me to go by the rule for common people.”
“Nor that either.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“In the midst of the present troubles, when there is great rivalry
between the nobles, do you not see that the others will be exceedingly
jealous of your marriage alliance with such a family as the Yüans?
Suppose you postpone the choice of the day, most likely when your fine
morning arrives the wedding party will fall into an ambush on the road
and the bride be carried off. Then what could be done? My opinion is
that you would have done better to refuse. But since you have
consented, then carry out the plan at once before the lords hear of it
and so send the girl over without delay to Shouchʻun. You can hire a
lodging there till you have selected the wedding day and the odds are
greatly against any failure.”
“What you say is quite to the point,” replied Lü.
He went into the private apartments to see his wife and told her the
bride elect would set out immediately and the trousseau was to be
prepared as far as it could be. On his side he chose some good horses
and had a wedding carriage got ready. The escort consisted of Han Yin
and two military officers. The procession went out of the city to the
sound of music.
Now at this time Chʻên Kuei, father of Chʻên Têng (Yüan-lung) was
placidly waiting till the evening of his life passed into night.
Hearing this burst of music he enquired the occasion and the servants
told him.
“They are working on the ‘Relatives-are-inseparable’ device, then,”
said he. “Yüan-tê is in danger.”
Thereupon in spite of his many infirmities he went to see Lü Pu.
“Noble Sir, what brings you here?” asked Lü.
“I heard you were dead and I came to mourn,” quavered the old man.
“Who said that?” exclaimed his host.
“Once upon a time you received grand presents from the Yüan’s that you
might slay Liu Pei, but you got out by that clever shot at your
halberd. Now they suddenly seek a marriage alliance thinking to get
hold of your daughter as a pledge. The next move will be an attack on
Hsiaopʻei and, that gone, where are you? Whatever they ask in future,
grain or men or anything else, and you yield, will bring your own end
nearer, and make you hated all round. If you refuse, then you are false
to the duties of a relative and that will be an excuse to attack you
openly. Beside this Yüan Shu intends to call himself Emperor, which
would be rebellion, and you would be of the rebel’s family; something
abominable, which the Empire would not suffer.”
Lü Pu was much disturbed to hear this. “I have been misled!” cried he.
So he hurriedly sent Chang Liao to bring the wedding party back to the
city. When they had come he threw Han Yin into prison and sent a reply
to Yüan Shu saying curtly that the girl’s trousseau was not ready and
she could not be married till it was.
Han Yin was sent back to the capital. Lü Pu was hesitating what course
to adopt, when he heard that Liu Pei was enlisting soldiers and buying
horses for no apparent reason.
“He is simply doing his duty; there is nothing to be surprised at,”
said Lü Pu.
Then came two officers saying, “As you ordered us we went into Shantung
to purchase horses. We had got three hundred when, on our way back, on
the borders of Peihsien some robbers stole half of them. We hear that
the real robbers were Chang Fei and his men, who took on the guise of
brigands.”
Lü Pu was very angry at this and began to prepare an expedition against
Hsiaopʻei. When Liu Pei heard that an attack threatened he led out his
army to oppose it and the two armies were arrayed. Liu Pei rode to the
front and said, “Elder brother, why have you brought an army against
me?”
Lü Pu began abusing him saying, “That shot of mine at the yamên gate
saved you from grave danger; why then did you steal my horses?”
“I wanted horses and I sent out to buy them. Should I dare to take
yours?” said Liu.
“You stole a hundred and fifty in the person of your brother Chang Fei.
You only used another man’s hand.”
Thereupon Chang Fei, with his spear in rest, rode out saying, “Yes; I
stole your good horses, and what more do you expect?”
Lü Pu replied, “You goggled-eyed thief! You are always treating me with
contempt.”
“Yes; I took your horses and you get angry. You did not say any thing
when you stole my brother’s city.”
Lü Pu rode forward to give battle and Chang Fei advanced. A reckless
fight began and the two warriors kept it up for a hundred bouts without
a decisive stroke. Then Liu Pei, fearing some accident to his brother,
hastily beat the gongs as a signal to retire and led his army into the
city. Lü Pu then invested it.
Liu Pei called his brother and chid him as the cause of all this
misfortune.
“Where are the horses?” said he.
“In some of the temples and courts,” replied Fei.
A messenger was sent out to speak softly and offer to restore the
stolen horses if hostilities were to cease. Lü Pu was disposed to agree
but Chʻên Kung opposed. “You will suffer by and by if you do not remove
this Liu Pei.”
Under his influence the request for peace was rejected and the attack
on the city pressed harder.
Liu Pei called Mi Chu and Sun Chʻien to him to ask advice.
Said the latter, “The one person that Tsʻao Tsʻao detests is Lü Pu. Let
us then abandon the city and take refuge with Tsʻao Tsʻao, from whom we
may borrow men to destroy him.”
“If we try to get away, who will lead the van?”
“I will do my best,” said Chang Fei.
So he led the way. Kuan Yü was rearguard and in the centre was Liu Pei
with the non-fighting portion. The cavalcade started and went out at
the north gate. They met some opposition but the soldiers were driven
off and the besieging force was passed without difficulty. Chang Liao
pursued, but was held off by the rearguard. It seemed Lü Pu was not
dissatisfied at the flight for he took no personal trouble to prevent
it. He made formal entry into the city, settled local affairs and
appointed a governor.
Liu Pei approached Hsütu and encamped outside the city, whence he sent
Sun Chʻien to see Tsʻao Tsʻao and relate the events that brought him
there. Tsʻao was very friendly and said, “Liu Pei is as my brother.” He
invited him to enter the city.
Leaving his brothers at the camp Liu Pei, with Sun Chʻien and Mi Chu,
went to Tsʻao Tsʻao, who received him with the greatest respect. The
story of Lü Pu’s perfidy was again related.
“He has no sense of right,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. “You and I, my brother,
will attack him together.”
Yüan-tê was very grateful. A banquet was then prepared and it was late
evening before the visitor left for his own camp.
Hsün Yü then had an interview with his master and said, “If you are not
on your guard Liu Pei will be your undoing. You ought to destroy him.
He is too much of the hero.”
Tsʻao made no reply and his adviser retired. Presently Kuo Chia came
and Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “I have been advised to kill Liu Pei; what of
such a scheme?”
“A bad scheme,” said Kuo. “You are the popular champion, pledged to
relieve the people from oppression and only by truth and rectitude can
you secure the support of the noble-minded. Your only fear is lest they
stay away. Now Liu Pei is famous. He has come to you for help and
protection and to put him to death would be to alienate all good men
and put fear into the hearts of all the able advisers. Hampered by
these difficulties where will you find those whose help you need? To
remove the dangers represented by one man and thereby injure yourself
in the eyes of all mankind is a sure means of destruction. These
conditions need careful consideration.”
“What you say exactly fits in with what I think,” said Tsʻao, greatly
pleased with these remarks.
His next step was to memorialise the Emperor to give Liu Pei the
governorship of Yüchou.
Again Chʻêng Yü said, “Liu Pei is certain to rise to the top; he will
never remain in a subordinate position. You had better remove him.”
“Now is just the time to make use of good men. I will not forfeit the
regard of the world for the sake of removing one individual. Kuo
Fêng-hsiao and I both see this in the same light.”
Wherefore he rejected all persuasion to work against Liu Pei but sent
him soldiers and a large supply of grain, and set him on his way to Yü
(Honan). He was to march to Hsiaopʻei, occupy it, call together his
former soldiers and attack Lü Pu.
When Liu Pei reached Yüchou he sent to inform Tsʻao Tsʻao, who prepared
to march an army to subjugate Lü Pu. But just then hasty news came that
Chang Chi, who had gone to the attack of Nanyang, had been wounded by a
stray arrow and had died. His nephew Hsiu had succeeded to the command
of his army and with Chia Hsü as strategist, had joined Liu Piao and
camped at Wanchʻêng. They intended to attack the capital and get
possession of the Emperor’s person.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was placed in a quandary. He would go to attack this
combination but he feared lest Lü Pu would attack the capital if he
left it. So he sought the advice of Hsün Yü.
“Lü Pu has no notion of a policy. He is led astray by any little
advantage that presents itself to his eyes. All you need do is to
obtain promotion for him, giving him some additional title, and tell
him to make peace with Yüan-tê and he will do it.”
“Good,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao and he acted upon the hint and sent an officer
with the official announcement and a letter urging peace, while he went
on with preparations to meet the other danger. When ready he marched
out in three divisions. Hsiahou Tun was the van-leader and they went to
Yüshui River and camped there.
Chia Hsü succeeded in persuading Chang Hsiu of the hopelessness of
resistance.
“You would do well to surrender since his army is too large for you to
oppose,” said he.
Seeing the truth of this Hsiu sent his adviser to propose submission.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was greatly pleased with the messenger, admiring his ready
and fluent repartee, and tried to win him to his service.
“I was formerly with Li Tsʻui and was held guilty with him. Now I am
with Chang who accepts my advice and I should not like to abandon him,”
said Chia Hsü.
He left and next day conducted his master into Tsʻao Tsʻao’s presence.
Tsʻao was generous. Then he entered Wanchʻêng, the greater part of the
army being put in camp outside where the lines extended some ten li.
Great banquets were given every day and Tsʻao Tsʻao was always being
entertained.
One day, when Tsʻao Tsʻao returned to his quarters in a more than usual
merry mood, he asked the attendants if there were any singing girls in
the city. The son of his elder brother heard the question and said,
“Peeping through one of the partitions last evening I saw a perfectly
beautiful woman in one of the courts. They told me she was the wife of
Chang Hsiu’s uncle. She is very lovely.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao, inflamed by the description given him of the beauty, told
his nephew to go and bring her to visit him. He did so supported by an
armed escort and very soon the woman stood before him.
She was a beauty indeed and Tsʻao Tsʻao asked her name. She replied,
“Thy handmaid was wife to Chang Chi; I was born of the Tsou family.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“I have known the Minister by reputation a long time. I am happy to see
him and be permitted to bow before him,” said she.
“It was for your sake that I allowed Chang Hsiu to submit; otherwise I
would have slain him and cut him off root and branch,” said Tsʻao.
“Indeed, then, I owe my very life to you; I am very grateful,” said
she.
“To see you is a glimpse of paradise, but there is one thing I should
like better. Stay here and go with me to the capital where I will see
that you are properly cared for. What do you say to that?”
She could but thank him.
“But Chang Hsiu will greatly wonder at my prolonged absence and gossips
will begin to talk,” said she.
“If you like you can leave the city to-morrow.”
She did so, but instead of going at once to the capital she stayed with
him among the tents, where Tien Wei was appointed as a special guard
over her apartments. Tsʻao was the only person whom she saw and he
passed the days in idle dalliance with the lady, quite content to let
time flow by.
But Chang’s people told him what had gone amiss and he was angry at the
shame brought upon the family. He confided his trouble to Chia Hsü who
said, “Keep this secret, wait till he appears again to carry on
business and then....”
A plan was arranged quite secretly.
Not long after this Chang Hsiu went into Tsʻao Tsʻao’s tent to say
that, as many of his men were deserting, it would be well to camp them
in the centre and when permission was given the men of his old command
were moved in and placed in four camps.
But Tien Wei, the especial guard of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s tent, was a man to be
feared, being both brave and powerful. It was hard to know how to
attack him. So counsel was taken with an officer, Hu Chʻêrh, a man of
enormous strength and activity. He could carry a burden of six hundred
pounds and travel seven hundred li in a day. He proposed a plan. He
said, “The fearsome thing about Tien Wei is his double halberd. But get
him to come to a party and make him quite drunk before you send him
back. I will mingle among his escort and so get into his tent and steal
away his weapon. One need not fear him then.”
So the necessary arms were prepared and orders given in the various
camps. This done the intended victim was invited and plied vigorously
with wine so that he was quite intoxicated when he left. And, as
arranged, the officer mingled with his escort and made away with his
weapons.
That night, when Tsʻao Tsʻao was at supper with the lady, he heard the
voices of men and neighing of horses and sent out to ask what it meant.
They told him it was the night patrol going the rounds and he was
satisfied.
Near the second watch of the night again was heard some noise in the
rear of his tent and one of the fodder carts was reported to be
burning.
“One of the men has dropped a spark; there is nothing to be alarmed
at,” said he.
But very soon the fire spread on all sides and became alarming. He
called Tien Wei. But he, usually so alert, was lying down quite
intoxicated.
However, the beating of gongs and rolling of drums mingling with his
dreams awoke him and he jumped up. His trusty halberd had disappeared.
The enemy was near. He hastily snatched up an infantryman’s sword and
rushed out. At the gate he saw a crowd of spearmen just bursting in.
Tien Wei rushed at them slashing all around him and a score or more
fell beneath his blows. The others drew back. But the spears stood
around him like reeds on the river bank. Being totally without mail he
was soon wounded in several places. He fought desperately till his
sword snapped and was no longer of any use. Throwing it aside he seized
a couple of soldiers and with their bodies as weapons felled half a
score of his opponents. The others dared not approach, but they shot
arrows at him. These fell thick as rain but he still maintained the
gate against the assailants.
However, the mutineers got in by the rear of the camp and one of them
wounded him in the back with a spear thrust. Uttering a loud cry he
fell. The blood gushed from the wound in torrents and he died. Even
after he was dead not a man dared to come in by the main gate.
Tsʻao Tsʻao, relying on Tien Wei to hold the main gate, had fled in
haste by the rear gate. His nephew accompanied him on foot. Then Tsʻao
was wounded by an arrow in the arm and three arrows struck his horse.
However, fortunately, the horse was a fine beast from Tawan full of
spirit and, in spite of his wounds, he bore his master swiftly and well
as far as the Yüshui River.
Here some of the pursuers came up and his nephew was hacked to pieces.
Tsʻao Tsʻao dashed into the river and reached the further side, but
there an arrow struck his steed in the eye and he fell. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
eldest son dismounted and yielded his horse to his father, who galloped
on. His son was killed but he himself got away. Soon after he met
several of his officers who had rallied a few soldiers.
The soldiers under Hsiahou Tun seized the occasion to plunder the
people. Yü Chin took his men fell upon them and slew many. Thus he
protected and appeased the people. The plunderers, meeting Tsʻao Tsʻao
on the road, knelt down howling and said Yü Chin had mutinied and
attacked them. Tsʻao Tsʻao was surprised and when he met Hsiahou Tun,
gave orders to attack Yü Chin.
Now when Yü Chin saw his master and a great company approaching he at
once stopped the attack and set his men to make a camp. Hsün Yü asked
him why.
“The Chingchou soldiers say you have turned traitor; why do you not
explain now that the Minister has arrived? Why first make a camp?” said
he.
He replied, “Our enemies are coming up in our rear and are very close.
It is necessary to prepare for defence or we shall not withstand them.
Explanation is a small matter, but defence is very important.”
Soon after the camp was finished Chang Hsiu fell upon them in two
divisions. Yü Chin himself rode out to face them. Chang drew back. The
other leader, seeing Yü Chin advance thus boldly, also attacked and
Chang Hsiu was overcome. They pursued him a great distance until his
force was almost annihilated. With the miserable remnant he finally
fled to Liu Piao.
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army reformed and the captains mustered. Then Yü Chin
went to see his master and told him of the conduct of the Chingchou
soldiers and their looting and why he had attacked them.
“Why did you not tell me before you made the camp?”
Yü Chin related what had occurred.
Said Tsʻao, “When the first thought of a leader in the time of greatest
stress is to maintain order and strengthen his defences, giving no
thought to slander but shouldering his burdens manfully, and when he
thereby turns a defeat into a victory, who, even of the ancient
leaders, can excel him?”
He rewarded Yü Chin with a service of plate and a marquisate. But he
reprimanded Hsiahou Tun for his lack of discipline.
Sacrifices in honour of the dead warrior Tien Wei were instituted.
Tsʻao himself led the wailing and paid due honours. Turning to his
officers he said, “I have lost my first born son, but I grieve not so
heavily for him as for Tien Wei. I weep for him.”
All were sad at the loss of this captain. Then orders were issued to
return but nothing will be said here of the march to the capital.
When Wang Tsê, bearing the imperial decree, reached Hsüchou, he was met
by Lü Pu, who conducted him into the residence where the decree was
read. It conferred the title General, “Pacificator of the East,” and a
special seal accompanied the mandate. The private letter was also
handed over and the messenger detailed the high appreciation in which
Lü was held by the chief Minister of State.
Next came news that a messenger from Yüan Shu had arrived. When he had
been introduced he said that Shu’s project of declaring himself Emperor
was advancing. He had already built a palace and would speedily choose
an Empress and concubines and would come to Huainan.
“Has the rebel gone so far?” cried Lü Pu in a rage.
He put the messenger to death and Han Yin into the cangue. He drafted a
memorial of thanks and sent it to the capital, at the same time
sending, too, Han Yin, the unfortunate agent who had arranged the
marriage alliance. He also replied to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s private letter
asking to be confirmed in his governorship.
Tsʻao was pleased to hear of the rupture of the marriage arrangement,
and forthwith put Han Yin to death in the market place.
However, Chʻên Têng sent a secret remonstrance to Tsʻao Tsʻao,
vilifying Lü Pu as cruel, stupid and facile and advising his
destruction.
“I know Lü Pu quite well,” said Tsʻao. “He is a wolf with a savage
heart, and it will be hard to feed him for long. If it had not been for
you and your father I should not have known all the circumstances and
you must help me to get rid of him.”
“Anything the Minister wishes to do shall have my assistance,” was the
reply.
As a reward Tsʻao Tsʻao obtained a grant of grain for the father and a
prefecture for the son, who then took his leave. As he was saying
farewell Tsʻao took him by the hand saying, “I shall depend upon you in
the eastern affair.”
Chʻên Têng nodded acquiescence. Then he returned to Lü Pu, who asked
him how he had fared. Chʻên told him of the gifts to his father, which
annoyed Pu.
“You did not ask Hsüchou for me, but you got something for yourself.
Your father advised me to help Tsʻao Tsʻao by breaking off the
marriage, and now I get nothing at all of what I asked while you and
your father get everything. I have been victimised by your father.”
He threatened Chʻên with his sword.
Chʻên Têng only laughed saying, “O how stupid you are, General!”
“I! How stupid?”
“When I saw Tsʻao, I said that to keep you going was like feeding a
tiger. The tiger must be kept fully fed or he would eat men. But Tsʻao
laughed and replied, ‘No; not that. One must treat the marquis like a
falcon. Not feed it till the foxes and hares are done. Hungry, the bird
is of use; full fed it flies away.’ I asked who were the quarry. He
replied ‘Yüan Shu, Sun Tsʻê, Yüan Shao, Liu Piao, Liu Chang and Chang
Lu; these are the foxes and hares.’”
Lü Pu threw aside his sword and laughed, saying, “Yes; he understands
me.”
But just about that time came news of the advance of Yüan Shu on
Hsüchou and that frightened Lü Pu.
When discord rose ’twixt Tsʻin and Chin,
They were attacked by Yüeh and Wu,
And when a promised bride ne’er came,
An army marched to enforce the claim.
How all this fell out will be shown in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XVII.
AN ARMY OF SEVEN DIVISIONS MARCHES OUT:
THREE GENERALS ARE BROUGHT TOGETHER.
Huainan was very fruitful, and Yüan Shu, as governor of such a large
district, was very influential. He was not a little puffed up. The
possession of the Imperial seal, pledged by Sun Tsʻê, added to his
pride. And he seriously thought of assuming the full style. As a
preliminary he assembled all his officers and addressed them thus:—
“Of old Kao-Tsu, Founder of the Dynasty of Han, was only a very minor
official and yet he became ruler of the Empire. The Dynasty has endured
four centuries and its measure of fortune has run out. It no longer
possesses authority; the cauldron is on the point of boiling over. My
family has held the highest offices of State for four generations and
is universally respected. Wherefore I wish, in response to the will of
Heaven and the desire of the people, to assume the Imperial dignity.
What think ye of the proposal, my officers?”
The Recorder, Yen Hsiang, rose in opposition at once. “You may not do
this. Hou Chi, the Minister of the Chou Dynasty, was of distinguished
virtue and held many offices, till in the time of Wên Wang he had two
thirds of the Empire. Still he served and was loyal to the Yin Dynasty.
Your house is honourable, but it is not so glorious as that of Chou.
The Hans may be reduced, but they are not so abominably cruel as Tsou
of the Yins. Indeed this should not be done.”
Yüan Shu did not hear this with pleasure. “We Yüans came from Chʻên and
he was a descendant of Shun (the Emperor). By the rule of interpreting
the signs of fate the day has come when earth receives fire. Beside
there is an oracle saying, ‘He who replaces the Hans must wade through
deep mire.’ My name means ‘the high road.’ It fits exactly. Further
than this, I possess the hereditary seal of State and must become lord
of all or I turn from Heaven’s own way. Finally I have made up my mind,
so if any one says too much he will simply suffer death.”
He arrogated himself the insignia of royalty. He set up officials with
titles only given by an Emperor, and rode in a carriage decorated with
the dragon and phœnix and offered sacrifices after the manner of an
Emperor in the north and south suburbs. Also he appointed an “Empress”
and an “Heir Apparent” (in the Eastern Palace) and pressed for the
early wedding of Lü Pu’s daughter with his son that the palace
entourage might be complete.
But when he heard of the fate of his marriage ambassador he was very
angry and began at once to plan for revenge. Chang Hsün was made
Generalissimo having under his command more than twenty legions, in
seven divisions under so many commanders, and each of these was
instructed to make a certain town his objective. The Governor of
Yenchou, Chin Shang, was ordered to superintend the commissariat, but
he declined the office and so was put to death. Chi Ling was in command
of the reserves to help wherever he was required. Yüan Shu led three
legions and he appointed three tried officers to go up and down and see
that the various armies did not lag behind.
Lü Pu found out from his scouts that his own city was Chang Hsün’s
objective; the other towns to be first attacked being Hsiaopʻei, Itu,
Langya, Chiehshih, Hsiapʻei and Chünshan. The armies were marching
fifty li a day, and plundering the countryside as they advanced.
He summoned his advisers to a council to which came Chʻên Kung, Chʻên
Têng and his father. When all had assembled Chʻên Kung said, “This
misfortune that has come to us is due to the two Chʻêns, who fawned
upon the central government in order to obtain rank and appointments.
Now remove the evil by putting these two to death and sending their
heads to our enemy. Then he will retire and leave us in peace.”
Lü Pu acquiesced and had the two arrested. But the son, Chʻên Têng,
only laughed. “What is this anxiety about?” said he. “These seven
armies are no more to me than so many heaps of rotting straw. They are
not worth thinking about.”
“If you can show us how to overcome them I will spare your life,” said
Lü.
“General, if you will listen to a poor stupid fool the city will be
perfectly safe.”
“Let us hear what you have to say.”
“Yüan Shu’s men are numerous but they are only a flock of crows; they
are not an army under a leader. There is no mutual confidence. I can
keep them at bay with the ordinary guards of the place and could
overcome them by some unsuspected stratagem. If I should fail I have
another plan by which I can not only protect the city but capture our
enemy.”
“Let us have it.”
“Han Hsien and Yang Fêng, two of the leaders of our enemies, are old
servants of the Han dynasty who fled from fear of Tsʻao Tsʻao and,
being homeless, sought refuge with Yüan Shu. He despises them and they
are dissatisfied with his service. A little letter will secure their
help as our allies, and with Liu Pei to help us on the outside we can
certainly overcome Yüan.”
“You shall take the letters yourself,” said Lü.
He agreed and a memorial detailing his intentions was sent to the
capital, letters to Yüchou to Liu Pei, and finally Chʻên Têng was sent,
with a small escort, to wait for Han Hsien on the road to Hsiapʻei.
When Han Hsien’s army had halted and pitched camp Chʻên Têng went to
see Han Hsien who said, “What are you here for? You belong to Lü Pu.”
“I am a noble of the Court of the great Hans. Why do you call me a Lü
Pu’s man? If you, General, hitherto a Minister of State, now serve a
traitor you nullify the grand services you rendered in protecting the
Emperor and I despise you. Beside the suspicious Yüan Shu will
assuredly do you some harm and you will regret not having taken this
opportunity to work against him.”
Han Hsien sighed. “I would return to my allegiance if there should be
any opportunity.”
Thereupon Chʻên Têng gave him the letter. Han read it and said, “Yes; I
know. You may return to your master and say General Yang and I will
turn our weapons and smite him. Look out for a signal-flare and let
your master come to our aid.”
As soon as Chʻên Têng had got back and reported his success, Lü Pu
divided his men into five divisions and sent them to five points to
meet his enemies. He himself led against the main body under Chang
Hsün, leaving a guard in the city.
Lü Pu camped thirty li from the walls. When the enemy came up their
leader thought Lü Pu too strong to attack with the force he had, so he
retired twenty li to await reinforcements.
That night, in the second watch, Han Hsien and Yang Fêng arrived and
soon the flare was lighted as arranged. Lü Pu’s men were admitted to
the camp and caused great confusion. Then Lü Pu himself attacked and
Chang Hsün was routed and fled. Lü Pu pursued till daylight when he
fell in with one of the other bodies led by Chi Ling. Both sides faced
each other, but at the very beginning of the engagement the two
traitors also attacked and Chi Ling was forced to fly.
Lü Pu went in pursuit but soon another force came out from the rear of
some hills. These looked very imposing. As the ranks opened he saw a
leader’s guard with flags bearing dragons and phœnixes and
representations of the sun and moon, the four “measures,” [8] the five
directions, [9] golden gourds, silver axes, yellow halberds, white
yaks’ tails, all Imperial emblems. And beneath a yellow silken parasol
sat Yüan Shu on horseback, clad in silver mail with a sword handle
showing at each wrist.
Standing out in front of the array he railed at his opponent calling
him traitor and slave. Lü Pu said nothing but rode forward ready for
battle and Li Fêng, one of Yüan’s leaders, advanced to take the
challenge. They met, but at the third bout, Li was wounded in the hand,
whereupon his spear fell to the ground and he fled. Lü Pu waved on the
advance and his men prevailed. The other side fled, leaving much spoil,
clothing, mail and horses.
Yüan Shu’s defeated men had not gone far when a strong troop, led by
Kuan Yü, appeared barring his way.
“Traitor! why have they not slain you?” cried Kuan Yü.
Whereat Yüan Shu fled in great trepidation and his army melted into
fugitives in all directions. The new army fell upon them with great
slaughter. Yüan Shu and the remnant of his army retreated into Huainan.
Victory being now secure, Lü Pu, in company with Kuan Yü, Yang Fêng and
Han Hsien returned to Hsüchou, where there were banquets and feastings
and rewards for the soldiers. These over, Kuan took his leave and
returned to his brother, while Han Hsien was appointed magistrate of
Itu and his friend magistrate of Langya.
There had been a question of keeping these two in Hsüchou but Chʻên
Kuei opposed it. “Let them hold those places in Shantung, which will be
all yours within a year.” So they were sent to these two cities in the
meantime to await orders.
“Why not retain them here?” asked Chʻên Têng secretly of his father.
“They would be a basis for our conspiracy against Lü Pu.”
“But if they helped him, on the other hand, we should lengthen the
tiger’s claws and teeth,” said his father.
So Têng could only approve of his father’s precautions.
Yüan Shu returned home burning to avenge his defeat, so he sent to
Chiangtung to ask a loan of men from Sun Tsʻê. Tsʻê said, “On the
strength of holding the State Seal he secretly calls himself Emperor
and rebels against the Hans. I would rather punish such a renegade than
help him.”
So he refused. The letter refusing help added to Yüan’s anger. “What
next from this callow youth?” cried he. “I will smite him before I deal
with the other.”
But Yang Ta-chiang dissuaded him from this course.
Having refused help to his powerful rival Sun Tsʻê thought it wise to
take measures for his own safety. So he stationed an army at
Chiangkʻou. Soon after came a messenger from Tsʻao Tsʻao bearing his
appointment as Prefect of Kueichi with orders to raise an army and
reduce Yüan Shu.
Sun Tsʻê was inclined to carry out these orders but he called a council
at which Chang Chao opposed this course. Said he, “Although recently
defeated Yüan Shu has many men and ample supplies. He is not to be
attacked lightly. You had better write to Tsʻao Tsʻao persuading him to
attack the south and we will be auxiliaries. Between the two armies Shu
must certainly be defeated. If by the remotest chance we lose, we have
Tsʻao Tsʻao to come to our rescue.”
This plan was adopted and a messenger was sent to lay it before Tsʻao.
In the meantime Tsʻao had reached Hsütu where his first thought was to
institute sacrifices to his beloved lost leader Tien Wei. He conferred
rank upon his son Tien Man and took him into his own palace to be cared
for.
Presently arrived Sun Tsʻê’s messenger with letters and next came a
report that Yüan Shu, being short of food, had made a raid on
Chʻên-liu. Tsʻao thought the moment opportune, so he issued orders for
the expedition south, leaving Tsʻao Jên to hold the city. The army
marched, horse and foot, seventeen legions, with commissariat waggons
of food to the number of over a thousand. Messages were sent to summon
Sun Tsʻê, Liu Pei and Lü Pu to assemble on the Yüchang borders.
Liu Pei was the first to arrive and he was called in to the Minister’s
tent. After the usual salutations two human heads were produced.
“Whose are these?” asked Tsʻao in surprise.
“The heads of Han Hsien and Yang Fêng.”
“Why did this happen?”
“They were sent to control Itu and Langya and allowed their soldiers to
plunder the people. Bitter complaints arose so I invited them to a
banquet and my brothers despatched them when I gave the signal by
dropping a cup. Their men gave in at once and now I have to apologise
for my fault.”
“You have removed an evil, which is a grand service: why talk of a
fault?”
And he praised Yüan-tê’s action.
When the joint army reached Lü Pu’s borders he came to meet it. Tsʻao
Tsʻao spoke graciously to him and conferred upon him the title of
Generalissimo of the Left, promising him a suitable seal as soon as he
returned to the capital. Lü Pu was very pleased.
Then the three armies were made into one force, Tsʻao Tsʻao being in
the centre and the other two on the wings. Hsiahou Tun and Yü Chin were
leaders of the van.
On Yüan Shu’s side Chʻiao Sui with five legions was appointed van
leader. The armies met on the confines of Shouchʻun. The two van
leaders rode out and opened battle. Chʻiao Sui fell in the third bout
and his men fled into the city.
Then came news that Sun Tsʻê’s fleet was near and would attack on the
west. The other three land corps took each one face and the city was in
a parlous state.
At this juncture Yüan Shu summoned his officers. Yang Ta-chiang
explained the case, “Shouchʻun has suffered from drought for several
years and the people are on the verge of famine. Sending an army would
add to the distress and anger the people, and victory would be
uncertain. I advise not to send any more soldiers there, but to hold on
till the besiegers are conquered by lack of supplies. Our noble chief,
with his regiment of guards, will move over to the other side of the
river, which is quite ready, and we shall also escape the enemy’s
ferocity.”
So due arrangements being made to guard Shouchʻun a general move was
made to the other side of the Huai River. Not only the army went over
but all the accumulated wealth of the Yüan family, gold and silver,
jewels and precious stones, were moved.
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army of seventeen legions needed daily no inconsiderable
quantity of food, and as the country around had been famine-stricken
for several years nothing could be got there. So he tried to hasten the
military operations and capture the city. On the other hand, the
defenders knew the value of delay and simply held on. After a month’s
vigorous siege the fall of the city seemed as far off as it was at
first and supplies were very short. Letters were sent to Sun Tsʻê who
sent a hundred thousand measures of grain. When the usual distribution
became impossible the Chief of the Commissariat, Jên Hsün, and the
Controller of the Granaries, Wang Hou, presented a statement asking
what was to be done.
“Serve out with a smaller measure,” said Tsʻao. “That will save us for
a time.”
“But if the soldiers murmur, what then?”
“I shall have another device.”
As ordered the controllers issued grain in a short measure. Tsʻao sent
secretly to find out how the men took this and when he found that
complaints were general and they were saying that he was fooling them,
he sent a secret summons to the controller. When he came Tsʻao said, “I
want to ask you to lend me something to pacify the soldiers with. You
must not refuse.”
“What does the Minister wish?”
“I want the loan of your head to expose to the soldiery.”
“But I have done nothing wrong!” exclaimed the unhappy man.
“I know that, but if I do not put you to death there will be a mutiny.
After you are gone your wife and children shall be my care. So you need
not grieve on their account.”
Wang Hou was about to remonstrate further but Tsʻao Tsʻao gave a
signal, the executioners hustled him out and he was beheaded. His head
was exposed on a tall pole and a notice said that in accordance with
military law Wang Hou had been put to death for peculation and the use
of a short measure in issuing grain.
This appeased the discontent. Next followed a general order threatening
death to the various commanders if the city was not taken within three
days. Tsʻao Tsʻao in person went up to the very walls to superintend
the work of filling up the moat. The defenders kept up constant showers
of stones and arrows. Two inferior officers, who left their stations in
fear, were slain by Tsʻao Tsʻao himself. Thereafter he went on foot to
see that work went on continuously and no one dared be a laggard. Thus
encouraged the army became invincible and no defence could withstand
their onslaught. In a very short time the walls were scaled, the gates
battered in and the besiegers were in possession. The officers of the
garrison were captured alive and were executed in the market place. All
the paraphernalia of imperial state were burned and the whole city
wrecked.
When the question of crossing the river in pursuit of Yüan Shu came up
Hsün Yü opposed it saying, “The country has suffered from short crops
for years and we should be unable to get grain. An advance would weary
the army, harm the people and possibly end in disaster. I advise a
return to the capital to wait there till the spring wheat shall have
been harvested and we have plenty of food.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao hesitated and before he had made up his mind there came an
urgent message saying Chang Hsiu, with the support of Liu Piao, was
ravaging the country all round, that there was rebellion in Nanyang and
Tsʻao Hung could not cope with it. He had been worsted already in
several engagements and was in sore straits.
Tsʻao Tsʻao at once wrote to Sun Tsʻê to command the river so as to
prevent any move on the part of Liu Piao, while he prepared his army to
go to deal with Chang Hsiu. Before marching he directed Liu Pei to camp
at Hsiaopʻei, as he and Lü Pu, being as brothers, might help each
other.
When Lü Pu had left for Hsüchou Tsʻao Tsʻao said secretly to Yüan-tê,
“I am leaving you at Hsiaopʻei as a pitfall for the tiger. You will
only take advice from the two Chʻêns and there can be no mishap. You
will find so-and-so your ally when needed.”
So Tsʻao Tsʻao marched to Hsütu where he heard that Tuan Wei had slain
Li Tsʻui and Wu Hsi had killed Kuo Ssŭ and they presented the heads of
these two. Beside the whole clan of Li Tsʻui had been arrested and
brought to the capital. They were all put to death at various gates and
their heads exposed. People thought this very harsh dealing.
In the Emperor’s palace a large number of officials were assembled at a
peace banquet. The two successful leaders Tuan and Wu were rewarded
with titles and sent to guard Chʻangan. They came to audience to
express their gratitude and marched away.
Then Tsʻao Tsʻao sent in a memorial that Chang Hsiu was in rebellion
and an army must be sent against him. The Emperor in person arranged
the chariot and escorted his Minister out of the city when he went to
take command of the expedition. It was the summer, the fourth month of
the third year of the period Chien-An (199 A.D.). Hsün Yü was in chief
military command in Hsütu.
The army marched away. In the course of the march they passed through a
wheat district and the grain was ready for harvesting but the peasants
had fled for fear and the corn was uncut. Tsʻao Tsʻao caused it to be
made known all about that he was sent on the expedition by command of
the Emperor to capture a rebel and save the people. He could not avoid
moving in the harvest season but if any one trampled down the corn he
should be put to death. Military law was so severe that the people need
fear no damage. The people were very pleased and lined the road,
wishing success to the expedition. When the soldiers passed wheatfields
they dismounted and pushed aside the stalks so that none were trampled
down.
One day, when Tsʻao Tsʻao was riding through the fields, a dove
suddenly got up, startling the horse so that he swerved into the
standing grain and a large patch was trampled down. Tsʻao at once
called the Provost Marshal and bade him decree the sentence for the
crime of trampling down corn.
“How can I deal with your crime?” asked the Provost Marshal.
“I made the rule and I have broken it. Can I otherwise satisfy public
opinion?”
He laid hold of the sword by his side and made to take his own life.
All hastened to prevent him and Kuo Chia said, “In ancient days, the
days of the Spring and Autumn history, the laws were not applied to the
persons of the most honourable. You are the supreme leader of a mighty
army and must not wound yourself.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao pondered for a long time. At last he said, “Since there
exists the reason just quoted I may perhaps escape the death penalty.”
Then with his sword he cut off his hair and threw it on the ground
saying, “I cut off the hair as touching the head.”
Then he sent a man to exhibit the hair throughout the whole army
saying, “The Minister, having trodden down some corn, ought to have
lost his head by the terms of the order; now here is his hair cut off
as an attack on the head.”
This deed was a stimulus to discipline all through the army so that not
a man dared be disobedient. A poet wrote:—
A myriad soldiers march along and all are brave and bold,
And their myriad inclinations by one leader are controlled.
That crafty leader shore his locks when forfeit was his head,
O full of guile wert thou, Tsʻao Tsʻao, as every one has said.
On the first news of the approach of Tsʻao Tsʻao with an army Chang
Hsiu wrote to Liu Piao for help. Then he sent out his men under command
of Lei Hsü and Chang Hsien. When the array was complete Chang Hsiu took
his station in front and pointing at Tsʻao Tsʻao railed at him saying,
“O false and pretended supporter of benevolence and justice! O
shameless one! You are just a beast of the forest, and absolutely
devoid of humanity.”
This annoyed Tsʻao Tsʻao who sent out Hsü Chʻu against the insulter.
Chang Hsien came to meet him and fell in the third bout. Thence Chang
Hsiu’s men fled and were pursued to the very walls of Nanyang, only
managing to get within just before the pursuit came up. The city was
then closely besieged. Seeing the moat was so wide and deep that
approach to the wall would be difficult they began to fill up the ditch
with earth. Then with sand bags, brushwood and bundles of grass they
built a great mound near the wall and on this erected steps so that
they could look over into the city.
Tsʻao rode round the city closely inspecting the defences. Three days
later he issued an order to make a mound of earth and brushwood at the
north west angle, as he would mount the walls at that point. He was
observed from within the city by Chia Hsü, who went to his chief and
said, “I know what he intends and I can defeat him by a counter-move.”
E’en amongst the very foremost
There is one who leads the way;
Some one sees through your devices,
Be as crafty as ye may.
What the counter-move was will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHIA HSÜ ENGINEERS A GREAT VICTORY:
HSIAHOU TUN LOSES AN EYE.
Chia Hsü, as he had guessed the enemy’s intention, had also devised a
counter-move. So he went to his chief and said, “I saw Tsʻao Tsʻao very
carefully reconnoitring round about the city and he certainly noticed
that the south-east angle of the wall had been lately restored with mud
bricks of a different kind and that the abatis is badly out of repair.
He will try to effect an entrance there. Wherefore he is making a feint
attack at the opposite point. He is piling up straw and making
ostentatious preparations whereby to cajole us into withdrawing from
the real point of attack to defend the north-west. His men will scale
the walls in the darkness and try to enter at the south-east.”
“Supposing your surmise correct, what do you advise?” asked Chang Hsiu.
“The counter-move is plain. You issue an order for our best and bravest
soldiers to fill their bellies, to take only the lightest outfit and
conceal themselves in the houses near the south-east corner. Then
disguise the townspeople as soldiers and send them to pretend to defend
the north-west. To-night we will let the enemy climb up the walls and
enter the city and, once they are fairly within, give the signal and
the concealed soldiers will rush out upon them. We may even capture
Tsʻao Tsʻao himself.”
The stratagem was decided upon. Soon the scouts told Tsʻao that the
defenders of the city had moved to the north-west where noisy
preparations for defence were going on. The opposite corner was left
undefended.
“They have fallen into my trap,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao gleefully.
They prepared shovels and hooks and all the gear needed for scaling
walls, and all day they kept up the attack on the north-west angle.
But at the second watch they despatched the veterans to the opposite
corner, where they climbed the wall, broke up the abatis and got into
the city apparently without disturbing any of the guards. There was no
sign of life anywhere as they entered. But just as they were leaving
the wall suddenly a bomb exploded and they found themselves in an
ambush. They turned to retire, but Chang Hsiu immediately fell on the
rear. Tsʻao’s men were totally defeated and fled out of the gate into
the country. Chang Hsiu kept up the pursuit till daybreak, when he
retired into the city again.
Tsʻao Tsʻao then rallied his army and mustered his men. He had lost
five legions and much baggage, while two of his captains, Lü Chʻien and
Yü Chin were wounded.
Tsʻao Tsʻao being thus worsted, Chang Hsiu wrote off to Liu Piao to cut
off his retreat that he might be utterly destroyed.
An army was preparing for this purpose when a scout came to say that
Sun Tsʻê had encamped at Hukʻou. Kʻuai Liang urged the immediate
departure of the expedition as he said this move of Sun Tsʻê was part
of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s strategy and there would be never-ending regret if he
were allowed to escape. Wherefore Liu Piao moved out with his army to
Anchung, leaving Huang Tsu to hold the point of vantage. Chang Hsiu,
having been informed of the movement to attack his enemy in the rear,
went with Chia Hsü to smite him once more.
In the meantime Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army, marching very leisurely, had
arrived at Hsianchʻêng. Walking one day beside the Yushui River he
suddenly uttered a great cry, and when his officers asked the reason
thereof he replied, “I remembered that here, only a year ago, I lost my
great captain Tien Wei. Is that not a reason to grieve?”
Thereupon he gave orders to halt while he should make a great sacrifice
and mourn for his lost leader. At the ceremony he himself burned
incense and wailed and prostrated himself. The army was much affected
by his devotion. After the sacrifices to the lost hero, he sacrificed
to the names of his nephew Tsʻao An-ming and his eldest son Tsʻao An,
both of whom had died at the same time. He also sacrificed to his lost
soldiers and even to his steed which had been killed by an arrow.
Soon Hsün Yü wrote to tell him that Liu Piao had gone to help Chang
Hsiu and was camped at Anchung, thereby cutting his road of retreat.
Tsʻao replied to the letter saying, “I have been marching only a short
distance each day and of course knew of the pursuit. But my plans are
laid and, as I near Anchung, my enemy will be broken. You need not have
any fears.”
Then he hastened his march till he came near where Liu Piao had taken
position. Chang Hsiu still followed. Tsʻao ordered his men during the
night to open a secret way through a pass, where he laid an ambush.
With the first light of dawn Liu and Chang met. As Tsʻao Tsʻao’s force
looked small, they thought he had retired so they boldly advanced into
the pass to smite him. Then the ambush was opened and both the
attackers’ forces were cut up. The fighting ended, Tsʻao’s soldiers
went outside the pass and encamped.
The two leaders on the other side restored order among their beaten men
and then held a conference.
“How could we have foreseen such a wicked ruse?” said Liu Piao.
“Let us try again,” said his colleague.
Wherefore they joined forces at Anchung.
But Hsün Yü discovered through his spies that Yüan Shao was preparing
an attack on Hsütu, the then capital, so he at once wrote to Tsʻao
Tsʻao who, much disturbed by this news, set out homeward at once. When
Chang Hsiu heard this through his scouts he wished to follow the
retreating army. Chia Hsü opposed it and said it would lead to a
defeat. However Liu Piao was also of opinion that it was wrong to lose
such a chance and so finally pursuit was decided upon.
They had not marched very far before they came upon Tsʻao’s rear-guard,
who fought with great vigour and bravery, so that the pursuers were
beaten off and went home discomfited.
Chang Hsiu said to Chia, “This defeat comes from my not following your
advice.”
“Now set your army in order and pursue,” said Chia.
“But we have just suffered defeat!” cried both leaders. “Do you now
counsel pursuit?”
“Yes, and the result will be a great victory if you go now. I will
venture my head on that,” said Chia.
Chang Hsiu had confidence, but his colleague was afraid and would not
accompany him. So one army only started in pursuit.
However, this was enough. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s rear-guard was thoroughly
routed and abandoned their waggons and their baggage in their hasty
flight. Chang Hsiu pursued, but suddenly a troop came out from the
shelter of some hills and checked him. Fearful to try further he
hastened back to Anchung.
The other general, Liu Piao, asked the adviser to explain his apparent
inconsistency. “When our veteran and brave soldiers were going to
pursue those who retreated you said our men would lose the day; and
when defeated men pursued the victors you foretold victory. You were
right in both cases, but we wish you would enlighten us.”
“It is easy to explain. You, Generals, although skilled leaders, are
not a match for our enemy. Though the enemy had lost a battle he had
able captains to keep the rear and guard against pursuit. Our men are
good, but not a match for them. That is how I knew. Forasmuch as Tsʻao
Tsʻao’s hurried retreat was due to trouble in the capital and he had
beaten off our men, I knew he would retire at his utmost speed and not
take his usual precautions. I ventured to take advantage of his
laxity.”
Liu and Chang could not but affirm his complete understanding of the
conditions.
On the advice of Chia Hsü then Liu Piao returned to Chingchou, while
Chang Hsiu took up his position at Hsiangchʻêng so that each
strengthened the other as the lips protect the teeth from cold.
When Tsʻao, during his retreat, heard that his army was being pursued
he hastily turned back to support the rear-guard. Then he saw the
pursuing army draw off. The soldiers of the beaten rear-guard said,
“Had it not been for the troop that came out of the hills we should all
have been lost.”
“What troop?” asked Tsʻao Tsʻao in surprise.
The leader of the troop then advanced, slung his spear and,
dismounting, made a low obeisance. He was Li Tʻung, a captain of some
rank and reputation from Chianghsia.
Tsʻao asked him why he had come.
Li Tʻung replied, “I was in command at Junan when I heard of the
struggle going on, so I came to lend you any help I could.”
To show his gratitude Tsʻao conferred upon Li the title Marquis of
Established Merit, and confirmed him in his command as a defence
against Liu Piao. Then Li Tʻung took his leave.
On his return to the capital Tsʻao Tsʻao presented a memorial on the
good services rendered by Sun Tsʻê and he was created Marquis of Wu
with the title General “Captor of Rebels.” The messenger bearing the
decree bore also the order to repress Liu Piao.
Tsʻao Tsʻao went to his palace and there received the ceremonial calls
of congratulation. These finished, Hsün Yü asked, saying, “You, Sir,
marched very leisurely to Anchung; how came it that you felt certain of
victory?”
Tsʻao replied, “He who retires and finds his retreat cut off fights
desperately. I retired slowly to entice them into following whereby I
could do as I wished with them. Basing my movements on these
considerations I felt secure.”
Hsün bowed his head in admiration.
When Kuo Chia entered Tsʻao said, “Why so late, Sir?”
The visitor drew a letter from his sleeve saying to his master, “Yüan
Shao sends this saying he desires to send an army to attack Kungsun
Tsan and wishes you to lend provisions and men.”
“I heard he was going to attack Hsütu; I suppose my return has made him
change his intention,” said Tsʻao.
Then he opened the letter and read it. It was couched in very arrogant
terms.
“He is so exceedingly rude that I will attack him,” said Tsʻao, “Only I
think I am not quite strong enough. What should be done?”
“My lord, you know well who lost, and why, in the conflict between Liu
Pang and Hsiang Yü; the former won only by superior wisdom. Hsiang Yü
was the stronger, but in the end he was overcome. Your rival has ten
weak points whereas you have ten strong ones, and, though his army is
large, it is not terrible.
“Shao is over-much devoted to ceremony and deportment; while you are
sympathetic and natural; this is an excellence in conduct. He is
antagonistic and drives; you are conciliatory and lead; so you have the
advantage of popular approval. For many years the government has been
lax and he makes it more so: you strive vigorously after efficiency;
this is the excellence of able administration. He is outwardly liberal
but grudging at heart, and too given to nepotism: you appear exacting,
but you understand and use men after their ability; this is the
advantage of correct appreciation. He is a visionary and lacking in
decision: you are a man of prompt decision and direct action; this is
an advantage in policy. He loves to gather about him men of renown: you
treat a man as you find him regardless of his reputation; this is where
you excel in moral virtue. He is compassionate to those at hand, but
careless about those out of sight: your care is all-embracing; this is
where you excel in humanity. He lends a ready ear to calumny and is
misled: you may be flooded with evil counsel, but you preserve
independence; this is where you excel in perspicacity. His sense of
right and wrong is confused: your appreciation is accurate and clear;
this is where you excel in administrative capacity. He loves the
make-believe force, but is ignorant of military essentials: you would
overcome with far inferior numbers as you possess military genius; this
is where you excel in war. With your ten superiorities you will have no
difficulty in overcoming Shao.”
“How can I be worth as much as you say?” said Tsʻao, smiling.
“What he has said about the ten points in your favour agrees exactly
with what I think,” said Hsün Yü. “Shao’s army is not formidable in
spite of its size.”
“The real and dangerous enemy is Lü Pu,” said Kuo Chia. “When Yüan Shao
has gone north to destroy Kunsun Tsan, we ought to sweep away Lü Pu and
so clear away our danger from that side, for if this is not done our
attack on Shao will be the signal for an attempt on the capital. That
would be most serious.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao saw things in the same light as his advisers and began to
discuss plans for an attack on Lü Pu. Hsün Yü was of opinion that they
should first secure the fidelity and aid of Liu Pei. So letters were
written and they waited his assurance before moving a soldier. Then, in
order to reassure Yüan Shao, his emissary was treated with great
kindness and a memorial presented asking extra honours for him. With
all this a private letter was written urging upon him to attack Kungsun
and promising assistance. So Yüan Shao’s army started.
In the meantime the two Chʻêns were playing their game. At every feast
and gathering in Hsüchou they uttered the most fulsome praises of Lü
Pu. Chʻên Kung was greatly displeased and took an opportunity to talk
about them to his master. “They flatter you to your face, but what is
in their hearts? You ought to be most carefully on your guard.”
“Hold your tongue!” was the angry reply. “You are simply slandering
them without the slightest excuse. You want to harm good men.”
“No ears for loyal words”; said Chʻên Kung, as he went away sad at
heart, “and we shall suffer.”
He thought seriously of abandoning Lü Pu, but that would be too painful
a wrench. Beside he feared people would laugh at him.
So the days passed sorrowfully for him. One day, with a few horsemen,
he rode out to the country near Hsiaopʻei to hunt. On the high road he
saw a messenger galloping along in hot haste and began to wonder what
it might mean. He left the hunt, rode across country and intercepted
the rider.
“Where are you from? Who sent you?” asked Chʻên Kung.
The messenger made no reply for he knew to what party his captors
belonged. But they searched him and found a letter, the secret reply to
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s letter to Liu Pei. The messenger and the letter were both
taken straight to Lü Pu. He questioned the man, who said he had been
sent to Liu Pei with a letter and was now taking back the reply. He
knew nothing more. He was ignorant of the contents of the letter. So Lü
Pu tore it open and read:—“I have received your commands concerning the
destruction of Lü Pu and dare I for a moment venture to disregard them?
But my force is weak and I must act with extreme circumspection. If you
move your main body, then I will hasten forward and in the meantime my
men shall be got ready and weapons prepared. I await your command.”
Lü Pu was really alarmed. “The wretch!” said he, “To dare to act thus!”
The unhappy messenger was put to death and counter-moves planned. Chʻên
Kung and Tsang Pa went to enlist the help of the Tʻaishan bandits and
take Yenchou in Shantung. Kao Shun and Chang Liao went to attack Liu
Pei in Pʻeichʻêng. Sung Hsieu and Wei Hsü went west to attack Juying
and Lü Pu took command of a large body of men ready to afford help
wherever needed.
The departure of the army under Kao Shun against Hsiaopʻei was told Liu
Pei who assembled his officers at a council. Sun Chʻien advised sending
a message to the capital to inform Tsʻao Tsʻao of their danger and, in
response to the chief’s call, Chien Yung, a fellow-townsman of Liu
Pei’s, offered to take the message. Up to that moment he had served as
a secretary. So a letter was written and the late secretary set out at
once on his journey.
Then preparations were made for defence, Yüan-tê commanding at the
south gate and the two brothers and Sun Chʻien taking each a gate. Mi
Chu and his brother Fang commanded the family guard.
The two Mi’s were put in command of the house guard because they were
Liu Pei’s brothers-in-law, he having taken a sister of Mi Chu as a
second wife. Hence they were suitable men to guard the family.
In due course Kao Shun came to the south gate. Liu Pei ascended the
tower and said, “I have no quarrel with your master, why do you come
here with an army?”
“You have plotted with Tsʻao Tsʻao to injure my master as we know now;
why should I not ‘bind’ you?”
So saying he gave the signal to attack. But Yüan-tê did not go out to
repulse him; he only kept the gate fast closed.
Soon after Chang Liao led an attack on the west gate, then kept by
Yün-chʻang, who addressed him from the wall.
“You are too good a man to waste yourself on rebels,” said he.
Chang hung his head and made no reply.
Kuan Yü knew that he had a sound heart and high principles and said no
more as he was unwilling to wound him. Nor did he go out to attack.
Chang Liao then drew off and proceeded to the east gate, and Chang Fei
went out to give battle. Soon it was told Kuan Yü, who came over
quickly. He saw Chang Fei going out, but Chang Liao was already
withdrawing. Fei wished to pursue, but his brother held him back.
“He is afraid and so has gone away; it would be best to pursue,” said
Fei.
“No,” said his brother. “As a warrior he is not inferior to either of
us, but I have spoken a few straight words and they have sunk deep. He
is repentant and that is why he will not meet us.”
So Chang Fei understood and the gates were shut and orders given for
careful defence.
When Liu Pei’s messenger reached the capital he saw Tsʻao Tsʻao who
told him what had happened. The advisers were called to discuss a plan.
Tsʻao said, “I wish to attack Lü Pu. I fear not Yüan Shao, but Liu Piao
and Chang Hsiu may attack me in the rear.”
Hsün Yü replied. “Both these latter have been too recently defeated to
do anything so rash. But Lü Pu is a bold fighting man, and if he joined
forces with Yüan Shu and they set themselves to conquer Huai and Ssŭ
[10] the problem would be difficult.”
Then spoke Kuo Chia, “Let us take advantage of the moment before they
have fully made up their mind. Smite before they are fully prepared.”
And Tsʻao Tsʻao did so. Five legions with four captains were sent in
advance. Tsʻao commanded the rear army, which marched by divisions, and
Chien Yung brought up the rear.
Soon the scouts informed Kao Shun. He sent flying messengers to Lü Pu,
who detached two hundred horse to assist him. Kao Shun posted this
reinforcement about thirty li from the city to meet Tsʻao’s army. He
followed close.
When Liu Pei saw the enemy retiring from the city he knew Tsʻao’s army
was close at hand. So, making arrangements for guarding the city
within, he and his two brothers marched their men out of the city and
made a camp, that they might be ready to assist.
Now the division of Tsʻao’s army under Hsiahou Tun, having marched out
in advance, first came into touch with Kao Shun. The former captain at
once rode out with spear set and offered a challenge. It was accepted
and the two leaders fought half a hundred bouts. Then Kao Shun began to
weaken and had to own he had lost the day. His adversary pressed him
hard and he rode round to the rear of his array. Tun was not the man to
quail so he followed right into the enemy’s country. Then Tsʻao Hsing,
one of the captains, secretly strung his bow, fitted an arrow and, when
Tun had come quite near, shot at him. The arrow hit Hsiahou Tun full in
the left eye. He shrieked, and putting up his head, pulled out the
arrow and with it the eye.
“Essence of my father, blood of my mother, I cannot throw this away,”
cried he, and he put the eye into his mouth and swallowed it.
Then resuming his firm grip of his spear he went after this new enemy.
There was no escape for Tsʻao Hsing. He was overtaken and fell with a
spear wound full in the face. Both sides were stricken dumb with
amazement.
Having thus slain the man who had wounded him Tun rode back toward his
own side. Kao Shun went in pursuit and, waving on his men, attacked so
vigorously that he won the day. Hsiahou Tun saved his elder brother,
with whom he fled. The various divisions rallied at Chipei and made a
camp there.
Kao Shun having scored this victory, returned to attack Liu Pei, and as
Lü Pu opportunely arrived with Chang Liao, these three arranged their
forces so that each attacked one of the brothers.
Dauntless was Tun, that warrior bold,
His courage had been proved of old;
But smitten sore one hapless day,
He might not in the battle stay.
The fate of Yüan-tê will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XIX.
TSʻAO TSʻAO FIGHTS AT HSIAPʻEI:
LÜ PU PERISHES AT THE WHITE GATE TOWER.
As was stated before, Kao Shun and Chang Liao together went to smite
Kuan Yü, while Lü Pu attacked the younger brother’s camp. Both brothers
went out to give battle, while Liu Pei’s force was held in reserve. Lü
Pu attacked from the rear and the brothers were forced to flee. Liu Pei
with a few score horsemen rushed back to Pʻeichʻêng. As he approached
the gate with Lü Pu pressing him close, he shouted to the soldiers on
the wall to lower the drawbridge. Lü Pu was so close behind that the
archers on the wall feared to shoot lest they should wound their lord
and so Lü Pu got into the gate. The gate guards could not force him
back so they scattered in all directions. Lü Pu led his force into the
city.
Liu Yüan-tê saw the position was too desperate for him to reach his
residence and he must abandon all his family. So he hastened through
the city and left by the west gate out at which he and his scanty
following fled for very life.
When Lü Pu reached the residence he was met by Mi Chu who said, “The
hero does not destroy a man’s wife. Your rival for the Empire is Tsʻao
Tsʻao, and my master, always mindful of the good turn you did him at
your gate, would not be ungrateful. But he could not help going to
Tsʻao Tsʻao and I think you will pity him.”
Lü Pu replied, “We two are old friends; how could I bear to harm his
wife and children?”
Whereupon he sent the family to Hsüchou with Mi Chu to take care of
them. Next Lü led his army into Shantung to Yenchou, leaving Kao Shun
and Chang Liao to guard Hsiaopʻei.
During these troubles Sun Chʻien had also fled out of the city and the
two brothers, each with a handful of men, had got away to the hills. As
Liu Pei with his few horsemen was making the best of their way from the
scene of his defeat he heard some one coming up behind him. When he got
closer the person proved to be Sun Chʻien.
“Alas! I know not the fate of my brothers, whether they be alive or
dead, and my wife and children are lost to me! What can I do?” said Liu
Pei.
Sun replied, “I see nothing better than getting away to Tsʻao Tsʻao,
whence we may be able to plan our future moves.”
Liu Pei had no better plan to propose and the two men directed their
way to Hsütu, choosing bye-roads rather than highways. When their small
supplies ran out they entered a village to beg. But when the people of
any place heard that Liu of Yüchou was the man who needed help they
vied with each other in offering all that was required.
One day they sought shelter at a house whence a youth came out and made
a low obeisance. They asked his name and he gave it as Liu An, of a
well known family of hunters. Hearing who the visitor was the hunter
wished to lay before him a dish of game, but though he sought for a
long time nothing could be found for the table. So he came home, killed
his wife and prepared a portion for his guest. While eating Liu Pei
asked what flesh it was and the hunter told him “wolf.” Yüan-tê knew no
better and ate his fill. Next day at daylight, just as he was leaving,
he went to the stables in the rear to get his horse and passing through
the kitchen he saw the dead body of a woman lying on the table. The
flesh of one arm had been cut away. Quite startled he asked what this
meant, and then he knew what he had eaten the night before. He was
deeply affected at this proof of his host’s regard and the tears rained
down as he mounted his steed at the gate.
“I wish I could go with you,” said Liu An, “but as my mother still
lives I cannot go so far from home.”
Liu Pei thanked him and went his way. The party took the road by
Liangchʻêng and as they were going out they saw not far off a thick
cloud of dust. When the troop came nearer they found they were men of
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army, and with them they travelled to the main camp where
they found Tsʻao Tsʻao himself. He wept at the sad story of Liu’s
distress, the loss of the city, his brothers and wife and children.
When he told him of the hunter who had sacrificed his wife to feed them
Tsʻao sent the hunter a present of a hundred ounces of silver as a
reward. [11]
The march then was continued to Chipei, where Hsiahou Yüan welcomed
them. They heard that his brother was still ill from the wound he had
received in the eye. Tsʻao Tsʻao went to the sick man’s bedside to see
him and had him removed to Hsütu for skilled treatment.
Presently scouts, sent out particularly for tidings of Lü Pu, returned
saying that he had allied himself with the bandits in the east and they
were attacking Yenchou. At this Tsʻao Tsʻao despatched Tsʻao Jên with
three companies to take Pʻeichʻêng, while he, in conjunction with Liu
Pei, moved against Lü Pu.
They went east. As they neared Artemisia Pass (Hsiao Kuan) they met the
Tʻaishan brigands with three legions barring their road. However, they
were easily beaten back and were chased right up to the pass.
The scouts told Lü Pu, who was then in Hsüchou, whither he had gone to
start an expedition to save Hsiaopʻei. He left the protection of his
city to Chʻên Kuei and set out with Chʻên Têng.
As this latter was starting Chʻên Kuei said to him, “Remember the words
of Tsʻao Tsʻao, that the business of the east is in our hands. Now is
our moment for Lü Pu is about to suffer defeat.”
“Father, your son can look after the outside. But when he returns
beaten you must arrange with Mi Chu to keep him out of the city. I
shall find a means of escape,” said Têng.
“His family is here and he has many friends. How about them?”
“I also have a scheme to settle them.”
Then he went to see Lü Pu, to whom he said, “Hsüchou is surrounded and
this city will be fiercely attacked. We ought to provide for possible
retreat and I advise storing grain and money in Hsiaopʻei. We could
retreat there if the day went adversely. Why not see about this in good
time?”
“Your words are indeed wise. I will also send my wife and little ones
thither,” said Lü.
The family left under escort and with them was sent much grain and
silver. And then the soldiers marched to the relief of the pass. About
half way there Chʻên Têng said, “Let me go first to reconnoitre so that
you, my lord, may advance with confidence.”
Thus Chʻên Têng parted company with his chief and preceded him to the
pass where he was received by Chʻên Kung. He said, “The Marquis greatly
wonders why you do not advance. He is going to enquire into it.”
“The enemy is in great force and we cannot be too careful,” said Kung.
“We are holding the pass and you should persuade our master to take
steps to guard Pʻeichʻêng.”
Chʻên Têng muttered to himself and said no more. That evening he went
up to the heights from which he could see Tsʻao’s army, which was quite
close to the pass. Then he wrote three notes, tied them to arrows and
shot them into Tsʻao’s camp.
Next day he left and hastened back to Lü Pu. “Those bandits are about
to give up the pass to the enemy, but I have left Chʻên Kung to hold
it. You had better make an attack to-night and hold him.”
“Had it not been for you the pass would have been lost,” said Lü.
Then he sent Chʻên Têng back to arrange a signal with Chʻên Kung for
simultaneous action. So Têng returned to Kung to whom he said, “Tsʻao’s
men have found a secret way through the pass and I fear Hsüchou is
already lost. You ought to go back at once.”
At this the pass was abandoned and Kung began to retreat. Then the
prearranged signal was given.
Lü Pu advanced in the darkness to the relief of the pass. Presently he
met Chʻên Kun’s men, and as neither recognised the other in the
darkness a fierce battle ensued. Nor was the trick discovered till
daylight came.
While these things were going on Tsʻao Tsʻao had noted the signal and
advanced as fast as possible. The bandits, who alone remained to hold
the pass, were easily driven out and scattered in all directions.
When daylight came and the trick was discovered Lü Pu and Chʻên Kung
set off together for Hsüchou. But when they arrived and summoned the
gate, instead of opening the doors the men on the wall saluted them
with a thick flight of arrows. At the same time Mi Chu appeared on the
defence tower and shouted, “You stole our master’s city and now we are
going to give it back to him. You will not enter here again.”
“Where is Chʻên Kuei?” cried Lü Pu, angrily.
“We have slain him,” was the reply.
“Where is that son of his?” said Pu turning to Chʻên Kung.
“Do you still hold to your delusion, General, that you ask where this
specious rogue is?”
Lü Pu bade them search through all the ranks, but he was not to be
found. Then they decided to go to Hsiaopʻei. But ere they had got half
way there suddenly appeared the troops under the command of Kao Shun
and Chang Liao. They said Chʻên Têng had come to them saying their lord
was surrounded and wanted help so they had come at once.
“Another trick of that false rogue!” said Lü Pu. “Surely he shall die
for this.”
They went with all speed to the city, only to see as they drew near the
ensigns of the enemy displayed all along the walls, for the city had
been taken by Tsʻao Jên.
While Lü Pu stood at the foot of the rampart reviling the traitor Chʻên
Têng, Têng himself appeared on the wall and pointing to Lü Pu cried,
“Did you think that I, a Minister of the Dynasty, would serve a rebel
like you?”
Lü Pu in his wrath was about to make a desperate attack but suddenly a
great noise was heard and an army came up behind him. It was led by no
other than Chang Fei.
Kao Shun went to engage him, but he had no chance of success. Lü Pu
then joined in the fray. Then another army appeared, and the leader
this time was Tsʻao Tsʻao himself, and his army rushed to the attack.
Seeing that he had no hope of victory Lü Pu went away toward the east,
with Tsʻao Tsʻao in pursuit. His army marched till they were worn out.
Then appeared a new force under Kuan Yü. Holding his sword ready to
strike he called out, “Do not flee, O Lü Pu, Kuan Yü is waiting for
you.”
Lü Pu joined battle; he was flurried and scarce knew what was
happening. And soon Chang Fei came up once more. By desperate efforts
Lü Pu and his men cut their way through the press and got free. After
this they started for Hsiaopʻei as fast as they could travel and Hou
Chʻêng helped to keep the pursuers at bay.
So the two brothers Kuan Yü and Chang Fei were together again after
their separation. Both shed tears of joy as they told each other what
they had seen and suffered.
“I was on the Haichow road when I heard of you,” said Yün-chʻang. “I
lost no time in starting.”
“And I had been camped in the Mangtang Hills for a long time. It is
happiness to be together again.”
So they talked. Then they marched off together to find their elder
brother, and made their salutations with tears. In Yüan-tê’s heart
sadness and joy intermingled. Next they were presented to Tsʻao Tsʻao
and with him they went into the captured city.
Mi Chu soon came with the welcome news of the safety of the family. And
the two Chʻên’s, betrayers of Lü Pu, came to present their salutations.
A grand banquet was prepared for the officers at which Tsʻao Tsʻao
presided as host and Chʻên Kuei and Yüan-tê occupied the seats of
honour. At the close of the banquet Tsʻao Tsʻao paid the two Chʻêns the
highest compliments on their success and rewarded them with the
revenues of ten departments beside giving the son the title of Fu-po
Chang-chün or General, “Queller of Waves.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao was very pleased with his success and at once began to
scheme for the taking of Hsiaopʻei, the sole place now left to Lü Pu,
where he had taken refuge. Chʻêng Yü said the course was inadvisable.
“If Lü Pu be pressed too hard he may get clear by a desperate effort
and throw himself into the arms of our especial enemy Yüan Shu. These
two as allies would be difficult to overcome. Rather send a capable man
to guard Huainan, one able to secure you against Lü Pu on one hand and
to hold Yüan Shu on the other. Moreover the bandits are in Shantung and
still our enemies. They must be watched.”
Tsʻao replied, “I can keep the whole of Shantung and I will request
Yüan-tê to take the south.”
“Could I dare withstand your command?” said Yüan-tê.
So forthwith Liu Pei, leaving Mi Chu and Chien Yung at Hsüchou, went
south, taking in his train his brothers and Sun Chʻien. And Tsʻao led
his army to Hsiaopʻei.
Lü Pu felt very secure in his refuge. He had good store of grain and he
had the protection of the river, so he sat quiet, satisfied that he
could maintain his defence. So he allowed Tsʻao’s army to approach
without molestation.
“You ought to attack Tsʻao’s army as they come up before they have time
to make camps and defences. They will only have fatigued men to oppose
to your fresh troops and you will certainly defeat them.”
So said Chʻên Kung but Lü Pu replied, “I have suffered too many defeats
lately to take any risk. Wait till they actually attack and you will
see them floating away on the waters.”
So he neglected the confidant’s advice and waited till the enemy had
settled into their camp. This done, the attackers advanced against the
city. From the foot of the wall Tsʻao Tsʻao called to Lü Pu to listen
while he spoke. Lü Pu ascended to the wall where he stood.
Tsʻao addressed him, saying, “When I heard that your family and that of
Yüan Shu were likely to be united by marriage I sent an army against
you, for Yüan was guilty of treason while you had to your credit the
destruction of Tung Cho. For what reason have you sacrificed all your
merits to throw in your lot with a rebel? It will be over late to
regret when this city shall have fallen. But if you surrender and help
me to support the ruling house you shall not lose your rank of
Marquis.”
Lü Pu replied, “If the Minister will retire we may be able to discuss
the matter.”
But Chʻên Kung, standing near his master, began to rail at Tsʻao Tsʻao
for a rebel and shot an arrow that struck his plumed helmet.
“My oath, but I will slay you at least!” cried Tsʻao, pointing his
finger at Chʻên Kung.
Then the attack on the walls began.
“They have come from far and cannot maintain this for long,” said Chʻên
Kung. “General, go out with your horse and foot and take up a position
outside, leaving me to maintain the defence with the remainder of our
men. If he engages you, I will come out and strike at his rear ranks;
if he attacks the city, you can come to our aid. In a few days their
stores will fail and we can beat them off. This will place them between
the horns.”
“The advice seems good,” said Lü Pu.
He went back to his palace and prepared his weapons. As it was the
depth of winter he made his men take plenty of wadded clothing to keep
them warm. His wife heard of it and came to ask whither he was going.
He told her of Chʻên Kung’s plan.
She said, “My lord, you are leaving an undamaged city, abandoning your
wife and little ones and going with a paltry force. Should any untoward
event happen will your handmaid and her lord ever meet again?”
Lü Pu hesitated, and for three days made no move. Then Chʻên Kung came
to see him again and said, “The enemy are all round the city and unless
you go out soon you will be quite hemmed in.”
“I am thinking it would be better to maintain a stubborn defence,” said
Lü.
“Our enemies are short of food and have sent for supplies to Hsütu.
These will soon arrive and you should go out with some veterans and
intercept the convoy. That loss would be a heavy blow.”
Lü Pu agreed and went in to tell his wife the new plan. She wept
saying, “If you go do you think those others equal to the defence of
the city? Should anything go wrong you would be very sorry. You
abandoned me at Chʻangan and it was only through the fortunate kindness
of Pʻang Hsü that I was hidden from our enemies and rejoined you. Who
would have thought you would leave me again? But go, go your way as far
as you wish, and do not mind your wife?”
And she wept bitterly. Lü Pu very sadly went to take leave of Little
Cicada who said, “You are my lord, you must not be careless and ride
out alone.”
“You need not fear; with my mighty halberd and the Hare, my swift
steed, who dare come near me?”
He went out. He met Chʻên Kung and said, “That story about supplies for
Tsʻao Tsʻao is all false, one of his many ruses. I am not going to
stir.”
Chʻên Kung sighed; he felt all was lost.
“We shall die and no man shall know our burying place,” said he.
Thereupon Lü Pu remained in his own quarters with his women folk,
drinking freely to dissipate his sorrows. Two of his advisers went in
and proposed that he should write to the powerful Yüan Shu for help.
Yüan would hardly refuse to rescue the affianced bride of his son. So
he wrote and bade these two take the letter.
Hsü Ssŭ said, “You ought to send a strong escort with us to force a way
through.”
So Lü told off a company and two captains to conduct his messenger
beyond the pass. They started that same night at the second watch,
Chang Liao leading and Ho Ming bringing up the rear. They got out of
the city, crept past Yüan-tê’s camp and got beyond the danger zone.
Then half the escort went on and Chang Liao led the remainder back
toward the city. At the pass he found Yün-chʻang waiting. However, at
that moment Kao Shun came to his help and they all returned and
re-entered the gates.
The two messengers presently reached Shouchʻun, saw Yüan Shu and
presented the letter.
“How is this?” said Shu. “Formerly he slew my messenger and repudiated
the marriage; now he sends to ask for it.”
“It is all due to the vile plans of that monster Tsʻao Tsʻao. I pray
you, Illustrious Sir, to consider it carefully,” replied Ssŭ.
“But if your master was not hemmed in by his enemy and in imminent
danger he would never have thought of renewing this proposal of
marriage.”
The messengers said, “You may decide not to help him, but the teeth are
cold when the lips are gone. It will not make for your happiness and
comfort.”
Said Shu, “Fêng-hsien is unreliable; tell him that I will send soldiers
after the girl has arrived here.”
This was final and the two messengers took leave. When the party
reached Yüan-tê’s camp they decided to try to get through in the
darkness, the escort remaining behind to protect their rear. They tried
that very night and the two messengers crept across without discovery.
But the escort found themselves faced by Chang Fei. Ho Ming tried to
fight but was captured in the very first bout and the men of his half
company were either killed or they fled.
The prisoner was taken to Yüan-tê, who forwarded him to the main camp.
There he told the story of the marriage and the scheme to save the
city. Tsʻao Tsʻao was angry and ordered the execution of the prisoner
at the main gate.
Then he sent orders to each camp to exercise the greatest diligence
with threats of rigorous punishment of the officers of any corps that
permitted any communication between the besieged and the outer world.
Every soldier felt mightily afraid. Yüan-tê returned to camp and
cautioned his brothers saying, “We are in the most important place with
regard to Huainan and you must be very careful not to allow any breach
of this command.”
Chang Fei was inclined to grumble, “We have just captured one of the
enemy’s leaders,” said he, “and there is no word of praise or reward
for us; nothing but new orders and threats. What do you make of that?”
“You are wrong to complain,” said Yüan-tê. “These are orders of the
Commander-in-Chief and what would happen were there no orders? Do not
disobey them, brother.”
They promised obedience and withdrew.
In the meantime the messengers had got back to Lü Pu and told him what
Yüan Shu had said, that if the girl came the soldiers should go.
“But how can she be sent?” said Pu.
“That is the difficulty. Ho Ming’s capture means that Tsʻao Tsʻao knows
the whole plan of getting help from the south. I do not see how any one
but you yourself could hope to get through the close siege.”
“Suppose we tried, to-day?” said Lü Pu.
“This is an ill-omened day; you must not try to-day. To-morrow is a
very lucky day, especially in the evening, for any military action.”
Then Lü Pu ordered Chang Liao and Kao Shun to get ready three companies
for the venture and to prepare a light carriage. He would lead till
they had got a couple of hundred li away. Thence they could escort the
bride-elect the remainder of the way to her new home.
Next evening toward the second watch Lü Pu wrapped up his daughter in
soft wadded garments, bound her about with a mailed coat and took her
on his back. Then with his mighty halberd in hand, he mounted his steed
and rode at the head of the cavalcade out of the city gate. The two
captains followed.
In this order they approached Yüan-tê’s camp. The drums at once beat
the alarm and the two younger brothers barred the way.
“Stop!” they shouted.
Lü Pu had no desire to fight; all he wished was to get through so he
made for a side road. Yüan-tê came in pursuit and the two parties
engaged. Brave as he might be, Lü Pu was almost helpless now that he
was hampered by a girl on his shoulders, whom he was desperately
anxious to preserve from hurt. Beside other parties came up all
shouting and attacking and he had no alternative but to give up his
project and return into the city. He reached his palace very sad at
heart. The besiegers returned to camp well pleased that no one had got
beyond their lines.
Lü Pu found consolation in the wine cup. The siege had gone on for two
months and still the city stood, when they heard that Chang Yang,
Prefect of Honei, had been inclined to come to the help of Lü Pu. But
one of his subordinates had assassinated him and was bringing his head
as an offering to Tsʻao Tsʻao, when he also had been slain by one of
the Prefect’s friends. He had then gone to Tachʻêng.
In the camp of the besiegers there now arose much murmuring. The
officers grumbled saying, “Though Chang Yang, who meant to hurt us, is
happily no more, yet we are threatened on the north by Yüan Shao and on
the east Piao Hsiu is a menace. Here we meet with no success against
the city. We are for leaving Lü Pu to his fate and returning home. We
need a rest.”
Among them Hsün Yü fought against this discontent. “You must not act
like this,” said he. “Lü Pu has lost much and his spirit is broken. The
spirit of the leader expresses that of his men, and when the leader
fails his men do not fight. Chʻên Kung is clever but nothing is done.
Lü Pu broken, Chʻên Kung without decision, it only needs a sharp attack
and we shall succeed.”
“I have a plan to propose,” said Kuo Chia, “a plan to overcome the city
at once; it beats twenty legions.”
“I suppose you mean drowning the city,” said Hsün Yü.
“That is it,” said the proposer, smiling.
Tsʻao Tsʻao accepted the suggestion with joy and set his men to cut the
banks of the I and Ssŭ Rivers, and moved his men to the high ground
whence they watched the drowning out of Hsiaopʻei. Only the east gate
remained clear of water.
The besieged soldiers hastened to their leader. He said, “Why should I
fear? My good horse can go as well through the water as over the land.”
And he again returned to the wine cup for consolation, drinking deeply
with his wife and concubine.
The continual drinking bouts told at last and Lü Pu began to look
dissipated. Seeing himself in a mirror one day he was startled at the
change and said to himself, “I am injuring myself with wine; no more
from this day forward.”
He then issued an order that no one should drink wine under penalty of
death.
Now one of his captains, Hou Chʻêng, lost fifteen horses, stolen by one
Hou Tsʻao, who intended them for Yüan-tê. The owner found out where
they were, went out after them and recovered them. And his colleagues
congratulated him on his success. To celebrate the occasion he brewed a
few catties of wine to be drunk at the feast, but thinking his chief
might find him in fault he sent the bottles of wine to his palace with
a petition explaining that by virtue of his lord’s warlike renown he
had recovered his horses and asking that he and his comrades might be
allowed a little wine at their feast.
Lü Pu took it very angrily saying, “When I have forbidden all wine you
brew some and begin to give feasts; you are simply defying me.”
Whereupon he ordered the officer to instant execution. However, a
number of his colleagues came in and interceded and after a time Lü Pu
softened.
“You ought to lose your head for this disobedience, but for the sake of
your colleagues the punishment shall be reduced to a hundred strokes.”
They tried to beg him off this, but only succeeded in reducing the
number of blows to one half.
When the sentence had been carried out and the offender was permitted
to return home his colleagues came sadly to console him.
“Had it not been for you I should have been put to death,” said Hou
Chʻêng.
Sung Hsien replied, “All he cares for is his family, there is no pity
for any one else. We are no more than the weeds by the roadside.”
Wei Hsü said, “The city is besieged, the water is drowning us out.
There will not be much more of this for we may die any day.”
“He is a beast, with neither a sense of humanity nor of right. Let us
leave him,” said Hsien.
“He is not worth fighting for. The best we could do would be to seize
him and hand him over to Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
“I was punished because I got my horses back again, yet all he trusts
in is his own steed. If you two will betray the gate and seize Lü Pu I
will steal the horse and go out to Tsʻao’s camp.”
They settled how to carry out the plot and that very night Hou Chʻêng
sneaked into the stables and got the Hare away. He hastened to the east
gate which was opened to let him through. The guard made a pretence of
pursuing him but only a pretence.
Hou Chʻêng reached the besiegers’ camp, presented the horse and told
Tsʻao what had been arranged. They would show a white flag and open the
gates to his army. Hearing this Tsʻao had a few notifications written
out, which were attached to arrows and shot over the walls. This is one
of them:—“The General Tsʻao Tsʻao has received a command to destroy Lü
Pu. Those who interfere with the operations of his grand army, whatever
their rank, shall be put to death in the gate on the day that the city
shall be captured. Should any one capture Lü Pu or bring his head he
shall be well rewarded. Let all take note of this.”
Next day at daylight a tremendous hubbub was heard without the city and
Lü Pu, halberd in hand, hasted to the wall to see what it meant. As he
went from gate to gate inspecting the defences and guards he censured
Wei Hsü for letting Hou Chʻêng escape and get away with his horse. He
threatened to punish him. But just then the besiegers began a fierce
attack as the white flag had just appeared and Lü Pu had to turn all
his energies to defence. The assault lasted till noon, when the
attacking force drew off for a time.
Lü Pu was taking a rest in the tower and fell asleep in his chair. Sun
Hsien sent away his attendants, and when they had gone he stole his
master’s weapon, the halberd in which he trusted. Then he and Wei Hsü
fell upon Lü together and before he was well awake had bound him with
cords, trussing him so that he could not move. Lü Pu shouted for his
men, but they were driven off by the two traitors and could not come
near. Then a white flag was shown and the besiegers again approached
the city. The traitors shouted out that Lü Pu was a prisoner. But
Hsiahou Yüan could hardly believe it till they threw down the famous
halberd.
The gates were flung open and the enemy entered the city. Kao Shun and
Chang Liao, who were at the opposite gate, were surrounded and cut off
by the water and helpless. They were captured. Chʻên Kung made a dash
to the south gate but was also taken. Presently Tsʻao Tsʻao entered and
at once gave orders to turn the streams back into their usual courses.
He put out proclamations soothing the people.
He and Liu Pei seated themselves side by side in the White Gate Tower,
with Kuan Yü and Chang Fei in attendance. The captives, to the number
of a thousand, were brought before them. Lü Pu looked a pitiable
object. Although a very tall man he was tied up in a veritable ball.
“The bonds are very tight,” cried he, “I beseech you to loosen them.”
“A bound tiger frets of course,” replied Tsʻao.
Seeing the three traitors standing there looking pleased at their
success Pu said, “I treated you all well enough; how could you turn
against me?”
Said Sung Hsien, “You listened to the words of your women, but rejected
the advice of your captains. Was not that mean?”
Lü Pu was silent. Then Kao Shun was brought forward.
“What have you to say?” asked Tsʻao.
Shun sulkily held his tongue and was ordered out to execution.
Next Chʻên Kung was led in.
“I hope you have been well since we last saw each other, Kungtʻai?”
said Tsʻao.
“Your ways were crooked and so I left you,” said Chʻên.
“You say I was crooked; and what of your serving Lü Pu?”
“Though he was a fool, he did not resemble you in deceit and
wickedness.”
“You say you are able enough and clever, but what about your position
to-day?”
Turning toward Lü Pu, Chʻên Kung said, “This man would not follow my
advice. Had he done so he would not now be a captive.”
“What think you ought to be done about this day’s work?” said Tsʻao.
“There is death for me to-day and that is the end,” shouted Chʻên Kung.
“Very well for you; but what of your mother and your wife?”
“It is said that he who rules with due regard to filial piety does not
harm a man’s family; he who would show benevolence does not cut off the
sacrifices at a man’s tomb. My mother and my wife are in your hands.
But since I am your prisoner I pray you to slay me quickly and not to
try to harrow my feelings.”
Tsʻao’s heart still leaned toward mercy, but Chʻên Kung turned and
walked away, repulsing the attendants who would stop him. Tsʻao rose
from his place and walked with him, the tears falling from his eyes.
Chʻên Kung never looked at him. Turning to his men Tsʻao said, “Let his
mother and family be taken to Hsütu and looked after. This insolent
fellow must die.”
The condemned man heard him but uttered no word. He stretched out his
neck for the blow. Tears sprang to the eyes of all present. His remains
were honourably coffined and buried in Hsütu.
A poem pitying his fate says:—
Neither hope of life nor fear of death moved him.
How brave was he, a hero indeed!
But his lord heeded not his words,
Wherefore in vain possessed he great talents.
Nevertheless, in that he stood by his master,
To parting with wife and mother,
He merits our pity and profound respect.
Who would not resemble Kung-tʻai
That day he died at the White Gate?
While Tsʻao sadly escorted Chʻên Kung on the way to death, Lü Pu
appealed to Yüan-tê, “Noble Sir, you sit there an honoured guest while
poor I lie bound at your feet. Will you not utter one word to alleviate
my lot?”
Yüan-tê nodded. As Tsʻao Tsʻao returned to his place his prisoner
called out, “Your only trouble, Illustrious Sir, is myself and I am on
your side now. You take the lead, I will help you and together the
world is at our feet.”
“What do you think?” said Tsʻao turning to Liu Pei.
“You are willing to forget the episodes of Ting Yüan and Tung Cho?”
“Truly the lout is not to be trusted,” said Lü Pu, looking at Yüan-tê.
“Strangle and expose,” said Tsʻao.
As he was led away the prisoner turned once more to Yüan-tê, “You
long-eared lout, you forget now the service I rendered you that day at
my yamên gate, when my arrow hit the mark.”
Just then some one shouted, “Lü Pu, O fool! death is but death, and why
are you scared at it?”
Every one turned to look; the lictors were hustling Chang Liao to the
place of judgement.
A poet has written upon the death of Lü Pu:—
The flood spreads wide, the city drowns,
Its lord is captive. Nought avails
His courser’s speed or halberd’s thrust.
The tiger erstwhile fierce, now whines
For mercy. Tsʻao had meted him
Full well, a falcon flown at will
And hungry kept. Poor fool! He let
Chʻên Kung’s advice be overborne
By harem tattle; vainly now
He rails against the Long-eared Childe.
And another poem says:—
Bound is the hungry tiger, eater of men, for whom is no pity,
Since the blood of his victims is fresh and not yet dry.
Yüan-tê spoke no word in favour of Lü Pu,
To whom even a father’s life was not sacred.
How could he save him to be a menace to Tsʻao Man.
It was recorded earlier that the executioners were hustling Chang Liao
forward. Pointing to him as he stood there Tsʻao said, “He has a fine
face.”
“You were not likely to forget me; you saw me before in Pʻuyang,” said
Liao.
“O, so you remember me, eh?”
“Yes; more’s the pity.”
“Pity for what?”
“That the fire that day was not fierce enough to burn you up, rebel
that you are.”
Tsʻao began to get angry. “How dare you insult me?” cried he and lifted
his sword to kill the bold speaker.
The undaunted Chang Liao never changed colour, but stretched out his
neck for the blow. Then a man behind Tsʻao Tsʻao caught his arm and in
front of him another dropped on his knees, saying, “O Minister, I pray
thee stay thy hand.”
Lü Pu whining was not spared,
Railing Chang far better fared.
Who was it that saved Chang Liao? The next chapter will show.
CHAPTER XX.
TSʻAO A-MAN ORGANISES A HUNTING EXPEDITION:
TUNG, “STATE UNCLE,” RECEIVES A COMMAND IN THE PALACE.
The last chapter said that Tsʻao Tsʻao was checked in his angry attack
upon Chang Liao. It was Liu Pei who held his arm and Kuan Yün-chʻang
who knelt before him.
“A man as generous-hearted as he is should be saved,” said Liu.
Kuan said, “I know him well as loyal and righteous. I will vouch for
him with my own life.”
Tsʻao threw aside his sword. “I also know Wên-yüan to be loyal and
good; I was just testing him,” said he.
He loosed the prisoner’s bonds with his own hands, had a change of
dress brought in and clothed him therewith. Then he was led to a seat
of honour. This kindly treatment sank deep into Chang’s heart and he
hastened to declare formally that he yielded. And then he was given a
rank and the title of marquis. He was sent on a mission to win over
Tsang Pa, who hearing what had happened, came forthwith and gave in his
submission. He was graciously received and his former colleagues also
yielded, with the exception of Chang Hsi, who remained obdurate. All
these former enemies who came over were kindly treated and given posts
of responsibility wherein they might prove the reality of their
conversion. Lü Pu’s family were sent to the capital.
After the soldiers had been rewarded with feastings the camp was broken
up and the army moved away to Hsütu. Passing through Hsüchou the people
lined the roads and burned incense in honour of the victors. They also
petitioned that Liu Pei should be their governor.
Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “Liu Shih-chün has rendered great services. You
must wait till he has been received in audience and obtained his
reward. After that he shall be sent here.”
Chʻê Chou, a General of Cavalry, was given command of Hsüchou for the
moment. After the army had arrived at the capital rewards were granted
to all the officers who had been in the expedition. Liu Yüan-tê was
retained in the capital, lodging in an annexe to the Minister’s palace.
Soon after a Court was held and Tsʻao Tsʻao represented the services of
Yüan-tê who was presented to the Emperor Hsien. Dressed in Court robes
he bowed at the lower end of the audience arena. The Emperor called him
to the Hall and asked his ancestry.
Liu Pei replied, “Thy servant is the son of Liu Hung, grandson of Liu
Hsiung, who was a direct descendant of Prince Ching of Chungshan, who
was the great-great-grandson of His Majesty the Emperor Ching (about
150 B.C.)”
The Emperor bade them bring forth the Books of the Genealogies and
therefrom a secretary read: “The filial Emperor Ching begat fourteen
sons of whom the seventh was Liu Shêng, Prince Ching of Chungshan.
Shêng begat Chên, Marquis (Tʻing-hou) of Luchʻêng; Chên begat Ang,
Marquis Pʻei; Ang begat Lu, Marquis Chang; Lu begat Lien, Marquis of
Ishui; Lien begat Ying, Marquis of Chʻinyang; Ying begat Chien, Marquis
Ankuo; Chien begat Ai, Marquis Kuanglu; Ai begat Hsien, Marquis of
Chiaoshui; Hsien begat Hsü, Marquis of Tsuyi; Hsü begat I, Marquis of
Chʻiyang; I begat Pi, Marquis of Yüantsê; Pi begat Ta, Marquis of
Yingchʻuan; Ta begat Pu-i, Marquis of Fêngling; Pu-i begat Hui, Marquis
of Chichʻuan; Hui begat Hsiung, Governor of the Eastern Districts;
Hsiung begat Hung, who held no office or rank and Liu Pei is his son.”
The Emperor compared this with the registers of the Imperial House and
found by them that Liu Pei was his uncle by descent. He seemed greatly
pleased and requested Liu Pei to go into one of the side chambers where
he might perform the ceremonial obeisance prescribed for a nephew to
his uncle. In his heart he rejoiced to have this heroic warrior-uncle
as a powerful supporter against Tsʻao Tsʻao who really held all the
power in his own hands. The Emperor knew himself to be a mere puppet.
He conferred upon his uncle, the rank of General and the title of
Marquis of Ichʻêng.
When the banquet was concluded Yüan-tê thanked the Emperor and went out
of the palace. And from this time he was very generally styled Liu,
“Uncle of the Emperor.”
When Tsʻao Tsʻao returned to his palace Hsün Yü and his fellow advisers
went in to see him. Hsün Yü said, “It is no advantage to you,
Illustrious Sir, that the Emperor recognises Liu as an uncle.”
“He may be recognised as uncle, but he is under my orders since I
control the decrees of the throne. He will be all the more ready to
obey. Beside I will keep him here under the pretence of having him near
his sovereign and he will be entirely in my hands. I have nothing to
fear. The man I fear is Yang Piao, who is a relative of the two Yüans.
Should Yang conspire with them he is an enemy within and might do much
harm. He will have to be removed.”
Hence Tsʻao sent a secret emissary to say that Yang Piao was intriguing
with Yüan Shu and on this charge Piao was arrested and imprisoned. And
his death would have been compassed had his enemy dared.
But just then the Prefect of Pohai, Kʻung Jung, was at the capital and
he remonstrated with Tsʻao Tsʻao saying, “Yang comes from a family
famed for virtue for at least four generations; you cannot trump up so
foolish a charge as that against him.”
“It is the Court,” retorted Tsʻao.
“If Prince Chʻêng had put Duke Chao to death, could Duke Chou have
pretended ignorance?”
So Tsʻao had to relinquish the attempt, but he took away Yang’s offices
and banished him to his family estate in the country.
A certain Chao Yen, a minor official but an opponent of the Minister,
sent up a memorial impeaching Tsʻao for having removed a Minister of
State from office without a decree. Tsʻao’s reply to this was the
arrest of Chao and his execution, a bold stroke which terrified the
bulk of officers and reduced them to silence.
Chʻêng Yü advised Tsʻao to assume a more definite position. He said,
“Illustrious Sir, your prestige grows daily; why not seize the
opportunity to take the position of Chief of the Feudatory Princes?”
“There are still too many supporters of the Court,” was the reply. “I
must be careful. I am going to propose a royal hunt to try to find out
the best line to follow.”
This expedition being decided upon they got together fleet horses,
famous falcons and pedigree hounds, and prepared bows and arrows in
readiness. They mustered a strong force of guards outside the city.
When the Minister proposed the hunting expedition the Emperor said he
feared it was an improper thing to do.
Tsʻao replied, “In ancient times rulers made four expeditions yearly at
each of the four seasons in order to show their strength. They were
called Sou, Miao, Hsien and Shou, in the order of the seasons. Now that
the whole country is in confusion it would be wise to inaugurate a hunt
in order to train the army. I am sure Your Majesty will approve.”
So the Emperor with the full paraphernalia for an Imperial hunt joined
the expedition. He rode a saddle horse, carried an inlaid bow, and his
quiver was filled with gold-tipped arrows. His chariot followed behind.
The three brothers were in the Imperial train, each with his bow and
quiver. Each wore a breastplate under the outer robe and held his
especial weapon, while their escort followed them. Tsʻao Tsʻao rode a
dun horse called “Flying Lightning” and the army was ten legions
strong.
The hunt took place in Hsütʻien and the legions spread out as guards
round the hunting arena which extended over some two hundred square li.
Tsʻao Tsʻao rode even with the Emperor, the horses’ heads alternating
in the lead. The imperial suite immediately following were all in
Tsʻao’s confidence. The other officers, civil and military, lagged
behind, for who dared press forward into the midst of Tsʻao’s
partizans?
One day the Emperor was riding near Hsütʻien and noticed his newly
found uncle respectfully standing by the roadside.
“I should like to see my uncle display his hunting skill,” said the
Emperor.
Liu Pei mounted his steed at once. Just then a hare started from its
form; Yüan-tê shot and hit it with the first arrow.
The Emperor, much struck by this display, rode away over a slope.
Suddenly a deer broke out of the thicket. He shot three arrows at it
but all missed.
“You try,” said the Emperor turning to Tsʻao.
“Lend me Your Majesty’s bow,” he replied, and taking the inlaid bow and
the golden-barbed arrows he pulled the bow and hit the deer in the
shoulder at the first shot. It fell in the grass and could not run.
Now the crowd of officers seeing the golden-barbed arrow sticking in
the wound concluded at once that the shot was the Emperor’s, so they
rushed up and shouted “Wansui! O King, live for ever!” Tsʻao Tsʻao rode
out pushing past the Emperor and acknowledged the congratulations.
They all turned pale. What did this mean? Liu Pei’s brother Kuan who
was behind him was especially angry. The sleeping caterpillar eyebrows
stood up fiercely and the red phoenix eyes glared as, sword in hand, he
rode hastily forth to cut down the audacious Minister for his
impertinence. However, his elder brother hastily waved him back and
shot at him a meaning glance so that he stopped and made no further
move.
Yüan-tê bowing toward Tsʻao said, “Most sincere felicitations! A truly
supernatural shot, such as few have achieved!”
“It is only the enormous good fortune of the Son of Heaven!” said Tsʻao
with a smile.
Then he turned his steed and felicitated the Emperor. But he did not
return the bow; he hung it over his own shoulder instead.
The hunt finished with banqueting and when the entertainments were over
they returned to the capital, all glad of some repose after the
expedition. Kuan Yü was still full of the Minister’s breach of decorum.
One day he said, “Brother, why did you prevent me from killing that
rebel and so ridding the world of a scoundrel? He insults the Emperor
and ignores everybody else.”
“When you throw stones at a rat, beware of the vase,” quoted Yüan-tê.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao was only a horse’s head away from Our Lord and in the
midst of a crowd of his partizans. In that momentary burst of anger, if
you had struck and failed, and harm had come to the Emperor, what an
awful crime would have been laid to us!”
“If we do not rid the world of him to-day, a worse evil will come of
it,” said Kuan.
“But be discreet, my brother. Such matters cannot be lightly
discussed.”
The Emperor sadly returned to his palace. With tears in his eyes he
related what had occurred in the hunt to his consort the Empress Fu.
“Alas for me!” said he. “From the first days of my accession one
vicious minister has succeeded another. I was the victim of Tung Cho’s
evil machinations; then followed the rebellion of Li Tsʻui and Kuo Ssŭ.
You and I had to bear sorrows such as no others have borne. Then came
this Tsʻao Tsʻao as one who would maintain the imperial dignity, but he
has seized upon all real authority and does as he wishes. He works
continually for his own glorification and I never see him but my back
pricks. These last few days in the hunting field he went in front of me
and acknowledged the cheers of the crowd. He is so extremely rude that
I feel sure he has sinister designs against me. Alas, my wife, we know
not when our end may come!”
“In a whole Court full of nobles who have eaten the bread of Han, is
there not one who will save his country?” said she.
Thus spake the Empress, and at the same moment there stepped in a man
who said, “Grieve not, O Imperial Pair! I can find a saviour for the
country.”
And who was this? It was none other than the father of the Empress, Fu
Wan.
“Have you heard of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s wanton and perverse behaviour?” said
the Emperor, drying his eyes.
“You mean the deer shooting? Who did not see that indeed? But the whole
Court is full of his clan or his creatures. With the exception of the
relatives of your Consort there is not one loyal enough to deal with a
rebel. I have no authority and can do nothing, but there is General
Tung Chʻêng, the State Uncle, who could do it.”
“Could Uncle Tung come in to consult about this? I know he has had much
experience of State troubles.”
Wan replied, “Every one of your attendants is a partizan of Tsʻao’s and
this sort of thing must be kept most profoundly secret or the
consequence will be most serious.”
“Then what can be done?” said the Emperor.
“The only plan I can think of is to send gifts of a robe and a jade
girdle to Tung, and in the lining of the girdle hide a secret edict
authorising him to take certain steps. When he gets home and has read
the edict he can elaborate plans as quickly as possible and neither the
spirits above nor the demons below will know anything about them.”
The Emperor approved and Fu Wan went out. The Emperor then with his own
hand drew up a decree, writing it with blood drawn by biting his
finger. He gave the document to his consort to sew into the purple
lining of the girdle. When all was done he put on the robe and girded
it with the girdle. Next he bade one of the attendants summon Uncle
Tung to the palace.
Tung Chʻêng came and after the ceremonies were finished the Emperor
said, “A few nights ago I was talking with the Empress of the terrible
days of the rebellion and we thought of your good services then,
therefore we have called you in to reward you.”
The minister bowed his head in thanks. Then the Emperor led Tung out of
the Reception Hall to the Tʻai Miao or Temple of Ancestors, and they
went to the gallery of Worthy Ministers, where the Emperor burned
incense and performed the usual ceremonies. After this they went to see
the portraits and among them was one of the Founder of the Dynasty, Han
Kao-Tsu.
“Whence sprang our great ancestor and how did he begin his great
achievement?” said the Emperor.
“Your Majesty is pleased to joke with thy servant,” said Tung Chʻêng,
rather startled at the question. “Who does not know the deeds of the
Sacred Ancestor? He began life as a minor official in Ssŭshang. There
gripping his sword he slew the White Serpent, the beginning of his
struggle for the right. Speedily he mastered the Empire; in three years
had destroyed Tsʻin and, in five, also Chʻu. Thus he set up a Dynasty
that shall endure for ever.”
“Such heroic forefathers! such weakling descendants! How sad it is!”
said the Emperor.
Pointing to the portraits right and left he continued, “Are not these
two Chang Liang, Marquis Liu, and Hsiao Ho, Marquis Tsʻuan?”
“Certainly. Your great ancestor was greatly assisted by these two.”
The Emperor glanced right and left. His attendants were rather far
away. Then he whispered to Tung Chʻêng, “You, like these two, must
stand by me.”
“My poor services are of no worth; I do not compare with those men,”
said the Uncle.
“I remember that you saved me at the western capital. I have never
forgotten and I could never reward you.” Then pointing to his own robe
the Emperor continued, “You must wear this robe of mine, girded with my
own girdle, and it will be as though you are always near your Emperor.”
Tung Chʻêng bowed his gratitude while the Emperor, taking off the robe,
presented it to his faithful Minister. At the same time he whispered,
“Examine it closely when you get home, and help your Emperor carry out
his intention.”
Tung Chʻêng understood. He put on the robe and the girdle, took leave
and left the chamber.
The news of the audience for Tung Chʻêng had been taken to the
Minister, who at once went to the Palace and arrived as Tung Chʻêng was
passing out at the gate. They met face to face and Tung Chʻêng could in
nowise avoid him. He went to the side of the road and made his
obeisance.
“Where are you from, State Uncle?” asked Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“His Majesty summoned me into the Palace and has given me this robe and
beautiful girdle.”
“Why did he give you these?”
“He had not forgotten that I saved his life in the old days.”
“Take it off and let me see it.”
Tung Chʻêng who knew that a secret decree was hidden away somewhere in
the garments was afraid Tsʻao Tsʻao would notice a breach somewhere in
the material, so he hesitated and did not obey. But the tyrant called
his servants. So he took off the girdle. Then Tsʻao looked it over
carefully. “It certainly is a very handsome girdle,” said he. “Now take
off the robe and let me look at that.”
Tung Chʻêng’s heart was melting with fear but he dared not disobey. So
he handed over the robe. Tsʻao took it and held it up against the sun
with his own hand and minutely examined every part of it. When he had
done this he put it on, girded it with the girdle and turning to his
suite said, “How is it for length?”
“Beautiful!” they chorussed.
Turning to Tung Chʻêng he said, “Will you give these to me?”
“My King’s presents to me I dare not give to another. Let me give you
another robe in its stead,” said Tung.
“Is there not some intrigue connected with these presents? I am sure
there is,” said Tsʻao.
“How could I dare?” said Tung, trembling. “If you are so set upon it
then I must give it up.”
“How could I take away what your King has given you? It was all a
joke,” said the Minister.
He returned both robe and girdle and their owner made the best of his
way home. When night came and he was alone in his library, he took out
the robe and looked over every inch of it most carefully. He found
nothing.
“He gave me a robe and a girdle and bade me look at them carefully.
That means there is something to be looked for but I can find no trace
of it. What does it mean?” he soliloquised.
Then he lifted the girdle and examined that. The jade plates were
carved into the semblance of small dragons interlaced among flowers.
The lining was of purple silk. All was sewn together most carefully and
neatly and he could find nothing out of the common. He was puzzled. He
laid the belt on the table. Presently he picked it up and looked at it
again. He spent long hours over it but in vain. He leaned over on the
small table, his head resting on his hands and was almost asleep, when
a candle snuff fell down upon the girdle and burned a hole in the
lining. He hastily shook it off, but the mischief was done: a small
hole had been burned in the silken lining, and through this there
appeared something white with blood red marks. He hastily ripped it
open and drew out the decree written by the hand of the Emperor himself
in characters of blood.
It read, “Of human relationships, that between father and son stands
first; of the various social ties that between Prince and Minister
stands highest. To-day Tsʻao Tsʻao, the wicked, is a real tyrant,
treating even his Prince with indignity. With the support of his
faction and his army he has destroyed the principles of government. By
conferring rewards and inflicting punishments he has reduced the
Emperor to a nonentity. I have grieved over this day and night. I have
feared the Empire would be ruined.
“You are a high Minister of State and my own relative. You must recall
the difficulties of the great Founder’s early days and draw together
the loyal and right-minded to destroy this evil faction and restore the
prerogatives of the Throne. Such a deed would be indeed an extreme joy
to the spirits of my ancestors.
“This decree, written in blood drawn from my own veins, is confided to
a noble who is to be most careful not to fail in executing his
Emperor’s design.
“Given in the era Established Tranquillity, fourth year and the third
month of Spring.”
So ran the decree and Tung Chʻêng read it with streaming eyes. There
was no sleep for him that night. Early in the morning he returned to
his library and re-read it. No plan suggested itself. He laid the
decree down on the table and sought in the depths of his mind for some
scheme to destroy Tsʻao Tsʻao, but could not decide upon any. And he
fell asleep leaning over his table.
It happened that a certain official, Wang Tzŭ-fu, with whom he was on
terms of great intimacy, came to visit him and, as usual, walked into
the house unannounced and went straight to the library. His host did
not wake and Wang noticed, hardly hidden by his sleeve, the Emperor’s
writing. Wondering what this might be he drew it out, read it and put
it in his own sleeve. Then he called out loud, “Uncle Chʻêng, are you
not well? Why are you asleep at this time of day?”
Tung Chʻêng started up and at once missed the decree. He was aghast; he
almost fell to the ground.
“So you want to make away with Tsʻao Tsʻao? I shall have to tell him,”
said Wang.
“Then, brother, that is the end of the Hans,” said his host, with
tears.
“I was joking,” said Wang. “My forefathers also served the Hans and ate
of their bounty. Am I devoid of loyalty? I would help you, brother, as
far as lies in my power.”
“It is well for the country that you think like this,” said Tung.
“But we ought to have a more private place than this to talk over such
plans and pledge ourselves to sacrifice all in the cause of Han.”
Tung Chʻêng began to feel very satisfied. He produced a roll of white
silk and wrote his own name at the top and signed it, and Wang followed
suit. Then the visitor said, “General Wu Tzŭ-lan is one of my best
friends, he ought to be allowed to come in.”
Chʻêng replied, “Of all the officials of the Court Chʻung Chi and Wu
Shih are my best friends. Certainly they would back me up.”
So the discussion proceeded. Presently a servant announced no other
than these very two men.
“This is providential,” said Tung Chʻêng and he told his friend to hide
behind a screen.
The two guests were led into the library and after the exchange of the
ordinary civilities and a cup of tea, Chʻung Chi referred to the
incident at the hunt and the shooting of the stag. “Were you not angry
at that?” said he.
Tung Chʻêng answered, “Though we be angry, what can we do?”
Wu Shih struck in, “I would slay this fellow, I swear, but I cannot get
any one to back me up.”
“Though one should perish for one’s country one should not mind,” said
Chʻung Chi.
At this moment Wang Tzŭ-fu appeared from behind the screen, saying,
“You two want to kill Tsʻao! I shall have to let him know this. And
Uncle Tung is my witness.”
“A loyal Minister does not mind death. If we are killed we will be Han
ghosts, which is better than being sycophants of a traitor.”
Tung Chʻêng said, “We were just saying we wanted to see you two on this
matter. Wang is only joking.”
Then he drew forth the decree and showed it to the two new-comers, who
also wept as they read it. They were asked to add their names.
Tzŭ-fu said, “Wait here a few moments till I get Wu Tzŭ-lan to come.”
He left the room and very soon returned with his friend, who also wrote
his name in the presence of all the others.
After this they went into one of the inner chambers to drink success to
the new plot. While there a new visitor, Ma Tʻêng, Prefect of Hsiliang,
was announced.
“Say I am indisposed,” said the host, “and cannot receive visitors.”
The doorkeeper took the message, whereat Ma angrily said, “Last night
at the Tunghua Gate I saw him come out in robe and girdle. How can he
pretend illness to-day? I am not come from mere idleness, why does he
refuse to see me?”
The doorkeeper went in again and told his master what the visitor had
said and that he was very angry. Then Chʻêng rose, excused himself
saying he would soon return, and went to receive Ma Tʻêng. After the
visitor had saluted and they were both seated, he said, “I have just
come from a farewell audience and wished to bid you adieu. Why did you
want to put me off?”
“My poor body was taken suddenly ill; that is why I was not waiting to
welcome you,” said Chʻêng.
“You do not look as if you were ill; your face wears the very bloom of
health,” said Tʻêng bluntly.
His host could say no more and was silent. The visitor shook out his
sleeves and rose to depart. He sighed deeply as he walked down the
steps, saying to himself, “Not one of them is any good: there is no one
to save the country.”
This speech sank deeply into Tung Chʻêng’s heart. He stopped his guest,
saying, “Who is no good to save the country? Whom do you mean?”
“That incident at the hunt the other day, the shooting of the stag,
filled my breast with anger. But if you, a near relative of the
Emperor, can pass your time in wine and idle dalliance without a
thought of doing away with rebellion, where can any one be found who
will save the dynasty?”
However, Tung Chʻêng’s doubts were not set at rest. Pretending great
surprise he replied, “The Minister is of high rank and has the
confidence of the Court: why then does he utter such things?”
“So you find that wretch Tsʻao a good man, eh?”
“Pray speak lower: there are eyes and ears very near us.”
“The sort of people who covet life and fear death are not those to
discuss any great undertaking.”
So saying he rose to go away. By this time his host’s doubts were set
at rest: he felt that Ma Tʻêng was loyal and patriotic. So he said, “Do
not be angry any more. I will show you something.”
Whereupon he invited Ma Tʻêng to go into the room where the others were
seated and then showed him the decree. As Ma read it his hair stood on
end, he ground his teeth and bit his lips till the blood came.
“When you move, remember the whole force of my army is ready to help,”
said he.
Tung Chʻêng introduced him to the other conspirators and then the
pledge was produced and Ma Tʻêng was told to sign his name. He did so,
at the same time smearing the blood as a sign of the oath and saying,
“I swear to die rather than betray this pledge.”
Pointing to the five he said, “We require ten for this business and we
can accomplish our design.”
“We cannot get many true and loyal men. One of the wrong sort will
spoil all,” said Tung Chʻêng.
Ma Tʻêng told them to bring in the list of officials. He read on till
he came to the name Liu, of the Imperial clan, when clapping his hands
he cried, “Why not consult him?”
“Whom?” cried they altogether.
Ma Tʻêng very slowly and deliberately spoke his name.
To a very trusty servant comes an Emperor’s decree,
And a scion of the ruling house can prove his loyalty.
If the reader turns to the next chapter he will see who was Ma Tʻêng’s
hero.
CHAPTER XXI.
TSʻAO TSʻAO DISCUSSES HEROES:
KUAN YU SLAYS CHʻÊ CHOU.
“Who is it?” was the question on the lips of the conspirators.
Ma Tʻêng’s reply was, “The Governor of Yüchow, Liu Pei. He is here and
we will ask him to help.”
“Though he is an uncle of the Emperor, he is at present a partizan of
our enemy, and he will not join.”
“But I saw something at the hunt,” said Ma Tʻêng. “When Tsʻao Tsʻao
advanced to acknowledge the congratulations due to the Emperor,
Yüan-tê’s sworn brother Kuan Yü was behind him, and grasped his sword
as if to cut down Tsʻao Tsʻao. However, Yüan-tê signed to him to hold
his hand and he did. He would willingly destroy Tsʻao, only he thinks
his teeth and claws are too many. You must ask him and he will surely
consent.”
Here Wu Shih urged caution. “Do not go too fast,” said he. “Let us
consider the thing most carefully.”
They dispersed. Next day after dark Tung Chʻêng went to Liu Pei’s
lodging taking with him the decree. As soon as he was announced Yüan-tê
came to greet him and led him into a private room where they could talk
freely. The two younger brothers were there as well.
“It must be something unusually important that has brought you here
to-night,” said Pei.
“If I had ridden forth by daylight, Tsʻao might have suspected
something so I came by night.”
Wine was brought in and while they were drinking Tung Chʻêng said, “Why
did you check your brother the other day at the hunt when he was going
to attack Tsʻao Tsʻao?”
Yüan-tê was startled and said, “How did you know?”
“Nobody noticed but I saw.”
Yüan-tê could not prevaricate and said, “It was the presumption of the
man that made my brother so angry; he could not help it.”
The visitor covered his face and wept. “Ah,” said he, “if all the Court
Ministers were like him, there would be no sighs for lack of
tranquillity.”
Now Yüan-tê felt that possibly Tsʻao Tsʻao had sent his visitor to try
him, so he cautiously replied, “Where are the sighs for lack of
tranquillity while Tsʻao Tsʻao is at the head of affairs?”
Tung Chʻêng changed colour and rose from his seat. “You, Sir, are a
relative of His Majesty and so I showed you my inmost feelings. Why did
you mislead me?”
“Because I feared you might be misleading me, and I wanted to find
out.”
At this Tung Chʻêng drew out the decree he had received and showed it.
His host was deeply moved. Then he produced the pledge. There were only
six names to it and these were Tung Chʻêng, Wang Tzŭ-fu, Chʻung Chi, Wu
Shih, Wu Tzŭ-lan and Ma Tʻêng.
“Since you have a decree like this, I cannot but do my share,” said Liu
Pei and at Tung Chʻêng’s request he added his name and signature to the
others and handed it back.
“Now let us but get three more, which will make ten, and we shall be
ready to act.”
“But you must move with great caution and not let this get abroad,”
said Yüan-tê.
The two remained talking till an early hour in the morning when the
visitor left.
Now in order to put Tsʻao Tsʻao quite off the scent that any plot
against him was in progress, Liu Pei began to devote himself to
gardening, planting vegetables and watering them with his own hands.
His brothers ventured to remonstrate with him for taking to such an
occupation when great matters needed attention.
“The reason for this you may not know,” replied he. And they said no
more.
One day when the two brothers were absent and Yüan-tê was busy in his
garden, two messengers with an escort came from Tsʻao Tsʻao, saying,
“The command of the Minister is that you come at once.”
“What important affair is afoot?” asked he nervously.
“We know nothing: we were ordered to come and request your presence.”
All he could do was to follow. When he arrived Tsʻao met him and
laughingly said, “That is a big business you have in hand at home.”
This remark made Liu Pei turn the colour of clay. But Tsʻao took him by
the hand and led him straight to the private garden, saying, “The
growth of vegetables that you are trying to learn is very difficult.”
Yüan-tê breathed again. He said, “That is hardly a business, it is only
a solace.”
Tsʻao said, “I happened to notice the green plums on the trees to-day
and suddenly my thoughts went back to a year ago when we were thrashing
Chang Hsiu. We were marching through a parched district and every one
was suffering from thirst. Suddenly I lifted my whip and pointing at
something in the distance I said, “Look at those plum trees.” The
soldiers heard it and it made their mouths water. Now I owe something
to the plums and we will pay it to-day. I ordered the servants to heat
some wine very hot and sent to invite you to share it.”
Yüan-tê was quite composed by this time and no longer suspected any
sinister design. He went with his host to a small summer house, where
the wine cups were already laid out and green plums filled the dishes.
After a goblet of wine had been swallowed they sat down to a
confidential talk and enjoyment of their wine.
As they drank the weather gradually changed, clouds gathering and
threatening rain. The servants pointed out a mass of cloud that looked
like a dragon hung in the sky. Both host and guest went to the window
and leaned over the rail looking at it.
“Do you understand the evolutions of dragons?” asked Tsʻao of the
guest.
“Not in detail.”
“A dragon can assume any size, can rise in glory or hide from sight.
Bulky, it generates clouds and evolves mist; attenuated, it can
scarcely hide a mustard stalk or conceal a shadow. Mounting, it can
soar to the empyrean; subsiding, it lurks in the uttermost depths of
the ocean. This is the mid-spring season and the dragon chooses this
moment for his transformations, like a man realising his desires and
overrunning the world. The dragon among animals compares with the hero
among men. You, O Yüan-tê, with your experience must know who are the
heroes of the present day and I wish you would say who they are.”
“How can a dullard like me know such things?”
“Do not be so modest.”
“Thanks to your kindly protection I have a post at Court. But as to
heroes I really do not know who they are.”
“You may not have looked upon their faces, but you have heard their
names.”
“Yüan Shu, with his resources; is he one?”
His host laughed, “A rotting bone in a graveyard. I shall put him out
of the way shortly.”
“Well, Yüan Shao then. The highest offices of State have been held in
his family for four generations and his clients are many. He is firmly
posted in Ichou and he commands the services of many able men. Surely
he is one.”
“A bully, but a coward; he is fond of grandiose schemes, but is devoid
of decision; he makes for great things but grudges the necessary toil.
He loses sight of everything else in view of a little present
advantage. He is not one.”
“There is Liu Ching-shêng. He is renowned as a man of perfection, whose
fame has spread on all sides. Surely he is a hero.”
“He is a mere semblance, a man of vain reputation. No; not he.”
“Sun Tsʻê is a sturdy sort, the chief of all in the east. Is he a
hero?”
“He has profited by his father’s reputation; he is no hero.”
“What of Liu Chang?”
“Though he is of the reigning family, he is nothing more than a watch
dog. How could you make a hero of him?”
“What about Chang Hsiu, Chang Lu, Han Sui and all those?”
Tsʻao clapped his hands and laughed very loudly. “Paltry people like
them are not worth mentioning.”
“With these exceptions I really know none.”
“Now heroes are men who cherish lofty designs in their bosoms and have
plans to achieve them; they have all-embracing schemes and the whole
world is at their mercy.”
“Who is such a man?” said Yüan-tê.
Tsʻao pointed his finger first at his guest and then at himself,
saying, “The only heroes in the world are you and I.”
Yüan-tê gasped and the spoon and chopsticks rattled to the floor. Now
just at that moment the storm burst with a tremendous peal of thunder
and rush of rain. Yüan-tê stooped down to recover the fallen articles,
saying, “What a shock! and it was quite close.”
“What! are you afraid of thunder?” said Tsʻao.
Yüan-tê replied, “The wise man paled at a sudden peal of thunder or
fierce gust of wind. Why should one not fear?”
Thus he glossed over the real fact, that it was the words he had heard
that had so startled him.
Constrained to lodge in a tiger’s lair,
He played a waiting part,
But when Tsʻao talked of breaking men,
Then terror gripped his heart.
But he cleverly used the thunder peal
As excuse for turning pale;
O quick to seize occasions thus!
He surely must prevail.
The shower had passed and there appeared two men rushing through the
garden, both armed. In spite of the attendants they forced their way to
the pavilion where sat the two friends. They were Kuan Yü and Chang
Fei.
The two brothers had been outside the city at archery practice when
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s invitation had come so peremptorily. On their return they
heard that two officers had arrived and led away Yüan-tê to the
Minister. They hastened to his palace and were told their brother was
with his host in the grounds and they feared something had happened. So
they rushed in. Now when they saw their brother quietly talking with
Tsʻao and enjoying a cup of wine, they took up their usual places and
meekly stood waiting.
“Why did you come?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“We heard that you, Sir, had invited our brother to a wine party and we
came to amuse you with a little sword play,” said they.
“This is not a Hungmên banquet,” replied Tsʻao. “What use have we for
two Hsiangs?”
Yüan-tê smiled. The host ordered wine to be served to the two “Fan
Kʻuai” to allay their excitement and, soon after, the three took their
leave and returned homeward.
“We were nearly frightened to death,” said Kuan Yü.
The story of the dropped chopsticks was told. The two asked what their
brother intended by his actions and he told them that his learning
gardening was to convince Tsʻao Tsʻao of his perfect simplicity and the
absence of any ambition. “But,” said he, “when he suddenly pointed to
me as one of the heroes I was startled, for I thought he had some
suspicions. Happily the thunder at that moment supplied the excuse I
wanted.”
“Really you are very clever,” said they.
Next day Tsʻao again invited Yüan-tê and while the two were drinking,
Man Chʻung, who had been despatched to find out what Yüan Shao was
doing, came to present his report.
He said, “Kungsun Tsan has been completely defeated by Yüan.”
“Do you know the details? I should like to know how,” interrupted Liu
Pei.
“They were at war and Tsan got the worst of it, so he acted on the
defensive, building a high wall about his army and on that erecting a
high tower, which he called the I-ching Tower. Therein he placed all
his grain and took up his own quarters. His fighting men passed in and
out without ceasing, some going out to give battle, others returning to
rest. One of them was surrounded and sent to ask Kungsun to rescue him.
Kungsun said, “If I rescue him, hereafter every one will want to be
helped and will not exert himself.” So he did not go. This disgusted
his men and many deserted to the enemy so that his army diminished. He
sent letters to the capital to crave help, but the messenger was
captured. He sent to Chang Yen to arrange with him for a joint attack
and those letters with the plans also fell into Shao’s hands and the
plans were adopted by his enemy, who gave the signals agreed upon. Thus
Tsan fell into an ambush, lost heavily and retreated into the city.
There he was besieged and a subterranean passage was pierced into the
tower where he lodged. The tower was set on fire and Kungsun could not
escape. So he slew his wife and little ones and committed suicide. The
flames destroyed the bodies of the whole family.
“Yüan Shao has added the remnants of the vanquished army to his own and
so become yet stronger. His brother Yüan Shu in Honan, however, has
become so arrogant and cruel that the people have turned against him.
Then he had sent to say he would yield the title of Emperor, which he
had assumed, in favour of his brother. His brother Shao demanded the
seal also and Yüan Shu promised to bring it in person. Now he has
abandoned Huainan and is about to occupy Hopei. If he succeeded, the
two brothers will control adjoining districts and be dangerous.”
It was a sad story and Yüan-tê remembered with sorrow that, in the days
of success and prosperity, the dead chieftain had pushed his interest
and shown him much kindness. Moreover he was anxious to know the fate
of Chao Tzŭ-lung.
In his heart he thought, “What better chance am I likely to get of
setting myself free?”
So he rose and said to Tsʻao Tsʻao, “If Yüan Shu goes over to join his
brother he will surely pass through Hsüchou. I beg you to give me an
army with which to smite him on the way. That will finish Yüan Shu.”
“Memorialise the Emperor to-morrow and I will give you an army,” said
Tsʻao.
So next day Yüan-tê went to an audience and Tsʻao gave him command of
five legions, horse and foot, and sent Chu Ling and Lu Chao with him.
At parting with Liu Pei the Emperor shed tears. As soon as he reached
his lodging he set about preparations for immediate departure,
returning his seal as General and preparing his weapons. Tung Chʻêng
went out some distance on the road to bid him farewell.
“You must not mind my going; this journey will assuredly help on the
scheme,” said Liu Pei.
“Keep your mind fixed on that,” said Tung, “and never forget what His
Majesty requires of us.”
They parted. Presently his brothers asked him why he was in such a
hurry to get away.
He replied, “I have been a bird in a cage, a fish in a net. This is
like the fish regaining the open sea and the bird soaring into the blue
sky. I suffered much from the confinement.”
Now Kuo Chia and Chʻêng Yü had been absent inspecting stores and
supplies when Liu Pei left. As soon as they heard of his expedition
they went in to see their master, asking him why he had let Liu Pei go
in command of an army.
“He is going to cut off Yüan Shu.”
“Formerly, when he was governor of Yüchou, we recommended that he
should be put to death but you would not hear of it. Now you have given
him an army. You have allowed the dragon to reach the sea, the tiger to
return to the mountains. What control will you have in future?”
So spoke Chʻêng Yü and Kuo Chia followed in the same strain.
“Even if you would not put him to death you need not have let him go.
As the proverb says, ‘Relax opposition for one day and age-long harm
ensues.’ You must admit the truth of this.”
Tsʻao recognised that these were prudent counsels so he sent Hsü Chʻu
with a half company and imperative orders to bring Yüan-tê back again.
Liu Pei was marching as rapidly as possible when he noticed a cloud of
dust in the rear and remarked to his brothers, “Surely they are
pursuing us.”
He halted and made a stockade and ordered his brothers to be in
readiness, one on each flank. Presently the messenger arrived and found
himself in the midst of an army ready for battle. He dismounted and
entered the camp to speak with Yüan-tê.
“Sir, on what business have you come?” asked Pei.
“The Minister has sent me to request you to return as he has further
matters to discuss with you.”
“When a general has once taken the field even the royal command is of
no effect. I bade farewell to the Emperor, I received the Minister’s
commands and there can be nothing further to talk about. You may return
forthwith and take that as my reply.”
The messenger was undecided what action to take. He knew of the
friendship that existed between the Minister and his late guest and he
had no orders to kill. He could only return with this reply and ask
further instructions. So he left. When he related what had occurred
Tsʻao still hesitated to take any action. His advisers urged upon him
that this refusal to return meant enmity.
“Still, two of my men are with him,” said Tsʻao. “He will not dare do
anything unfriendly, I think. Beside, I sent him and I cannot go back
on my own orders.”
So Yüan-tê was not pursued.
He took his arms, he fed his steed,
And fared forth willingly,
Intent to accomplish his King’s behest
Deep graved on his memory.
At least he had broken out of his cage,
He heard not the tiger’s roar,
He had shaken the shackles from his feet,
As a dragon on high could soar.
As soon as Ma Tʻêng heard that Liu Pei had set forth he reported that
pressing business called him and marched back to his own district.
When Yüan-tê reached Hsüchou the governor, Chʻê Chou, came to meet him,
and when the official banquet was over, Sun Chʻien and Mi Chu came to
visit him. Then he proceeded to his residence to greet his family.
Scouts were sent out to see what Yüan Shu was doing. They came back
with the intelligence that his arrogance had driven away his banditti
allies, who had returned to their mountain fastnesses. His forces thus
reduced he had written resigning the Imperial style he had assumed in
favour of his brother Shao, who had at once commanded his presence.
Thereupon he packed up the palace fittings he had had made, got the
remnants of his army in order and marched west.
When he neared Hsüchou, Yüan-tê led out his captains with the five
legions to meet him. Yüan sent out Chi Ling to force a way through. But
Chang Fei opposed him and attacked without a parley. In the tenth bout
he cut down Chi Ling. The defeated soldiers fled in all directions.
Then Yüan Shu came up with his own army. Yüan-tê placed his captains
right and left, he himself being in the centre, and so met Yüan Shu. As
soon as the enemy came near Yüan-tê began to abuse him. “O rebellious
one, and wicked, I have a command to destroy you. Yield, then, with
good grace and so escape your punishment.”
“Base weaver of mats and mean maker of straw sandals, how dare you make
light of me?” replied Shu and he gave the signal for an attack.
Yüan-tê retired and his captains from the flanks closed in. They smote
the army of Shu till corpses littered the plain and blood flowed in
streams. At the same time the bandits attacked the baggage train and
completed the destruction. Shu tried to retreat to Shouchʻun but the
bandits barred the road.
He sought refuge in Chiangtʻing, with the small company left of all his
army. And these were the weakly ones able neither to fight nor flee. It
was then the height of summer and their food was nearly exhausted. The
whole provision consisted of thirty measures of wheat. This was made
over to the soldiers and the members of his household went hungry. Many
died of actual starvation. Yüan Shu could not swallow the coarse food
that the soldiers lived on. One day he bade his cook bring him some
honey-water to quench his thirst.
“There is no water, save that tainted with blood,” replied the cook.
“Where can I get honey-water?”
This was the last straw. Shu sat up on his couch and rolled out on the
floor with a loud cry. Blood gushed from his mouth and thus he died. It
was the sixth month of the fourth year of “Established Tranquillity.”
The last days of Han approached and weapons clashed in every
quarter,
The misguided Yüan Shu, lost to all sense of honour,
Forgetful of his forefathers, who had filled the State’s highest
Offices,
Madly aspired to become himself Emperor,
Resting his outrageous claim on the possession of The Seal,
And arrogantly boasting that thus he fulfilled the design of
Heaven.
Alas! Sick unto death he vainly begged for a little honey-water;
He died, alone.
Yüan Shu being dead, his nephew taking his coffin and his wife and
children, sought shelter in Luchiang. There the magistrate, Hsü Chʻiu,
slew all the survivors. Among the possessions he found the Imperial
Seal, which he at once took to the capital and presented to Tsʻao
Tsʻao, for which service he was made Prefect of Kaoling.
When Yüan-tê heard that Yüan Shu was dead he prepared a report to the
throne, and sent it to Tsʻao Tsʻao. He sent the two officers deputed by
Tsʻao Tsʻao back to the capital, keeping the army to defend Hsüchou. He
also personally went through the country-side commanding the people to
resume their ordinary avocations.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was angry when his two officers returned without their man
and was going to put them to death. Hsün Yü reasoned with him.
“The power was in Liu Pei’s hands and so these two had no alternative,”
said he.
So they were pardoned.
“You should instruct Chʻê Chou to try to destroy him,” said Yü.
Accordingly he sent secret orders to Chʻê Chou, who took Chʻên Têng
into his confidence and asked his advice. Têng advised an ambush in the
city gate to attack Liu Pei on his return from the country; he himself
would attack the escort with arrows from the city walls. Chʻê agreed to
try this.
Then Têng went to his father to tell him. His father Chʻên Kuei bade
him go and warn the intended victim. He at once rode away to do so.
Before long he met the two younger brothers, to whom he told his story.
Now Yüan-tê was following some distance behind. As soon as Chang Fei
heard of the plot he wanted to attack the ambush, but Yün-chʻang said
he had a better plan.
Said he, “The ambush will be a failure. And I think we can compass the
death of Chʻê Chou. In the night we will pretend to be some of Tsʻao’s
men and entice him out to meet us. We will slay him.”
Chang Fei approved of the plan. Now the soldiers still had some of
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army banners and wore similar armour. About the third
watch they came to the city wall and hailed the gate. Those on guard
asked who they were. The men replied that they were Chang Wên-yüan’s
troop sent from the capital. This was told Chʻê Chou who sent hastily
for Chʻên Têng to ask his advice.
“If I do not receive them they will suspect my loyalty,” said he. “Yet
if I go out I may be victim of a ruse.”
So he went up on the wall and said it was too dark to distinguish
friends from foes and they must wait till daylight. The men shouted
back that Liu Pei must be kept in ignorance and they begged him to let
them in. Still Chʻê Chou hesitated. They shouted louder than ever to
open the gate.
Presently Chʻê girded on his armour, placed himself at the head of a
company and went out. He galloped over the bridge, shouting, “Where is
Wên-yüan?”
Then lights blazed around and he recognised Kuan Yü with his sword
drawn.
“Wretch!” cried Kuan Yü. “You would plot to slay my brother, would
you?”
Chʻê Chou was too frightened to make good defence and he turned to
re-enter the gate. But as he reached the drawbridge flights of arrows
met him, wherefore he turned aside and galloped along under the wall.
But Kuan Yü came quickly in pursuit. His sword was raised aloft and as
it came down the fugitive fell to the earth. Kuan Yü cut off his head
and returned, shouting, “I have slain the traitor. You others need not
fear if you only surrender.”
They threw aside their spears and gave in. As soon as the excitement
had calmed Kuan Yü took the head to show Yüan-tê and told him the story
of the plot.
“But what will Tsʻao Tsʻao think of this?” said Yüan-tê. “And he may
come.”
“If he does we can meet him,” said Kuan Yü.
But Yüan-tê was grieved beyond measure. When he entered the city the
elders of the people knelt in the road to welcome him. When he reached
his residence he found that Chang Fei had already exterminated the
family of Chʻê Chou.
Yüan-tê said, “We have slain one of his best friends and how will he
stand that?”
“Never mind!” cried Chʻên Têng. “I have a plan.”
Just from grave danger extricated,
An injured friend must be placated.
The plan proposed by Chʻên Têng will be disclosed next.
CHAPTER XXII.
YÜAN AND TSʻAO BOTH TAKE THE FIELD:
THE TWO BROTHERS CAPTURE TWO CAPTAINS.
This was the plan proposed to Yüan-tê: “Yüan Shao is Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
terror. He is strongly posted in an extensive district with a hundred
legions of fighting men and many able officers. Write letters and pray
him to rescue you.”
Liu Pei replied, “But we have never had any dealings with each other
and he is unlikely to do such a thing for one who has just destroyed
his brother.”
“There is some one here whose family have been on intimate terms with
the Yüans for a hundred years. Shao would surely come if he wrote.”
“And who is this?”
“A man you know well and respect greatly; can you not guess?”
“You surely mean Chêng Kʻang-chʻêng,” said Liu Pei suddenly.
“That is he,” said Chʻên Têng smiling.
Now Chêng Kʻang-chʻêng’s ming was Yüan. He was a student and a man of
great talent, who had long studied under Ma Jung. Ma Jung was peculiar
as a teacher. Whenever he lectured he let fall a curtain behind which
were a circle of singing girls. The students were assembled in front of
this curtain. Chêng Yüan attended these lectures for three years and
never once let his eyes wander to the curtain.
Naturally the master admired his pupil. After Chêng Yüan had finished
his studies and gone home Ma Jung praised him to the others, saying,
“Only one man has penetrated the inner meaning of my instructions and
that one is Chêng Yüan.”
In the Chêng household the waiting maids were familiar with Mao’s
edition of the Odes. Once one of the maids opposed Yüan’s wishes, so as
punishment she was made to kneel in front of the steps. Another girl
made fun of her, quoting from an ode;—
“What are you doing there in the mire?”
The kneeling girl capped the verse from another ode; quoth she:—
“’Twas but a simple word I said,
Yet brought it wrath upon my head.”
Such was the family in which he had been born. In the reign of the
Emperor Huan he rose to the rank of President of a Board, but when the
Ten Eunuchs began to control the government he gave up office and
retired into the country to Hsüchou. Liu Pei had known him before, had
consulted him on many occasions and greatly respected him.
Liu Pei was glad that he had remembered this man and without loss of
time, in company with Chʻên Têng, he went to his house to ask him to
draft this letter, which he generously consented to do.
Sun Chʻien was entrusted with the task of delivery and set out at once.
Shao read it and considered the matter long before speaking. “Liu Pei
destroyed my brother and I ought not to help him, but out of
consideration for the writer of this letter I must.”
Whereupon he assembled his officers to consider an attack upon Tsʻao
Tsʻao.
Tʻien Fêng said, “Do not raise an army. The people are worn out and the
granaries are empty with these constant wars. Let us rather report the
recent victory of Kungsun Tsan to the Throne. If that does not reach
the Emperor, then memorialise that Tsʻao Tsʻao is hindering the
government. Then raise an army: occupy Liyang, assemble a fleet in
Honan, prepare weapons, send out your various divisions and within
three years you will win all round.”
The adviser Shên Pʻei replied, “I do not agree. The military genius of
our illustrious lord having overcome the hordes of the north, to
dispose of Tsʻao is as simple as turning one’s hand; it is not a matter
of months.”
Chü Shou said, “Victory is not always to the many. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
discipline is excellent; his soldiers are brave and well drilled. He
will not sit down quietly waiting to be surrounded as Kungsun Tsan did.
Now you abandon the intention to inform the Throne of our success,
which I find a good plan, but you intend to send out an army without
any valid excuse. Our lord should not do that.”
Then followed adviser Kuo Tʻu, “You are wrong. No expedition against
Tsʻao Tsʻao can lack excuse. But if our master would take the chance
now offering itself of coming into his own, he will accede to the
request in the letter and ally himself with Liu Pei for the destruction
of Tsʻao. This would win the approval of heaven and the affections of
the people, a double blessing.”
Thus the four advisers differed and wrangled and Yüan Shao could not
decide which to follow. Then there came two others, Hsü Yu and Hsün
Shên, and, seeing them, Shao said, “You two have wide experience, how
would you decide?”
The two made their obeisance and Yüan Shao said, “A letter from Chêng
the President has arrived, counselling me to support Liu Pei in an
attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao. Now am I to send an army or not send an army?”
They both cried with one voice, “Send! Your armies are numerous enough
and strong enough; you will destroy a traitor and help the dynasty.”
“Your words just express my desire,” said Shao and thenceforward the
discussion turned on the expedition.
First Sun Chʻien was sent back with Yüan Shao’s consent and
instructions for Liu Pei to make ready to co-operate. Officers were
assigned divisions and advisers were told off. The army was to be
composed of thirty legions, horse and foot in equal numbers. They were
to march on Liyang.
When the arrangements were complete Kuo Tʻu went to his chief saying,
“In order to manifest the righteousness of your attack on Tsʻao it
would be well to issue a manifesto with a summary of his various
crimes.”
Yüan Shao approved of this and a certain Chʻên Lin, well known as a
scholar, who had been a Recorder in the late Emperor’s reign, was
entrusted to compose such a document. This is the manifesto:—
“A perspicacious ruler wisely provides against political vicissitudes;
a loyal minister carefully foresees the difficulties in the assertion
of authority. Wherefore a man of unusual parts precedes an
extraordinary situation, and of such a man the achievements will be
extraordinary. For indeed the ordinary man is quite unequal to an
extraordinary situation.
“In former days, after having gained ascendancy over a weakling King of
the powerful Tsʻin Dynasty, Chao Kao wielded the whole authority of the
Throne, overruling the government. All dignity and fortune came through
him and his contemporaries were restrained so that none dared to speak
openly. Slowly but surely evolved the tragedy of the Wangi Temple, when
the Emperor was slain and the Imperial tablets perished in the flames.
He, the author of these crimes, has ever since been held up to obloquy
as the arch example of an evil-doer.
“In the later days of the Empress Lü of the Hans the world saw Lü Chan
and Lü Lu, brothers of the Empress and fellows in wickedness,
monopolising the powers of government. Within the capital they
commanded two armies and without they ruled the feudal states of Liang
and Chao. They arbitrarily controlled all State affairs and decided all
questions in the council chamber and the Court. This dominance of the
base and declension of the noble continued till the hearts of the
people grew cold within them.
“Thereupon Chou Pʻo, Marquis of Chiang, and Liu Chang, Marquis of
Chuhsü, asserted their dignity and let loose their wrath. They
destroyed the contumacious ministers and restored their Ruler to his
royal state. Thus they enabled the kingly way to be re-established and
the glory to be manifested. Here are two instances where ministers
asserted their authority.
“This Tsʻao, now a minister, forsooth, had for ancestor a certain
eunuch named Tʻêng, fitting companion of Tso Kuan and Hsü Huang. All
three were prodigies of wickedness and insatiably avaricious and, let
loose on the world, they hindered ethical progress and preyed upon the
populace. This Tʻêng begged for and adopted Tsʻao’s father who, by
wholesale bribery, wagons of gold and cartloads of jewels presented at
the gates of the influential, contrived to sneak his way into
considerable office where he could subvert authority. Thus Tsʻao is the
depraved bantling of a monstrous excrescence, devoid of all virtue in
himself, ferocious and cunning, delighting in disorder and revelling in
public calamity.
“Now I, Mu-fu, a man of war, have mustered my armies and displayed my
might that I may sweep away and destroy the evil opponents of
government. I have already had to deal with Tung Cho, the ruffian who
invaded the official circle and wrested the government. At that time I
grasped my sword and beat the drums to restore order in the east. I
assembled warriors, selected the best and took them into my service. In
this matter I came into relations with this Tsʻao and conferred with
him to further my scheme. I gave him command of a subordinate force and
looked to him to render such petty service as he was equal to. I
suffered his stupidities and condoned his shortcomings, his rash
attacks and facile retreats, his losses and shameful defeats, his
repeated destruction of whole armies. Again and again I sent him more
troops and filled the gaps in his depleted ranks. I even addressed a
memorial to the Throne for him to be appointed Governor of Yenchou. I
made him feared as he were a tiger. I added to his honours and
increased his authority, hoping that eventually he would justify
himself by a victory such as fell to Mêng Ming of Tsʻin.
“But Tsʻao availed himself of the opportunity to overstep all bounds,
to give free rein to violence and evil. He stripped the common people,
outraged the good and injured the virtuous. Pien Jang, Prefect of
Kiukiang, was a man of conspicuous talent and of world-wide reputation.
He was honest in speech and correct in demeanour. He spoke without
flattery. He was put to death and his head exposed, and his family
utterly destroyed. From that day to this scholars have deeply mourned
and popular resentment has steadily grown. One man raised his arm in
anger and the whole countryside followed him. Whereupon Tsʻao was
smitten at Hsüchou and his district was snatched by Lü Pu. He fled
eastward without shelter or refuge.
“My policy is a strong trunk and weak branches, a commanding central
government and obedient feudal lords. Also I am no partizan. Therefore
I again raised my banners, donned my armour and moved forward to
attack. My drums rolled for an assault on Lü Pu and his multitudes
incontinently fled. I saved Tsʻao from destruction and restored him to
a position of authority. Wherein I must confess to showing no kindness
to the people of Yenchou although it was a great matter for Tsʻao.
“Later it happened that the imperial cortège moved west and a horde of
rebels rose and attacked. The course of government was hindered. At
that moment my territory was threatened from the north and I could not
leave it. Wherefore I sent one of my officers to Tsʻao to see to the
repair of the temples and the protection of the youthful sovereign.
Thereupon Tsʻao gave the rein to his inclinations. He arbitrarily
ordered the removal of the Court. He brought shame upon the ruling
House and subverted the laws. He engrossed the presidency of the three
highest offices and monopolised the control of the administration.
Offices and rewards were conferred according to his will; punishment
was at his word. He glorified whole families of those he loved; he
exterminated whole clans of those he hated. Open critics were executed;
secret opponents were assassinated. Officials locked their lips;
wayfarers only exchanged glances. Presidents of Boards recorded levies
and every government official held a sinecure.
“The late Yang Piao, a man who had filled two of the highest offices of
State as President of two Boards, because of some petty grudge was,
though guiltless, charged with a crime. He was beaten and suffered
every form of cruelty. This arbitrary and impulsive act was a flagrant
disregard of constitutional rules.
“Another victim was the Councillor Chao Yan. He was faithful in
remonstrance, honest in speech, endowed with the highest principles of
rectitude. He was listened to at Court. His words carried enough weight
with the Emperor to cause him to modify his intention and confer reward
for outspokenness. Desirous of diverting all power into his own hands
and stifle all criticism, Tsʻao presumed to arrest and put to death
this censor, in defiance of all legal procedure.
“Another evil deed was the destruction of the tomb of Prince Liang
Hsiao, the brother of the late Emperor. His tomb should certainly have
been respected, even its mulberries and lindera trees, its cypresses
and its pines. Tsʻao led soldiers to the cemetery and stood by while it
was desecrated, the coffin destroyed and the poor corpse exposed. They
stole the gold and jewels of the dead. This deed brought tears to the
eyes of the Emperor and rent the hearts of all men. Tsʻao also
appointed ‘Openers-of-Grave-Mounds’ and ‘Seekers-for-Gold’ whose tracks
were marked by desecrated graves and exhumed bodies. Indeed, while
assuming the position of the highest officer of State, he indulged the
inclination of a bandit, polluting the State, oppressing the people, a
bane to gods and men.
“He added to this by setting up minute and vexatious prohibitions so
that there were nets and snares spread in every pathway, traps and
pitfalls laid in every road. A hand raised was caught in a net, a foot
advanced was taken in an entanglement. Wherefore the men of Yen and Yü
waxed desperate and the inhabitants of the metropolis groaned and
murmured in anger.
Read down the names through all the years
Of ministers that all men curse
For greed and cruelty and lust;
Than Tsʻao you will not find a worse.
“I have investigated the cases of evil deeds in the provinces, but I
have been unable to reform him. I have given him repeated opportunities
hoping that he would repent. But he has the heart of a wolf, the nature
of a wild beast. He nourishes evil in his bosom and desires to pull
down the pillars of the State, to weaken the House of Han, to destroy
the loyal and true and to stand himself conspicuous as the chiefest of
criminals.
“Formerly, when I attacked the north, Kungsun Tsan, that obstinate
bandit and perverse bravo, resisted my might for a year. Before he
could be destroyed this Tsʻao wrote to him that, under the pretence of
assisting the Imperial armies, he would covertly lead them to
destruction. The plot was discovered through his messengers and Tsan
also perished. This blunted Tsʻao’s ardour and his plans failed.
“Now he is camped at the Ao Granaries with the river to strengthen his
position. Like the mantis in the story, who threatened the chariot with
its forelegs, he thinks himself terrible. But with the dignity and
prestige of Han to support me I confront the whole world. I have
spearmen by millions, horsemen by thousands of squadrons, fierce and
vigorous warriors strong as Chung Huang, Hsia Yu and Wu Huo, those
heroes of antiquity. I have enlisted expert archers and strong bowmen.
In Pingchou my armies have crossed the Tʻaihang Range and in Chingchou
they have forded the Chi and Tʻa Rivers. They have coasted down the
Yellow River to attack his van, and from Chingchou they have descended
to Wanyeh to smite his rearguard. Thunder-like in the weight of their
march, tiger-like in the alertness of their advance, they converge on
Lotʻing. They are as flames let loose among light grass, as the blue
ocean poured on glowing embers. Is there any hope that he escape
destruction?
“Of the hordes of Tsʻao, those who can fight are from the north or from
other camps and they all desire to return home. They weep whenever they
look to the north. The others belong to Yen or Yü, being remnants of
the armies of Lü Pu and Chang Yang. Beaten, stern necessity forced them
to accept service, but they take it only as a temporary expedient.
Every man who has been wounded is an enemy. If I give the signal to
return and send my drums and shawms to the mountain tops, and wave the
white flag to show them they may surrender, they will melt away like
dew before the sun and no blood will be shed. The victory will be mine.
“Now the Hans are failing and the bonds of Empire are relaxed. The
sacred Dynasty has no supporter, the Ministers are not strong enough to
cope with the difficulties. Within the capital the responsible
Ministers are crestfallen and helpless. There is no one to rely upon.
Such loyal and high principled men as are left are browbeaten by a
tyrannical Minister. How can they manifest their virtue?
“Tsʻao has surrounded the Palace with seven hundred veterans, the
ostensible object being to guard the Emperor, but the covert design
being to hold him prisoner. I fear this is but the first step in
usurpation and so I take my part. Now is the time for loyal Ministers
to sacrifice their lives, the opportunity for officers to perform
meritorious deeds. Can I fail to urge you?
“Tsʻao has forged commands to himself to undertake the control of
government affairs and, in the name of the State, sends out calls for
military assistance. I fear lest distant districts may obey his behest
and send troops to help him, to the detriment of the multitude and
their everlasting shame. No wise man will do so.
“The forces of four prefectures are moving out simultaneously. When
this call reaches Chingchou you will see their forces co-operate with
those of Chang Hsiu. All districts and departments ought to organise
volunteers and set them along their borders to demonstrate their force
and prove their loyal support of the Dynasty. Will not this be
rendering extraordinary service?
“The rank of Marquis, with feudal rights over five thousand households
and a money reward of fifty millions, will be the reward of him who
brings the head of Tsʻao. No questions will be asked of those who
surrender. I publish abroad this notice of my bounty and the rewards
offered that you may realise that the Dynasty is in real danger.”
Shao read this effusion with great joy. He at once ordered copies to be
posted everywhere, in towns and cities, at gates (tax stations) and
ferries and passes. Copies found their way to the capital and one got
into Tsʻao Tsʻao’s palace. That day he happened to be in bed with a bad
headache. The servants took the paper to the sick man’s room. He read
it and was frightened from the tips of his hair to the marrow of his
very bones. He broke out into a cold perspiration and his headache
vanished. He bounded out of bed and said to Tsʻao Hung, “Who wrote
this?”
“They say it is Chʻên Lin’s pencil,” replied he.
Tsʻao laughed “They have the literary gift; they had better have the
military too to back it up. This fellow may be a very elegant writer,
but what if Yüan Shao’s fighting capacity falls short?”
He called his advisers together to consider the next move. Kʻung Jung
heard of the summons and went to his master saying, “You should not
fight with Yüan Shao; he is too strong. Make peace.”
Hsün Yü said, “He is despicable: do not make peace.”
Jung replied, “His land is wide and his people strong. He has many
skilful strategists and he has loyal and able captains. You cannot say
he is despicable.”
Yü laughed saying, “His army is a rabble. One captain, Tʻien Fêng, is
bold but treacherous; another, Hsü Yu, is greedy and ignorant; Shên
Pʻei is devoted but stupid; Fêng Chi is steady but useless. And these
four of such different temperaments, mutually incompatible, will make
for confusion rather than efficiency. Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou are
worthless and can be disposed of in the first battle and the others are
poor, rough stuff. What is the use even of their legions?”
Kʻung Jung was silent and Tsʻao smiled. “They are even as Hsün Wen-jo
describes,” said he.
Then Tsʻao issued orders. Generals Liu Tai and Wang Chung were to lead
an army of five legions, displaying the minister’s banners, and march
against Hsüchou to attack Liu Pei.
This Liu Tai had been governor of Yenchou but had surrendered and
entered Tsʻao Tsʻao’s service after the fall of the city. Tsʻao had
given him a rank as supernumerary leader and now was disposed to make
use of him.
Tsʻao Tsʻao himself took command of a large army of twenty legions for
a simultaneous attack on Yüan Shao at Liyang.
A certain adviser said he thought the two captains sent against Liu Pei
were unequal to their task.
“I know,” said Tsʻao. “They are not meant to fight Liu Pei; it is
merely a feint. They have orders not to make any real attack till I
have overcome Yüan Shao. Then Liu Pei will be next.”
Liu Tai and Wang Chung went their way and Tsʻao Tsʻao marched out his
grand army, which came into touch with the enemy, then eighty li
distant, at Liyang. Both sides made fortified camps and waited watching
each other. This went on for two months.
There was dissension in Yüan Shao’s camp. Hsü Yu was at enmity with his
colleague, Shên Pʻei, and the strategist Chu Shou resented the
rejection of his plan. So they would not attack. Yüan Shao also could
not make up his mind. Tired of this state of inaction Tsʻao Tsʻao then
gave certain commanders definite points to hold and marched back to
Hsütu.
The five legions sent against Liu Pei went into camp a hundred li from
Hsüchou. The camp made an imposing display of the banners of the Prime
Minister but no attacks followed. Their spies were very busy north of
the river. On the defensive side, Liu Pei, as he was uncertain of the
strength of the force against him, dared not move.
Suddenly orders came for the Tsʻao army to attack and then discord
showed itself.
Liu Tai said, “The Minister orders an attack; you advance.”
Wang Chung replied, “You were named first.”
“I am the Commander in Chief; it is not my place to go first.”
“I will go with you in joint command,” said Chung.
“Let us cast lots and he upon whom the lot falls must go,” said Tai.
They drew lots and it fell to Wang Chung, who advanced toward Hsüchou
with half the force.
When Yüan-tê heard of the threatened attack he called Chʻên Têng to
consult.
Yüan-tê said, “There is dissension in Yüan Shao’s camp at Liyang so
they do not advance. We do not know where Tsʻao Tsʻao is but his own
banner is not displayed in his Liyang camp. Why then is it shown here?”
Chʻên Têng replied, “His tricks take a hundred forms. It must be that
he regards the north as most important and has gone there to look after
its defence. He dares not show his flag there and I feel sure it is
only meant to mislead us. He is not here.”
Yüan-tê then asked whether one of his brothers would find out the truth
and Chang Fei volunteered to go.
“I fear you are unsuited for this,” said Yüan-tê. “You are too
impetuous.”
“If Tsʻao is there I will haul him over here,” said Fei.
“Let me go first and find out,” said Kuan Yü.
“If you go I shall feel more at ease,” said Yüan-tê.
So Kuan Yü set out with three companies to reconnoitre. It was then
early winter and snow was falling from a gloomy sky. They marched
regardless of the snow and came near Wang Chung’s camp with arms all
ready to attack. Kuan Yü summoned Wang Chung to a parley.
“The Minister is here: why do you not surrender?” said Wang Chung.
“Beg him to come to the front for I would speak with him,” replied Kuan
Yü.
“Is he likely to come out to see such as you?”
Kuan Yü angrily dashed forward and Wang Chung set his spear to meet
him. Yü rode till he came close to his antagonist, then suddenly
wheeled away. Wang Chung went after him and followed up a slope. Just
as they passed the crest, Yü suddenly wheeled again, shouted and came
on flourishing the mighty sword. Wang Chung could not withstand that
and fled. But Kuan Yü, changing the huge sword to his left hand, with
his right laid hold of his victim by the straps of his breastplate,
lifted him out of the saddle and rode away to his own lines with the
captive laid across the pommel of his saddle. Wang Chung’s men
scattered.
The captive was sent to Hsüchou, where he was summoned into the
presence of Liu Pei.
“Who are you? What office do you hold? How dare you falsely display the
ensigns of the Minister Tsʻao Tsʻao?” said Liu Pei.
“What do you mean by falsely when I simply obeyed my orders?” said
Wang. “My master wanted to produce the impression that he was present.
Really he was not there.”
Liu Pei treated him kindly, giving him food and clothing; but put him
in prison till his colleague could be captured. Kuan Yü said that,
knowing his brother had peaceful intentions in his mind, he captured
the man instead of slaying him.
“I was afraid of Chang Fei’s hasty and impulsive temper,” said Liu Pei.
“He would have slain this man. So I could not send him. There is no
advantage in killing persons of this sort and while alive they are
often useful in amicable settlements.”
Here Chang Fei said, “You have got this Wang; now I will go and get the
other man.”
“Be careful,” said his brother. “Liu Tai was once governor of Yenchou
and he was one of the nobles who met at Tigertrap Pass to destroy Tung
Cho. He is not to be despised.”
“I do not think him worth talking about so much. I will bring him in
alive just as my brother did this other.”
“I fear that if his life be lost it may upset our designs,” said Liu
Pei.
“If I kill him I will forfeit my own life,” said Fei.
So he was given three companies and went off quickly.
The capture of his colleague made Liu Tai careful. He strengthened his
defences and kept behind them. He took no notice of the daily
challenges and continual insults which began with Chang Fei’s arrival.
After some days Fei evolved a ruse. He issued orders to prepare to rush
the enemy’s camp at night, but he himself spent the day drinking.
Pretending to be very intoxicated he held a court martial and one
soldier was severely flogged for a breach of discipline. The man was
left bound in the midst of the camp, Fei saying, “Wait till I am ready
to start to-night; you shall be sacrificed to the flag.” At the same
time he gave secret orders to the custodians to let the man escape.
The man found his opportunity, crept out of camp and went over to the
enemy, to whom he betrayed the plan of a night attack. As the man bore
signs of savage punishment Liu Tai was the more disposed to credit his
desertion and tale and made his arrangements, putting the greater part
of his men in ambush outside his camp so that it was empty.
That night, having divided his men into three parties, Chang Fei went
to attack the camp. A few men were ordered to advance directly, dash in
and set fire going. Two larger bodies of men were to go round to the
rear of the camp and attack when they saw the fire well started. At the
third watch (midnight) Chang Fei, with his veterans, went to cut off
Liu Tai’s road to the rear.
The thirty men told off to start a conflagration made their way into
the camp and were successful. When the flames arose the ambushed men
rushed out but only to find themselves attacked on both sides. This
confused them and as they knew nothing of the number of their
assailants they were panic-stricken and scattered.
Liu Tai, with a company of footmen got clear of the fight and fled, but
he went straight toward Chang Fei. Escape was impossible and the two
men rode up each to attack the other. Chang Fei captured his opponent
and the men surrendered.
Chang Fei sent news of this success to his brothers.
Yüan-tê said, “Hitherto I-tê has been rather violent, but this time he
has acted wisely and I am very pleased.”
They rode out to welcome their brother.
“You said I was too rough; how now?” said Fei to his brothers.
“If I had not put you on your mettle you would not have evolved this
stratagem,” said Liu Pei.
Fei laughed. Then appeared the captive Liu Tai, in bonds. Yüan-tê at
once dismounted and loosed the cords, saying, “My young brother was
rather nasty, but you must pardon him.”
So he was freed. He was taken into the city, his colleague was released
and both were cared for.
Yüan-tê said to them, “I could not help putting Chʻê Chou to death when
he tried to kill me, but Tsʻao Tsʻao took it as disaffection and sent
you two generals to punish me. I have received much kindness from him
and certainly would not show ingratitude by killing you. I wish you to
speak for me and explain when you get back.”
“We are deeply grateful that you spare our lives and we will certainly
do so in gratitude for what our wives and children owe you.”
Next day the two leaders and their army were allowed to depart
unscathed. But before they had got ten li from the boundary they heard
a mighty shouting and there appeared Chang Fei barring the road.
“My brother made a mistake in letting you go: he did not understand.
How could he give freedom to two rebels?”
This made the two men quake with fear, but as the fierce-eyed warrior
with uplifted sword was bearing down upon them they heard another man
galloping up and shouting, “Do not behave so disgracefully!”
The newcomer was Kuan Yü and his appearance relieved the unhappy men of
all fear.
“Why do you stop them since our brother set them free?” cried he.
“If they are let go to-day they will surely come back,” cried Fei.
“Wait till they do, then you may kill them,” replied Kuan Yü.
The two leaders with one voice cried, “Even if the Minister slay our
whole clan we will never come again. We pray you pardon us.”
Said Fei, “If Tsʻao Tsʻao himself had come I would have slain him. Not
a breastplate should have gone back. But for this time I leave you your
heads.”
Clapping their hands to their heads the two men scuttled off while the
two brothers returned to the city.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao will certainly come,” they said.
Sun Chʻien said, “This is not a city that can hold out for long. We
should send part of our forces to Hsiaopʻei and guard Pʻeichʻêng as a
corner stone of our position.”
Yüan-tê agreed and told off his brothers to guard Pʻeichʻêng whither he
also sent his two wives, the Ladies Kan and Mi. The former was a native
of the place; the latter was Mi Chu’s sister.
Four captains were left to defend Hsüchou and Yüan-tê with Chang Fei
went to Hsiaopʻei.
The two released leaders hastened home to Tsʻao Tsʻao and explained to
him that Liu Pei was not disaffected. But their master was exceeding
angry with them, crying “You shameful traitors, what use are you?”
He roared to the lictors to take them away to instant execution.
How can a dog or a pig expect
To conquer in tiger strife?
Minnows and shrimps that with dragons contend
Already have done with life.
The fate of the two leaders will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXIII.
MI HÊNG SLIPS HIS GARMENT AND RAILS AT TRAITORS:
CRUEL PUNISHMENT OF THE PHYSICIAN CHI.
At the close of the last chapter the two unsuccessful leaders Liu and
Wang were in danger of death. However, one of the advisers, Kʻung Jung,
remonstrated with Tsʻao saying, “You knew these two were no match for
Liu Pei and if you put them to death because they failed you will lose
the hearts of your men.”
Wherefore the death sentence was not executed but they were deprived of
rank and status. Tsʻao next proposed to lead an army himself to attack
Liu Pei, but the weather was too inclement. So it was settled to await
the return of spring. In the interval there would be time to arrange
peace with Chang Hsiu and Liu Piao.
Wherefore Liu Yeh was sent to the former of these and in due time
reached Hsiangchʻêng. He first had an interview with Chia Hsü, whereat
he dwelt upon Tsʻao’s virtues so that Hsü was impressed, kept him as a
guest and undertook to smooth his way.
Soon after he saw Chang Hsiu and spoke of the advantages of coming to
terms with Tsʻao Tsʻao. While the discussion was in progress a
messenger from Yüan Shao was announced and he was called in. He
presented letters and, when they also proposed terms of peace, Chia Hsü
asked what their success had been lately against Tsʻao.
“The war had ceased for the moment on account of the winter,” replied
the messenger. “As you, General, and Liu Piao are both well reputed
officers of the State, I have been sent to request your help.”
Chia Hsü laughed, “You can return to your master and say that as he
could not brook rivalry of his brother he certainly would be sorely put
to it with that of all the officers of the State.”
The letter was torn into fragments before the messenger’s face and he
was angrily bidden begone.
“But his master, Yüan Shao, is stronger than Tsʻao Tsʻao,” protested
Chang Hsiu. “You have torn up his letter and are dismissing his man.
What shall we say about such an insult should Yüan Shao come?”
“Better join hands with Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said Chia Hsü.
“But there is still between us an unavenged enmity, we could not suffer
each other.”
Chia Hsü said, “There are three advantages in joining hands with Tsʻao.
First, he has a command from the Emperor to restore peace. Secondly, as
Yüan Shao is so strong our little help to him will be despised, while
we shall loom large and be well treated by Tsʻao Tsʻao. Thirdly, Tsʻao
is going to be Chief of the Feudal Lords and he will ignore all private
feuds in order to show his magnanimity to all the world. I hope,
General, you will see these things clearly and hesitate no longer.”
Chang Hsiu, now convinced, became more reasonable and recalled the
messenger, who, at the interview, extolled the many virtues of his
master. “If the Minister had any thought of the old quarrel he would
hardly have sent me to make friendly engagements: would he?” said he at
the last.
So Chang and his adviser proceeded to the capital where formal
submission was made. At the interview the visitor bowed low at the
steps, but Tsʻao Tsʻao, hastening forward, took him by the hand and
raised him saying “Forget that little fault of mine, I pray you.”
Chang Hsiu received the title of Yang-wu General (“Prowess-in-War”
General) and Chia Hsü that of Chih Chin-wu (Controller of the Ways).
Tsʻao then directed his secretaries to draft letters inviting the
support of Liu Piao.
Chia Hsü said, “Liu Ching-shêng loves to have to do with famous people.
If some famous scholar should be sent to him he would submit
forthwith.”
So Tsʻao enquired of Hsün Yu who was the best man to go as a messenger
and he recommended Kʻung Jung. Tsʻao agreed and sent him to speak with
this officer. So he went to Kʻung, saying, “A scholar of reputation is
required to act as a messenger of State; can you undertake this task?”
Kʻung Jung replied, “I have a certain friend, Mi Hêng, whose talents
are ten times mine. He ought to be constantly at the Court of the
Emperor and not merely be sent as a State messenger. I will recommend
him to the Emperor.”
So he wrote the following memorial:—
“In ancient days, when the great waters were abroad, the Emperor
pondered over their regulation and he sought out men of talent from all
directions. In old time, when the Emperor Wu of the Hans desired to
enlarge his borders, crowds of scholars responded to his call.
“Intelligent and holy, Your Majesty ascended the throne. You have
fallen upon evil days, but have been diligent, modest and untiring in
your efforts. Now the great mountains have sent forth spirits and men
of genius appear.
“I, your humble servant, know of a certain simple scholar, Mi Hêng by
name, of Pʻingyüan, a young man of twenty-four. His moral character is
excellent, his talents eminent. As a youth he took a high place in
study and penetrated the most secret arcana of learning. What he
glanced at he could repeat, what he heard once he never forgot. He is
naturally high principled and his thoughts are divine. Hung-yang’s
mental calculations and An-shih’s mnemonical feats compared with Mi
Hêng’s powers are no longer wonderful. Loyal, sincere, correct and
straight-forward, his ambition is unsullied. He regards the good with
trembling respect, he detests the evil with uncompromising hatred. Jên
Tso in unflinching candour, Shih Yü in severe rectitude, never
surpassed him.
“Hundreds of hawks are not worth one osprey. If Mi Hêng be given a
Court appointment notable results must follow. Ready in debate, rapid
in utterance, his overwhelming intelligence wells up in profusion; in
the solution of doubts and the unravelling of difficulties he has no
peer.
“In former days Chia I begged to be sent on trial to a vassal State to
be responsible for the arrest of Shan Yü; Chung Chün offered to bring
the Prince of Nanyüeh as with a pair of long reins. The generous
conduct of these youths has been much admired. In our day Lu Tsui and
Yen Hsiang, remarkable for their talents, have been appointed among the
secretaries. And Mi Hêng is no less capable. Should he be got, then all
possibilities may be realised; the dragon may curvet through the
celestial streets and soar along the Milky Way; fame will extend to the
poles of the universe and hang in the firmament with rainbow glory. He
would be the glory of all the present Ministers and enhance the majesty
of the Palace itself. The air Chun-tʻien will acquire new beauties and
the Palace will contain an excellent treasure. Men like Mi Hêng are but
few. As in the recitation of Chi-chʻu and the singing of Yang-o the
most skilful performers are sought, and such fleet horses as Fei-tʻu
and Yao-miao were looked for by the famous judges of horses, Wang Liang
and Pai Lo, so I, the humble one, dare not conceal this man. Your
Majesty is careful in the selection of servants and should try him. Let
him be summoned as he is, simply clad in his serge dress, and should he
not appear worthy then may I be punished for the fault of deception.”
The Emperor read the memorial and passed it to his Minister, who duly
summoned Mi Hêng. He came, but after his formal salutations were over
he was left standing and not invited to sit down. Looking up to heaven
he sighed deeply, saying, “Wide as is the universe it cannot produce
the man.”
“Under my orders are scores of men whom the world call heroes. What do
you mean by saying there is not the man?” said Tsʻao.
“I should be glad to hear who they are,” said Mi.
“Hsün Yü and Hsün Yu, Kuo Chia and Chʻêng Yü are all men of profound
skill and long views, superior to Hsiao Ho and Chʻên Pʻing; Chang Liao
and Hsü Chu, Li Tien and Yo Chin are bravest of the brave, better than
Tsên Pʻêng and Ma Wu. Lü Chʻien and Man Chʻung are my secretaries, Yü
Chin and Hsü Huang are my van-leaders; Hsiahou Tun is one of the
world’s marvels and Tsʻao Tzŭ-hsiao is the most successful leader of
the age. Now say you there are not the men?”
“Sir, you are quite mistaken,” said Mi Hêng with a smile. “I know all
these things you call men. Hsün Yü is qualified to pose at a funeral or
ask after a sick man. Hsün Yu is fit to be a tomb guardian. Chʻêng Yü
might be sent to shut doors and bolt windows, and Kuo Chia is a reciter
of poems; Chang Liao might beat drums and clang gongs; Hsü Chu might
lead cattle to pasture; Yo Chin would make a fair confidential clerk of
the Court; Li Tien could carry despatches and notices; Lü Chʻien would
be a fair armourer; Man Chʻung could be sent to drink wine and eat
brewers’ grains; Yü Chin might be of use to carry planks and build
walls; Hsü Huang might be employed to kill pigs and slay dogs; Hsiahou
Tun should be styled ‘Whole Body’ General and Tsʻao Tzŭ-hsiao should be
called ‘Money-grubbing Prefect.’ As for the remainder, they are mere
clothes-horses, rice-sacks, wine butts, flesh bags.”
“And what special gifts have you?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao angrily.
“I know everything in heaven above and the earth beneath. I am
conversant with the Three Religions and the Nine Systems of Philosophy.
I could make my prince the rival of Yao and Shun and I myself could
compare in virtue with Kʻung and Yen. Can I discuss on even terms with
common people?”
Now Chang Liao was present and he raised his sword to strike down the
impudent visitor who spoke thus to his master, but Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “I
want another drummer boy to play on occasions of congratulation in the
Court. I will confer this office upon him.”
Instead of indignantly declining this Mi Hêng accepted the position and
went out.
“He spoke very impertinently,” said Liao; “Why did you not put him to
death?”
“He has something of a reputation; empty, but people have heard of him
and so, if I put him to death, they would say I was intolerant. As he
thinks he has ability I have made him a drummer to mortify him.”
Soon after Tsʻao instituted a banquet in the capital at which the
guests were many. The drums were to be played and the old drummers were
ordered to wear new clothes. But the new drummer took his place with
the other musicians clad in old and worn garments. The piece chosen was
Yü-yang (or “Fishing”) and from the earliest taps on the drum the
effect was exquisite, profound as the notes from metal and stone. The
performance stirred deeply the emotions of every guest, some even shed
tears. Seeing all eyes turned on the shabby performer the attendants
said, “Why did you not put on your new uniform?”
Mi Hêng turned to them, slipped off his frayed and torn robe and stood
there in full view, naked as he was born. The assembled guests covered
their faces. Then the drummer composedly drew on his nether garments.
“Why do you behave so rudely at Court?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“To flout one’s prince and insult one’s superiors is the real
rudeness,” cried Mi Hêng. “I bare my natural body as an emblem of my
purity.”
“So you are pure! And who is foul?”
“You do not distinguish between the wise and the foolish; which is to
have foul vision; you have never read the Odes or the Histories, which
is to have foul speech; you are deaf to honest words, which is to have
foul ears; you are unable to reconcile antiquity with to-day, which is
to be foul without; you cannot tolerate the nobles, which is to be foul
within; you harbour thoughts of rebellion, which is to have a foul
heart. I am the most famous scholar in the world and you make me a
drummer boy, that is as Yang Huo belittling Chung-ni (Confucius) or
Tsang Tsʻang vilifying Mêng, the Philosopher (Mencius). You desire to
be chief and arbitrator of the great nobles, yet you treat me thus!”
Now Kʻung Jung who had recommended Mi Hêng for employment was among the
guests and he feared for the life of his friend. Wherefore he tried to
calm the storm.
“Mi Hêng is only guilty of a misdemeanour like Hsü Mi’s,” cried he. “He
is not a man likely to disturb your dreams, illustrious Prince.”
Pointing to Mi Hêng the Minister said, “I will send you to Chingchou as
my messenger and if Liu Piao surrender to me I will give you a post at
Court.”
But Hêng was unwilling to go. So Tsʻao Tsʻao bade two of his men
prepare three horses and they set Hêng on the middle one and dragged
him along the road between them.
It is also related that a great number of officers of all ranks
assembled at the east gate to see the messenger start. Hsün Yü said,
“When Mi Hêng comes we will not rise to salute him.”
So when Hêng came, dismounted and entered the waiting room, they all
sat stiff and silent. Mi Hêng uttered a loud cry.
“What is that for?” said Hsün Yü.
“Should not one cry out when one enters a coffin?” said Mi Hêng.
“We may be corpses,” cried they altogether, “but you are a wandering
ghost.”
“I am a Minister of Han and not a partizan of Tsʻao’s,” cried he. “You
cannot say I have no head.”
They were angry enough to kill him, but Hsün Yü checked them. “He is a
paltry fellow, it is not worth soiling your blades with his blood.”
“I am paltry, am I? Yet I have the soul of a man and you are mere
worms,” said Mi Hêng.
They went their ways all very angry. Mi Hêng went on his journey and
presently reached Chingchou, where he saw Liu Piao. After that, under
pretence of extolling his virtue, he lampooned Piao, who was annoyed
and sent him to Chianghsia to see Huang Tsu.
“Why did you not put the fellow to death for lampooning you?” said one
to Liu Piao.
“You see he shamed Tsʻao Tsʻao, but Tsʻao did not kill him as he feared
to lose popular favour. So he sent him to me, thinking to borrow my
hand to slay him and so suffer the loss of my good name. I have sent
him on to Huang Tsu to let Tsʻao see that I understood.”
His clever caution met with general praise. At that time a messenger
from Yüan Shao was also there with certain proposals for an alliance
and it was necessary to decide which side to espouse. All the advisers
came together to consider the question. Then the secretary, Han Sung,
said, “As you have now two offers you can please yourself and choose
your own way to destroy your enemies, for if one refuse you can follow
the other. Now Tsʻao Tsʻao is an able general and has many capable men
in his train. It looks as though he may destroy Yüan Shao and then move
his armies across the river. I fear, General, you would be unable then
to withstand him. That being so it would be wise to support Tsʻao
Tsʻao, who will treat you with respect.”
Liu Piao replied, “You go to the capital and see how things tend. That
will help me to decide.”
Han Sung said, “The positions of master and servant are clearly
defined. Now I am your man prepared to go all lengths for you and obey
you to the last, whether in serving the Emperor or in following Tsʻao
Tsʻao. But lest there should be any doubt you must remember that if the
Emperor gives me any office then I shall become his servant and shall
not be ready to face death for you.”
“You go and find out what you can. I have ideas in my mind.”
So Han Sung took his leave and went to the capital, where he saw Tsʻao.
Tsʻao gave him rank and made him Prefect of Lingling. The adviser Hsün
Yü remonstrated, saying, “This man came to spy out how things were
moving. He has done nothing to deserve reward and yet you give him an
office like this. There were no such suspicious rumours connected with
poor Mi Hêng and yet you sent him off and would never test his powers.”
“Mi Hêng shamed me too deeply before all the world. I am going to
borrow Liu Piao’s hand to remove him. And you need say no more,” said
Tsʻao.
Then Tsʻao sent Han Sung back to his former master to tell him what had
happened. He came and was full of praise for the virtues of the Court
and was keen on persuading Piao to espouse that side. Then Liu Piao
suddenly turned angry, charged him with treachery and threatened him
with death.
“You turn your back on me;” cried Han Sung. “I did not betray you.”
Kʻuai Liang remarked that Han Sung had foretold this possibility before
he left, it was only what he expected. Liu Piao, who was just and
reasonable, went no further.
Presently came the news that Mi Hêng had been put to death by Huang Tsu
on account of a quarrel begun over the wine cups. Both being worse for
liquor they had begun to discuss the worth of people.
“You were in Hsütu,” said Huang. “Who was there of worth?”
“The big boy was Kʻung Jung and the little one Yang Tê-tsu. There was
no one else to count.”
“What am I like?” said Huang.
“You are like a god in a temple; you sit still and receive sacrifice,
but the lack of intelligence is pitiful.”
“Do you regard me as a mere image?” cried Huang Tsu, angry.
So he put the impudent speaker to death. Even at the very point of
death Mi never ceased his railing and abuse.
“Alas!” sighed Liu Piao, when he heard of his fate. He had the victim
honourably interred near Yingwuchou. And a later poet wrote of him:—
Huang Tsu could brook no rival; at his word
Mi Hêng met death beneath the cruel sword.
His grave on Parrot Isle may yet be seen,
The river flowing past it, coldly green.
Tsʻao Tsʻao heard of the young man’s death with pleasure. “The putrid
bookworm has just cut himself up with his own sharp tongue,” said he.
As there was no sign of Liu Piao coming to join him, Tsʻao Tsʻao began
to think of coercion. The adviser, Hsün Yü, dissuaded him from this
course.
Said he, “Yüan Shao is not subjugated, Liu Pei is not destroyed. To
attack Liu Piao would be to neglect the vital to care for the
immaterial. Destroy the two chief enemies first and Chiang-han is yours
at one blow.”
And Tsʻao Tsʻao took the advice.
After the departure of Yüan-tê, Tung Chʻêng and his fellow conspirators
did nothing else day or night but try to evolve plans for the
destruction of their enemy. But they could see no chance to attack. At
the new year audience Tsʻao Tsʻao was odiously arrogant and overweening
and the chief conspirator’s disgust was so intense that he fell ill.
Hearing of his indisposition the Emperor sent the Court physician to
see his “State Uncle.”
The Court physician at this time was a native of Loyang, named Chi
Tʻai, more commonly known as Chi Pʻing. He was very famous. He devoted
himself wholly to the treatment of his Court patient. Living in his
Palace and seeing him at all times he soon found that some secret grief
was sorely troubling Tung Chʻêng. But he dared not ask questions.
One evening, when the physician was just taking his leave, Tung Chʻêng
kept him and the two men had supper together. They sat talking for some
time and Tung by and by dropped off to sleep dressed as he was.
Presently Wang Tzŭ-fu and the others were announced. As they were
coming in Wang cried, “Our business is settled!”
“I should be glad to hear how,” said Tung.
“Liu Piao has joined Yüan Shao and fifty legions are on their way here
by different routes. More than this, Ma Tʻêng and Han Sui are coming
from the north with seventy-two legions. Tsʻao Tsʻao has moved every
soldier outside Hsütu to meet the combined armies. There is a great
banquet in the Palace to-night and if we get together our young men and
slaves, we can muster more than a thousand, and we can surround the
palace, while Tsʻao Tsʻao is at the banquet, and finish him off. We
must not miss this.”
Tung Chʻêng was more than delighted. He called his slaves and armed
them, put on his own armour and mounted his horse. The conspirators
met, as they had arranged, just at the inner gate. It was the first
watch. The small army marched straight in, Tung Chʻêng leading with his
sword drawn. His intended victim was at table in one of the private
rooms. Tung rushed in crying, “Tsʻao you rebel, stay!” and dashed at
Tsʻao Tsʻao who fell at the first blow.
And just then he woke up and found it was all a dream, a dream as
unreal as that of life in the kingdom of the ants. But his mouth was
still full of curses.
“Do you really wish to destroy Tsʻao Tsʻao?” said Chi Pʻing, going
forward to his half awakened patient.
This brought him to his senses. Tung stopped, terror stricken, and made
no reply.
“Do not be frightened, O Uncle,” said the doctor, “Although I am a
physician I am also a man, and I never forget my Emperor. You have
seemed sad for many days but I have never ventured to ask the reason.
Now you have shown it in your dream and I know your real feelings. If I
can be of any use I will help. Nothing can daunt me.”
Tung Chʻêng covered his face and wept. “I fear you may not be true to
me,” cried he.
Chi Pʻing at once bit off a finger as a pledge of his faith. And then
his host and patient brought forth the decree he had received in the
girdle. “I am afraid our schemes will come to nought,” said he. “Liu
Yüan-tê and Ma Tʻêng are gone and there is nothing we can do. That was
the real reason I fell ill.”
“It is not worth troubling you gentlemen with; for Tsʻao’s life lies in
these hands of mine,” said Chi Pʻing.
“How can that be?”
“Because he is often ill with deep-seated pain in his head. When this
comes on he sends for me. When next he calls me I only have to give him
one dose and he will certainly die. We do not want any weapons.”
“If only you could do it! You would be the saviour of the Dynasty; it
depends upon you.”
Then Chi Pʻing went away leaving his late patient a happy man. Tung
strolled into the garden and there he saw one of his slaves, Tsʻin
Chʻing-tʻung, whispering with one of the waiting maids in a dark
corner. This annoyed him and he called his attendants to seize them. He
would have put them to death but for the intervention of his wife. At
her request he spared their lives but both were beaten, and the lad was
thrown into a dungeon. Sulky at his treatment the slave broke out of
the cell in the night, climbed over the wall and went straight to Tsʻao
Tsʻao’s palace, where he betrayed the conspiracy.
Tsʻao Tsʻao at once had him taken into a secret chamber and questioned
him. He gave the names of the conspirators and told as much as he knew
of their doings. He said his master had a piece of white silk, with
writing on it, but he did not know what it meant. Lately Chi Pʻing had
bitten off one of his fingers as a pledge of fidelity. He had seen
that.
The runaway slave was kept in a secret part of the Palace while his
late master, only knowing that he had run away, took no special means
to find him.
Soon after this Tsʻao feigned a headache and sent for Chi Pʻing as
usual.
“The rebel is done for,” thought Chi Pʻing, and he made a secret
package of poison which he took with him to the palace of the Minister.
He found Tsʻao in bed. The patient bade the doctor prepare a potion for
him.
“One draught will cure this disease,” said Pʻing. He bade them bring
him a pipkin and he prepared the potion in the room. When it had
simmered for some time and was half finished the poison was added, and
soon after the physician presented the draught. Tsʻao Tsʻao, knowing it
was poisoned, made excuses and would not swallow it.
“You should take it hot,” said the doctor. “Then there will be a gentle
perspiration and you will be better.”
“You are a scholar,” said Tsʻao, sitting up, “and know what is the
correct thing to do. When the master is ill and takes drugs, the
attendant first tastes them; when a man is ill, his son first tastes
the medicine. You are my confidant and should drink first. Then I will
swallow the remainder.”
“Medicine is to treat disease; what is the use of any one’s tasting
it?” said Pʻing. But he guessed now the conspiracy had been discovered
so he dashed forward, seized Tsʻao Tsʻao by the ear and tried to pour
the potion down his throat. Tsʻao pushed it away and it spilt. The
bricks upon which it fell were split asunder. Before Tsʻao Tsʻao could
speak his servants had already seized his assailant.
Said Tsʻao, “I am not ill: I only wanted to test you. So you really
thought to poison me.”
He sent for a score of sturdy gaolers who carried off the prisoner to
the inner apartments to be interrogated. Tsʻao took his seat in a
pavilion and the hapless physician, tightly bound, was thrown to the
ground before him. The prisoner maintained a bold front.
Tsʻao said “I thought you were a physician; how dared you try to poison
me? Some one incited you to this crime and if you tell me I will pardon
you.”
“You are a rebel; you flout your Prince and injure your betters. The
whole world wishes to kill you. Do you think I am the only one?”
Tsʻao again and again pressed the prisoner to tell what he knew, but he
only replied that no one had sent him; it was his own desire.
“And I have failed and I can but die,” added he.
Tsʻao angrily bade the gaolers give him a severe beating and they
flogged him for two watches. His skin hung in tatters, the flesh was
battered and the blood from his wounds ran down the steps. Then fearing
he might die and his evidence be lost, Tsʻao Tsʻao bade them cease and
remove him. They took him off to a quiet place where he might recover
somewhat.
Having issued orders to prepare a banquet for next day Tsʻao invited
all the conspirators thereto. Tung Chʻêng was the only one who excused
himself, saying he was unwell. The others dared not stay away as they
felt they would be suspected.
Tables were laid in the private apartments and after several courses
the host said, “There is not much to amuse us to-day but I have a man
to show you that will sober you.”
“Bring him in,” he said, turning to the gaolers, and the hapless Chi
Pʻing appeared, securely fastened in a wooden collar. He was placed
where all could see him.
“You officials do not know that this man is connected with a gang of
evil-doers who desire to overturn the government and even injure me.
However Heaven has defeated their plans, but I desire that you should
hear his evidence.”
Then Tsʻao ordered the lictors to beat their prisoner. They did so till
he lay unconscious, when they revived him by spraying water over his
face. As soon as he came to he glared at his oppressor and ground his
teeth.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao you rebel! what are you waiting for? Why not kill me?”
cried Chi.
Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “The conspirators were only six at first; you made
the seventh.”
Here the prisoner broke in with more abuse, while Wang Tzŭ-fu and the
others exchanged glances looking as though they were sitting on a rug
full of needles. Tsʻao continued his torture of the prisoner, beating
him into unconsciousness and reviving him with cold water, the victim
disdaining to ask mercy. Finally Tsʻao realised he would incriminate
none of his accomplices and so he told the gaolers to remove him.
At the close of the banquet, when the guests were dispersing, four of
them, the four conspirators, were invited to remain behind to supper.
They were terrified so that their souls seemed no longer to inhabit
their bodies, but there was no saying nay to the invitation. Presently
Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “Still there is something I want to speak about so I
have asked you to stay for a time longer. I do not know what you four
have been arranging with Tung Chʻêng.”
“Nothing at all,” said Wang.
“And what is written on the white silk?” asked Tsʻao.
They all said they knew nothing about it.
Then Tsʻao ordered the runaway slave to be brought in. As soon as he
came Wang said, “Well, what have you seen and where?”
The slave Chʻing-tʻung replied, “You six very carefully chose retired
places to talk in and you secretly signed a white roll. You cannot deny
that.”
Wang replied, “This miserable creature was punished for misbehaviour
with one of Uncle Tung’s maids and now because of that he slanders his
master. You must not listen to him.”
“Chi Pʻing tried to pour poison down my throat. Who told him to do that
if it was not Tung?”
They all said they knew nothing about who it was.
“So far,” said Tsʻao, “matters are only beginning and there is a chance
of forgiveness. But if the thing grows, it will be difficult not to
take notice of it.”
The whole four vigorously denied that any plot existed. However Tsʻao
called up his henchmen and the four men were put into confinement.
Next day Tsʻao Tsʻao with a large following went to the State Uncle’s
Palace to ask after his health. Chʻêng came out to receive his visitor,
who at once said, “Why did you not come last night?”
“I am not quite well yet and have to be very careful about going out,”
replied Chʻêng.
“One might say you were suffering from national sorrow, eh?” said
Tsʻao.
Chʻêng started. Tsʻao continued, “Have you heard of the Chi Pʻing
affair?”
“No; what is it?”
Tsʻao smiled coldly. “How can it be you do not know?”
Tsʻao turned to his attendants and told them to bring in the prisoner
while he went on talking to his host about his illness.
Tung Chʻêng was much put about and knew not what to do. Soon the
gaolers led in the physician to the steps of the hall. At once the
bound man began to rail at Tsʻao as rebel and traitor.
“This man,” said Tsʻao, pointing to Chi Pʻing, “has implicated Wang
Tzŭ-fu and three others, all of whom are now under arrest. There is one
more whom I have not caught yet.”
“Who sent you to poison me?” continued he, turning toward the
physician. “Quick, tell me.”
“Heaven sent me to slay a traitor.”
Tsʻao angrily ordered them to beat him again, but there was no part of
his body that could be beaten. Tung Chʻêng sat looking at him, his
heart feeling as if transfixed with a dagger.
“You were born with ten fingers; how is it you have now only nine?”
Chi Pʻing replied, “I bit off one as a pledge when I swore to slay a
traitor.”
Tsʻao told them to bring a knife and they lopped off his other nine
fingers.
“Now they are all off; that will teach you to make pledges.”
“Still I have a mouth that can swallow a traitor and a tongue that can
curse him,” said Chi Pʻing.
Tsʻao told them to cut out his tongue.
Chi Pʻing said, “Do not. I cannot endure any more punishment. I shall
have to speak out. Loosen my bonds.”
“Loose them. There is no reason why not,” said Tsʻao.
They loosed him. As soon as he was free Chi Pʻing stood up, turned his
face toward the Emperor’s Palace and bowed, saying, “It is Heaven’s
will that thy servant has been unable to remove the evil,” then he
turned and fell dead on the steps.
His body was quartered and exposed.
This happened in the first month of the fifth year of “Established
Tranquillity” and a certain historian wrote a poem:—
There lived in Han a simple leech.
No warrior, yet brave
Enough to risk his very life
His Emperor to save.
Alas! he failed; but lasting fame
Is his; he feared not death;
He cursed the traitorous Minister
Unto his latest breath.
Seeing his victim had passed beyond the realm of punishment Tsʻao had
the slave led in.
“Do you know this man, Uncle?”
“Yes,” cried Tung Chʻêng. “So the runaway slave is here; he ought to be
put to death.”
“He just told me of your treachery; he is my witness,” said Tsʻao. “Who
would dare kill him?”
“How can you, the first Minister of State, heed the unsupported tale of
an absconding slave?”
“But I have Wang and the others in prison,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. “And how
can you rebut their evidence?”
He then called in the remainder of his followers and ordered them to
search Tung Chʻêng’s bedroom. They did so and found the decree that had
been given him in the girdle and the pledge signed by the conspirators.
“You mean rat!” cried Tsʻao, “you dared do this?”
He gave orders to arrest the whole household without exception. Then he
returned to his Palace with the incriminating documents and called all
his advisers together to discuss the dethronement of the Emperor and
the setting up of a successor.
Many decrees, blood written, have issued, accomplishing nothing
One inscribed pledge was fraught with mountains of sorrow.
The reader who wishes to know the fate of the Emperor must read the
next chapter.
CHAPTER XXIV.
MURDER OF A KUEI-FEI:
LIU PEI DEFEATED; FLIGHT TO YÜAN SHAO.
The last chapter closed with the discovery of the “girdle” decree and
the assembly of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s advisers to consider the deposition of
the Emperor Hsien. Chʻêng Yü spoke strongly against this saying,
“Illustrious Sir, the means by which you impress the world and direct
the government is the command of the House of Han. In these times of
turmoil and rivalry among the nobles such a step as the deposition of
the ruler will certainly bring about civil war and is much to be
deprecated.”
After reflection Tsʻao Tsʻao abandoned the project. But Tung Chʻêng’s
plot was not to go unpunished. All five of the conspirators with every
member of their households, seven hundred at least, were taken and put
to death at one or another of the gates of the city. The people wept at
such merciless and wholesale slaughter.
A secret decree in a girdle sewn,
In red blood written, the Emperor’s own,
To the staunch and faithful Tung addressed,
Who had saved him once when enemies pressed,
And who, sore grieved at his Sovereign’s fate,
Expressed in dreams his ceaseless hate,
Carried misfortune and death in its train
But glory to him who died in vain.
Another poet wrote of the sad fate of Wang Tzŭ-fu and his friends:—
Greatheartedly these signed the silken roll,
And pledged themselves to save their King from shame.
Alas! black death of them took heavy toll,
To write their names upon the roll of fame.
But the slaughter of the conspirators and their whole households did
not appease the wrath of the cruel Minister. The Emperor’s Kuei-fei was
a sister of Tung Chʻêng and, sword in hand, Tsʻao Tsʻao went into the
palace determined to slay her also. The Emperor cherished her tenderly,
the more so as she was then in the fifth month of pregnancy. That day,
as they often did, the Emperor, his Consort and the Kuei-fei were
sitting in their private apartments secretly talking of the decree
entrusted to Tung Chʻêng and asking each other why nothing seemed to
have been done. The sudden appearance of the angry Minister, armed as
he was, frightened them greatly.
“Does Your Majesty know that Tung Chʻêng conspired against me?” said
he.
“Tung Cho died long ago,” replied the Emperor.
“Not Tung Cho; Tung Chʻêng,” roared Tsʻao.
The Emperor’s heart trembled but he gasped out, “Really I did not
know.”
“So the cut finger and the blood written decree are all forgotten, eh?”
The Emperor was silent. Tsʻao bade his lictors seize the Kuei-fei. The
Emperor interposed asking pity for her condition.
“If Heaven had not interposed and defeated the plot I should be a dead
man. How could I leave this woman to work evil to me by and by?”
Said the Emperor, “Immure her in one of the palaces till her
confinement. Do not harm her now.”
“Do you wish me to spare her offspring to avenge the mother?” said
Tsʻao.
“I pray that my body may be spared mutilation and not put to shame,”
said Tung Kuei-fei.
Tsʻao bade his men show her the white silk cord. The Emperor wept
bitterly.
“Do not hate me in the realms below the Nine Springs,” said the Emperor
to her.
His tears fell like rain. The Empress Fu also joined in the lament, but
Tsʻao said, “You are behaving like a lot of children,” and told the
lictors to take her away and strangle her in the courtyard.
In vain had the fair girl found favour in the sight of her lord,
She died, and the fruit of her womb perished.
Stern and calm her lord sat, powerless to save,
Hiding his face while tears gushed forth.
When leaving the palace Tsʻao gave strict orders to the keepers saying
“Any one of the Imperial relatives by marriage who enter the Palace
will be put to death, and the guards will share the same punishment for
lack of zeal.”
To make more sure he appointed three companies of Imperial Guards from
his own men and appointed Tsʻao Hung to the command.
Then said Tsʻao to his counsellor, Chʻêng Yü, “The conspirators in the
capital have been removed, it is true, but there are yet two others, Ma
Tʻêng and Liu Pei. These must not be left.”
Chʻêng Yü replied, “Ma Tʻêng is strong in the west and would not be
easily captured. He might be enticed to the capital by suave words and
kindly praises, when he would be at your mercy. The other is at
Hsüchou, strongly posted, and not to be lightly attacked. More than
this, Yüan Shao is at Kuantu and his one desire is to attack you. Any
attempt on the east will send Liu Pei to him for help and he will come
here at once. Then what will you do?”
“You are at fault,” replied Tsʻao Tsʻao. “Liu Pei is a bold warrior and
if we wait till he is fully fledged and winged, he will be more
difficult to deal with. Shao may be strong but he is not to be feared.
He is too undecided to act.”
As they were discussing these things Kuo Chia came in and Tsʻao Tsʻao
suddenly referred the matter to him.
“If I attack Liu Pei, then Yüan Shao is to be feared: what do you think
of it?”
“Shao by nature is dilatory and hesitating and his various advisers are
jealous of each other. He is not to be feared. Liu Pei is getting
together a new army and has not yet won their hearts. You could settle
the east in one battle.”
This advice being in harmony with Tsʻao Tsʻao’s own opinion was
pleasing to him and he prepared an army of twenty legions, to move in
five divisions against Hsüchou.
Scouts took the news of these preparations to Hsüchou. Sun Chʻien first
went to Hsiapʻi to tell Kuan Yü and then went to Hsiaopʻei to tell
Yüan-tê. The two discussed the position and decided that help must be
sought. So letters were written to Yüan Shao and given to Sun Chʻien,
who went north, sought Tʻien Fêng and asked him to take him into the
presence of Yüan Shao. He was introduced and presented his letters.
But Yüan Shao was of melancholy countenance and his dress was all awry.
Tʻien Fêng said, “Why this disarray, my lord?”
“I am about to die,” replied Shao.
“But why do you utter such words?”
“I have five sons, but only the youngest is clever enough to understand
my ideas. Now he is suffering from a disease which places his life in
jeopardy. Think you that I have any heart to talk over any other
affairs?”
“But,” said Tʻien Fêng, “the present combination of circumstances is
unparalleled. Tsʻao Tsʻao is going to attack the east and Hsüchʻang
will be empty. You can enter it with a few volunteers and so perform
good service to the Emperor and save the people from sorrow. You have
only to make up your mind to act.”
“I know the chance is excellent but I am worried and distressed and
fear failure.”
“What are you distressed about?” said Fêng.
“Among my sons only this special one is remarkable and if anything
happens I am done.”
Thus it became evident that no army would be despatched. In
confirmation of this Yüan said to Sun Chʻien, “Go home and tell Yüan-tê
the real reason and say that if anything untoward happen he can come
over to me and I will find some means of helping him.”
Tʻien Fêng struck the ground with his staff. “It is such a pity!” cried
he. “Just as an unique opportunity presents itself everything is
spoiled by the illness of a child.”
He went out. Sun Chʻien saw that no help could be hoped for and set out
to return. When he had arrived and related what he had seen Yüan-tê was
quite alarmed and asked what could be done.
“Do not be troubled, brother,” said Chang Fei. “We can destroy Tsʻao
Tsʻao merely by a sudden attack before his army shall have time to
camp.”
“That would be according to the rules of war,” said Yüan-tê. “You have
always been a bold warrior and that move against Liu Tai shows that you
are becoming a strategist too.”
So he gave his younger brother command of enough men to carry out his
plan.
Now while Tsʻao Tsʻao was in the midst of his march toward Hsiaopʻei a
tornado sprang up and the howling gale tore down one of the banners and
broke the staff. Tsʻao Tsʻao called together his advisers and leaders
to ask them what this portended. Hsün Yü said, “From what direction was
the wind at the time and what was the colour of the flag?”
“The wind was from the south-east and the flag was blue and red.”
“There is only one interpretation; there will be a raid on the camp
to-night.”
Tsʻao nodded. At that moment Mao Chih entered and reported a similar
incident. Tsʻao asked him the portent.
“My foolishness tells me that it means a night raid,” replied he.
Alas for the weakness of this descendant of kings!
He placed his faith on a night raid,
But the broken staff of a banner warned his enemy.
Why should the ancient of days favour the wicked?
“This is evidently providence,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao and he began to make
preparations. He told off nine bodies of men to take stations, leaving
only one of them as if camped while he placed the others in ambush at
eight points.
There was but little moonlight as Yüan-tê and Chang Fei marched their
respective armies toward Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp. They had left Sun Chʻien
to guard Hsiaopʻei. Chang Fei, since he was the originator of the
stratagem, led the way with some light horse. As they drew near
everything seemed very quiet and no one seemed moving. Then suddenly
lights flashed out all about them and Chang Fei saw he had fallen into
a trap. At once from all the eight directions came out the ambushed
troops.
Chang Fei, dashing this way and rushing that, guarding his van and
protecting his rear, vainly tried to clear himself. The soldiers he
had, being originally Tsʻao Tsʻao’s men, soon gave in and returned to
their old leader. The position became very desperate.
Chang Fei met Hsü Huang and engaged him but his rear was also attacked
by Yo Chin. At length he cut his own way out and with a half score of
his men started to return to Hsiaopʻei. The retreat was cut off. He
thought to make for Hsüchou but felt certain that way was also barred.
No other way seemed open and so he made for the Mangyang Hills.
As Yüan-tê drew near the camp he intended to attack he heard the din of
battle. Then he was attacked in the rear and very soon had lost half
his force. Next Hsiahou Tun came to attack. Thereupon Yüan-tê bolted.
He was pursued by Hsiahou Yüan. Presently he looked about him and found
he had less than half a hundred men following him. He set his face in
the direction of Hsiaopʻei.
But before long he saw that place was in flames. So he changed his plan
and went toward Hsiapʻi. However he found the whole countryside full of
the enemy and he could not get through. So he bethought himself of the
promise of Yüan Shao, that he would find refuge if things went agley,
and determined to go to him till he could form some other plan.
Wherefore he took the Chʻingchou road. But it also was blocked and he
went into the open country and made his way north, not without being
pursued and losing the remainder of his few followers.
He hastened toward Chʻingchou, travelling three hundred li a day. When
he reached the city and summoned the gate the guards asked who he was
and they told the governor, who was Yüan Shao’s eldest son, Tʻan. Yüan
Tʻan was greatly surprised, but he opened the gates and went to meet
Yüan-tê, whom he treated with due consideration.
Liu Pei told the story of his defeat and said he wished for harbour. He
was given suitable quarters and hospitably entertained, while the young
man wrote to inform his father. Then he provided an escort and sent
Yüan-tê on his journey as far as the boundary of Pʻingyüan.
At Yehchün he was met by Yüan Shao in person, with a great escort.
Yüan-tê made a humble obeisance which Yüan Shao hastened to return and
said, “I have been very distressed that, on account of my son’s
illness, I did not come to your aid. It is great joy to see you; the
one desire of my life is satisfied.”
Yüan-tê replied, “The poor Liu Pei you see here has long desired to
take refuge with you, but fate has hitherto denied him that privilege.
Now, attacked by Tsʻao Tsʻao, my family lost, I remembered that you,
General, would receive gentlemen from all sides. Wherefore I put my
pride in my pocket. I trust that I may be found worthy and one day I
will prove my gratitude.”
Yüan Shao received him with much pleasure and treated him exceedingly
well. And they both lived in Chʻichou.
After the capture of Hsiaopʻei, Tsʻao Tsʻao pressed on toward Hsüchou,
which, after a short defence and the flight of the defenders, was
surrendered by Chʻên Têng. Tsʻao Tsʻao led his army into the city,
restored order and pacified the people. Next he wanted to press on to
Hsiapʻi, where Kuan Yü was holding out and keeping guard of Liu Pei’s
family.
Hsün Yü said, “Kuan Yü is there, in charge of his brother’s family, and
he will defend the city to the last. If you do not take it quickly Yüan
Shao will get it.”
“I have always loved Kuan Yü, both for his warlike abilities and his
intelligence. I would engage him to enter my service. I would rather
send some one to talk him into surrender.”
“He will not do that,” said Kuo Chia; “his sense of right is too solid.
I fear any one who went to speak with him would suffer.”
Then suddenly a man stepped out, saying, “I know him slightly and I
will go.”
The speaker was Chang Liao. Hsün Yü looked at him and said, “Though you
are an old acquaintance I do not think you are equal to talking over
Kuan Yü. But I have a scheme that will so entangle him that he will
have no alternative; he will have to enter the service of the
Minister.”
They set the fatal spring beside the lordly tiger’s trail,
They hide the hook with fragrant bait to catch the mighty whale.
How Kuan Yü was to be entrapped will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXV.
FROM TʻUSHAN CAMP KUAN YÜ MAKES THREE CONDITIONS:
THE RESCUE AT PAIMA RELEASES TSʻAO TSʻAO.
The plan to seduce Kuan Yü from allegiance to his brothers was now
announced by its proposer. Since Kuan was far braver than ordinary men
he could only be overreached by superior cunning. So it was proposed to
send some of his soldiers who had lately been of Liu Pei’s army into
Hsiapʻi, where they would say they had come back. They would thus be
allies on the inside. Then an attack and a feigned defeat would entice
Kuan to a distance from the city. And his return road would be cut.
Tsʻao Tsʻao accepted the scheme and a few score of the men who had
lately been in Hsüchou were sent to the city. The commander believed
the story they told and trusted them. So they were suffered to remain.
After this part of the game had been played, Hsiahou Tun led forward
five companies against the city. At first Kuan Yü would not accept the
challenge, but provoked by men sent to hurl insults at him from the
foot of the wall, his wrath got the better of him and he moved out with
three companies. After the leaders had exchanged a half score bouts Tun
made to run away. Kuan Yü pursued. Tun stopped and made a stand; then
he fled again. Thus alternately fighting and retiring, he enticed Kuan
Yü twenty li from the city. Then Kuan suddenly remembering the risk to
the city drew off his men to return homeward.
Soon, at the sound of a signal bomb, out moved two bodies of men who
barred his way. Kuan Yü hastened along a road that seemed to offer
retreat, but from both sides his ambushed enemies shot their crossbows
and the arrows flew like locusts on the wing. No way past was found and
he turned back. Then both bodies joined in attacking him. He drove them
off and got into the road to his own city, but soon Hsiahou Tun came up
again and attacked fiercely as before. Evening came and still Kuan was
hemmed in, so he went up on a low hill upon which he encamped for a
rest.
He was surrounded on all sides by enemies. By and by, looking toward
his city, he saw the glow of fire. It meant that the traitors, who had
come in to surrender, had opened the gate and the enemy had gone in in
force. They had made the fires in order to perplex and distress Kuan Yü
and indeed the sight saddened him.
In the night he made efforts to escape from the hill, but every attempt
was checked by flights of arrows. At daybreak he prepared for one more
effort, but before moving he saw a horseman riding up at full speed and
presently discerned Chang Liao. When within speaking distance, Kuan Yü
said, “Are you come to fight me, Wên-yüan?”
“No,” replied Chang Liao. “I am come to see you because of our old
friendship.”
Wherefore he threw aside his sword, dismounted and came forward
saluting. And the two sat down.
“Then naturally you have come to talk me over,” said Kuan Yü.
“Not so;” said Chang Liao. “Sometime ago you saved me; can I help
saving you?”
“Then you desire to help me.”
“Not exactly that,” replied Chang.
“Then what are you doing here if you have not come to help me?”
“Nothing is known of the fate of your elder brother, nor whether your
younger brother is alive or dead. Last night your city fell into the
hands of Tsʻao Tsʻao, but neither soldiers nor people were harmed and a
special guard was set over the family of Yüan-tê lest they should be
alarmed. I came to tell you how well they had been treated.”
“This is certainly talking me over,” said Kuan testily. “Though escape
is impossible yet I am not perturbed. I look upon death as going home.
You had better depart quickly and let me go down and begin the struggle
again.”
“Surely you must know everybody will ridicule you when they hear of
this,” said Chang, laughing loud.
“I shall die for loyalty and righteousness. Who will laugh?” said Kuan.
“You would be guilty of three faults if you died.”
“Tell me them,” said Kuan.
“First of all you and your elder brother pledged yourselves in the
Peach Garden to die or to live together. Now your brother has been
defeated and you want to fight to the death. Therefore, if your brother
appear again by and by and wants your help, he will seek it in vain. Is
this anything else than betraying the Peach Garden oath? Secondly you
are in charge of your brother’s family and, if you fought and died, the
two women would be left forlorn and without a protector. That would be
a betrayal of trust. Thirdly your military skill stands out conspicuous
and will go down in history. If you do not aid your brother in his
noble attempt to maintain the Dynasty then all your labours and
sufferings will have been spent to win a worthless reputation as a
valiant fool. Where is the sense in that? I feel it my duty to point
out these three faults to you.”
Kuan Yü remained silent and thought for some time. Then he said, “You
have spoken of my three faults. What do you desire?”
“You are surrounded with the certainty of death if you do not yield.
There is no advantage in a useless death. Wherefore your best course is
to yield to Tsʻao Tsʻao till you hear news of Liu Pei and can rejoin
him. Thus you will ensure the safety of the two ladies and also keep
inviolate the Peach Garden compact. You will preserve a useful life.
Brother, you must reflect on these things.”
“Brother, you have spoken of three advantages; now I have three
conditions. If the Minister concede these then will I doff my armour.
If he refuse, then I prefer to be guilty of the three faults and die.”
“Why should the Minister not concede them? He is most liberal and large
minded. I pray you to let me hear your conditions.”
“The first is that as I and the Imperial Uncle have sworn to support
the Hans I now submit to the Emperor and not to his minister Tsʻao. The
second condition is that suitable provision be made for the two ladies
under my care and that no one shall be allowed to approach them. The
third is that I shall be allowed to set off to rejoin Uncle Liu so soon
as I shall hear where he is, whether it be far or near. I require all
these to be satisfied; failing a single one, I will not submit.
Wherefore, Wên-yüan, I pray you hasten back and announce them.”
Chang Liao lost no time but rode back to Tsʻao Tsʻao. When he spoke of
Kuan Yü’s intention to submit to the Hans but not to Tsʻao Tsʻao, the
latter smiled, saying, “As I am the Minister of Han, so am I Han. I
grant that.”
Chang then spoke of provision due to their rank and security from
molestation for the ladies, to which Tsʻao replied, “I will give them
twice the regular amount for an Uncle of the Emperor; as for securing
them from molestation, that is simple. The ordinary domestic law is
enough. Why should there be any doubt?”
Then said Chang, “Whenever he shall get news of the whereabouts of
Yüan-tê, he must go to him.”
At this Tsʻao shook his head, saying, “Then I am merely to feed
Yün-chʻang. What is the use of this? I cannot consent.”
Chang replied, “You must know of the difference in Yü Jang’s behaviour
brought about by difference of treatment? Yüan-tê treats Yün-chʻang
just kindly and liberally; you can surely engage his heart and support
by being kinder and more liberal.”
“What you say is much to the point. I will grant the three conditions,”
said Tsʻao.
Whereupon Chang Liao left to carry the news to Kuan Yü, still on the
summit of the hill.
“Now I expect the army to withdraw so that I may enter the city to tell
the two ladies what has been arranged. After that I submit at once.”
Chang Liao rode back once more with this request and the order was
given for the army to retire ten li.
“Do not do this,” said Hsün Yü. “I fear treachery.”
“He will certainly not break faith,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. “He is too high
principled.”
The army retired and Kuan Yü with his force re-entered the city, where
he saw that the people were following their ordinary avocations in
tranquillity. He came to the palace and went in to see the two ladies,
who hastened to meet him. He bowed to them below the steps and said, “I
apologise for having caused you to feel alarmed.”
“Where is the Uncle?” asked they.
“I know not whither he has gone.”
“What do you intend to do, brother-in-law?”
“I went out of the city to try a last battle. I was surrounded on a
hill top and Chang Liao has urged me to yield. I proposed three
conditions, all of which were conceded, and the enemy drew off to allow
me to return to the city. Unless I have your decision, sisters-in-law,
I scarcely dare to take any final step.”
They asked what were the conditions and were told. Then Kan Fu-jên
said, “When Tsʻao’s army came in we took it to mean certain death. But
it is scarcely credible that not a hair of our heads has been
disturbed, not a soldier has dared enter our doors. You have accepted
the conditions, brother-in-law, and there is no need to ask our
consent. Our only fear is that he will not let you go by and by to
search for the Uncle.”
“Sisters-in-law, you need not be anxious. I will see to that.”
“You must decide everything and need not ask us women-kind.”
Kuan Yü withdrew and then, with a small escort, went to his interview
with Tsʻao Tsʻao. Tsʻao came to the outermost gate to welcome him and
Kuan Yü dismounted and made obeisance. Tsʻao returned his salute with
the greatest cordiality.
“The leader of a defeated army is grateful for the graciousness that
has preserved his life,” said Kuan Yü.
“I have so long admired your loyalty and high principles that this
happy meeting gratifies the desire of my whole life,” replied Tsʻao.
“As the Minister has granted the three requests which my friend
petitioned for on my behalf there is now but little to discuss,” said
Kuan.
“As I have spoken, so be it; I could not break faith,” replied Tsʻao.
“Whenever I hear where Uncle Liu is I must certainly go to him, even if
through fire and water. It may be that there there will be no
opportunity of taking leave. I trust you will understand the reason.”
“If Liu Pei should prove to be alive you must certainly be allowed to
go to him. But I fear that in the confusion he may have lost his life.
You may set your mind at rest and let me make enquiries.”
Kuan Yü thanked him. Then a banquet was prepared in his honour. Next
day the army started on its homeward march.
For the journey to the capital a carriage was prepared for the two
ladies and Kuan Yü was its guard. On the road they rested at a certain
post station and Tsʻao Tsʻao, anxious to compromise Kuan by beguiling
him into forgetfulness of his duty, assigned him to the same apartment
as his sisters-in-law. Kuan stood the whole night before the door with
a lighted candle in his hand. Not once did he yield to fatigue. Tsʻao
Tsʻao’s respect for him could not but increase.
At the capital the Minister assigned a dignified residence to Kuan Yü,
which he immediately divided into two enclosures, the inner one for the
two ladies and the other for himself. He placed a guard of eighteen of
his veterans over the women’s quarters.
Kuan Yü was presented to the Emperor Hsien who conferred upon him the
rank of General. Soon after Tsʻao made a great banquet, inviting all
his advisers and fighting men, solely in honour of Kuan Yü, who sat in
the seat of honour. Beside this he received presents of silks and gold
and silver vessels, all of which were sent into the ladies’ quarters
for their use and keeping. In fact from the day of arrival in the
capital Kuan Yü was treated with marked respect and distinction,
banquets and feasts following each other in quick succession.
Tsʻao Tsʻao also presented him with ten most lovely serving girls;
these also were sent within to wait upon his two sisters-in-law.
Every third day Kuan Yü went to the door of the women’s quarters to
enquire after their welfare, and then they asked if any news of the
wanderer had come. This ceremony closed with the words “Brother-in-law,
you may retire when you wish.”
Tsʻao heard of this extremely correct behaviour and thought all the
more of the man for it.
One day Tsʻao noticed that the robe Kuan Yü was wearing was old and
frayed. Taking his measurements Tsʻao had a new one made of fine
brocade and presented it to him. He took it and put it on under the old
robe, so that the latter covered it.
“Why so very thrifty?” laughed Tsʻao.
“It is not thrift,” was his reply. “The old robe was a gift from my
brother and I wear it because it reminds me of him. I could not allow
the new gift to eclipse his old one.”
“How very high principled!” said Tsʻao Tsʻao sighing.
But he was not pleased with the man for all that he praised his
conduct. One day when Kuan Yü was at home there came a messenger to say
that the two women had thrown themselves on the ground and were
weeping. They would not say why. Kuan Yü set his dress in order, went
over and knelt by the door saying, “Why this grief, sisters-in-law?”
Kan Fu-jên replied, “In the night I dreamed that the Uncle had fallen
into a pit. I woke up and told Mi Fu-jên and we think he must be dead.
So we weep.”
“Dreams are not to be credited,” he replied. “You dreamed of him
because you were thinking of him. Pray do not grieve.”
Just then Kuan Yü was invited to another banquet so he took leave of
the ladies and went. Seeing Kuan looked sad and tearful his host asked
the reason.
“My sisters-in-law have been weeping for my brother and I cannot help
being sad in sympathy.”
Tsʻao smiled and tried to cheer up his guest. He plied him with wine so
that he became quite intoxicated and sat stroking his beard and saying,
“What a useless thing am I! I could do no service for my country and I
have parted from my elder brother.”
“How many hairs in your beard?” suddenly asked his host.
“Some hundreds, perhaps. In the autumn a few fall out, but in the
winter it is fullest. Then I use a black silk bag to keep the hairs
from being broken,” replied Kuan.
Tsʻao had a bag made for him to protect his beard. Soon after when they
were at Court the Emperor asked what was the bag he saw on Kuan Yü’s
breast.
“My beard is rather long, Your Majesty,” said Kuan. “So the Minister
gave me a bag to protect it.”
The Emperor bade him take off the bag and show his beard in all its
fullness and it fell in rippling waves below his breast.
“Really a most beautiful beard!” said the Emperor.
This is why people call him “The Duke with the Beautiful Beard.”
Another time, after a banquet, Tsʻao was seeing his guest start from
the gate of his palace when he noticed that his charger was very thin.
“Why is he so thin?” said Tsʻao.
“My worthless body is rather heavy and really too much for him. He is
always out of condition.”
Tsʻao at once told his men to bring out a certain steed and before long
he appeared. He was red, like glowing charcoal, and a handsome creature
in every way.
“Do you recognise him?” asked Tsʻao.
“Why, it is no other than ‘Red Hare!’” cried Kuan Yü.
“Yes; it is he,” said Tsʻao, and he presented the horse, all fully
caparisoned, to his guest. Kuan Yü bowed many times and thanked him
again and again, till Tsʻao began to feel displeased and said, “I have
given you many things, lovely handmaids and gold and silks and never
won a bow of gratitude from you before. This horse seems to please you
better than all the rest. Why do you think so poorly of the damsels and
so much of the steed?”
“I know the horse, and his speed, and I am very lucky to get him. Now
as soon as I find out where my brother is I can get to him in a single
day,” said Kuan.
Tsʻao grumbled to himself and began to repent of his gift, but Kuan Yü
took his leave and went away.
Fortune dealt a stunning blow, still he played his part;
Partitioning his dwelling proved his purity of heart.
The crafty Minister desired to win him to his side,
But felt that failure was foredoomed however much he tried.
Said Tsʻao Tsʻao to Chang Liao, “I have treated him pretty liberally,
but he still cherishes the desire to leave me. Do you know if it is
really so?”
“I will try to find out,” was the reply.
So he took an early opportunity of seeing Kuan Yü and when the
politenesses of the visit were over, Liao said, “I recommended you to
the Minister and you have not lost much by that.”
“I am deeply affected by his kindness and bounty,” said Kuan Yü, “but,
though my body is here, yet I am always thinking of my brother.”
“Your words do not express present conditions quite correctly. One who
lives in the world without discrimination and consideration of his
relations with others is not the most admirable type of man. Even
Yüan-tê never treated you better than does the Minister. Why then do
you maintain this desire to get away?”
“I know only too well that he has been most kind, but I have also
received great kindness from Uncle Liu. Beside we have sworn to die
together and I cannot remain here, but before I go I must try to render
him some signal service to prove my gratitude.”
“Supposing Yüan-tê should have left the world, whither will you go?”
said Chang.
“I will follow him to the realms below.”
There could no longer be the least doubt as to Kuan Yü’s intentions and
Chang Liao told Tsʻao Tsʻao just how matters stood. Tsʻao sighed. “To
serve one’s chief with unswerving fidelity is a proof of the highest
principle of all,” said he.
Said Hsün Yü, “He spoke of performing some act of service before
leaving. If he gets no chance of such a thing, he will not be able to
go.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao agreed that this was so.
The story of Yüan-tê broke off at the point when he went to Yüan Shao
for refuge. Here he was always sorrowful and, when asked the reason,
said he did not know where his brothers were nor what had happened to
his family since they fell into the hands of Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“Why should I not be sad when I have failed towards my country and my
family?” said he.
“I have long wished to attack Hsütu,” said Yüan Shao. “Now it is autumn
and just the time for an expedition, so let us discuss plans for the
destruction of Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
Tʻien Fêng at once opposed this. “When Tsʻao Tsʻao attacked Hsüchou and
Hsütu was undefended you let the chance slip by. Now that Hsüchou has
been captured and the soldiers are flushed with victory it would be
madness to attempt it. It is necessary to await another chance.”
“Let me think about it,” said Yüan Shao.
He asked advice from Yüan-tê, whether to attack or to hold on.
Yüan-tê replied, “Tsʻao is a rebel. I think you are failing in your
duty if you do not attack him.”
“Your words are good,” said Shao.
He made up his mind to move. But again the adviser Tʻien intervened.
Then Shao grew angry, saying, “You fellows who cultivate literature and
despise war have made me miss a lot.”
Tʻien Fêng bowed his head and said, “Neglect your servant’s wise words
and you will fail in the field.”
Yüan Shao was so angry that he wanted to put him to death. However
Yüan-tê begged him off and he was only imprisoned.
Seeing the fate of his colleague another adviser, Chu Shou by name,
assembled his clan and distributed among them all his possessions,
saying, “I go with the army. If we succeed, then nothing can exceed our
glory, but if we are defeated, the risk I run is great.”
His friends wept as they said farewell.
Yen Liang was appointed to the command of the advance guard, to go to
attack Paima. Then Chu Shou first protested, “His mind is too narrow
for such a post. He is brave but unequal to such a trust.”
“You are not the sort of man to measure my best generals,” replied
Shao.
The army marched to Liyang and the Prefect sent an urgent call to
Hsüchʻang for aid. Tsʻao moved his armies hastily. As soon as the news
of battle got about Kuan Yü went to see the Minister and asked that he
might go with the first body.
“I scarcely dare put you to such inconvenience, but presently, if need
arises, I will call upon you.”
So Kuan Yü retired and fifteen legions marched out in three directions.
On the road the letters from Liu Yen arrived praying for help and the
first five legions went to Paima and took up a position supported by
the hills. In the wide plains in front of them Yen Liang was encamped
with ten legions of veterans.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was frightened at the force opposed to him and, returning
to camp, spoke to Sung Hsien, who had once served under Lü Pu, saying,
“You are one of Lü Pu’s famous veteran generals; can you give battle to
this Yen?”
Sung Hsien agreed to try. He armed himself, mounted and rode to the
front. Yen Liang was there on horseback his sword lying crossways.
Seeing an opponent approaching he uttered a loud shout and galloped
toward him. The two met, but after only three bouts, Sung Hsien fell
under a mighty slash from the other’s sword.
“What a terrible leader!” said Tsʻao.
“He has slain my comrade, I want to go and avenge him,” then cried Wei
Hsü.
Tsʻao bade him go and he rode out, spear in rest, and in front of the
army railed at Yen Liang.
Yen Liang replied not a word, but their two steeds came together and at
the first blow from Yen’s sword this second champion fell.
“Now, who again dares face him?” cried Tsʻao.
Hsü Huang took up the challenge and he went out. The combat endured a
score of bouts and then Hsü fled back to his own side. The other
captains were now greatly depressed at their failure. Yen Liang however
had marched off his men leaving Tsʻao very sad at the loss of two
captains in quick succession.
Then Chʻêng Yü went to see him saying, “I can produce a man the equal
of Yen Liang.”
“Who?” cried Tsʻao.
“No other than Kuan Yü.”
“I am afraid that if he is given an opportunity to perform that return
service he spoke of he will leave me.”
“If Liu Pei is still alive he is with Yüan Shao. If you get Kuan Yü to
defeat Yüan Shao’s army Shao will look askance at Liu Pei and put him
to death. Liu Pei gone, where can Kuan Yü go?”
This argument appealed to Tsʻao Tsʻao at once and he sent to request
Kuan Yü to come.
Previous to obeying the call Kuan went to say farewell to his
sisters-in-law.
“You may get news of the Uncle on the journey,” said they.
“Yes,” said Kuan and left them.
Armed with his famous Black Dragon, riding on the swift steed “Red
Hare,” and having but a slender following, Kuan Yü was not long in
arriving at Paima. He saw Tsʻao Tsʻao, who told him what had happened.
Yen Liang was too valiant for any to face.
“Let me look at him,” said Kuan.
Then wine was served for his refreshment and while they were drinking,
it was reported that Yen Liang once again offered a challenge. So Tsʻao
and his guest and staff went to the summit of a hill whence the enemy
could be seen. These two sat on the hill top and the captains stood
about them. Tsʻao pointed out Yen Liang’s men arrayed on the plains
below. The ensigns and banners waving fresh and bright amid the forest
of spears and swords made a grand and imposing spectacle.
“See what fine fellows these northmen are,” said Tsʻao.
“I regard them as so many clay fowls and mud dogs,” said Kuan.
Tsʻao Tsʻao pointed out Yen Liang, saying, “There he is under that
umbrella.”
He was wearing an embroidered robe and a silver breastplate and rode on
horseback. His hand gripped his sword.
“His head looks as though it was stuck on a pole for sale,” said Kuan,
just glancing over the army at his feet.
“You must not despise him,” said Tsʻao.
Kuan rose, saying, “I am a poor thing but I will go over and bring you
his head if you like.”
“Joking is not allowed in this army,” interposed Chang Liao. “Be
careful what you say.”
Kuan Yü quickly mounted, turned down his mighty weapon and galloped
down the hill, his phoenix eyes rounded and his heavy eyebrows fiercely
bristling. He dashed straight into the enemy’s array and the northmen
opened like water before him, a wave spreading right and left. He made
directly for the general.
Now Yen Liang sitting there in state saw a horseman rushing toward him
and just as he began to ask who the rider of the red horse was, lo! the
horseman was there. Taken utterly by surprise the leader could make no
defence. Kuan’s arm rose and the mighty weapon fell. And with it fell
Yen Liang.
Leaping from the saddle Kuan Yü cut off his victim’s head and hung it
to his horse’s neck. Then he mounted and rode out, just as if there was
no army there.
The northern men, panic stricken, made no fight. Tsʻao’s army attacked
with vigour and slew great numbers of them. They captured many horses
and weapons and much military gear. Kuan Yü rode quickly back up the
hill and laid the proof of his prowess at the feet of the Minister.
“You are more than human, General!” cried Tsʻao.
“What have I done to talk about?” said Kuan. “My brother, Chang I-tê,
did the same thing in an army of a hundred legions, and did it easily.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao marvelled at the statement and turning to those about him
said, “If you meet this brother be careful.” And he bade them make a
note on the overlap of their robes so that they should remember.
The beaten army returning northward met Yüan Shao on the road and told
their story. “A red-faced warrior with a long beard, wielding a huge
sword, broke into the army, cut off the general’s head and bore it
off,” said they.
“Who was this?” asked Shao.
Chu Shou said, “It must have been Liu Yüan-tê’s brother; it could be
nobody else.”
Yüan Shao was very angry and, pointing to Liu Pei, he said, “Your
brother has slain my beloved leader. You are in the plot too. Why
should I save you alive?”
He bade the lictors take him away and behead him.
Morning saw him guest on high,
Evening, prisoner, doomed to die.
His actual fate will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXVI.
YÜAN SHAO IS DEFEATED AND LOSES A LEADER:
KUAN YÜ ABANDONS RANK AND WEALTH.
As the last chapter closed Yüan-tê had been condemned to die. He spoke
up, however, and said, “Pray hear one word, Illustrious Sir, before you
decide. I have lost sight of my brother since my misfortune at Hsüchou
and know not whether Yün-chʻang be dead or alive. There are many men in
the world who resemble him. Is every red-faced man with a beard named
Kuan? Should you not rather seek some evidence?”
Now Yüan Shao was impulsive and facile by nature and when Yüan-tê spoke
thus, he suddenly turned upon Chu Shou, saying, “By wrongly regarding
what you said I nearly killed an innocent man.”
Then he requested Yüan-tê once more to resume his seat in the tent and
advise him how to avenge Yen Liang.
Soon from the lower end a voice was heard, saying, “Yen Liang and I
were as brothers and can I allow any other to avenge his death?”
The speaker was a man of middle height with a face like a unicorn, a
famous leader from Hopei, named Wên Chʻou.
Yüan Shao was pleased and said, “You are the only man who can do it. I
will give you ten legions and you can cross the Yellow River, and
quickly smite that rebel Tsʻao.”
“You cannot do it; he will fail,” said Chu Shou. “The proper course is
to hold Yenching and detach a force to Kuantu. If you rashly cross the
river and anything goes wrong not a soul will return.”
Yüan Shao said, “That is always the way with you fellows, always
delaying and taking the dash out of the soldiers. You put off to-day
and postpone to-morrow till success has become impossible. Do you
forget that promptitude is what the soldier honours?”
The adviser withdrew sadly, saying, “Superiors do not curb their
ambitions: inferiors must strive to render service. Eternal is the
Yellow River, shall I cross it?”
Thereafter he feigned illness and went no more to the Council.
Yüan-tê said, “I have received much kindness at your hands and have
been unable to show my gratitude. I would accompany General Wên that I
may repay your bounty and also that I may hear news of my brother.”
Yüan Shao gladly consented and ordered Wên Chʻou to share his command
with Yüan-tê. But the former objected saying that Yüan-tê had been so
often defeated that it would augur ill for success this time. He
proposed to give Yüan-tê command of the rear guard, and this being
approved, three legions were told off under Liu Pei’s special command
to follow the main body.
The prowess displayed by Kuan Yü in the bold attack on Yen Liang
redoubled Tsʻao Tsʻao’s respect for him and he memorialised the throne
that Kuan Yü receive the title of Marquis of Hanshoutʻing and a seal
was cast for him.
Just then came the unexpected news that Yüan Shao’s army had moved
toward the Yellow River and was in position above Yenching. Tsʻao first
sent to transfer the inhabitants to Hsiho and then led out an army to
oppose Yüan Shao. He issued an order to face about, thus placing the
rear companies in front. The commissariat wagons were also placed in
the van.
“What is this reversal for?” asked Lü Chʻien.
Tsʻao replied, “When the supplies are in rear they are liable to be
plundered. So I have put them first.”
“But if you meet the enemy and they steal them?”
“Wait till the enemy appears; I shall know what to do.”
Lü Chʻien was much exercised at this new move of the Minister’s. In the
meantime the supply train moved along the river toward Yenching.
Presently the foremost troops raised a great shout and Tsʻao sent to
see what it meant. The messenger came back to say Wên Chʻou’s army was
approaching, and the supply train had been abandoned and was at the
mercy of the enemy. Thereupon Tsʻao pointed to two mounds saying, “We
will take refuge here for the present.”
All those near him hastened to the mounds. There Tsʻao ordered them all
to loosen their dress, lay aside their breastplates and rest a time.
The horsemen turned their steeds loose.
Wên Chʻou’s men approached under cover. As they drew near one after
another the officers told Tsʻao saying, “The rebels are near: we ought
to catch the horses and go back to Paima.”
But the adviser, Hsün Yu, checked them saying, “These are a bait for
the enemy: why retire?”
Tsʻao glanced across at him and said, “He understands; do not say
anything.”
Now having got possession of the supply carts the enemy next came to
seize the horses. By this time they had all broken ranks and were
scattered, each man going his own way. Then suddenly Tsʻao gave the
order to go down from the mounds and smite them.
The surprise was complete. Wên Chʻou’s army was in confusion and
Tsʻao’s men surrounded them. Wên Chʻou made a stand, but those about
him trampled each other down and he could do nothing but flee. And he
fled.
Then standing on the top of a mound Tsʻao pointed to the flying leader
calling out, “There is one of the most famous captains of the north;
who can capture him?”
Chang Liao and Hsü Huang both mounted and dashed after him, crying,
“Wên Chʻou, do not run away!”
Looking round, the fugitive saw two pursuers and then he set aside his
spear, took his bow and adjusted an arrow, which he shot at Chang Liao.
“Cease shooting, you rebel!” shouted Hsü Huang. Chang Liao ducked his
head and the shaft went harmlessly by, save that it carried away the
tassel of his cap. He only pressed harder in pursuit. The next arrow
however struck his horse in the head and the animal stumbled and fell,
throwing his rider to the earth.
Then Wên Chʻou turned to come back. Hsü Huang, whirling his battle axe,
stood in his way to stop him. But he saw behind Wên several more
horsemen coming to help him and as they would have been too many for
him he fled. Wên pursued along the river bank. Suddenly he saw coming
toward him with banners fluttering in the breeze, a small party of
horse, and the leader carried a great sword.
“Stop!” cried Yün-chʻang, for it was he, and he attacked at once. At
the third bout Wên Chʻou’s heart failed him and he wheeled and fled,
following the windings of the river. But Kuan Yü’s steed was fast and
soon caught up. One blow, and the hapless Wên Chʻou fell.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao saw from the mound that the leader of the enemy had
fallen, he gave the signal for a general onset and many of the northmen
were driven into the river. And the carts with supplies and all the
horses were quickly recovered.
Now Kuan Yü, at the head of a few horsemen, was thrusting here and
striking there at the moment when Yüan-tê, with the three reserve
legions, appeared on the battle field. At once they told him that the
red-faced, long-bearded warrior was there and had slain Wên Chʻou. He
hastily pressed forward to try to get a look at the warrior. He saw
across the river a large body of horse and the banners bore the words
“Kuan Yün-chʻang, Marquis of Hanshoutʻing.”
“Then it is my brother and he is really with Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said
Yüan-tê, secretly thanking God that he was safe.
He made an attempt to wait about till he could call to Kuan Yü, but a
great mass of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s soldiers came rushing down and he was
forced to retire.
Yüan Shao, bringing reinforcements, reached Kuantu and built a
stockade. Two advisers went in to see him and said, “Again that fellow
Kuan has been in the battle; he killed Wên Chʻou. Liu Pei pretends
ignorance of him.”
Their master was angry and railed at Pei. “The long-eared rebel! How
dare he do such a thing?”
Soon Yüan-tê appeared; again Shao ordered him out to instant execution.
“What crime have I committed?” asked Yüan-tê.
“You sent your brother to slay one of my generals. Is that no crime?”
“Pray let me explain before I die. Tsʻao hated me and has always done
so. Now he has found out where I am and, fearing that I may help you,
has got my brother to destroy your two generals, feeling sure that when
you heard of it you would be angry and put me to death. You cannot fail
to see this.”
“What he says is sense,” said Shao, “and you two nearly brought on me
the reproach of injuring the good.”
He ordered his attendants to retire and asked Yüan-tê to come and sit
by him. Yüan-tê came saying, “I am deeply thankful, Illustrious Sir,
for your great kindness, for which I can never be sufficiently
grateful. Now I desire to send some confidential messenger with a
secret letter to my brother to tell him where I am, and I am sure he
will come without a moment’s delay. He will help you to destroy Tsʻao
Tsʻao to make up for having destroyed your two officers. Do you approve
of this?”
“If I got Yün-chʻang he would be ten times better than the two men I
have lost,” replied Shao.
So Yüan-tê prepared a letter. But there was no one to take it. Yüan
Shao ordered the army to withdraw to Wu-yang, where they made a large
camp. For some time nothing was done.
Then Tsʻao Tsʻao sent Hsiahou Tun to defend the strategical point at
Kuantu while he led the bulk of the army back to the capital. There he
gave many banquets in honour of the services of Kuan Yü and then he
told Lü Chʻien that putting the supplies in the front of the army had
been meant as a bait to draw the enemy to destruction. “Only Hsün Yu
understood that,” said he in conclusion.
Every one present praised his ingenuity. Even while the banquet was
proceeding there arrived news of a rising of Yellow Turban rebels at
Junan. They were very strong and Tsʻao Hung had been defeated in
several engagements. Now he begged for help.
Kuan Yü, hearing this said, “I should like to have the opportunity of
performing some service by destroying these rebels.”
“You have already rendered noble services for which you have not been
properly requited. I could hardly trouble you again,” said Tsʻao.
“I have been idle too long; I shall get ill,” said Kuan Yü.
Tsʻao encouraged him to go and gave him five legions with Yü Chin and
Yo Chin as captains under him. They were to leave soon.
Then Hsün Yü said privily to his master, “He always cherishes the idea
of returning to Liu Pei. He will leave you if he hears any news. Do not
let him go on this expedition.”
“If he does well this time I will not let him go into battle again,”
said Tsʻao.
In due time the force led by Kuan Yü drew near the rebels and made
their camp. One night, just outside his camp, two spies were caught and
taken in to Kuan who in one of them recognised Sun Chʻien. The
attendants being dismissed Kuan Yü questioned him.
“After we lost sight of each other I have heard not a word of you; what
are you doing here?”
“After I escaped I drifted hither and thither till I had the good
fortune to reach Junan and Liu Pʻi took me in. But why are you with
Tsʻao Tsʻao, General? And where are your sisters-in-law? Are they
well?”
Kuan Yü told him all that had happened.
“I have heard lately that Liu Pei is with Yüan Shao. I would have liked
to go and join him, but I have not found a convenient opportunity. Now
the two men I am with have taken the side of Yüan Shao against Tsʻao.
By good luck you were coming here so I got command of a small party of
scouts to be able to see you and tell you. Presently our two leaders
will pretend to be defeated and you, and the two ladies, can go over to
Yüan Shao. And you will see your brother.”
“Since he is there I certainly must go at once to see him. But it is a
misfortune that I have slain two of Yüan Shao’s generals. I fear things
are not in my favour,” said Kuan.
“Let me go first and see how the land lies; I will come back and tell
you.”
“I would risk a myriad deaths to see my brother,” said Kuan Yü. “But I
must go to say farewell to Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
Sun Chʻien was sent away that night and next day Kuan Yü led out his
men to offer battle. Kung Tu, in armour, went out to the front of the
line of battle and Kuan Yü said, “You people, why have you risen
against the government?”
“Why do you blame us when you have turned your back on your own lord?”
replied Kung Tu.
“How have I turned my back on my lord?”
“Liu Yüan-tê is with Yüan Pên-chʻu and you are with Tsʻao Tsʻao; what
is that?”
Kuan Yü could not reply, but he whirled round his sword and rode
forward. Tu fled and Kuan Yü followed. Tu turned and said to Kuan Yü,
“I cannot forget my old chief’s kindness. Now attack as soon as you can
and I will give up the defences.”
Kuan Yü understood and urged on his men. The leaders of the rebels
pretended they were worsted and they all scattered. So the city was
taken. Having pacified the people Kuan Yü quickly led his army back to
the capital, where he was met by Tsʻao, congratulated on his success
and feasted.
When this was all over Kuan Yü went to the dwelling of his
sisters-in-law to pay his respects at their gate.
“Have you been able to get any news of Uncle Liu in your two
expeditions?” asked the Lady Kan.
“None,” replied Kuan Yü.
As he retired from the door he heard sounds of bitter weeping within.
“Alas he is dead,” said they. “Our brother-in-law thinks we shall be
greatly distressed and hides the truth from us.”
One of the old soldiers, who acted as guard, hearing the sounds of
perpetual grief, took pity on them and said, “Do not weep, ladies; your
lord is with Yüan Shao in Hopei.”
“How do you know that?” said they.
“I went out with General Kuan and one of the soldiers told me.”
The two ladies summoned Kuan Yü and reproached him saying, “Uncle Liu
never betrayed you and yet you remain here enjoying the bounty of Tsʻao
Tsʻao and forgetting the old times. And you tell us falsehoods.”
Kuan Yü bowed his head. “My brother really is in Hopei, but I dared not
tell you, lest it should become known. Something must be done but done
carefully and it needs time.”
“Brother-in-law, you should hasten,” said the Lady Kan.
Kuan Yü withdrew feeling that he must evolve some scheme of departure
without further loss of time. It caused him much uneasiness.
Yü Chin, having found out that Liu Pei was in the north, told Tsʻao
Tsʻao, who at once sent Chang Liao to find out Kuan Yü’s intentions.
Chang Liao entered jauntily and congratulated Kuan, saying, “They tell
me you obtained news of your brother in the battlefield; I felicitate
you.”
“My lord was there indeed but I met him not. I see nothing to be glad
about.”
“Is there any difference between the relationship of you two and that
of any other two brothers?”
Kuan replied, “You and I stand in the relationship of friends: Yüan-tê
and I are friends and brothers beside, and prince and minister in
addition to both. Our relationship cannot be discussed in usual terms.”
“Well, now that you know where your brother is, are you going to him?”
“How can I go back on what I said before? I am sure you will explain
fully to the Minister.”
Chang Liao went back and told his master who said, “I must find a way
to keep him here.”
While Kuan Yü was pondering over his difficulties they told him that a
friend had come to enquire for him. The visitor was introduced but Kuan
did not recognise him.
“Who are you?” asked Kuan.
“I am Chʻên Chên of Nanyang, in the service of Yüan Shao.”
In great perturbation Kuan Yü sent away the attendants and, they being
gone, said, “There is some special reason for your visit.”
For reply the newcomer drew out a letter and handed it to his host, who
recognised that it was from his brother Yüan-tê.
“I, the writer, and you, Sir, pledged ourselves in the Peach Garden
to die together. Why then are we apart and yet alive, our kindly
feelings destroyed, our sense of right outraged? Surely you desire
to obtain fame and acquire riches and honour by offering my head as
a crowning act of merit. More might be said but I await your
commands with great anxiety.”
Kuan Yü finished the letter with a bitter cry. “I always wanted to find
my brother, but I did not know where he was. How can he think such evil
of me?” said he.
“Yüan-tê looks for you very eagerly, and if you are still bound by the
old pledge you should go quickly,” said the messenger.
“Any one born into the world without the one essential virtue of
sincerity is no true man. I came here openly and can go in no other
way. Now will I write a letter which I will ask you to bear to my
brother, that as soon as I can take leave of Tsʻao Tsʻao I will bring
the ladies and come to him.”
“But what if Tsʻao Tsʻao refuse to let you go?” said Chʻên Chên.
“Then would I rather die; I will not remain here.”
“Then, Sir, quickly write your letter and relieve your brother from his
anxiety.”
So Kuan Yü wrote like this: “I, the humble one, know full well that a
man of principle does not betray and a man of loyalty despises death. I
have been a student in my youth and know somewhat of the proprieties. I
sigh and weep at the memory of the fraternal affection that made Yang
Chio-ai and Tso Po-tʻao die rather than separate. I was in charge of
Hsiapʻi but the place lacked provision and there was no help. I would
have fought to the death but there was on my shoulders the
responsibility for my sisters-in-law. Wherefore I had to take care of
my body lest I betrayed my trust. And so I made a prisoner of myself,
hoping to find a way of release. I heard of you lately in Junan. I
must, however, bid farewell to Tsʻao Tsʻao and bring the ladies with me
when I come. May I perish, victim to the superhuman powers, if I have
harboured any traitorous thought. Pencil and paper are poor substitutes
for what I would say, but I look to see you soon.”
The visitor left with this missive and Kuan Yü went to tell the women.
Then he proceeded to the Minister’s palace to say farewell. But Tsʻao
knew what he was coming for and he found at the gate the board
intimating that no one could be received. So he had to return. However,
he bade his own few soldiers prepare to start at any moment. He also
gave orders that everything received from Tsʻao was to be left in the
quarters: nothing was to be taken.
Next day he again proceeded to the palace to say farewell to his
patron, but again found the board hanging there to show there was no
admission. So it was several times; he could never enter. Then he went
to see Chang Liao, but he was indisposed.
“This means he will not let me go,” thought Kuan Yü. “But I am going
and I shall hesitate no longer.”
So he wrote this letter:—“As a young man I entered the service of the
Imperial Uncle, and pledged myself to share his fortunes. Heaven and
Earth witnessed this oath. When I lost the city I made three requests
which you granted. Now I hear my brother is with Yüan Shao and I,
remembering our pledge, cannot but go to him. Though your bounty is
great I forget not the bond of the past, wherefore I write this letter
of farewell trusting that when you have read it you will be content for
me to postpone to another season the proof of my gratitude.”
He sealed and sent it to the Palace. Then he deposited in the treasury
of his dwelling all the gold and silver he had received, suspended his
seal of marquis in the reception hall and left, taking his
sisters-in-law with him in a carriage. He rode “Red Hare” and carried
Black Dragon in his hand. With a small escort of men, those formerly
under his command, he left the city by the north gate.
The wardens would have stopped him but he frightened them with a fierce
shout. Having got out he told the escort to go in front with the
carriage while he would remain behind to guard against pursuit. So they
pushed the carriage toward the high road.
In the city Kuan Yü’s letter reached the Minister while he was
consulting about what to do. He read it and exclaimed, “So he has
left!”
Then the warden of the gate came to report that Kuan Yü had forced his
way out, and was gone with a carriage, a horse and a score of guards.
Next came the servants from his house to report that he had left,
taking nothing of the treasure, nor any one of the waiting maids.
Everything was left in the house. Even his seal was there. His only
escort were the few men of his original force.
Suddenly from the assembly of men rose a voice saying, “With three
companies of mailed horse I will bring him back alive.”
Their eyes turned to the speaker, who was General Tsʻai Yang.
On the dragon’s cave he turns his back,
But numberless wolves infest his track.
What came of this offer to pursue will be seen in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXVII.
“BEAUTIFUL BEARD” RIDES ON A SOLITARY JOURNEY:
AND SLAYS SIX MEN AT FIVE PASSES.
Now of all the captains in Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army, the only one friendly
toward Kuan Yü, with the exception of Chang Liao, was Hsü Huang. The
others treated him with respect, except Tsʻai Yang who was decidedly
inimical. So this Tsʻai was ready to pursue and capture him as soon as
he heard of his departure. But Tsʻao accepted his going as natural. “He
does not forget his old leader and he was perfectly open in all his
actions. He is a gentleman and you would do well to follow his
example.”
So he bade the would-be pursuer begone and say no more about pursuit.
“You were exceedingly good to Kuan Yü,” said Chʻêng Yü, “but he went
off very rudely. He certainly left a screed behind with his reasons,
but he affronted you and that is no light matter. Now to let him join
Yüan Shao is to add wings to a tiger. You had better catch him and put
him to death so as to guard against future evil.”
Tsʻao replied, “But he had my promise and can I break my word? Each has
his master. Do not pursue.” But he said to Chang Liao, “He has rejected
all I gave him, so bribes were powerless with him in whatever shape. I
have the greatest respect for such as he. He has not yet gone far and I
will try to strengthen his attachment to me and make one appeal to
sentiment. Ride after him and beg him to stop till I can come up and
bid farewell and offer him a sum of money for his expenses and a
fighting robe, that he may remember me kindly in after days.”
So Chang rode out quite alone; Tsʻao followed him leisurely with an
escort of a score or so.
Now the steed that Kuan Yü rode was “Red Hare” and he was very fast. No
one could have come up with him but that there was the ladies’ carriage
to escort and so “Red Hare” had to be held in and go slow. Suddenly
Kuan Yü heard a shout behind him, a voice crying, “Go slowly,
Yün-chʻang.”
He turned and made out the person to be Chang Liao. Ordering the
pushers of the carriage to press on along the high road, he reined in
his steed, held Black Dragon ready for a stroke and waited for Chang
Liao to come up.
“Of course you have come to take me back, Wên-yüan?” said he.
“No; the Minister, seeing that you are going a long journey, wishes to
see you on your way and told me to hasten forward and beg you to wait
till he can come up. That is the only thing.”
“Seeing that he is coming along with mailed men I shall fight to the
very last,” said Kuan Yü and he took up his position on a bridge where
he waited the approach of the party, who advanced quickly. Four of
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s captains followed close. Seeing Kuan Yü was ready to
fight, Tsʻao ordered his escort to open out in two lines and then it
was seen they carried no arms. This relieved his mind; for it proved to
Kuan Yü they meant no attack.
“Why do you go in such haste, Yün-chʻang?” asked Tsʻao.
Kuan Yü inclined his head but did not dismount.
“I informed you in writing that since my lord was in Hopei I had to
leave at once. I went to your palace again and again but was refused
admittance. So I wrote a letter of farewell, sealed up the treasure,
resigned my marquis seal and left everything for you. I hope you recall
the promise you once made me.”
Tsʻao replied, “My desire is to keep my troth with all men; I cannot go
back on my word. However, you may find the journey expensive and
therefore I have here prepared a sum of money to help you.”
Then from horseback he held out a packet of gold.
“I have sufficient left from your former bounty; keep that for presents
to your soldiers.”
“Why should you refuse this? It is but an insignificant return for
great services.”
“My services have been all trifling, not worth mentioning.”
“Really, Yün-chʻang, you are the most high-principled of men. I am very
sorry my luck is too poor to retain you at my side. Pray accept just
this robe to show you I am not quite ungrateful,” said Tsʻao, and one
of his captains, dismounting, held up a silken coat in both hands. Kuan
Yü even still fearful of what might happen, would not dismount, but he
reached down his sword and took the robe on its point. Then he threw it
over his shoulders and turned to thank the giver saying, “I thank you,
Sir Minister, for the robe and trust we shall meet again.”
So saying he went down from the bridge and bore away to the north.
“He is a very rude man,” said Hsü Chʻu, who was of the escort. “Why do
you not take him prisoner?”
Tsʻao replied, “He was absolutely alone facing scores of us; he was
justified in being suspicious. But my word has gone forth and he is not
to be pursued.”
Tsʻao and his escort returned, the Minister very sad when he thought of
the man who had gone.
But here we need say nothing more of Tsʻao’s return. Kuan Yü went down
from the bridge and started in the wake of the carriage carrying the
two ladies, which should have gone about thirty li while this interview
had been going on. He could see no signs of it and rode hither and
thither looking on all sides.
Presently he heard some one shouting from a hill, calling him by name
to halt. He saw a youth wearing a yellow turban and dressed in a silk
robe. He held a spear in his hand and was mounted on a horse from the
neck of which dangled a bloody head. Behind him were a hundred or so
men on foot and they advanced quickly.
“Who are you?” asked Kuan Yü.
The young man dropped his spear, dismounted and made a low bow. Kuan
feared this was some ruse so he only checked his horse and gripped his
sword the more firmly, saying, “Sir Swashbuckler, I desire you to tell
me your name.”
“My family name is Liao and I am known as Liao Hua or Liao Yüan-chien.
I belong to a Hsiangyang family. Since these troubled times began I
have been an outlaw among the rivers and lakes and I and my comrades
have lived by plunder. We are about five hundred in all. By chance my
friend Tu Yüan came across two ladies in a carriage just now and, quite
wrongly, he took them prisoners and brought them to the hold in the
hills. I questioned the servants and so found out who they were and who
was escorting them. So I wished them to be set free to pursue their
journey. My friend opposed this and spoke so ill-mannerly that I killed
him. And here is his head. I pray you to pardon me.”
“Where are the two ladies?”
“They are among the hills,” replied Liao.
“Bring them down here, at once,” said Kuan.
In a short time a party of the brigands pushed the carriage down the
hill and the ladies sat there before him.
Then Kuan Yü dismounted, laid aside his sword and stood respectfully
before them with his arms crossed.
“Sisters, have you been alarmed?” asked he.
They replied, “We should have suffered at the hands of Tu Yüan had it
not been for Liao Hua.”
“How did Liao Hua come to save the ladies?” asked Kuan of those who
stood by.
They said, “Tu carried off the ladies and proposed that he and Liao Hua
should have one each as wife. But Liao Hua had found out they were of
gentle birth and worthy, and was for treating them with respect. When
Tu disagreed Liao slew him.”
Hearing this Kuan Yü bowed to Liao Hua and thanked him. Liao then
wanted to join himself and his troop to Kuan Yü, but the latter, seeing
he was a Yellow Turban, would have nothing to do with him. So he simply
thanked him for his kindness to the ladies. Liao offered some presents
but these were also declined.
So Liao Hua took his leave and presently disappeared in a valley among
the hills. Kuan Yü told his sisters the story of his interview with
Tsʻao and the gift of a robe and then he urged the carriage on its way.
Towards dark they came to a farm where they would rest. The farmer, an
old greybeard, came out to welcome the party and asked who they were.
Kuan Yü described himself as the brother of Liu Pei, and said his name
was Kuan.
“Surely you are no other than the slayer of Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou,”
said the venerable host.
“That is so,” replied Kuan Yü.
“Come in,” said the old man, joyfully.
“My two sisters-in-law are in the carriage” said Kuan Yü, “will you let
your women-folk go out to receive them?”
As Kuan Yü remained standing there the host asked him to be seated, but
he would not sit while the women were present and remained standing in
a respectful attitude till the old man’s wife had returned and ushered
the ladies into the inner apartments. Then the old man set to the
entertainment of his guest in the guest hall. Kuan Yü asked his name.
He replied, “I am called Hu Hua. In the days of the Emperor Huan I was
an officer of the Court but I resigned and retired into private life. I
have a son with the Prefect of Yungyang (in Szechuan) and if you should
be going that way, General, I should like to send him a letter by you.”
Kuan Yü said he would take the letter. Next day, after an early meal,
the ladies got into their carriage, the host handed his letter to Kuan
Yü, and the little party once more took the road. They went toward
Loyang.
Presently they approached a pass known as the Tungling Pass, guarded by
one Kʻung Hsiu and half a company. When the soldiers saw a carriage
being pushed toward the pass they ran to tell their commander, who came
out to accost the travellers. Kuan Yü dismounted and returned the
officer’s salute and the latter said, “Whither are you going?”
“I have left the Minister to go into Hopei to find my brother.”
“But Yüan Shao is my master’s rival. You have authority from him to go
thither?”
“I left hurriedly and could not get it.”
“If you have no authority you must wait while I send to request
orders.”
“To remain while you send and receive an answer will delay me greatly,”
said Kuan.
“I must stand by my instructions; that is the only thing to do,” said
Kʻung.
“Then you refuse to let me pass?”
“If you want to go through leave the family as a gage.”
At this Kuan Yü got very angry and made to cut at the officer on the
spot, but he withdrew into the gate and beat the drums for an attack.
Thereupon the soldiers armed themselves, mounted and came down to
oppose the passage, crying, “Dare you go through, eh?”
The carriage was sent off to a safe distance and then Kuan Yü rode at
full speed directly at the commander of the guard, who set his spear
and came to meet him. The two steeds met and the men engaged, but at
the first stroke of Black Dragon the commander of the gate fell to the
earth dead. His men fled.
“Soldiers, do not flee!” cried Kuan Yü. “I killed him because I could
do no otherwise. I have nothing against you, but I would ask you to
tell the Minister how this thing came to pass, that he wished to kill
me and so I slew him in self-defence.”
The men bowed before him and Kuan Yü, with the carriage, passed through
the gates and they continued their way to Loyang. But one of the guards
of the pass went quickly in advance and informed the Prefect of Loyang,
Han Fu, of the slaughter of Kʻung Hsiu. Wherefore Han Fu assembled his
officers to take counsel. Mêng Tʻan, one of his captains, said, “This
Kuan Yü must be a fugitive or he would have a safe-conduct. Our only
course is to stop him or we shall incur blame.”
“The man is fierce and brave. Remember the fate of Yen and Wên. It
seems vain to oppose him by force and so we must think out some trap
for him,” said Han Fu.
“I have a ruse ready,” said Mêng Tʻan. “I will close the gate with
“deerhorns” (chevaux de frise) and I will go to fight with him. I will
engage and then flee, and you can shoot him from an ambush along the
road. If we can get him and his party and send them prisoners to the
capital we ought to be well rewarded.”
This course was determined upon and soon they heard that Kuan Yü was
approaching. Han Fu strung his bow and filled his quiver with arrows
and with one company took up position along the pass. Then as the party
approached Han Fu said, “Who is the traveller who comes?”
Kuan Yü bowed low and said, “He is a certain Kuan, Marquis of
Hanshoutʻing, and he wishes to go through the pass.”
“Have you a letter from the Minister?”
“In the hurry of departure I did not get any.”
“My special orders from him are to hold this pass and make examination
of all spies that may go to and fro. Any person without an authority
must be a fugitive.”
Then Kuan Yü began to be angry, and he told them what had happened to
Kʻung Hsiu. “Do you also seek death?” asked Kuan.
“Who will capture him for me?” cried Han Fu, and Mêng Tʻan offered
himself. He rode out, whirling his double swords and made straight for
Kuan Yü.
Kuan Yü sent back the carriage out of danger and then rode toward Mêng.
They engaged, but very soon Mêng turned his steed and fled. Kuan Yü
pursued. Mêng, intent only on leading his enemy toward the ambush, took
no account of the speed of “Red Hare.” Very soon he was caught up and a
stroke of the mighty sword cut him in two pieces. Then Kuan Yü stopped
and turned back. The archers in the gate shot their hardest and though
it was a long way off one of them lodged an arrow in his left arm. He
pulled it out with his teeth but the blood streamed down as he rode
toward the Prefect, Han Fu. The men scattered. Kuan Yü rode straight at
his next victim. He raised his sword and made an oblique cut which
sliced off the head and shoulder of his opponent.
Then he drove off the soldiers and returned to escort the carriage. He
bound up his wound, and, fearing lest any one might take advantage of
his weakness, he made no long halts on the road but hurried toward
Ishui Pass.
The warden of this pass was Pien Hsi of Pingchou, a warrior whose
weapon was a comet-hammer. He had been a Yellow Turban and had gone
over to Tsʻao, who had given him this post. As soon as he heard of the
coming of the redoubtable warrior he cudgelled his brains for a ruse to
use against him. He decided upon an ambush. In a temple at the pass he
placed two hundred “axe and sword” men. He reckoned on enticing Kuan to
the temple for refreshment and when he let fall a cup as signal the
hidden men would rush out.
All being thus arranged and ready, he went out to welcome Kuan Yü in
friendly guise and he dismounted at his coming. Pien Hsi began very
amiably.
“Your name, General, makes the very earth tremble and every one looks
up to you. This return to the Imperial Uncle proves you to be noble and
true.”
Kuan Yü in reply told him the story of the men he had slain. Hsi
replied, “You slew them; that is well. When I see the Minister I will
explain to him the inner reasons for these acts.”
Kuan Yü thought he had found a friend and so mounted and rode through
the pass. When he came to the temple a number of priests came out to
meet him with clanging bells.
This temple, that of a Guardian of the State, had a courtyard in which
the Emperor Ming had burned incense. In the temple were thirty priests
and among these there happened to be one who came from the same village
as Kuan Yü. His religious name was Pʻu-ching. Hearing who the visitor
was, he came forward to speak with him.
“General,” said he, “it is many a long year since you left Putung.”
“Yes,” said Kuan Yü, “nearly twenty years.”
“Do you recognise this poor priest?”
“I left the village many years ago; I do not recognise you.”
“My house and yours were only separated by a rivulet,” said the priest.
Now Pien Hsi, seeing the priest holding forth about village matters,
thought he would blab about the ambush, so he bade him be silent.
“I want to invite the General to a feast. You priest fellows seem to
have a lot to say,” said Pien.
“Not too much,” said Kuan Yü. “Naturally when fellow villagers meet
they talk of old times.”
Pʻu-ching invited the visitor into the guest room to take tea, but Kuan
Yü said, “The two ladies are out there in the carriage; they ought to
have some first.”
So the priest bade them take some tea to the ladies and then he led
Kuan Yü within, at the same time lifting the priest knife which he wore
at his side and looking meaningly at Kuan Yü. The latter understood and
told his people to bring along his weapon and keep close at his side.
When Pien Hsi invited Kuan Yü to go into the Hall of the Law for some
refreshment, Kuan Yü turned to him, saying, “Is this invitation with
good intention or evil?”
His host was so taken aback that he could make no reply, and then Kuan
Yü saw that many armed men were concealed behind the arras. Then he
shouted loudly at Pien Hsi, saying, “What means this? I thought you an
honourable man. How dare you?”
The traitor saw that his plot had failed and called to the assassins to
come out and fall to, but Kuan Yü had a short sword in his hand and
slashed at any one who came near. So they scattered. Their commander
ran down the hall and tried to escape among the side buildings, but
Kuan Yü threw aside the short sword, took up Black Dragon and went
after Pien Hsi. The latter was trying to get into position to throw his
comet-hammer, but Kuan Yü cut the cord and the weapon was useless. He
followed Pien in and out and soon caught up with him. Then with one
blow he cut him in halves.
The fight over he sought the two ladies, who were surrounded by
soldiers. These fled at sight of the terrible warrior. Seeking out the
priest, his fellow countryman, he thanked him for the timely warning
which had saved him from death.
“I cannot remain here after this,” said Pʻu-ching. “I shall pack up my
few garments and my alms bowl and take to the road, vague in my
wanderings as the clouds in the sky. But we shall meet again and till
then take care of yourself.”
Then Kuan Yü took leave and retook the road to Yungyang. The Prefect of
this city was named Wang Chih, and he was related to Han Fu by
marriage. Hearing of the death of his relative he set about a scheme to
kill Kuan Yü secretly. He sent men to guard the city gates and, when he
heard that Kuan Yü approached, he went himself and received him with a
smiling countenance and bade him welcome. Kuan Yü told him the object
of his journey.
“You, General, have been able to get some exercise on the road, but the
ladies in their carriage must be cramped and fatigued. I pray you to
come into the city and all of you remain the night in the official
travellers’ quarters. To-morrow you can set forth again.”
The offer was tempting and his host seemed in earnest so the two ladies
went into the city, where they found everything very comfortably
prepared for them. And, though Kuan Yü declined the Prefect’s
invitations to a banquet, refreshments for the travellers were sent to
their lodgings. Kuan Yü was fatigued from the trials of the journey and
as soon as the evening meal was over he bade the ladies retire to rest
while he sat down in the main room, quite alone, for he bade all to get
repose while they could. His horse was given a good feed for once. He
sat with his armour loosened in order to be more at ease.
Now the Prefect had a secretary named Hu Pan to whom he had entrusted
the arrangements for the destruction of his guest. Said he, “This Kuan
is a traitor to the Minister and a fugitive. On the road he has
murdered several Commanders of Passes and is guilty of serious crimes.
But he is too strong and valiant for any ordinary soldier to overcome.
So this evening a whole company of men will surround his lodging, each
one armed with a torch, and we will burn him. They will start the fire
about midnight. Every one of the party will perish. I will come with a
force to stand by and assist if necessary.”
These orders received, Hu Pan passed them on to the men, who began
secretly to prepare dry wood and other combustibles which they piled up
at the gate of the rest-house. Hu Pan thought within him that he would
like to know what manner of man was this Kuan Yü, whose fame had spread
so far, so he determined to get a peep at him. He went to the
rest-house and enquired where Kuan Yü was.
“The General is the man in the main hall reading,” was the reply.
Hu Pan noiselessly made his way to the outside of the room and peeped
in. He saw the famous warrior stroking his beard with his left hand
while he read by the light of a lamp placed on a low table. An
involuntary exclamation of wonder escaped at the majesty of the figure.
“Really a god!” he sighed.
“Who is there?” suddenly asked the reader at the sound.
Hu Pan entered and said he was the Prefect’s secretary.
“Surely you are the son of Hu Hua, who lives outside Hsütu,” said Kuan.
“I am he,” replied Hu Pan.
Then Kuan Yü called up his followers and bade them look among the
baggage for the letter, which they brought. Kuan Yü handed it to the
secretary, who read it and then breathed long, saying, “I very nearly
caused the death of a good man.”
Then he betrayed the whole plot. “This Wang is a wicked man, who wanted
to kill you. At this moment you are surrounded and at the third watch
they will set fire to this place. Now I will go and open the city gates
while you hastily prepare for flight.”
Kuan Yü was greatly surprised, but he quickly buckled up his armour,
got his steed ready, roused the two ladies and put them into their
carriage. Then they left the rest-house and as they passed out they saw
the soldiers all about them, each with a torch. The party hastened to
the outskirts of the city and found the gate already open and they lost
no time in getting clear of the city. Hu Pan returned to give orders to
fire the rest house.
The fugitives pressed on but before long they saw lights coming up
behind them and Wang Chih called out to them to stop. Kuan Yü reined in
his horse and began to abuse him.
“Worthless fellow! What had you against me that you wished to burn me
to death?”
Wang Chih whipped up his steed and set his spear, but Kuan Yü cut him
through with the short sword he wore at his side and scattered his
followers.
Then the carriage pushed on. Kuan Yü’s heart was filled with gratitude
to Hu Pan. When they drew near Huachou some one told Liu Yen, who rode
out to welcome him. Kuan Yü did not dismount but bowed from horseback,
saying, “Have you been quite well since we parted?”
“Whither are you going, Sir?” replied Liu Yen.
“I have left the Minister and am on my way to find my brother.”
“Yüan-tê is with Yüan Shao, who is at enmity with the Minister. How can
you be allowed to go to him?” asked Liu Yen.
“That matter was settled long ago.”
“The Yellow River ferry is an important point and is guarded by a
lieutenant of Hsiahou Tun; he will not let you cross.”
“But suppose then you provide boats for me?”
“Though there are boats I dare not give them to you.”
“Well, formerly I slew Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou and saved you from a
grave danger. Now you refuse me a ferry boat!”
“I am afraid Hsiahou will know of it and make it a fault against me.”
Kuan Yü perceived that no help was to be expected from this man so he
pushed on and presently reached the ferry. There the commander of the
guard, Chʻin Chʻi, came out to question him.
“I am one Kuan, Marquis of Hanshoutʻing.”
“Whither are you bound?”
“I go to Hopei to seek my brother, Liu Yüan-tê, and I respectfully ask
you to grant me a passage over the river.”
“Where is the authority of the Minister?”
“I am not on a mission from the Minister so why should I have such an
authority?”
“I have orders from my chief to guard the ferry and you will not cross;
even if you grew wings you should not fly over.”
Kuan Yü’s choler arose. “Do you know that I have been the death of all
those who have hitherto tried to stop me?” said he.
“You have only slain a few officers of no rank or reputation; but you
dare not kill me.”
“Where would you stand beside Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou?” asked Kuan.
Then Chʻin Chʻi grew angry and he loosed his rein. Sword in hand he
came at a gallop. The two met, but in the first encounter Chʻin Chʻi’s
head was swept off by the terrible Black Dragon.
“He who opposed me is dead; you others need not be afraid,” cried Kuan
Yü. “Be quick and prepare me a boat.”
The boat was soon at the landing and the two women stepped on board,
followed by Kuan Yü. They crossed, and were then in the country of Yüan
Shao. In the course of his journey to this point Kuan Yü had forced
five passes and slain six captains.
His seal hung up, the treasury locked, his courtly mansion left,
He journeyed toward his brother dear, too long from his side reft.
The horse he rode was famed for speed as for endurance great,
His good sword made a way for him and opened every gate.
His loyalty and truth forth stand, a pattern unto all,
His valour would frighten rushing streams and make high mountains
fall.
Alone he travelled lustily, ’twas death to meet his blade,
He has been themed by myriads, his glory ne’er will fade.
“I did not willingly slay a single one of them,” mused Kuan Yü as he
rode along. “There was no help for it. Nevertheless when Tsʻao hears of
it he will regard me as ungrateful for his bounty.”
Before long he saw a rider on the road who soon hailed him and proved
to be Sun Chʻien.
“I have never heard a word from you since we lost sight of each other
at Junan; how have you fared?” said Kuan Yü.
“After your departure the city fell. I was sent to Yüan Shao to try to
make peace with him and succeeded, so that he invited your brother to
go to him and share in the deliberations for an attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao.
But to my disgust the leaders of Yüan Shao’s army showed great jealousy
of each other so that one got into gaol, another was degraded and
others quarrelled. Then Yüan Shao vacillated and hesitated, so that
your brother and I consulted how we might get away from them all. Now
the Uncle is at Junan with Liu Pʻi and, thinking you could not know
that and might suffer some harm if you unwillingly went to Yüan Shao, I
have come to warn you. It is good fortune to find you like this. Now we
can hasten to Junan and you will meet your brother.”
Kuan Yü took Sun Chʻien to make his bow to the ladies, who asked after
his adventures and he told them of the risks Liu Pei had run from Yüan
Shao’s sudden bursts of anger. Now, however, he was out of his way and
safe at Junan where they would meet him.
They covered their faces and wept at the recital of his dangers. Then
the party no longer travelled north but took the road toward Junan. Not
long after a great cloud of dust was noticed behind them and they
presently made out a squadron of horsemen. These were led by Hsiahou
Tun, who shouted out to Kuan Yü to stop.
One by one the pass commanders stopped his progress and were slain,
The river crossed, another army comes and he must fight again.
How finally Kuan Yü escaped death will appear in the succeeding
chapter.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TSʻAI YANG PUT TO DEATH, THE BROTHERS’ DOUBTS DISAPPEAR:
MEETING AT KUCHʻENG, LORD AND LIEGE FORTIFY EACH OTHER.
Sun Chʻien had joined Kuan Yü in escorting the two ladies and they were
on the road to Junan when Hsiahou Tun suddenly determined to pursue. So
with a couple of hundred horse he set out. When he was seen
approaching, Kuan Yü bade Sun Chʻien go ahead with the carriage while
he remained to deal with the pursuers. When they were near enough Kuan
Yü said, “In coming after me thus you do not reinforce the magnanimity
of your master.”
Replied Hsiahou Tun, “The Minister has sent no definite instructions.
You have caused the death of several people, among them one of my
lieutenants, and so I have come to capture you. You have behaved most
grossly. He will decide.”
Thereupon he dashed forward with his spear ready to thrust. But at that
moment a rider came up behind him at full gallop crying, “You must not
fight with Yün-chʻang.”
Kuan Yü stayed his steed at once and waited. The messenger came up,
drew from his bosom an official letter and said to Hsiahou Tun, “The
Minister loves General Kuan for his loyalty and honour, and fearing
lest he might be stopped at the various passes, he sent me with this
letter to show when necessary at any point on the road.”
“But this Kuan has slain several commanders of the passes; does the
Minister know that?” said Tun.
The messenger said these things were unknown.
“Then,” said Tun, “I will arrest him and take him to the Minister, who
may set him free or not as he wills.”
“Do you think I fear anything you can do?” said Kuan Yü getting
wrathful.
And he rode forward. Tun, nothing loth, set his spear and prepared for
battle. They met and had reached the tenth encounter when a second
horseman came up at full speed, crying, “Generals, wait a little!”
Hsiahou Tun stayed his hand and asked the messenger, saying, “Am I to
arrest him?”
“No,” replied the messenger. “Fearing lest he should have difficulties
at the passes the Minister has sent me with a despatch to say he is to
be released.”
“Did the Minister know that he had slain several men on the way?”
“He did not know.”
“Since he was ignorant of that I may not let him go,” and he gave the
signal to his men to close in round Kuan Yü.
But Kuan Yü flourished his sword and made to attack them and a fight
was again imminent, when a third rider appeared, who cried,
“Yün-chʻang, give way and do not fight!”
The speaker was Chang Liao. Both combatants made no further move but
awaited his arrival.
He said, “I bring the Minister’s order that since he has heard that
Yün-chʻang has slain certain men on the way he fears that some will
hinder his passage. Wherefore he has sent me to deliver his command at
each gate that Kuan Yü is to be suffered to pass freely.”
Hsiahou Tun said, “Chʻin Chʻi was the son of Tsʻai Yang’s sister, and
he was confided to my especial care. Now this Kuan has killed him and
how can I refrain?”
“When I see his uncle I will explain. But now the main point is that
you have the Minister’s orders to let Kuan Yü pass and you may not
despise his wish.”
So the only thing for Hsiahou Tun to do was to retire; and he did.
“Whither are you going?” then said Chang Liao to Kuan Yü.
“I fear my brother is no longer with Yüan Shao and now I am going to
find him wherever he is.”
“As you do not know where to go, why not return to the Minister?”
“Where is the sense of that?” said Kuan Yü with a smile. “But,
Wên-yüan, you return, and try to arrange pardon for my faults.”
With this he saluted Chang Liao and took his leave. Chang Liao retired
and joined Hsiahou Tun.
Kuan Yü quickly regained the carriage, and as they went along side by
side he told Sun Chʻien what had happened. Several days later a heavy
rain storm came on which soaked everything. Looking about for
protection they noticed a farm under the shelter of a precipice and
took their way thither. An old man came out to them, to whom they told
their story. When they had finished, the old fellow said, “My name is
Kuo Chʻang and I have lived here many years. I am very pleased to greet
the man whom I have known so long by reputation.”
He quickly killed a sheep for their refreshment and brought out wine
for the two men. The two ladies were entertained in the inner
apartments. And while they refreshed themselves their baggage was put
out to dry and their steeds were fed.
As the day closed in they saw several youths come along and their host
said, “My son is come to pay his respects.”
“This is my stupid son,” said he, presenting a lad to Kuan Yü.
“What has he been doing?” asked Kuan.
“He has just come in from hunting.”
The young fellow went out. The old man continued, “All my family have
been farmers or scholars. He is my only son and instead of following in
the footsteps of his ancestors he cares for nothing but gadding about
and hunting, unhappily.”
“Why unhappily?” said Kuan Yü. “In these days of disorder a good
soldier can make a name for himself.”
“If he would only learn the military arts that would be something of a
career, but he is nothing but a vagabond and does everything he should
not. He is a grief to me.”
Kuan Yü sighed in sympathy. The old gentleman stayed till a late hour
and when he took his leave his two guests began to prepare for rest.
Suddenly outside there arose a great hubbub, men shouting and horses
neighing. Kuan Yü called to his people, but as no one answered he and
his companion drew their swords and went into the stable yard. There
they found their host’s son on the ground shouting to his followers to
fight. Kuan Yü asked what it was all about and his men told him that
the young fellow had tried to steal Red Hare, but had been badly
kicked. They had heard shouting and had gone to see what it meant when
the farm people had set on them.
Kuan Yü was very wrathful. “You mean thieves! Would you steal my
horse?” cried he.
But before he could do anything his host came running out saying, “It
was not with my consent that my son did this evil thing. I know he is
very guilty and deserves death. But his mother loves him tenderly and I
pray you to be generous and pardon him.”
“Really he is unworthy of his father,” said Kuan Yü. “What you told me
shows he is a degenerate. For your sake I pardon him.”
Then he told his own people to keep a better lookout, sent the farm
people about their business and, in company with Sun Chʻien, went away
to rest.
Next morning both host and hostess were up betimes waiting to thank him
for forgiving their son’s mad freak. “My currish son has insulted your
tiger dignity, I know, and I am deeply affected by your kindness in not
punishing him,” said the old man.
“Bring him here and I will talk to him,” said Kuan Yü.
“He went out before daylight with a lot of his fellow-rogues and I know
not where he is.”
So Kuan Yü bade them farewell, got the ladies into their carriage and
they moved out of the farmyard, the two warriors riding abreast as
escort. They took the road toward the hills.
Before they had gone far they saw a large party of men, led by a couple
of riders, pouring down one of the gullies. One of the riders wore a
yellow turban and a battle robe. The other was Kuo Chʻang’s son. The
wearer of the turban called out saying, “I am one of the captains of
the Celestial Duke, Chang Chio. Whoever you may be, leave that horse
you are riding for me. You may then go free.”
Kuan Yü greeted the speech with a hearty laugh.
“O you mad ignoramus! If you had ever been with Chang Chio as a bandit
you would have learned to know Liu, Kuan and Chang, the three
brothers.”
“I have heard of the ruddy long beard called Kuan but I have never seen
him. Who may you be?”
Kuan Yü then laid aside his sword, stopped his horse and drew off the
bag that covered his beard thus showing its magnificence.
The turban wearer immediately slipped out of the saddle, laid an angry
hand on his companion and they both bowed low in front of Kuan Yü’s
steed.
“Who are you?” asked Kuan Yü.
“I am Pʻei Yüan-shao. After the death of Chang Chio I was left forlorn
and I got together a few others like myself and we took refuge in the
forests. This morning early this fellow came to tell us that a guest at
his father’s farm had a valuable horse and proposed to me to steal it.
I did not think I should meet you, General.”
The wretched youth Kuo implored that his life might be spared and Kuan
Yü pardoned him for his father’s sake. He covered his face and crept
away.
“You did not recognise me; how then did you know my name?” asked Kuan
Yü.
Pʻei replied, “Not far from here is a mountain called the Sleeping
Bull, where lives a certain Chou Tsʻang, a very powerful man who came
from the west. He has a stiff curly beard and looks very handsome. He
also was a captain in the rebel army, who took to the forest when his
leader perished. He has told me a lot about you but I have never had
the happiness of seeing you.”
Said Kuan Yü, “Under the greenwood tree is no place for a hero’s foot.
You had better abandon this depraved life and return to the path of
virtue. Do not work out your own destruction.”
As they were talking a troop of horsemen appeared in the distance. They
were the men of Chou Tsʻang, as Pʻei said, and Kuan Yü waited for them
to approach. The leader was very dark complexioned, tall and armed with
a spear. As soon as he drew near enough to see he exclaimed joyfully,
“This is General Kuan.”
In a moment he had slipped out of the saddle and was on his knees by
the roadside.
“Chou Tsʻang renders obeisance,” said he.
Said Kuan Yü, “O warrior, where have you known me?”
“I was one of the Yellow Turbans and I saw you then. My one regret was
that I could not join you. Now that my good fortune has brought me here
I hope you will not reject me. Let me be one of your foot soldiers to
be always near you to carry your whip and run by your stirrup. I will
cheerfully die for you.”
As he seemed thoroughly in earnest Kuan Yü said, “But if you follow me,
what of your companions?”
“They may do as they please; follow me or go their ways.”
Thereupon they all shouted, “We will follow.”
Kuan Yü dismounted and went to ask the ladies what they thought of
this. The Lady Kan replied, “Brother-in-law, you have travelled thus
far alone and without fighting men; you have safely passed many dangers
and never wanted their assistance. You refused the service of Liao Hua,
why then suffer this crowd? But this is only a woman’s view and you
must decide.”
“What you say, sister-in-law, is to the point.”
Therefore returning to Chou Tsʻang he said, “It is not that I am
lacking in gratitude but my sisters-in-law do not care for a large
following. Wherefore return to the mountains till I shall have found my
brother when I will surely call you.”
Chou Tsʻang replied, “I am only a rough uncouth fellow, wasting his
life as a brigand. Meeting you, General, is like seeing the full sun in
the skies and I feel that I can never bear to miss you again. As it
might be inconvenient for all my men to follow you I will bid my
companion lead them away, but I will come and follow you on foot
wherever you go.”
Kuan Yü again asked his sisters-in-law what they thought of this. Lady
Kan said one or two made no difference and so Kuan Yü consented. But
Pʻei Yüan-shao was not satisfied with this arrangement and said he
wished also to follow.
Chou said, “If you do not stay with the band they will disperse and be
lost. You must take command for the moment and let me accompany General
Kuan. As soon as he has a fixed abode I will come to fetch you.”
Somewhat discontentedly Pʻei Yüan-shao accepted the situation and
marched off, while his one-time colleague joined the train of Kuan Yü
and they went toward Junan. They travelled quickly for some days and
then they saw a city on a hill. From the natives they heard that the
city was called Kuchʻêng and that a few months before a warrior had
suddenly appeared, driven out the magistrates and taken possession.
Then he had begun to recruit men, buy up horses and lay in stores. The
warrior’s name was Chang Fei. Now he had a large force and no one in
the neighbourhood dared face him.
“To think that I should find my brother like this!” said Kuan Yü,
delighted. “I have had never a word of him, nor knew I where he was
since Hsüchou fell.”
So he despatched Sun Chʻien into the city to tell its new commander to
come out to meet him and provide for their sisters-in-law.
Now, after being separated from his brothers, Chang Fei had gone to the
Mangyang Hills, where he had remained a month or so while he sent far
and near for tidings of Yüan-tê. Then as he happened to pass Kuchʻêng
he had sent in to borrow some grain, but had been refused. In revenge,
he had driven away the magistrate and taken possession of the city. He
found the place well suited to his needs at the moment.
As directed by Kuan Yü, Sun Chʻien entered the city and, after the
usual ceremonies, told Chang Fei the news of both his brothers; that
Yüan-tê had left Yüan Shao and gone to Junan and that Kuan Yü, with
their sisters-in-law, was at his gates. Chang Fei listened without a
word till he came to the request to go out to meet him. At that point
he called for his armour and, when he had put it on, laid hold of his
long spear, mounted and rode out with a large company at his back. Sun
Chʻien was too astonished to ask what this meant and simply followed.
Kuan Yü was very glad when he saw his brother coming, put up his
weapons and, with Chou Tsʻang at his back, rode toward him at full
speed. But as he approached he saw all the signs of fierce anger on his
brother’s face and he roared as he shook his spear, threatening his
brother.
Kuan Yü was entirely taken aback and called out anxiously, “Brother,
what does this mean? Is the Peach Garden Pledge quite forgotten?”
“What impudence is this that you come to see me since your disgraceful
behaviour?” shouted Chang.
“What disgraceful behaviour has been mine?” said Kuan Yü.
“You have betrayed your brother, you have surrendered to Tsʻao Tsʻao
and you have received title and office at his hands. And now you are
come to exploit me. One of us shall die.”
Kuan said, “Really you do not understand and it is hard for me to
explain. But ask the two ladies here, worthy brother, and they will
tell you.”
At this the ladies lifted the curtain of the carriage and called out,
“Brother, why is this?”
Fei said, “Wait a while, sisters, and see me slay this traitor. After
that I will conduct you into the city.”
Said the Lady Kan, “Since he knew not where you were our brother took
shelter with Tsʻao Tsʻao. And since he knew that his elder brother was
at Junan he has braved every danger to escort us thus far on the road.
Pray take a correct view of his conduct.”
The Lady Mi also chimed in, “When your brother went to Hsütu no other
course was open to him.”
“Sisters, do not let him blind you to the truth. Real loyalty prefers
death to dishonour. No good man can serve two masters.”
Kuan Yü said, “Brother, cease to wrong me I pray you.”
Sun Chʻien said, “Yün-chʻang came expressly to seek you.”
“How much more nonsense will you talk?” roared Chang Fei. “How can he
be true-hearted? He came to capture me, I say.”
“Had I come to capture you, I should have come with men and horses,”
said Kuan Yü.
“And are there not men and horses?” said Chang Fei pointing to a point
behind Kuan Yü.
Kuan Yü turned and there he saw a cloud of dust rising as though a
squadron of horse was coming. And soon they were near enough and from
their trumpets and banners they showed themselves to be of Tsʻao
Tsʻao’s army.
“Now will you try to cajole me further?” cried Chang Fei in a rage.
He set his long spear and was just coming on when Kuan Yü said,
“Brother, wait a while; see me slay the leader of these that I may
prove myself no traitor.”
“Well, if you are really true, prove it by slaying that leader, whoever
he may be, before I have finished three rolls of the drum.”
Chang Fei’s condition was accepted. Soon the attacking force was near
enough to make out the leader to be Tsʻai Yang. Sword in hand he rode
at full speed, crying, “So I have found you, slayer of my nephew! I
have a command to capture you and will execute it.”
Kuan Yü made no reply. Raising his sword ready to strike he moved out
and the drums began to beat. Before a roll could be completed the fight
was over and Tsʻai Yang’s head had rolled on the ground. His men
scattered and fled. Kuan Yü, however, captured the young ensign-bearer
and questioned him. The youth said that in very truth the Minister had
not given an order. Incensed at the loss of his nephew, Tsʻai wished to
pursue and attack Kuan Yü although the Minister refused permission. To
satisfy him he had sent Tsʻai to attack Junan and the meeting at this
place was entirely an accident.
Kuan Yü bade him repeat this story to his brother. Chang Fei also
questioned him concerning all that had happened in the capital and the
recital of the whole story satisfied him of the fidelity of Kuan Yü.
Just then messengers came from the city to Chang Fei to say that some
scores of horsemen had arrived at the south gate. They seemed in a
great hurry but no one knew them. Chang Fei, with still a lingering
doubt in his mind, went to look at the newcomers and there saw a score
or two of mounted archers with light bows and short arrows. Hastily
dismounting to see them better he found they were Mi Chu and Mi Fang.
Quickly slipping out of the saddle they came up and Mi Chu said, “After
the dispersal at Hsüchou when we lost sight of you we returned to our
village whence we sent all around for news of you. We heard that Kuan
Yü had surrendered to Tsʻao Tsʻao and our lord was in Hopei. The one of
whom we could hear nothing was yourself. But yesterday, while on our
way, we fell in with some travellers who told us a certain General
Chang, of such and such an appearance, had suddenly occupied Kuchʻêng
and we felt it must be you. So we came to enquire and we happily fell
in with you here.”
Fei replied, “Kuan Yü and Sun Chʻien are here and my two sisters are
with them. They had heard where my elder brother was.”
This news added to the joy of the two newcomers who went to see Kuan Yü
and the women and then they all entered the city. When the ladies had
settled down a little they related the whole story of the adventures on
the road at which Chang Fei was overcome with remorse and bowed before
his brother bitterly weeping. The brothers Mi were greatly affected.
Then Chang Fei related what had happened to him.
A day was spent in banquets and next day Chang Fei wished his newly
found brother to go with him to Junan to see their elder brother
Yüan-tê. But Kuan Yü said, “No; you take care of the ladies here while
Sun Chʻien and I go to get news.”
So Kuan Yü and Sun Chʻien with a small escort set out. When they
reached Junan they were received by Liu Pʻi who told them their brother
was no longer in the city. After waiting some days he had come to the
conclusion that the soldiers were too few and had gone back to Yüan
Shao to consult with him.
Kuan Yü was greatly disappointed and his companion did his best to
console him. “Do not be sorrowful; it only means the trouble of another
journey into Hopei to tell Uncle Liu and then we can all meet at
Kuchʻêng.”
So spoke Sun Chʻien and Kuan Yü accepted it. They took leave of Liu Pʻi
and returned to Kuchʻêng where they related what had happened. Chang
Fei wanted to go with them into Hopei, but Kuan Yü opposed this,
saying, “Seeing you have this city it makes a rallying point for us and
a resting place. We must not abandon it lightly. We two will go and
while away we look to you to keep the city safe.”
“How can you go after killing the two generals, Yen Liang and Wên
Chʻou?”
“That will not stop me. And after I am there I can act according to
circumstances.”
Then he summoned Chou Tsʻang and asked him, saying, “How many men are
there with Pʻei at Sleeping Bull Mountain?”
“I should think four or five hundred.”
“Now,” said Kuan Yü, “I am going to take the shortest road to find my
brother. Can you go to summon your men and lead them along the high
road to assist me?”
With instructions to bring up these men Chou Tsʻang left, while Kuan Yü
and Sun Chʻien and their small escort went off to the north. When they
drew near the boundary Sun Chʻien said, “You must be careful how you go
over; you ought to stop here while I go in, see Uncle Liu and take the
necessary steps.”
Seeing the wisdom of this Kuan Yü stopped there and sent his companion
in advance, he and his followers going up to a nearby farm as an
abiding place.
When they got to the farm out came a venerable man leaning on a staff.
After exchanging salutes Kuan Yü told the old man all about himself.
“My name is also Kuan; my personal name being Ting,” said the old man.
“I know your reputation and I am very happy to meet you.”
He sent for his two sons to come and make their bow. He put up Kuan in
his house and provided for his escort in the farm buildings.
In the meantime Sun Chʻien had made his way to Chʻichow and seen
Yüan-tê, who said, “Chien Yung also is here. We will send for him
secretly to talk over this matter.”
They did so, and when the usual salutes had been exchanged, they three
began to consider the means of getting away.
“You see Yüan Shao personally,” said Yung, “and say you wish to go to
Chingchou to see Liu Piao about a scheme for the destruction of our
enemy. That will give an excuse.”
“That seems best,” said Liu Pei, “but will you go with me?”
“I have another plan to extricate myself,” said Yung.
Having settled their plans, Yüan-tê soon went in to see his protector
and suggested that, as Liu Piao was strong and well posted, his help
should be sought against their enemy.
“I have sent messengers repeatedly to ask his help,” said Shao, “but he
is unwilling.”
“As he and I are of the same family he will not refuse me if I go and
ask him,” said Liu Pei.
“Certainly he is worth much more than Liu Pʻi; you shall go.”
“I have just heard,” Shao continued, “that Kuan Yün-chʻang has left
Tsʻao Tsʻao and wants to come here. If he does I will put him to death
out of revenge for my two officers.”
“Illustrious Sir, you wished to employ him and so I sent for him. Now
you threaten to put him to death. The two men he slew were but deer
compared with such a tiger as he is. When you exchange a couple of deer
for a tiger you need not complain of the bargain.”
“Really I like him,” said Shao. “I was only joking. You can send
another messenger for him and tell him to come soon.”
“May I send Sun Chʻien for him?”
“Certainly.”
After Yüan-tê had gone Chien Yung came in and said to Shao, “If Yüan-tê
goes he will not come back. I had better go to speak to Liu Piao. And I
can keep a watch on Liu Pei.”
Yüan Shao agreed and issued orders for both to go.
On the subject of the mission Kuo Tʻu came in to his chief to dissuade
him. Said he, “He went to speak to Liu Pʻi, but he accomplished
nothing. Now you are sending Chien Yung with him and I am sure neither
will ever return.”
“Do not be too suspicious,” said Shao. “Chien Yung is clever enough.”
That was the end of the interview. Forthwith Yüan-tê sent Sun Chʻien
back to Kuan Yü and then, with Chien Yung, took leave of Yüan Shao and
rode out of the city. As soon as they reached the border line they met
Sun Chʻien and all three rode off to Kuan Ting’s farm to meet Kuan Yü.
He came out to welcome them, bowed and then seized his brother’s hands
while tears streamed down his face.
Presently the two sons of their host came to bow to the visitors. Liu
Pei asked their names.
“These are of the same name as myself,” said Kuan Yü. “The sons are
Kuan Ning, who is a student, and Kuan Pʻing, who is to be a soldier.”
“I have been thinking of sending the younger in your train, General,”
said old Kuan, “would you take him?”
“What is his age?” said Liu Pei.
“He is eighteen.”
Liu Pei said, “Since, O Senior, you are so kind I venture to suggest
that your son should be adopted by my brother, who has no son of his
own. What think you of that?”
Kuan Ting was perfectly willing, so he called his younger son and bade
him make a son’s obeisance to Kuan Yü and to style Yüan-tê, “Uncle.”
Then it was time to get on their way lest they should be pursued and
with them went Kuan Pʻing in the train of his “father.” The lad’s real
father escorted them a short distance and then left. They took the road
to Sleeping Bull Hill. Before they had gone very far they met Chou
Tsʻang with a small party. He was wounded. He was introduced to Yüan-tê
who asked him how it was. He replied, “Before I reached the Hill a
certain warrior, all alone, had fought with my friend Pʻei and killed
him. Then many of our men surrendered to him and he occupied our old
camp. When I reached it I tried to allure the soldiers back to my side
but only succeeded with a few. The others were too afraid. I got angry
and engaged the interloper, who however worsted me time after time and
wounded me thrice.”
“Who is the warrior? what does he look like?” asked Yüan-tê.
“All I know he is a doughty fighter, I do not know his name.”
Thereafter they advanced toward the hill with Kuan Yü in front and
Yüan-tê in rear. When they drew near Chou Tsʻang began to abuse his
enemy, who soon appeared, mailed and armed, coming down the hills.
Suddenly Yüan-tê rode out waving his whip and shouting, “You, O Comer,
are surely Tzŭ-lung?”
The rider, for it was Chao Tzŭ-lung, (Chao Yün), instantly slipped out
of the saddle and bowed by the roadside.
The brothers dismounted to talk with him and ask how he came to be
there.
“When I left you I had no idea that Kungsun Tsan was a man who would
listen to no reason. The result was disaster and he perished in the
flames. Yüan Shao invited me to him several times, but I thought too
little of him to go. Then I wanted to go to Hsüchou to you, but you had
lost that place and Yün-chʻang had gone over to Tsʻao Tsʻao and you had
joined Yüan Shao. Several times I thought of coming to you but I feared
Yüan Shao. So I drifted from one place to another with nowhere to rest
till I happened to come this way and Pʻei Yüan-shao tried to steal my
horse. So I slew him and took possession of his camp. I heard I-tê was
in Kuchʻêng but thought it might be only a rumour. And so the days have
passed till this happy meeting.”
Yüan-tê told him all that had happened to him since they parted and so
did Kuan Yü.
Said Liu Pʻei, “The first time I saw you I felt drawn to you and did
not want to part from you. I am very happy to meet you again.”
“In all my wanderings, trying to find a lord worth serving, I have seen
no one like you. Now I have reached your side that is enough for all my
life. I care not what may happen to me.”
Next they burned the camp, after which they all took the road back to
Kuchʻêng where they were welcomed. They exchanged the stories of their
several adventures and the two ladies related the valiant deeds of Kuan
Yü whereat Yüan-tê was too affected to speak.
Then they performed a great sacrifice to Heaven and Earth with the
slaughter of a bull and a horse.
The soldiers also were recompensed for their toils. Yüan-tê surveyed
the conditions around him and found therein much to rejoice at. His two
brothers were restored to his side and none of his helpers were
missing. Moreover he had gained Chao Yün, and his brother Kuan Yü had
acquired an adopted son Pʻing. Another captain had joined his ranks in
the person of Chou Tsʻang. There was every occasion for feasting and
gratification.
Scattered wide were the brothers, none knew another’s retreat,
Joyfully now they foregather, dragon and tiger meet.
At this time the forces under the command of the three brothers and
their adherents numbered four or five thousand men. Yüan-tê was in
favour of leaving Kuchʻêng and occupying Junan and just then Liu Pʻei
and Kung Tu, commanders of that city, sent to invite him to go there.
So they went. There they devoted all their efforts to strengthen their
army, both horse and foot, but nothing will be said of the recruiting,
purchase of horses and such matters.
However it must be noted that Yüan Shao was much annoyed when Yüan-tê
did not return and at first was for sending a force after him. However
Kuo Tʻu dissuaded him.
“Liu Pʻei need cause you no anxiety; Tsʻao Tsʻao is your one enemy and
must be destroyed. Even Liu Piao, though strongly posted on the river,
is none too terrible. There is Sun Po-fu on the east of the river,
strong, feared, with wide territory, a large army and able counsellors
and leaders; you should make an alliance there against Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
He won his chief to his view and wrote to Sun, sending the letter by
Chʻên Chên.
Just as one warrior leaves the north,
Another from the east comes forth.
Future chapters will reveal the outcome of these dispositions.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE “LITTLE CHIEF OF THE FEUDAL LORDS” SLAYS YÜ CHI:
THE “BLUE-EYED BOY” LAYS HOLD ON CHIANGTUNG.
We may tell here how Sun Tsʻê gradually became supreme on the east of
the river. In the fourth year of the period “Established Peace,” [12]
he took Luchiang by the defeat of the Prefect Liu Hsün. He despatched
Yu Fan with a despatch to the Prefect of Yuchang, [13] Hua Hsin, and he
surrendered. Thence his renown increased and he boldly sent a memorial
on his military successes to the Emperor by the hand of Chang Hung.
Tsʻao Tsʻao saw in him a powerful rival and said he was a lion
difficult to contend with. So he betrothed his niece, daughter of Tsʻao
Jên, to Sun Kʻuang, the youngest brother of Sun Tsʻê, thus connecting
the two families by marriage. He also retained Chang Hung near him in
the capital.
Then Sun Tsʻê sought the title of Ta Ssŭ-ma, or Minister of War, one of
the highest offices of State, but Tsʻao Tsʻao prevented the attainment
of this ambition, and Sun Tsʻê keenly resented it. Henceforward his
thoughts turned toward an attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao.
About this time the Prefect of Wuchün sent a secret letter to the
capital to Tsʻao Tsʻao, saying that Sun Tsʻê was a turbulent fellow of
the Hsiang Chi type and the government ought, under the appearance of
showing favour to him, to recall him to the capital for he was a danger
in the provinces. But the bearer of this letter was captured on the
Yangtse River and sent to Sun Tsʻê, who immediately put him to death.
Then he treacherously sent to ask the author of the letter, Hsü Kung by
name, to come and consult over some affair. The unsuspecting man came.
Sun Tsʻê produced the letter, saying, “So you wish to send me to the
land of the dead, eh?” and thereupon the executioners came in and
strangled him. The family of the victim scattered, but three of his
clients determined to avenge him if only they could find some means of
attacking Sun.
Their chance came in the hunting field. One day Sun went hunting in the
hills to the west of Tantʻu. A stag was started and Sun pressed after
it at topmost speed and followed it deep into the forest. Presently he
came upon three armed men standing among the trees. Rather surprised to
see them there he reined in and asked who they were.
“We belong to Han Tang’s army and are shooting deer,” was the reply.
So Sun Tsʻê shook his bridle to proceed. But just as he did so one of
the men thrust at him with a spear and wounded his thigh. Sun drew the
sword at his side, dashed forward and cut down the aggressor. The blade
of his sword suddenly fell to the ground, only the hilt remaining in
his hand. Then one of the assassins drew his bow and an arrow wounded
Sun in the cheek. He plucked out the arrow and shot at the offender,
who fell, but the other two attacked him furiously with their spears,
shouting, “We are Hsü Kung’s men and his avengers!”
Sun Tsʻê then understood. But he had no weapons save his bow against
them. He tried to draw off, keeping them at bay by striking with his
bow, but the fight was getting too much for him and both he and his
steed were wounded in several places. However, just at the critical
moment, some of his own men came up and they made short work of the
remaining two avengers.
But their lord was in a sorry plight. His face was streaming with blood
and some of the wounds were very severe. They tore up his robe and
therewith bound up his wounds and they carried him home.
A poem in praise of the three avengers says:—
O Sun Tsʻê was a warrior and a stranger he to fear,
But he was basely murdered while hunting of the deer.
Yet were they leal who slew him, to avenge a murdered lord,
Self immolated like Yü-jang, they dreaded not the sword.
Badly wounded, Sun Tsʻê was borne to his home. They sent to call the
famous physician, Hua Tʻo, but he was far away and could not be found.
However, a disciple of his came and the wounded man was committed to
his care.
“The arrowheads were poisoned,” said the physician, “and the poison has
penetrated deep. It will take a hundred days of perfect repose before
danger will be past. But if you give way to passion or anger the wounds
will not heal.”
Sun’s temperament was hasty and impatient and the prospect of such a
slow recovery was very distasteful. However, he remained quiet for some
twenty of the hundred days. Then came a messenger from the capital and
he insisted on seeing and questioning him.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao fears you, my lord, very greatly,” said the messenger,
“and his advisers have exceeding respect for you; all except Kuo Chia.”
“What did he say?” asked the sick chieftain.
The messenger remained silent, which only irritated his master and
caused him to demand to be told. So the messenger had to speak the
truth. He said, “The fact is Kuo Chia told Tsʻao Tsʻao that he need not
fear you, that you were frivolous and unready, impulsive and shallow,
just a stupid swaggerer who would one day come to his death at the
hands of some mean person.”
This provoked the sick man beyond endurance.
“How dare he say this of me, the fool!” cried Sun Tsʻê. “I will take
the capital from Tsʻao, I swear.”
It was no more a question of repose. Ill as he was he wanted to begin
preparations for an expedition at once. They remonstrated with him,
reminded him of the physician’s orders and urged him to rest.
“You are risking your priceless self in a moment’s anger,” said Chang
Chao.
Then arrived Chʻên Chên, the messenger from Yüan Shao, and Sun would
have him brought in. He said. “My master wishes to ally himself with Wu
in an attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
Such a proposal was just after Sun’s heart. At once he called a great
meeting of his officers in the wall tower and prepared a banquet in
honour of the messenger. While this was in progress he noticed many of
his captains whispering to each other and they all began to go down
from the banquet chamber. He could not understand this and enquired of
the attendants near him what it meant. They told him that Saint Yü had
just gone by and the officers had gone down to pay their respects to
him. Sun Tsʻê rose from his place and went and leaned over the railing
to look at the man. He saw a Taoist priest in snowy garb leaning on his
staff in the middle of the road, while the crowd about him burnt
incense and made obeisance.
“What wizard fellow is this? Bring him here!” said Sun.
“This is Yü Chi,” said the attendants. “He lives in the east and goes
to and fro distributing charms and draughts. He has cured many people
as everybody will tell you, and they say he is a saint. He must not be
profaned.”
This only angered Sun the more and he told them to arrest the man at
once or disobey at their peril. So there being no help for it they went
down into the road and hustled the saint up the steps.
“You madman! How dare you incite men to evil?” said Sun Tsʻê.
“I am but a poor priest of the Lanyeh Palace. More than half a century
ago, when gathering simples in the woods, I found near the Chüyang
Spring a book called “The Way of Peace.” It contains a hundred and more
chapters and taught me how to cure the diseases of men. With this in my
possession I had only one thing to do, to devote myself to spreading
its teachings and saving mankind. I have never taken any thing from the
people. Can you say I incite men to evil deeds?”
“You say you take nothing; whence came your clothes and your food? The
fact is you are one of the Yellow Turban kidney and you will work
mischief if you are left alive.” “Take him away and put him to death,”
continued he to his attendants.
Chang Chao interceded, “The Taoist has been here in the east these many
years. He has never done any harm and does not deserve death or
punishment.”
“I tell you I will kill these wizard fellows just as I would cattle.”
The officials in a body interceded, even the guest of honour Chʻên
Chên, but in vain; Sun Tsʻê refused to be placated. He ordered the
Taoist to be imprisoned.
The banquet came to an end and the messenger retired to his lodging.
Sun Tsʻê also returned to his palace.
His treatment of the Taoist Holy Man was the theme of general
conversation and soon reached the ears of his mother. She sent for her
son to the ladies’ apartments and said to him, “They tell me you have
put the Taoist in bonds. He has cured many sick people and the common
folk hold him in great reverence. Do not harm him.”
“He is simply a wizard who upsets the multitude with his spells and
craft. He must be put to death,” replied Tsʻê.
She entreated him to stay his hand, but he was obstinate. “Do not heed
the gossip of the street, mother,” said he. “I must be judge of these
matters.”
However, he sent to the prison for the Taoist in order to interrogate
him. Now the gaolers having a great respect for Yü Chi and faith in his
powers were very indulgent to him and did not keep him in the collar.
However when Tsʻê sent for him he went with collar and fetters all
complete.
Tsʻê had heard of their indulgence and punished the gaolers so that the
prisoner thereafter lay in constant torture. Chang Chao and some
others, moved by pity, made a petition which they humbly presented and
they offered to become surety for him.
Sun Tsʻê said to them, “Gentlemen, you are all great scholars, but why
do you not understand reason? Formerly in Chiaochou was a certain
Governor Chang Ching, who was deluded by these vicious doctrines into
beating drums, twanging lyres, burning incense and such things. He wore
a red turban and represented himself as able to ensure victory to an
army. But he was slain by the enemy. There is nothing in all this, only
none of you will see it. I am going to put this fellow to death in
order to stop the spread of this pernicious doctrine.”
Lü Fan interposed, “I know very well this Yü Chi can control the
weather. It is very dry just now, why not make him pray for rain as an
amercement?”
“We will see what sort of witchcraft he is equal to,” said Sun Tsʻê.
Whereupon he had the prisoner brought in, loosed his fetters and sent
him up to an altar to intercede for rain.
The docile Taoist prepared to do as he was bidden. He first bathed
himself, then dressed himself in clean garments. After that he bound
his limbs with a cord and lay down in the fierce heat of the sun. The
people came in crowds to look on.
Said he, “I will pray for three feet of refreshing rain for the benefit
of the people, nevertheless I shall not escape death thereby.”
The people said, “But if your prayer be efficacious our lord must
believe in your powers.”
“The day of fate has come for me and there is no escape.”
Presently Sun Tsʻê came near the altar and announced that if rain had
not fallen by noon he would burn the priest. And to confirm this he
bade them prepare the pyre.
As it neared noon a strong wind sprang up and the clouds gathered from
all quarters. But there was no rain.
“It is near noon,” said Sun Tsʻê. “Clouds are of no account without
rain. He is only an impostor.”
He bade his attendants lay the priest on the pyre and pile wood around
him and apply the torch. Fanned by the gale the flames rose rapidly.
Then appeared in the sky above a wreath of black vapour followed by
roaring thunder and vivid lightning, peal on peal and flash on flash.
And the rain fell in a perfect deluge. In a short time the streets
became rivers and torrents. It was indeed a three feet fall.
Yü Chi, who was still lying upon the pile of firewood, cried in a loud
voice, “O clouds, cease thy rain, and let the glorious sun appear!”
Thereupon officials and people helped the priest down, loosened the
cord that bound him and bowed before him in gratitude for the rain.
But Sun Tsʻê boiled with rage at seeing his officers and the people
gathered in groups and kneeling in the water regardless of the damage
to their clothing.
“Rain or shine are as nature appoints them and the wizard has happened
to hit upon a moment of change; what are you making all this fuss
about?” cried he.
Then he drew his sword and told the attendants to smite the Taoist
therewith. They all besought him to hold his hand.
“You want to follow Yü Chi in rebellion, I suppose,” cried Sun Tsʻê.
The officers, now thoroughly cowed by the rage of their lord, were
silent and showed no opposition when the executioners seized the
unhappy Taoist and beheaded him.
They saw just a wreath of black smoke drift away to the north-east
where lay the Langyeh Mountains.
The corpse was exposed in the market place as a warning to enchanters
and wizards and such people. That night there came a very violent storm
and when it calmed down at daylight there was no trace of the body. The
guards reported this and Sun Tsʻê in his wrath sentenced them to death.
But as he did so he saw Yü Chi calmly walking toward him as if he were
still alive. He drew his sword and darted forward to strike at the
wraith, but he fainted and fell to the ground.
They carried him to his chamber and in a short time he recovered
consciousness. His mother, the Lady Wu, came to visit him and said, “My
son, you have done wrong to slay the holy one and this is your
retribution.”
“Mother, when I was a boy I went with my father to the wars, where men
are cut down as one cuts hempen stalks. There is not much retribution
about such doings. I have put this fellow to death and so checked a
great evil. Where does retribution come in?”
“This comes of want of faith,” she replied. “Now you must avert the
evil by meritorious deeds.”
“My fate depends on Heaven: wizards can do me no harm, so why avert
anything?”
His mother saw that it was useless to try persuasion, but she told his
attendants to do some good deeds secretly whereby the evil should be
turned aside.
That night about the third watch, as Sun Tsʻê lay in his chamber, he
suddenly felt a chill breeze, which seemed to extinguish the lamps for
a moment, although they soon brightened again, and he saw in the lamp
light the form of Yü Chi standing near his bed.
Sun said, “I am the sworn foe of witchcraft and I will purge the world
of all such as deal in magic. You are a spirit and how dare you
approach me?”
Reaching down a sword that hung at the head of his bed he hurled it at
the phantom, which then disappeared. When his mother heard this story
her grief redoubled. Sun Tsʻê, ill as he was, did his utmost to
reassure his mother.
She said, “The Holy One says, ‘How abundantly do spiritual beings
display the powers that belong to them!’ and ‘Prayer has been made to
the spirits of the upper and lower worlds.’ You must have faith. You
sinned in putting Master Yü to death and retribution is sure. I have
already sent to have sacrifices performed at the Jade-pure Monastery
and you should go in person to pray. May all come right!”
Sun Tsʻê could not withstand such a mandate from his mother so,
mustering all his strength, he managed to get into a sedan chair and
went to the monastery, where the Taoists received him respectfully and
begged him to light the incense. He did so, but he returned no thanks.
To the surprise of all, the smoke from the brazier, instead of floating
upwards and dissipating, collected in a mass that gradually shaped
itself into an umbrella and there on the top sat Yü Chi.
Sun Tsʻê simply spat abuse and went out of the temple. As he passed the
gates, lo! Yü Chi stood there gazing at him with angry eyes.
“Do you see that wizard fellow?” said he to those about him.
They said they saw nothing. More angry than ever he flung his sword at
the figure by the gate. The sword struck one of his escort who fell.
When they turned him over they saw it was the executioner who had
actually slain the Taoist. The sword had penetrated his brain and his
life drained out through the seven channels of perception. Sun Tsʻê
told them to bury the man. But as he went out of the courtyard he saw
Yü Chi walking in.
“This temple is nothing more than a lurking place for sorcerers and
wizards and such people,” said he.
Whereupon he took a seat in front of the building and sent for half a
company of soldiers to pull the place down. When they went up on the
roof to strip off the tiles he saw Yü Chi standing on the main beam
flicking tiles to the ground. More angry than ever he told them to
drive out the priests belonging to the place and burn it. They did so
and when the flames rose their highest he saw the dead Taoist Yü Chi
standing in the midst of the fire.
Sun Tsʻê returned home still in a bad humour, which increased when he
saw the form of Yü Chi standing at his gate. He would not enter but
mustered his army and went into camp outside the city walls. And there
he summoned his officers to meet him and talk over joining Yüan in an
attack on Tsʻao.
They assembled, but they remonstrated with him and begged him to
consider his precious health. That night he slept in the camp and again
saw Yü Chi, this time with his hair hanging loose. He raged at the
vision without cessation.
Next day his mother called him into the city and he went. She was
shocked at the change in his appearance; he looked so utterly
miserable. Her tears fell.
“My son,” said she, “how wasted you are!”
He had a mirror brought and looked at himself; he was indeed so gaunt
and thin that he was almost frightened and exclaimed, “How do I come to
look so haggard?”
While he spoke, Yü Chi appeared in the mirror. He struck it and
shrieked. Then the half healed wounds re-opened and he fainted.
He was raised and borne within. When he recovered consciousness he
said, “This is the end; I shall die.”
He sent for Chang Chao and his other chief officers and his brother,
Sun Chʻüan, and they gathered in his chamber. He gave them his dying
charge, saying, “In the disordered state of the Empire Wu and Yüeh,
with their strong defence of the Three Chiang, have a brilliant future.
You, Chang Chao, must assist my brother.”
So saying he handed his seal to Sun Chʻüan saying, “For manipulating
the might of Chiangtung so as to make it the deciding force between two
factions and then obtaining the whole Empire you are not so suited as
I; but in encouraging the wise and confiding in the able and getting
the best out of every one for the preservation of this district, I
should not succeed as you will. Remember with what toil and labour your
father and I have won what we possess and take good care thereof.”
Sun Chʻüan wept as he knelt to receive the seal and the dying chief
turned to his mother, “Mother, the days allotted of Heaven have run out
and I can no longer serve my tender mother. I have given over the seal
to my brother and trust that you will advise him early and late, and
see that he lives worthy of his predecessors.”
“Alas! your brother is full young for such a task,” said his mother
weeping. “I know not what may happen.”
“He is far abler than I and fully equal to the task of ruling. Should
he have doubts upon internal affairs, he must turn to Chang Chao; for
outer matters he must consult Chou Yü. It is a pity Chou Yü is absent
so that I cannot give him my charge face to face.”
To his brothers he said, “When I am gone you must help your brother.
Should any discord arise in the family let the others punish the
wrong-doer and let not his ashes mingle with those of his ancestors in
the family vaults.”
The young men wept at these words. Then he called for his wife, the
famous beauty of the Chʻiao family, and said, “Unhappily we have to
part while still in the full vigour of life. You must care for my
mother. Your sister will come to see you presently and you can ask her
to tell Chou Yü to help my brother in all things and make him keep to
the way I have taught him to walk in.”
Then he closed his eyes and soon after passed away. He was only
twenty-six.
Men called him first of the chieftains,
The east had felt his might,
He watched like a tiger crouching,
Struck as a hawk in flight.
There was peace in the lands he ruled,
His fame ran with the wind,
But he died and left to another,
The great scheme in his mind.
As his brother breathed his last Sun Chʻüan sank by his bed and wept.
“This is not the time to mourn,” said Chang Chao. “First see to the
funeral ceremonies and that the government is safe.”
So the new ruler dried his tears. The superintendence of the funeral
was confided to Sun Ching and then Chang Chao led his young master to
the hall to receive the felicitations of his officers.
Sun Chʻüan was endowed with a square jaw and a large mouth; he had blue
eyes and a dark brown beard. Formerly, when Liu Yüan had gone to Wu to
visit the Sun family, he said of the family of brothers, “I have looked
well at them all and they are all clever and perspicacious, but none of
them have the very ultimate degree of good fortune. Only the second has
the look of a deep thinker. His face is remarkable, and his build
unusual, and he has the look of one who will come to great honour. But
none of them will attain to the blessing of a great age.”
History says that when Sun Chʻüan succeeded to his brother and his
brother’s might, there was still some reorganization to be done. Soon
Chou Yü had arrived. The young ruler received him very graciously and
said, “I need have no anxiety now that you have come.”
It will be remembered that Chou Yü had been sent to hold Pachʻiu. When
he heard that his chief had been wounded by an arrow he thought it well
to return to see how he was. But Sun Tsʻê had died before Chou Yü could
arrive. He hurried to be present at the funeral.
When he went to wail at the coffin of his late chief, Wu Fu-jên, the
dead man’s mother, came out to deliver her son’s last injunctions. When
she had told him the last charge he bowed to the earth, saying, “I
shall exert the puny powers I have in your service as long as I live.”
Shortly after Sun Chʻüan came in, and, after receiving Chou Yü’s
obeisance, said, “I trust you will not forget my brother’s charge to
you.”
Chou bowed saying, “I would willingly suffer any form of death for
you.”
“How best can I maintain this grave charge which I have inherited from
my father and brother?”
“He who wins men, prospers; he who loses them, fails. Your present plan
should be to seek men of high aims and farseeing views and you can
establish yourself firmly.”
“My brother bade me consult Chang Chao for internal administration, and
yourself on external matters,” said Chʻüan.
“Chang Chao is wise and understanding and equal to such a task. I am
devoid of talent and fear to take such responsibility, but I venture to
recommend to you as a helper one Lu Su, named Tzŭ-ching, a man of
Tungchʻuan. This man’s bosom hides strategy and his breast conceals
tactics. He lost his father in early life and has been a perfectly
filial son to his mother. His family is rich and renowned for charity
to the needy. When I was stationed at Chʻao-chʻang I led some hundreds
of men across the Linhuai. We were short of grain. Hearing that the Lu
family had two granaries there, each holding three thousand measures, I
went to ask for help. Lu Su pointed to one granary and said, ‘Take that
as a gift.’ Such was his generosity!
“He has always been fond of fencing and horse archery. He was living in
Chuo. His grandmother died while he was there and he went to bury her
in Tungchʻêng and then his friend, Liu Tzŭ-yang, wished to engage him
to go to Chʻaohu and join Chêng Pao. However, he hesitated about that
and has not gone yet. You should invite him without loss of time.”
Sun Chʻüan at once sent Chou Yü to engage the services of this man and
he set out. When the obeisances were over he laid before his friend the
inducements that his own master held out. He replied that as he had
been engaged by Liu Tzŭ-yang to go to Chʻaohu he was just starting
thither.
Said Chou Yü, “Of old Ma Yüan said to Kuang-Wu, ‘This is an age when
not only do princes select their ministers, but ministers choose their
princes.’ Now our General Sun calls to him the wise and treats his
officers well. Thus he engages the help of the wonderful and gets the
services of the extraordinary in a way that few others do. But if you
are not engaged elsewhere come with me to Wu as the best thing to do.”
Lu Su returned with him and saw Sun Chʻüan, who treated him with the
greatest deference and with him discussed affairs very fully. The
conference proved so interesting that it went on all day and neither
felt fatigue.
One day at the close of the usual reception, the chief kept Lu Su to
dine with him. They sat up late and by and by slept on the same couch
as would the closest of friends. In the dead of night Sun Chʻüan said
to his bedfellow, “The Dynasty is failing and everything is at sixes
and sevens. I have received a great charge from my father and brother
and I am thinking of imitating the actions of Huan and Wên and becoming
the leader of the feudal lords and I pray you instruct me.”
Lu Su replied, “Of old Han Kao-Tsu wished to honour and serve the
Emperor I, but could not on account of Hsiang Yü’s evil doings. Now
Tsʻao Tsʻao can be compared with Hsiang Yü; how can you be Huan and
Wên? My humble opinion is that the Hans have fallen beyond hope of
recovery and Tsʻao Tsʻao cannot be destroyed and that the only key to
your schemes is to secure your present position in order to keep the
master hand and control the combinations among the others. Now take
advantage of the turmoil in the north to smite Huang Tsu and attack Liu
Piao. Thereby you will command the whole length of the Great River
(Yangtse). Then you may style yourself Emperor or King and thereafter
as may be. This was how Kao-Tsu acted.”
Hearing this Sun Chʻüan was very greatly pleased. He threw on some
clothing, got up and thanked his new-found adviser. Next day Sun Chʻüan
gave him costly gifts and sent robes and hangings to his mother.
Lu Su then recommended a friend of his to the young man’s notice, a man
of wide reading and great ability. He was also a filial son. His double
name was Chuko Chin and he came from Nanyang. Sun Chʻüan treated him as
a superior guest. This man dissuaded Sun Chʻüan from making common
cause with Yüan Shao, but advised him rather to favour Tsʻao Tsʻao,
against whom he could plan when occasion served. Sun Chʻüan therefore
sent back the messenger Chʻên Chên with despatches that broke off all
negotiations.
Hearing of Sun Tsʻê’s death, Tsʻao Tsʻao was for sending an expedition
against Chiangnan. But a certain historian, Chang Hung, dissuaded him,
saying that it would be mean to take advantage of the period of
mourning.
“And if you should not overcome him you will make him an enemy instead
of being a friend. It would be preferable to treat him generously.”
So Tsʻao memorialised the throne and obtained for Sun Chʻüan the title
of Generalissimo and Prefect of Kueichi, while Chang Hung was appointed
under him as Tu-yu.
And a seal of office was sent him. The new appointment pleased Sun
Chʻüan and he was also glad to get Chang Hung back again. He was sent
to act jointly with Chang Chao.
Chang Hung was the means of getting another into Sun Chʻüan’s service.
His friend was Ku Yung, known also as Yüan-tʻan, a disciple of the
historian Tsʻai Yung. He was a man of few words and an abstainer from
wine. He was very correct in all things. Sun Chʻüan employed him in the
administration.
Henceforward Sun Chʻüan’s rule was very prosperous and he waxed
mightily in influence and won the love of all the people.
When Chʻên Chên had returned and related the events in Wu, and told of
the honours that Tsʻao Tsʻao had obtained for the young man in return
for his support, Yüan Shao was very wroth and he set about preparing
for an attack on the capital with a force of seventy legions of
northern men.
Although in the south they rest from war,
They rattle the spears ’neath the northern star.
Later it will be seen which side conquered.
CHAPTER XXX.
YÜAN SHAO DEFEATED AT THE FERRY:
TSʻAO TSʻAO BURNS THE WUCHʻAO GRANARIES.
Hearing that Yüan Shao was hastening to attack at Kuantu, Hsiahou Tun
wrote to the capital urgently asking for reinforcements, and Tsʻao
Tsʻao told off seventy legions with which he marched. Hsün Yü was left
to guard the capital.
Just as Yüan’s army was starting Tʻien Fêng sent out a remonstrance
from his prison cell denouncing the policy of attack and counselling
Shao to wait upon such times as Heaven should appoint.
An enemy said to Yüan, “Why does this Tʻien Fêng utter ill-omened
words? My lord is sending forth an army in the cause of humanity and
justice.”
Easily moved to anger Yüan Shao was going to execute Tʻien, but this
time he forbore at the entreaties of many of his officers. However, he
was not appeased, for he said, “I will punish him when I return from
conquering Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
Meanwhile he hastened to start. The banners of his host filled the
horizon, their swords were as trees in the forest. They marched to
Yangwu and there made a strong camp.
Then Chü Shou once more opposed any hasty movement, saying, “Though our
soldiers are many they are not so bold as the enemy; however, veterans
as are the enemy they have not ample supplies. Therefore they will wish
to force on a speedy battle, while our policy is to hold them off and
delay. If we can keep from a decisive battle long enough the victory
will be ours without fighting.”
This advice did not appeal to the General. Said he, threateningly,
“Tʻien Fêng spake discouraging words to my armies and I will assuredly
put him to death on my return. How dare you follow in the same way?”
He summoned the lictors and sent away the adviser in chains, saying,
“When I have overcome Tsʻao then will I deal with you and Tʻien Fêng
together.”
The huge army was camped in four divisions, one toward each point of
the compass. The camps were ninety li in circuit. Scouts and spies were
sent out to discover the strong and the weak points of the enemy.
Tsʻao’s army arrived and were smitten with fear when they heard of the
strength of their enemy. The leader called together his council. Then
said the adviser Hsün Yu, “The enemy are many but not terrible. Ours is
an army of veterans, every man worth ten, but our advantage lies in a
speedy battle for unhappily our stores are insufficient for a long
campaign.”
“You speak to the point,” said Tsʻao. “I think the same.”
Therefore he issued orders to press forward and force on a battle. Yüan
Shao’s men took up the challenge and the two sides were arrayed. On
Yüan’s side a legion of crossbow men were placed in ambush on the two
wings, while half a legion of archers held the centre. The signal for
general attack was a bomb and the onset was to continue through three
rolls of the drum.
Yüan Shao wore a silver helmet and breastplate and an embroidered robe
held in by a jewelled belt. He took up his post in the centre with his
numerous captains ranged right and left. His banners and ensigns made a
brave show.
When the Tsʻao army centre opened and the banners moved aside the great
captain appeared on horseback with his staff of doughty leaders all
fully armed. Pointing with his whip at Yüan Shao he cried, “In the
presence of the Emperor I pressed your claims to consideration and
obtained for you the title of Generalissimo; why do you now plan
rebellion?”
Yüan replied, “You take the title of a minister of Han, but you are
really a rebel against the House. Your crimes and evil deeds reach to
the heavens, and you are worse than the usurper Mang and the rebel Cho.
What are these slanderous words about rebellion that dare you address
to me?”
“I have a command to make you prisoner.”
“I have the Girdle Decree to arrest rebels,” replied Yüan.
Then Tsʻao became wrathful and bade Chang Liao ride forth as his
champion. From the other side rode Chang Ho on a curvetting steed. The
two champions fought four or five bouts with no advantage to either. In
his heart Tsʻao thought the contest amazing. Then Hsü Chʻu whirled up
his sword and went to help. To match him rode out Kao Lan with his
spear in rest, and the contestants were now four, battling two and two.
Then Tsʻao ordered three companies under Hsiahou Tun and Tsʻao Hung to
attack the opponents’ array. Thereupon on Yüan’s side the signal for
attack was also given and the legion of crossbow men on the wings shot
and the centre archers let fly all together. The arrows flew all over
the field in front and Tsʻao’s men could not advance. They hastened
away toward the south. Yüan threw his soldiers on their rear and they
were broken. They went away toward Kuantu and Yüan advanced another
stage. He camped near them.
Then Shên Pʻei said, “Now send ten legions to guard Kuantu and get near
Tsʻao’s camp, then throw up observation mounds to get a clear view of
the enemy and choose vantage points whence to shoot arrows into the
midst of their host. If we can force him to evacuate this place we
shall have gained a strategical point whence Hsüchʻang can be
attacked.”
Yüan adopted this suggestion. From each of the camps they sought out
the strongest veterans who dug with iron spades and carried earth to
raise mounds near Tsʻao’s camp.
Tsʻao’s men saw what their enemies were doing and were anxious to make
a sortie and drive them off. But the archers and crossbow men came out
commanding the narrow throat through which it was necessary to attack
and stayed them. At the end of ten days they had thrown up more than
half a hundred mounds and on the summit of each was a lofty tower,
whence the archers could command their opponents’ camp. Tsʻao’s men
were greatly frightened and held up their bucklers to keep off the
various missiles. From the mounds the arrows flew down, pang! pang!
like a fierce rain. The men of the Yüan army laughed and jeered when
they saw their enemies crouching under their shields and crawling on
the ground to avoid their missiles.
Tsʻao saw that his soldiers were getting out of hand under this attack
so he called a council. Liu Yeh spoke up saying, “Let us make ballistæ
and so destroy them.”
Tsʻao at once had models brought and set cunning workmen to make these
machines. They soon constructed some hundreds and placed them along the
walls of the camp inside, just opposite the high ladders on the enemy’s
mounds.
Then they watched for the archers to ascend the towers. As soon as they
began to shoot all the ballistæ began to heave their stone balls into
the skies and they wrought great havoc. There was no shelter from them
and enormous numbers of the archers were killed. Yüan’s men called
these machines “Rumblers” and after their appearance the archers dared
not ascend the mounds to shoot.
Then Shên Pʻei, the strategist, thought out another plan. He set men to
tunnel under the walls into the midst of Tsʻao’s camp and called this
corps “The Sappers.” Tsʻao’s men saw the enemy digging out pits behind
the mounds and told the chief, who at once sought a counter plan from
Liu Yeh.
“As Yüan Shao can no longer attack openly he is attacking secretly and
is tunnelling a road under ground into the midst of our camp,” said he.
“But how to meet it?”
“We can surround the camp with a deep moat which renders their tunnel
useless.”
So a deep moat was dug as quickly as possible and when the enemy
sappers arrived thereat, lo! their labour had been in vain and the sap
was useless.
It is recorded that Tsʻao held Kuantu throughout the eighth and ninth
months when, the men being worn out and provisions failing, he began to
think of giving up and returning to the capital. As he could not make
up his mind he referred his difficulties by letter to Hsün Yü, whom he
had left to guard Hsüchʻang. The reply he got was to this effect:—“I
have received your command to decide whether to continue the campaign
or retire. It appears to me that Yüan Shao assembled such large forces
at Kuantu with the expectation of winning a decision. You, Sir, are
very weak while he is very strong and if you cannot get the better of
him he will be able to work his will on you for this is a crisis of
empire. Your opponents are indeed numerous, but their leader knows not
how to use them. With your military genius and discernment where are
you not sure to succeed? Now though your numbers are small it is not as
when Chʻu and Han were between Jungyang and Chʻêngkao. You are securely
intrenched with your hands on his throat, and even if you cannot
advance, that state of things cannot endure for ever but must change.
This is the time to play some unexpected move and you must not miss it.
The device I leave to your illustrious ingenuity.”
This letter greatly pleased Tsʻao and he urged upon his men to use
every effort to maintain the position.
Yüan having retired some thirty li, Tsʻao sent out scouts to ascertain
his new dispositions. One of Hsü Huang’s officers captured an enemy spy
and sent him to his chief, who interrogated him and found out that a
convoy of supplies was expected and that this spy and others had been
sent to find out what were the risks of the route. Hsü Huang went at
once to tell Tsʻao. When the adviser Hsün Yu heard that the commander
of the convoy was Han Mêng he said, “That fellow is a valiant fool. A
few companies of light horse sent to intercept him can capture the
whole train and cause much trouble in the enemy’s camp.”
“Whom should I send?” asked Tsʻao.
“You might send Hsü Huang; he is capable of such a task.”
So Hsü was deputed and he took with him Shih Huan, who had captured the
spy, and his company. And this party was supported by Chang Liao and
Hsü Chʻu.
It was night when the commissariat train of many thousands of carts
drew near Yüan Shao’s camp. As they passed through a defile Tsʻao’s men
came out and stopped the train. Han Mêng galloped up to give battle but
was soon overcome. The guard was scattered and soon the whole train was
in flames. The escort and their leader got away.
The glow of the flames seen from Shao’s camp caused great
consternation, which became fear when the escaped soldiers rode in and
told their tale.
Yüan sent out Chang Ho and Kao Lan to try to intercept the raiders and
they came upon Hsü Huang and his company. Just as they were attacking
reinforcements came up and the Yüan men were between two fires. They
were cut to pieces and the successful captains rode back to Kuantu,
where they were richly rewarded.
As an additional safeguard Tsʻao made a supporting outpost in front of
the main camp to be the apex of a triangle of defence.
When Han Mêng returned with his woeful tidings Yüan Shao was angry and
threatened to put him to death. His colleagues begged him off.
Then said Shên Pʻei, “Food is very important for an army in the field
and must be defended with the greatest diligence. Wuchʻao is our main
depôt and must be carefully guarded.”
“My plans being complete,” said Shao, “you may as well return to Yehtu
and undertake the control of the supplies. Let there be no shortage.”
So Shên Pʻei left the army.
Then a force of two legions under six captains was told off to defend
the depôt. One of these captains, Shunyu Chʻiung, was a hard man and a
heavy drinker, who in his cups was a terror to the men. Under the idle
life of guarding the supply depôt the leaders gave themselves up to
indulgence and drank heavily.
In Tsʻao’s army also food was getting scarce and a message was sent to
the capital to send grain quickly. The messenger with the letter,
however, had not gone far when he fell into the hands of Shao’s men,
who took him to the adviser Hsü Yu. Seeing from the letter that Tsʻao
was short of supplies the adviser went to his master and told him
saying, “Tsʻao Tsʻao and we have been at grips here for a long time and
the capital must be undefended. A small army sent quickly could take it
and at the same moment an attack here would deliver Tsʻao into our
hands. Now is the moment to strike, for his supplies are short.”
Shao replied, “Tsʻao is full of ruses and this letter is artfully
designed to bring about a battle to suit himself.”
“If you do not take this chance he will do you some injury by and by.”
Just at this juncture in came a despatch from Yehchün in which, after
some details regarding the forwarding of grain, Shên Pʻei said he had
discovered that Hsü Yu had been in the habit of receiving bribes while
in Chʻichou and had winked at his relatives collecting excess taxes.
One son and nephew were then in prison.
At this Yüan Shao turned on Hsü Yu angrily and said, “How can you have
the face to stand before me and propose plans, you extortionate fellow?
You and Tsʻao Tsʻao have old likings for each other and he has bribed
you to do his dirty work for him and help his base schemes. Now you
want to betray my army. I ought to take off your head, but temporarily
I will let your neck carry it away. Get out and never let me see you
again.”
The discredited adviser sighed and went out, saying, “Faithful words
offend his ear. He is a pest and unworthy of advice from me. And now
that Shên Pʻei has injured my son and nephew how can I look my fellow
men in the face again?”
And he drew his sword to end his life. But his people prevented that.
They said, “If Yüan Shao rejects your honest words then assuredly he
will be taken by Tsʻao Tsʻao. You are an old friend of Tsʻao’s; why not
abandon the shade for the sunlight?”
Just these few words awakened him to consciousness of his position and
he decided to leave Yüan Shao and go over to Tsʻao Tsʻao for he was an
old friend.
Vainly now for chances lost
Yüan sighs; once he was great.
Had he taken Hsü’s advice,
Tsʻao had not set up a State.
Hsü Yu stealthily left the camp and set out for Tsʻao’s lines. He was
captured on the way. He told his captors he was an old friend of the
Minister’s and asked them to tell him that Hsü Yu of Nanyang wished to
see him.
They did so. Tsʻao was resting in his tent, his clothing loose and
comfortable after the toils of the day. When he heard who wished to see
him he arose quite joyfully and dressed himself hastily to receive Hsü.
He went forth to greet him. They saw each other in the distance and
Tsʻao Tsʻao clapped his hands with gladness bowing to the ground when
near enough to his visitor. Hsü Yu hastened to help him rise, saying,
“Sir, you, a great Minister, should not thus salute a simple civilian
like me.”
“But you are my old friend and no name or office makes any difference
to us,” replied Tsʻao.
“Having been unable to choose the lord I would serve I had to bow my
head before Yüan Shao. But he was deaf to my words and disregarded my
plans. Wherefore I have left him and come now to see my old friend from
whom I hope employment.”
“If Tzŭ-yuan is willing to come then have I indeed a helper,” said
Tsʻao. “I desire you to give me a scheme for the destruction of Yüan
Shao.”
“I counselled him to send a light force to take the capital so that
head and tail be both attacked.”
Tsʻao was alarmed. “If he does so, I am lost.”
“How much grain have you in store?” said the new adviser.
“Enough for a year.”
“I think not quite,” said Yu smiling.
“Well, half a year.”
The visitor shook out his sleeves, rose and hurried toward the door of
the tent, saying, “I offer him good counsel and he repays me with
deceit. Could I have expected it?”
Tsʻao held him back. “Do not be angry,” said he. “I will tell you the
truth. Really I have here only enough for three months.”
“Everybody says you are a marvel of wickedness and indeed it is true,”
said Yu.
“But who does not know that in war there is no objection to deceit?”
replied Tsʻao. Then whispering in the other’s ear he said, “Actually
here I have only supplies for this month’s use.”
“O do not throw dust in my eyes any more. Your grain is exhausted and I
know it.”
Tsʻao was startled, for he thought no one knew of the straits he was
in.
“How did you find that out?” said he.
Hsü Yu produced the letter, saying, “Who wrote that?”
“Where did you get it?”
Whereupon he told Tsʻao the story of the captured messenger. Tsʻao
seized him by the hand saying, “Since our old friendship has brought
you to me I hope you have some plan to suggest to me.”
Hsü Yu said, “To oppose a great army with a small one is to walk in the
way of destruction unless you inflict quick defeat. I can propose a
plan which will defeat the innumerable hordes of Yüan Shao without
fighting a battle. But will you follow my advice?”
“I desire to know your plan,” said Tsʻao.
“Your enemy’s stores of all kinds are at Wuchʻao, where the commander
of the guard is that drunkard Shunyu Chʻiung. You can send some of your
trusty veterans to pretend they belong to Chiang Chi, one of Yüan’s
generals, sent to help guard the depôt. These men can find an
opportunity to fire the grain and stores of all kinds, which will upset
all Yüan Shao’s calculations.”
Tsʻao approved. He treated Hsü Yu very liberally and kept him in his
camp. Forthwith he chose five companies of horse and foot ready for the
expedition. Chang Liao protested the enterprise would be futile as the
grain depôt would certainly be well guarded and he suggested treachery
on the part of the newly arrived strategist.
“Hsü Yu is no traitor,” said Tsʻao. “He has come sent by Heaven to
defeat Yüan Shao. If we do not get grain it will be hard to hold out
and I have either to follow his advice or sit still and be hemmed in.
If he was a traitor he would hardly remain in my camp. Moreover this
raid has been my desire for a long time. Have no doubts; the raid will
certainly succeed.”
“Well, then, you must look out for an attack here while the camp is
undefended.”
“That is already well provided for,” said Tsʻao gleefully.
The defenders of the camp were then told off. Among them was Hsü Yü.
The arrangements for the raid on the grain depôt were made with extreme
care to ensure success. When all was ready they set out, Tsʻao himself
in the centre. The army showed the ensigns of their opponents. The men
carried bundles of grass and faggots to make a blaze. The men were
gagged and the horses tied round the muzzles so as to prevent any
noise.
They set out at dusk. The night was fine and the stars shone brightly.
Chü Shou, still a prisoner in Yüan Shao’s camp, saw the stars were very
brilliant and told his gaolers to conduct him out to the central
pavilion whence he could study them. While watching he saw the planet
Venus invade the quarter of the Bear and Lyra, which startled him very
greatly.
“Some misfortune is near,” said he.
So although it was still night he went to see his master. But Yüan Shao
was sleeping after indulgence in too much wine and was in bad humour.
However, when they had roused him saying that the prisoner had a secret
message to deliver, he got up.
“While I happened to be studying the aspect of the heavens,” said the
night visitor, “I saw Venus, then between Hydra and Cancer, suddenly
shoot into the neighbourhood of the Bear and Lyra. There is danger of a
robber raid and special precautions must be taken at the grain depôt.
Lose no time in sending good soldiers and vigorous leaders thither and
keep a lookout on the byeways among the hills that you may escape the
wiles of Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
“You are a criminal,” said Shao. “How dare you come with such wild
nonsense to upset my armies.”
And turning to the gaolers he continued, “I bade you confine him; why
did you let him come?”
Then he issued orders to put the gaolers to death and appointed others
to keep the prisoner in close custody.
Chü Shou went away, wiping his falling tears and sighing deeply. “Our
soldiers’ destruction is at hand and I know not where my poor corpse
may find a resting place.”
Blunt truth offended Yüan Shao,
Too stupid any plan to make,
His stores destroyed ’tis evident
That Chʻichou also is at stake.
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s raiding party went along through the night. Passing one
of Yüan Shao’s outpost camps they were challenged. Tsʻao sent forward a
man to say, “Chiang Chi has orders to go to Wuchʻao to guard the grain
stores.”
Seeing that the raiders marched under the ensigns of Yüan Shao the
guard had no suspicions and let them pass. At every post this ruse was
effective and they got safely through.
They reached their objective at the end of the fourth watch, the straw
and wood were placed in position without loss of time and the blaze
started. Then the captains beat to attack.
At the time of the attack Shunyu Chʻiung and his companions were all
asleep after a heavy drinking bout. However, when the alarm was given,
they sprang up and asked what was the matter. The hubbub was
indescribable. Very soon the fuddled officers were caught with hooks
and hauled out of their camp.
Mu Yüan-chin and Chao Jui were just returning from taking grain to the
camp and seeing the flames arise, they hastened to assist. Some of
Tsʻao’s soldiers ran to tell him that some of the enemy were coming up
in the rear and ask him to send reinforcements, but he only replied by
ordering the generals to press on to the front till the enemy was
actually close at hand and then face about. So the attack was pressed
and they all hastened forward.
Very soon the fire gained strength and thick smoke hung all around
filling the sky. When Mu and Chao drew near, Tsʻao turned about and
attacked them. They could not stand this for a moment and both captains
were killed. Finally the stores of grain and forage were utterly
destroyed.
The commander, Shunyu Chʻiung, was made prisoner and taken to Tsʻao who
ordered him to be deprived of ears, nose and hands. He was bound on a
horse and sent, thus horribly mutilated, to his master.
From Yüan’s camp the flames of the burning depôt were seen away in the
north and they knew what they meant. Yüan hastily summoned his officers
to a council to send a rescue party. Chang Ho offered to go with Kao
Lan but Kuo Tʻu said, “You may not go; it is certain that Tsʻao Tsʻao
is there in person, wherefore his camp is undefended. Let loose our
soldiers on the camp and that will speedily bring Tsʻao back again.
This is how Sun Pin besieged Wei and thereby rescued Han.”
But Chang Ho said, “Not so; Tsʻao is too wily not to have fully
prepared against a chance attack. If we attack his camp and fail and
Shunyu Chʻiung should be caught we shall all be captured too.”
Kuo Tʻu said, “Tsʻao will be too intent on the destruction of the grain
to think of leaving a guard. I entreat you to attack his camp.”
So five companies under Chang Ho and Kao Lan were sent to attack
Tsʻao’s camp and Chiang Chi was sent to try to recover the grain store.
Now after overcoming Shunyu, Tsʻao’s men dressed themselves in the
armour and clothing of the defeated soldiers and put out their emblems,
thus posing as defeated men running back to their own headquarters. And
when they happened upon Chiang Chi’s rescue legion they said they had
been beaten at Wuchʻao and were retreating. So they were suffered to
pass without molestation while Chiang Chi hastened on. But soon he came
to Chang Liao and Hsü Chu who cried out to him to stop. And before he
could make any opposition Chang Liao had cut him down. Soon his men
were killed or dispersed and the victors sent false messengers to
Shao’s camp to say that Chiang Chi had attacked and driven away the
defenders of the granaries. So no more reliefs were sent that way.
However, reinforcements were sent to Kuantu.
In due course the Yüan men came down upon Tsʻao’s camp at Kuantu and
the defenders at once came out and fought them on three sides so that
they were worsted. By the time reinforcements arrived Tsʻao’s army,
returning from the raid, had also come and Yüan’s men were attacked in
the rear. So they were quite surrounded. However, Chang Ho and Kao Lan
managed to force their way out and got away.
When the remains of the defenders of the grain stores reached their
master’s camp they were mustered. Seeing the mutilated state of their
one time leader, Shao asked how he had come to betray his trust and to
suffer thus and the soldiers told their lord that their commander had
been intoxicated at the time of the attack. So Shunyu was forthwith
executed.
Kuo Tʻu, fearing lest Chang Ho and Kao Lan would return and testify the
whole truth, began to intrigue against them. First he went to his lord
saying, “Those two, Chang and Kao, were certainly very glad when your
armies were defeated.”
“Why do you say this?” asked Yüan.
“O they have long cherished a desire to go over to Tsʻao Tsʻao, so when
you sent them on the duty of destroying his camp they did not do their
best and so brought about this disaster.”
Shao accordingly sent to recall these two to be interrogated as to
their faults. But Kuo Tʻu, their enemy, sent a messenger in advance to
warn them, as though in friendly guise, of the adverse fate that
awaited them. So when the orders reached them to return to answer for
their faults they asked why they were recalled. When the messenger
disclaimed all knowledge of the reasons, Kao Lan drew his sword and
killed him. Chang Ho was stupefied at this demonstration but Lan said,
“Our lord has allowed some one to malign us and say we have been bought
by Tsʻao Tsʻao. What is the sense in our sitting still and awaiting
destruction? Rather let us surrender to Tsʻao Tsʻao in reality and save
our lives.”
“I have been wanting to do this for some time,” replied Chang Ho.
Wherefore both, with their companies, made their way to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
camp to surrender.
When they arrived, Hsiahou Tun said to his master, “These two have come
to surrender but I have doubts about them.”
Tsʻao replied, “I will meet them generously and win them over even if
they have treachery in their hearts.”
The camp gates were opened to the two officers and they were invited to
enter. They laid down their weapons, removed their armour and bowed to
the ground before Tsʻao who said, “If Yüan Shao had listened to you he
would not have suffered defeat. Now you two coming to surrender are
like Wei Tzŭ going to Yin and Han Hsin going over to Han.”
He gave both men the rank of general and the title of marquis, which
pleased them much.
And so as Yüan Shao had formerly driven away his adviser, Hsü Yu, so
now he had alienated two captains and had lost his stores at Wuchʻao
and the army was depressed and down-hearted.
When Hsü Yu advised Tsʻao to attack as promptly as he could the two
newly surrendered men volunteered to lead the way. So these two were
sent to make a first attack on the camp, and left in the night with
three divisions. The fighting went on confusedly all night but stayed
at dawn. Shao had lost heavily.
Then Hsün Yu suggested a plan saying, “Now is the moment to spread a
report that a party of men will go to take Suantsao and attack Yehchün,
and another to take Liyang and intercept the enemy’s retreat. Yüan
Shao, when he hears of this, will be alarmed and tell off his men to
meet this new turn of affairs, and while he is making these new
dispositions we can have him at great disadvantage.”
The suggestion was adopted and care was taken that the report spread
far around. It came to the ears of Yüan’s soldiers and they repeated it
in camp. Yüan Shao believed it and ordered Yüan Shang with five legions
to rescue Yehchün, and Hsin Ming with another five to go to Liyang and
they marched away at once. Tsʻao heard that these armies had started
and at once despatched eight divisions to make a simultaneous attack on
the nearly empty camp. Yüan Shao’s men were too dispirited to fight and
gave way on all sides.
Yüan Shao without waiting to don his armour went forth in simple dress
with an ordinary cap upon his head and mounted his steed. His son Shang
followed him. Four of the enemy captains with their men pressed in his
rear and Shao hastened across the river, abandoning all his documents
and papers, baggage, treasure and stores. Only eight hundred men
followed him over the stream. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s men followed hard but could
not come up with him; however, they captured all his impedimenta and
they slew many thousands of his men so that the watercourses ran blood
and the drowned corpses could not be counted. It was a most complete
victory for Tsʻao and he made over all the spoil to the army.
Among the papers of Yüan Shao was found a bundle of letters showing
secret correspondence between him and many persons in the capital and
army. Tsʻao’s personal staff suggested that the names of those
concerned should be abstracted and the persons arrested, but their lord
said, “Shao was so strong that even I could not be sure of safety; how
much less other men?”
So he ordered the papers to be burned and nothing more was said.
Now when Yüan Shao’s men ran away Chü Shou, being a prisoner, could not
get away and was captured. Taken before Tsʻao, who knew him, he cried
aloud, “I will not surrender.”
Said Tsʻao, “Yüan Shao was foolish and neglected your advice; why still
cling to the path of delusion? Had I had you to help me I should have
been sure of the Empire.”
The prisoner was well treated in the camp but he stole a horse and
tried to get away to Yüan Shao. This angered Tsʻao who put him to
death, which he met with brave composure.
“I have slain a faithful and righteous man,” then said Tsʻao sadly. And
the victim was honourably buried at Kuantu. His tomb bore the
inscription “This is the tomb of Chü the loyal and virtuous.”
Chü honest was and virtuous,
The best in Yüan’s train,
From him the stars no secrets held,
In tactics all was plain.
For him no terrors had grim death,
Too lofty was his spirit,
His captor slew him, but his tomb
Bears witness to his merit.
Tsʻao Tsʻao now gave orders to attack Chʻichou.
In feeling over confident, that’s where one’s weakness lay;
The other bettered him by plans which never went agley.
The following chapter will tell who won the next campaign.
CHAPTER XXXI.
TSʻAO TSʻAO OVERCOMES YÜAN SHAO:
LIU PEI SEEKS SHELTER WITH LIU PIAO.
Tsʻao lost no time in taking advantage of Yüan Shao’s flight, but smote
hard at the retreating men. Yüan Shao without helmet or proper dress,
and with few followers, crossed hastily to the north bank at Liyang. He
was met by his General, Chiang I-chu, who took him in and comforted him
and listened to the tale of misfortunes. Next Chiang called in the
scattered remnants of the army, and when the soldiers heard that their
old lord was alive they swarmed to him like ants so that he quickly
became strong enough to attempt the march to Chʻichou. Soon the army
set out and at night halted at Huang Hills.
That evening, sitting in his tent, Shao seemed to hear a far off sound
of lamentation. He crept out quietly to listen and found it was his own
soldiers telling each other tales of woe. This one lamented an elder
brother lost, that one grieved for his younger brother abandoned; a
third mourned a companion missing, a fourth, a relative cut off. And
each beat his breast and wept. And all said, “Had he but listened to
Tʻien Fêng we had not met this disaster.”
And Yüan Shao, very remorseful, said, “I did not hearken unto Tʻien
Fêng and now my men have been beaten and I was nearly lost. How can I
return and look him in the face?”
Next day the march was resumed and he met Fêng Chi with reinforcements,
to whom he said, “I disregarded Tʻien Fêng’s advice and have brought
myself to defeat. Now shall I be greatly ashamed to look him in the
face.”
This tribute to Tʻien Fêng’s prescience roused the jealousy of Fêng
Chi, who replied, “Yes; when he heard the news of your defeat, though
he was a prisoner, he clapped his hands for joy and said, ‘Indeed, just
as I foretold!’”
“How dare he laugh at me, the blockhead? Assuredly he shall die,” said
Yüan.
Whereupon he wrote a letter and sent therewith a sword to slay the
prisoner.
Meanwhile Tʻien’s gaoler came to him one day saying, “Above all men I
felicitate you.”
“What is the joyful occasion and why felicitate?” said Tʻien Fêng.
The gaoler replied, “General Yüan has been defeated and is on his way
back; he will treat you with redoubled respect.”
“Now am I a dead man,” said Tien.
“Why say you that, Sir, when all men give you joy?”
“The General appears liberal but he is jealous and forgetful of honest
advice. Had he been victorious he might have pardoned me; now that he
has been defeated and put to shame I may not hope to live.”
But the gaoler did not believe him. Before long came the letter and the
sword with the fatal order. The gaoler was dismayed, but the victim
said, “I knew all too well that I should have to die.”
The gaoler wept. Tʻien Fêng said, “An able man born into this world who
does not recognise and serve his true lord is ignorant. To-day I die,
but I am not deserving of pity.”
Whereupon he committed suicide in the prison.
Chü Shou but yesterday was killed,
Tʻien ends his life his fate fulfilled;
Hopei’s main beams break one by one,
Mourn ye that House! its day is done.
Thus died Tʻien Fêng, pitied of all who heard of his fate. When Yüan
Shao came home it was with troubled mind and distorted thoughts. He
could not attend to the business of government and became so ill that
his wife, who came of the Liu family, besought him to make his last
dispositions.
Now three sons had been born to him, Tʻan the eldest, who was commander
at Chʻingchou; Hsi, who ruled over Yuchou; and Shang, borne to him by
his second wife, who still lived. This youngest son was very handsome
and noble looking, and his father’s favourite. So he was kept at home.
After the defeat at Kuantu the lad’s mother was constantly urging that
her son should be named as successor and Shao called together four of
his counsellors to consider this matter. These four happened to be
divided in their sympathies, Shên Pʻei and Fêng Chi being in favour of
the youngest son, and Hsin Pʻing and Kuo Tʻu supporters of the eldest.
When they met to consult, Yüan Shao said, “As there is nought but war
and trouble outside our borders it is necessary that tranquillity
within be early provided for and I wish to appoint my successor. My
eldest son is hard and cruel, my second is mild and unfit. The third
has the outward form of a hero, appreciates the wise and is courteous
to his subordinates. I wish him to succeed, but I would that you tell
me your opinions.”
Kuo Tʻu said, “Tʻan is your first born and he is in a position of
authority beyond your control. If you pass over the eldest in favour of
the youngest you sow the seeds of turbulence. The prestige of the army
has been somewhat lowered and enemies are on our border. Should you add
to our weakness by making strife between father and son, elder and
younger brothers? Rather consider how the enemy may be repulsed and
turn to the question of the heirship later.”
Then the natural hesitation of Yüan Shao asserted itself and he could
not make up his mind. Soon came news that his sons, Tʻan and Hsi, and
his nephew, Kao Kan, were coming with large armies to help him and he
turned his attention to preparations for fighting Tsʻao Tsʻao.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao drew up his victorious army on the banks of the Yellow
River a certain aged native brought an offering of food and sauce to
bid him welcome. His venerable and hoary appearance led Tsʻao to treat
him with the highest respect and he invited him to be seated and said
to him, “Venerable Sir, what may be your age?”
“I am nearly a hundred,” replied the ancient.
“I should be very sorry if my men had disturbed your village,” said
Tsʻao.
“In the days of the Emperor Huan a yellow star was seen over by way of
Chʻu and Sung in the southwest. A certain man of Liaotung, Yin Kʻuei,
who was learned in astrology, happened to be passing the night here and
he told us that the star foretold the arrival in these parts, fifty
years hence, of a true and honest man from Lian and Pʻei. Lo! that is
exactly fifty years ago. Now Yüan Pên-chʻu is very hard on the people
and they hate him. You, Sir, having raised this army in the cause of
humanity and righteousness, out of pity for the people and to punish
crimes, and having destroyed the hordes of Yüan Shao at Kuantu, just
fulfil the prophecy of Yin Kʻuei and the millions of the land may look
now for tranquillity.”
“How dare I presume that I am he?” said Tsʻao with a smile.
Wine was served and refreshments brought in and the old gentleman was
sent away with presents of silk stuffs. And an order was issued to the
army that if any one killed so much as a fowl or a dog belonging to the
villagers he should be punished as for murder. And the soldiers obeyed
with fear and trembling while Tsʻao rejoiced in his heart.
It was told Tsʻao that the total army from the four prefectures under
the Yüan family amounted to twenty-three legions and they were camped
at Tsʻang-tʻing. Tsʻao then advanced nearer them and made a strong
camp.
Soon after the two armies were arrayed over against each other. On one
side Tsʻao rode to the front surrounded by his captains, and on the
other appeared Yüan Shao supported by his three sons, his nephew and
his officers.
Tsʻao spoke first, “Pên-chʻu, your schemes are poor, your strength is
exhausted, why still refuse to think of surrender? Are you waiting till
the sword shall be upon your neck? Then it will be too late.”
Yüan Shao turned to those about him saying, “Who dares go out?”
His son Shang was anxious to exhibit his prowess in the presence of his
father so he flourished his pair of swords and rode forth. Tsʻao
pointed him out to his officers and asked if any one knew him and they
replied that he was the youngest son. Before they had finished speaking
from their own side rode out one Shih Huan, armed with a spear. The two
champions fought a little while and suddenly Shang whipped up his
horse, made a feint and fled. His opponent followed. Yüan Shang took
his bow, fitted an arrow, turned in his saddle and shot at Shih Huan,
wounding him in the left eye. He fell from the saddle and died on the
spot.
Yüan Shao seeing his son thus get the better of his opponent, gave the
signal for attack and the whole army thundered forward. The onslaught
was heavy, but presently the gongs on both sides sounded the retire and
the battle ceased.
When he had returned to camp Tsʻao took counsel to find a plan to
overcome Yüan Shao. Then Chʻêng Yü proposed the plan of the Ten
Ambushes and persuaded Tsʻao to retire upon the river, placing men in
ambush as he went. Thus would Shao be inveigled into pursuit as far as
the river, when Tsʻao’s men would be forced to make a desperate stand
or be driven into the water.
Tsʻao accepted this suggestion and told off five companies to lie in
ambush on one side of the road of retreat and five on the other, while
Hsü Chu commanded the advanced front.
Next day the ten companies started first and placed themselves right
and left as ordered. In the night Tsʻao ordered the advanced front to
feign an attack on the camp, which roused all the enemy in all their
camps. This done Hsü Chu retreated and the Shao army came in pursuit.
The roar of battle went on without cessation and at dawn Tsʻao’s army
rested on the river and could retreat no farther. Then Tsʻao shouted,
“There is no road in front, so all must fight to the death.”
The retreating army turned about and advanced vigorously. Hsü Chu
simply flew to the front, smote and killed a half score captains and
threw Yüan Shao’s army into confusion. They tried to turn and march
back, but Tsʻao Tsʻao was close behind. Then the drums of the enemy
were heard and right and left there appeared a company, one pair of the
ambushed parties. Yüan Shao collected about him his three sons and his
nephew and they were enabled to cut their way out and flee. Ten li
further on they fell into another ambush and here many men were lost so
that their corpses lay over the country-side and the blood filled the
water courses. Another ten li and they met the third pair of companies
barring their road.
Here they lost heart and bolted for an old camp of their own that was
near, and bade their men prepare a meal. But just as the food was ready
to eat down came Chang Liao and Chang Ho and burst into the camp.
Yüan Shao mounted and fled as far as Tsʻang-tʻing, when he was tired
and his steed spent. But there was no rest, for Tsʻao came in close
pursuit. It seemed now a race for life. But presently Shao found his
onward course again blocked and he groaned aloud.
“If we do not make most desperate efforts we are all captives,” said
he, and they plunged forward. His second son and his nephew were
wounded by arrows and most of his men were dead or had disappeared. He
gathered his sons into his arms and wept bitterly. Then he fell into a
swoon. He was picked up, but his mouth was full of blood which ran
forth in a bright scarlet stream. He sighed saying, “Many battles have
I fought and little did I think to be driven to this. Heaven is
afflicting me. You had better return each to his own and swear to fight
this Tsʻao to the end.”
Then he bade Hsin Pʻing and Kuo Tʻu as quickly as possible follow Yüan
Tʻan to his district and prepare to give battle to the enemy lest he
should invade. Yüan Hsi was told to go to Yuchou and Kao Kan to
Pingchou.
So each started to prepare men and horses for repulsing Tsʻao Tsʻao.
Yüan Shao with his youngest son and the remnant of his officers went
away to Chʻichou and military operations were suspended for a time.
Meanwhile Tsʻao Tsʻao was distributing rewards to his army for the late
victory and his men were scouting all about Chʻichou. He soon learned
that Yüan Shao was ill and that his youngest son and Shên Pʻei were in
command of the city, while his brothers and cousin had returned each to
his own. Tsʻao’s advisers were in favour of a speedy attack. But he
objected, saying “Chʻichou is large and well supplied; Shên Pʻei is an
able strategist and it behoves me to be careful. I would rather wait
till the autumn when the crops have been gathered in so that the people
will not suffer.”
While the attack was being talked over there came letters from Hsün Yu
saying that Liu Pei was strengthening himself at Junan and, when he had
heard that Tsʻao was going to attack Chʻichou, he had said he would
take the opportunity to march on the capital. Wherefore the Minister
would do well to hasten homeward to defend it. This news disconcerted
Tsʻao Tsʻao. He left Tsʻao Hung in command on the river bank, with
orders to maintain the appearance of strength there, while he led the
main part of his army to meet the threatened attack from Junan.
It has to be said now that Liu Pei, his brothers and supporters, having
gone forth with the intention of attacking the capital, had reached a
point near Jang Hills when Tsʻao came upon them. So Liu Pei camped by
the hills and divided his army into three, sending his brothers with
one division each to entrench themselves south-east and south-west
respectively of the main body which he and Chao Yün commanded.
When Tsʻao came near, Yüan-tê beat his drums and went out to where
Tsʻao had already arrayed his men. Tsʻao called Liu Pei to a parley,
and when the latter appeared under his great standard, Tsʻao pointed
his whip at him and railed saying, “I treated you as a guest of the
highest consideration; why then do you turn your back on righteousness
and forget kindness?”
Yüan-tê replied, “Under the name of Minister you are really a rebel. I
am a direct descendant of the family and I have a secret decree from
the throne to take such offenders as you.”
As he said these words he produced and recited the decree which is
known as the “Girdle Mandate.”
Tsʻao grew very angry and ordered Hsü Chʻu to go out to battle, and, as
Liu Pei’s champion, out rode Chao Yün with spear ready to thrust. The
two warriors exchanged thirty bouts without advantage to either. Then
there arose an earth-rending shout and up came the two brothers,
Yün-chʻang from the south-east and Fei from the south-west. The three
armies then began a great attack, which proved too much for Tsʻao’s
men, fatigued by a long march, and they were worsted and fled. Yüan-tê
having scored this victory returned to camp.
Next day he sent out Chao Yün again to challenge the enemy, but it was
not accepted and Tsʻao’s army remained ten days without movement. Then
Chang Fei offered a challenge which also was not accepted. And Yüan-tê
began to feel anxious.
Then unexpectedly came news that the enemy had stopped a train of
supplies and at once Chang Fei went to the rescue. Worse still was the
news that followed, that an army had got in behind to attack Junan.
Quite dismayed, Yüan-tê said, “If this be true I have enemies in front
and rear and have no place to go.”
He then sent Yün-chʻang to try to recover the city and thus both his
brothers were absent from his side. One day later a horseman rode up to
say Junan had fallen, its defender Liu Pʻi was a fugitive and
Yün-chʻang surrounded. To make matters worse the news came that Chang
Fei, who had gone to rescue Kung Tu, was in like case.
Yüan-tê tried to withdraw his men, fearing all the time an attack from
Tsʻao Tsʻao. Suddenly the sentinels came in saying Hsü Chʻu was at the
camp gate offering a challenge, but no one dared accept it or go out.
They waited till dawn, and then Yüan-tê bade the soldiers get a good
meal and be ready to start. When ready the foot went out first, the
horsemen next, leaving a few men in the camp to beat the watches and
maintain an appearance of occupation.
After travelling a short distance they passed some mounds. Suddenly
torches blazed out and on the summit stood one who shouted, “Do not let
Liu Pei run away; I, the Minister, am here awaiting him.”
Liu Pei dashed along the first clear road he saw.
Chao Yün said, “Fear not, my lord, only follow me,” and setting his
spear he galloped in front opening a lane as he went. Yüan-tê gripped
his double sword and followed close. As they were winning through, Hsü
Chʻu came in pursuit and engaged Chao Yün, and two other companies bore
down as well. Seeing the situation so desperate Yüan-tê plunged into
the wilds and fled. Gradually the sounds of battle became fainter and
died away while he went deeper and deeper into the hills, a single
horseman fleeing for his life. He kept on his way till daybreak, when a
company suddenly appeared beside the road. Yüan-tê saw these men with
terror at first, but was presently relieved to find they were led by
the friendly Liu Pʻi. They were a company of his defeated men escorting
the family of their chief. With them also were Sun Chʻien, Chien Yung
and Mi Fang.
They told him that the attack on their city had been too strong to be
resisted and so they had been compelled to abandon the defence, that
the enemy had followed them and only Kuan’s timely arrival had saved
them.
“I do not know where my brother is,” said Liu Pei.
“All will come right if you will push on,” said Liu Pʻi.
They pushed on. Before they had gone far the beating of drums was heard
and suddenly appeared Chang Ho with a company of soldiers. He cried,
“Liu Pei, quickly dismount and surrender.”
Yüan-tê was about to retire when he saw a red flag waving from a
rampart on the hills and down came rushing another body of men under
Kao Lan. Thus checked in front and his retreat cut off, Yüan-tê looked
up to Heaven and cried, “O Heaven, why am I brought to this state of
misery? Nothing is left me now but death.” And he drew his sword to
slay himself.
But Liu Pʻi stayed his hand saying, “Let me try to fight a way out and
save you.”
As he spoke Kao Lan’s force was on the point of engaging his. The two
leaders met and in the third bout Liu Pʻi was cut down. Liu Pei at once
rushed up to fight, but just then there was sudden confusion in the
rear ranks of the opponents and a warrior dashed up and thrust at Kao
Lan with his spear. Kao Lan fell from his steed. The newcomer was Chao
Yün.
His arrival was most opportune. He urged forward his steed thrusting
right and left, and the enemy’s ranks broke and scattered. Then the
first force under Chang Ho came into the fight and the leader and Chao
Yün fought thirty or more bouts. However, this proved enough, for Ho
turned his horse away recognising that he was worsted. Yün vigorously
attacked, but was forced into a narrow space in the hills where he was
hemmed in. While seeking for some outlet they saw Yün-chʻang, Kuan
Pʻing and Chou Tsʻang, with three hundred men, coming along. Soon Chang
Ho was driven off and then they came out of the narrow defile and
occupied a strong position among the hills where they made a camp.
Yüan-tê sent Yün-chʻang for news of the missing brother, Chang Fei. He
had been attacked by Hsiahou Yüan, but had vigorously resisted, beaten
him off and followed him up. Then Yo Chin had come along and surrounded
Chang Fei. In this pass he was found by Yün-chʻang, who had heard of
his plight from some of his scattered men met on the way. Now they
drove off the enemy. The two brothers returned. Soon they heard of the
approach of a large body of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army. Yüan-tê then bade Sun
Chʻien guard his family and sent him on ahead, while he and the others
kept off the enemy, sometimes giving battle and anon marching. Seeing
that Yüan-tê was retiring, Tsʻao Tsʻao let him go and left the pursuit.
When Yüan-tê collected his men he found they numbered only a thousand,
and this halting and broken force marched as fast as possible to the
west. Coming to a river they asked the natives its name and were told
it was the Han, and near it Yüan-tê made a temporary camp. When the
local people found out who was in the camp they presented flesh and
wine.
A feast was given upon a sandy bank of the Han. After they had drunk
awhile, Yüan-tê addressed his faithful followers, saying, “All you,
fair Sirs, have talents fitting you to be advisers to a monarch, but
your destiny has led you to follow poor me. My fate is distressful and
full of misery. To-day I have not a spot to call my own and I am indeed
leading you astray. Therefore I say you should abandon me and go to
some illustrious lord where you may be able to become famous.”
At these words they all covered their faces and wept. Yün-chʻang said,
“Brother, you are wrong to speak thus. When the great Founder of Han
contended with Hsiang Yü he was defeated many times, but he won at
Chiuli Hill and that achievement was the foundation of a Dynasty that
endured for four centuries. Victory and defeat are but ordinary events
in a soldier’s career and why should you give up?”
“Success and failure both have their seasons,” said Sun Chʻien, “and we
are not to grieve. Chingchou, which your illustrious relative, Liu
Piao, commands, is a rich and prosperous country. Liu Piao is of your
house, why not go to him?”
“Only that I fear he may not receive me,” said Liu Pei.
“Then let me go and prepare the way. I will make Liu Ching-hsing come
out to his borders to welcome you.”
So with his lord’s approval Sun Chʻien set off immediately and hastened
to Chingchou. When the genuflexions and ceremonies of greeting were
over Liu Piao asked the reason of the visit.
Said Sun, “The Princely Liu is one of the heroes of the day although
just at the moment he may lack soldiers and leaders. His mind is set
upon restoring the Dynasty to its pristine glory, and at Junan the two
commanders, Liu and Kung, though bound to him by no ties, were content
to die for the sake of his ideals. You, illustrious Sir, like Liu Pei,
are a scion of the Imperial stock. Now the Princely One has recently
suffered defeat and thinks of seeking a home in the east with Sun
Chung-mou (Sun Chʻüan). I have ventured to dissuade him, saying that he
should not turn from a relative and go to a mere acquaintance; telling
him that you, Sir, are well known as courteous to the wise and
condescending to scholars, so that they flock to you as the waters flow
to the east, and that certainly you would show kindness to one of the
same ancestry. Wherefore he has sent me to explain matters and request
your commands.”
“He is my brother,” said Piao, “and I have long desired to see him, but
no opportunity has occurred. I should be very happy if he would come.”
Tsʻai Mao, who was sitting by, here broke in with “No, no! Liu Pei
first followed Lü Pu, then he served Tsʻao Tsʻao, and next he joined
himself to Yüan Shao. And he stayed with none of these, so that you can
see what manner of man he is. If he come here Tsʻao Tsʻao will
assuredly come against us and fight. Better cut off this messenger’s
head and send it as an offering to Tsʻao Tsʻao, who would reward you
well for the service.”
Sun Chʻien sat unmoved while this harangue was pronounced, saying at
the end, “I am not afraid of death. Liu, the Princely One, is true and
loyal to the State and so out of sympathy with Lü Pu, or Tsʻao Tsʻao,
or Yüan Shao. It is true he followed these three, but there was no help
for it. Now he knows your chief is a member of the family, so that both
are of the same ancestry, and that is why he has come far to join him.
How can you slander a good man like that?”
Liu Piao bade Tsʻao Mao be silent and said, “I have decided and you
need say no more.”
Whereat Tsʻai Mao sulkily left the audience chamber.
Then Sun Chʻien was told to return with the news that Yüan-tê would be
welcome and Prefect Liu Piao went thirty li beyond his boundaries to
meet his guest. When Yüan-tê arrived he behaved to his host with the
utmost politeness and was warmly welcomed in return. Then Liu Pei
introduced his two sworn-brothers and friends and they entered
Chingchou, where Liu Pei finally was lodged in the Prefect’s own
residence.
As soon as Tsʻao Tsʻao knew whither his enemy had gone he wished to
attack Liu Piao, but Chʻêng Yü advised against any attempt so long as
Yüan Shao, the dangerous enemy, was left with power to inflict damage.
He advised return to the capital to refresh the men so that they might
be ready for a campaign in the mild spring weather.
Tsʻao accepted his advice and set out for the capital. In the first
month of the eighth year of the period “Established Tranquillity,”
Tsʻao Tsʻao once again began to think of war, and sent to garrison
Junan as a precaution against Liu Piao. Then, after arranging for the
safety of the capital, he marched a large army to Kuantu, the camp of
the year before.
As to Yüan Shao, who had been suffering from blood-spitting but was now
in better health, he began to think of measures against Hsütu, but Shên
Pʻei dissuaded him saying, “You are not yet recovered from the fatigues
of last year. It would be better to make your position impregnable and
set to improving the army.”
When the news of Tsʻao’s approach arrived, Yüan said, “If we allow the
foe to get close to the city before we march to the river we shall have
missed our opportunity. I must go out to repel this army.”
Here his son interposed, “Father, you are not sufficiently recovered
for a campaign and should not go so far. Let me lead the army against
this enemy.”
Yüan consented, and he sent to Chʻingchou and Yuchou and Pingchou to
call upon his other two sons and his nephew to attack Tsʻao Tsʻao at
the same time as his own army.
Against Junan they beat the drum,
And from Chʻichou the armies come.
To whom the victory will be seen in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXXII.
CHʻICHOU TAKEN: YÜAN SHANG STRIVES:
THE CHANG RIVER CUT: HSÜ YU’S SCHEME.
Yüan Shang was puffed up with pride after his victory over Shih Huan
and, without deigning to wait the arrival of his brothers, he marched
out to Liyang to meet the army of Tsʻao Tsʻao. Chang Liao came out to
challenge him, and Yüan Shang, accepting the challenge rode out with
spear set. But he only lasted to the third bout when he had to give
way. Chang Liao smote with full force and Shang, quite broken, fled
pell mell to Chʻichou. His defeat was a heavy shock to his father, who
had a severe fit of hemorrhage at the news and swooned.
The Lady Liu, his wife, got him to bed as quickly as possible, but he
did not rally and she soon saw it was necessary to prepare for the end.
So she sent for Shên Pʻei and Fêng Chi that the succession might be
settled. They came and stood by the sick man’s bed, but by this time he
could no longer speak; he only made motions with his hands. When his
wife put the formal question, whether Shang was to succeed, he nodded
his head. Shên Pʻei at the bedside wrote out the dying man’s testament.
Presently he uttered a loud moan, a fresh fit of bleeding followed and
he passed away.
Born of a line of nobles famous for generations,
He himself in his youth was wayward always and headstrong,
Vainly he called to his side captains skilled and courageous,
Gathered beneath his banner countless legions of soldiers,
For he was timid at heart, a lambkin dressed as a tiger,
Merely a cowardly chicken, phoenix-feathered but spurless.
Pitiful was the fate of his house; for when he departed
Brother with brother strove and quarrels arose in the household.
Shên Pʻei and some others set about the mourning ceremonies for the
dead man. His wife, the Lady Liu, put to death five of his favourite
concubines, and such was the bitterness of her jealousy that, not
content with this, she shaved off the hair and slashed the faces of
their poor corpses lest their spirits should meet and rejoin her late
husband in the land of shades beneath the Nine Springs. Her son
followed up this piece of cruelty by slaying all the relatives of the
unhappy concubines lest they should avenge their death.
Shên Pʻei and Fêng Chi declared Yüan Shang successor with the titles of
Minister of War and General Governor of the four prefectures of Chʻi,
Chʻing, Yu and Ping and sent in a report of the death of the late
governor.
At this time Yüan Tʻan, the eldest son, had already marched out his
army to oppose Tsʻao Tsʻao, but hearing of his father’s death he called
in Kuo Tʻu and Hsin Pʻing to consult as to his course of action.
“In your absence, my lord,” said Kuo Tʻu, “the two advisers of your
younger brother will certainly set him up as lord, wherefore you must
act quickly.”
“Those two, Shên and Fêng, have already laid their plans,” said Hsin
Pʻing. “If you go you will meet with some misfortune.”
“Then what should I do?” asked Tʻan.
Kuo Tʻu replied, “Go and camp near the city and watch what is taking
place while I enter and enquire.”
Accordingly Kuo Tʻu entered the city and sought an interview with the
young governor.
“Why did not my brother come?” asked Shang after the usual salutes.
Kuo Tʻu said, “He cannot come as he is in the camp unwell.”
“By the command of my late father I take the lordship. Now I confer
upon my brother the rank of General of Cavalry and I wish him to go at
once to attack Tsʻao Tsʻao, who is pressing on the borders. I will
follow as soon as my army is in order.”
“There is no one in our camp to give advice,” said Kuo Tʻu. “I wish to
have the services of Shên Pʻei and Fêng Chi.”
“I also need the help of these two,” said Shang, “And as I am always
working at schemes I do not see how I can do without them.”
“Then let one of these two go,” replied Tʻu.
Shang could do no other than accede to this request so he bade the two
men cast lots who should go. Fêng Chi drew the lot and was appointed,
receiving a seal of office. Then he accompanied Kuo Tʻu to the camp.
But when he arrived and found Tʻan in perfect health he grew suspicious
and resigned. Tʻan angrily refused to accept his resignation and was
disposed to put him to death, but Kuo Tʻu privately dissuaded him
saying, “Tsʻao Tsʻao is on the borders and he must be kept here to
allay your brother’s suspicions. After we have beaten Tsʻao we can at
once make an attempt on Chʻichou.”
Yüan Tʻan agreed and forthwith broke up his camp to march against the
enemy. He reached Liyang and lost no time in offering battle. He chose
for his champion Wang Chao and, when he rode out, Tsʻao Tsʻao sent Hsü
Huang to meet him. These two had fought but a few bouts when Wang Chao
was slain. At once Tsʻao’s army pressed forward and Tʻan suffered a
severe defeat. He drew off his army and retired into Liyang, whence he
sent to his brother for reinforcements.
Shang and his adviser Shên Pʻei discussed the matter and half a legion
only was sent. Tsʻao hearing of the despatch of this meagre force sent
two generals to waylay them and the half legion was destroyed. When Tan
heard of the inadequate force sent and their destruction he was very
wrath and roundly abused Fêng Chi. Fêng replied, “Let me write to my
lord and pray him to come himself.”
So Fêng Chi wrote and the letter was sent. When it arrived Shang again
consulted Shên Pʻei who said, “Kuo Tʻu, your elder brother’s adviser,
is very guileful. Formerly he left without discussion because Tsʻao was
on the border. If Tsʻao be defeated there will certainly be an attempt
on you. The better plan is to withhold assistance and use Tsʻao’s hand
to destroy your rival.”
Shang took his advice and no help was sent. When the messenger returned
without success Tʻan was very angry and showed it by putting Fêng Chi
to death. He also began to talk of surrendering to Tsʻao. Soon spies
brought news of this to Shang and again Shên Pʻei was called in. Said
he, “If he goes over to Tsʻao they will both attack Chʻichou and we
shall be in great danger.” Finally Shên Pʻei and Su Yu were left to
take care of the defence of the city and Yüan Shang marched his army to
the rescue of his brother.
“Who dares lead the van?” said Yüan Shang.
Two brothers named Lü volunteered and three legions were given them.
They were the first to reach Liyang.
Tʻan was pleased that his brother had made up his mind to play a
brotherly part and come to his aid, so he at once abandoned all thought
of going over to the enemy. He being in the city, Yüan Shang camped
outside, making that an angle of their strategic position. Before long
Yüan Hsi, the second brother, and their cousin, Kao Kan, arrived with
their legions and also camped outside the city.
Engagements took place daily and Shang suffered many defeats. On the
other hand Tsʻao was victorious and elated. In the second month of the
eighth year, Tsʻao made separate attacks on all four armies and won the
day against each. Then they abandoned Liyang and Tsʻao pursued them to
Chʻichou, where Tʻan and Shang went into the city to defend it, while
their brother and cousin camped about thirty li away making a show of
great force. When Tsʻao had made many attacks without success Kuo Chia
proffered the following plan.
He said, “There is dissension among the Yüans because the elder has
been superseded in the succession. The brothers are about equally
strong and each has his party. If we oppose them they unite to assist
each other, but if we have patience they will be weakened by family
strife. Wherefore send first a force to reduce Liu Piao in Chingchou
and let the fraternal quarrels develop. When they have fully developed
we can smite them and settle the matter.”
Tsʻao approved of the plan. So leaving Chia Hsü as Prefect of Liyang
and Tsʻao Hung as guard at Kuantu the army went away toward Chingchou.
The two brothers Tʻan and Shang congratulated each other on the
withdrawal of their enemy, and their brother Hsi and cousin marched
their armies back to their own districts.
Then the quarrels began. Tʻan said to his confidants, “I, the eldest,
have been prevented from succeeding my father, while the youngest son,
born of a second wife, received the main heritage. My heart is bitter.”
Said Kuo Tʻu, “Camp your men outside, invite your brother and Shên Pʻei
to a banquet and assassinate them. The whole matter is easily settled.”
And Tʻan agreed. It happened that a certain Wang Hsiu came just then
from Chʻingchou whom Tʻan took into his confidence. Wang opposed the
murder plan saying, “Brothers are as one’s limbs. How can you possibly
succeed if at a moment of conflict with an enemy you cut off one of
your hands? If you abandon your brother and sever relationship, whom
will you take in all the world as a relation? That fellow Kuo is a
dangerous mischief-maker, who would sow dissension between brothers for
a momentary advantage, and I beg you to shut your ears and not listen
to his persuasions.”
This was displeasing to Tʻan and he angrily dismissed Wang, while he
sent the treacherous invitation to his brother.
His brother and Shên Pʻei talked over the matter. Shên Pʻei said, “I
recognise one of Kuo Tʻu’s stratagems and if you go, my lord, you will
be the victim of their plot. Rather strike at them at once.”
Whereupon Shang rode out to battle. His brother Tʻan, seeing him come
with five legions, knew that his treachery had been discovered, so he
also took the field, and when the forces were near enough Tʻan opened
on Shang with a volley of abuse.
“You poisoned my father and usurped the succession; now you come out to
slay your elder brother?”
The battle went against Tʻan. Shang himself took part in the fight,
risking the arrows and the stones. He urged on his men and drove his
brother off the field. He took refuge in Pʻingyüan. Yüan Shang drew off
his men to his own city.
Yüan Tʻan and Kuo Tʻu decided upon a new attack and this time they
chose Tsʻên Pi as leader. Yüan Shang went to meet him. When both sides
had been arrayed and the banners were flying and the drums beating,
Tsʻên Pi rode out to challenge and railed at his opponent. At first
Shang was going to answer the challenge himself but Lü Kʻuang actually
went out. Lü and Tsʻên met but had fought only a few bouts when the
latter fell. Tʻan’s men were once more defeated and ran away to
Pʻingyüan. Shên Pʻei urged his master to press home the advantage and
Tʻan was driven into the city, where he fortified himself and would not
go out. So the city was besieged on three sides.
Tʻan asked his strategist what should be done next and he said, “The
city is short of food, the enemy is flushed with victory and we cannot
stand against them. My idea is to send some one to offer surrender to
Tsʻao Tsʻao and thus get him to attack Chʻichou. Your brother will be
forced to return thither, which will leave you free to join in the
attack. We may capture Shang. Should Tsʻao begin to get the better of
your brother’s army we will lend our force to help him against Tsʻao
Tsʻao, and as Tsʻao’s base of supply is distant we shall drive him off.
And we can seize on Chʻichou and begin our real career.”
“Supposing this scheme be attempted, who is the man for a messenger?”
“I have one, Hsin Pʻi, Hsin Pʻing’s younger brother; he is magistrate
here in this very place. He is a fluent speaker and good scholar and
suited to your purpose.”
So Hsin Pʻi was summoned and came readily enough. Letters were given
him and an escort of three companies took him beyond the border. He
travelled as quickly as possible.
At that time Tsʻao’s camp was at Hsipʻing and he was attacking Liu
Piao, who had sent Yüan-tê out to offer the first resistance. No battle
had yet taken place.
Soon after his arrival Hsin Pʻi was admitted to the Minister’s
presence, and after the ceremonies of greeting Tsʻao asked the object
of the visit. Hsin Pʻi explained that Yüan Tʻan wanted assistance and
presented his despatches. Tsʻao read them and told the messenger to
wait in his camp while he called his officers to a council.
The council met. Chʻêng Yu said, “Yüan Tʻan has been forced into making
this offer because of the pressure of his brother’s attack. Put no
trust in him.”
Lü Chʻien and Man Chʻung said, “You have led your armies here for a
special purpose; how can you abandon that and go to assist Yüan Tʻan?”
“Gentlemen, not one of you is giving good advice,” interposed Hsün Yu.
“This is how I regard it. Since there is universal trouble, in the
midst of which Liu Piao remains quietly content with his position
between Chiang and Han, it is evident that he has no ambition to
enlarge his borders. The Yüans hold four Chou and have many legions of
soldiers. Harmony between the two brothers means success for the family
and none can foresee what will happen in the Empire. Now take advantage
of this fraternal conflict and let them fight till they are weakened
and have to yield to our Minister. Then Yüan Shang can be removed, and
when the times are suitable, Yüan Tʻan can be destroyed in his turn.
Thus peace will ensue. This present combination of circumstances is to
be taken advantage of to full measure.”
Tsʻao realised the truth of this and treated the messenger well. At a
banquet he said, “But is this surrender of Yüan Tʻan real or false? Do
you really think that Shang’s army is sure to overcome him?”
Hsin Pʻi replied, “Illustrious one, do not enquire into the degree of
sincerity; rather regard the situation. The Yüans have been suffering
military losses for years and are powerless without, while their
strategists are put to death within. The brothers seize every chance to
speak evil of each other and their country is divided. Add to this
famine, supplemented by calamities and general exhaustion, and
everybody, wise as well as simple, can see that the catastrophe is
near, the time ordained of Heaven for the destruction of the Yüans is
at hand. Now you have a force attacking Yeh, and if Yüan Shang will not
return to give aid the place of refuge is lost. If he help, then Tʻan
will follow up and smite him, making use of your power to destroy the
remnant of his brother’s army, just as the autumn gale sweeps away the
fallen leaves. If he do not, then he will attack Chingchou. Now
Chingchou is rich, the government peaceful, the people submissive and
it cannot be shaken. Moreover, there is no greater threat to it than
Hopei. If that be reduced then the task is complete. I pray you, Sir,
think of it.”
“I am sorry that I did not meet you earlier,” said Tsʻao, much
gratified with this speech.
Forthwith orders were given to return and attack Chʻichou. Yüan-tê,
fearing this retirement was only a ruse, allowed it to proceed without
interference and himself returned to Chingchou.
When Yüan Shang heard that Tsʻao had crossed the river he hastily led
his army back to Yeh, ordering the two Lüs to guard the rear. His
brother Tʻan started from Pʻingyüan with a force in pursuit. He had not
proceeded far when he heard a bomb and two bodies of men came out in
front of him and checked his progress. Their leaders were Lü Kʻuang and
Lü Hsiang. Tʻan reined in and addressed them, saying, “While my father
lived I never treated you badly; why do you support my brother and try
to injure me?”
The two men had no reply to make, but they dismounted and bowed before
him yielding submission.
Tʻan said, “Do not surrender to me but to the Minister,” and he led
them back to camp, where he waited the arrival of Tsʻao and then
presented the pair. Tsʻao received them well. He promised his daughter
to Tʻan to wife and he appointed the two brothers as advisers.
When Tʻan asked Tsʻao to attack Chʻichou the reply was “Supplies are
short and difficult to transport. I must turn the waters of the Chishui
into the Paiho from Chiho whereby to convey my grain and afterwards I
can advance.”
Ordering Tʻan to remain in Pʻingyüan, Tsʻao retired into camp at
Liyang. The two brothers Lü, who were renegades from Yüan Shang, were
now raised to noble rank and followed the army as supernumeraries.
Kuo Tʻu noted this advancement and said to Tʻan, “He has promised you a
daughter to wife. I fear that bodes no good. Now he has given titles of
nobility to the two Lüs and taken them with him. This is a trap for the
northern people but he intends evil toward us. You, my lord, should
have two generals’ seals engraved and send them secretly to the
brothers so that you may have friends at court ready for the day when
Tsʻao shall have broken your brother’s power and we can begin to work
against him.”
The seals were engraved and sent. As soon as the brothers received them
they informed Tsʻao Tsʻao, who smiled saying, “He wants your support so
he sends you seals as officers. I will consider it as soon as Yüan
Shang has been dealt with. In the meantime you may accept the seals
till I shall decide what to do.”
Thenceforward Tʻan was doomed. Shên Pʻei and his master also discussed
the situation.
“Tsʻao is getting grain into Paikou, which means an attack on Chʻichou;
what is to be done?” asked Shang.
Shên Pʻei replied, “Send letters to Yin Kai, Chief of Wuan, bidding him
camp at Maochʻêng to secure the road to Shangtang and direct Chu Ku to
maintain Hantan as a distant auxiliary. Then you may advance on
Pʻingyüan and attack Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
The plan seemed good. Yüan Shang left Shên Pʻei and Chʻên Lin in charge
of Chʻichou, appointed two captains Ma Yen and Chang Kʻai as van
leaders, and set out hastily for Pʻingyüan.
When Tʻan heard of the approach of his brother’s army he sent urgent
messages to Tsʻao, who said to himself, “I am going to get Chʻichou
this time.”
Just at this time it happened that Hsü Yu came down from the capital.
When he heard that Yüan Shang was attacking his brother Tʻan he sought
Tsʻao and said, “You, Sir Minister, sit here on guard; are you waiting
till Heaven’s thunder shall strike the two Yüans?”
“I have thought it all out,” said Tsʻao.
Then he ordered Tsʻao Hung to go and fight against Yeh, while he led
another army against Yin Kai. Kai could make no adequate defence and
was killed by Hsü Chʻu. His men ran away and presently joined Tsʻao’s
army. Next he led the army to Hantan and Chu Ku came out to fight him.
Chang Liao advanced to fight with Chu and after the third encounter the
latter was defeated and fled. Liao went after him and when their two
horses were not far apart, Liao took his bow and shot. The fleeing
soldier fell as the bowstring twanged. Tsʻao sent Ma Yen to complete
the rout and Chu Ku’s force was broken up.
Now Tsʻao led his armies to an attack on Chʻichou. Tsʻao Hung went
close to the city and a regular siege began. The army encompassed the
city and began by throwing up great mounds. They also tunnelled
subterranean ways.
Within the city Shên Pʻei turned his whole care to the defence and
issued the severest commands. The captain of the east gate, one Fêng
Li, got intoxicated and failed to keep his watch for which he was
severely punished. He resented this, sneaked out of the city, went over
to the besiegers and told them how the place could be attacked.
“The earth within the Tʻumên is solid enough to be tunnelled and
entrance can be effected there,” said the traitor.
So Fêng Li was sent with three hundred men to carry out his plan under
cover of darkness.
After Fêng Li had deserted to the enemy Shên Pʻei went every night to
the wall to inspect the men on duty. The night of the sapping he went
there as usual and saw that there were no lights outside the city and
all was perfectly quiet. So he said to himself, “Fêng is certain to try
to come into the city by an underground road.” Whereupon he ordered his
men to bring up stones and pile them on the cover of the tunnel
opening. The opening was stopped up and the attacking party perished in
the tunnel they had excavated. Tsʻao having failed in this attempt
abandoned the scheme of underground attack. He drew off the army to a
place above the Hêngshui to await till Yüan Shang should return to
relieve the city.
Yüan Shang heard of the defeat of Yin Kai and Chu Ku, and the siege of
his own city, and bethought himself of relieving it. One of his
captains, Ma Yen, said, “The high road will surely be ambushed; we must
find some other way. We can take a bye-road from the Western Hills and
get through at Fushuikʻou, whence we can fall upon Tsʻao’s camp.”
The plan was acceptable and Shang started off with the main body, Ma
Yen and Chang Kʻai being rear guard.
Tsʻao’s spies soon found out this move and when they reported it he
said, “If he comes by the high road I shall have to keep out of the
way; if by the Western Hills bye-road I can settle him in one battle.
And I think he will show a blaze as a signal to the besieged that they
may make a sortie. I shall prepare to attack both.” So he made his
preparations.
Now Yüan Shang went out by the Fushui Pass east toward Yangpʻing and
near this he camped. Thence to his own city was seventeen li. The
Fushui stream ran beside the camp. He ordered his men to collect
firewood and grass ready for the blaze he intended to make at night as
his signal. He also sent Li Fu, a civil officer, disguised as an
officer of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army, to inform Shên Pʻei of his intentions.
Fu reached the city wall safely and called out to the guards to open.
Shên Pʻei recognised his voice and let him in. Thus Shên Pʻei knew of
the arrangements for his relief and it was agreed that a blaze should
be raised within the city so that the sortie could be simultaneous with
Shang’s attack. Orders were given to collect inflammables.
Then said Fu, “As your food supply is short it would be well for the
old men, the feeble soldiers and the women to surrender. This will come
upon them as a surprise and we will send the soldiers out behind them.”
Shên Pʻei promised to do all this and next day they hoisted on the wall
a white flag with the words “The populace of Chʻichou surrender” on it.
“Ho ho! This means no food,” said Tsʻao. “They are sending away the
non-combatants to escape feeding them. And the soldiers will follow
behind them.”
So on two sides he laid an ambush of three companies while he went near
the wall in full state. Presently the gates were opened and out came
the people supporting their aged folk and leading their little ones by
the hand. Each carried a white flag. As soon as the people had passed
the gate the soldiers followed with a rush.
Then Tsʻao Tsʻao showed a red flag and the ambushed soldiers fell upon
the sortie. The men tried to return and Tsʻao’s men made a direct
attack. The chase continued to the drawbridge, but there they met with
a tremendous shower of arrows and crossbow bolts which checked the
advance. Tsʻao’s helmet was struck and the crest carried away.
So the men retired. As soon as Tsʻao had changed his dress and mounted
a fresh horse he set out at the head of the army to attack Yüan Shang’s
camp.
Yüan Shang led the defence. The attack came simultaneously from many
directions, the defenders were quite disorganised and presently
defeated. Shang led his men back by the hills and made a camp under
their shelter. Thence he sent messengers to urge Ma Yen and Chang Kʻai
to bring up the supports. He did not know that Tsʻao had sent the two
Lüs to persuade these two into surrender and that they had already
passed under Tsʻao’s banner, and he had made them marquises.
Just before going to attack the Western Hills he sent the two Lüs with
Ma Yen and Chang Kʻai to seize the source of Yüan Shang’s supplies.
Shang had realised he could not hold the hills so he went by night to
Ikʻou. Before he could get camped he saw flaring lights springing up
all around him and soon an attack began. He was taken aback and had to
oppose the enemy with his men half armed, his steeds unsaddled. His
army suffered and he had to retreat another fifty li. By that time his
force was too enfeebled to show any resistance and as no other course
was possible he sent to ask that he might surrender. Tsʻao feigned to
consent, but that night he sent a force to raid Shang’s camp. Then it
became flight, abandoning everything, seals, emblems of office and even
personal clothing. He made for the hills.
Then came an attack on Chʻichou and to help out this Hsü Yu suggested
drowning the city by turning the course of the River Chang. Tsʻao
adopted the suggestion and at once sent a small number of men to dig a
channel to lead the water to the city. All told, it was forty li.
Shên Pʻei saw the diggers from the city wall and noticed that they made
only a shallow channel. He chuckled, saying to himself, “What is the
use of such a channel to drown out the city from a deep river?”
So he made no preparations to keep out the water.
But as soon as night came on Tsʻao increased his army of diggers
tenfold and by daylight the channel was deepened to twenty feet and the
water was flowing in a great stream into the city where it already
stood some feet deep. So this misfortune was added to the lack of food.
Hsin Pʻi now displayed the captured seal and garments of Yüan Shang
hung out on spears, to the great shame of their late owner, and called
upon the people of the city to surrender. This angered Shên Pʻei, who
avenged the insult by putting to death on the city wall the whole of
the Hsin family who were within the city. There were nearly a hundred
of them and their severed heads were cast down from the walls. Hsin Pʻi
wept exceedingly.
Shên Pʻei’s nephew Shên Yung, one of the gate wardens, was a dear
friend of Hsin Pʻi and the murder of Pʻi’s family greatly distressed
him. He wrote a secret letter offering to betray the city and tied it
to an arrow, which he shot out among the besiegers. The soldiers found
it, gave it to Hsin Pʻi and he took it to his chief.
Tsʻao issued an order that the family of the Yüans should be spared
when the city should be taken and that no one who surrendered should be
put to death. The next day the soldiers entered by the west gate,
opened for them by Shên’s nephew. Hsin Pʻi was the first to prance in
on horseback and the men followed.
When Shên, who was on the southeast of the city, saw the enemy within
the gates he placed himself at the head of some horsemen and dashed
toward them. He was met and captured by Hsü Huang who bound him and led
him outside the city. On the road they met Hsin Pʻi, who ground his
teeth with rage at the murderer of his relatives and then struck the
prisoner over the head with his whip and abused him as a murderer. Shên
retorted by calling him traitor and saying how sorry he was not to have
slain him before.
When the captive was taken into Tsʻao’s presence Tsʻao said, “Do you
know who opened the gate to let me in?”
“No; I know not.”
“It was your nephew Shên Yung who gave up the gate,” said Tsʻao.
“He was always unprincipled; and it has come to this!” said Shên.
“The other day when I approached the city why did you shoot so hard at
me?”
“I am sorry we shot too little.”
“As a faithful adherent of the Yüans you could do no otherwise. Now
will you come over to me?”
“Never; I will never surrender.”
Hsin Pʻi threw himself on the ground with lamentations, saying, “Eighty
of my people murdered by this ruffian; I pray you slay him, O
Minister!”
“Alive, I have served the Yüans,” said Shên, “dead, I will be their
ghost. I am no flattering time-server as you are. Kill me!”
Tsʻao gave the order; they led him away to put him to death. On the
execution ground he said to the executioners, “My lord is in the north,
I pray you not to make me face the south.” So he knelt facing the north
and extended his neck for the fatal stroke.
Who of all th’ official throng
In Hopei was true like Shên?
Sad his fate! he served a fool,
But faithful, as the ancient men.
Straight and true was every word,
Never from the road he swerved.
Faithful unto death, he died
Gazing toward the lord he’d served.
Thus died Shên Pʻei and from respect for his character Tsʻao ordered
that he be buried honourably on the north of the city.
Tsʻao Tsʻao then entered the city. As he was starting he saw the
executioners hurrying forward a prisoner who proved to be Chʻên Lin.
“You wrote that manifesto for Yüan Shao. If you had only directed your
diatribe against me, it would not have mattered. But why did you shame
my forefathers?” said Tsʻao.
“When the arrow is on the string, it must fly,” replied Lin.
Those about Tsʻao urged him to put Chʻên Lin to death, but he was
spared on account of his genius and given a small civil post.
Now Tsʻao’s eldest son was named Pʻei, otherwise Tzŭ-hêng. At the
taking of the city he was eighteen years of age. When he was born a
dark purplish halo hung over the house for a whole day. One who
understood the meaning of such manifestations had secretly told Tsʻao
that the halo belonged to the Imperial class and portended honours
which could not be put into words.
At eight the lad could compose very skilfully and he was well read in
ancient history. Now he was an adept at all military arts and very fond
of fencing. He had gone with his father on the expedition to Chʻichou.
He led his escort in the direction of the Yüan family dwelling, and
when he reached it he strode in sword in hand. When some one would have
stayed him, saying that by order of the Minister no one was to enter
the house, he bade them begone. The guards fell back and he made his
way into the private rooms, where he saw two women weeping in each
other’s arms. He went forward to slay them.
Four generations of honours, gone like a dream,
Fate follows on ever surely, though slow she seem.
The fate of the two women will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
TSʻAO PʻEI FINDS A WIFE:
A PLAN FOR SETTLING LIAOTUNG.
As was said, Tsʻao Pʻei, having made his way into the Yüan Palace, saw
two women there whom he was about to kill. Suddenly a red light shone
in his eyes, and he paused. Lowering his sword he said, “Who are you?”
“Thy handmaid is the widow of the late Yüan Shao, née Liu,” said the
elder of the two, “and this is the wife of Hsi, his second son. She was
of the Chên family. When Hsi was sent to command in Yu her family
objected to her going so far from home and she stayed behind.”
Tsʻao Pʻei drew her toward him and looked at her closely. Her hair hung
disordered, her face was dusty and tear-stained, but when, with the
sleeve of his inner garment, he had wiped away these disfigurements he
saw a woman of exquisite loveliness, with a complexion clear as jade
touched with the tender bloom of a flower petal, a woman indeed
beautiful enough to ruin a kingdom.
“I am the son of the Minister Tsʻao,” said he turning to the elder
woman. “I will guarantee your safety so you need fear nothing.”
He then put by his sword and sat down at the upper end of the room.
As the great Minister Tsʻao was entering the gate of the conquered city
Hsü Yu rode up very quickly, passed him and pointed with his whip at
the gate saying, “A-man, you would not have been here but for my
plans.”
Tsʻao laughed, but his captains were very annoyed. When he reached the
Yüan residence he stopped at the gate, and asked if any one had gone
in. The guard at the gate said, “Your son is within.” Tsʻao called him
out and chid him, but the wife of the late Prefect interposed, saying,
“But for your son we had not been saved. I desire to present to you a
lady, of the Chên family, as a handmaid to your son.”
Tsʻao bade them bring out the girl and she bowed before him. After
looking at her intently he said, “Just the wife for him!” and he told
Tsʻao Pʻei to take her to wife.
After the conquest of Chʻichou had been made quite sure, Tsʻao made a
ceremonial visit to the Yüan family cemetery, where he sacrificed at
the tomb of his late rival, bowed his head and lamented bitterly.
Turning to his captains he said, “Not long ago when Pên-chʻu and I
worked together in military matters he asked me, saying, ‘If this
disturbance continue what districts should be held?’ and I replied
asking him what he thought. He said, ‘To the south I would hold the
river, on the north, guard against Yen and Tai and the hordes from the
Shamo. Thence southward I would try for the Empire and do you not think
I might succeed?’ I replied saying, I depended upon the wisdom and
force of the world directed by Tao; then every thing would be possible.
These words seem as if spoken only yesterday, and now he is gone.
Thinking over it I cannot refrain from tears.”
His officers were deeply affected. Tsʻao treated the widow generously,
giving her gold and silks and food to her content.
He also issued a further order that the taxes in Hopei would be
remitted in consideration of the sufferings of the people during the
warlike operations. He sent up a memorial and formally became Governor
of Chʻichou.
One day Hsü Chʻu, riding in at the east gate, met Hsü Yu, who called
out to him, “Would you fellows be riding through here if it had not
been for me?”
Hsü Chʻu replied, “We fellows, those who survive and those who
perished, risked our lives in bloody battle to get this city, so do not
brag of your deeds.”
“You are a lot of blockheads, not worth talking about,” said Yu.
Chʻu in his anger drew his sword and ran him through. Then he took his
head and went to tell Tsʻao the reason.
Said Tsʻao, “He and I were old friends and we could joke together. Why
did you kill him?”
He blamed Hsü Chʻu very severely and gave orders that the corpse should
be buried honourably.
He enquired for any wise and reputable men who were known to be living
in the district and was told of a certain cavalry officer named Tsʻui
Yen, of Tungwu City, who had on many occasions given valuable advice to
Yüan Shao. As the advice was not followed Yen had pleaded indisposition
and remained at home.
Tsʻao sent for this man, gave him an office and said to him, “According
to the former registers there are three hundred thousand households in
the district so that one may well call it a major district.”
Yen replied, “The Empire is rent and the country is torn; the brothers
Yüan are at war and the people have been stripped naked. Yet, Sir, you
do not hasten to enquire after local conditions and how to rescue the
people from misery, but first compute the possibilities of taxation.
Can you expect to gain the support of our people by such means?”
Tsʻao accepted the rebuke, changed his policy, thanked him and treated
him all the better for it.
As soon as Chʻichou was settled, Tsʻao sent to find out the movements
of Yüan Tʻan. He heard he was ravaging Kanling and the places near it
in the south and west. Moreover, the scouts brought the news that Yüan
Shang had fled to the hills. An expedition had been sent against him
but Shang would not face a battle. He had gone away to Yuchou to his
brother Hsi.
Tʻan, having surrendered with all his army, yet prepared for another
attempt on Chʻichou. Whereupon Tsʻao summoned him. Tʻan refused to come
and Tsʻao sent letters breaking off the marriage with his daughter.
Soon after Tsʻao led an expedition against Tʻan and marched to
Pʻingyüan, whereupon Tʻan sent to Liu Piao to beg assistance. Piao sent
for Liu Pei to consult about this and he said, “Tsʻao is very strong
now that he has overcome Chʻichou and the Yüans will be unable to hold
out for long. Nothing is to be gained by helping this man and it may
give Tsʻao the loophole he is always looking for to attack this place.
My advice is to keep the army in condition and devote all our energies
to defence.”
“Agreed; but what shall we say?” said Piao.
“Write to both the brothers as peacemaker in gracious terms.”
Accordingly Liu Piao wrote thus to Yüan Tʻan:—“When the superior man
would escape danger he does not go to an enemy State. I heard recently
that you had crooked the knee to Tsʻao, which was ignoring the enmity
between him and your father, rejecting the duties of brotherhood and
leaving behind you the shame of an alliance with the enemy. If your
brother, the successor to Chʻichou, has acted unfraternally, your duty
was to bend your inclination to follow him and wait till the state of
affairs had settled. Would it not have been very noble to bring about
the redress of wrongs?”
And to Yüan Shang he wrote:—“Your brother, the ruler of Chʻingchou, is
of an impulsive temperament and confuses right with wrong. You ought
first to have destroyed Tsʻao in order to put an end to the hatred
which your father bore him and, when the situation had become settled,
to have endeavoured to redress the wrongs. Would not that have been
well? If you persist in following this mistaken course, remember the
hound and the hare, both so wearied that the peasant got the hare.”
From this letter Yüan Tʻan saw that Liu Piao had no intention of
helping him, and feeling he alone could not withstand Tsʻao, he
abandoned Pʻingyüan and fled to Nanpʻi, whither Tsʻao pursued him. The
weather was very cold and the river was frozen, so that his grain boats
could not move. Wherefore Tsʻao ordered the inhabitants to break the
ice and tow the boats. When the peasants heard the order they ran away.
Tsʻao angrily wished to arrest and behead them. When they heard this
they went to his camp in a body and offered their heads to the sword.
“If I do not kill you, my order will not be obeyed,” said Tsʻao. “Yet
supposing I cut off your heads—but I cannot bear to do that. Quickly
flee to the hills and hide so that my soldiers do not capture you.”
The peasants left weeping.
Then Yüan Tʻan led out his army against Tsʻao. When both sides were
arrayed Tsʻao rode to the front, pointed with his whip at his opponent
and railed at him saying, “I treated you well; why then have you turned
against me?”
Tʻan replied, “You have invaded my land, captured my cities and broken
off my marriage; yet you accuse me of turning against you.”
Tsʻao ordered Hsü Huang to go out and give battle. Tʻan bade Pʻêng An
accept the challenge. After a few bouts Pʻêng An was slain and Tʻan,
having lost, fled and went into Nanpʻi, where he was besieged. Tʻan,
panic-stricken, sent Hsin Pʻing to see Tsʻao and arrange surrender.
“He is nothing but a fickle-minded child,” said Tsʻao. “He is never of
the same mind two days running and I cannot depend upon what he says.
Now your brother is in my employ and has a post of importance, you had
better remain here also.”
“Sir Minister, you are in error,” said Hsin Pʻing. “It is said that the
lord’s honour is the servant’s glory, the lord’s sadness is the
servant’s shame. How can I turn my back on the family I have so long
served?”
Tsʻao felt he could not be persuaded and sent him back. Pʻing returned
and told Tʻan the surrender could not be arranged and Tʻan turned on
him angrily calling him a traitor. At this unmerited reproach such a
huge wave of anger welled up in the man’s breast that he was overcome
and fell in a swoon. They carried him out, but the shock had been too
severe and soon after he died. Tʻan regretted his conduct when it was
too late.
Then Kuo Tʻu said, “To-morrow when we go out to battle we will drive
the people out in front as a screen for the soldiers and we must fight
a winning battle.”
That night they assembled all the common people of the place and forced
into their hands swords and spears. At daylight they opened the four
gates and a huge party with much shouting came out at each, peasantry
carrying arms in front, and soldiers behind them. They pushed on toward
Tsʻao’s camps and a mêlée began which lasted till near midday. But this
was quite indecisive, although heaps of dead lay everywhere.
Seeing that success was at best only partial Tsʻao rode out to the
hills near and thence had the drums beaten for a new attack under his
own eye. Officers and men, seeing that he could observe them in person,
exerted themselves to the utmost and Tʻan’s army was severely defeated.
Of the peasantry driven into the battlefield multitudes were slain.
Tsʻao Hung, who displayed very great valour, burst into the press of
battle and met Yüan Tʻan face to face. The two slashed and hammered at
each other and Tʻan was killed.
Kuo Tʻu saw that his side was wholly disorganised and tried to withdraw
into the shelter of the city. Yo Chin saw this and opened a tremendous
discharge of arrows so that the moat was soon filled with dead.
The city fell to Tsʻao; he entered and set about restoring peace and
order. Then suddenly appeared a new army under one of Yüan Hsi’s
captains. Tsʻao led out his men to meet them, but the two commanders
laid down their arms and yielded. They were rewarded with the rank of
marquis.
Then Chang Yen, the leader of the Black Hills Brigands, came with ten
legions and gave in his submission. He was made a General, Chiang-chün.
By an order of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s the head of Yüan Tʻan was exposed and
death was threatened to any one who should lament for him. Nevertheless
a man dressed in mourning attire was arrested for weeping below the
exposed head at the north gate. Taken into Tsʻao’s presence he said he
was Wang Hsiu and had been an officer in Chʻingchou. He had been
expelled because he had remonstrated with Tʻan, but when the news of
Tʻan’s death came he had come to weep for him.
“Did you know of my command?”
“I knew it.”
“Yet you were not afraid?”
“When one has received favours from a man in life it would be wrong not
to mourn at his death. How can one stand in the world if one forgets
duty through fear? If I could bury his body I would not mind death.”
Tsʻao said, “And there were many such as this in this district. What a
pity that the Yüan family could not make the best of them! But if they
had done so I should never have dared to turn my eyes toward this
place.”
The intrepid mourner was not put to death. The remains of Yüan Tʻan
were properly interred and Wang Hsiu was well treated and even given an
appointment.
In his new position he was asked for advice about the best way to
proceed against Yüan Shang, who had fled to his brother, but he held
his peace, thereby winning from Tsʻao renewed admiration for his
constancy. “He is indeed loyal!” said Tsʻao.
Then he questioned Kuo Chia, who named certain officers who should be
sent to bring about the surrender of the Yüans. Then five captains, to
attack Yuchou along three routes, and other armies, were sent against
Pingchou.
The two brothers Shang and Hsi heard of Tsʻao’s advance with dismay for
they had no hope of successful resistance. Therefore they abandoned the
city and hastily marched into Liaohsi to the Governor Wuhuan Chʻu. But
the governor was not disposed to incur the enmity of the powerful Tsʻao
Tsʻao so he called his subordinates together to swear them to support
him and said, “I understand that Tsʻao Tsʻao is the most powerful man
of the day and I am going to support him and those who do not go with
me I shall put to death.”
Each in turn smeared his lips with the blood of sacrifice and took the
oath till it came to the turn of Han Hêng. Instead he dashed his sword
to the ground crying, “I have received great benefits from the Yüans.
Now my lord has been vanquished; my knowledge was powerless to save
him, my bravery insufficient to cause me to die for him; I have failed
in my duty. But I refuse to commit the crowning act of treachery and
ally myself with Tsʻao.”
This speech made the others turn pale. The chief said, “For a great
undertaking there must be lofty principles. However, success does not
necessarily depend upon universal support and since Han Hêng is
actuated by such sentiments then let him follow his conscience.” So he
turned Han Hêng out of the assembly.
Wuhuan Chʻu then went out of the city to meet and welcome Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
army and rendered his submission. He was well received and the title
given him of Guardian of the North.
Then the scouts came to say that the three captains had marched to
Pingchou but that Kao Kan had occupied Hukuan Pass and could not be
dislodged. So Tsʻao marched thither himself. The defender still
maintaining his position Tsʻao asked for plans. Hsün Yu proposed that a
band should go over pretending to be deserters. Tsʻao assented and then
called the two brothers Lü, to whom he gave whispered orders. They left
with their companies.
Soon they came near the pass and called out, saying, “We are old
officers in Yüan’s armies forced into surrender to Tsʻao. We find him
so false and he treats us so meanly that we want to return to help our
old master. Wherefore quickly open your gates to us.”
Kao Kan was suspicious, but he let the two officers come up to the
pass, and when they had stripped off their armour and left their horses
they were permitted to enter. And they said to Kao Kan, “Tsʻao’s men
are new to the country and not settled; you ought to fall upon their
camp this very evening. If you approve we will lead the attack.”
Kao Kan decided to trust them and prepared to attack, giving the two
brothers the leadership. But as they drew near Tsʻao’s camp a great
noise arose behind them and they found themselves in an ambush attacked
on all sides. Realising too late that he had been the victim of a ruse,
Kao retreated to the pass, but found it occupied by the enemy. Kao Kan
then made the best of his way to the barbarian chieftain Shanyu. Tsʻao
gave orders to hold the passes and sent companies in pursuit.
When Kao Kan reached the boundary of Shanyu’s territory he met
Tso-hsien, Prince of the northern tribesmen. Kao Kan dismounted and
made a low obeisance saying, “Tsʻao is conquering and absorbing all the
borders and your turn, O Prince, will come quickly. I pray you help me
and let us smite together for the safety of the northern regions.”
The Prince replied, “I have no quarrel with Tsʻao, why then should he
invade my land? Do you desire to embroil me with him?”
He would have nothing to do with Kao Kan and sent him away. At his
wits’ end Kan decided to try to join Liu Piao and got so far on his
journey as Shanglu when he was taken prisoner and put to death by Wang
Yen. His head was sent to Tsʻao Tsʻao and Wang was created a marquis
for this service.
Thus Pingchou was conquered. Then Tsʻao Tsʻao began to discuss the
overthrow of Wuhuan on the west. Tsʻao Hung, speaking in the name of
his brother officials, said, “The two brothers Yüan are nearly done for
and too weak to be feared. They have fled far into the Sea of Sand and
if we pursue them thither it may bring down Liu Piao and Liu Pei upon
the capital. Should we be unable to rescue it the misfortune would be
immense. Wherefore we beg you to return to Hsütu.”
But Kuo Chia was of different advice. “You are wrong,” said he. “Though
the prestige of our lord fills the Empire, yet the men of the desert,
relying upon their inaccessibility, will not be prepared against us.
Wherefore I say attack, and we shall conquer them. Beside Yüan Shao was
kind to the nomads and the two brothers have been more so. They must be
destroyed. As for Liu Piao he is a mere gossip, who need not cause the
least anxiety. And Liu Pei is unfit for any heavy responsibility and
will take no trouble over a light one. You may leave the State with
perfect safety and make as long an expedition as you choose. Nothing
will happen.”
“You speak well, O Fêng-hsiao,” said Tsʻao. He led his legions, heavy
and light, to the edge of the desert, with many waggons.
The expedition marched into the desert. The rolling ocean of yellow
sand spread its waves before them and they saw far and near the eddying
sand pillars, and felt the fierce winds that drove them forward. The
road became precipitous and progress difficult. Tsʻao began to think of
returning and spoke thereof to Kuo Chia, who had advised the journey.
Kuo had speedily fallen victim to the effects of the climate, and at
this time he lay in his cart very ill.
Tsʻao’s tears fell as he said, “My friend, you are suffering for my
ambition to subdue the Shamo. I cannot bear to think you should be
ill.”
“You have always been very good to me,” said the sick man, “and I can
never repay what I owe you.”
“The country is exceedingly precipitous and I am thinking of going
back; what think you?”
Chia replied, “The success of an expedition of this kind depends upon
celerity. To strike a sudden blow on a distant spot with a heavy
baggage train is difficult. To ensure success the need is light troops
and a good road to strike quickly before an enemy has time to prepare.
Now you must find guides who know the road well.”
Then the sick adviser was left at Ichou for treatment and they sought
among the natives for some persons to serve as guides. One of Yüan
Shao’s old captains knew those parts well and Tsʻao called him and
questioned him. He said, “Between autumn and summer this route is under
water, the shallow places too heavy for wheeled traffic, the deep parts
insufficient for boats. It is always difficult. Therefore you would do
better to return and at Lulungkʻou cross the Paitʻan Pass into the
desert. Then advance to Liuchʻêng (Willow City) and smite before there
is time to prepare. One sudden rush will settle Mao Tun.”
For this valuable information and plan Tʻien Chʻou was made a
“Pacificator of the North” General, and went in advance as leader and
guide. Next after him came Chang Liao and Tsʻao brought up the rear.
They advanced by double marches.
Tʻien Chʻou led Chang Liao to White Wolf Hill, where they came upon the
two Yüans with Mao Tun and a large force of cavalry. Chang Liao
galloped to inform his chief and Tsʻao rode up to the top of an
eminence to survey the foe. He saw a large mass of cavalry without any
military formation advancing in a disorderly crowd.
Said he, “They have no formation, we can easily rout them.”
Then he handed over his ensign of command to Chang Liao who, with Hsü
Chʻu, Yü Chin and Hsü Huang, made a vigorous attack from four different
points, with the result that the enemy was thrown into confusion. Chang
Liao rode forward and slew Mao Tun and the other captains gave in. The
brothers Yüan with a few companies of horse got away into Liaotung.
Tsʻao Tsʻao then led his army into Liuchʻêng. For his services he
conferred upon Tʻien Chʻou the rank of marquis of Liutʻing and put him
over the city. But Tʻien Chʻou declined the rank, saying with tears, “I
am a renegade and a fugitive. It is my good fortune that you spared my
life and how can I accept a price for Lulung camp? I would rather die
than accept the marquisate.”
Tsʻao recognised that reason was on his side and conferred upon him
another office. Tsʻao then pacified the Shanyu chieftains; collected a
large number of horses and at once set out on the homeward march.
The season was winter, cold and dry. For two hundred li there was no
water, and grain also was scanty. The troops fed on horse flesh. They
had to dig very deep, thirty to forty chang, [14] to find water.
When Tsʻao reached Ichou he rewarded those who had remonstrated with
him against the expedition.
He said, “I took some risk in going so far but by good fortune I have
succeeded; with the aid of Heaven I have secured victory. I could not
be guided by your advice but still they were counsels of safety and
therefore I reward you to prove my appreciation of advice and that
hereafter you may not fear to speak your minds.”
The adviser, Kuo Chia, did not live to see the return of his lord. His
coffin was placed on the bier in a hall of the government offices and
Tsʻao went thither to sacrifice to his manes. Tsʻao mourned for him,
saying, “Alas! Heaven has smitten me; Fêng-hsiao is dead.”
Then turning to his officers he said, “You, gentlemen, are of the same
age as myself, but he was very young to die. I needed him for the
future and unhappily he has been torn from me in the flower of his age.
My heart and my bowels are torn with grief.”
The servants of the late adviser presented his last testament, which
they said his dying hand had written, and he had told them to say, “If
the Minister shall follow the advice given herein then Liaotung will be
secure.”
Tsʻao opened the cover and read, nodding his head in agreement and
uttering deep sighs. But no other man knew what was written therein.
Shortly after, Hsiahou Tun at the head of a delegation presented a
petition saying, “For a long time Kungsun Kʻang, the Prefect of
Liaotung, has been contumacious and it bodes ill for peace that the
brothers Yüan have fled to him. Would it not be well to attack before
they move against you?”
“I need not trouble your tiger courage, gentlemen,” said Tsʻao smiling.
“Wait a few days and you will see the heads of our two enemies sent to
me.”
They could not believe it.
As has been related the two brothers Yüan escaped to the east with a
few squadrons of horse. The Prefect of Liaotung was a son of General
Kungsun Tu, “the Warlike” as his title ran. He was a native of
Hsiangpʻing. When he heard that the Yüans were on their way to his
territory he called a council to decide upon his plan. At the council
Kungsun Kung rose saying, “When Yüan Shao was alive he nourished the
plan of adding this district to his own. Now his sons, homeless, with a
broken army and no officers, are coming here; it seems to me like the
dove stealing the magpie’s nest. If we offer them shelter they will
assuredly intrigue against us. I advise that they be inveigled into the
city, put to death and their heads sent to Tsʻao, who will be most
grateful to us.”
Said the Prefect, “I have one fear; Tsʻao will come against us. If so,
it would be better to have the help of the Yüans against him.”
“Then you can send spies to ascertain whether the army is preparing to
attack us. If it is then save them alive; if not, then follow my
advice.”
It was decided to wait till the spies came back. In the meantime the
two Yüans had taken counsel together as they approached Liaotung,
saying, “Liaotung has a large army strong enough to oppose Tsʻao Tsʻao.
We will go thither and submit till we can slay the Prefect and take
possession. Then when we are strong enough we will attack and recover
our own land.”
With these intentions they went into the city. They were received and
lodged in the guests’ quarters, but when they wished to see Kungsun
Kʻang he put them off with the excuse of indisposition. However, before
many days the spies returned with the news that Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army was
quiescent and there was no hint of any attack.
Then Kungsun Kʻang called the Yüans into his presence. But before they
came he hid swordmen and axemen behind the arras in the hall. When the
visitors came and had made their salutations, Kʻang bade them be
seated.
Now it was bitterly cold and on the couch where Shang was sitting were
no coverings. So he asked for a cushion. The host surlily said, “When
your heads take that long, long journey, will there be any cushions?”
Before Shang could recover from his fright Kʻang shouted, “Why do you
not begin?”
At this out rushed the assassins and the heads of the two brothers were
cut off as they sat. Packed in a small wooden box they were sent to
Tsʻao Tsʻao at Ichou.
All this time Tsʻao had been calmly waiting, and when his impatient
officers had petitioned in a body that he would march to the capital if
he intended no attack on the east, he told them what he was waiting
for. He would go as soon as the heads arrived.
In their secret hearts they laughed. But then, surely enough, a
messenger soon came from Liaotung bringing the heads. Then they were
greatly surprised and when the messenger presented his letters Tsʻao
cried, “Just as Fêng-hsiao said!”
He amply rewarded the messenger and the Governor of Liaotung was made a
marquis and General of the Left Wing; and when the officers asked what
had happened, Tsʻao told them what the late adviser had predicted. He
read to them the dead officer’s testament, which ran something like
this:—“Yüan Shang and his brother are going to Liaotung. Illustrious
Sir, you are on no account to attack for Kungsun Kʻang has long lived
in fear lest the Yüans should absorb his country. When they arrive
Kʻang will hesitate. If you attack, he will save the Yüans to help him;
if you wait, they will work against each other. This is evident.”
The officers simply jumped with surprise to see how perfectly events
had been foreseen.
Then Tsʻao at the head of all his officers performed a grand sacrifice
before the coffin of the wise Kuo Chia. He had died at the age of
thirty-eight, after eleven years of meritorious and wonderful service
in the wars.
When Heaven permitted Kuo Chia’s birth,
It made him ablest man on earth.
He knew by rote all histories,
From him war kept no mysteries.
Like Fan’s, his plans were quite decisive,
As Chʻên’s, his strokes were most incisive.
Too soon he ran his earthly race,
Too soon the great beam fell from place.
When Tsʻao returned to Chʻichou he sent off the coffin of his late
adviser to the capital where it was interred.
Then certain of his officers said that as the north had been overcome
it was time to settle Chiangnan. Tsʻao was pleased and said that had
long occupied his thoughts.
The last night he spent in Chʻichou he went to one of the corner towers
and stood there regarding the sky. His only companion was Hsün Yu.
Presently Tsʻao said, “That is a very brilliant glow there in the
south. It seems too strong for me to do anything there.”
“What is there that can oppose your heaven-high prestige?” said Yu.
Suddenly a beam of golden light shot up out of the earth. “Surely a
treasure is buried there,” remarked Yu.
They went down from the city wall, called some men and led them to the
point whence the light proceeded. There the men were ordered to dig.
The southern skies with portents glow,
The northern lands their treasures show.
What the diggers found will appear in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A WOMAN OVERHEARS A SECRET:
A WARRIOR LEAPS A STREAM.
The story says that the diggers at the spot whence the golden light
proceeded presently unearthed a bronze bird. Looking at it, Tsʻao
turned to his companion, saying, “What is the portent?”
“You will remember that Shun’s mother dreamed of a jade bird before his
birth, so certainly it is a felicitous omen,” said Hsün Yü.
Tsʻao was very pleased and he ordered forthwith the building of a lofty
tower to celebrate the find, and they began to dig foundations and cut
timber, to burn tiles and to smooth bricks for the Bronze Bird Tower on
the banks of the Chang River. Tsʻao set a year for the building.
His younger son, Chih, said, “If you build a terraced tower you should
add two others, one on each side. The centre tower and the tallest
should be called The Bronze Bird Tower; the side towers named Jade
Dragon Tower and Golden Phœnix Tower. Then connect these by flying
bridges and the effect will be noble.”
“My son, your words are very good and by and bye when the building is
complete I can solace my old age therein.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao had five sons, but this one Chih was the most clever and
his essays were particularly elegant. His father was very fond of him
and, seeing that the young man took an interest in the building, Tsʻao
left him with his brother Pʻei at Yehchün to superintend the work,
while he led the army that had recently conquered the Yüans back to the
capital. When he arrived he distributed rewards liberally and
memorialised the throne obtaining the title of “The Pure Marquis” for
the late Kuo Chia. And he took Kuo’s son to be brought up in his own
family.
Next he began to consider the reduction of Liu Piao’s power. Hsün Yü
said, “The Grand Army has only just returned from the north and needs
rest. Wait half a year that the men may recover from the fatigue of the
campaign and both Liu Piao and Sun Chʻüan will fall at the first roll
of the drums.”
Presently Tsʻao approved of this plan and to rest his men he assigned
certain lands to them to till while they rested.
Liu Piao had been very generous to Liu Pei ever since he had come, a
fugitive seeking shelter. One day at a banquet there came news that two
captains, who had tendered their submission, had suddenly begun
plundering the people in Chianghsia. They evidently meant rebellion.
“If they really rebel it will cause a lot of trouble,” said Piao,
rather dismayed.
“Do not let that trouble you, I will go and settle it,” said Pʻei.
Pleased with this proposal, Piao told off three legions and placed them
under his friend, and the army marched as soon as the orders were
issued. In a short time it reached the scene and the two malcontents
came out to fight. Yüan-tê and his two brothers took their stand
beneath the great banner and looked over at the enemy. The two leaders
were riding handsome prancing horses and Yüan-tê said, “They certainly
have fine steeds.”
As he spoke Chao Yün galloped out with his spear set and dashed toward
the enemy. Chang Wu, one of the leaders, came out to meet him, but the
combat was very brief for Chang was soon killed. Thereupon Chao Yün
laid a hand upon the bridle of the fallen man’s horse to lead him back
to his own side. The slain rebel’s companion Chʻên Sun at once rode
after him, whereupon Chang Fei uttered a loud shout and rode out to
meet him. With one thrust he slew the rebel. Their followers now
scattered and Yüan-tê speedily restored order and returned.
Liu Piao, grateful for this service, rode out to the boundary to
welcome the victors. They re-entered the city and grand banquets were
instituted, at which they emptied great goblets in congratulations over
the victory. At one of these banquets the Prefect said, “With such
heroism as my brother has shown Chingchou has one upon whom to rely.
But a source of sorrow is the south country Yueh, from which a raid may
come at any time. Chang Lu and Sun Chʻüan are to be feared.”
“But I have three bold captains,” said Yüan-tê, “quite equal to any
task you can set them. Send Chang Fei to keep ward on the southern
marches, Kuan Yü to guard the city against Chang Lu and Chao Yün will
protect you from Sun Chʻüan. Why need you grieve?”
The scheme appealed strongly to the Prefect, but Tsʻai Mao did not
approve. So he spoke to his sister, Liu Piao’s wife, and insisted on
the danger of putting these men in such commanding positions all round
the prefecture. The lady Tsʻai, thus influenced by her brother,
undertook to remonstrate and that night began by saying, “The Chingchou
men seem to have a great liking for Liu Pei; they are always coming and
going. You ought to take precautions. I do not think you should let
them stay in the city. Why not send them on some mission?”
“Yüan-tê is a good man,” replied the Prefect.
“I think others differ from you,” said the lady.
The Prefect said nothing but muttered to himself. Soon after he went
out of the city to see Yüan-tê and noticed he was riding a very
handsome horse. They told him it was a prize taken from the recently
conquered rebels, and as he praised it very warmly, the horse was
presented to him. Liu Piao was delighted and rode it back to the city.
Kʻuai Yüeh saw it and asked where it had come from. The Prefect told
him it was a gift from Liu Pʻei and Yüeh said, “My brother knew horses
very well and I am not a bad judge. This horse has tear-tracks running
down from his eyes and a white blaze on his forehead. He is called a
tilu and he is a danger to his master. That is why Chang Wu was killed.
I advise you not to ride him.”
The Prefect began to think. Soon after he asked Yüan-tê to a banquet
and in the course of it said, “You kindly presented me with a horse
lately and I am most grateful, but you may need him on some of your
expeditions and, if you do not mind, I would like to return him.”
Yüan-tê rose and thanked him. The Prefect continued, “You have been
here a long time and I fear I am spoiling your career as a warrior. Now
Hsinyeh in Hsiangjang is no poverty-stricken town; how would you like
to garrison it with your own men?”
Yüan-tê naturally took the offer as a command and set out as soon as he
could, taking leave of the Prefect the next day. And so he took up his
quarters in Hsinyeh. When he left the city he noticed in the gate a
person making him emphatic salutations and the man presently said, “You
should not ride that horse.”
Yüan-tê looked at the man and recognised in the speaker one of the
secretaries named I Chi, a native of Shanyang. So he hastily dismounted
and asked why. I Chi replied, “Yesterday I heard that Kʻuai Yüeh told
the Prefect that that horse was a tilu and brought disaster to its
owner. That is why it was returned to you. How can you mount it again?”
“I am deeply touched by your affection,” replied Yüan-tê, “but a man’s
life is governed by fate and what horse can interfere with that?”
I Chi admitted his superior view, but thereafter he followed Yüan-tê
wherever he went.
The arrival of Liu Pʻei in Hsinyeh was a matter of rejoicing to all the
inhabitants and the whole administration was reformed.
In the spring of the twelfth year the Lady Kan gave birth to a son who
was named Chʻan. The night of his birth a crane settled on the roof of
the house, screeched some forty times and then flew away westward.
Just at the time of birth a miraculous incense filled the chamber. Lady
Kan one night had dreamed that she was looking up at the sky and the
constellation of the Great Bear, Peitou, had fallen down her throat. As
she conceived soon after she gave her son the milk-name of O-tou.
While Tsʻao Tsʻao was absent from the capital on his northern
expedition, Liu Pʻei went to Liu Piao and said to him, “Why do you not
take this opportunity to march against the capital? An empire might
follow from that.”
“I am well placed here,” was the reply, “Why should I attempt other
things?”
Yüan-tê said no more. Then the Prefect invited him into the private
apartments to drink and while they were so engaged he suddenly began to
sigh despondently.
“O brother, why do you sigh thus?” asked Yüan-tê.
“I have a secret sorrow that is difficult to speak about,” said Piao.
Yüan-tê was on the point of asking what it was when the Lady Tsʻai came
and stood behind the screen, whereat Piao hung his head and became
silent. Before long host and guest bade each other farewell and Liu
Pʻei went back to his own place.
That winter they heard that Tsʻao Tsʻao had returned from Liuchʻêng and
Liu Pʻei sighed when he reflected that his friend had paid no heed to
his advice.
Unexpectedly a messenger came from the principal city with a request
that Liu Pʻei would go thither to consult with the Prefect. So he
started at once with the messenger. He was received very kindly, and
when the salutations were over, the two men went into the private
quarters at the rear to dine. Presently the host said, “Tsʻao has
returned and he is stronger than ever. I am afraid he means to absorb
this district. I am sorry I did not follow your advice for I have
missed an opportunity.”
“In this period of disruption, with strife on every side, one cannot
pretend that there will be no more opportunities. If you only take that
what offers there will be nothing to regret.”
“What you say, brother, is quite to the point,” replied Liu Piao.
They drank on for a time till presently Liu Pʻei noticed that his host
was weeping, and when he asked the cause of these tears, Piao replied,
“It is that secret sorrow I spoke of to you before; I wished to tell
you, but there was no opportunity that day.”
“O brother, what difficulty have you, and can I assist you? I am
entirely at your service.”
“My wife, of the Chʻên family, bore me a son Chʻi, my eldest. He grew
up virtuous but weakly and unfitted to succeed me in my office. Later I
took a wife of the Tsʻai family, who bore me a son named Tsʻung, fairly
intelligent. If I pass over the elder in favour of the younger there is
the breach of the rule of primogeniture, and if I follow law and custom
there are the intrigues of the mother’s family and clan to be reckoned
with. Further, the army is in the hollow of their hands. There will be
trouble and I cannot decide what to do.”
Liu Pʻei said, “All experience proves that to set aside the elder for
the younger is to take the way of confusion. If you fear the power of
the Tsʻai faction, then gradually reduce its power and influence, but
do not let doting affection lead you into making the younger your
heir.”
Piao agreed. But the Lady Tsʻai had had a suspicion why her lord had
summoned Liu Pʻei and what was the subject of discussion, so she had
determined to listen secretly. She was behind the screen when the
matter was talked over and she conceived deep resentment against Liu
Pʻei for what he had said. On his side he felt that his advice had
fallen upon deaf ears and he arose and walked across the room. As he
did so he noticed that he was getting heavy and stiff and a furtive
tear stole down his cheek as he thought of the past. When he returned
and sat down his host noticed the traces of weeping and asked the cause
of his sorrow.
“In the past I was always in the saddle and I was slender and lithe.
Now it is so long since I rode that I am getting stout and the days and
months are slipping by, wasted; I shall have old age on me in no time
and I have accomplished nothing. So I am sad.”
“I have heard a story that when you were at Hsucheng at the season of
green plums you and Tsʻao Tsʻao were discussing heroes. You mentioned
this name and that to him as men of parts and he rejected every one of
them. Finally he said that you and he were the only two men of real
worth in the whole country. If he with all his power and authority did
not dare to place himself in front of you, I do not think you need
grieve about having accomplished nothing.”
At this flattering speech Liu Pʻei pretended that the wine was getting
the better of him and in a half maudlin manner he replied, “If I only
had a starting point then I would not trouble about any one in a
worldful of fools.”
His host said no more and the guest, feeling that he had slipped up in
speech, rose as if drunk, took leave and staggered out saying he must
return to his lodging to recover.
The episode has been celebrated in a poem:—
When with crooking fingers counting,
Tsʻao Tsʻao reckoned up the forceful
Men of real determination,
Only two he found; and one was
Yüan-tê. But by inaction
He had grown both fat and slothful;
Yet the months and years in passing
Fretted him with nought accomplished.
Though Liu Piao kept silence when he heard the words of Yüan-tê, yet he
felt the more uneasy. After the departure of his guest he retired into
the inner quarters where he met his wife. The Lady Tsʻai said, “I
happened to be behind the screen just now and so heard the words of Liu
Pʻei. They betray scant regard for other people and mean that he would
take your country if he could. If you do not remove him it will go ill
with you.”
Her husband made no reply, but only shook his head. Then the Lady Tsʻai
took counsel with her kinsman Tsʻai Mao, who said, “Let me go to the
guest-house and slay him forthwith, and we can report what we have
done.”
His sister consented and he went out, and that night told off a party
of soldiers to do the foul deed.
Now Yüan-tê sat in his lodging by the light of a single candle till
about the third watch, when he prepared to retire to bed. He was
startled by a knock at his door and in came I Chi, who had heard of the
plot against his new master and had come in the darkness to warn him.
He related the details of the plot and urged speedy departure.
“I have not said farewell to my host; how can I go away?” said Liu
Pʻei.
“If you go to bid him farewell you will fall a victim to the Tsʻai
faction,” said I Chi.
So Yüan-tê said a hasty good-bye to his friend, called up his escort
and they all mounted and rode away by the light of the stars toward
Hsinyeh. Soon after they had left the soldiers arrived at the
guest-house, but their intended victim was already well on his way.
Naturally the failure of the plot chagrined the treacherous Tsʻai Mao,
but he took the occasion to scribble some calumnious verses on one of
the partitions. Then he went to see Liu Piao to whom he said, “Liu Pʻei
has treacherous intentions, as can be seen from some lines written on
the wall. And his hurried departure is suspicious.”
Liu Piao felt doubtful, but he went to the guest-house and there on the
wall he read this poem:
Too long, far too long I have dreamed life away,
Gazing at scenery day after day.
A dragon can never be kept in a pond,
He should ride on the thunder to heaven and beyond.
Greatly angered by what he read, Liu Piao drew his sword and swore to
slay the writer. But before he had gone many paces his anger had
already died down and he said to himself, “I have seen much of the man,
but have never known him write verses. This is the handiwork of some
one who wishes to sow discord between us.”
So saying he turned back and with the point of his sword scraped away
the poem. Then, putting up his sword, he mounted and rode home. By and
bye Tsʻai Mao reminded him that the soldiers were awaiting orders and
asked whether they could go to Hsinyeh and arrest Liu Pʻei.
“There is no hurry,” he replied.
Tsʻai Mao saw his brother-in-law’s hesitation and again sought his
sister. She said, “Soon there is to be the great gathering at
Hsiangyang and we can arrange something for that day.”
Next day Tsʻai Mao petitioned the Prefect, saying, “I pray you, Sir, to
attend the Full Harvest Festival at Hsiangyang; it would be an
encouragement to the people.”
“I have been feeling my old trouble lately; I certainly cannot go,”
replied he, “but my two sons can go to represent me and receive the
guests.”
“They are full young,” replied Mao, “They may make some mistakes.”
“Then go to Hsinyeh and request Liu Pʻei to receive the guests,” said
Piao.
Nothing could have pleased Tsʻai Mao more, for this would bring Liu
Pʻei within reach of his plot. Without loss of time he sent to Yüan-tê
requesting him to go to preside at the Festival.
It has been said that Yüan-tê made the best of his way home to Hsinyeh.
He felt that he had offended by that slip in speech, but determined to
keep silence about it and attempt no explanation. So he discussed it
with nobody. Then came the message asking him to preside at the
Festival, and he needed counsel.
Sun Chʻien said, “You have seemed worried and preoccupied lately and I
think something untoward happened at Chingchou. You should consider
well before you accept this invitation.”
Thereupon Yüan-tê told his confidants the whole story.
Kuan Yü said, “You yourself think your speech offended the Prefect, but
he said nothing to show displeasure. You need pay no attention to the
babble of outsiders. Hsiangyang is quite near and, if you do not go,
Liu Chinchou will begin to suspect something really is wrong.”
“You speak well,” said Yüan-tê.
Said Chang Fei, “Banquets are no good; gatherings are no better; it is
best not to go.”
“Let me take three hundred horse and foot as escort; there will be no
trouble then,” said Chao Yün.
“That is the best course,” said Yüan-tê.
They soon set out for the gathering place and Tsʻai Mao met them at the
boundary and was most affable and courteous. Soon arrived the Prefect’s
sons at the head of a great company of officers, civil and military.
Their appearance put Yüan-tê more at ease. He was conducted to the
guest-house and Chao Yün posted his men so as to guard it completely,
while he himself, armed, remained close to his chief.
Liu Chʻi said to Yüan-tê, “My father is feeling unwell and could not
come, wherefore he begs you, Uncle Liu, to preside at the various
ceremonies and conduct the inspections.”
“Really I am unfit for such responsibilities,” said Yüan-tê, “But my
brother’s command must be obeyed.”
Next day it was reported that the officials from the forty-one
departments of the nine districts had all arrived.
Then Tsʻai Mao said to Kʻuai Yüeh, “This Liu Pʻei is the villain of the
age and if left alive will certainly work harm to us. He must be got
rid of now.”
“I fear you would forfeit everybody’s favour if you harmed him,”
replied Kʻuai.
“I have already secretly spoken in these terms to Prefect Liu,” said
Tsʻai, “and I have his word here.”
“So it may be regarded as settled; then we can prepare.”
Tsʻai Mao said, “One of my brothers is posted on the road to the Hsien
Hills from the east gate and the others are on the north and south
roads. No guard is needed on the west as the Tʻan Torrent is quite
safeguard enough. Even with legions he could not get over that.”
Kʻuai replied, “I notice that Chao Yün never leaves him. I feel sure he
expects some attack.”
“I have placed five hundred men in ambush in the city.”
“We will tell Wên Pʻing and Wang Wei to invite all the military
officers to a banquet at one of the pavilions outside the city, and
Chao Yün will be among them. Then will be our opportunity.”
Tsʻai Mao thought this a good device for getting Chao Yün out of the
way.
Now oxen and horses had been slaughtered and a grand banquet prepared.
Yüan-tê rode to the residence on the horse of ill omen and when he
arrived the steed was led into the back part of the enclosure and
tethered there. Soon the guests arrived and Yüan-tê took his place as
master of the feast, with the two sons of the Prefect, one on each
side. The guests were all arranged in order of rank. Chao Yün stood
near his lord sword in hand as a faithful henchman should do.
Then Wên and Wang came to invite Chao Yün to the banquet they had
prepared for the military officers. But he declined. However, Yüan-tê
told him to go, and, after some demur, he went. Then Tsʻai Mao
perfected his final arrangements, placing his men surrounding the place
like a ring of iron. The three hundred guards that formed the escort of
Yüan-tê were sent away to the guest-house.
All were ready and awaiting the signal. At the third course, I Chi took
a goblet of wine in his hands and approached Yüan-tê, at the same time
giving him a meaning look. Then in a low voice he said, “Make an excuse
to get away.”
Yüan-tê understood and presently rose as if stiff with long sitting and
went outside. There he found I Chi, who had gone thither after
presenting the cup of wine. I Chi then told him more of the plot and
that all the roads were guarded except that to the west. And he advised
him to lose no time.
Yüan-tê was quite taken aback. However, he got hold of the horse of ill
omen, opened the door of the garden and led him out. Then he took a
flying leap into the saddle and galloped off without waiting for the
escort. He made for the west gate. At the gate the wardens wanted to
question him, but he only whipped up his steed and rode through. The
guards at the gate ran off to report to Tsʻai Mao, who quickly went in
pursuit with a half company of soldiers.
As has been said Yüan-tê burst out at the west gate. Before he had gone
far there rolled before him a great river barring the way. It was the
Tʻan, many score feet in width, which pours its waters into the Hsiang.
Its current was very swift.
Yüan-tê reached the bank and saw the river was unfordable. So he turned
his horse and rode back. Then, not far off, he saw a cloud of dust and
knew that his pursuers were therein. He thought that it was all over.
However, he turned again toward the swift river, and seeing the
soldiers now quite near, plunged into the stream. A few paces, and he
felt the horse’s fore legs floundering in front while the water rose
over the skirt of his robe. Then he plied the whip furiously, crying,
“Tilu, Tilu, I trust to you.”
Whereupon the good steed suddenly reared up out of the water and, with
one tremendous leap, was on the western bank. Yüan-tê felt as if he had
come out of the clouds.
In after years the famous court official, Su Tʻung-pʻo, wrote a poem on
this leap over the Tʻan Torrent:—
I’m growing old, the leaves are sere,
My sun slopes westward, soon will sink,
And I recall that yester year
I wandered by Tʻan River brink.
Irresolute, anon I paused,
Anon advanced, and gazed around,
I marked the autumn’s reddened leaves,
And watched them eddying to the ground
I thought of all the mighty deeds
Of him who set the House of Han
On high, and all the struggles since,
The battlefields, the blood that ran.
I saw the nobles gathered round
The board, set in the Banquet Hall;
Amid them, one, above whose head
There hung a sword about to fall.
I saw him quit that festive throng
And westward ride, a lonely way;
I saw a squadron follow swift,
Intent the fugitive to slay.
I saw him reach the River Tʻan,
Whose swirling current rushes by;
Adown the bank he galloped fast,
“Now leap, my steed!” I heard him cry.
His steed’s hoofs churn the swollen stream;
What recks he that the waves run high?
He hears the sound of clashing steel,
Of thundering squadrons coming nigh.
And upward from the foaming waves
I saw two peerless beings soar;
One was a destined western king,
And him another dragon bore.
The Tʻan still rolls from east to west,
Its roaring torrent ne’er dry.
Those dragons twain, Ah! where are they?
Yes, where? But there is no reply.
The setting sun, in dark relief
Against the glowing western sky,
Throws out the everlasting hills
While, saddened, here I stand and sigh.
Men died to found the kingdoms three,
Which now as misty dreams remain.
Of greatest deeds the traces oft
Are faint that fleeting years retain.
Thus Liu Pʻei crossed the rolling river. Then he turned and looked back
at the other bank which his pursuers had just gained.
“Why did you run away from the feast?” called out Tsʻai Mao.
“Why did you wish to harm one who has done you no injury?” replied
Yüan-tê.
“I have never thought of such a thing; do not listen to what people say
to you.”
But Yüan-tê saw that his enemy was fitting an arrow to his bowstring,
so he whipped up his steed and rode away south-west.
“What spirits aided him?” said Tsʻai Mao to his followers.
Then he turned to go back to the city, but in the gate he saw Chao Yün
coming out at the head of his company of guards.
By wondrous leap the dragon steed his rider’s life could save.
Now follows him, on vengeance bent, his master’s henchman brave.
The next chapters will tell what fate befell the traitor.
CHAPTER XXXV.
YÜAN-TÊ MEETS A RECLUSE AT NANCHANG:
TAN FU MEETS A NOBLE LORD AT HSINYEH.
Just as Tsʻai Mao was going into the city he met Chao Yün and his three
hundred coming out. It had happened that, while at the banquet, Chao
Yün had noticed some movement of men and horses and had at once gone to
the banquet-hall to see if all was well with his lord. Missing him from
his place he had become anxious and gone to the guest-house. There he
heard that Tsʻai Mao had gone off to the west gate with troops. So he
quickly took his spear, mounted and went, he and the escort, in hot
haste along the same road. Meeting Tsʻai Mao near the gate he said,
“Where is my lord?”
“He left the banquet-hall quite suddenly and I know not whither he has
gone,” was the reply.
Now Chao Yün was cautious and careful and had no desire to act hastily,
so he urged his horse forward till he came to the river. There he was
checked by a torrent without ford or bridge. At once he turned back and
shouted after Tsʻai Mao, “You invited my lord to a feast; what means
this going after him with a squadron of horse?”
Mao replied, “It is my duty to guard the officials who have assembled
here as I am the chief captain.”
“Whither have you driven my lord?” asked Chao.
“They tell me he rode quite alone out through the west gate, but I have
not seen him.”
Chao Yün was anxious and doubtful. Again he rode to the river and
looked around. This time he noticed a wet track on the farther side. He
thought to himself that it was almost an impossible crossing for a man
and a horse, so he ordered his men to scatter and search. But they also
could find no trace of Liu Pei.
Chao Yün turned again to the city. By the time he had reached the wall
Tsʻai Mao had gone within. He then questioned the gate wardens, and
they all agreed in saying that Liu Pei had ridden out at full gallop.
That was all they knew. Fearing to re-enter the city lest he should
fall into an ambush, Chao started for Hsinyeh.
After that marvellous life-saving leap over the torrent, Yüan-tê felt
elated but rather dazed. He could not help feeling that his safety was
due to an especial interposition of Providence. Following a tortuous
path, he urged his steed toward Nanchang. But the sun sank to the west
and his destination seemed yet a long way off. Then he saw a young
cowherd seated on the back of a buffalo and playing on a short pipe.
“If I were only as happy!” sighed Yüan-tê.
He checked his horse and looked at the lad, who stopped his beast,
ceased playing on the pipe and stared fixedly at the stranger.
“You must be Yüan-tê, the General who fought the Yellow Turbans,” said
the boy presently.
Yüan-tê was taken aback.
“How can you know my name, a young rustic like you living in such a
secluded place?” said he.
“Of course I do not know you, but my master often has visitors and they
all talk about Yüan-tê, the tall man whose hands hang down below his
knees and whose eyes are very prominent. They say he is the most famous
man of the day. Now you, General, are just such a man as they talk
about, and surely you are he.”
“Well, who is your master?”
“My master’s name is Ssŭma, a compound surname, and his ming is Hui;
his other name is Tê-tsʻao. He belongs to Yingchou and his Taoist
appellation is Shui-ching, ‘The Water-mirror.’”
“Who are your master’s friends that you mentioned?”
“They are Pʻang Tê-kung and Pʻang Tʻung of Hsiangyang.”
“And who are they?”
“Relatives. Pʻang Tê-kung is ten years older than my master; the other
is five years younger. One day my master was up in a tree picking
mulberries when Pʻang Tʻung arrived. They began to talk and kept it up
all day, my master did not come down till the evening. My master is
very fond of Pʻang Tʻung and calls him brother.”
“And where does your master live?”
“In that wood there, in front,” said the cowherd pointing to it. “There
he has a farmstead.”
“I really am Liu Yüan-tê and you might lead me to your master that I
may salute him.”
The cowherd led the way for about two li, when Liu Pei found himself in
front of a farm house. He dismounted and went to the centre door.
Suddenly came to his ear the sound of a lute most skilfully played and
the air was extremely beautiful. He stopped his guide and would not
allow him to announce a visitor, but stood there rapt by the melody.
Suddenly the music ceased. He heard a deep laugh and a man appeared,
saying, “Amidst the clear and subtle sounds of the lute there suddenly
rang out a high note as though some noble man was near.”
“That is my master,” said the lad pointing.
Liu Pei saw before him a tall figure, slender and straight as a pine
tree, a very “chosen vessel.” Hastening forward he saluted. The skirt
of his robe was still wet from the river.
“You have escaped from a grave danger to-day, Sir,” said
“Water-mirror.”
Yüan-tê was startled into silence, and the cowherd said to his master,
“This is Liu Yüan-tê.”
“Water-mirror” asked him to enter and when they were seated in their
relative positions as host and guest, Yüan-tê glanced round the room.
Upon the bookshelves were piled books and manuscripts. The window
opened upon an exquisite picture of pines and bamboos and a lute lay
upon a stone couch. The room showed refinement in its last degree.
“Whence come you, illustrious Sir?” asked the host.
“By chance I was passing this way and the lad pointed you out to me. So
I came to bow in your honoured presence. I cannot tell what pleasure it
gives me.”
“Water-mirror” laughed. “Why this mystery? Why must you conceal the
truth? You have certainly just escaped from a grave danger.”
Then the story of the banquet and the flight was told.
“I knew it all from your appearance,” said his host. “Your name has
long been familiar,” continued he, “but whence comes it that, up to the
present, you are only a homeless devil?”
“I have suffered many a check during my life,” said Liu Pei, “and
through one of them am I here now.”
“It should not be so; but the reason is that you still lack the one man
to aid you.”
“I am simple enough in myself, I know; but I have Sun Chʻien, Mi Chu
and Chien Yung on the civil side, and for warriors I have Kuan Yü,
Chang Fei and Chao Yün. These are all most loyal helpers and I depend
upon them not a little.”
“Your fighting men are good: fit to oppose a legion. The pity is you
have no really able adviser. Your civilians are but pallid students of
books, not men fitted to weave and control destiny.”
“I have always yearned to find one of those marvellous recluses who
live among the hills till their day arrive. So far I have sought in
vain.”
“You know what the Master said, ‘In a hamlet of ten households there
must be one true man.’ Can you say there is no man?”
“I am simple and uninstructed; I pray you enlighten me.”
“You have heard what the street boys sing:—
In eight and nine begins decay,
Four years, then comes the fateful day,
When destiny will show the way,
And the dragon flies out of the mire O!
This song was first heard when the new reign-style was adopted. The
first line was fulfilled when Liu Piao lost his first wife, and when
his family troubles began. The next line relates to the approaching
death of Liu Piao and there is not a single man among all his crowd of
officers who has the least ability. The last two lines will be
fulfilled in you, General.”
Yüan-tê started up in surprise, crying, “How could such a thing be?”
“Water-mirror” continued, “At this moment the marvellously clever ones
of all the earth are all here and you, Sir, ought to seek them.”
“Where are they? Who are they?” said Yüan-tê quickly.
“If you could find either Fu-lung (Hidden Dragon) or Fêng-chʻu (Phoenix
Fledgeling), you could restore order in the Empire.”
“But who are these men?”
His host clapped his hands, smiled and said, “Good; very good.”
When Yüan-tê persisted and pressed home his questions “Water-mirror”
said, “It is getting late. You might stay the night here, General, and
we will talk over these things to-morrow.”
He called to a lad to bring wine and food for his guest and his horse
was taken to the stable and fed. After Yüan-tê had eaten he was shown
to a chamber opening off the main room and went to bed. But the words
of his host would not be banished and he lay there only dozing till far
into the night.
Suddenly he became fully awake at the sound of a knock at the door and
a person entering. And he heard his host say “Where are you from,
Yüan-chih?”
Liu Pei rose from his couch and listened secretly. He heard the man
reply, “It has long been said that Liu Piao treated good men as good
men should be treated and bad men as they should be treated. So I went
to see for myself. But that reputation is undeserved. He does treat
good men correctly but he cannot use them, and he treats wicked men in
the right way, all but dismissing them. So I left a letter for him and
came away; and here I am.”
“Water-mirror” replied, “You, capable enough to be the adviser of a
king, ought to be able to find some one fit to serve. Why did you
cheapen yourself so far as to go to Liu Piao? Beside there is a real
hero right under your eyes and you do not know him.”
“It is just as you say,” replied the stranger.
Liu Pei listened with great joy for he thought this visitor was
certainly one of the two he was advised to look for. He would have
shown himself then and there, but he thought that would look strange.
So he waited till daylight, when he sought out his host and said, “Who
was it came last night?”
“A friend of mine,” was the reply.
Yüan-tê begged for an introduction. “Water-mirror” said, “He wants to
find an enlightened master and so he has gone elsewhere.”
When the guest asked his name his host only replied, “Good, good.” And
when he asked who they were who went by the names of Fu-lung and
Fêng-chʻu he only elicited the same reply.
Yüan-tê then, bowing low before his host, begged him to leave the hills
and help him to bring about the restoration of the ruling house to its
prerogatives. But he replied, “Men of the hills and deserts are unequal
to such a task. However, there must be many far abler than I who will
help you if you seek them.”
While they were talking they heard outside the farm the shouts of men
and neighing of horses, and a servant came in to say that a captain
with a large company of men had arrived. Yüan-tê went out hastily to
see who these were and found Chao Yün. He was much relieved and Chao
dismounted and entered the house.
“Last night, on my return to our city,” said Chao, “I could not find my
lord, so I followed at once and traced you here. I pray you return
quickly as I fear an attack on the city.”
So Yüan-tê took leave of his host and the whole company returned to
Hsinyeh. Before they had gone far another troop appeared, and, when
they had come nearer, they saw the two brothers. They met with great
joy and Yüan-tê told them of the wonderful leap his horse had made over
the torrent. All expressed surprise and pleasure.
As soon as they reached the city a council was called and Chao Yün
said, “You ought first of all to indite a letter to Liu Piao telling
him all these things.”
The letter was prepared and Sun Chʻien bore it to the seat of
government. He was received, and Liu Piao at once asked the reason of
Yüan-tê’s hasty flight from the festival. Whereupon the letter was
presented and the bearer related the machinations of Tsʻai Mao and told
of the escape and the amazing leap over the torrent. Liu Piao was very
angry, sent for Tsʻai Mao and berated him soundly, saying, “How dare
you try to hurt my brother?” and he ordered him out to execution.
Liu Piao’s wife, Tsʻai Mao’s sister, prayed for a remission of the
death penalty, but Liu Piao refused to be appeased. Then spoke Sun
Chʻien, saying, “If you put Tsʻai to death, I fear Uncle Liu will be
unable to remain here.”
Then he was reprieved, but dismissed with a severe reprimand.
Liu Piao sent his elder son back with Sun Chʻien to apologise. When
Chʻi reached Hsinyeh, Yüan-tê welcomed him and gave a banquet in his
honour. After some little drinking, the chief guest suddenly began to
weep and presently said, “My stepmother always cherishes a wish to put
me out of the way, and I do not know how to avoid her anger. Could you
advise me, Uncle?”
Yüan-tê exhorted him to be careful and perfectly filial and nothing
could happen. Soon after the young man took his leave, and wept at
parting. Yüan-tê escorted him well on his way and, pointing to his
steed, said, “I owe my life to this horse: had it not been for him I
had been already below the Springs.”
“It was not the strength of the horse, but your noble fortune, Uncle.”
They parted, the young man weeping bitterly. On re-entering the city
Yüan-tê met a person in the street wearing a hempen turban, a cotton
robe confined by a black girdle, and black shoes. He came along singing
a song.
The universe is riven, alack! now nears the end of all,
The noble mansion quakes, alack! what beam can stay the fall?
A wise one waits his lord, alack! but hidden in the glen,
The seeker knows not him, alack! nor me, of common men.
Yüan-tê listened. “Surely this is one of the men ‘Water-mirror’ spoke
of,” thought he.
He dismounted, spoke to the singer and invited him into his residence.
Then when they were seated he asked the stranger’s name.
“I am from Yingshang and my name is Tan Fu. I have known you by repute
for a long time and they said you appreciated men of ability. I wanted
to come to you but every way of getting an introduction seemed closed.
So I bethought me of attracting your notice by singing that song in the
market place.”
Yüan-tê thought he had found a treasure and treated the newcomer with
the greatest kindness. Then Tan Fu spoke of the horse that he had seen
Yüan-tê riding and asked to look at him. So the animal was brought
round.
“Is not this a tilu?” said Tan Fu. “But though he is a good steed he
risks his master. You must not ride him.”
“He has already fulfilled the omens,” said Yüan-tê, and he related the
story of the leap over the torrent.
“But this was saving his master, not risking him; he will surely harm
some one in the end. But I can tell you how to avert the omen.”
“I should be glad to hear it,” said Yüan-tê.
“If you have an enemy against whom you bear a grudge, give him this
horse and wait till he has fulfilled the evil omens on this man: then
you can ride him in safety.”
Yüan-tê changed colour. “What, Sir! You are but a new acquaintance and
you would advise me to take an evil course and to harm another for my
own advantage? No, Sir! I cannot listen.”
His guest smiled. “People said you were virtuous. I could not ask you
directly, so I put it that way to test you.”
Yüan-tê’s expression changed. He rose and returned the compliment,
saying, “But how can I be virtuous while I lack your teaching?”
“When I came here, I heard the people saying:
Since Liu came here, O blessed day!
We’ve had good luck: long may he stay!
So you see the effects of your virtue extend to the ordinary people.”
Thereupon Tan Fu was made Organiser in Chief of the army.
The one idea that held Tsʻao Tsʻao after his return from Chʻichou was
the capture of Chingchou. He sent Tsʻao Jên and Li Tien, with the two
brothers Lü who had surrendered, to camp at Fanchʻêng with three
legions and so threaten Chingchou and Hsiangyang. Thence he sent spies
to find out the weak points.
Then the two Lüs petitioned Tsʻao Jên saying, “Liu Pei is strengthening
his position at Hsinyeh and laying in large supplies. Some great scheme
is afoot and he should be checked. Since our surrender we have
performed no noteworthy service and, if you will give us half a legion,
we promise to bring you the head of Liu Pei.”
Tsʻao Jên was only too glad, and the expedition set out. The scouts
reported this to Yüan-tê who turned to Tan Fu for advice.
Tan Fu said, “They must not be permitted to cross the boundary. Send
your two brothers right and left, one to attack the enemy on the march,
the other to cut off the retreat. You and Chao Yün will make a front
attack.”
The two brothers started and then Yüan-tê went out at the gate with
three companies to oppose the enemy. Before they had gone far they saw
a great cloud of dust behind the hills. This marked the approach of the
brothers Lü. Presently, both sides being arrayed, Yüan-tê rode out and
stood by his standard. He called out, “Who are you who thus would
encroach on my territory?”
“I am the great general Lü Kʻuang, and I have the orders of the
minister to make you prisoner,” said the leader.
Yüan-tê ordered Chao Yün to go out, and the two captains engaged. Very
soon Chao had disposed of his opponent and Yüan-tê gave the signal to
attack. Lü Hsiang could not maintain his position and led his men off.
Soon his men found themselves attacked by an army rushing in from the
side led by Kuan Yü. The loss was more than a half and the remainder
fled for safety.
About ten li farther on they found their retreat barred by an army
under Chang Fei, who stood in the way with a long spear ready to
thrust. Crying out who he was, he bore down upon Lü Hsiang, who was
slain without a chance of striking a blow. The men again fled in
disorder. They were pursued by Yüan-tê and the greater part killed or
captured.
Then Yüan-tê returned into his own city where he rewarded Tan Fu and
feasted his victorious soldiers. Some of the defeated men took the news
of the deaths of the leaders and the capture of their comrades to Tsʻao
Jên.
Tsʻao Jên, much distressed, consulted his colleague who advised staying
where they were and holding on till reinforcements could arrive.
“Not so,” said Tsʻao Jên. “We cannot support calmly the death of two
leaders and the loss of so many men. We must avenge them quickly.
Hsinyeh is but a crossbow slug of a place and not worth disturbing the
Minister for.”
“Liu Pei is a man of metal,” said Li Tien. “Do not esteem him lightly.”
“What are you afraid of?” said Jên.
“The Rule of War says ‘To know your enemy and yourself is the secret of
victory,’” replied Tien. “I am not afraid of the battle, but I do not
think we can conquer.”
“You are a traitor!” cried Jên angrily. “Then I will capture Liu Pei
myself.”
“Do so; and I will guard this city,” said Tien.
“If you do not go with me, it is a proof that you are a traitor,”
retorted Tsʻao Jên.
At this reproach, Li Tien felt constrained to join the expedition. So
they told off two and a half legions with which they crossed the river
for Hsinyeh.
The officers all keenly felt the shame of many slain,
The Chief determines on revenge and marches out again.
What measure of success the expedition met with will be related in the
next chapter.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
CAPTURE OF FANCHʻÊNG:
CHUKO LIANG RECOMMENDED.
In hot anger, Tsʻao Jên lost no time in marching out to avenge the loss
of so many of his army. He hastily crossed the river to attack Hsinyeh
and trample it in the dust.
When Tan Fu got back into the city he said to his master, “When Tsʻao
Jên, now at Fanchʻêng, hears of his losses, he will try to retrieve
them and will come to attack us.”
“What is the counter move?” asked Yüan-tê.
“As he will come with all his force his own city will be left
undefended; we will surprise it.”
“By what ruse?”
The adviser leaned over and whispered to his chief. Whatever the plan
was it pleased Yüan-tê, who made arrangements. Soon the scouts reported
Tsʻao Jên crossing the river with a mighty host.
“Just as I guessed,” said Tan Fu, hearing of it.
Then he suggested that Yüan-tê should lead out one army against the
invaders. He did so, and, when the formation was complete, Chao Yün
rode to the front as champion and challenged the other side.
Li Tien rode out and engaged. At about the tenth bout Li Tien found he
was losing and retired toward his own side. Chao Yün pressed after him,
but was checked by a heavy discharge of arrows from the wings. Then
both sides stopped the battle and retired to their camps.
Li Tien reported to his chief that their opponents were brave, very
full of spirit, and that they would be hard to overcome and advised a
retreat on Fanchʻêng.
Tsʻao Jên angrily replied, “You damped the men’s spirits before we
started, and now you betray us. You have been bought and you deserve
death.”
He called in the executioners and they led away their victim. But the
other officers came to intercede and Tien was spared. However, he was
transferred to the command of the rear, while Tsʻao Jên himself led the
attack.
Next day the drums beat an advance and Tsʻao Jên, having drawn up his
men, sent a messenger over to ask if his opponent recognised his plan
of array. So Tan Fu went on a hill and looked over it. Then he said to
Liu Pei “The arrangement is called ‘The Eight Docked Gates,’ and each
‘gate’ has a name. If you enter by one of the three named ‘Birth,’
‘Bellevue’ and ‘Expanse’ you succeed; if by one of the ‘gates’
‘Wounds,’ ‘Fear,’ or ‘Annihilation,’ you sustain injuries. The other
two ‘gates’ are named ‘Obstacles’ and ‘Death,’ and to enter them means
the end. Now, though the eight ‘gates’ are all there quite correct, the
central ‘key-post’ is lacking and the formation can be thrown into
confusion by entry from the south-east and exit due west.”
Wherefore certain orders were issued and Chao Yün, leading half a
company, rode out on his prancing steed to break the array. He burst
in, as directed, at the south-east and, with great clamour and
fighting, reached the centre. Tsʻao Jên made for the north, but Chao
Yün, instead of following him, made a dash westward and got through.
Thence he turned round to the south-east again and smote till Tsʻao
Jên’s army was in disarray. A general advance was signalled and the
defeat was severe. The beaten enemy retired.
Tan Fu forbade pursuit and they returned.
The loss of the battle convinced Tsʻao Jên of the wisdom of his
colleague and he sent for him to consult.
“They certainly have some very able person in Liu Pei’s army since my
formation was so quickly broken,” said Tsʻao Jên.
“My chief anxiety is about Fanchʻêng,” said Li Tien.
“I will raid their camp this night,” said Jên. “If I succeed we will
decide upon what should be done next. If I fail, we will return to
Fanchʻêng.”
“The camp will be well prepared against such a thing and you will
fail,” said Li.
“How can you expect to fight successfully when you are so full of
doubts?” said Jên, angrily.
He held no more converse with his cautious colleague, but himself took
command of the van and set out. Tien was relegated to the rear. The
attack on the enemy’s camp was fixed for the second watch.
Now as Tan Fu was discussing plans with his chief a whirlwind went by,
which Fu said foretold a raid on the camp.
“How shall we meet it?” said Yüan-tê.
“The plans are quite ready,” was the reply.
He whispered them to the chief. So at the second watch, when the enemy
arrived, they saw fires on all sides; the stockades and huts burning.
Tsʻao Jên understood at once that all hope of a surprise was vain and
he turned to get away as quickly as possible. This was the signal for
Chao Yün to fall on and that cut his return road. He hastened north
toward the river, and reached the bank, but, while waiting for boats to
cross the stream, up came Chang Fei and attacked.
By dint of great efforts and with the support of his colleague he got
into a boat, but most of the men were drowned in the stream. As soon as
he got to the farther shore he bolted for Fanchʻêng. He reached the
wall and hailed the gate, but, instead of a friendly welcome, he heard
the rolling of drums, which was soon followed by the appearance of a
body of men. Kuan Yü led them.
“I took the city a long time ago,” shouted Kuan Yü.
This was a severe shock to Jên, who turned to flee. As soon as he faced
about Kuan Yü attacked and killed many of his men. The remnant hastened
to Hsüchʻang. On the road the beaten general wondered who had advised
his opponents with such success.
While the defeated general had to find his way back to the capital,
Yüan-tê had scored a great success. Afterwards he marched to Fanchʻêng,
where he was welcomed by the magistrate Liu Pi, himself a scion of the
ruling family, who had been born in Changsha. He received Yüan-tê as a
guest in his own house and gave banquets and treated him exceedingly
well.
In the train of the magistrate, Yüan-tê saw a very handsome and
distinguished-looking young man, and asked who he was.
Liu Pi replied, “He is my nephew, Kʻôu Fêng, an orphan, whom I am
taking care of.”
Yüan-tê had taken a great liking for the lad and proposed to adopt him.
His guardian was willing, and so the adoption was arranged. The young
man’s name was changed to Liu Fêng. When Yüan-tê left, he took his
adopted son with him. He was then made to bow before Kuan Yü and Chang
Fei as uncles.
Kuan Yü was doubtful of the wisdom of adopting another son, saying,
“You have a son; why do you think it necessary to adopt another? It may
cause confusion.”
“How? I shall treat him as a father should and he will serve me as
befits a son.”
Kuan Yü was displeased. Then Yüan-tê and Tan Fu began further
discussions of strategy and they decided to leave a guard in Fanchʻêng
and to return to Hsinyeh.
In the meantime Tsʻao Tsʻao’s defeated generals had gone back. When
they saw the Minister, Tsʻao Jên threw himself on the ground weeping
and acknowledging his faults. He told the tale of his losses.
“The fortune of war,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. “But I should like to know who
laid Liu Pei’s plans.”
“That was Tan Fu,” said Jên.
“Who is he?” asked Tsʻao.
Chʻêng Yü said, “The man is not Tan Fu. When young this man was fond of
fencing and used to take up the quarrels of other men and avenge their
wrongs. Once, after killing his man, he let down his hair, muddied his
face and was trying to escape when a lictor caught him and questioned
him. He would not reply. So they carted him through the streets beating
a drum and asking if any one recognised him. Nobody dared own to
knowing him, if they did so. However, his companions managed to release
him secretly and he ran away under some other name. Then he turned to
study and wandered hither and thither wherever scholars were to be
found. He was a regular disputant with Ssŭma Hui. His real name is Hsü
Shu (Yüan-chih) and he comes from Yingchou. Tan Fu is merely an assumed
name.”
“How does he compare with yourself?” asked Tsʻao.
“Ten times cleverer.”
“It is a pity. If able men gather to Liu Pei his wings will soon grow.
What is to be done?”
“Hsü Shu is there now; but if you wanted him it would not be difficult
to call him,” replied Hsün Yu.
“How could I make him come?” said Tsʻao.
“He is noted for his affection for his mother. His father died young,
leaving his mother a widow with one other son. Now that son is dead and
his mother has no one to care for her. If you sent and got his mother
here and told her to write and summon her son he would surely come.”
Tsʻao sent without loss of time and had the old lady brought to the
capital, where he treated her exceedingly well. Presently he said, “I
hear you have a very talented son, who is now at Hsinyeh helping on
that rebel Liu Pei against the government. There he is like a jewel in
a muck-heap; it is a pity. Supposing you were to call him, I could
speak of him before the Emperor and he might get an important office.”
Tsʻao bade his secretaries bring along the “four precious things of the
study,” with which the dame could write to her son.
“What sort of a man is Liu Pei?” asked she.
Tsʻao replied, “A common sort of person from Pʻeichün, irresponsible
enough to style himself Imperial Uncle, and so claiming some sort of
connection with the Hans. He is neither trustworthy nor virtuous.
People say he is a superior man as far as externals go, but a mean man
by nature.”
The dame answered in a hard voice, “Why do you malign him so bitterly?
Every one knows he is a descendant of one of the Han Princes and so
related to the House. He has condescended to take a lowly office and is
respectful to all men. He has a reputation for benevolence. Every one,
young and old, cowherds and firewood cutters, all know him by name and
know that he is the finest and noblest man in the world. If my son is
in his service, then has he found a fitting master. You, under the name
of a Han minister, are really nothing but a Han rebel. Contrary to all
truth you tell me Yüan-tê is a rebel, whereby you try to induce me to
make my son leave the light for darkness. Are you devoid of all sense
of shame?”
As she finished speaking she picked up the inkstone to strike Tsʻao
Tsʻao. This so enraged him that he forgot himself and the need for
caution and bade the executioners lead off the old woman and put her to
death. The adviser Chʻêng Yü, however, stopped this act of folly by
pointing out the effect it would have on his reputation and how it
would enhance hers, beside adding a keen desire for revenge to the
motives which led Hsü Shu to labour in the interest of Liu Pei. He
closed his remarks saying, “You had better keep her here so that Hsü
Shu’s body and his thoughts may be in different places. He can not
devote all his energies to helping our enemy while his mother is here.
If you keep her I think I can persuade the son to come and help you.”
So the outspoken old lady was saved. She was given quarters and cared
for. Daily Chʻêng Yü went to ask after her health, falsely claiming to
being a sworn brother of her son’s, and so entitled to serve her and
treat her as a filial son would have done. He often sent her gifts and
wrote letters to her so that she had to write in reply. And thereby he
learned her handwriting so that he could forge a “home” letter. When he
could do this without fear of detection he wrote one and sent it by the
hand of a trusty person to Hsinyeh.
One day a man arrived enquiring for one Tan Fu, a secretary; he had a
letter from home for him. The soldiers led him to Tan Fu. The man said
he was an official carrier of letters and had been told to bring this
one. Tan Fu quickly tore it open and read:—
“On your brother’s death recently I was left alone; no relative was
near and I was lonely and sad. To my regret, the Minister Tsʻao
Tsʻao inveigled me into coming to the capital, and now he says you
are a rebel and he has thrown me into bonds. However, thanks to
Chʻêng Yü, my life has been spared so far, and, if you would only
come and submit too, I should be quite safe. When this reaches you,
remember how I have toiled for you and come at once, that you may
prove yourself a filial son. We may together find some way of
escape to our own place and avoid the dangers that threaten me. My
life hangs by a thread and I look to you to save me. You will not
require a second summons.”
Tears gushed from Hsü Shu’s eyes as he read, and with the letter in his
hand he went to seek his chief, to whom he told the true story of his
life and how he had joined Yüan-tê. “I heard that Liu Piao treated men
well and went to him. I happened to arrive at a time of confusion. I
saw he was of no use, so I left him very soon. I arrived at the retreat
of Ssŭma Shui-ching (‘Water-mirror’) late one night and told him, and
he blamed me for not knowing a master when I saw one. Then he told me
of you and I sang that wild song in the streets to attract your
attention. You took me: you used me. But now my aged mother is the
victim of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s wiles. She is in prison and he threatens to do
worse. She has written to call me and I must go. I hoped to be able to
render you faithful service, but, with my dear mother a captive, I
should be useless. Therefore I must leave you and hope in the future to
meet you again.”
Yüan-tê broke into loud moans when he heard that his adviser was to
leave.
“The bond between mother and son is divine,” said he, “and I do not
need to be reminded where your duty lies. When you have seen your
venerable mother perhaps I may have again the happiness of receiving
your instruction.”
Having said farewell, Hsü Shu prepared to leave at once. However, at
Yüan-tê’s wish he consented to stay over the night.
Then Sun Chʻien said privately to his master, “Hsü Shu is indeed a
genius, but he has been here long enough to know all our secrets. If
you let him go over to Tsʻao, he will be in his confidence and that
will be to our detriment. You ought to keep him at all costs and not
let him go. When Tsʻao sees he does not come he will put the mother to
death, and that will make Hsü Shu the more zealous in your service, for
he will burn to avenge his mother’s death.”
“I cannot do that. It would be very cruel and vile to procure the death
of his mother that I might retain the son’s services. If I kept him it
would lead to a rupture of the parental lien, and that would be a sin I
would rather die than commit.”
Both were grieved and sighed. Yüan-tê asked the parting guest to a
banquet, but he declined saying, “With my mother a prisoner I can
swallow nothing, nay, though it were brewed from gold or distilled from
jewels.”
“Alas! your departure is as if I lost both my hands,” said Yüan-tê.
“Even the liver of a dragon or the marrow of a phoenix would be bitter
in my mouth.”
They looked into each other’s eyes and wept. They sat silent till dawn.
When all was ready for the journey the two rode out of the city side by
side. At Long Pavilion they dismounted to drink the stirrup cup.
Yüan-tê lifted the goblet and said, “It is my mean fortune that
separates me from you, but I hope that you may serve well your new lord
and become famous.”
Hsü Shu wept as he replied, “I am but a poor ignorant person whom you
have kindly employed. Unhappily I have to break our intercourse in the
middle, but my venerable mother is the real cause. Though Tsʻao Tsʻao
use all manner of means to coerce me, yet will I never plan for him.”
“After you are gone I shall only bury myself in the hills and hide in
the forests,” said Yüan-tê.
Tan Fu said, “I had in my heart for you the position of leader of the
chieftains, but my plans have been altogether upset by my mother. I
have been of no advantage to you nor should I do any good by remaining.
But you ought to seek some man of lofty wisdom to help you in your
great emprise. It is unseemly to be downcast.”
“I shall find none to help better than you, my master.”
“How can I permit such extravagant praise?” said Tan Fu. “I am only a
useless blockhead.”
As he moved off he said to the followers, “Officers, I hope you will
render the Princely One good service, whereby to write his name large
in the country’s annals and cause his fame to glow in the pages of
history. Do not be like me, a man who has left his work half done.”
They were all deeply affected. Yüan-tê could not bring himself to part
from his friend. He escorted him a little further, and yet a little
further, till Shu said, “I will not trouble you, O Princely One, to
come further. Let us say our farewell here.”
Yüan-tê dismounted, took Hsü Shu by the hands and said, “Alas! we part.
Each goes his way and who knows if we shall meet again?”
His tears fell like rain and Shu wept also. But the last goodbyes were
said and when the traveller had gone Yüan-tê stood gazing after the
little party and watched it slowly disappear. At the last glimpse he
broke into lamentation.
“He is gone! What shall I do?”
One of the trees shut out the travellers from his sight and he testily
pointed at it, saying, “Would that I could cut down every tree in the
countryside!”
“Why?” said his men.
“Because they hinder my sight of Hsü Yüan-chih.”
Suddenly they saw Hsü Shu galloping back.
Said Yüan-tê, “He is returning; can it be that he is going to stay?”
So he hastened forward to meet him and when they got near enough he
cried, “This return is surely for no slight reason.”
Checking his horse, Hsü Shu said, “In the turmoil of my feelings I
forgot to say one word. There is a man of wonderful skill living about
twenty li from the city of Hsiangyang, why not seek him?”
“Can I trouble you to ask him to visit me?”
“He will not condescend to visit you; you must go to him. But if he
consent you will be as fortunate as the Chous when they got the aid of
Lü Wang, or Han when Chang Liang came to help.”
“How does the unknown compare with yourself?”
“With me? Compared with him I am as a worn-out cart-horse to a kilin,
an old crow to a phoenix. This man is of the same kidney as Kuan Chung
and Yo I but, in my opinion, he is far their superior. He has the
talent to measure the heavens and mete the earth; he is a man who
overshadows every other in the world.”
“I would know his name.”
“He belongs to Yangtu of Langya; and his name, a double name, is Chuko
Liang. His minor name is Kʻung-ming. He is of good family. His father
was an official but died young and the young fellow went with his uncle
to Chingchou, the Prefect of which was an old friend of his uncle’s,
and he became settled there. Then his uncle died and he, with a younger
brother, Chün, were farmers. They used to amuse themselves with the
composition of songs in the ‘Old Father Liang’ style.
“On their land was a ridge of hills called the Sleeping Dragon and the
elder of the two took it as a name and called himself ‘Master Sleeping
Dragon.’ This is your man; he is a veritable genius. You ought really
to visit him and if he will help you, you need feel no more anxiety
about peace in the Empire.”
“‘Water-mirror’ spoke that time of two men, Fu-lung and Fêng-chʻu, and
said if only one of them could be got to help me all would be well.
Surely he, whom you speak of, is one of them.”
“Fêng-chʻu, or ‘Phoenix Fledging,’ is ‘Pʻang Tʻung’: and Fu-lung, or
‘Hidden Dragon,’ is ‘Chuko Kʻung-ming.’”
Yüan-tê jumped with delight, “Now at last I know who the mysterious
ones are. How I wish they were here! But for you I should have still
been like a blind man,” said he.
Some one has celebrated in verse this interview where Hsü Shu from
horseback recommended Kʻung-ming:—
Yüan-tê heard that his able friend
Must leave him, with saddened heart,
For each to the other had grown very dear,
Both wept when it came to part.
But the parting guest then mentioned a name
That echoed both loud and deep,
Like a thunder clap in a spring-time sky,
And there wakened a dragon from sleep.
Thus was the famous Kʻung-ming recommended to the lord he was to serve,
and Hsü Shu rode away.
Now Yüan-tê understood the speech of the hermit Ssŭma Hui, and he woke
as one from a drunken sleep. At the head of his officers, he retook the
road to the city and having prepared rich gifts set out, with his
brothers, for Nanyang.
Under the influence of his emotions at parting Hsü Shu had mentioned
the name and betrayed the retreat of his friend. Now he thought of the
possibility that Kʻung-ming would be unwilling to play the part of
helper in Yüan-tê’s scheme, so he determined to go to visit him. He
therefore took his way to Reposing Dragon Ridge and dismounted at the
cottage. Asked why he had come, he replied, “I wished to serve Liu Pei
of Hsiangchou but my mother has been imprisoned by Tsʻao Tsʻao, and has
sent to call me. Therefore I have had to leave him. At the moment of
parting I commended you to him. You may expect him speedily and I hope,
Sir, you will not refuse your aid but will consent to use your great
talents to help him.”
Kʻung-ming showed annoyance and said, “And so you have made me the
victim of your sacrifice.”
So saying he shook out his sleeves and left the room. The guest
shamefacedly retired, mounted his horse and hastened on his way to the
capital to see his mother.
To help the lord he loved right well,
He summoned the aid of another,
When he took the distant homeward way,
At the call of a loving mother.
What was the sequel will appear in the following chapters.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
ANOTHER SCHOLAR INTRODUCED:
THE THREE VISITS TO THE RECLUSE.
As has been said Hsü Shu hastened to the capital. When Tsʻao Tsʻao knew
he had arrived he sent two of his confidants to receive him and so he
was led first to the minister’s palace.
“Why did such an illustrious scholar as you bow the knee to Liu Pei?”
said Tsʻao.
“I am young and I fled to avoid the results of certain escapades. I
spent some time as a wanderer and so came to Hsinyeh where I became
good friends with him. But my mother is here and when I thought of all
her affection I could no longer remain absent.”
“Now you will be able to take care of your mother at all times. And I
may have the privilege of receiving your instruction.”
Hsü Shu then took his leave and hastened to his mother’s dwelling.
Weeping with emotion he made his obeisance to her at the door of her
room.
But she was greatly surprised to see him and said, “What have you come
here for?”
“I was at Hsinyeh, in the service of Liu of Yuchou when I received your
letter. I came immediately.”
His mother suddenly grew very angry. Striking the table she cried, “You
shameful and degenerate son! For years you have been a vagabond in
spite of all my teaching. You are a student and know the books. You
must then know that loyalty and filial piety are often opposed. Did you
not recognise in Tsʻao a traitor, a man who flouts his king and insults
the mighty ones? Did you not see that Liu Pei was virtuous and upright
as all the world knows? Moreover, he is of the House of Han and when
you were with him you were serving a fitting master. Now on the
strength of a scrap of forged writing, with no attempt at any enquiry,
you have left the light and plunged into darkness and earned a
disgraceful reputation. Truly you are stupid! How can I bear to look
upon you? You have besmirched the fair fame of your forefathers and are
of no use in the world.”
The son remained bowed to the earth, not daring to lift his eyes while
his mother delivered this vilifying tirade. As she said the last word
she rose suddenly and left the room. Soon after one of the servants
came out to say she had hanged herself. Her son rushed in to try to
save her, but was too late.
A eulogy of her conduct has been written thus:—
Wise Mother Hsü, fair is your fame,
The storied page glows with your name,
From duty’s path you never strayed,
The family’s renown you made.
To train your son no pains you spared,
For your own body nothing cared.
You stand sublime, from us apart,
Through simple purity of heart.
Brave Liu Pei’s virtues you extolled,
You blamed Tsʻao Tsʻao, the basely bold.
Of blazing fire you felt no fear,
You blenched not when the sword came near,
But dreaded lest a wilful son
Should dim the fame his fathers won.
Yes, Mother Hsü was of one mould
With famous heroines of old,
Who never shrank from injury,
And even were content to die.
Fair meed of praise, while still alive,
Was yours, and ever will survive.
Hail! Mother Hsü, your memory,
While time rolls on, shall never die.
At sight of his mother dead Hsü Shu fell in a swoon and only recovered
consciousness after a long time. By and bye Tsʻao heard of it and sent
mourning gifts, and in due course went in person to condole and
sacrifice. The body was interred on the south of the capital and the
dead woman’s unhappy son kept vigil at her tomb. He steadily rejected
all gifts from Tsʻao Tsʻao.
At that time Tsʻao was contemplating an attack on the south. His
advisers dissuaded him, saying he should await milder weather; and he
yielded. But he began to prepare, and led the river waters aside to
form a lake, which he called the Training Lake, where he could accustom
his men to fight on the water.
As has been said Yüan-tê prepared gifts to offer to Chuko Liang on his
visit. One day his servants announced a stranger of extraordinary
appearance, wearing a lofty head-dress and a wide belt.
“Surely this is he” said Yüan-tê, and, hastily arranging his dress, he
went to welcome the visitor. But the first glance showed him that it
was the recluse of the mountains, Ssŭma Hui. However, Yüan-tê was glad
to see him and led him into the inner apartment as he would an old
friend. There Pei conducted him to the seat of honour and made his
obeisance, saying, “Since leaving you that day in the mountains I have
been overwhelmed with military preparations and so have failed to visit
you as courtesy demanded. Now that the brightness has descended upon me
I hope this dereliction of duty may be pardoned.”
“I hear Hsü Yüan-chih is here. I have come expressly to see him,”
replied the visitor bluntly.
“He has lately left for Hsüchʻang. A messenger came with a letter
telling of the imprisonment of his mother.”
“Then he has just fallen into Tsʻao Tsʻao’s trap, for that letter was a
forgery. I have always known his mother to be a very noble woman, and
even if she were imprisoned by Tsʻao she would not summon her son like
that. Certainly the letter was a forgery. If the son did not go, the
mother would be safe; if he went, she would be a dead woman.”
“But how?” asked Yüan-tê, dismayed.
“She is a woman of the highest principles, who would be greatly
mortified at the sight of her son under such conditions.”
Liu Pei said, “Just as your friend was leaving he mentioned the name of
a certain Chuko Liang. What think you of him?”
Hui laughed, saying, “If Yüan-chih wanted to go, he was free to go. But
why did he want to provoke him into coming out and showing compassion
for some one else?”
“Why do you speak like that?” asked Yüan-tê.
He replied, “Five men, Kʻung-ming, Tsʻui Chou-pʻing, Shih Kuang-yuan,
Mêng Kung-wei and Hsü Yüan-chih were the closest of friends. They
formed a little coterie devoted to meditation on essential refinement.
Only Kʻung-ming arrived at a perception of its meaning. He used to sit
among them with his arms about his knees muttering and then, pointing
to his companions, he would say, ‘You, gentlemen, would become
governors and prefects if you were in official life.’
“When they asked him what was his ambition he would only smile and
always compared himself with the great scholars Kuan Chung and Yo I. No
one could gauge his talents.”
“How comes it that Yingchou produces so many able men?” said Yüan-tê.
“That old astrologer, Yin Kʻuei, used to say that the stars clustered
thick over the district and so there were many wise men.”
Now Kuan Yü was there and when he heard Kʻung-ming so highly praised he
said, “Kuan Chung and Yo I are the two most famous men mentioned in the
‘Spring and Autumn.’ They well overtopped the rest of mankind. Is it
not a little too much to say that Kʻung-ming compares with these two?”
“In my opinion he should not be compared with these two, but rather
with two others,” said Hui.
“Who are these two?” asked Kuan Yü.
“One of them is Chiang Tzŭ-ya, who laid the foundations of the Chou
dynasty so firmly that it lasted eight hundred years, and the other
Chang Tzŭ-fang, who made Han glorious for four centuries.”
Before the surprise called forth by this startling statement had
subsided, the visitor walked down the steps and took his leave. Liu Pei
would have kept him if he could, but he was obdurate. As he stalked
proudly away he threw up his head and said, “Though the ‘Sleeping
Dragon’ has found his lord, he has not been born at the right time. It
is a pity.”
“What a wise hermit!” was Liu Pei’s comment.
Soon after the three brothers set out to find the abode of the wise
man. When they drew near the spot they saw a number of peasants in a
field hoeing up the weeds, and as they worked they sang:—
“The earth is a chequered board,
And the sky hangs over all,
Under it men are contending,
Some rise, but a many fall.
For those who succeed ’tis well,
But for those who go under rough.
There’s a dozing dragon hard by,
But his sleep isn’t deep enough.”
They stopped to listen to the song and, calling up one of the peasants,
asked who made it.
“It was made by Master ‘Sleeping Dragon,’” said the labourer.
“Then he lives hereabout. Where?”
“South of this hill there is a ridge called The Sleeping Dragon and
close by is a sparse wood. In it stands a modest cottage. That is where
Master Chuko takes his repose.”
Yüan-tê thanked him and the party rode on. Soon they came to the ridge,
most aptly named, for indeed it lay wrapped in an atmosphere of calm
beauty.
A poet wrote of it thus:—
Not far from Hsiangyang’s massive walls
There stands, clear cut against the sky,
A lofty ridge, and at its foot
A gentle stream goes gliding by.
The contour, curving up and down,
Although by resting cloud it’s marred,
Arrests the eye; and here and there
The flank by waterfalls is scarred.
There, like a sleeping dragon coiled,
Or phoenix hid among thick pines,
You see, secure from prying eyes,
A cot, reed-built on rustic lines.
The rough-joined doors, pushed by the wind,
Swing idly open and disclose
The greatest genius of the world
Enjoying still his calm repose.
The air is full of woodland scents,
Around are hedgerows trim and green,
Close-growing intercrossed bamboos
Replace the painted doorway screen.
But look within and books you see
By every couch, near every chair;
And you may guess that common men
Are very seldom welcomed there.
The hut seems far from human ken,
So far, one might expect to find
Wild forest denizens there, trained
To serve in place of human kind.
Without a hoary crane might stand
As warden of the outer gate;
Within a long-armed gibbon come
To offer fruit upon a plate.
But enter; there refinement reigns;
Brocaded silk the lutes protect,
And burnished weapons on the walls
The green of pines outside reflect.
For he who dwells within that hut
Is talented beyond compare,
Although he lives the simple life
And harvest seems his only care.
He waits until the thund’rous call
Shall bid him wake, nor sleep again;
Then will he forth and at his word
Peace over all the land shall reign.
Yüan-tê soon arrived at the door of the retreat, dismounted and knocked
at the rough door of the cottage. A youth appeared and asked what he
wanted.
Yüan-tê replied, “I am Liu Pei, General of the Han Dynasty, Marquis of
Ichêngtʻing, Magistrate of Yuchou and Uncle of the Emperor. I am come
to salute the Master.”
“I cannot remember so many titles,” said the lad.
“Then simply say that Liu Pei has come to enquire after him.”
“The master left this morning early.”
“Whither has he gone?”
“His movements are very uncertain. I do not know whither he has gone.”
“When will he return?”
“That also is uncertain. Perhaps in three days, perhaps in ten.”
The disappointment was keen.
“Let us go back since we cannot see him,” said Chang Fei.
“Wait a little time,” said Yüan-tê.
“It would be better to return,” said Kuan Yü, “then we might send to
find out when this man had come back.”
So Yüan-tê agreed, first saying to the boy, “When the master returns,
tell him that Liu Pei has been.”
They rode away. Presently Liu Pei stopped and looked back at the
surroundings of the little cottage in the wood. The mountains were
picturesque rather than grand, the water clear rather than profound,
the plain was level rather than extensive, the woods luxuriant rather
than extensive. Gibbons ranged through the trees and cranes waded in
the shallow water. The pines and the bamboos vied with each other in
verdure. It was a scene to linger upon.
While Liu Pei stood regarding it, he saw a figure coming down a
mountain path. The man’s bearing was lofty; he was handsome and
dignified. He wore a comfortable-looking bonnet on his head and a black
robe hung about his figure in easy folds. He used a staff to help him
down the steep path.
“Surely that is he!” said Yüan-tê.
He dismounted and walked over to greet the stranger, whom he saluted
deferentially, saying, “Are you not Master Sleeping Dragon, Sir?”
“Who are you, General?” said the stranger.
“I am Liu Pei.”
“I am not Kʻung-ming, but I am a friend of his. My name is Tsʻui
Chou-pʻing.”
“Long have I known of you! I am very glad to see you,” replied Yüan-tê.
“And now I pray you to be seated just where we are and let me receive
your instruction.”
The two men sat down in the wood on a stone and the two brothers ranged
themselves by Liu Pei’s side.
Chou-pʻing began, saying, “General, for what reason do you wish to see
Kʻung-ming?”
Liu Pei replied, “The Empire is in confusion and troubles gather
everywhere. I want your friend to tell me how to restore order.”
“You, Sir, wish to arrest the present disorder although you are a
kindly man and, from the oldest antiquity, the correction of disorder
has demanded stern measures. On the day that the founder of the Han
dynasty first put his hand to the work and slew the wicked ruler of
Tsʻin, order began to replace disorder. Good government began with The
Founder, (206 B.C.), and endured two hundred years; two centuries of
tranquillity. Then came Wang Mang’s rebellion and disorder took the
place of order. Anon, arose Kuang-Wu, who restored the Dynasty, and
order once more prevailed. We have had two centuries of order and
tranquillity, and the time of trouble and battles is due. The
restoration of peace will take time; it cannot be quickly accomplished.
You, Sir, wish to get Kʻung-ming to regulate times and seasons, to
repair the cosmos; but I fear the task is indeed difficult and to
attempt it would be a vain expenditure of mental energy. You know well
that he who goes with the favour of Heaven travels an easy road, he who
goes contrary meets difficulties. One cannot escape one’s lot; one
cannot evade fate.”
“Master,” replied Pei, “your insight is indeed deep and your words of
wide meaning, but I am a scion of the House of Han and must help it.
Dare I talk of the inevitable and trust to fate?”
Chou-pʻing replied, “A simple denizen of the mountain wilds is unfitted
to discuss the affairs of Empire. But you bade me speak and I have
spoken; perhaps somewhat madly.”
“Master, I am grateful for your instruction. But know you whither
Kʻung-ming has gone?”
“I also came to see him and I know not where he is,” said Chou-pʻing.
“If I asked you, Master, to accompany me to my poor bit of territory,
would you come?”
“I am too dilatory, too fond of leisure and ease, and no longer have
any ambitions. But I will see you another time.”
And with these words he saluted and left.
The three brothers also mounted and started homeward. Presently Chang
Fei said, “We have not found Kʻung-ming and we have had to listen to
the wild ravings of this so-called scholar. There is the whole result
of this journey.”
“His words were those of a deep thinker,” replied Yüan-tê.
Some days after the return to Hsinyeh, Yüan-tê sent to find out whether
Kʻung-ming had returned and the messenger came back saying that he had.
Wherefore Liu Pei prepared for another visit. Again Chang Fei showed
his irritation by remarking, “Why must you go hunting after this
villager? Send and tell him to come.”
“Silence!” said Yüan-tê, “The Teacher Mêng, (Mencius) said, ‘To try to
see the sage without going his way is like barring a door you wish to
enter.’ Kʻung-ming is the greatest sage of the day; how can I summon
him?”
So Yüan-tê rode away to make his visit, his two brothers with him as
before. It was winter and exceedingly cold; angry clouds covered the
whole sky. Before they had gone far a bitter wind began to blow in
their faces and the snow began to fall. Soon the mountains were of jade
and the trees of silver.
“It is very cold and the earth is frozen hard, no fighting is possible
now.” Said Chang Fei. “Yet we are going all this way to get advice
which will be useless to us. Where is the sense of it? Let us rather
get back to Hsinyeh out of the cold.”
Yüan-tê replied, “I am set upon proving my zeal to Kʻung-ming, but if
you, my brother, do not like the cold, you can return.”
“I do not fear death; do you think I care for the cold? But I do care
about wasting my brother’s energies,” said Chang Fei.
“Say no more,” said Yüan-tê, and they travelled on.
When they drew near the little wood they heard singing in a roadside
inn and stopped to listen. This was the song:—
Although possessed of talent rare,
This man has made no name;
Alas! the day is breaking late
That is to show his fame.
O friends you know the tale:
Th’ aged man constrained to leave
His cottage by the sea.
To follow in a prince’s train
His counsellor to be.
Eight hundred feudal chieftains met
Who came with one accord;
The happy omen, that white fish,
That leapt the boat aboard;
The gory field in distant wilds,
Whence flowed a crimson tide,
And him acknowledged chief in war
Whose virtues none denied;
That Kaoyang rustic, fond of wine,
Who left his native place
And went to serve so faithfully
The man of handsome face;
And one who spoke of ruling chiefs
In tones so bold and free,
But sitting at the festive board
Was full of courtesy;
And one, ’twas he who laid in dust
Walled cities near four score—
But men of doughty deeds like these
On earth are seen no more.
Now had these men not found their lord
Would they be known to fame?
Yet having found, they served him well
And so achieved a name.
The song ended, the singer’s companion tapping the table sang:—
We had a famous emperor,
Who drew his shining sword,
Cleansed all the land within the seas
And made himself its lord.
In time his son succeeded him,
And so from son to son
The lordship passed, held firm until
Four hundred years had run.
Then dawned a day of weaklier sons,
The fiery virtue failed,
Then ministers betrayed their trust,
Court intrigues vile prevailed.
The omens came; a serpent black
Coiled on the dragon throne,
While in the hall of audience
Unholy haloes shone.
Now bandits swarm in all the land
And noble strives with chief,
The common people, sore perplexed,
Can nowhere find relief.
Let’s drown our sorrows in the cup,
Be happy while we may,
Let those who wish run after fame
That is to last for aye.
The two men laughed loud and clapped their hands as the second singer
ceased. Yüan-tê thought full surely the longed-for sage was there, so
he dismounted and entered the inn. He saw the two merry-makers sitting
opposite each other at a table. One was pale with a long beard; the
other had a strikingly refined face. Yüan-tê saluted them and said,
“Which of you is Master Sleeping Dragon?”
“Who are you, Sir?” asked the long-bearded one. “What business have you
with Sleeping Dragon?”
“I am Liu Pei. I want to enquire of him how to restore tranquillity to
the world.”
“Well, neither of us is your man, but we are friends of his. My name is
Shih Kuang-yüan and my friend here is Mêng Kung-wei.”
“I know you both by reputation,” said Yüan-tê smiling. “I am indeed
fortunate to meet you in this haphazard way. Will you not come to the
Sleeping Dragon’s retreat and talk for a time? I have horses here for
you.”
“We idle folk of the wilds know nothing of tranquillising States. Do
not trouble to ask, please. Pray mount again and go your way in search
of Sleeping Dragon.”
So he remounted and went his way. He reached the little cottage,
dismounted and tapped at the door. The same lad answered his knock and
he asked whether the Master had returned.
“He is in his room reading,” said the boy.
Joyful indeed was Liu Pei as he followed the lad in. In front of the
middle door he saw written this pair of scrolls:—
By purity manifest the inclination:
By repose affect the distant.
As he was looking at this couplet he heard some one singing in a
subdued voice and stopped by the door to peep in. He saw a young man
close to a charcoal brazier, hugging his knees while he sang:—
The phoenix flies high, ah me!
And only will perch on a wutung tree.
The scholar is hid, ah me!
Till his lord appear he can patient be.
He tills his fields, ah me!
He is well-content and I love my home,
He awaits his day, ah me!
His books and his lute to leave and roam.
As the song ended Yüan-tê advanced and saluted saying, “Master, long
have I yearned for you, but have found it impossible to salute you.
Lately one Hsu spoke of you and I hastened to your dwelling, only to
come away disappointed. This time I have braved the elements and come
again and my reward is here; I see your face, and I am indeed
fortunate.”
The young man hastily returned the salute and said, “General, you must
be that Liu Pei of Yuchou who wishes to see my brother.”
“Then, Master, you are not the Sleeping Dragon!” said Yüan-tê, starting
back.
“I am his younger brother, Chün. He has an elder brother, Chin, now
with Sun in Chiangtung as a secretary. Kʻung-ming is the second of our
family.”
“Is your brother at home?”
“Only yesterday he arranged to go a jaunt with Tsʻui Chou-pʻing.”
“Whither have they gone?”
“Who can say? They may take a boat and sail away among the lakes, or go
to gossip with the priests in some remote mountain temple, or wander
off to visit a friend in some far away village, or be sitting in some
cave with a lute or a chessboard. Their goings and comings are
uncertain and nobody can guess at them.”
“What very poor luck have I! Twice have I failed to meet the great
sage.”
“Pray sit a few moments and let me offer you some tea.”
“Brother, since the master is not here I pray you remount and go,” said
Chang Fei.
“Since I am here, why not a little talk before we go home again?” said
Yüan-tê.
Then turning to his host he continued, “Can you tell me if your worthy
brother is skilled in strategy and studies works on war?”
“I do not know.”
“This is worse than the other,” grumbled Chang Fei. “And the wind and
snow are getting worse; we ought to go back.”
Yüan-tê turned on him angrily and told him to stop.
Chün said, “Since my brother is absent I will not presume to detain you
longer. I will return your call soon.”
“Please do not take that trouble. In a few days I will come again. But
if I could borrow paper and pencil I would leave a note to show your
worthy brother that I am zealous and earnest.”
Chün produced the “four treasures” of the scholar and Yüan-tê, thawing
out the frozen brush between his lips, spread the sheet of delicate
note-paper and wrote:—
“Pei has long admired your fame. He has visited your dwelling twice,
but to his great disappointment he has gone empty away. He humbly
remembers that he is a distant relative of the Emperor, that he has
undeservedly enjoyed fame and rank. When he sees the proper government
wrested aside and replaced by pretence, the foundation of the State
crumbling away, hordes of bravos creating confusion in the country and
an evil cabal behaving unseemly toward the rightful Prince, then his
heart and gall are torn to shreds. Though he has a real desire to
assist, yet is he deficient in the needful skill. Wherefore he turns to
the Master, trusting in his kindness, graciousness, loyalty and
righteousness. Would the Master but use his talent, equal to that of Lü
Wang, and perform great deeds like Chang Tzŭ-fang, then would the
Empire be happy and the throne would be secure.”
“This is written to tell you that, after purification of mind with
fasting and of body with fragrant baths, Pei will come again to
prostrate himself in your honoured presence and receive enlightenment.”
The letter written and given to Chün, Yüan-tê took his leave,
exceedingly disappointed at this second failure. As he was mounting he
saw the serving lad waving his hand outside the hedge and heard him
call out, “The old Master is coming”
Yüan-tê looked and then saw a figure seated on a donkey leisurely
jogging along over a bridge.
The rider of the donkey wore a cap with long flaps down to his
shoulders and his body was wrapped in a fox fur robe. A youth followed
him bearing a jar of wine. As he came through the snow he hummed a
song:—
’Tis eve, the sky is overcast.
The north wind comes with icy blast,
Light snowflakes whirl adown until
A white pall covers dale and hill.
Perhaps above the topmost sky
White dragons strive for mastery,
The armour scales from their forms riven
Are scattered o’er the world wind-driven.
Amid the storm there jogs along
A simple wight who croons a song.
“O poor plum trees, the gale doth tear
Your blossoms off and leave you bare.”
“Here at last is the Sleeping Dragon,” thought Yüan-tê, hastily
slipping out of the saddle. He saluted the donkey rider as he neared
and said, “Master, it is hard to make way against this cold wind. I and
my companions have been waiting long.”
The rider got off his donkey and returned the bow, while Chuko Chün
from behind said, “This is not my brother; it is his father-in-law,
Huang Chʻêng-yen.”
Yüan-tê said, “I chanced to hear the song you were singing; it is very
beautiful.”
Chʻêng-yen replied, “It is a little poem I read in my son-in-law’s
house and I recalled it as I crossed the bridge and saw the plum trees
in the hedge. And so it happened to catch your ear, noble Sir.”
“Have you seen your son-in-law lately?” asked Yüan-tê.
“That is just what I have come to do now.”
At this Yüan-tê bade him farewell and went on his way. The storm was
very grievous to bear, but worse than the storm was the grief in his
heart as he looked back at Sleeping Dragon Ridge.
One winter’s day through snow and wind
A prince rode forth the sage to find;
Alas! his journey was in vain,
And sadly turned he home again.
The stream stood still beneath the bridge
A sheet of ice draped rock and ridge,
His steed benumbed with biting cold
But crawled as he were stiff and old.
The snow-flakes on the rider’s head
Were like pear-blossoms newly shed,
Or like the willow-catkins light
They brushed his cheek in headlong flight.
He stayed his steed, he looked around,
The snow lay thick on tree and mound,
The Sleeping Dragon Ridge lay white
A hill of silver, glistening bright.
After the return to Hsinyeh the time slipped away till spring was near.
Then Yüan-tê cast lots to find the propitious day for another journey
in search of the sage. The day being selected he fasted for three days
and then changed his dress ready for the visit. His two brothers viewed
the preparations with disapproval and presently made up their minds to
remonstrate.
The sage and the fighting man never agree,
A warrior despises humility.
The next chapter will tell what they said.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
PLAN FOR THREE KINGDOMS:
THE SUNS AVENGE THEMSELVES.
Nothing discouraged by two unsuccessful visits to the retreat of the
sage whose advice he sought to secure, Liu Pei made preparations for a
third visit. His brothers disapproved, and Kuan Yü said, “Brother, you
have sought him twice, surely this is showing even too much deference.
I do not believe in this fame of his for learning; he is avoiding you
and dare not submit to the test. Why so obstinately hold this idea?”
“You are wrong, my brother. Duke Huan of Chʻi paid five visits to the
‘Hermit of the Eastern Suburb’ before he got to see his face. And my
desire to see the sage is even greater than his.”
“I think you are mistaken,” said Chang Fei. “How can this villager be
such a marvel of wisdom? You should not go again and, if he will not
come, I will bring him with a hempen rope.”
“Have you forgotten the great Prince Wên’s visit to Chiang Tzŭ-ya, the
old man of the Eastern Sea? If he could show such deference to a wise
man, where am I too deferential? If you will not go, your brother and I
will go without you,” said Yüan-tê.
“If you two go, how can I hang back?” said Chang Fei.
“If you go, then you must be polite.”
Fei said he would not forget himself, and the three set out. When they
were half a li from the little cottage, Yüan-tê dismounted, deciding to
show his respect by approaching the house on foot. Very soon he met
Chuko Chün, whom he saluted with great deference, enquiring whether his
brother was at home.
“He returned last evening; you can see him to-day, General.”
As he said this he went off with some swagger.
“Fortune favours me this time,” said Yüan-tê, “I am going to see the
master.”
“That was a rude fellow”, said Fei, “it would not have hurt him to have
conducted us to the house. Why did he go off like that?”
“Each one has his own affairs,” said his brother. “What power have we
over him?”
Soon the three stood at the door and they knocked. The serving lad came
out and asked their business and Yüan-tê said very deferentially, “I
would trouble the servant of the genius, gentle page, to inform the
Master that Liu Pei wishes to pay his respects to him.”
“My Master is at home, but he is asleep.”
“In that case do not announce me.”
He bade his two brothers wait at the door quietly and he himself
entered with careful steps. There was the man he sought, lying asleep
on the couch, stretched on a simple mat. Yüan-tê saluted him with
joined hands at a respectful distance.
The time passed and still the sleeper did not wake. The two brothers
left without, beginning to feel impatient, also came in and Chang Fei
was annoyed at seeing his revered elder brother respectfully standing
by while another slept.
“What an arrogant fellow is this Master?” said he. “There is our
brother waiting, while he sleeps on perfectly carelessly. I will go to
the back of the place and let off a bomb and see if that will rouse
him.”
“No, no; you must do nothing of the kind,” whispered Kuan Yü, and then
Yüan-tê told them to go out again.
Just then he noticed that the Master moved. He turned over as though
about to rise, but, instead, he faced the wall and again fell asleep.
The serving lad made as if he would rouse his master, but Yüan-tê
forbade him to be disturbed and he waited yet another weary hour. Then
Kʻung-ming woke up repeating to himself the lines:—
“Can any know what fate is his?
Yet have I felt throughout my life,
The day would come at last to quit
The calm retreat for toil and strife.”
As he finished he turned to the lad saying, “Have any of the usual
people come?”
“Liu, the Uncle of the Emperor is here,” said the boy. “He has been
waiting some time.”
“Why did you not tell me?” said he, rising from the couch. “I must
dress.”
He rose and turned into a room behind to dress. In a short time he
re-appeared, his clothing properly arranged, to receive his visitor.
Then Yüan-tê saw coming toward him a man rather below medium height
with a refined face. He wore a head-wrap and a long crane-white gown.
He moved with much dignity as though he was rather more than mortal.
Yüan-tê bowed saying, “I am one of the offshoots of the Han family, a
simple person from Cho. I have long known the Master’s fame, which has
indeed thundered in my ear. Twice I have come to visit you, without
success. Once I left my name on your writing table; you may have my
note.”
Kʻung-ming replied, “This hermit is but a dilatory person by
temperament. I know I have to thank you for more than one vain visit
and I am ashamed to think of them.”
These courteous remarks and the proper bows exchanged, the two men sat
in their relative positions as host and guest and the serving lad
brought tea. Then Kʻung-ming said, “From your letter I know that you
grieve for both people and government. If I were not so young and if I
possessed any talent, I would venture to question you.”
Yüan-tê replied, “Ssŭma Hui and Hsü Shu have both spoken of you; can it
be that their words were vain? I trust, O Master, that you will not
despise my worthlessness but will condescend to instruct me.”
“The two men you speak of are very profound scholars. I am but a
peasant, a mere farmer, and who am I that I should talk of Empire
politics? Those two misled you when they spoke of me. Why do you reject
the beautiful jewel for a worthless pebble?”
“But your abilities are world embracing and marvellous. How can you be
content to allow time to pass while you idle away life in these
secluded haunts? I conjure you, O Master, to remember the inhabitants
of the world and remove my crass ignorance by bestowing instruction
upon me.”
“But what is your ambition, General?”
Yüan-tê moved his seat nearer to his host and said, “The Hans are
sinking; designing ministers steal away their authority. I am weak, yet
I desire to restore the State to its right mind. But my ignorance is
too vast, my means are too slender and I know not where to turn. Only
you, Master, can lighten my darkness and preserve me from falling. How
happy should I be if you would do so!”
Kʻung-ming replied, “One bold man after another has arisen in various
parts of the Empire ever since the days of the great rebel Tung Cho.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was not so powerful as Yüan Shao, but he overcame him by
seizing the favourable moment and using his men properly. Now he is
all-powerful; he rules an immense army and, through his control of the
Court, the various feudal lords as well. You cannot think of opposing
him. Then the Suns have held their territory in Chiangtung for three
generations. Their position may not appear too secure, but they have
popularity to appeal to. You can gain support but win no success there.
Chingchou on the north rests on the two rivers Han and Mien; their
interests lie in all to the south of them; on the east they touch Wu
and on the west they extend to the ancient states Pa and Shu. This is
the area in which decisive battles have to be won and one must hold it
in order to be secure and Heaven has virtually made it yours. Yichou is
an important place, fertile and extensive, a country favoured of Heaven
and that through which the Founder of Han obtained the Empire. Its
ruler Liu Chang is ignorant and weak. The people are noble and the
country prosperous, but he does not know how to hold it all, and all
the able men of the district are yearning for an enlightened prince. As
you are a scion of the Family, well known throughout the land as trusty
and righteous, a whole-hearted hero, who greatly desires to win the
support of the wise, if you get possession of Yi and Ching, if on the
west you are in harmony with the Jung tribes, on the south win over I
and Yüeh, make an alliance with Sun Chʻüan, and maintain good
government, you can await confidently the day when heaven shall offer
you the desired opportunity. Then you may depute a worthy leader to go
to the north-east while you take command of an expedition to the
north-west, and will you not find the warmest welcome prepared for you
by the people? This done the completion of the task will be easy. The
Hans will be restored. And I will be your adviser in all these
operations if you will only undertake them.”
He paused while he bade the lad bring out a map. As this was unrolled
Kʻung-ming went on, “There you see the fifty four divisions of
Ssŭchʻuan. Should you wish to take the overlordship you will yield to
Tsʻao Tsʻao in the north till the time of Heaven be come, to Sun Chʻüan
in the south till the position may become favourable. You, General,
will be the Man and complete the trinity. Chingchou is to be taken
first as a home, the west next for the foundation of domination. When
you are firmly established you can lay your plans for the attainment of
the whole Empire.”
As Kʻung-ming ceased his harangue, Yüan-tê left his place and saluted
him, saying, “Your words, O Master, render everything so clear that
meseems the clouds are swept aside and I see the clear sky. But
Chingchou belongs to Liu Piao, my kinsman, and Yichou to another
kinsman; I could hardly take the land from them.”
“I have studied the stars and I know Liu Piao is not long for this
world; the other is not the sort of man to endure. Both places will
certainly fall to you.”
Yüan-tê bowed his acknowledgments. And so, in one conversation,
Kʻung-ming proved that he, who had lived in complete retirement all his
life, knew and foresaw the three fragments into which the Empire was to
break. True, indeed, is it that throughout all the ages no one has ever
equalled his intelligence and mastery of the situation.
Behold, when Liu Pei frets that he is weak,
Then “Sleeping Dragon” is not far to seek;
When he desires to know how things will hap,
The Master, smiling, shows him on the map.
“Though I be of small repute and scanty virtue,” said Yüan-tê, “I hope,
O Master, you will not despise me for my worthlessness, but will leave
this retreat to help me. I will assuredly listen most reverently to
your words.”
Kʻung-ming replied, “I have long been happy on my farm and am fond of
my leisure. I fear I cannot obey your command.”
Yüan-tê wept. “If you will not, O Master, what will become of the
people?”
The tears rolled down unchecked upon the lapel and sleeves of his robe.
This proved to Kʻung-ming the sincerity of his desire and he said,
“General if you will accept me, I will render what trifling service I
can.”
Then Yüan-tê was delighted. He called in Kuan and Chang to make their
bow and brought out the gifts he had prepared. Kʻung-ming refused them
all.
“These are not gifts to engage your services, but mere proof of my
regard,” said Yüan-tê.
Then the presents were accepted. They all remained that night at the
farm. Next day Chuko Chün returned and his brother said to him, “Uncle
Liu has come thrice to see me and now I must go with him. Keep up the
farm in my absence and do not let the place go to ruin for, as soon as
my work is accomplished, I will certainly return.”
Then, turning from his humble home,
He thought of peaceful days to come,
When he should take the homeward way
And ne’er beyond the valley stray.
But duty kept him in the west,
And there he found his place of rest.
An old poem may be quoted here:—
The Founder of Han seized his gleaming blade
And at Mangtang the blood of the white snake flowed.
He conquered Tsʻin, destroyed Chʻu and entered Hsienyang.
After two centuries of rule the line was near broken,
But Kuang-Wu, the great, restored the glory at Loyang.
And his children occupied the throne
Till decay began in the days of Huan and Ling.
The Emperor Ling removed the capital to Hsüchʻang,
And, within the four seas, all was confusion.
Bold spirits started up in fierce contention.
Tsʻao Tsʻao, seized the favourable moment
And the Imperial authority passed into his hands,
While the Suns made to themselves
A glorious heritage east of the river,
Solitary and poor, Liu Pei wandered from place to place,
Till he found a haven in Hsinyeh.
Sorely distressed he was at the sorrows of the people,
But the Sleeping Dragon conceived a noble ambition,
Within his breast were thoughts
Of great things to be accomplished by force of arms.
Then, because of the parting words of Hsü Shu,
And by the thrice repeated visits to his retreat,
The great hero found and knew his mentor.
When the age of Kʻung-ming was but thrice nine years,
He turned from his books, put aside his lute
And left the peaceful fields he had loved,
Under his guidance Chingchou was taken
And the Land of the Four Streams conquered.
He unrolled great schemes, as one all knowing,
In speech, he went to and fro in the world.
The sound of war drums rolled from his tongue,
The words from his heart stirred one to the utmost depths,
The dragon pranced, the tiger glared,
And peace was brought to the world.
Through all the ages his fame shall never decay.
After taking leave of the younger brother, Yüan-tê and his followers
left for Hsinyeh, with Kʻung-ming as companion. When they took up their
abode there, Kʻung-ming was treated as a master, eating at the same
table, sleeping on the same couch as Liu Pei. They spent whole days
conversing over the affairs of the Empire.
Kʻung-ming said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao is training his men for naval service and
hence certainly intends to invade the country south of the river. We
ought to send our spies to ascertain what he is really doing.”
So spies were despatched.
Now after Sun Chʻüan had succeeded to the heritage of his father and
brother he sent far and wide to invite men of ability to aid him. He
established lodging places for them in Wu, and directed Ku Yung and
Chang Hung to welcome and entertain all those who came. And year by
year they flocked in, one recommending another. Among them were Kʻan
Tsê, of Kueichi; Yen Chün, of Pʻêngchʻêng; Hsüeh Tsung, of Pʻeihsien;
Chʻêng Ping, of Junan; Chu Huan, of Wuchün; Lu Chi, of the same place;
Chang Wên, of Wu; Ling Tʻung, of Kueichi and Wu Tsʻan of Wuchʻêng; and
all these scholars were treated with great deference.
Some able leaders came also, Lü Mêng, of Junan; Lu Hsün, of Wuchün; Hsü
Shêng, of Langya; Pʻan Chang, of Tungchün and Ting Fêng of Luchiang.
Thus Sun Chʻüan obtained the assistance of many men of ability both in
peace and war and all went well with him.
In the seventh year of “Established Tranquillity” Tsʻao Tsʻao had
broken the power of Yüan Shao. Then he sent a messenger to Chiangtung
ordering Sun Chʻüan to send his son to court to serve in the retinue of
the Emperor. Sun, however, hesitated to comply with this request and
the matter was the subject of much discussion. His mother, the lady Wu,
sent for Chou Yü and Chang Chao and asked their advice.
The latter said, “He wishes a son to be present at court as a hostage
whereby he has a hold upon us, as formerly was the case with all the
feudal chiefs. If we do not comply with this request he will doubtless
attack the territory. There is some peril.”
Chou Yü said, “Our lord has succeeded to the heritage and has a large
army of veterans and ample supplies. He has able men ready to do his
bidding, and why should he be compelled to send a hostage to any man?
To send a hostage is to be forced into joining Tsʻao, and to carry out
his behests, whatever they be. Then we shall be in his power. It would
be better not to send, but rather to wait patiently the course of
events and prepare plans to attack.”
“That is also my opinion,” said the Dowager.
So Sun Chʻüan dismissed the messenger but did not send his son. Tsʻao
Tsʻao resented this and had since nourished schemes for the destruction
of the Suns. But their realisation had been delayed by the dangers on
the north and, so far, no attack had been made.
Late in the eighth year, Sun Chʻüan led his armies against Huang Tsu
and fought on the Great River, where he was successful in several
battles. One of Sun’s leaders, Ling Tsʻao, led a fleet of light vessels
up the river and broke into Hsiakʻou but was killed by an arrow. He
left a son, Ling Tʻung, fifteen years of age, who led another
expedition to recover his father’s corpse and was so far successful.
After that, as the war was inclined to go against him, Sun Chʻüan
turned again to his own country.
Now Sun Chʻüan’s brother, Sun I, was Prefect of Tanyang. He was a hard
man and given to drink and, in his cups, very harsh to his men,
ordering the infliction of severe floggings. Two of his officers, Kuei
Lan and Tai Yüan, bore their chief a grudge and sought to assassinate
him. They took into their confidence one Pien Hung, of the escort, and
the three plotted to kill their master at a great assembly of officials
at Tanyang amid the banquets and junketings.
Sun’s wife was skilled in divination and on the day of the great
banquet she cast a most inauspicious lot. Wherefore she besought her
husband to stay away from the assembly. But he was obstinate and went.
The faithless guardsman followed his master in the dusk when the
gathering dispersed, and stabbed him with a dagger. The two prime
movers at once seized their accomplice and beheaded him in the market
place. Then they went to Sun’s residence, which they plundered. Kuei
Lan was taken with the beauty of the dead Prefect’s wife and told her
that as he had avenged the death of her husband she must go with him,
or he would slay her. The wife pleaded that it was too soon after her
husband’s death to think of re-marriage but promised to be his after
the mourning sacrifices.
She thus obtained a respite, which she utilised to send for two old
Generals of her husband’s, Sun Kao and Fu Ying. They came and she
tearfully told her tale.
“My husband had great faith in you. Now Kuei and Tai have compassed his
death, and have laid the crime on Pien Hung. They have plundered my
house and carried off my servants and slaves. Worse than this, Kuei Lan
insists that I shall be his wife. To gain time I have pretended to
favour this proposal and I pray you now to send the news to my
husband’s brother and beg him to slay these two miscreants and avenge
this wrong. I will never forget your kindness in this life or the
next.”
And she bowed before them. They wept also and said, “We were much
attached to our master and now that he has come to an untimely end we
must avenge him. Dare we not carry out your behests?”
So they sent a trusty messenger. On the day of the sacrifices the lady
called in her two friends and hid them in a secret chamber. Then the
ceremonies were performed in the great hall. These over, she put off
her mourning garb, bathed and perfumed herself, and assumed an
expression of joy. She laughed and talked as usual, so that Kuei Lan
rejoiced in his heart, thinking of the pleasure that was to be his.
When night came she sent a slave girl to call her suitor to the Palace,
where she entertained him at supper. When he had well drunk, she
suggested that they should retire and led him to the chamber where her
friends were waiting. He followed without the least hesitation. As soon
as she entered the room she called out, “Where are you, Generals?” Out
rushed the two men, and the drunken man, incapable of any resistance,
was despatched with daggers.
Next she invited Tai Yüan to a supper and he was slain in similar
fashion. After that she sent to the houses of her enemies and slew all
therein. This done, she resumed her mourning garb and the heads of the
two men were hung as a sacrifice before the coffin of her husband.
Very soon her brother-in-law came with an army, and hearing the story
of the deeds of the two generals from the widow, gave them office and
put them over Tanyang. When he left he took the widow to his own home
to pass the remainder of her days. All those who heard of her brave
conduct were loud in praise of her virtue:—
Full of resource and virtuous, few in the world are like her.
Guilefully wrought she and compassed the death of the lusty
assassins,
Faithful servants are always ready to deal with rebellion,
None can ever excel that heroine famous in East Wu.
The brigandage that had troubled Wu had all been suppressed and a large
fleet (of seven thousand) keels were in the Yangtse River ready for
service. Sun Chʻüan appointed Chou Yü to be the Admiral-in-Chief.
In the twelfth year (207 A.D.) the Dowager Lady Wu, feeling her end
approaching, called to her the two advisers Chou Yü and Chang Chao and
spoke thus:—“I came of a family of Wu, but losing my parents in early
life, my brother and I went into Yüeh, and then I married into this
family. I bore my husband four sons, not without premonitions of the
greatness to be theirs. With my first, I dreamed of the moon and with
my second, Chʻüan, of the sun, which omens were interpreted by the
soothsayer as signs of their great honour. Unhappy Tsʻê died young, but
Chʻüan inherited and it is he whom I pray you both to assist with one
accord. Then may I die in peace.”
And to her son she said, “These two you are to serve as they were your
masters and treat them with all respect. My sister and I both were
wives to your father, and so she is also a mother to you and you are to
serve her after I am gone as you now serve me. And you must treat your
sister with affection and find a handsome husband for her.”
Then she died and her son mourned for her, but of that and her burial
nothing will be said.
The following year they began to discuss an attack upon Huang Tsu.
Chang Chao said the armies should not move during the period of
mourning; however, Chou Yü, more to the point, said that vengeance
should not be postponed on that account; it could not wait upon times
and seasons. Still Sun Chʻüan halted between two opinions and would not
decide.
Then came Lü Mêng, the Commander of the North, who said to his master,
“While I was at Lungchiushuikʻou one of Huang Tsu’s captains, Kan Ning
by name, offered to surrender. I found out all about him. He is
something of a scholar, is forceful, fond of wandering about as a
knight-errant. He assembled a band of outlaws with whom he roamed over
the rivers and lakes where he would terrorise everybody. He wore a bell
at his waist and at the sound of this bell every one fled and hid. He
fitted his boats with sails of Ssŭchʻuan brocade and people called him
the ‘Pirate with Sails of Silk.’
“Then he reformed. He and his band went to Liu Piao, but they left him
when they saw he would never accomplish anything and now they would
serve under your banner, only that Huang Tsu detains them at Hsiakʻou.
Formerly when you were attacking Huang Tsu, he owed the recovery of
Hsiakʻou to this same Kan Ning, whom he treated with liberality, but
when Su Fei, the Commander-in-Chief, recommended him for promotion,
Huang Tsu said he was unsuited for any high position as, after all, he
was no more than a pirate.
“So Kan Ning became a disappointed and resentful man. Su Fei tried to
win him over to good humour and invited him to wine parties and said,
‘I have put your name forward many times but our chief says he has no
place suitable for you. However, time slips away and man’s life is not
very long. One must make the most of it. I will put you forward for the
magistracy of Ohsien, whence you may be able to advance.’ So Kan Ning
got away from Hsiakʻou and would have come to you then, but he feared
that he would not be welcomed, since he had assisted Huang Tsu and
killed Ling Tsʻao. I told him you were always ready to welcome able men
and would nourish no resentment for former deeds. After all, every man
was bound to do his best for his master. He would come with alacrity if
he only felt sure of a welcome. I pray you to express your pleasure.”
This was good news for Sun Chʻüan and he said, “With his help I could
destroy Huang Tsu.” Then he bade Lü Mêng bring Kan to see him.
When the salutations were over, the chief said, “My heart is entirely
captivated by your coming; I feel no resentment against you. I hope you
will have no doubts on that score and I may as well tell you that I
desire some plan for the destruction of Huang Tsu.”
He replied, “The dynasty is decadent and without influence. Tsʻao Tsʻao
will finally absorb the country down to the river unless he is opposed.
Liu Piao provides nothing against the future and his sons are quite
unfitted to succeed him. You should lay your plans to oust him at once
before Tsʻao Tsʻao anticipates you. The first attack should be made on
Huang Tsu, who is getting old and avaricious, so that every one hates
him. He is totally unprepared for a fight and his army is
undisciplined. He would fall at the first blow. If he were gone, you
would control the western passes and could conquer Pa and Shu
(Szechʻuan). And you would be securely established.”
“The advice is most valuable,” said Sun Chʻüan, and he made his
preparations. Chou Yü was appointed Commander-in-Chief; Lü Mêng was
van-leader; Tung Hsi and Kan Ning were sub-leaders. Sun Chʻüan himself
would command the main army of ten legions.
The spies reported that Huang Tsu, at the news of an expedition against
him, called his officers together to consult. He placed Su Fei in chief
command. He also appointed van-leaders, and other officers, and
prepared for defence. He had two squadrons of ships under the command
of Chʻên Chiu and Têng Lung. On these he placed strong bows and stiff
crossbows to the number of more than a thousand and secured the boats
to heavy hawsers so that they formed a barrier in the river.
At the approach of the men of Wu the drums beat for the ships to
attack. Soon arrows and bolts flew thick, forcing back the invaders,
who withdrew till several li of water lay between them and the
defenders.
“We must go forward,” said Kan Ning to his colleague.
So they chose a hundred light craft and put picked men on them, fifty
to a boat. Twenty were to row the boats and thirty to fight. These
latter were armoured swordsmen. Careless of the enemy’s missiles these
boats advanced, got to the defenders’ fleet and cut the hawsers of
their ships so that they drifted hither and thither in confusion. Kan
Ning leaped upon one boat and killed Têng Lung. Chʻên Chiu left the
fleet and set out for the shore. Lü Mêng dropped into a small boat and
went among the larger ships setting them on fire. When Chʻên Chiu had
nearly reached the bank, Lü reckless of death went after him, got ahead
and struck him full in the breast so that he fell.
Before long Su Fei came along the bank with reinforcements, but it was
too late; the armies of Wu had already landed and there was no hope of
repelling them. Su Fei fled into the open country, but he was made
prisoner. He was taken to Sun Chʻüan who ordered that he be put into a
cage-cart and kept till Huang Tsu should be captured. Then he would
execute the pair. And the attack was pressed; day and night they
wrought to capture Hsiakʻou.
He sees his ships cut loose and burned,
By the “Silk-sailed Pirate” he once spurned.
For Huang Tsu’s fate, see next chapter.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
AT CHINGCHOU THE SON OF LIU PIAO THRICE BEGS ADVICE:
AT POWANG SLOPE THE MASTER DIRECTS HIS FIRST BATTLE.
Now Sun Chʻüan fought against Hsiakʻou. When Huang Tsu recognised that
he was beaten and could not maintain his position, he abandoned
Chianghsia and took the road to Chingchou. Kan Ning, foreseeing this,
had laid an ambush outside the east gate. Soon after the fugitive, with
a small following, had burst out of the gate he found his road blocked.
From horseback, Huang Tsu said, “I treated you well in the past, why do
you now press me so hard?”
Kan Ning angrily shouted, “I did good service for you and yet you
treated me as a pirate. Now what have you to say?”
There was nothing to be said, and Huang turned his horse to escape. But
Kan Ning thrust aside his men and himself rode in pursuit. Then he
heard a shouting in his rear and saw Chʻêng Pʻu coming up. Fearing lest
this other pursuer should overpass him and score the success he desired
for himself, Kan fitted an arrow to his bow and shot at the fugitive.
Huang was hit and fell from his steed. Then Kan Ning cut off his head.
After this, joining himself to Chʻêng Pʻu, the two returned bearing the
ghastly trophy to their lord. Sun Chʻüan ordered them to place it in a
box to be taken back home and offered as a sacrifice to the manes of
his father.
Having rewarded the soldiers for the victory and promoted Kan Ning, Sun
Chʻüan next discussed the advisability of sending a force to hold
Chianghsia. But his adviser, Chang Chao, said it was useless to try to
hold one city alone. It would be better to return home and prepare for
the expedition that Liu Piao would surely send in revenge. They would
defeat him, push home the attack and capture his district.
Sun Chʻüan saw the advice was wise so he left Chianghsia and led his
army home to the east.
Now Su Fei was still confined, but he got some one to go to Kan Ning to
beg him to plead for mercy. Kan Ning had expected this although the
prisoner had said no word and he was averse from leaving his friend and
one-time protector to perish. “I should not have forgotten him even if
he had said nothing,” said Kan.
When the army had reached Wuhui the victor gave orders for Su Fei’s
execution that his head might be offered with that of Huang Tsu. Then
Kan Ning went in to his lord and said, weeping, “Long ago, if it had
not been for Su Fei, my bones would have been rotting in some ditch and
how then could I have rendered service under your banner? Now he
deserves death, but I cannot forget his kindness to me and I pray you
take away the honours you have bestowed on me as a set-off to his
crime.”
Sun Chʻüan replied, “Since he once showed kindness to you, I will
pardon him for your sake. But what can be done if he run away?”
“If he be pardoned and escape death he will be immeasurably grateful
and will not go away. If he should, then will I offer my life in
exchange.”
So the condemned man escaped death and only one head was offered in
sacrifice. After the sacrificial ceremonies a great banquet was spread
in honour of the victories. As it was proceeding suddenly one of the
guests burst into loud lamentations, drew his sword and rushed upon Kan
Ning. Kan hastily rose and defended himself with the chair on which he
had been sitting. The host looked at the assailant and saw it was Ling
Tʻung, whose father had fallen under an arrow shot by Kan Ning. The son
was now burning to avenge his father’s death.
Hastily leaving his place, Sun Chʻüan checked the angry officer,
saying, “If he slew your noble father, then remember each was fighting
for his lord for whom he was bound to exert himself to the utmost. But
now that you are under one flag and are of one house you may not recall
an ancient injury. You must regard my interests continually.”
Tsʻao Ling beat his head upon the floor and cried, saying, “But how can
I not avenge this? It is a blood feud and we may not both live under
the same sky.”
The guests interfered, beseeching the man to forgo his revenge, and at
last he ceased from his murderous intention. But he sat glaring
wrathfully at his enemy.
So soon after Kan Ning was despatched with half a legion and a squadron
of ships to guard Hsiakʻou, where he was beyond the reach of his
enemy’s wrath. Then Sun Chʻüan promoted Tsʻao Ling and so he was
somewhat appeased.
From about this time Wu enlarged her fleets, and men were sent to
various points to guard the river banks. The brother of the chieftain
was placed in command at Wuhui and Sun Chʻüan himself, with a large
army, camped at Chʻaisang. Chou Yü, the Commander-in-Chief of the
forces, was on the Pʻoyang Lake training the naval forces, and general
preparations were made for defence and attack.
Here our story digresses to follow the adventures of Liu Pei. By his
spies he had tidings of the doings in the lower portion of the great
river, and knew of the death of Huang Tsu. So he consulted Kʻung-ming
as to his action. While they were discussing matters, there arrived a
messenger from Liu Piao, begging Liu Pei to go to see him. Kʻung-ming
advised him to go and said, “This call is to consult you about avenging
Huang Tsu. You must take me with you and let me act as the
circumstances direct. There are advantages to be got.”
Leaving his second brother in command at Hsinyeh, Liu Pei set forth,
taking Chang Fei with half a company as his escort. On the way he
discussed the course of action with his adviser, who said, “First you
must thank him for having saved you from the evil that was planned
against you at Hsiangyang. But you must not undertake any expedition
against Wu; say you must return to Hsinyeh to put your army in good
order.”
With this admonition Liu Pei came to Chingchou and was lodged in the
guest-house. Chang Fei and the escort camped without the walls. In due
course Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming were received, and after the customary
salutations, the guest apologised for his conduct.
The host said, “Worthy brother, I know you were the victim of a vile
plot and I should have put the prime mover to death for it had there
not been so universal a prayer for mercy. However, I remitted that
penalty. I hope you do not consider that I was wrong.”
“Mao had little to do with it; I think it was due to his subordinates,”
replied Pei.
Piao said, “Chianghsia is lost, as you know; Huang is dead. So I have
asked you to come that we might take measures of vengeance.”
“Huang was harsh and cruel and never used his men in the proper way;
that was the real cause of his fall. But have you reflected what Tsʻao
Tsʻao may do on the north if we attack the south?”
“I am getting old and weak and I am unable to manage affairs properly;
will you aid me, brother? After I am gone you will have this district.
“Why do you say this, my brother? Think you that I am equal to such a
task?”
Here Kʻung-ming glanced at Liu Pei who continued, “But give me a little
time to think it over.”
And at this point he took his leave. When they had reached their
lodging, Kʻung-ming said, “Why did you decline his offer of the
district?”
“He has always been most kind and courteous. I could not take advantage
of his weakness.”
“A perfectly kindly and gracious lord,” sighed Kʻung-ming.
Soon after the son of Liu Piao was announced and Liu Pei received him
and led him in. The young man began to weep saying, “My mother cannot
bear the sight of me. My very life is in danger. Can you not save me,
Uncle?”
“My worthy nephew, this is a family affair. You should not come to me.”
Kʻung-ming, who was present, smiled. Liu Pei turned to him to know what
he should do.
“This is a family affair; I cannot touch it!” replied Kʻung-ming.
The young man soon left and when Yüan-tê was saying good-bye he
whispered, “I will get Kʻung-ming to return your call and you can talk
with him. He will advise you.”
Liu Chi thanked him and left. Next day when the call was to be returned
Yüan-tê pretended to be suffering from colic and made that an excuse to
send Kʻung-ming to return the call. The adviser went, and when he had
reached the Palace, dismounted and was led in, Liu Chi conducted him
into one of the inner rooms and when the tea had been brought, said, “I
am an object of my stepmother’s dislike; can you advise me what to do?”
“As a mere stranger guest I can hardly have anything to do with your
own ‘bone and flesh’ matters. If I did, and the story got abroad, much
harm might ensue.”
With this he rose to take leave. But Chi was unwilling to say farewell.
He said, “Your glory has turned in my direction, you cannot mean to go
away so pointlessly.”
He led his visitor into a private chamber and had refreshments brought.
While they ate and drank Chi repeated his first request: what was he to
do since his stepmother disliked him?
“It is not the sort of thing I can advise in,” replied Kʻung-ming, as
he rose for the second time to take leave.
“Master, if you will not reply, that is well. But why incontinently
leave me?”
So the adviser once more seated himself and Liu Chi said, “There is an
ancient writing I should like to show you.” And he led his visitor to a
small upper room.
“Where is the writing?” said Kʻung-ming.
Instead of answering Liu Chi wept, saying, “My stepmother cannot bear
me; my life is in danger. O Master, will you not say a word to save
me?”
Kʻung-ming flushed and rose to go away. But he found the ladder by
which they had mounted had been removed. Again Chi besought some
advice, “Master, you fear lest it may get abroad! Is that why you are
silent? Here we are between earth and sky and what you say will come
out of your mouth directly into my ear. No other soul can hear. Now can
you tell me what to do?”
“Sow not dissension among relatives,” said Kʻung-ming. “Is it possible
for me to make any plan for you?”
“Then is my life indeed in danger,” said the young man. “I will die at
your feet.”
So saying, he pulled out a dagger and threatened to make an end of
himself.
Kʻung-ming checked him. “There is a way,” said he.
“I pray you tell me.”
“You have heard of Shên Shêng and Chʻung Erh, have you not? Shên Shêng
stayed at home and died; his brother went away and lived in peace. Now
that Huang Tsu is gone and Chianghsia is weakly defended, why do you
not ask to be sent there to guard it? Then you would be out of the way
of harm.”
Chi thanked him. Then he called to his people to restore the ladder and
he escorted Kʻung-ming down to the level ground.
Kʻung-ming returned to Yüan-tê and related the whole interview. The
young man soon acted on the advice given him, but his father would not
at first consent to let him go. To settle his doubts he sent for
Yüan-tê, who said, “Chianghsia is important and your son is the most
suitable man to defend it. You must let him go. The south-east will be
defended by your son; the north-west I will look after.”
“I hear that Tsʻao Tsʻao has been training a naval force and I am
afraid he has intentions against us. We must be on our guard.”
“I know all about it; you need feel no anxiety,” said Yüan-tê.
He took leave of his relative and went home while Liu Chi received
command of three companies and went to guard Chianghsia.
At this time Tsʻao Tsʻao suppressed the three high officers of State
and exercised their functions himself. He appointed as his general
secretaries or Tsʻao-chʻuan, Mao Chieh and Tsʻui Yen, and as literary
secretary, Ssŭma I, grandson of Ssŭma Sui and son of Ssŭma Fang. Thus
he was strong in literary talent.
He then called his military officers to a council to discuss an
expedition against the south. Hsiahou Tun opened the debate saying,
“Liu Fei is drilling his army at Hsinyeh, and is a source of danger. He
should be destroyed.”
Accordingly he was appointed Commander-in-Chief and four assistants
were given him. With these he led ten legions to Powangchʻêng, whence
he could observe Hsinyeh.
Hsün Yü was opposed to this and said, “Liu Pei is a famous warrior and
he has lately taken to himself as his director of training Chuko Liang.
Caution is needed.”
Tun replied, “Liu Pei is a mean rat. I will certainly take him
prisoner.”
“Do not despise him,” said Hsü Shu. “Remember he has Chuko Liang to
help him and so he is like a tiger who has grown wings.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “Who is this Chuko Liang?”
“He is also called Kʻung-ming, and has taken a Taoist cognomen of
‘Sleeping Dragon.’ He is a perfect genius, god and devil combined, the
greatest marvel of the age. Do not despise him.”
“How does he stand as compared with you?” asked Tsʻao.
“There is no comparison. I am a mere glow-worm spark; he is the glory
of the full moon,” replied Hsü Shu.
“You are mistaken,” replied Tun. “This Chuko Liang of yours is of no
account. Who would fear him? If I do not take him and his master
prisoners in the first battle, then here is my head, a free gift to our
lord, the minister.”
“Hasten to comfort me with news of victory,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
Hsiahou Tun hastened to depart.
The advent of Kʻung-ming and the extravagant deference shown him did
not please Liu Pei’s sworn brothers who grumbled, saying, “He is very
young although he is clever and learned. Our brother really treats him
too well. We have not seen any evidence of his wonderful skill.”
Liu Pei replied, “You do not know his worth. To me it seems as if the
fish had got into the water again. Pray do not discuss this matter
further, my brothers.”
They withdrew, silent but dissatisfied. One day a man presented Liu Pei
with a yak’s tail and he at once put it in his cap as an ornament.
Kʻung-ming came in and noticed it at once. “Then you have renounced all
ambition, my lord; you are just going to attend to this sort of thing,”
he quietly remarked.
Yüan-tê snatched off his cap and flung it away. “I was only amusing
myself with the thing,” replied he.
“How do you think you stand compared with Tsʻao Tsʻao?” asked
Kʻung-ming.
“Inferior.”
“Yes; your army is less than one legion and the chances are ten
thousand to one that he will attack. How can we meet him?”
“I am greatly distressed about it; but I see no way.”
“You might recruit and I will train them. Then we might be able to
oppose him.”
So recruiting began and three companies were enlisted. Kʻung-ming set
about drilling them diligently.
Soon they heard that Hsiahou Tun was leading an army of ten legions
against them. When he heard it Chang Fei said to his brother, Kuan Yü,
“We will get this Kʻung-ming to go and fight them.”
Just at that moment they were summoned to their brother, who asked
their advice.
“Why not send the ‘Water’ brother?” said Chang Fei.
“For method I rely on Kʻung-ming; but for action I put my faith in you,
my brothers. Are you going to fail me?”
They went out and Kʻung-ming was called. “I fear your brothers will not
obey me,” said Kʻung-ming. “Wherefore, if I am to direct the campaign,
you must give me a seal of office and a sword of authority.”
So Yüan-tê gave him both. Armed with these ensigns of power he
assembled the officers to receive their orders.
“We will go just to see what he will do,” said one brother to the
other.
In the assembly Kʻung-ming spoke saying, “On the left of Powang are
hills called Yüshan. On the right is a forest, Anlin. There we will
prepare an ambush. Kuan Yü will go to the former place with one
company. He will remain there quiescent till the enemy has passed, but
when he sees a flame in the south, that will be the signal to attack.
He will first burn their baggage train. Chang Fei will go to a valley
behind the forest. When he sees the signal he is to go to the old
stores depôt at Powang and burn that. Kuan Pʻing and Liu Fêng will take
half a company each, prepare combustibles and be ready with them beyond
Powang Slope. The enemy will arrive about dusk and then they can start
the blaze.”
“Chao Yün, now recalled from Fanchʻêng, is to lead the attack, but he
is to lose and not win. And Liu Pei is to command the reserve. See that
each one obeys these orders and let there be no mistakes.”
Then said Kuan Yü, “All of us are to go out to meet the enemy, but I
have not yet heard what you are going to do.”
“I am going to guard the city.”
Chang Fei burst into a laugh, “We are to go out to bloody battle and
you are to stay quietly at home quite comfortable.”
“Here is the sword and here the seal,” replied the strategist,
displaying the emblems of authority. “Disobedience of orders will be
death.”
Liu Pei said, “Do you not understand that the plans elaborated in a
little chamber decide success over thousands of li? Do not disobey the
command, my brothers.”
Chang Fei went out smiling cynically.
Kuan Yü remarked, “Let us await the result. If he fail then we can look
to it.”
The brothers left. None of the officers understood anything of the
general line of strategy and, though they obeyed orders, they were not
without doubts and misgivings.
Kʻung-ming said to Liu Pei, “You may now lead your men to the hills and
camp till the enemy shall arrive to-morrow evening. Then you are to
abandon the camp and move away retreating till the signal is seen. Then
you will advance and attack with all force. The two Mi and I will guard
the city.”
In the city he prepared banquets to celebrate the victory and also
prepared the books to record exceptional services. Liu Pei noted all
these things with not a little trouble in his heart.
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army in due course reached Powang. Then half of them, the
veterans, were told off for the first attack and the remainder were to
guard the baggage train and supplies. Thus they marched in two
divisions. The season was autumn and a chilly wind began to blow.
They pressed forward. Presently they saw a cloud of dust ahead of them
and the general ordered the ranks to be reformed. He questioned the
guides as to the name of the place. They told him the place in front
was Powang Slope and behind them was the Lokʻou Stream. Then Hsiahou
Tun rode to the front to reconnoitre, leaving Yü Chin and Li Tien to
finish setting out the battle array.
Presently he began to laugh and, when they asked the cause of this
merriment, he replied, “Hsü Shu praised Chuko Liang to the very skies
as something more than human. But now that I see how he has placed his
men and the stuff he has put into his vanguard, it seems to me that he
is sending dogs or sheep against tigers and leopards. I bragged a
little when I said I would take him prisoner, but I am going to make
good my boast.”
Then he rode forward at full speed. Chao Yün rode to meet him and Tun
opened a volley of abuse. “You lot, followers of Liu Pei, are only like
wraiths following devils.”
This angered Chao Yün and a combat began. In a little time Chao Yün
turned and retreated as if he was worsted. Tun pressed after him and
kept up the chase for some ten li. Then Chao suddenly turned again and
offered fight; but only to retreat after a few passes.
Seeing these tactics Han Hao, one of Tun’s captains, rode up to his
chief and urged him to use caution saying he feared he was being
inveigled into an ambush.
“With such antagonists as these I should not fear a score of ambushes,”
replied Tun, pressing forward eagerly.
Just as he reached the slope he heard the roar of a bomb and out came
Liu Pei to attack. “Here is your ambush,” said Hsiahou Tun, laughing.
“I will get to Hsinyeh this evening before I have done.”
He urged his men forward and his opponents retired in measure as he
advanced.
As evening came on, thick clouds overcast the whole sky. The wind
increased but the leader still urged his men after the retreating foe.
The two captains came to a narrow part of the road with reeds and
rushes thick all round them.
“Those who despise the enemy are beaten,” said Li Tien to Yü Chin.
“Away south there the roads are narrow, and streams and mountains make
the country difficult. The forests are dense and if the enemy used fire
we should be lost.”
“You are right,” replied Chin. “I will get on and warn the Commander.
Perhaps he will stop. You can halt those who come up.”
Yü Chin rode forward shouting at the top of his voice. Hsiahou Tun saw
him coming up and asked what was the matter. Chin told him of the state
of the country and reminded him of the danger of fire. His ferocity had
then somewhat abated and he turned his steed toward his main body.
Then there arose a shout behind him. A rushing noise came from in the
reeds and great tongues of flame shot up here and there. These spread
and soon the fire was in “the four quarters and the eight sides,” and
fanned by a strong wind.
The Tsʻao troops were thrown into confusion and trampled each other
down. Many perished. Chao Yün turned on them again. The
Commander-in-Chief dashed through the fire and smoke to escape.
Now Li Tien saw that things were going very badly so he turned to get
back to Powangchʻêng but fell upon a body of men in the way, led by
Kuan Yü. He dashed into their midst and managed to get clear. Yü Chin
saw the supplies were being destroyed and there was nothing left to
guard, so he escaped along a bye-path. Two other captains, who came to
try to save the baggage train, met Chang Fei and one of them was slain
forthwith, but the other escaped. Next morning the countryside was
strewn with corpses and drenched with blood.
The armies met on Powang Slope
And Kʻung-ming fought with fire;
A perfect strategist, he bent
All men to his desire.
But poor Tsʻao Tsʻao, his enemy,
He trembled in his shoes
Before the man, who’d never fought
But yet could armies use.
Hsiahou Tung drew up the battered remains of his army and led them back
to the capital.
Kʻung-ming ordered his armies to collect, and as Kuan and Chang rode
homeward they confessed to each other that the new strategist was a
fine fellow. Before long they met him seated in a light carriage and
they dismounted and bowed before him. The remaining bodies came in. The
spoil was distributed among the soldiers and all returned to Hsinyeh,
where the populace lined the roads to bid them welcome.
“We owe our lives to the Prince,” they cried to Liu Pei.
Said Kʻung-ming, “Hsiahou Tun has been driven off, but Tsʻao Tsʻao will
come with a stronger force.”
“And what shall we do?” replied Liu Pei.
“My plan is quite ready,” said Kʻung-ming.
Always battles, nowhere rest for horse or man;
Must rely on ruses, dodging where one can.
The plan prepared against Tsʻao Tsʻao will be unfolded in the next
chapter.
CHAPTER XL.
THE LADY TSʻAI DISCUSSES THE RENUNCIATION OF CHINGCHOU:
CHUKO LIANG BURNS HSINYEH.
When Yüan-tê asked how his adviser hoped to repel Tsʻao Tsʻao,
Kʻung-ming replied, “This is a small city and unfitted for our lengthy
occupation. Liu Piao is ill and failing fast, so this is the time to
take his district as a base where we may be safe against Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
“You speak well, Master, but Liu Piao has shown me great kindness and I
could not bear to serve him an ill turn.”
“If you do not take this opportunity you will regret it ever after,”
said Kʻung-ming,
“I would rather perish than do what is wrong.”
“We will discuss it again,” replied Kʻung-ming.
When Hsiahou Tun reached the capital he presented himself to his master
in bonds and craved death. But his master loosed him and let him tell
his tale. And he said, “I was the victim of Chuko Liang’s evil
machinations; he attacked with fire.”
“As a soldier from your youth you should have remembered that fire was
a likely weapon in narrow roads.”
“Li Tien and Yü Chin reminded me; I am sorry enough now.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao rewarded his two captains who had warned their leader.
“Liu Pei as strong as he is now certainly is a menace to our existence
and he must be quickly destroyed,” said Hsiahou Tun.
“He is one of my anxieties,” replied Tsʻao. “Sun Chʻüan is the other.
The rest do not count. We must take this chance to sweep the south
clean.”
Then orders were issued to prepare an army of fifty legions, in five
divisions of ten legions each. Each had two leaders, except the fifth,
which Tsʻao Tsʻao himself led. The van was commanded by Hsü Chʻu. The
seventh moon of the thirteenth year was fixed for the march.
The high officer, Kʻung Jung, offered a remonstrance. He said, “Liu Pei
and Liu Piao are both of the Imperial House and should not be attacked
without grave reasons. Sun Chʻüan in the six districts is terrible as a
crouching tiger and, with the Great River as his defence, he is very
secure. If, Sir Minister, you undertake this unjustifiable expedition,
you will forfeit the respect of the world, I fear.”
“All three of them are disobedient ministers and rebels and how can I
fail to punish them?” replied Tsʻao.
He was angry, and bade the adviser go from his presence. Presently he
gave formal orders that he would put to death any one who remonstrated
on the subject of his expedition.
Kʻung Jung went forth from the palace sadly. Casting his eyes up to
heaven, he cried, “Where is the chance of success when the perfectly
inhumane attacks the perfectly humane? He must be defeated.”
One of the clients of the historian Chʻi Lü, whom Kʻung Jung had always
treated contemptuously and disdainfully, happened to hear this
apostrophe and told his patron who carried the tale to Tsʻao Tsʻao. He
also added to it that Kʻung habitually spoke disrespectfully of the
Chief Minister and had been very friendly with Mi Hêng. In fact the
insults that Mi Hêng had hurled at Tsʻao Tsʻao had been deliberately
arranged and intrigued by Kʻung. Kʻung Jung and Mi Hêng seemed to
admire each other hugely and Mi used to say, “Confucius is not dead”
and the other used to reply “Yen Hui has risen again.”
Chʻi Lü’s tale angered Tsʻao, who ordered the arrest of the historian
and sent Tʻing Wei to carry it out.
Now Kʻung Jung had two sons, both young, who were sitting at home
playing wei-chʻi, when one of their servants ran in and said, “Your
father has just been carried off for execution; why do you not run
away?”
The youths replied, “When the nest is pulled down are the eggs left
unbroken?”
Even at that moment the same officer came and carried off the whole
household. The two youths were beheaded. The father’s corpse was
exposed in the streets.
The Prefect of the Metropolis, Chih Hsi, wept over the corpse. This
public exhibition of sympathy re-kindled Tsʻao’s anger and he was going
to punish it with death. However, this additional cruelty was prevented
by the adviser Hsün Yü, who said, “You should not slay a righteous man
who came to mourn over his friend’s corpse. He had often warned his
friend, Kʻung Jung, against the danger his severe rectitude might lead
him into.”
Chih Hsi took up the remains of father and sons and buried them.
Kʻung Jung, who dwelt on the north sea shore,
A noble reputation bore;
With him all guests warm welcome found,
And ceaselessly the wine went round.
For skill in letters he was famed,
In speech, he dukes and princes shamed,
Historians his merits tell,
Recorders say that he did well.
After wreaking his wrath on Kʻung Jung, Tsʻao issued the order to
march. Hsün Yü was left in command of the capital.
About this time the Prefect of Chingchou became seriously ill and he
summoned Liu Pei to his chamber. He went accompanied by his two
brothers and the adviser. Liu Piao said, “The disease has attacked my
very vitals and my time is short. I confide my orphans to your
guardianship. My son is unfit to succeed to my place, and I pray you,
my brother, to administer the district after my death.”
Liu Pei wept, saying, “I will do my utmost to help my nephew; what else
could I do, indeed?”
Even at this moment came the news of the march of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s armies
and Liu Pei, taking hasty leave of his kinsman, was forced to hurry to
his station. The evil tidings aggravated the sick man’s condition and
he began to make his last arrangements. In his testament he appointed
Yüan-tê the guardian of his son Liu Chi, who was to succeed in the
lordship.
This arrangement greatly angered his wife the Lady Tsʻai. She closed
the inner doors against all and confided to her own partizans, of whom
her brother and Chang Yün were her confidants, the keeping of the outer
gates.
The heir was at Chianghsia and he came to make filial enquiries as soon
as his father’s condition became serious. But Tsʻai Mao refused him
admittance and said, “Your father sent you to guard Chianghsia. Such a
very responsible post should by no means have been quitted without
orders. Suppose it was attacked, what might not happen? If your father
sees you he will be very angry and it will make him worse. That would
be most undutiful and you should return to your command at once.”
Liu Chi stood out for some time, but admittance was denied him in spite
of his tears. So he returned to his post. Meanwhile his father rapidly
grew worse. He anxiously looked for his son, but he came not. Suddenly
he uttered piercing shrieks and then passed away.
When the Yüans were lords of the north,
And Piao held the bank of the river,
It seemed, so strong were they both,
That they would endure for ever.
But the women folk troubled their states,
And, meddling, confusion made;
It was mournful indeed to see
How quickly the house decayed.
So the Prefect died. Then the widow and her partizans took counsel
together and forged a testament conferring the lordship of Chingchou on
the second son Liu Tsʻung before they published the news of the death.
The wrongful heir was then fourteen years of age. He was no fool, so he
assembled the officials and said, “My father has passed away and my
elder brother is at Chianghsia. More than that, our uncle is at
Hsinyeh. You have made me lord, but if my brother and uncle come here
with an army to punish me for usurping the lordship, what explanation
can I offer?”
At first no one replied. Then a secretary Li Kuei, rose and said, “You
speak well. Now hasten to send letters of mourning to your brother and
ask him to come and take his inheritance. Also call upon Yüan-tê to
come and assist in the administration. Then shall we be safe against
our enemies on both north and south. I consider this the most excellent
plan.”
But Tsʻai Mao replied harshly, “Who are you to speak thus wildly and
oppose the testament of our late lord?”
Li began to abuse him, “You and your party have fabricated this
testament, setting aside the rightful heir. Now the whole district is
in the hands of the Tsʻai family and if our dead lord knew your doings
he would slay you.”
Tsʻai Mao ordered the lictors to take him away to execution. He was
hurried out, but his tongue ceased not.
So the younger son was placed in his father’s seat and the Tsʻai clan
shared among them the whole military authority of the district. The
defence of Chingchou was confided to Têng I and Liu Hsien, while Lady
Tsʻai and her son took up their residence in Hsiangyang so as to be out
of the reach of the rightful heir and his uncle. They interred the
remains of the late Prefect on the east of Hsiangyang. No notice of the
death was sent to Liu Chi, the son, or to his uncle.
Liu Tsʻung arrived at Hsiangyang, but, before he had had time to
recover from the fatigue of the journey, the startling news of the
approach of a great army came in. He summoned Kʻuai Yüeh and Tsʻai Mao
and others to ask counsel. One of the secretaries, Fu Sun, offered his
advice, saying, “Not only are we threatened by a great army, but the
elder son, who is the real heir, at Chianghsia, and his uncle at
Hsinyeh, are to be reckoned with. These two have not been notified of
the death, and they will resent that. We shall be in sad case if they
also march against us. But if you will adopt my suggestion then our
people will be as steady as Mount Tʻai and our young lord’s position
and rank will be assured.”
“What is your plan?” asked the young lord.
“To offer the whole district to Tsʻao Tsʻao, who will treat our young
master most liberally.”
“What advice!” said Liu Tsʻung angrily. “Am I to yield my heritage to
another before I have even fairly succeeded to it?”
“The advice is good,” said Kʻuai Yüeh. “Opportunism is a policy and
possibilities need consideration. In the name of government, Tsʻao is
fighting against his neighbours. If our lord oppose him he will be
termed contumacious. Beside, any misfortune on our borders before our
young lord is well established will react upon the internal
administration and our people will be panic-stricken at the mere news
of the approach of a hostile army. How could we then offer any
resistance?”
Liu Tsʻung replied, “It is not that I disagree with you, but I should
be a laughing-stock to the whole world were I to abandon my heritage
without an effort.”
He was interrupted by a speaker who said, “If their advice is good, why
not follow it?”
They turned toward the speaker who was a certain Wang Tsʻan of
Shangyang, a lean, cadaverous individual much below the middle height
of a man.
However, his talents did not conform to his physical appearance. When
he was yet a youth he went to visit Tsʻai Yung, then a vice-president,
and although many guests of exalted rank were present, the host
hastened to welcome the newcomer with the greatest deference. The
others were astonished and asked why he was so respectful to a mere
youth.
“He is a young man with the highest gifts; were I only like him——,”
said Tsʻai.
Wang was widely read and had a most retentive memory, better than any
of his contemporaries. If he glanced at a roadside monument as he
passed, he remembered every word of the inscription. If he saw people
playing wei-chʻi and the board was suddenly overthrown, he could
replace every pip in its proper place. He was a good mathematician and
his poems were exquisite. At seventeen he was appointed a court
official but did not take up the appointment. When the disturbance in
the empire grew serious he sought refuge in Chingchou, where he was
received with great honour as guest of the Prefect.
What he said was this, “General, how do you compare with Tsʻao Tsʻao?”
“Inferior,” replied Liu Tsʻung.
Wang continued, “Tsʻao has many soldiers and bold leaders; he is able
and resourceful. He took Lü Pu and broke the power of Yüan Shao. He
pursued Liu Pei into Lung and destroyed Wu Huan. The destruction of
such firmly established men shows his invincible character. Now he is
on the way here and it will be very difficult to withstand him. The
plan proposed is the best you can expect and you should not delay and
hesitate till it is too late for aught but regret.”
“Worthy Sir, you indeed speak to the point; I must inform my mother,”
said the young ruler.
But just then they saw his mother appear from behind a screen; she had
been listening to all that was said.
“Why refer to me when three such gentlemen coincide in their opinions?”
said she.
So he decided, and the letter of surrender was composed and entrusted
to one Sung Chung to convey secretly to Tsʻao Tsʻao. Sung went straight
to Wanchʻêng and presented the letter. It was received with joy and the
bearer well rewarded. The submission was accepted and Sung was told to
tell his master to go out to meet Tsʻao Tsʻao in the open country and
he was to be confirmed in perpetual tenure of his land.
Sung Chung left the city and took the homeward way. He had nearly
reached the ferry when he fell in with a party of horse. On a closer
look he saw the leader was Kuan Yü. The messenger tried to escape
observation, but was presently captured and taken to the leader to be
questioned. At first he prevaricated but on being closely questioned
told the whole story. Then he was carried off to Hsinyeh and made to
retell his story to Liu Pei who heard it with lamentations.
Chang Fei said, “This being so, I propose that we put this fellow to
death, then cross the river, attack Hsiangyang and make an end of the
Tsʻai tribe and Liu Tsʻung as well. Then we can attack Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
But Yüan-tê replied, “Just shut your mouth. I have something more to
say.” Then turning to the prisoner he shouted, “When they did all this
why did you not come to tell me? As things are now there is nothing to
be gained by killing you. You may go.”
Sung Chung stammered his thanks, threw his arms over his head and ran
away. Yüan-tê was very sad.
Presently a certain I Chi, a messenger from his nephew, was announced.
Yüan-tê was very fond of this man and went down the steps to welcome
him.
Then said I Chi, “The heir has heard that his father is dead, but his
stepmother and her family are keeping back the news so that they may
set up Liu Tsʻung. He knows the news is true, as he sent a special
messenger to find out. He thinks you, O Prince, may not know and has
sent me to inform you and his letter begs you to lead all the men you
can to Hsiangyang to help him assert his claims.”
Yüan-tê opened and read the letter. Then he said, “Yes; you know that
the younger son has usurped the lordship, but you have not heard that
he has already sent to offer the district to Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
This news shocked I Chi. “How know you this?” he asked.
Liu Pei told of the capture of Sung Chung. Chi said, “You can go to
Hsiangyang as if to attend the mourning ceremonies and so draw Liu
Tsʻung into coming out of the city to welcome you. Then you can seize
him, slay his party and take the district.”
“Your advice is good,” said Kʻung-ming, “and my lord ought to take it.”
Liu Pei wept, saying, “In his last interview my brother confided his
son and heir to my care. If I lay hands upon another son and seize upon
the inheritance, how shall I be able to look my brother in the face
when I meet him by and bye beyond the grave?”
“If you do not act in this way now how will you repel Tsʻao Tsʻao, who
has already reached Wanchʻêng?” said Kʻung-ming.
“Our best plan is to take refuge in Fanchʻêng,” replied Yüan-tê.
Just about this time the spies came to say that Tsʻao’s army had
reached Powang. So I Chi was sent off with instructions to take
measures for the defence of Chianghsia, while Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming
discussed plans for meeting the enemy.
Kʻung-ming bade his master take heart. As he had seen the last army
destroyed by fire, so would he see this one also the victim of a ruse.
He said, “This is no place to live in; we will move over to Fanchʻêng.”
Then notices were posted at all the gates that all the people, without
any exception, were to follow their rulers at once to the new city to
escape danger. Boats were prepared and the people sent away under the
direction of Sun Chʻien. Mi Chu saw to the safe conveyance of the
families of the officials.
Then the officers assembled for orders. Kuan Yü was to go to the White
River. His men were to carry bags to fill with sand and earth to dam
the river till the enemy should be heard, about the third watch next
day. Then the waters were to be freed to drown one of the armies. He
was then to march down river. Chang Fei was to go to Poling Ferry,
where the current was slow. After the waters of the White River had
been let loose on Tsʻao’s men they would try to get over the river at
the ferry. They were to be attacked. Chao Yün was to divide three
companies into four parties and take one to the east gate. The other
three were for the other gates. The roofs of the houses within the city
walls were piled with sulphur nitre and other combustibles.
The intention was to set fire to the city when the army of the enemy
had entered it for shelter. There would be a strong breeze next day in
the evening which would fan the flames. When this wind began to blow,
fire arrows were to be shot into the city from all sides. When the
flames were high there was to be a great shouting outside to add to the
general terror. The east gate was to be left free for escape, but the
flying men were to be smitten after passing the gate. Fanchʻêng was the
rallying centre after the battle.
Other orders were given to Mi Fang and Liu Fêng to take command of two
companies, one half with red flags and the other half with black. They
were to go to Magpie Tail Slope (Hsiwei Pʻo), about thirty li from the
city and camp. When they saw the Tsʻao army coming along they were to
move right and left to confuse them so that they should be afraid to
advance further.
All the orders given, the various leaders went their way to take up
their positions and await the burning of the city. Kʻung-ming and Liu
Pei went away to an eminence whence they could watch what happened and
where they would await the reports of victory.
Tsʻao Hung and Tsʻao Jên, with their ten legions, preceded by Hsü Chʻu
leading three companies of mailed men, marched toward Hsinyeh. They
formed a mighty host. They reached Magpie Tail Slope about noon.
Looking ahead, they saw what seemed a goodly army with many black and
red flags. Hsü Chʻu pressed forward. As he neared the flags moved from
side to side and he hesitated. He began to think it unwise to advance
and called a halt. Finally it was decided to go no farther then, and
the leader rode back to the main body to see Tsʻao Jên.
“Those men are only make-believe,” said Tsʻao Jên. “Advance, there is
no ambush. I will hasten up the supports.”
So Hsü Chʻu rode to his own command again and advanced. When he reached
the wood where he had seen the flags he saw no one at all. It was then
late in the afternoon but he decided to move on. Then he heard from the
hills the sound of musical instruments and, looking up, saw on the hill
top two umbrellas surrounded by many banners. There sat Liu Pei and
Kʻung-ming quietly drinking.
Angry at their coolness, he sought for a way up, but logs of wood and
great stones were thrown down and he was driven back. Further, from the
rear of the hills came a confused roar. He could find no way to attack
and it was getting late.
Then Tsʻao Jên arrived and ordered an attack on Hsinyeh that he might
have a place to rest in. They marched to the walls and found the gates
wide open. They entered and found a deserted city. No one was visible.
“This shows they are done,” said Tsʻao Hung, “They have all run away,
people and all. We may as well occupy the city and rest our men ready
for the morrow.”
The soldiers were fatigued with marching and hungry as well, so they
lost no time in scattering among the houses and setting about preparing
food in the deserted kitchens. The leaders took up their quarters in
the yamên.
After the first watch the wind began to blow. Soon after the gate
guards reported that a fire had started.
“The careless men have let sparks fly about,” said the General.
He thought no more about it just then, but along came other reports of
like nature and soon he realised that fires breaking out in all
quarters were not due to accident. So he gave orders to evacuate the
city. Soon the whole city seemed on fire and a red glow hung in the
sky. The army was beset with fire fiercer than it had been at Powang.
Thrice wicked was Tsʻao, but he was bold;
Though all in the capital he controlled,
Yet with this he was not content,
So southward his ravaging army went.
But, the autumn wind aiding, the Spirit of Fire
Wrought to his army destruction dire.
Officers and men dashing through the smoke and fire in utter confusion
sought some way of escape, and hearing that the east gate was free they
made for that quarter. Out they rushed pell-mell, many being trodden
down and trampled to death. Those who got through took the road to the
east.
But presently there was a shouting behind them and Chao Yün’s company
came up and attacked. Then Tsʻao’s men scattered, each fleeing for his
life. No stand was made. A little later Mi Chu came. The fleeing
general then had very few followers and those left him were scorched
and burned and very wearied.
They directed their way to the Paiho, joyfully remembering that the
river was shallow and fordable. And they went down into the stream and
drank their fill, men shouting and horses neighing.
Meantime Kuan Yü, higher up its course, had dammed the river with
sandbags so that its waters were collected in a lake. Toward evening he
had seen the red glow of the burning city and began to look out for his
signal. About the fourth watch he heard down stream the sounds of men
and horse and at once ordered the breaking of the dam. The water rushed
down in a torrent and overwhelmed the men just then in the bed of the
river. Many were swept away and drowned. Those who escaped made their
way to where the stream ran gently and got away.
Presently they reached the ferry at Powang. Here, where they thought
there would be safety, they found the road barred.
“You Tsʻao brigands!” shouted Chang Fei. “Come and receive your fate!”
Within the city the red flame leaps out:
On the river bank black anger is met.
What happened will appear in later chapters.
CHAPTER XLI.
LIU PEI LEADS HIS PEOPLE OVER THE RIVER:
CHAO YÜN RESCUES HIS LORD.
The last chapter closed with the attack made by Chang Fei as soon as
his brother had let loose the waters on the doomed army. He met with
Hsü Chʻu and a combat began, but a fight with such a warrior was not to
Hsü’s taste and he ran away. Chang Fei followed till he came upon Liu
Pei and Kʻung-ming and the three went up stream till they came to the
boats that had been prepared, when they all crossed over and marched
toward Fanchʻêng. As soon as they disembarked Kʻung-ming ordered the
boats and rafts to be burned.
Tsʻao Jên gathered in the remnants of his army and camped at Hsinyeh,
while his colleague went to tell their lord the evil tidings of defeat.
“How dare he, this rustic fool!” exclaimed Tsʻao Tsʻao angrily.
He then hastily sent an overwhelming army to camp near the place and
gave orders for enormous works against the city, levelling hills and
turning rivers to launch a violent assault on Fanchʻêng from every side
at once.
Then Liu Yeh came in to see his lord and said, “Sir, you are new to
this district and you should win over the people’s hearts. Liu Pei has
moved all the people from Hsinyeh to Fanchʻêng. If we march through the
country, the people will be ground to powder. It would be well to call
upon Liu Pei first to surrender, which will prove to the people that
you have a care for them. If he yield then we get Chingchou without
fighting.”
Tsʻao agreed and asked who would be a suitable messenger. The reply was
Hsü Shu.
“He is a close friend and he is here with the army,” said Liu Yeh.
“But he will not come back,” objected Tsʻao.
“If he does not return he will be a laughing stock to the whole world;
he will come back.”
Hsü Shu was sent for, and Tsʻao said, “My first intention was to level
Fanchʻêng with the ground, but out of pity for its people you may carry
an offer to Liu Pei, that if he will surrender he will not only not be
punished but he shall be given rank. But if he hold on his present
misguided course the whole of his followers shall be destroyed. Now you
are an honest man and so I confide this mission to you, and I trust you
will not disappoint me.”
Hsü Shu said nothing but accepted his orders and went to the city,
where he was received by both Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming. They enjoyed a
talk over old times before Shu mentioned the object of his mission.
Then he said, “Tsʻao has sent me to invite you to surrender, thereby
making a bid for popularity. But you ought also to know that he intends
to attack the city from every point, that he is damming up the Paiho
waters to be sent against you, and I fear you will not be able to hold
the city. You ought to prepare.”
Liu Pei asked Shu to remain with them, but he said that that was
impossible, for all the world would ridicule him if he stayed.
“My old mother is dead and I never forget my resentment. My body may be
over there, but I swear never to form a plan for him. You have the
‘Sleeping Dragon’ to help you and need have no anxiety about the
ultimate achievement of your undertaking. But I must go.”
And he took his leave. Liu Pei felt he could not press his friend to
stay. He returned to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp and reported that Liu Pei had
no intention of surrender. This angered Tsʻao who gave orders to begin
the siege. When Liu Pei asked what Kʻung-ming meant to do he replied
that they would abandon Fanchʻêng and take Hsiangyang.
“But what of the people who have followed us? They cannot be
abandoned.”
“You can tell them to do as they wish. They may come if they like, or
remain here.”
They sent Kuan Yü to prepare boats and told Sun Chʻien to proclaim to
the people that Tsʻao was coming, that the city could not be defended,
and those who wished to do so might cross the river with the army. All
the people cried, “We will follow the prince even if it be to death.”
They started at once, some lamenting, some weeping, the young helping
the aged and parents leading their children, the strong soldiers
carrying the women. As the crowds crossed the river from both banks
arose the sound of lamentation.
Yüan-tê was much affected as he saw all this from the boat. “Why was I
ever born,” said he, “to be the cause of all this misery to the
people?”
He made to leap overboard, but they held him back. All were deeply
sympathetic. When the boat reached the southern shore he looked back at
the weeping crowds waiting still on the other bank and was again moved
to tears. He bade Kuan Yü hasten the boats before he mounted and rode
on.
When Hsiangyang came in sight they saw many flags flying on the walls
and that the moat was protected by chevaux de frise. Yüan-tê checked
his horse and called out, “Liu Tsʻung, good nephew, I only wish to save
the people and nothing more. I pray you quickly to open the gates.”
But Liu Tsʻung was too frightened to appear. Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün
went up to one of the fighting towers and ordered the soldiers to shoot
arrows down on those without the walls. The people gazed up at the
towers and wept aloud.
Suddenly there appeared a captain, with a small following, who cried
out, “You are two traitors. The princely Liu is a most upright man and
has come here to preserve his people. Why do you repulse him?”
All looked at this man. He was of middle height, with a face dark brown
as a ripe date. He was from Iyang and named Wei Yen. At that moment he
looked very terrible, whirling his sword as if about to slice up the
gate guards. They lost no time in throwing open the gate and dropping
the bridge. “Come in, Uncle Liu,” cried Yen, “and bring your men to
slay these traitors!”
Chang Fei plunged forward to take him at his word, but was checked by
his brother, who said, “Do not frighten the people!”
Thus Wei Yen let in Liu Pei. As soon as he entered he saw a captain
galloping up with a few men. The newcomer yelled, “Wei Yen, you nobody!
how dare you create trouble? Do you not know me, the Generalissimo Wên
Pʻing?”
Wei Yen turned angrily, set his spear and galloped forward to attack
the generalissimo. The soldiers joined in the fray and the noise of
battle rose to the skies.
“I wanted to preserve the people and I am only causing them injury,”
cried Yüan-tê distressed. “I do not wish to enter the city.”
“Chiangling is an important point; we will first take that as a place
to dwell in,” said Kʻung-ming.
“That pleases me greatly,” said Yüan-tê.
So they led the people thither and away from Hsiangyang. Many of the
inhabitants of that city took advantage of the confusion to escape and
they also joined themselves to Yüan-tê.
Meanwhile, within the inhospitable city, Wei Yen and Wên Pʻing fought.
The battle continued for four or five hours, all through the middle of
the day, and nearly all the combatants fell. Then Wei Yen got away. As
he could not find Yüan-tê he rode off to Chʻangsha and sought an asylum
with the Prefect, Han Yüan.
Yüan-tê wandered away from the city that had refused shelter. Soldiers
and people, his following numbered more than a hundred thousand. The
carts numbered scores of thousands, and the burden bearers were
innumerable. Their road led them past the tomb of Liu Piao and Yüan-tê
turned aside to bow at the grave. He lamented, saying, “Shameful is thy
brother, lacking both in virtue and in talents. I refused to bear the
burden you wished to lay upon me, wherein I was wrong. But the people
committed no sin. I pray your glorious spirit to descend and rescue
these people.”
His prayer was fraught with sorrow and all those about him wept.
Just then a scout rode up with the news that Fanchʻêng was already
occupied and that men were preparing boats and rafts to cross the
river. The captains knew that Chiangling was a defensible place, but
they said, “With this crowd we can only advance very slowly and when
can we reach the city? If Tsʻao Tsʻao pursue, we shall be in a parlous
state. Our counsel is to leave the people to their fate for a time and
press on to the city.”
But Yüan-tê wept, saying, “The success of every great enterprise
depends upon humanity; how can I abandon these people who have joined
me?”
Those who heard him repeat this noble sentiment were greatly affected.
In time of stress his heart was tender toward the people,
And he wept as he went down into the ship,
Moving the hearts of soldiers to sympathy.
Even to-day, in the countryside,
Fathers and elders recall the Princely One’s kindness.
The progress of Yüan-tê, with the crowd of people in his train, was
very slow.
“The pursuers will be upon us quickly,” said Kʻung-ming. “Let us send
Kuan Yü to Chiangkʻou for succour. Liu Chi should be told to bring
soldiers and prepare boats for us at Chiangling.”
Yüan-tê agreed to this and wrote a letter which he sent by the hands of
Kuan Yü and Sun Chʻien. Chang Fei was put in command of the rear guard.
Chao Yün was told to guard the aged and the children, while the others
ordered the march of the people. They only travelled a short distance
daily and the halts were frequent.
Meanwhile Tsʻao Tsʻao was at Fanchʻêng, whence he sent soldiers over
the river toward Hsiangyang. He summoned Liu Tsʻung, but he was too
afraid to answer the call. No persuasion could get him to go. One, Wang
Wei, said to him privately, “Now you can overcome Tsʻao Tsʻao if you
are wise. Since you have announced surrender and Liu Pei has gone away,
he will relax his precautions and you can catch him unawares. Send a
well-prepared but unexpected force to waylay him in some commanding
position and the thing is done. If you were to take Tsʻao prisoner your
fame would run throughout the empire and the land would be yours for
the taking. This is a sort of opportunity that does not recur and you
should not miss it.”
The young man consulted Tsʻai Mao, who called Wang an evil counsellor
and spoke to him harshly. “You are mad; you know nothing and understand
nothing of destiny,” said Mao.
Wang Wei angrily retorted, calling his critic the betrayer of his
country, and saying he wished he could eat him alive. The quarrel waxed
deadly but eventually peace was restored.
Then Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün went to Fanchʻêng to see Tsʻao Tsʻao. Mao
was by instinct specious and flattering, and when his host asked
concerning the resources of the district, he replied, “There are five
legions of horse, fifteen of foot and eight of marines. Most of the
money and grain are at Chiangling; the rest is stored at various
places. There are ample supplies for a year.”
“How many war vessels are there? Who is in command?” said Tsʻao.
“The ships, of all sizes, number seven thousand and we two are the
commanders.”
Upon this Tsʻao conferred upon Tsʻai Mao the title of Marquis, Guardian
of the South and Admiral-in-Chief of the Naval Force and Chang Yün was
his Vice-Admiral with the title of Marquis Tsŭ-shun.
When they went to thank Tsʻao for these honours he told them he was
about to propose to the throne that Liu Piao’s son should be perpetual
prefect of Chingchou in succession to his late father. With this
promise for their young master and the honours for themselves they
retired.
Then Hsün Yu asked Tsʻao why these two evident self-seekers and
flatterers had been treated so generously. Tsʻao replied, “Do I not
know all about them? Only in the north country, where I have been, they
know nothing of war by water and these two men do. I want their help
for the present. When my end is achieved I can do as I like with them.”
Liu Tsʻung was highly delighted when his two chief supporters returned
with the promise Tsʻao had given them. Soon after he gave up his seal
and military commission and proceeded to welcome Tsʻao Tsʻao, who
received him very graciously.
Tsʻao next proceeded to camp near Hsiangyang. The populace, led by
Tsʻai Mao, welcomed him with burning incense, and he on his part put
forth proclamations couched in comforting terms.
Tsʻao Tsʻao presently entered the city and took his seat in the
residence in state. Then he summoned Kʻuai Yüeh and said to him
graciously, “I do not rejoice so much at gaining Chingchou as at
meeting you, I-tu.”
He made Kʻuai Prefect of Chiangling and Marquis of Fanchʻêng; his other
adherents were all ennobled. Liu Tsʻung became Governor of Chʻingchou
in the north and was ordered to proceed to his district forthwith. He
was greatly frightened and said he had no wish to become an actual
official; he wished to remain in the place where his father and mother
lived.
Said Tsʻao, “Your governorship is quite near the capital and I have
sent you there as a full official to remove you from the intrigues of
this place.”
In vain Liu Tsʻung declined the honours thus thrust upon him; he was
compelled to go and he departed, taking his mother with him. Of his
friends, only Wang Wei accompanied him. Some of his late officers
escorted him as far as the river and then took their leave. Then Tsʻao
called his trusty officer Yü Chin and bade him follow up Liu Tsʻung and
put him and his mother to death.
Yü Chin followed the small party. When he drew near he shouted, “I have
an order from the great Minister to put you both to death, mother and
son; you may as well submit quietly.”
The Lady Tsʻai threw her arms about her son, lifted up her voice and
wept. Yü Chin bade the soldiers get on with their bloody work. Only
Wang Wei made any attempt to save his mistress and he was soon killed.
The two, mother and son, were soon finished and the murderer returned
to report his success. He was richly rewarded.
Next Tsʻao Tsʻao sent to discover and seize the family of Kʻung-ming,
but they had already disappeared. It was much to Tsʻao’s disgust that
the search was fruitless.
So Hsiangyang was settled. Then Hsün Yu proposed a further advance. He
said, “Chiangling is an important place, and very rich; if Liu Pei gets
it, it will be difficult to dislodge him.”
“How could I have overlooked that?” said Tsʻao.
Then he called upon the officers of Hsiangyang for one who could lead
the way. They all came except Wên Pʻing.
Tsʻao sent for him and soon he came also. “Why are you late?” asked
Tsʻao.
“To be a minister and see one’s master lose his own boundaries is most
shameful. Such an one has no face to show to any man and I was too
ashamed to come.”
His tears fell fast as he finished this speech. Tsʻao admired his loyal
conduct and rewarded him with office and a title, and also bade him
open the way.
The spies returned and told how Liu Pei was hampered by the crowds of
people who had followed him. And he was then only three hundred li
away. Tsʻao decided to take advantage of his plight so chose out five
companies of tried horsemen and sent them after the cavalcade, giving
them a limit of a day and a night to come up therewith. The main army
would follow.
As has been said Liu Pei was travelling with a huge multitude of
followers, to guard whom he had taken what precautions were possible.
Kuan Yü had been sent to Chianghsia. One day Kʻung-ming came in and
said, “There is as yet no news from Chianghsia; what are we to do?”
“I wish that you yourself would go there,” said Liu Pei. “Liu Chi would
remember your former kindness to him and consent to anything you
proposed.”
Kʻung-ming said he would go and set out with Liu Fêng, the adopted son
of Liu Pei, taking an escort of half a company.
A few days after, while on the march in company with three of his
intimate captains, a sudden whirlwind rose just in front of Yüan-tê,
and a huge column of dust shot up into the air hiding the face of the
sun. Yüan-tê was frightened and asked what that might portend. Chien
Yung, who knew something of the mysteries of nature, took the auspices
by counting secretly on his fingers. Pale and trembling he announced
that a calamity was threatening that very night. He advised his lord to
leave the people to their fate and flee quickly. But he refused to
think of it.
“If you allow your pity to overcome your judgment, then misfortune is
very near,” said Chien.
Thus spake Chien Yung to his lord, who then asked what place was near.
His people replied that Tangyang was quite close and there was a very
famous hill near it called Chingshan or Prospect Hill. Then Yüan-tê
bade them lead the way thither.
The season was late autumn, just changing to winter, and the icy wind
penetrated to the very bones. As evening fell, long-drawn howls of
misery were heard on every side. At the middle of the fourth watch, two
hours after midnight, they heard a rumbling sound in the north-west.
Yüan-tê halted and placed himself at the head of his own guard of two
companies to meet whatever might come. Presently Tsʻao’s men appeared
and made a fierce onslaught. Defence was impossible, though Yüan-tê
fought desperately. By good fortune just at the crisis Chang Fei came
up, cut his way through, rescued his brother and got him away to the
east. Presently they were stopped by Wên Pʻing.
“Turncoat! Can you still look men in the face?” cried Yüan-tê.
Wên Pʻing was overwhelmed with shame and led his men away. Chang Fei,
now fighting, now flying, protected his brother till dawn.
By that time Liu Pei had got beyond the sound of battle and there was
time to rest. Only a few of his men had been able to keep near him. He
knew nothing of the fate of his captains or the people. He lifted up
his voice in lamentation saying, “Myriads of living souls are suffering
from love of me, and my captains and my loved ones are lost. One would
be a graven image not to weep at such loss.”
Still plunged in sadness presently he saw hurrying toward him Mi Fang,
with an enemy’s arrow still sticking in his face. He exclaimed, “Chao
Yün has gone over to Tsʻao Tsʻao!”
Yüan-tê angrily bade him be silent. “Do you think I can believe that of
my old friend?” cried he.
“Perhaps he has gone over,” said Chang Fei. “He must see that we are
nearly lost and there are riches and honours on the other side.”
“He has followed me faithfully through all my misfortunes. His heart is
firm as a rock. No riches or honours would move him.”
“I saw him go away north-west,” said Mi Fang.
“Wait till I meet him,” said Chang Fei. “If I run against him I will
kill him.”
“Beware how you doubt him,” said Yüan-tê. “Have you forgotten the
circumstances under which your brother had to slay two men to ease your
doubts of him? Chao Yün’s absence is due to good reason wherever he has
gone, and he would never abandon me.”
But do you think Chang Fei was convinced? Then Chang Fei, with a score
of his men, rode to Chʻangpan Bridge. Seeing a wood near the bridge, an
idea suddenly struck him. He bade his followers cut branches from the
trees, tie them to the tails of the horses and ride to and fro so as to
raise a great dust as though an army were concealed in the wood. He
himself took up his station on the bridge facing the west with spear
set ready for action. So he kept watch.
Now Chao Yün, after fighting with the enemy from the fourth watch till
daylight, could see no sign of his lord and, moreover, had lost his
lord’s family. He thought bitterly within himself, “My master confided
to me his family and the young lord; and I have lost them. How can I
look him in the face? I can only go now and fight to the death.
Whatever happen I must go to seek the women and my lord’s son.”
Turning about he found he had but two score followers left. He rode
quickly to and fro among the scattered soldiers seeking the lost women.
The lamentations of the people about him were enough to make heaven and
earth weep. Some had been wounded by arrows, others by spears; they had
thrown away their children, abandoned their wives, and were flying they
knew not whither in crowds.
Presently he saw a man lying in the grass and recognised him as Chien
Yung.
“Have you seen the two mothers?” cried he.
Chien replied, “They left their carriage and ran away taking O-tou in
their arms. I followed but on the slope of the hill I was wounded and
fell from my horse. The horse was stolen. I could fight no longer and I
lay down here.”
Chao Yün put his colleague on the horse of one of his followers, told
off two soldiers to support him and bade him ride to their lord and
tell him of the loss. “Say,” said he, “that I will seek the lost ones
in heaven or hell, through good or evil, and if I find them not I will
die in the desert.”
Then he rode off toward Chʻangpan Slope. As he went a voice called out,
“General Chao, where are you going?”
“Who are you?” said Chao Yün, pulling up.
“One of the Princely One’s carriage guards. I am wounded.”
“Do you know anything of the two ladies?”
“Not very long ago I saw the Lady Kan go south with a party of other
women. Her hair was down and she was barefooted.”
Hearing this, without even another glance at the speaker, Chao Yün put
his horse at full gallop toward the south. Soon he saw a small crowd of
persons, male and female, walking hand in hand.
“Is the Lady Kan among you?” he called out.
A woman in the rear of the party looked up at him and uttered a loud
cry. He slipped off his steed, stuck his spear in the sand and wept,
“It was my fault that you were lost. But where are the Lady Mi and our
young lord?”
She replied, “I and she were forced to abandon our carriage and mingle
with the crowd on foot. Then a band of soldiers came up and we were
separated. I do not know where they are. I ran for my life.”
As she spoke a howl of distress rose from the crowd of fugitives, for a
company of soldiers appeared. Chao Yün recovered his spear and mounted
ready for action. Presently he saw among the soldiers a prisoner bound
upon a horse; and the prisoner was Mi Chu. Behind him followed a
captain gripping a huge sword. The men belonged to the army of Tsʻao
Jên and the Captain was Shunyu Tao. Having captured Mi Chu he was just
taking him to his chief as a proof of his prowess.
Chao Yün shouted and rode at the captor who was speedily unhorsed and
his captive was set free. Then taking two of the horses Chao Yün set
the lady on one and Mi Chu took the other. They rode away toward
Chʻangpan Slope.
But there, standing grim on the bridge, was Chang Fei. As soon as he
saw Chao Yün he called out, “Tzŭ-lung, why have you betrayed my
brother?”
“I fell behind because I was seeking the ladies and our young lord,”
said Chao Yün. “What do you mean by talking of betrayal?”
“If it had not been that Chien Yung arrived before you I should hardly
have spared you.”
“Where is the master?” said Chao Yün.
“Not far away, in front there.”
“Conduct the Lady Kan to him; I am going to look for the Lady Mi,” said
Chao Yün to his companion, and he turned back along the road by which
he had come.
Before long he met a captain armed with an iron spear and carrying a
sword slung across his back, riding a curvetting steed and leading a
half score of other horsemen. Without uttering a word Chao Yün rode
straight toward him and engaged. At the first pass he disarmed his
opponent and brought him to earth. His followers galloped away.
This fallen officer was no other that Hsiahou En. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
sword-bearer, and the sword on his back was his master’s. Tsʻao Tsʻao
had two swords, one called I-tʻien (Trust in God) and the other
Chʻing-kung. I-tʻien was the weapon he usually wore at his side, the
other being carried by his sword-bearer. Chʻing-kung would cut clean
through iron as though it were mud and no sword had so keen an edge.
When Chao Yün thus fell in with Tsʻao’s sword-bearer the later was
simply plundering, depending upon the authority implied by his office.
Least of all thought he of such sudden death as met him at Chao Yün’s
hands.
So Chao Yün got possession of a famous sword. The name Chʻing-kung was
chased in gold characters so that he recognised its value at once. He
stuck it in his belt and again plunged into the press. Just as he did
so he turned his head and saw he had not a single follower left; he was
quite alone.
Nevertheless not for a single instant thought he of turning back; he
was too intent upon his quest. To and fro, back and forth, he rode
questioning this person and that. At length a man said, “A woman with a
child in her arms, and wounded in the thigh so that she cannot walk, is
lying over there through that hole in the wall.”
Chao Yün rode to look and there, beside an old well behind the broken
wall of a burned house, sat the mother clasping the child to her breast
and weeping.
Chao was on his knees before her in a moment.
“My child will live then since you are here,” cried the Lady Mi. “Pity
him, O General; protect him, for he is the only son of his father’s
flesh and blood. Take him to his father and I can die content.”
“It is my fault that you have suffered,” replied Chao Yün. “But it is
useless to say more. I pray you take my horse while I will walk beside
and protect you till we get clear.”
She replied, “I may not do that. What would you do without a steed? But
the boy here I confide to your care. I am badly wounded and cannot hope
to live. Pray take him and go your way. Do not trouble more about me.”
“I hear shouting,” said Chao. “The soldiers will be upon us again in a
moment. Pray mount quickly.”
“But really I cannot move,” she said. “Do not let there be a double
loss!” And she held out the child toward him as she spoke.
“Take the child,” cried she. “His life and safety are in your hands.”
Again and again Chao Yün besought her to get on his horse, but she
would not. The shouting drew nearer and nearer, Chao Yün spoke harshly
saying, “If you will not do what I say, what will happen when the
soldiers come up?”
She said no more. Throwing the child on the ground she turned over and
threw herself into the old well. And there she perished.
The warrior relies upon the strength of his charger,
Afoot, how could he bear to safety his young prince?
Brave mother! who died to preserve the son of her husband’s line;
Heroine was she, bold and decisive!
Seeing that the lady had resolved the question by dying there was
nothing more to be done. Chao Yün filled in the well with the rubbish
that lay about lest the dead body should suffer shame. Then he loosened
his armour, let down the heart-protecting mirror and placed the child
in his breast. This done he slung his spear and re-mounted.
He had gone but a short distance when he saw Yen Ming, one of Tsʻao
Tsʻao’s minor captains. This warrior used a double edged, three pointed
weapon and he offered battle. However, Chao Yün disposed of him after a
very few bouts and dispersed his men.
As the road cleared before him he saw another detachment barring his
way. At the head of this was a captain of rank exalted enough to
display a banner with his name Chang Ho. Chao Yün never waited to
parley but attacked. However, this was a more formidable antagonist and
half a score bouts found neither any nearer defeat. But Chao, with the
child in his bosom, could only fight with the greatest caution and so
he decided to flee. Chang Ho pursued and as Chao thought only of
thrashing his steed to get away, and little of the road, suddenly he
went crashing into a pit. On came his pursuer, spear at poise. Suddenly
a brilliant flash of light seemed to shoot out of the pit and the
fallen horse leapt with it into the air and was again on firm earth.
A bright glory surrounds the child of the imperial line, now in
danger,
The powerful charger forces his way through the press of battle,
Bearing to safety him who was destined to sit on the throne two
score years and two;
And the general thus manifested his godlike courage.
This apparition frightened Chang Ho, who abandoned the pursuit
forthwith and Chao Yün rode off. Presently he heard shouts behind,
“Chao Yün, Chao Yün, stop!” and at the same time he saw ahead of him
two captains who seemed disposed to dispute his way. Two in front and
two following, his state seemed desperate, but he quailed not.
As the men of Tsʻao came pressing on he drew Tsʻao Tsʻao’s own sword to
beat them off. Nothing could resist it. Armour, clothing, it went
through without effort and blood gushed forth in fountains wherever it
struck. So the four captains were soon beaten off and Chao Yün was once
again free.
Now Tsʻao Tsʻao from a hill top saw these deeds of derring-do and a
captain showing such valour that none could withstand him, so he asked
of his followers whether any knew the man. No one recognised him, so
Tsʻao Hung galloped down into the plain and shouted to the hero asking
him his name.
“I am Chao Tzŭ-lung of Chʻangshan,” replied Chao Yün.
Tsʻao Hung returned and told his lord, who said, “A very tiger of a
leader! I must get him alive.” Whereupon he sent gallopers to all
detachments with orders that no arrows were to be fired from an ambush
at any point Chao Yün should pass; he was to be taken alive.
And so Chao Yün escaped most imminent danger, and O-tou’s safety, bound
up with his saviour’s, was also secured. On this career of slaughter
which ended in safety, Chao Yün, bearing in his bosom him who was to be
known as The Later Lord, cut down two banners, took three spears and
slew of Tsʻao’s captains half a hundred, all men of renown.
Blood dyed the fighting robe and crimsoned his buff coat;
None dared engage the terrible warrior at Tangyang;
In the days of old lived the brave Chao Yün,
Who fought in the battlefield for his lord in danger.
Having thus fought his way out of the press Chao Yün lost no time in
getting away from the battle field. His battle robe was soaked in
blood.
On his way, near the rise of the hills, he met with two other bodies of
men under two brothers, Chung Chin and Chung Shên. One of these was
armed with a massive axe, the other a halberd. As soon as they saw Chao
Yün they knew him and shouted, “Quickly dismount and be bound!”
He has only escaped from the tiger’s cave,
To risk the deep pool’s sounding wave.
How Chao Yün escaped will be next related.
CHAPTER XLII.
CHANG FEI’S GREAT FIGHT AT CHʻANGPAN SLOPE:
LIU PEI, DEFEATED, GOES TO HANCHINGKʻOU.
As related in the last chapter two brothers appeared in front of our
warrior, who rode at them with his spear ready for a thrust. Chung Chin
was leading, flourishing his battle-axe. Chao Yün engaged and very soon
unhorsed him. Then he galloped away. Chung Shên rode up behind ready
with his halberd and his horse’s nose got so close to the other’s tail
that in Chao Yün’s back heart-protecting mirror he could see the play
of the reflection of his weapon. Then suddenly, and without warning,
Chao Yün wheeled round his horse so that he faced his pursuer and their
two steeds struck breast to breast. With his spear in his left hand he
warded off the halberd strokes and in his right he swung the sword
Chʻing-kung. One slash and he had cut through both helmet and head;
Chung Shên fell to the ground, a corpse with only half a head on his
body. His followers fled and Chao Yün retook the road toward Long Slope
Bridge.
But in his rear arose another tumultuous shouting, seeming to rend the
very sky, and Wên Pʻing came up behind. However, although the man was
weary and his steed highspent, Chao Yün got close to the bridge where
he saw standing, all ready for any fray, his brother in arms.
“Help me, I-tê!” he cried and crossed the bridge.
“Hasten!” cried Chang Fei, “I will keep back the pursuers.”
About twenty li from the bridge he saw Yüan-tê with his followers
reposing in the shade of some trees. He dismounted and drew near,
weeping. The tears also started to Yüan-tê’s eyes when he saw his
faithful follower.
Still panting from his exertions, Chao Yün gasped out, “My fault——death
is too light a punishment. The Lady Mi was severely wounded; she
refused my horse and threw herself into a well. She is dead and all I
could do was to fill in the well with the rubbish that lay around. But
I placed the babe in the breast of my fighting robe and have won my way
out of the press of battle. Thanks to the little lord’s grand luck I
have escaped. At first he cried a good deal, but for some time now he
has not stirred or made a sound. I fear I may not have saved his life
after all.”
Then he opened his robe and looked; the child was fast asleep.
“Happily, Sir, your son is unhurt,” said Chao as he drew him forth and
presented him in both hands. Yüan-tê took the child but threw it aside
angrily, saying, “To preserve that suckling I very nearly lost a great
captain.”
Chao Yün picked up the child again and, weeping, said, “Were I ground
to powder I could not prove my gratitude.”
From out Tsʻao’s host a tiger rushed,
His wish but to destroy;
Though Liu Pei’s consort lost her life,
Chao Yün preserved her boy.
“Too great the risk you ran to save
This child,” the father cried.
To show he rated Chao Yün high,
He threw his son aside.
Wên Pʻing and his company pursued Chao Yün till they saw Chang Fei’s
bristling moustache and fiercely glaring eyes before them. There he was
seated on his battle steed, his hand grasping his terrible serpent-like
spear, guarding the bridge. They also saw great clouds of dust rising
above the trees and concluded they would fall into an ambush if they
ventured across the bridge. So they stopped the pursuit, not daring to
advance further.
In a little time several other captains came up, but none dared
advance, frightened not only by Chang Fei’s fierce look, but lest they
should become victims of a ruse of the terrible Chuko Liang. As they
came up they formed a line on the west side, halting till they could
inform their lord of the position.
As soon as the messengers arrived and Tsʻao Tsʻao heard about it he
mounted and rode to the bridge to see for himself. Chang Fei’s fierce
eye scanning the hinder position of the army opposite him saw the
silken umbrella, the axes and banners coming along and concluded that
Tsʻao Tsʻao came to see for himself how matters stood. So in a mighty
voice he shouted, “I am Chang I-tê of Yen; who dares fight with me?”
At the sound of this thundrous voice a terrible quaking fear seized
upon Tsʻao and he bade them take the umbrella away. Turning to his
followers he said, “Kuan Yü said that his brother Chang Fei was the
sort of man to go through an army of a hundred legions and take the
head of its commander-in-chief; and do it easily. Now here is this
terror in front of us and we must be careful.”
As he finished speaking again that terrible voice was heard, “I am
Chang I-tê of Yen; who dares fight with me?”
Tsʻao, seeing his enemy so fierce and resolute, was too frightened to
think of anything but retreat and Chang Fei, seeing a movement going on
in the rear, once again shook his spear and roared, “What mean you,
cowards? You will not fight nor do you run away.”
This roar had scarcely begun when one of Tsʻao’s staff reeled and fell
from his horse terror-stricken, paralysed with fear. The panic touched
Tsʻao Tsʻao, and spread to his whole surroundings and he and his staff
galloped for their lives. They were as frightened as a suckling babe at
a clap of thunder or a weak woodcutter at the roar of a tiger. Many
threw away their spears, dropped their casques and fled, a wave of
panic-stricken humanity, a tumbling mass of terrified horses. None
thought of aught but flight, and those who ran trampled the bodies of
fallen comrades under foot.
Chang Fei was wrathful; and who dared
To accept his challenge? Fierce he glared;
His thundrous voice rolled out, and then
In terror fled Tsʻao’s armed men.
Panic stricken Tsʻao Tsʻao galloped westward with the rest, thinking of
nothing but getting away. He lost his headdress and his loosened hair
streamed behind him. Presently Chang Liao and Hsü Chʻu came up with him
and seized his bridle; fear had deprived him of all self-control.
“Do not be frightened,” said Chang Liao. “After all Chang Fei is but
one man and not worthy of extravagant fear. If you will only return and
attack you will capture your enemy.”
By that time Tsʻao had somewhat overcome his panic and become
reasonable. Two captains were ordered back to the bridge to
reconnoitre.
Chang Fei saw the disorderly rout of the enemy but he dared not pursue.
However, he bade his score or so of dust-raising followers to cut loose
the branches from their horses’ tails and come to help destroy the
bridge. This done he went to report to his brother and told him of the
destruction of the bridge.
“Brave as you are, brother, and no one is braver, you are no
strategist,” said Liu Pei.
“What mean you, brother?”
“Tsʻao Tsʻao is very deep. You are no match for him. The destruction of
the bridge will bring him in pursuit.”
“If he ran away at a yell of mine, think you he will dare return?”
“If you had left the bridge he would have thought there was an ambush
and would not have dared to pass it. Now the destruction of the bridge
tells him we are weak and fearful, and he will pursue. He does not mind
a broken bridge. His legions could fill up the biggest rivers that we
could get across.”
So orders were given to march and they went by a bye-road which led
diagonally to Hanching and then took the road to Minyang.
The two captains sent by Tsʻao to reconnoitre near Chʻang-pan Bridge
returned, saying, “The bridge has been destroyed, Chang Fei has left.”
“Then he is afraid,” said Tsʻao.
He at once gave orders to set a legion at work on three floating
bridges to be finished that night.
Li Tien said, “I fear this is one of the wiles of Chuko Liang; so be
careful.”
“Chang Fei is just a bold warrior, but there is no guile about him,”
said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
He gave orders for immediate advance.
Liu Pei was making all speed to Hanching. Suddenly there appeared in
his track a great cloud of dust whence came loud rolls of drums and
shoutings. Yüan-tê was dismayed and said, “Before us rolls the great
river; behind is the pursuer. What hope is there for us?”
But he bade Chao Yün organise a defence.
Now Tsʻao Tsʻao in an order to his army had said, “Liu Pei is a fish in
the fish kettle; a tiger in the pit. Catch him this time, or the fish
will get back to the sea and the tiger escape to the hills. Therefore
every captain must use his best efforts to press on.”
In consequence every leader bade those under him hasten forward. And
they were pressing on at great speed when suddenly soldiers appeared
from the hills and a voice cried, “I have waited here a long time.”
The leader who had shouted this bore in his hand the Black Dragon sword
and rode “Red Hare,” for indeed it was no other than Kuan Yü. He had
gone to Chianghsia for help and had returned with a whole legion.
Having heard of the battle he had taken this very road to intercept
pursuit.
As soon as Kuan Yü appeared Tsʻao stopped and said to his officers,
“Here we are, tricked again by that Chuko Liang.”
Without more ado he ordered a retreat. Kuan Yü followed him some ten li
and then drew off to act as guard to his elder brother on his way to
the river. There boats were ready and Yüan-tê and family went on board.
When all were settled comfortably in the boat Kuan Yü asked where was
his sister, the second wife of his brother. Then Yüan-tê told him the
story of Tangyang.
“Alas!” said Kuan Yü. “Had you taken my advice that day of the hunting
in Hsütʻien we should have escaped the misery of this day.”
“But,” said Yüan-tê, “on that day it was ‘Ware damage when pelting
rats.’”
Just as he spoke he heard war-drums on the south bank. A fleet of
boats, thick as a flight of ants, came running up with swelling sails
before the fair wind. He was alarmed.
The boats came nearer. There he saw the white clad figure of a man
wearing a silver helmet who stood in the prow of the foremost ship. He
cried, “Are you all right, my uncle? I am very guilty.”
It was Liu Chi. He bowed low as the ship passed, saying, “I heard you
were in danger from Tsʻao Tsʻao and I have come to aid you.”
Yüan-tê welcomed him with joy and his soldiers joined in with the main
body and the whole fleet sailed on, while they told each other their
adventures.
Unexpectedly in the south-west there appeared a line of fighting ships
swishing up before a fair wind. Liu Chi said, “All my men are here and
now there is an enemy barring the way. If they are not Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
ships they must be from Chiangtung. We have a poor chance. What now?”
Yüan-tê went to the prow and gazed at them. Presently he made out a
figure in a turban and Taoist robe sitting in the bows of one of the
boats and knew it to be Kʻung-ming. Behind him stood Sun Chʻien.
When they were quite near Yüan-tê asked Kʻung-ming how he came to be
there. And he reported what he had done, saying, “When I reached
Chianghsia I sent Kuan Yü to land at Hanching with reinforcements, for
I feared pursuit from Tsʻao Tsʻao and knew the road you would take. So
I prayed your nephew to go to meet you while I went to Hsiakʻou to
muster as many men as possible.”
The new-comers added to their strength and they began once more to
consider how their powerful enemy might be overcome.
Said Kʻung-ming, “Hsiakʻou is strong and a good strategical point; it
is also rich and suited for a lengthy stay. I would ask you, my lord,
to make it a permanent camp. Your nephew can go to Chianghsia to get
the fleet in order and prepare weapons. Thus there will be two
threatening angles to our position. If we all return to Chianghsia the
position will be weakened.”
Liu Chi replied, “The Adviser-General’s words are excellent, but I
would rather my uncle stayed awhile in Chianghsia till the army was in
thorough order. Then he could go to Hsiakʻou.
“You speak to the point, nephew,” replied Yüan-tê. Then leaving Kuan Yü
with half a legion at Hsiakʻou he, with Kʻung-ming and his nephew, went
to Chianghsia.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao saw Kuan Yü with a force ready to attack he feared
lest a greater number were hidden away behind, so he stopped the
pursuit. He also feared lest Yüan-tê should take Chiangling, so he
marched thither with all haste.
The two officers in command at Chingchou had heard of what happened at
Hsiangyang and, knowing that there was no chance of successful defence
against Tsʻao Tsʻao’s armies, they led out the people of Chingchou to
the outskirts and offered submission. Tsʻao entered the city and, after
restoring order and confidence, he released Han Sung and gave him the
dignified office of Director of Ambassadorial Receptions. He rewarded
the others.
Then said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “Liu Pei has gone to Chianghsia and may ally
himself with Wu and the opposition to me will be greater. Can he be
destroyed?”
Hsün Yu said, “The splendour of your achievements has spread wide.
Therefore you might send a messenger to invite Sun Chʻüan to a grand
hunting party at Chianghsia and you two could seize Liu Pei, share
Chingchou with Sun and make a solemn treaty. Sun will be too frightened
not to come over to you and your end will be gained.”
Tsʻao agreed. He sent the letters by a messenger and he prepared his
men, horse and foot and marines. He had in all eighty-three legions,
but he called them a hundred. The attack was to be by land and water at
the same time.
The fleet advanced up the river in two lines. On the west it extended
to Chianghsia, on the east to Chʻihuang in Hupeh. The stockades
stretched three hundred li.
At this point the narrative must digress. The story of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
movements and successes reached Sun Chʻüan, then in camp at Chʻaisang.
He assembled his strategists to decide on a scheme of defence.
Lu Su said, “Chingchou is contiguous to our borders. It is strong and
defensive, its people are rich. It is the sort of country that an
emperor or a king should have. Liu Piao’s recent death gives an excuse
for me to be sent to convey condolence and, once there, I shall be able
to talk over Liu Pei and the officers of the late prefect to combine
with you against Tsʻao. If Liu Pei does as I wish, then success is
yours.”
Sun Chʻüan thought this a good plan, so he had the necessary letters
prepared, and the gifts, and sent Lu Su with them.
All this time Liu Pei was at Chianghsia where, with Kʻung-ming and Liu
Chʻi, he was endeavouring to evolve a good plan of campaign.
Kʻung-ming said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao’s power is too great for us to cope with.
Let us go over to Wu and ask help from Sun Chʻüan. If we can set north
and south at grips we ought to be able to get some advantage from our
mediary position between them.”
“But will they be willing to have anything to do with us?” said
Yüan-tê. “It is a large and populous country and Sun Chʻüan has
ambitions of his own.”
Kʻung-ming replied, “Tsʻao with his army of a hundred legions holds the
Han and the Yangtse. Chiangtung will certainly send to find out all
possible about the position. Should any messenger come I shall borrow a
little boat and make a little trip over the river and trust to my
little lithe tongue to set north and south at each other’s throats. If
the southern men win, we will assist in destroying Tsʻao in order to
get Chingchou; if the north win, we shall profit by the victory to get
Chiangnan. So we shall get some advantage either way.”
“That is a very fine view to take,” said Yüan-tê. “But how are you
going to get hold of any one from the south to talk to?”
Liu Pei’s question was answered by the arrival of Lu Su, and as the
ship touched the bank and the envoy came ashore, Kʻung-ming laughed,
saying, “It is done!”
Turning to Liu Chʻi he asked, “When Sun Tsʻê died did your country send
any condolences?”
“Is it likely there would be any mourning courtesies between them and
us while there was the death of a father to avenge?”
“Then it is certain that this envoy does not come to present
condolences but to spy out the land.”
So he said to Yüan-tê, “When Lu Su asks about the movements of Tsʻao
Tsʻao, you will know nothing. If he press the matter, say he can ask
me.”
Having thus prepared their scheme they sent to welcome the envoy, who
entered the city in mourning garb. The gifts having been accepted, Liu
Chʻi asked Lu Su to meet Yüan-tê. When the introductory ceremonies were
over the three men went to one of the inner chambers to drink a cup of
wine. Presently Lu Su said to Yüan-tê, “By reputation I have known you
a long time, Uncle Liu, but till to-day I have not met you. I am very
gratified at seeing you. You have been fighting Tsʻao Tsʻao, though,
lately, so I suppose you know all about him. Has he really so great an
army? How many, do you think, he has?”
“My army was so small that we fled whenever we heard of his approach;
so I do not know how many he had.”
“You had the advice of Chuko Kʻung-ming and you used fire on Tsʻao
Tsʻao twice. You burned him almost to death so that you can hardly say
you know nothing about his men,” said Lu.
“Without asking my adviser I really do not know the details.”
“Where is Kʻung-ming? I should like to see him,” said Lu.
So they sent for him and he was introduced. When the ceremonies were
over Lu Su said, “I have long admired your genius but have never been
fortunate enough to meet you. Now that I have met you I hope I may
speak of present politics.”
Replied Kʻung-ming, “We know all Tsʻao Tsʻao’s infamies and
wickednesses, but to our regret we were not strong enough to withstand
him. That is why we avoided him.”
“Is the Imperial Uncle going to stay here?”
“The Princely One is an old friend of Wu Chʻên, Prefect of Tsʻangwu and
intends to go to him.”
“He has few men and insufficient supplies, he cannot ensure safety. How
can he receive the Uncle?” said Lu.
“His place is not one to remain in long, but it is good enough for the
present. We can make other plans for the future.”
Lu said, “Sun Chʻüan is strongly posted and is exceedingly well
supplied. He treats able men and scholars with the greatest courtesy
and so they gather round him. Now if you are seeking a plan for your
Prince you cannot do better than send some friend to confer with him.”
“There have never been any relations between my master and yours,” said
Kʻung-ming. “I fear there would be nothing but a waste of words.
Besides, we have no one to send.”
“Your elder brother is there as adviser and is longing to see you. I am
but a simple wight but I should be pleased to discuss affairs with my
master and you.”
“But he is my Director-in-Chief,” said Yüan-tê, “and I cannot do
without him. He cannot go.”
Lu Su pressed him. Yüan-tê pretended to refuse permission.
“It is important; I pray you give me leave to go,” said Kʻung-ming.
Then Yüan-tê consented. And they soon took leave and the two set out by
boat for Sun Chʻüan’s headquarters.
A little boat sailed down the stream
With Chuko well content;
For he could see his enemies
To black perdition sent.
The result of this journey will appear in the following chapter.
CHAPTER XLIII.
CHUKO LIANG DISPUTES WITH THE SCHOLARS:
LU SU DENOUNCES THE MAJORITY OPINION.
In the boat on the way to Chʻaisang the two travellers beguiled the
time by discussing affairs. Lu Su impressed upon his companion the
necessity of concealing from Sun Chʻüan the truth about the magnitude
of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army.
“I do not promise to do what you ask,” replied Chuko Liang, “but I
shall know how to reply.”
When the boat arrived Kʻung-ming was lodged in the guests’ quarters and
Lu Su went alone to see his master. He found him actually at a council,
assembled to consider the situation. Lu Su was summoned thereto and
questioned at once upon what he had discovered.
“I know the general outline, but I want a little time to prepare my
report,” replied he.
Then Sun Chʻüan produced Tsʻao Tsʻao’s letter and gave it to Su. “That
came yesterday. I have sent the bearer of it back and this gathering is
to consider the reply,” said he.
Lu Su read the letter, which said, “When I, the solitary one, received
the imperial command to punish a fault my banners went south and Liu
Tsʻung became my prisoner, while his people flocked to my side at the
first rumour of my coming. Under my hand are a hundred legions and I
have many able captains. My desire is, General, that we go on a great
hunting expedition into Chianghsia and together attack Liu Pei. We will
share his land between us and we will swear perpetual amity. If happily
you would not be a mere looker-on I pray you reply quickly.”
“What have you decided upon, my lord?” asked Lu as he finished the
letter.
“I have not yet decided.”
Then Chang Chao said, “It would be imprudent to withstand Tsʻao’s many
legions backed by the imperial authority. Moreover your most important
defence against him is the Long River (Yangtse) and since Tsʻao has
gained possession of Chingchou the river is his ally against us. We
cannot withstand him, and the only way to tranquillity, in my opinion,
is submission.”
“The words of the speaker accord with the manifest decree of
providence,” echoed all the assembly.
Sun Chʻüan remaining silent and thoughtful, Chang Chao again took up
the argument. “Do not hesitate, my lord. Submission to Tsʻao means
tranquillity for the people of Wu and safety for the inhabitants of
Chiangnan.”
Sun Chʻüan still remained silent, his head bent in deep thought.
Presently he arose and paced slowly out at the door and Lu Su followed
him. Outside he took Lu by the hand, saying, “What do you desire?”
“What they have all been saying is very derogatory to you. A common man
might submit; you cannot.”
“Why? How do you explain that?”
“If people like us submitted we could just return to our village, and
everything would go on as before. If you submit, whither will you go?
You will be created a Marquis, perhaps. You will have one carriage, no
more, one saddle horse, that is all. Your retinue will be half a score.
Will you be able to sit facing the south and call yourself by the
kingly title of ‘the solitary’? Each one in your crowd of hangers-on is
thinking for himself, is purely selfish, and you should not listen to
them, but take a line of your own and that quickly. Determine to play a
bold game.”
Sun Chʻüan sighed, “They all talk and talk, they miss my point of view.
Now you have just spoken of a bold game and your view is the same as
mine. Surely God has expressly sent you to me. Still Tsʻao is now the
stronger by all Yüan Shao’s army and he has possession of Chingchou. I
fear he is almost too powerful to contend with.”
“I have brought back with me Chuko Liang, the brother of our Chuko
Chin. If you questioned him he would explain clearly.”
“Is ‘Master Sleeping Dragon’ really here?”
“Really here; in the guest-house.”
“It is too late to see him to-day. But to-morrow I will assemble my
officials and you will introduce him to all my best. After that we will
debate the matter.”
With these instructions Lu Su retired. Next day he went to the
guesthouse and conveyed Sun’s commands to the guest, particularly
saying, “When you see my master to-morrow, say nothing of the magnitude
of Tsʻao’s army.”
Kʻung-ming smiled, saying, “I shall act as circumstances dictate; you
may be sure I shall make no mistakes.”
Kʻung-ming was then conducted to where the high officers, civil and
military to the number of two score and more, were assembled. They
formed a dignified conclave as they sat in stately ranks with their
tall headdresses and broad girdles.
Chang Chao sat at the head and Kʻung-ming first saluted him. Then, one
by one, he exchanged the formal courtesies with them all. This done he
took his seat in the guest’s chair. They, on their part, noted with
interest his refined and elegant manner and his commanding figure,
thinking within themselves, “Here is a man fitted for discourse.”
Chang Chao led the way in trying to bait the visitor. He said, “You
will pardon the most insignificant of our official circle, myself, if I
mention that people say you compare yourself with those two famous men
of talent, Kuan Chung and Yo I. Is there any truth in this?”
“To a trifling extent I have compared myself with them,” replied
Kʻung-ming.
“I have heard that Liu Pei made three journeys to visit you when you
lived in retirement in your simple dwelling, and that when you
consented to serve him he said he was as lucky as a fish in getting
home to the ocean. Then he desired to possess the district about
Chingchou and Hsiangyang. Yet to-day all that country belongs to Tsʻao
Tsʻao. I should like to hear your account of all that.”
Kʻung-ming thought, “This Chang is Sun Chʻüan’s first adviser and
unless I can nonplus him I shall never have a chance with his master.”
So he replied, “In my opinion the taking of the district around the Han
River was as simple as turning over one’s hand. But my master Liu is
both righteous and humane and would not stoop to filching the
possession of a member of his own house. So he refused the offer of
succession. But Liu Tsʻung, a stupid lad, misled by specious words,
submitted to Tsʻao and fell victim to his ferocity. My master is in
camp at Chianghsia, but what his future plans may be cannot be divulged
at present.”
“Be it so; but your words and your deeds are something discordant. You
say you are the equal of the two famous ones. Well, Kuan Chung as
Minister of Duke Kuan, put his master at the very head of the feudal
nobles, making his master’s will supreme in all the land. Under the
able statesmanship of Yo I the feeble country of Yen conquered Chʻi,
reducing nearly four score of its cities. These two were men of most
commanding and conspicuous talent. When you lived in retirement you
smiled scornfully at ordinary people, passed your days in idleness,
nursing your knees and posing in a superior manner, implying that if
you had control of affairs Liu Pei would be more than human; he should
bring good to everybody and remove all evil; rebellion and robbery
would be no more. Poor Liu, before he obtained your help, was an
outcast and a vagabond, stealing a city here and there where he could.
With you to help him he was to become the cynosure of every eye and
every lisping school boy was to say that he was a tiger who had grown
wings. The Hans were to be restored and Tsʻao and his faction
exterminated. The good old days would be restored and all the men who
had been driven into retirement by the corruption of political life
would wake up, rub the sleep out of their eyes and be in readiness to
lift the cloud of darkness that covered the sky and gaze up at the
glorious brilliancy of the sun and moon, to pull the people out of fire
and water and put all the world to rest on a couch of comfort. That was
all to happen forthwith. Why then, when you went to Yüchou, did not
Tsʻao’s army throw aside their arms and armour and flee like rats? Why
could you not have told Liu Piao how to give tranquillity to his
people? Why could you not aid his orphan son to protect his frontiers?
Instead you abandoned Hsinyeh and fled to Fanchʻêng; you were defeated
at Tangyang; you fled to Hsiakʻou with no place to rest in. Thus, after
you had joined Liu Pei, he was worse off than before. Was it thus with
Kuan Chung and Yo I? I trust you do not mind my blunt speech.”
Kʻung-ming waited till he had closed his oration, then laughed and
said, “How can the common birds understand the long flight of the roc?
Let me use an illustration. A man has fallen into a terrible malady.
First the physician must administer hashish, then soothing drugs until
his viscera shall be calmed into harmonious action. When the sick man’s
body shall have been reduced to quietude, then may he be given strong
meats to strengthen him and powerful drugs to correct the disorder.
Thus the disease will be quite expelled and the man restored to health.
If the physician does not wait till the humours and pulse are in
harmony, but throws in his strong drugs too early, it will be difficult
to restore the patient. My master suffered defeat at Junan and went to
Liu Piao. He had then less than one company of soldiers and only three
captains. That was indeed a time of extreme weakness. Hsinyeh was a
secluded, rustic town with few inhabitants and scanty supplies, and my
master only retired there as a temporary refuge. How could he even
think of occupying and holding it? Yet, with insufficient force, in a
weak city, with untrained men and inadequate supplies, a camp was
burned, two leaders and their army were nearly drowned and were
frightened into running away. I doubt whether your two ancient heroes
would have done any better. As to the surrender of Liu Tsʻung, Liu Pei
knew nothing of it. And he was too noble and too righteous to take
advantage of a kinsman’s straits to seize his inheritance. As for the
defeat at Tangyang it must be remembered that Liu Pei was hampered with
a huge voluntary following of common people, with their aged relatives
and their children, whom he was too humane to abandon. He never thought
of taking Chiangling, but willingly suffered with his people. This is a
striking instance of his magnanimity. Small forces are no match for
large armies. Victory and defeat are common episodes in every campaign.
The great Founder of the Hans suffered many defeats at the hands of
Hsiang Yü, but he finally conquered at Haihsia and that battle was
decisive. Was not this due to the strategy of Han Hsin who, though he
had long served his master, had never won a victory. Indeed real
statesmanship, the restoration of stable government is a master plan
far removed from the vapid discourses and debates of a lot of bragging
babblers and specious and deceitful talkers, who, as they themselves
say, are immeasurably superior to the rest of mankind but who, when it
comes to deeds and decisions to meet the infinite and constant
vicissitudes of affairs, fail to throw up a single capable man. Truly
such people are the laughing stock of all the world.”
Chang Chao found no reply to this diatribe but another in the assembly
lifted up his voice, saying, “But what of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s present
position? There he is, encamped with many legions and numberless
leaders. Whither he goes he is invincible and whither he looks he is
fearsome. He has taken Chianghsia already, as we see.”
The speaker was Yü Fan and Kʻung-ming replied, “Tsʻao has acquired the
swarms of Yüan Shao and stolen the crowds of Liu Piao. Yet I care not
for all his legions.”
Yü Fan smiled icily, “When you got thrashed at Tangyang and in
desperation sent this way and that to ask help, even then did you not
care? But do you think big talk really takes people in?”
“Liu had a few companies of scrupulous soldiers to oppose to a hundred
legions of fierce brutes. He retired to Hsiakʻou for breathing space.
The soldiers of Chiangtung are good and there are ample supplies and
the Long River is a defence. Is now a time for him to bend the knee
before a renegade, to be careless of his honour and reputation? As a
fact Liu is not the sort of man to fear such a rebel as Tsʻao.”
Yü Fan had nothing to reply. Next, one Pu Chih, who was among those
seated, said, “Will you talk of our land of Wu with a tongue like the
tongues of Chang I and Su Chʻin of old?”
Kʻung-ming replied, “You regard those two as mere speculative talkers:
you do not recognise them also as heroes. Su Chʻin bore the prime
minister’s seals of six federated states; Chang I was twice prime
Minister of Chʻin. Both were men of conspicuous ability who brought
about the reformation of their governments. They are not to be compared
with those who quail before the strong and overbear the weak, who fear
the dagger and run away from the sword. You, Sir, have listened to
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s crafty and empty rhodomontade and it has frightened you
into advising surrender. Dare you ridicule Su Chin and Chang I?”
Pu Chih was silenced. Then suddenly another interjected the question,
“What do you think of Tsʻao Tsʻao?”
It was Hsüeh Tsung who had spoken and Kʻung-ming replied, “Tsʻao is one
of the rebels against the dynasty; why ask about him?”
“You are mistaken,” said Hsüeh Tsung. “The Hans have outlasted their
allotted time and the end is near. Tsʻao already has two-thirds of the
empire and people are turning to him. Your master has not recognised
the fateful moment and to contend with a man so strong is to try to
smash stones with eggs. Failure is certain.”
Kʻung-ming angrily replied, “Why do you speak so undutifully, as if you
knew neither father nor prince? Loyalty and filial duty are the
essentials of a man’s being. For a minister of Han correct conduct
demands that one is pledged to the destruction of any one who does not
follow the canon of a minister’s duty. Tsʻao’s forbears enjoyed the
bounty of Han, but instead of showing gratitude, he nourishes in his
bosom thoughts of rebellion. The whole world is incensed against him
and yet you would claim for him the indication of destiny. Truly you
are a man who knows neither father nor prince, a man unworthy of any
words, and I decline to argue with you farther.”
The blush of shame overspread Hsüeh’s face and he said no more. But
another, one Lu Chi, took up the dispute and said, “Although Tsʻao
Tsʻao overawes the Emperor and in his name coerces the nobles, yet he
is the descendant of a minister, while your master, though he says he
is descended from a prince, has no proof thereof. In the eyes of the
world he is just a weaver of mats, a seller of straw shoes. Who is he
to strive with Tsʻao?”
Kʻung-ming laughed and replied, “Are you not that Lu who pocketed the
orange when you were sitting among Yüan Shao’s guests? Listen to me; I
have a word to say to you. Inasmuch as Tsʻao Tsʻao is a descendant of a
minister of state he is by heredity a servant of the Hans. But now he
has monopolised all state authority and knows only his own arbitrary
will, heaping every indignity upon his lord. Not only does he forget
his prince, but he ignores his ancestors; not only is he a rebellious
servant of Han, but the renegade of his family. Liu Pei of Yuchou is a
noble scion of the imperial family upon whom the Emperor has conferred
rank, as is recorded in the annals. How then can you say there is no
evidence of his imperial origin? Beside, the very founder of the
dynasty was himself of lowly origin, and yet he became emperor. Where
is the shame in weaving mats and selling shoes? Your mean, immature
views are unfit to be mentioned in the presence of scholars of
standing.”
This put a stop to Lu Chi’s flow of eloquence, but another of those
present said, “Kʻung-ming’s words are overbearing and he distorts
reason. It is not proper argument and he had better say no more. But I
would ask him what classical canon he studied.”
Kʻung-ming looked at his interlocutor, who was named Yen Chün, and
said, “The dryasdusts of every age select passages and choose phrases;
what else are they good for? Do they ever initiate a policy or manage
an affair? I Yin, who was a farmer in Hsin and Tzŭ-ya, the fisherman of
the Wei River, Chang Liang and Chʻên Pʻing, Têng Yü and Kêng Yen all
were men of transcendent ability, but I have never enquired what
classical canon they followed or on whose essays they formed their
style. Would you liken them to your rusty students of books, whose
journeyings are comprised between their brush and their inkstone, who
spend their days in literary futilities, wasting both time and ink?”
No reply was forthcoming; the speaker hung his head with shame. But
another disputant, Chʻêng Tê-shu by name, suddenly shouted, “You are
mightily fond of big words, Sir, but they do not give any proof of your
scholarship after all. I am inclined to think that a real scholar would
just laugh at you.”
Kʻung-ming replied, “There are scholars and scholars. There is the
noble scholar, loyal and patriotic, of perfect rectitude and a hater of
any crookedness. The concern of such a scholar is to act in full
sympathy with his day and leave to future ages a fine reputation. There
is the scholar of the mean type, a pedant and nothing more. He labours
constantly with his pen, in his callow youth composing odes and in
hoary age still striving to understand the classical books completely.
Thousands of words flow from his pen but there is not a solid idea in
his breast. He may, as did Yang Hsiung, glorify the age with his
writings and yet stoop to serve a tyrant such as Mang. No wonder Yang
threw himself out of a window; he had to. That is the way of the
scholar of mean type. Though he composes odes by the hundred, what is
the use of him?”
Chʻêng could make no reply. The other officers now began to hold this
man of torrential speech in wholesome fear. Only two of them had failed
to challenge him, but when they would have tried to pose Kʻung-ming,
suddenly some one appeared from without and angrily shouted, “This is
not paying fit respect to a guest. You have among you the most
wonderful man of the day and you all sit there trying to entangle him
in speech while our arch enemy Tsʻao Tsʻao is nearing our borders.
Instead of discussing how to oppose him you are all wrangling and
disputing.”
All eyes turned toward him; it was Huang Kai, of Lingling, who was
master of the commissariat of Wu. He turned to address Kʻung-ming,
saying, “There is a saying that though something may be gained by talk
there is more to be got by silence. Why not give my lord the advantage
of your valuable advice instead of wasting time in discussion with this
crowd?”
“They did not understand,” replied Kʻung-ming, “and it was necessary to
enlighten them, I had to speak.”
As Huang Kai and Lu Su led the guest toward their master’s apartments,
they met his brother Chuko Chin. Kʻung-ming saluted him with the
deference due to an elder brother and Chin said, “Why have you not been
to see me, brother?”
“I am now in the service of Liu of Yü chou and it is right that public
affairs precede private obligations. I cannot attend to any private
matters till my work is done. You must pardon me, brother.”
“After you have seen the Marquis you will come and tell me your news,”
said he as he left.
As they went along to the audience chamber Lu Su again cautioned
Kʻung-ming against any rash speech. The latter nodded but made no other
reply. When they reached the hall Sun Chʻüan came down the steps to
welcome his guests and was extraordinarily gracious. After the mutual
salutations the guest was given a chair while the Marquis’s officials
were drawn up in two lines, on one side the civil, on the other the
military. Lu Su stood beside Kʻung-ming and listened to his
introductory speech.
As Kʻung-ming spoke of Yüan-tê’s intentions, he glanced up at his host.
He noted the grey eyes and brown beard and the dignified commanding air
of the man and thought within himself, “Certainly in appearance this is
no common man. He is one to be incited perhaps, but not to be
persuaded. It will be better to see what he has to say first, then I
will try to stir him to action.”
The serving of tea being now finished, Sun Chʻüan began with the usual
gracious ceremonial expressions.
“Lu Su has often spoken of your genius” said the host; “it is a great
pleasure to meet you. I trust you will confer upon me the advantage of
your instruction.”
“I am neither clever nor learned” was the reply, “it humiliates me to
hear such words.”
“You have been at Hsinyeh lately and you helped your master to fight
that decisive battle with Tsʻao Tsʻao, so you must know exactly the
measure of his military strength.”
“My master’s army was small and his generals were few; the city was
paltry and lacked supplies. Hence no stand could be made against such a
force as Tsʻao Tsʻao had.”
“How many men has he in all?”
“Horse and foot, land and marine, he has a hundred legions.”
“Is there not some doubt about that?” said Sun Chʻüan.
“None whatever; when Tsʻao Tsʻao went to Yenchou he had the twenty
legions of Chingchou. He gained fifty or sixty legions when Yüan Shao
fell. He has thirty or forty legions newly recruited in the capital.
Lately he has acquired twenty or thirty legions in Chingchou. And if
these be reckoned up the total is not less than a hundred and fifty.
Hence I said a hundred for I was afraid of frightening your officers.”
Lu Su was much disturbed and turned pale. He looked meaningly at the
bold speaker, but Kʻung-ming would not see. Sun Chʻüan went on to ask
if his arch enemy had a corresponding number of leaders.
“He has enough administrators and strategists to control such a host
and his capable and veteran leaders are more than a thousand; perhaps
more than two thousand.”
“What will be Tsʻao Tsʻao’s next move now that he has overcome
Chingchou and Chʻu?”
“He is camped along the river and he has collected a fleet. If he does
not intend to invade your territory, what can be his intentions?”
“Since that is his intention, it is a case of fight or not fight. I
wish you would decide that for me.”
“I have something I could say, but I fear, Sir, you would not care to
hear it.”
“I am desirous of hearing your most valuable opinion.”
“Strife has prevailed for a long time and so you should raise your army
and Liu Pei should collect his forces south of the Han River, to act
with you in contest for the empire against Tsʻao Tsʻao. Now Tsʻao has
overcome most of his difficulties and his recent conquest of Chingchou
has won him great and wide renown. Though there might be one bold
enough to tackle him, yet there is no foothold for such. That is how
Liu Pei has been forced to come here. But, General, I wish you to
measure your forces and decide whether you can venture to meet him and
that without loss of time. If you cannot, then follow the advice of
your councillors; cease your military preparations and yield; turn your
face to the north and serve.”
Sun Chʻüan did not reply. But his guest went on, “You have the
reputation of being reasonable but I know also you are inclined to
hesitate. Still this matter is most important and evil will be quickly
upon you if you do not decide.”
Then replied Sun, “If what you say represents the actual conditions,
why does not Liu Pei yield?”
“Well, you know Tsʻien Hêng, that hero of the state of Chʻi; his
character was too noble for him to submit to any shame. It is necessary
to remember that Liu Pei also is an off-shoot from the dynastic family,
beside being a man of great renown. Every one looks up to him. His lack
of success is simply the will of Heaven but manifestly he could not bow
the knee to any one.”
These last words touched Sun Chʻüan to the quick and he could not
control his anger. He shook out his sleeves, rose and left the audience
chamber. Those present smiled at each other as they dispersed.
But Lu Su was annoyed and reproached Kʻung-ming for his maladroit way
of talking to Sun. “Luckily for you my lord is too large-minded to
rebuke you to your face for you spoke to him most contemptuously.”
Kʻung-ming threw back his head and laughed. “What a sensitive fellow it
is!” cried he. “I know how Tsʻao Tsʻao could be destroyed, but he never
asked me; so I said nothing.”
“If you really do know how that could be done I will certainly beg my
lord to ask you.”
“Tsʻao Tsʻao’s hosts in my eyes are but as swarms of ants. I have but
to lift my hand and they will be crushed.”
Lu Su at once went into his master’s private room, where he found him
still very irritable and angry. “Kʻung-ming insulted me too deeply,”
said Sun.
“I have already reproached him,” said Lu Su, “and he laughed and said
you were too sensitive. He would not give you any advice without being
asked for it. Why did you not seek advice from him, my lord?”
At once Sun’s anger changed to joy. He said, “So he had a plan ready
and his words were meant to provoke me. I did despise him for a moment
and it has very nearly lost me.”
So he returned to the audience chamber where the guest was still seated
and begged Kʻung-ming to continue his speech. He spoke courteously
saying, “I offended you just now, I hope you are not implacable.”
“And I also was rude,” replied Kʻung-ming. “I entreat pardon.”
Host and guest retired to the inner room where wine was served. After
it had gone round several times, Sun Chʻüan said, “The enemies of Tsʻao
Tsʻao were Lü Pu, Liu Piao, Yüan Shao, Yüan Shu, his brother, Liu Pei
and my poor self. Now most of these are gone and only Liu Pei and I
remain. I will never allow the land of Wu to be dictated to by another.
The only one who could have withstood Tsʻao Tsʻao was Liu Pei, but he
has been defeated lately and what can he do now against such force?”
Kʻung-ming replied, “Although defeated, Liu Pei still has Kuan Yü with
a legion of veterans. And Liu Chʻi still leads the men of Chianghsia,
another legion. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army is far from home and the men are
worn out. They made a frantic effort to come up with my master, and the
light horse marched three hundred li in a day and a night. This was the
final kick of the crossbow spring and the bolt was not swift enough to
penetrate even the thin silken vesture of Lu. The army can do no more.
They are northern men, unskilled in water warfare, and the men of
Chingchou are unwilling supporters. They have no desire to help Tsʻao.
Now if you, General, will assist Liu Pei, Tsʻao will certainly be
broken and he must retire northwards. Then your country and Chingchou
will be strong and firmly established. But the scheme must be carried
out without delay and only you can decide.”
Sun Chʻüan joyfully replied, “Your words, master, open up the road
clearly. I have decided and shall have no further doubts.”
So the orders were issued forthwith to prepare for a joint attack on
Tsʻao Tsʻao. And he bade Lu Su bear the news of his decision to all his
officers. He himself escorted Kʻung-ming to the guest quarters and saw
to his comfort.
When Chang Chao heard of the decision he met his colleagues and said to
them, “He has fallen into the trap set by this Kʻung-ming.”
They went in a body to their lord and said, “We hear you are going to
attack Tsʻao Tsʻao; but how do you stand when compared with Yüan Shao?
In those days Tsʻao was comparatively weak and yet he overcame. What is
he like to-day with his countless legions? He is not to be lightly
attacked and to listen to Chuko Liang’s advice to engage in a conflict
is like carrying fuel to a fire.”
Sun Chʻüan made no reply and Ku Yung took up the argument. “Liu Pei has
been defeated and he wants to borrow our help to beat his enemy. Why
must our lord lend himself to his schemes? Pray listen to our leader’s
words.”
Doubts again surged up in the mind of Sun Chʻüan. When the troop of
advisers had retired, Lu Su came in saying, “They came to exhort you
not to fight, but to compel you to surrender simply because they wish
to secure the safety of their families. They distort their sense of
duty to serve their own ends and I hope you will not take their
advice.”
Sun Chʻüan being sunk in thought and saying nothing, Lu Su went on, “if
you hesitate you will certainly be led astray by the majority and——”
“Retire for a time,” said his master. “I must think it over carefully.”
So Lu Su left the chamber. Among the soldiers some wished for war, but
of the civil officers, all were in favour of surrender and so there
were many discussions and much conflict of opinion. Sun Chʻüan went to
his private apartments greatly perplexed. There his worry was easily
discernible and he neither ate nor slept. He was quite unable to decide
finally upon a course of action.
Then the Lady Wu asked him what so troubled him, and he told her of the
threatened danger and the different opinions his advisers held one and
another and all his doubts and fears. If he fought, he might fail; and
if he offered to surrender, perhaps Tsʻao Tsʻao would reject his
proposal.
Then she replied, “Have you forgotten the last words of my sister?”
As to one recovering from a fit of drunkenness, or waking out of a
dream, so came to him the dying words of the mother who bore him.
His mother’s advice he called to mind,
“In Chou Yü’s counsels you safety find.”
What happened will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XLIV.
KʻUNG-MING STIRS CHOU YÜ TO ACTION:
SUN CHʻÜAN DECIDES TO ATTACK TSʻAO TSʻAO.
The dying message which the Lady Wu recalled to Sun Chʻüan’s memory
was, “For internal matters consult Chang Chao; for external policy Chou
Yü.”
Wherefore Chou Yü was summoned.
But he was already on the way. He had been training his naval forces on
Lake Pʻoyang when he heard of the approach of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s hosts and
had started for Chʻaisengchün without loss of time. So, before the
messenger ordered to call him could start, he had already arrived. As
he and Lu Su were close friends the latter went to welcome him and told
him of all that had happened.
“Have no anxiety,” said Chou Yü, “I shall be able to decide this. But
go quickly and beg Kʻung-ming to come to see me.”
So Lu Su went to seek out Kʻung-ming. Chou Yü had many other visitors.
First came Chang Chao and his faction to find out what might be afoot.
They were received, and after the exchange of the usual commonplaces,
Chang Chao said, “Have you heard of our terrible danger?”
“I have heard nothing,” said Chou Yü.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao and his hordes are encamped up the river. He has just sent
letters asking our lord to hunt with him in Chianghsia. He may have a
desire to absorb this country but, if so, the details of his designs
are still secret. We prayed our master to give in his submission and so
avoid the horrors of war, but now Lu Su has returned bringing with him
the Commander-in-Chief of Liu Pei’s army, Chuko Liang. He, desiring to
avenge himself for the recent defeat, has talked our lord into a mind
for war and Lu Su persists in supporting him. They only await your
final decision.”
“Are you and yours unanimous in your opinions?”
“We are perfectly unanimous,” said Chang.
Chou said, “The fact is I have also desired to submit for a long time.
I beg you to leave me now and to-morrow we will see our master and I
shall make up his mind for him.”
So they took their leave. Very soon came the military party led by
Chʻêng Pʻu. They were admitted and duly enquired after their host’s
health. Then the leader said, “Have you heard that our country is about
to pass under another’s government?”
“No; I have heard nothing,” replied the host.
“We helped General Sun to establish his authority here and carve out
this kingdom, and to gain that end we fought many a battle before we
conquered the country. Now our lord lends his ear to his civil officers
and desires to submit himself to Tsʻao Tsʻao. This is a most shameful
and pitiful course and we would rather die than follow it, so we hope
you will decide to fight and you may depend upon our struggling to the
last man.”
“And are you unanimous, Generals?” asked Chou Yü.
Huang Kai suddenly started up and smote his forehead saying, “They may
take my head but I swear never to surrender.”
“Not one of us is willing to surrender,” cried all the others.
“My desire also is to decide matters with Tsʻao Tsʻao on the
battlefield. How could we think of submission? Now I pray you retire,
Generals, and when I see our lord I will settle his doubts.”
So the war party left. They were quickly succeeded by Chuko Ching and
his faction. They were brought in and, after the usual courtesies,
Ching said, “My brother has come down the river saying that Liu Pei
desires to ally himself with our lord against Tsʻao Tsʻao. The civil
and military hold different opinions as to the course to be pursued,
but as my brother is so deeply concerned I am unwilling to say much on
either side. We are awaiting your decision.”
“And what do you think about it?” asked Chou Yü.
“Submission is an easy road to tranquillity, while the result of war is
hard to foretell.”
Chou Yü smiled, “I shall have my mind made up. Come to-morrow to the
palace and the decision shall be announced.”
The trimmers took their leave. But soon after came Lü Mêng with his
supporters, also desirous of discussing the same thing, and they told
him that opinions differed greatly, some being for peace and others for
war. One party constantly disputed with the other.
“I must not say much now,” replied Chou Yü, “but you will see to-morrow
in the palace, when the matter will be fully debated.”
They went away leaving Chou Yü smiling cynically.
About eventide Lu Su and Kʻung-ming came and Chou Yü went out to the
main gate to receive them. When they had taken their proper seats, Lu
Su spoke first, saying, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has come against the south with a
huge army. Our master cannot decide whether to submit or give battle
and waits for your decision. What is your opinion?”
Chou Yü replied, “We may not oppose Tsʻao Tsʻao when he acts at the
command of the Emperor. Moreover, he is very strong and to attack him
is to take serious risks. In my opinion, opposition would mean defeat
and, since submission means peace, I have decided to advise our lord to
write and offer surrender.”
“But you are wrong,” stammered Lu Su. “This country has been under the
same rule for three generations and cannot be suddenly abandoned to
some other. San Tsʻê said that you were to be consulted on matters
beyond the border and we depended upon you to keep the country as
secure and solid as Mount Tʻai. Now you adopt the view of the weaklings
and propose to yield! I cannot believe you mean it.”
Replied Chou Yü, “The six districts contain countless people. If I am
the means of bringing upon them the misery of war they will hate me. So
I have decided to advise submission.”
“But do you not realise our lord’s might and the strength of our
country? If Tsʻao does attack it is very uncertain that he will realise
his desire.”
The two wrangled for a long time, while Kʻung-ming sat smiling with
folded arms. Presently Chou Yü asked why he smiled thus and he replied,
“I am smiling at no other than your opponent Lu Su, who knows nothing
of the affairs of the day.”
“Master,” said Lu Su, “What do you mean?”
“Why, this intention to submit is perfectly reasonable; it is the one
proper thing.”
“There!” exclaimed Chou Yü, “Kʻung-ming knows the times perfectly well
and he agrees with me.”
“But, both of you, why do you say this?” said Lu.
Said Kʻung-ming, “Tsʻao is an excellent commander, so good that no one
dares oppose him. Only very few have ever attempted it and they have
been exterminated; the world knows them no more. The only exception is
Liu Pei, who did not understand the conditions and vigorously contended
against him, with the result that he is now at Chianghsia in a very
parlous state. To submit is to secure the safety of wives and children,
to be rich and honoured. But the dignity of the country would be left
to chance and fate—— However, that is not worth consideration.”
Lu Su interrupted angrily, “Would you make our lord crook the knee to
such a rebel as he?”
“Well,” replied Kʻung-ming, “there is another way, and a cheaper; there
would be no need to ‘lead the sheep and shoulder wine pots’ for
presents, nor any need to yield territory and surrender seals of
office. It would not even be necessary to cross the river yourselves.
All you would require is a simple messenger and a little boat to ferry
a couple of people across the river. If Tsʻao only got these two
persons under his hand, his hordes and legions would just drop their
weapons, furl their banners and silently vanish away.”
“What two persons could cause Tsʻao Tsʻao to go away as you say?” asked
Chou Yü.
“Two persons who could be easily spared from this populous country.
They would not be missed any more than a leaf from a tree or a grain of
millet from a granary. But if Tsʻao could only get them, would he not
go away rejoicing!”
“But who are the two?” asked Chou Yü again.
“When I was living in the country they told me that Tsʻao was building
a pavilion on the Chang River; it was to be named the Bronze Bird
Pavilion. It is an exceedingly handsome building and he has sought
throughout all the world for the most beautiful women to live in it.
For Tsʻao really is a sensualist.”
“Now there are two very famous beauties in Chiantung, born of the
Chʻiao family. So beautiful are they that birds alight and fishes
drown, the moon hides her face and the flowers blush for shame at sight
of them. Tsʻao has declared with an oath that he only wants two things
in this world, the imperial throne in peace and the sight of those two
women on the Bronze Bird Terraces. Given these two he would go down to
his grave without regret. This expedition of his, his huge army that
threatens this country, has for its real aim these two women. Why do
you not buy these two from their father for any sum however large and
send them over the river? The object of the army being attained, it
will simply be marched away. This is the use that Fan Li made of the
famous beauty Hsi Shih.”
“How do you know he so greatly desires these two?” said Chou Yü.
“Because his son, who is an able writer, at the command of his father
wrote a poem ‘An Ode to the Bronze Bird Terrace,’ the theme only
allowing allusions to the family fitness for the throne. He has sworn
to possess these two women. I think I can remember the poem, if you
wish to hear it. I admire it greatly.”
“Try,” said Chou Yü.
So he recited the poem:—
Let me follow in the footsteps of the enlightened ruler that I
may rejoice,
And ascend the storied terrace that I may gladden my heart,
That I may see the wide extent of the palace,
That I may gaze upon the plans of the virtuous one.
He has established the exalted gates high as the hills,
He has built the lofty towers piercing the blue vault.
He has set up the beautiful building in the midst of the heavens,
Whence the eye can range over the cities of the west.
On the banks of the rolling River Chang he planned it,
Whence abundance of fruits could be looked for in his gardens.
The two towers rise, one on either flank,
This named Golden Phoenix, that Jade Dragon.
He would seize the two Chʻiao; these beautiful ladies of the
south-east,
That he might rejoice with them morning and evening.
Look down; there is the grand beauty of an imperial city,
And the rolling vapours lie floating beneath.
He will rejoice in the multitude of scholars that assemble,
Answering to the felicitous dream of King Wên.
Look up; and there is the gorgeous harmony of spring-time,
And the singing of many birds delighting the ear;
The lofty sky stands over all.
The house desires success in its double undertaking,
That the humane influence may be poured out over all the world,
That the perfection of reverence may be offered to the Ruler.
Only the richly prosperous rule of Huan and Wên
Could compare with that of the sacred understanding.
What fortune! what beauty!
The gracious kindness spreads afar,
The imperial family is supported,
Peace reigns over all the world,
Bounded only by the universe.
Bright as the glory of the sun and moon,
Ever honourable and ever enduring,
The Ruler shall live to the age of the eastern emperor,
The dragon banner shall wave to the farthest limit.
His glorious chariot shall be guided with perfect wisdom,
His thoughts shall reform all the world,
Felicitous produce shall be abundant,
And the people shall rest firm.
My desire is that these towers shall endure for ever,
And that joy shall never cease through all the ages.
Chou Yü listened to the end but then suddenly jumped up in a tremendous
rage. Turning to the north and pointing with his finger he cried, “You
old rebel; this insult is too deep!”
Kʻung-ming hastily rose too and, as if to soothe him, said, “But
remember Shan Yü. The emperor gave him a princess of the family to wife
although he had made many incursions into our territory. That was the
price of peace. You surely would not grudge two more women from among
the people.”
“You do not know, Sir,” replied Chou Yü. “Of those two women you
mentioned, the elder is the widow of Sun Tsʻê, our late ruler, and the
younger is my wife.”
Kʻung-ming feigned the greatest astonishment and said, “No indeed; I
did not know. I blundered; a deadly fault; a deadly fault!”
“One of us two has to go, either the old rebel or I; we shall not both
live. I swear that,” cried Chou Yü.
“However, such a matter needs a good deal of thought,” replied
Kʻung-ming. “We must not make any mistake.”
Chou Yü replied, “I hold a sacred trust from my late lord, Sun Tsʻê; I
would not bow the knee to any such as Tsʻao. What I said just now was
to see how you stood. I left the lake with the intention of attacking
the north, and nothing can change that intention, not even the sword at
my breast or the axe on my neck. But I trust you will lend an arm and
we will smite Tsʻao Tsʻao together.”
“Should I be happy enough not to be rejected I would render such humble
service as I could. Perhaps presently I might be able to offer a plan
to oppose him.”
“I am going to see my lord to-morrow to discuss this matter,” said Chou
Yü.
Kʻung-ming and Lu Su then left. Next day at dawn Sun Chʻüan went to the
council chamber, where his officials, civil and military, were already
assembled. They numbered about three score in all. The civil, with
Chang Chao at their head, were on the right; the military, with Chʻêng
Pʻu as their leader, were ranged on the left. All were in full
ceremonial dress and the swords of the soldiers clanked on the
pavement. Soon Chou Yü entered and, when Sun Chʻüan had finished the
usual gracious remarks, he said, “I hear that Tsʻao Tsʻao is encamped
on the river and has sent a despatch to you, my lord; I would ask what
your opinion is.”
Thereupon the despatch was produced and handed to Chou Yü. After
reading it through he said, smiling, “The old thief thinks there are no
men in this land that he writes in this contemptuous strain.”
“What do you think, Sir?” asked Sun Chʻüan.
“Have you discussed this with the officials?” asked Chou Yü.
“We have been discussing this for days. Some counsel surrender and some
advise fight. I am undecided and therefore I have asked you to come and
decide the point.”
“Who advise surrender?” asked Chou Yü.
“Chang Chao and his party are firmly set in this opinion.”
Chou Yü then turned to Chang Chao and said, “I should be pleased to
hear why you are for surrender, Master.”
Then Chang Chao replied, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has been attacking all opponents
in the name of the Emperor, who is entirely in his hands. He does
everything in the name of the government. Lately he has taken Chingchou
and thereby increased his prestige. Our defence against him was the
river, but now he also has a large fleet and can attack by water. How
can we withstand him? Wherefore I counsel submission till some chance
shall offer.”
“This is but the opinion of an ill-advised student,” said Chou Yü. “How
can you think of abandoning this country that we have held for three
generations?”
“That being so,” said Sun Chʻüan, “where is a plan to come from?”
“Though Tsʻao Tsʻao assumes the name of a Minister of the empire, he is
at heart a rebel. You, O General, are able in war and brave. You are
the heir to your father and brother. You command brave and tried
soldiers, and you have plentiful supplies. You are able to overrun the
whole country and rid it of every evil. There is no reason why you
should surrender to a rebel. Moreover, Tsʻao has undertaken this
expedition in defiance of all the rules of war. The north is unsubdued
and Ma Tʻêng and Han Sui threaten his rear and yet he persists in his
southern march. This is the first point against Tsʻao. The northern men
are unused to fighting on the water; Tsʻao is relinquishing his
well-tried cavalry and trusting to ships. That is the second point
against him. Again, we are now in full winter and the weather is at its
coldest so there is no food for the horses. That is the third point
against. Soldiers from the central state marching in a wet country
among lakes and rivers will find themselves in an unaccustomed climate
and suffer from malaria. That is the fourth point against. Now when
Tsʻao’s armies have all these points against them, defeat is certain,
however numerous they may be, and you can take Tsʻao captive just as
soon as you wish. Give me a few companies of veterans and I will go and
destroy him.”
Sun Chʻüan started up from his place saying, “The rebellious old rascal
has been wanting to overthrow the Hans and set up himself for years. He
has rid himself of all those he feared, save only myself, and I swear
that one of us two shall go now. Both of us cannot live. What you say,
noble friend, is just what I think, and Heaven has certainly sent you
to my assistance.”
“Thy servant will fight a decisive battle,” said Chou Yü, “and shrink
not from any sacrifice. Only, General, do not hesitate.”
Sun Chʻüan drew the sword that hung at his side and slashed the table
in front of him, exclaiming, “Let any other man mention surrender and
he shall be served as I have served this table.”
Then he handed the sword to Chou Yü, at the same time giving him a
commission as Commander-in-Chief, Chʻêng Pʻu being second in command.
Lu Su was also nominated as assistant.
In conclusion Sun said, “With this sword you will slay any officer who
may disobey your commands.”
Chou Yü took the sword and turning to the assembly said, “You have
heard our lord’s charge to me, to lead you to destroy Tsʻao; you will
all assemble to-morrow at the river-side camp to receive my orders.
Should any be late or fail, then the full rigour of military law, the
seven prohibitions and the fifty-four penalties there provided, will be
enforced.”
He took leave of Sun Chʻüan and left the chamber; the various officers
also went their several ways. When Chou Yü reached his own place he
sent for Kʻung-ming to consult over the business in hand. He told him
of the decision that had been taken and asked for a plan of campaign.
“But your master has not yet made up his mind,” said Kʻung-ming. “Till
he has, no plan can be decided upon.”
“What do you mean?”
“In his heart he is still fearful of Tsʻao’s numbers and frets over the
inequality of the two armies. You will have to explain away those
numbers and bring him to a final decision before anything can be
effected.”
“What you say is excellent,” said Chou Yü and he went to the palace
that night to see his master. Sun Chʻüan said, “You must have something
of real importance to say if you come like this at night.”
Chou Yü said, “I am making my dispositions to-morrow; you have quite
made up your mind?”
“The fact is,” said Sun Chʻüan, “I still feel nervous about the
disparity of numbers. Surely we are too few. That is really all I feel
doubtful about.”
“It is precisely because you have this one remaining doubt that I am
come. And I will explain. Tsʻao’s letter speaks of a hundred legions of
marines, and so you feel doubts and fears and do not wait to consider
the real truth. Let us examine the case thoroughly. We find that he has
of Central State soldiers, say, fifteen or sixteen legions, and many of
them are sick. He only got seven or eight legions from the Yüans and
many of those are of doubtful loyalty. Now these sick men and these men
of doubtful loyalty seem a great many but they are not at all fearsome.
I could smash them with five legions. So, my lord, have no further
anxiety.”
Sun Chʻüan patted his general on the back saying, “You have explained
my difficulty and relieved my doubts. Chang Chao is an old fool who
constantly baulks my expeditions. Only you and Lu Su have any real
understanding of my heart. To-morrow you and he and Chʻêng Pʻu will
start and I shall have a strong reserve ready with plentiful supplies
to support you. If anything goes agley you can at once send for me and
I will engage with my own men.”
Chou Yü left; but in his innermost heart he said to himself, “If that
Kʻung-ming can gauge my master’s thoughts so very accurately he is too
clever for me and will be a danger. He will have to be put out of the
way.”
He sent a messenger over to Lu Su to talk over this last scheme. When
he had laid it bare, Lu Su did not favour it. “No, no,” said he, “it is
self-destruction to make away with your ablest officer before Tsʻao
shall have been destroyed.”
“But Kʻung-ming will certainly help Liu Pei to our disadvantage.”
“Try what his brother Chuko Chin can do to persuade him. It would be an
excellent thing to have these two in our service.”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Chou Yü.
Next morning at dawn Chou Yü went to his camp and took his seat in the
council tent. The lictors took up their stations right and left and the
officers ranged themselves in lines to listen to the orders.
Now Chʻêng Pʻu, who was older than Chou Yü, was very angry at being
passed over, so he made a pretence of indisposition and stayed away
from this assembly. But he sent his son to represent him. Chou Yü
addressed the gathering, saying, “The law knows no partiality and you
will all have to attend to your several duties. Tsʻao is now more
absolute than ever was Tung Cho, and the Emperor is really a prisoner
in Hsüchʻang, guarded by the most cruel soldiers. We have a command to
destroy Tsʻao and with your willing help we shall advance. The army
must cause no hardship to the people anywhere. Rewards for good service
and punishments for faults shall be given impartially.”
Having delivered this charge he told off Han Tang and Huang Kai as
leaders of the van, and ordered the ships under his own command to get
under way and go to Sanchiangkʻou. They would get orders by and bye.
Then he appointed five armies with two officers over each while Lü Fan
and Chu Chih were appointed inspectors, to move from place to place and
keep the various units up to their work and acting with due regard to
the general plan. Land and marine forces were to move simultaneously.
The expedition would soon start.
Having received their orders each returned to his command and busied
himself in preparation. Chʻêng Pʻu’s son returned and told his father
what arrangements had been made and Chʻêng Pʻu was amazed at their
skill. Said he, “I have always despised Chou Yü as a mere student who
would never be a general, but this shows that he has a leader’s talent.
I must support him.” So he went over to the quarters of the
Commander-in-Chief and confessed his fault. He was received kindly and
all was over.
Next Chou Yü sent for Chuko Chin and said to him, “Evidently your
brother is a genius, a man born to be a king’s counsellor. Why then
does he serve Liu Pei? Now that he is here I wish you to use every
effort to persuade him to stay with us. Thus our lord would gain able
support and you two brothers would be together, which would be pleasant
for you both. I wish you success.”
Chin replied, “I am ashamed of the little service I have rendered since
I came here and I can do no other than obey your command to the best of
my ability.”
Thereupon he went away to his brother, whom he found in the
guest-house. The younger brother received him and when he had reached
the inner rooms Kʻung-ming bowed respectfully and, weeping, told his
experiences since they parted and his sorrow at their separation. Then
Chin, weeping also, said, “Brother, do you remember the story of Po I
and Shu Chʻi, the brothers who would not be separated?”
“Ah, Chou Yü has sent him to talk me over,” thought Kʻung-ming. So he
replied, “They were two of the noble people of old days; yes, I know.”
“Those two, although they perished of hunger near the Shouyang Hills,
yet never separated. You and I, born of the same mother and suckled at
the same breast, yet serve different masters and never meet. Are you
not ashamed when you think of such examples as Po I and Shu Chʻi?”
Kʻung-ming replied, “You are talking now of love, but what I stand for
is duty. We are both men of Han and Liu Pei is of the family. If you,
brother, could leave Wu and join me in serving the rightful branch,
then on the one side we should be honoured as Ministers of Han and on
the other we should be together as people of the same flesh and blood
should be. Thus love and duty would both receive their proper meed.
What do you think of it, my brother?”
“I came to persuade him and lo! it is I who am being talked over,”
thought Chuko Chin. He had no fitting reply to make so he rose and took
his leave. Returning to Chou Yü he related the story of the interview.
“What do you think?” asked Chou Yü.
“General Sun has treated me with great kindness and I could not turn my
back on him,” replied Chin.
“Since you decide to remain loyal, there is no need to say much; I
think I have a plan to win over your brother.”
The wisest men see eye to eye.
For each but sees the right;
But should their several interests clash,
They all the fiercer fight.
The means by which Chou Yü tried to get the support of Kʻung-ming will
be described in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XLV.
TSʻAO TSʻAO LOSES SOLDIERS:
CHIANG KAN VICTIM OF A RUSE.
Chou Yü was very annoyed by the words of Chuko Chin and a fierce hatred
for Kʻung-ming took root in his heart. He nourished a secret resolve to
make away with him. He continued his preparations for war and when the
men were all mustered and ready he went in for a farewell interview
with his lord.
“You go on first, noble Sir,” said Sun Chʻüan. “I will then march to
support you.”
Chou Yü took his leave and then, with Chʻêng Pʻu and Lu Su, marched out
with the army. He invited Kʻung-ming to accompany the expedition, and
when he cheerfully accepted, the four embarked in the same ship. They
set sail and the flotilla made for Hsiakʻou.
About sixty li from “Three River Mouths” the fleet anchored near the
shore and Chou Yü built a stockade on the bank near the middle of their
line with the West Hills as a support. Other camps were made near his.
Kʻung-ming, however, took up his quarters in a small ship.
When the camp dispositions were complete Chou Yü sent to request
Kʻung-ming to come and give him advice. He came, and after the
salutations were ended Chou Yü said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao thought he had fewer
troops than Yüan Shao, nevertheless overcame him because he followed
the advice given by Hsü Yu to destroy his supplies. Now Tsʻao Tsʻao has
over eighty legions while I have but five or six. In order to defeat
him his supplies must be destroyed first. I have found out that the
main depôt is at Chütʻieh Hill. As you have lived hereabout you know
the topography quite well and I wish to entrust the task of cutting off
supplies to you and your colleagues Kuan Yü, Chang Fei and Chao Yün. I
will assist you with a company. I wish you to start without delay. In
this way we can best serve our masters.”
Kʻung-ming saw through this at once. He thought to himself, “This is a
ruse in revenge for my not having been persuaded to enter the service
of Wu. If I refuse I shall be laughed at. So I will do as he asks and
trust to find some means of deliverance from the evil he intends.”
Therefore he accepted the task with alacrity, much to the joy of Chou
Yü. After the leader of the expedition had taken his leave, Lu Su went
to Chou Yü secretly and said, “Why have you set him this task?”
“Because I wish to compass his death without appearing ridiculous. I
hope to get him killed by the hand of Tsʻao Tsʻao and prevent his doing
further mischief.”
Lu Su left and went to see Kʻung-ming to find out if he suspected
anything. He found him looking quite unconcerned and getting the
soldiers ready to march. Unable to hold his tongue, however, he put a
tentative question, “Do you think this expedition will succeed?”
Kʻung-ming laughingly replied, “I am an adept at all sorts of fighting,
with foot, horse and chariots on land and on the water. There is no
doubt of my success. I am not like you and your friend, only capable in
one direction.”
“What do you mean by our being capable only in one direction?” said Lu
Su.
“I have heard the street boys in your country singing:—
To lay an ambush, hold a pass,
Lu Su is the man to choose;
But when you on the water fight,
Chou Yü is the man to use.
You are only fit for ambushes and guarding passes on land, just as he
only understands fighting on the water.”
Lu Su carried this story to Chou Yü, which only incensed him the more
against Kʻung-ming.
“How dare he flout me, saying I cannot fight a land battle? I will not
let him go. I will go myself with a legion and cut off Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
supplies.”
Lu Su went back and told this to Kʻung-ming, who smiled and said, “He
only wanted me to go on this expedition because he wanted Tsʻao Tsʻao
to kill me. And so I teased him a little. But he cannot bear that. Now
is the critical moment and the Marquis Wu and my master must act in
harmony if we are to succeed. If each one tries to harm the other the
whole scheme will fail. Tsʻao Tsʻao is no fool and it is a usual thing
with him to attack an enemy through his supplies. Do you not think he
has already taken double precautions against any surprise of his own
depôt? If Chou Yü tries he will be taken prisoner. What he ought to do
is to bring about a decisive naval battle, whereby to dishearten the
northern men, and then find some other means to defeat them utterly. If
you could persuade him what was his best course it would be well.”
Without loss of time, Lu Su went to Chou Yü to relate what Kʻung-ming
had told him. Chou shook his head when he heard it and beat the ground
with his foot, saying, “This man is far too clever; he beats me fifty
to one. He will have to be done away with or my country will suffer.”
Said Lu Su, “This is the moment to use men; you must think of the
country’s good first of all. When once Tsʻao Tsʻao is defeated you may
do as you please.”
Chou had to confess the reasonableness of this.
It is now time to speak of Liu Pei. He had ordered his nephew Liu Chʻi
to hold Chianghsia while he and the bulk of the army returned to
Hsiakʻou. Thence he saw the opposite bank thick with banners and flags
and glittering with every kind of arms and armour. He knew then that
the expedition from Wu had started. So he moved all his force from
Chianghsia to Fankʻou.
Then he assembled his officers and said to them, “Kʻung-ming went to Wu
some time ago and no word has come from him, so I know not how the
business stands. Will any one volunteer to go to find out?”
“I will go,” said Mi Chu.
So presents were prepared and gifts of flesh and wine, and Mi Chu
prepared to journey to Wu on the pretext of offering a congratulatory
feast to the army. Mi Chu set out in a small ship and went down river.
He stopped opposite the camp and the soldiers reported his arrival to
Chou Yü, who ordered him to be brought in. Mi Chu bowed low and
expressed the respect which Liu Pei had for Chou Yü and offered the
various gifts. The ceremony of reception was followed by a banquet in
honour of Mi Chu. Mi said, “Kʻung-ming has been here a long time and I
desire that he may return with me.”
“Kʻung-ming is making plans with me and I could not let him return,”
said Chou Yü. “I also wish to see Liu Pei that we may make joint plans,
but when one is at the head of a great army one cannot get away even
for a moment. If your master would only come here it would be very
gracious on his part.”
Mi Chu agreed that Liu Pei might come and presently took his leave.
Then Lu Su asked Chou Yü the reason for his desiring Liu Pei to come.
“Liu Yüan-tê is the one bold and dangerous man and must be removed. I
am taking this opportunity to persuade him to come, and when he shall
be slain a great danger will cease to threaten our country.”
Lu Su tried to dissuade him from this scheme but Chou Yü was deaf to
all he said. He even issued orders for half a hundred executioners to
be ready to hide within the lining of his tent if Liu Pei decided to
come and arranged to drop a cup as a signal for them to fall on and
slay him.
Mi Chu returned and told Liu Pei that his presence was desired by Chou
Yü. Suspecting nothing Liu Pei at once ordered them to prepare a fast
vessel to take him without loss of time. Kuan Yü was opposed to his
going saying that Chou Yü was artful and treacherous and there was no
news from Kʻung-ming.
Yüan-tê replied, “I have joined my forces to theirs in this attack on
our common enemy. If Chou Yü wishes to see me and I refuse to go, it is
a betrayal. Nothing will succeed if both sides nourish suspicions.”
“If you have finally decided to go, then will I go with you,” said Kuan
Yü.
“And I also,” cried Chang Fei.
But Yüan-tê said, “Let Kuan Yü come with me while you and Chao Yün keep
guard. Chien Yung will hold Ohsien. I shall not be away long.”
So leaving these orders, Liu Pei embarked with his brother on a small
boat. The escort did not exceed a score. The light craft travelled very
quickly down the river. Liu Pei rejoiced greatly at the sight of the
war vessels in tiers by the bank, the soldiers in their breastplates
and all the pomp and panoply of war. All was in excellent order.
As soon as he arrived the guards ran to tell Chou Yü.
“How many ships has he?” asked Chou.
They replied, “Only one; and the escort is only about a score.”
“His fate is sealed,” said Chou Yü.
He sent for the executioners and placed them in hiding between the
outer and inner tents, and when all was arranged for the assassination
he contemplated, he went out to receive his visitor. Liu Pei came with
his brother and escort into the midst of the army to the Commander’s
tent. After the salutations Chou Yü wished Liu Pei to take the upper
seat, but he declined saying, “General, you are famous through all the
country, while I am a nobody. Do not overwhelm me with too great
deference.”
So they took the positions of simple friends and refreshments were
brought in.
Now by chance Kʻung-ming came on shore and heard that his master had
arrived and was with the Commander-in-Chief. The news gave him a great
shock and he said to himself, “What is to be done now?” He made his way
to the reception tent and stole a look therein. He saw murder written
on Chou Yü’s countenance and noted the assassins hidden within the
walls of the tent. Then he got a look at Liu Pei, who was laughing and
talking quite unconcernedly. But when he noticed the redoubtable figure
of Kuan Yü near his master’s side he became quite calm and contented.
“No danger,” said he, and he went away to the river bank to await the
end of the interview.
Meanwhile the banquet of welcome proceeded. After the wine had gone
around several times Chou Yü picked up a cup to give the signal agreed
upon. But at that moment he saw so fierce a look upon the face of the
trusty henchman who stood, sword in hand, behind his guest, that he
hesitated and hastily asked who he was.
“That is my brother, Kuan Yün-chʻang,” replied Yüan-tê.
Chou Yü, quite startled, said, “Is he the slayer of Yen Liang and Wên
Chʻou?”
“Exactly; he it is,” replied Liu Pei.
The sweat of fear broke out all over Chou Yü’s body and trickled down
his back. Then he poured out a cup of wine and presented it to Kuan Yü.
Just then Lu Su came in and Yüan-tê said to him, “Where is Kʻung-ming?
I would trouble you to ask him to come.”
“Wait till we have defeated Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said Chou Yü, “then you shall
see him.”
Yüan-tê dared not repeat his request, but Kuan Yü gave him a meaning
look which Yüan-tê understood and rose, saying, “I would take leave
now; I will come again to congratulate you when the enemy has been
defeated and your success shall be complete.”
Chou Yü did not press him to remain, but escorted him to the great
gates of the camp, and Yüan-tê left. When he reached the river bank
they found Kʻung-ming awaiting them in their boat.
Yüan-tê was exceedingly pleased but Kʻung-ming said, “Sir, do you know
in how great danger you were to-day?”
Suddenly sobered, Yüan-tê said, “No; I did not think of danger.”
“If Yün-chʻang had not been there you would have been killed,” said
Kʻung-ming.
Yüan-tê, after a moment’s reflection, saw that it was true. He begged
Kʻung-ming to return with him to Fanchʻêng, but he refused. “I am quite
safe,” said he. “Although I am living in the tiger’s mouth, I am as
steady as Mount Tʻai. Now, my lord, return and prepare your ships and
men. On the twentieth day of the eleventh month send Chao Yün with a
small ship to the south bank to wait for me. Be sure there is no
miscarriage.”
“What are your intentions?” said Yüan-tê.
“When the south-east wind begins I shall have to return.”
Yüan-tê would have questioned him further, but Kʻung-ming pressed him
to go. So the boat started up river again while Kʻung-ming returned to
his temporary lodging.
The boat had not proceeded far when appeared a small fleet sweeping
down with the current, and in the prow of the leading vessel stood a
tall figure armed with a spear. It was Chang Fei, who had come down
fearing lest his brother might be in some difficulty from which the
strong arm of Kuan Yü might even be insufficient to rescue him.
Of the return of the three brothers nothing will be said. After Chou
Yü, having escorted Yüan-tê to the gate of his camp, had returned to
his quarters Lu Su soon came to see him.
“When you had cajoled Yüan-tê into coming, why did you not carry out
your plan?” asked Lu.
“Because of that Kuan Yü; he is a very tiger and he never left his
brother for a moment. If anything had been attempted he would certainly
have had my life.”
Lu Su knew that he spoke the truth. Then suddenly they announced a
messenger with a letter from Tsʻao Tsʻao. Chou Yü ordered them to bring
him in and took the letter. But when he saw the superscription “The
First Minister of Han to Commander-in-Chief Chou,” he fell into a
frenzy of rage, tore the letter to fragments and threw them on the
ground.
“To death with this fellow!” cried he.
“When two countries are at war their emissaries are not slain,” said
Lu.
“Messengers are slain to show one’s dignity and independence,” replied
Chou.
The unhappy bearer of the letter was decapitated and his head sent back
to Tsʻao Tsʻao by the hands of his escort.
Chou Yü then decided to move. The van under Kan Ning was to advance,
supported by two wings. Chou Yü would lead the remainder in support.
The next morning the early meal was eaten in the fourth watch and the
ships got under weigh in the fifth with a great beating of drums.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was greatly angered when he heard that his letter had been
torn to fragments and he resolved to attack forthwith. His advance was
led by Tsʻai Mao and others of the Chingchou officers who had joined
his side. He went as hastily as possible to the meeting of the three
rivers and saw the ships of Wu sailing up. In the bow of the foremost
ship stood a fine figure of a warrior who cried, “I am Kan Ning; I
challenge any one to combat.”
Tsʻai Mao sent his young brother to accept the challenge, but as his
ship approached Kan Ning shot an arrow and Tsʻai Hsün fell. Kan Ning
pressed forward, his crossbowmen keeping up a heavy discharge which
Tsʻao’s men could not stand. The wings also joined in.
Tsʻao’s men, being mostly from the dry plains of the north, did not
know how to fight effectually on water and the southern ships had the
battle all their own way. The slaughter was very great. However, after
a contest lasting till afternoon Chou Yü thought it more prudent, in
view of the superior numbers of his enemy, not to risk further the
advantage he had gained. So he beat the gongs as the signal to cease
battle and recall the ships.
Tsʻao was worsted, but his ships returned to the bank, where a camp was
made and order was restored. Tsʻao sent for his defeated leaders and
reproached them saying, “You did not do your best. You let an inferior
force overcome you.”
Tsʻai Mao defended himself saying, “The Chingchou marines have not been
exercised for a long time and the others have never been trained for
naval warfare at all. A naval camp must be instituted, the northern men
trained and the Chingchou men drilled. When they have been made
efficient they will win victories.”
“If you know what should be done, why have you not done it?” said Tsʻao
Tsʻao. “What is the use of telling me this? Get to work.”
So Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün organised a naval camp on the river bank.
They established twenty-four “Water Gates,” with the large ships
outside as a sort of rampart, and under their protection the smaller
ships went to and fro freely. At night when the lanterns and torches
were lit the very sky was illuminated and the water shone red with the
glare. On land the smoke of the camp fires could be traced for three
hundred li without a break.
Chou Yü returned to camp and feasted his victorious fighting men. A
messenger bore the joyful tidings of victory to his master in Wu. When
night fell Chou Yü went up to the summit of one of the hills and looked
out over the long line of bright lights stretching toward the west,
showing the extent of the enemy’s camp. He said nothing, but a great
fear came in upon him.
Next day Chou Yü decided that he would go in person to find out the
strength of the enemy. So he bade them prepare a small squadron which
he manned with strong, hardy men armed with powerful bows and stiff
crossbows. He also placed musicians on each ship. They set sail and
started up the stream. When they got opposite Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp the
heavy stones that served as anchors were dropped and the drums and
trumpets began while Chou Yü scanned the enemy’s naval camp. What he
saw gave him no satisfaction for everything was most admirable. He
enquired whether any one knew the names of the admirals and they told
him Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün.
“They have lived in our country a long time,” said he, “and are
thoroughly experienced in naval warfare. I must find some means of
removing them before I can effect anything.”
Meanwhile on shore the sentinels had told Tsʻao that the enemy craft
were spying upon them and he ordered out some ships to capture the
spies. Chou Yü saw the commotion on shore and hastily gave the order to
unmoor and sail down stream. The squadron at once got under way and
scattered; to and fro went the oars and each ship seemed to fly. Before
Tsʻao’s ships could get out after them they were all far away. Tsʻao’s
ships took up the chase but soon saw pursuit was useless. They returned
and reported their failure.
Again Tsʻao found fault with his officers and said, “The other day you
lost a battle and the soldiers were greatly dispirited. Now the enemy
have spied out our camp. What can be done?”
In eager response to his question one stepped out, saying, “When I was
a youth Chou Yü and I were fellow students and pledged friends. My
three-inch tongue is still good and I will go over and persuade him to
surrender.”
Tsʻao, rejoiced to find so speedy a solution, looked at the speaker. It
was Chiang Kan of Kiukiang, one of the secretary staff in the camp.
“Are you a good friend of Chou Yü’s?” said Tsʻao.
“Rest contented, O Minister,” replied Kan. “If I only get on the other
side of the river I shall succeed.”
“What preparations are necessary?” asked Tsʻao.
“Just a youth as my servant and a couple of rowers; nothing else.”
Tsʻao offered him wine, wished him success and sent him on his way.
Clad in a simple white robe and seated in his little craft, the
messenger reached Chou Yü’s camp and bade the men say that an old
friend Chiang Kan wished to see him. The commander was in his tent at a
council when the message came, and he laughed as he said to those about
him, “A guest is coming.” Then he whispered certain instructions in the
ear of each one of them and they went out to await his arrival.
Chou Yü received his friend in full ceremonial garb. A crowd of
officers in rich silken robes were about him. The guest appeared, his
sole attendant a lad dressed in a simple blue gown. He bore himself
proudly as he advanced and Chou Yü made a low obeisance.
“You have been well I hope since last we met,” said Chiang Kan.
“You have wandered far and suffered much in this task of emissary in
the Tsʻao cause,” said Chou.
“I have not seen you for a very long time,” said the envoy much taken
aback, “and I came to visit you for the sake of old times. Why do you
call me an emissary for the Tsʻao cause?”
“Though I am not so clever a musician as Shih Kuang, yet I can
comprehend the thought behind the music,” replied Chou.
“As you choose to treat your old friend like this I think I will take
my leave,” said Chiang.
Chou Yü laughed again and taking Kan by the arm, said, “Well, I feared
you might be coming on his behalf to try to persuade me. But if this is
not your intention, you need not go away so hastily.”
So they two entered the tent; and when they had exchanged salutes and
were seated as friends, Chou Yü bade them call his officers that he
might introduce them. They soon appeared civil and military officials,
all dressed in their best. The military officers were clad in
glittering silver armour and the staff looked very imposing as they
stood ranged in two lines.
The visitor was introduced to them all. Presently a banquet was spread,
and while they feasted the musicians played songs of victory and the
wine circulated merrily. Under its mellowing influence Chou Yü’s
reserve seemed to thaw and he said, “He is an old fellow student of
mine and we are pledged friends. Though he has arrived here from the
north he is no artful pleader so you need not be afraid of him.”
Then he took off the sword which he wore as Commander-in-Chief and
handed it to Tʻaishih Tzŭ, saying, “You take this and wear it for the
day as master of the feast. This day we meet only as friends and if any
one shall begin a discussion of the questions at issue between Tsʻao
Tsʻao and our country just slay him.”
Tʻaishih Tzŭ took the sword and seated himself in his place. The guest
was not a little overcome, but he said no word.
Chou Yü said, “Since I assumed command I have tasted no drop of wine,
but to-day as an old friend is present and there is no reason to fear
him, I am going to drink freely.”
So saying he quaffed a huge goblet and laughed loudly.
The rhinoceros cups went swiftly round from guest to guest till all
were half drunk. Then Chou Yü, laying hold of the guest’s hand, led him
outside the tent. The guards who stood around all braced themselves up
and seized their weapons.
“Do you not think my soldiers a fine lot of fellows?” said Chou.
“Strong as bears and bold as tigers,” replied Chiang Kan.
Then Chou Yü led him to the rear of the tent whence he saw the grain
and forage piled up in mountainous heaps.
“Do you not think I have a fairly good store of grain and forage?”
“It is quite true as I have heard that your men are brave and your
supplies ample.”
Chou Yü pretended to be quite intoxicated and went on, “When you and I
were students together, we never looked forward to a day like this did
we?”
“For a genius like you it is nothing extraordinary,” said the guest.
Chou Yü again seized his hand and they sat down. “When a really great
man has found his proper lord then, in his service, he relies upon the
right feeling between prince and minister outside, and at home he is
firm in the kindly feeling of relatives. His words must be obeyed, his
plans must be followed out. He is independent of good or evil fortune.
He takes as his models such men as Su Chʻin, Chang I, Lu Chia and Li
Shêng so that they seem to live again. His words pour forth like a
rushing river, his tongue is as a sharp sword. Is it possible to move
such as I am?”
He burst into a loud laugh as he finished and Chiang Kan’s face had
become clay-coloured. Chou Yü then led his guest back into the tent and
again they fell to drinking. Presently he pointed to the others at
table and said, “These are all the best and bravest of the land of Wu;
one might call this ‘The Meeting of Heroes’.”
They drank on till daylight failed and continued after lamps had been
lit. Chou Yü even gave an exhibition of sword play and sang this song:—
When a man is in the world, O,
He ought to do his best.
And when he’s done his best, O,
He ought to have his rest.
And when I have my rest, O,
I’ll quaff my wine with zest.
And when I’m drunk as drunk can be,
I’ll sing the madman’s litany.
A burst of applause greeted the song. By this time it was getting late
and the guest begged to be excused. “The wine is too much for me,” said
he. His host bade them clear the table and as all the others left Chou
Yü said, “It is many a day since I shared a couch with my friend, but
we will do so to-night.”
Putting on the appearance of irresponsible intoxication he led Chiang
Kan into the tent and they went to bed. Chou Yü simply fell, all
dressed as he was, and lay there emitting uncouth grunts and groans, so
that to the guest sleep was impossible. He lay and listened to the
various camp noises without and his host’s thund’rous snores within.
About the second watch he rose and looked at his friend by the dim
light of the small lamp. He also saw on the table a heap of papers and
looking at them furtively, saw they were letters. Among them he saw one
marked as coming from Chang Yün and Tsʻai Mao. He read it and this is
what it said:—“We surrendered to Tsʻao Tsʻao, not for the sake of pay
but under stress of circumstances. Now we have fooled these northern
soldiers into admitting us to their camp but, as soon as occasion
offers, we mean to have the rebel’s head to offer as a sacrifice to
your banner. From time to time there will be reports as occasions serve
but you may trust us. This is our humble reply to your letter.”
“Those two were connected with Wu in the beginning,” thought Chiang
Kan, so he secreted the letter in his dress and began to examine the
others. But at that moment Chou Yü turned over and so Kan hastily blew
out the light and went to his couch.
Chou Yü was muttering as he lay there and his guest, carefully
listening, made out, “Friend, I am going to let you see Tsʻao’s head in
a day or two.”
Chiang Kan hastily made some reply to lead on his host to say more.
Then came, “Wait a few days; you will see Tsʻao’s head. The old
wretch!”
Chiang tried to question him as to what he meant, but Chou Yü was fast
asleep and seemed to hear nothing. Chiang lay there on his couch wide
awake till the fourth watch was beating. Then some one came in, saying,
“General, are you awake?” At that moment as if suddenly awakened from
the deepest slumber, Chou Yü started up and said, “Who is this on the
couch?”
The voice replied, “Do you not remember, General? You asked your old
friend to stay the night with you; it is he, of course.”
“I drank too much last night,” said Chou Yü in a regretful tone, “and I
forgot. I seldom indulge to excess and am not used to it. Perhaps I
said many things I ought not.”
The voice went on, “A man has arrived from the north.”
“Speak lower,” said Chou Yü, and turning toward the sleeper he called
him by name. But Chiang Kan affected to be sound asleep and made no
sign.
Chou Yü crept out of the tent, while Kan listened with all his ears. He
heard the man say, “Chang and Tsʻai, the two commanders, have come.”
But listening as he did with straining ears he could not make out what
followed. Soon after Chou Yü re-entered and again called out his
companion’s name. But no reply came, for Chiang Kan was pretending to
be in the deepest slumber and to hear nothing. Then Chou Yü undressed
and went to bed.
As Chiang Kan lay awake he remembered that Chou Yü was known to be
meticulously careful in affairs and if in the morning he found that a
letter had disappeared he would certainly slay the offender. So he lay
there till near daylight and then called out to his host. Getting no
reply he rose, dressed and stole out of the tent. Then he called his
servant and made for the camp gate.
“Whither are you going, Sir?” said the watchmen at the gate.
“I fear I am in the way here,” replied Kan, “and so I have taken leave
of the General for a time. So do not stop me.”
He found his way to the river bank and re-embarked. Then, with flying
oars, he hastened back to Tsʻao’s camp. When he arrived Tsʻao asked at
once how he had sped and he had to acknowledge failure.
“Chou Yü is very clever and perfectly high-minded,” said he, “nothing
that I could say moved him in the least.”
“Your failure makes me look ridiculous,” said Tsʻao.
“Well, if I did not win over Chou Yü, I found out something for you.
Send away these people and I will tell you,” said Chiang.
The servants were dismissed and then Chiang Kan produced the letter he
had stolen from Chou Yü’s tent. He gave it to Tsʻao. Tsʻao was very
angry and sent for the two at once. As soon as they appeared he said,
“I want you two to attack.”
Tsʻai Mao replied, “But the men are not yet sufficiently trained.”
“The men will be well enough trained when you have sent my head to Chou
Yü, eh?”
Both officers were dumb-founded, having not the least idea what this
meant. They remained silent for they had nothing to say. Tsʻao bade the
executioners lead them away to instant death. In a short time their
heads were produced.
By this time Tsʻao had thought over the matter and it dawned upon him
that he had been tricked. A poem says:—
No one could stand against Tsʻao Tsʻao,
Of sin he had full share,
But Chou Yü was more treacherous,
And caught him in a snare.
Two officers to save their lives,
Betrayed a former lord,
Soon after, as was very meet,
Both fell beneath the sword.
The death of these two naval commanders caused much consternation in
the camp and all their colleagues asked the reason for their sudden
execution. Though Tsʻao knew he had been victimised he would not
acknowledge it. So he said the two men had been remiss and so had been
put to death. The others were aghast, but nothing could be done. Two
other officers, Mao and Yü by name, were put in command of the naval
camp.
Spies took the news to Chou Yü, who was delighted at the success of his
ruse.
“Those two were my only source of anxiety,” said he. “Now they are
gone, I am quite happy.”
Lu Su said, “General, if you can continue like this you need not fear
Tsʻao.”
“I do not think any of them saw my game,” said Chou Yü, “except Chuko
Liang. He beats me, and I do not think this ruse was hidden from him.
You go and sound him. See if he knew.”
Chou’s treacherous plot succeeded well,
Dissension sown, his rivals fell.
Drunk with success was he, but sought
To know what cynic Kʻung-ming thought.
What passed between Lu Su and Kʻung-ming will next be related.
CHAPTER XLVI.
KʻUNG-MING “BORROWS” SOME ARROWS:
HUANG KAI ACCEPTS A PUNISHMENT.
The gossip Lu Su departed on his mission and found Kʻung-ming seated in
his little craft.
“There has been so much to do that I have not been able to come to
listen to your instruction,” said Lu Su.
“That is truly so,” said Kʻung-ming, “and I have not yet congratulated
the Commander-in-Chief.”
“What have you wished to congratulate him upon?”
“Why Sir, the matter upon which he sent you to find out whether I knew
about it or not. Indeed I can congratulate him on that.”
Lu Su turned pale and gasped. “But how did you know, Master?”
“The ruse succeeded well thus played off on Chiang Kan. Tsʻao has been
taken in this once, but he will soon rise to it. Only he will not
confess his mistake. However, the two men are gone and your country is
freed from a grave anxiety. Do you not think that a matter for
congratulation? I hear Mao Chieh and Yü Chin are the new admirals, and
in their hands lie both good and evil for the fate of the fleet.”
Lu Su was quite dumbfounded; he stayed a little time longer passing the
time in making empty remarks, and then took his leave. As he was going
away Kʻung-ming cautioned him against letting Chou Yü know that his new
rival had guessed his ruse. “I know he is jealous and he only seeks
some chance to do me harm.”
Lu Su promised; nevertheless he went straight to his chief and related
the whole thing just as it happened.
“Really he must be got rid of,” said Chou Yü, “I have quite decided to
put the man out of the way.”
“If you slay him, will not Tsʻao Tsʻao laugh at you?”
“Oh, no; I will find a legitimate way of getting rid of him so that he
shall go to his death without resentment.”
“But how can you find a legitimate way of assassinating him?”
“Do not ask too much; you will see presently.”
Soon after all the officers were summoned to the main tent and
Kʻung-ming’s presence was desired. He went contentedly enough. When all
were seated Chou Yü suddenly addressed Kʻung-ming, saying, “I am going
to fight a battle with the enemy soon on the water: what weapons are
the best?”
“On the great river arrows are the best,” said Kʻung-ming.
“Your opinion and mine agree. But at the moment we are short of them. I
wish you would undertake to supply about a hundred thousand for the
naval fight. As it is for the public service you will not decline, I
hope!”
“Whatever task the Commander-in-Chief lays upon me I must certainly try
to perform,” replied Kʻung-ming. “May I enquire by what date you
require the hundred thousand arrows?”
“Could you have them ready in ten days?”
“The enemy will be here very soon; ten days will be too late,” said
Kʻung-ming.
“In how many days do you estimate the arrows can be ready?”
“Let me have three days; then you may send for your hundred thousand.”
“No joking, remember,” said the General. “There is no joking in war
time.”
“Dare I joke with the Commander-in-Chief? Give me a formal military
order and if I have not completed the task in three days I will take my
punishment.”
Chou Yü, secretly delighted, sent for the secretaries and prepared the
commission then and there. Then he drank to the success of the
undertaking and said, “I shall have to congratulate you most heartily
when this is accomplished.”
“This day is not to count,” said Kʻung-ming. “On the third from
to-morrow morning send five hundred small boats to the river side to
convey the arrows.”
They drank a few more cups together and then Kʻung-ming took his leave.
After he had gone, Lu Su said, “Do you not think there is some deceit
about this?”
“I think he has signed his own death warrant,” said Chou. “Without
being pressed in the least he asked for a formal order in the face of
the whole assembly. If he grew a pair of wings he could not escape.
Only I will just order the workmen to delay him as much as they can,
and not supply him with materials, so that he is sure to fail. And
then, when the certain penalty is incurred, who can criticise? You can
go and enquire about it all and keep me informed.”
So off went Lu Su to seek Kʻung-ming, who at once reproached him with
having blabbed about the former business, “He wants to hurt me, as you
know, and I did not think you could not keep my secret. And now there
is what you saw to-day and how do you think I can get a hundred
thousand arrows made in three days? You will simply have to rescue me.”
“You brought the misfortune on yourself and how can I rescue you?” said
Lu.
“I look to you for the loan of a score of vessels, manned each by
thirty men. I want blue cotton screens and bundles of straw lashed to
the sides of the boats. I have good use for them. On the third day I
have undertaken to deliver the fixed number of arrows. But on no
account must you let Chou Yü know, or my scheme will be wrecked.”
Lu Su consented and this time he kept his word. He went to report to
his chief as usual, but he said nothing about the boats. He only said
Kʻung-ming was not using bamboo or feathers or glue or varnish, but had
some other way of getting arrows.
“Let us await the three days’ limit,” said Chou Yü, puzzled though
confident.
On his side Lu Su quietly prepared a score of light swift boats, each
with its crew and the blue screens and bundles of grass complete and,
when these were ready, he placed them at Kʻung-ming’s disposal. His
friend did nothing on the first day, nor on the second. On the third
day at the middle of the fourth watch, Kʻung-ming sent a private
message asking Lu Su to come to his boat.
“Why have you sent for me, Sir?” asked Lu Su.
“I want you to go with me to get those arrows.”
“Whither are you going?”
“Do not ask: you will see.”
Then the twenty boats were fastened together by long ropes and moved
over to the north bank. The night proved very foggy and the mist was
very dense along the river, so that one man could scarcely see another.
In spite of the fog Kʻung-ming urged the boats forward.
There is a poem on these river fogs:—
Mighty indeed is the Yangtse River!
Rising far in the west, in the mountains of Omei and Min,
Ploughing its way through Wu, east flowing, resistless,
Swelled by its nine tributary streams, rolling down from the far
north,
Aided and helped by a hundred rivulets swirling and foaming,
Ocean receives it at last welcoming, joyful, its waters.
Therein abide sea-nymphs and water gods,
Enormous whales a thousand fathoms long,
Nine-headed monstrous beasts yclept tʻien-wu,
Demons and uncouth creatures wondrous strange.
In faith it is the home and safe retreat
Of devils black, and sprites, and wondrous growths,
And eke the battle ground of valiant men.
At times occur strange strife of elements,
When darkness strives on light’s domain t’encroach,
Whereat arises in the vaulted dome of blue
White wreaths of fog that toward the centre roll.
Then darkness falls, too dense for any torch
T’illumine; only clanging sounds can pass.
The fog at first appears, a vaprous wreath
Scarce visible. But thickening fast, it veils
The southern hills, the painted leopard’s home.
And spreads afar, until the northern sea
Leviathans are mazed and lose their course.
And denser yet it touches on the sky,
And spreads a heavy mantle o’er the earth.
Then, wide as is the high pitched arch of heaven,
Therein appears no single rift of blue.
Now mighty whales lead up their wives to sport
Upon the waves, the sinuous dragons dive
Deep down and, breathing, swell the heaving sea,
The earth is moist as with the early rains,
And spring’s creative energy is chilled.
Both far and wide and high the damp fog spreads,
Great cities on the eastern bank are hid,
Wide ports and mountains in the south are lost,
Whole fleets of battle ships, a thousand keels,
Hide in the misty depths; frail fishing boats
High riding on a wave are seen—and lost.
The gloom increases and the domed sky
Grows dark and darker as the sun’s light fails.
The daylight dies, dim twilight’s reign begins,
The ruddy hills dissolve and lose their hue.
The skill of matchless Yü would fail to sound
The depth and height; and Li Lou’s eye, though keen,
Could never pierce this gloom. Now is the time,
O sea and river gods, to use your powers.
The gliding fish and creeping water folk
Are lost; there is no track for bird or beast.
Fair Pʻênglai Isles are hidden from our sight,
The lofty gates of heaven have disappeared.
Nature is blurred and indistinct, as when
A driving rain storm hurries o’er the earth.
And then, perhaps, within the heavy haze
A noisome serpent vents his venom foul
And plagues descend, or impish demons work
Their wicked wills.
Ills fall on men but do not stay,
Heaven’s cleansing breath sweeps them away,
But while they last the mean ones cry,
The nobler suffer silently.
The greatest turmoil is a sign
Of quick return to state benign.
The little fleet reached Tsʻao Tsʻao’s naval camp about the fifth watch
and orders were given to form line lying prows west, and then to beat
the drums and shout.
“But what shall we do if they attack us?” exclaimed Lu Su.
Kʻung-ming replied with a smile, “I think the fleet will not venture
out in this fog; go on with your wine and let us be happy. We will go
back when the fog lifts.”
As soon as the shouting from the river was heard by those in the camp
the two commanders ran off to report to their chief, who said, “Coming
up in a fog like this means that they have prepared an ambush for us.
Do not go out, but get all the force together and shoot at them.”
He also sent orders to the soldier camps to despatch six companies of
archers and crossbowmen to aid the marines.
The naval forces were then lined up on the bank to prevent a landing.
Presently the soldiers arrived and a legion and more men were shooting
down into the river, where the arrows fell like rain. By and bye
Kʻung-ming ordered the boats to turn round so that their prows pointed
east and to go closer in so that many arrows might hit them.
The drums were kept beating till the sun was high and the fog began to
disperse, when the boats got under way and sailed down stream. The
whole twenty boats were bristling with arrows on both sides. As they
left, all the crews derisively shouted, “We thank you, Sir Minister,
for the arrows.”
They told Tsʻao Tsʻao, but by the time he came the light boats helped
by the swift current were a long way down river and pursuit was
impossible. Tsʻao Tsʻao saw that he had been duped and was very sorry,
but there was no help for it.
On the way down Kʻung-ming said to his companion, “Every boat must have
five or six thousand arrows and so, without the expenditure of an ounce
of energy, we must have more than ten myriad arrows, which to-morrow
can be shot back again at Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army to his great
inconvenience.”
“You are really superhuman,” said Lu Su. “But how did you know there
would be a thick fog to-day?”
“One cannot be a leader without knowing the workings of heaven and the
ways of earth. One must understand the secret gates and the
interdependence of the elements, the mysteries of tactics and the value
of forces. It is but an ordinary talent. I calculated three days ago
that there would be a fog to-day and so I set the limit at three days.
Chou Yü would give me ten days, but neither artificers nor material, so
that he might find occasion to put me to death as I knew, but my fate
lies with the Supreme and how could Chou Yü harm me?”
Lu Su could not but agree. When the boats arrived half a company were
in readiness on the bank to carry away the arrows. Kʻung-ming bade them
go on board the boats, collect them and bear them to the tent of the
Commander-in-Chief. Lu Su went to report that the arrows had been
obtained and told Chou Yü by what means.
Chou Yü was amazed and sighed sadly, saying, “He is better than I; his
methods are more than human.”
Thick lies the fog on the river,
Nature is shrouded in white,
Distant and near are confounded,
Banks are no longer in sight.
Fast fly the pattering arrows,
Stick in the boats of the fleet.
Now can full tale be delivered,
Kʻung-ming is victor complete.
When, shortly after his return, Kʻung-ming went to the tent of the
Commander-in-Chief he was welcomed by Chou Yü, who came forward to
greet him, saying, “Your superhuman predictions compel one’s esteem.”
“There is nothing remarkable in that trifling trick,” replied he.
Chou Yü led him within and wine was brought.
Chou Yü said, “My lord sent yesterday to urge me to advance, but I have
no master plan ready; I wish you would assist me, Master.”
“But where should I, a man of poor, everyday ability, find such a plan
as you desire?”
“I saw the enemy’s naval camp just lately and it looked very complete
and well organised. It is not an ordinary place to attack. I have
thought of a plan, but I am not sure it will answer. I should be happy
if you would decide for me.”
“General,” replied Kʻung-ming, “do not say what your plan is but each
of us will write in the palm of his hand and see whether our opinions
agree.”
So pen and ink were sent for and Chou Yü first wrote on his own palm,
and then passed the pen to Kʻung-ming who also wrote. Then getting
close together on the same bench each showed his hand to the other, and
both burst out laughing, for both had written the same word, “Fire.”
“Since we are of the same opinion,” said Chou Yü, “there is no longer
any doubt. But our intentions must be kept secret.”
“Both of us are public servants and what would be the sense of telling
our plans? I do not think Tsʻao Tsʻao will be on his guard against this
although he has had two experiences. You may put your scheme into
force.”
They finished their wine and separated. Not an officer knew a word of
the general’s plans.
Now Tsʻao Tsʻao had expended a myriad arrows in vain and was much
irritated in consequence. He deeply desired revenge. Then Hsün Yu
proposed a ruse, saying, “The two strategists on the side of the enemy
are Chou Yü and Chuko Liang, two men most difficult to get the better
of. Let us send some one who shall pretend to surrender to them but
really be a spy on our behalf and a helper in our schemes. When we know
what is doing we can plan to meet it.”
“I had thought of that myself,” replied Tsʻao. “Whom do you think the
best man to send?”
“Tsʻai Mao has been put to death, but all the clan and family are in
the army and the two younger brothers are junior generals. You have
them most securely in your power and may send them to surrender. The
ruler of Wu will never suspect deceit there.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao decided to act on this plan and in the evening summoned the
two men to his tent, where he told them what he wished them to do. And
he promised them rich rewards if they succeeded. “But do not betray
me,” added he.
“Our families are in Chingchou and that place is yours,” replied they.
“Should we dare betray? You need have no doubts, Sir. You will soon see
the heads of both Chou Yü and Chuko Liang at your feet.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao gave them generous gifts and soon after the two men, each
with his half company, set sail with a fair wind for the opposite bank.
Now as Chou Yü was preparing for the attack the arrival of some ships
was announced. They bore the two younger brothers of Tsʻai Mao, who had
come as deserters. They were led in and, bowing before the general,
said, weeping, “Our innocent brother has been put to death and we
desire vengeance. So we have come to offer allegiance to you. We pray
you to appoint us to the vanguard.”
Chou Yü appeared very pleased and made them presents. Then he ordered
them to join Kan Ning in leading the van. They thanked him and regarded
their scheme as already a success.
But he gave Kan Ning secret orders, saying, “They have come without
their families and so I know their desertion is only pretence. They
have been sent as spies and I am going to meet their ruse with one of
my own. They shall have some information to send. You will treat them
well, but keep a careful guard over them. On the day our soldiers start
they shall be sacrificed to the flag. But be very careful that nothing
goes wrong.”
Kan Ning went away, and Lu Su came in to tell Chou Yü that every one
agreed in thinking the surrender of the two feigned and said they
should be rejected.
“But they wish to revenge the death of their brother,” said the
General. “Where is the pretence? If you are so suspicious you will
receive nobody at all.”
Lu Su left much piqued and went to see Kʻung-ming to whom he told the
story. Kʻung-ming only smiled.
“Why do you smile?” said Lu Su.
“I smile at your simplicity. The General is playing a game. Spies
cannot easily come and go so these two have been sent to feign
desertion that they may act as spies. The General is meeting one ruse
with another. He wants them to give information. Deceit is not to be
despised in war and his scheme is the correct one to employ.”
Then Lu Su understood. That night as Chou Yü was sitting in his tent,
Huang Kai came to see him privately. “You have surely some wise plan to
propose that you come at night like this.”
Huang Kai replied, “The enemy are more numerous than we and it is wrong
to delay. Why not burn them out?”
“Who suggested that to you?”
“I thought of it myself, nobody suggested it,” replied Huang.
“I just wanted something like this and that is why I kept those two
pretended deserters. I want them to give some news. The pity is that I
have no one to feign desertion to the other side and work my plan.”
“But I will carry out your plan,” said Huang Kai.
“But if you cannot show some injury you will not be believed,” said
Chou.
“The Sun family have been very generous to me and I would not resent
being crushed to death to repay them,” said Huang.
The General thanked him saying, “If you would not object to some bodily
suffering then our country would indeed be happy.”
“Kill me; I do not mind,” repeated Huang Kai as he took his leave.
Next day the drums called all the officers together to the General’s
tent and Kʻung-ming came with the others. Chou Yü said, “The enemy’s
camps extend about three hundred li so that the campaign will be a long
one. Each leader is to prepare supplies for three months.”
Scarcely had he spoken when Huang Kai started up, crying, “Say not
three months; be ready for thirty months, and even then it will not be
ended. If you can destroy them this month then all is well. If you
cannot, then it were better to take Chang Chao’s advice, throw down
your weapons, turn to the north and surrender.”
Chou Yü’s anger flared up and he flushed, crying, “Our lord’s orders
were to destroy Tsʻao Tsʻao and whoever mentioned the word surrender
should be put to death. Now, the very moment when the two armies are to
engage, you dare talk of surrender and damp the ardour of my men! If I
do not slay you, how can I support the others?”
He ordered the lictors to remove Huang Kai and execute him without
delay.
Kai then flamed up in turn, saying, “This is the third generation since
I went with General Pʻo-lo (Sun Chien) and we overran the south-east;
whence have you sprung up?”
This made Chou Yü perfectly furious and Huang Kai was ordered to
instant death. But Kan Ning interfered. Said he, “He is a veteran
officer of Wu; pray pardon him.”
“What are you prating about?” cried Chou Yü. “Dare you come between me
and my duty?” Turning to the lictors he ordered them to drive him forth
with blows.
The other officials fell on their knees entreating pity for Huang Kai.
“He is indeed most worthy of death, but it would be a loss to the army;
we pray you forgive him. Record his fault for the moment and after the
enemy shall have been defeated then put him to death.”
But Chou Yü was implacable. The officers pleaded with tears. At length
he seemed moved, saying, “Had you not interceded he should certainly
have suffered death. But now I will mitigate the punishment to a
beating. He shall not die.”
He turned to the lictors and bade them deal the culprit one hundred
blows. Again his colleagues prayed for remission but Chou Yü angrily
pushed over the table in front of him and roared to the officers to get
out of the way and let the sentence be executed.
So Huang Kai was stripped, thrown to the ground and fifty blows were
given. At this point the officers again prayed that he be let off. Chou
Yü sprang from his chair and pointing his finger at Huang Kai said, “If
you dare flout me again you shall have the other fifty. If you are
guilty of any disrespect, you shall be punished for both faults!”
With this he turned into the inner part of the tent, growling as he
went, while the officers helped their beaten colleague to his feet. He
was in a pitiable state. His back was cut in many places and the blood
was flowing in streams. They led him to his own quarters and on the way
he swooned several times. His case seemed most pitiable.
Lu Su went to see the suffering officer and then called on Kʻung-ming
in his boat. He related the story of the beating and said that though
the other officers had been cowed into silence he thought Kʻung-ming
might have interceded. “You are a guest and not under his orders. Why
did you stand by with your hands up your sleeves and say never a word?”
“You insult me,” said Kʻung-ming smiling.
“Why do you say that? I have never insulted you; never since the day we
came here together.”
“Do you not know that that terrible beating was but a ruse? How could I
try to dissuade him?”
Then Lu Su began to perceive and Kʻung-ming continued, “Tsʻao Tsʻao
would not be taken in unless there was some real bodily suffering. Now
he is going to send Huang Kai over as a deserter and he will see to it
that the two Tsʻao spies duly tell the tale. But when you see the
General you must not tell him that I saw through the ruse. You say that
I am very angry like the others.”
Lu Su went to see Chou Yü and asked him why he had so cruelly beaten a
proved and trusty officer.
“Do the officers resent it?” asked Chou.
“They are all upset about it.”
“And what does your friend think?”
“He also resents it in his heart, and thinks you have made a mistake.”
“Then I have deceived him for once,” said Chou gleefully.
“What mean you?” cried Lu.
“That beating that Huang Kai got is part of my ruse. I am sending him
to Tsʻao Tsʻao as a deserter and so I have supplied a reason for
desertion. Then I am going to use fire against the enemy.”
Lu Su kept silence but he recognised that Kʻung-ming was again right.
Meanwhile Huang Kai lay in his tent, whither all his brother officers
went to condole with him and enquire after his health. But Kai would
say never a word; he only lay sighing deeply from time to time.
But when the strategist Kʻan Tsê came, Kai told them to bring him to
the room where he lay. Then he bade the servants go away and Tsê said,
“Surely you must have some serious quarrel with the General.”
“I have none,” said Kai.
“Then this beating is just part of a ruse?”
“How did you guess?” said Kai.
“Because I watched the General and I guessed about nine tenths of the
truth.”
Huang said, “You see I have been very generously treated by the Sun
family, all three of them, and have no means of showing my gratitude
except by offering to help in this ruse. True I suffer, but I do not
regret that. Among all those I know in the army there is not one I am
intimate with except yourself. You are true and I can talk with you as
a friend.”
“I suppose you wish me to present your letter proposing to come over;
is that it?”
“Just that; will you do it?” said Huang.
Kʻan Tsê consented joyfully.
Even the warrior’s body is but a stake in the game,
The friend so ready to help him proves that their hearts are the
same.
Kʻan’s reply will be read in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XLVII.
KʻAN TSÊ PRESENTS THE TREACHEROUS LETTER:
PʻAN TʻUNG SUGGESTS CHAINING THE SHIPS TOGETHER.
This Kʻan Tsê was from Shanyin, a son of a humble family. He loved
books, but as he was too poor to buy he used to borrow. He had a
wonderfully tenacious memory, was very eloquent and no coward. Sun
Chʻüan had employed him among his advisers and he and Huang Kai were
excellent friends. The latter had thought of him to present the
treacherous letter as his gifts made him most suitable. Kʻan Tsê
accepted with enthusiasm, saying, “When you, my friend, have suffered
so much for our lord, could I spare myself? No; while a man lives he
must go on fulfilling his mission or he is no better than the herbs
that rot in the field.”
Huang Kai slipped off the couch and came over to salute him.
“However, this matter must speed,” continued Kʻan Tsê; “there is no
time to lose.”
“The letter is already written,” said Huang Kai.
Kʻan Tsê received it and left. That night he disguised himself as an
old fisherman and started in a small punt for the north shore, under
the cold, glittering light of the stars.
Soon he drew near the enemy’s camp and was captured by the patrol.
Without waiting for day they informed their General, who said at once,
“Is he not just a spy?”
“No,” said they, “he is alone, just an old fisherman; and he says he is
an adviser in the service of Wu named Kʻan Tsê, and he has come on
secret business.”
“Bring him,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao and he was led in. Tsʻao was seated in a
brilliantly lighted tent. He was leaning on a small table and as soon
as he saw the prisoner, he said, “You are an adviser of Wu; what then
are you doing here?”
“People say that you greedily welcome men of ability; I do not think
your question a very proper one. Friend Huang, you made a mistake,”
said Kʻan.
“You know I am fighting against Wu and you come here privately. Why
should I not question you?”
“Huang Kai is an old servant of Wu, one who has served three successive
rulers. Now he has been cruelly beaten, for no fault, before the face
of all the officers in Chou Yü’s camp. He is grievously angry about
this and wishes to desert to your side that he may be revenged. He
discussed it with me, and as we are inseparable, I have come to give
you his letter asking whether you would receive him.”
“Where is the letter?” said Tsʻao.
The missive was produced and presented. Tsʻao Tsʻao opened it and
read:—“I, Huang Kai, have been generously treated by the Sun family and
have served them single-heartedly. Lately they have been discussing an
attack with our forces on the enormous army of the central government.
As every one knows our few are no match for such a multitude and every
officer of Wu, wise or foolish, recognises that quite well. However,
Chou Yü who, after all, is but a youth and a shallow minded simpleton,
maintains that success is possible and rashly desires to smash stones
with an egg. Beside this he is arbitrary and tyrannical, punishing for
no crime, and leaving meritorious service unrewarded. I am an old
servant and for no reason have been shamed in the sight of men.
Wherefore I hate him in my heart.
“You, O Minister, treat men with sincerity and are ready to welcome
ability and so I, and those under my leadership, desire to enter your
service whereby to acquire reputation and remove the shameful stigma.
The commissariat, weapons and the supply ships will also come over to
you. In perfect sincerity I state these matters; I pray you not to
doubt me.”
Leaning there on the low table by his side, Tsʻao turned this letter
over and over and read it again and again. Then he smacked the table,
opened his eyes wide with anger saying, “Huang Kai is trying to play
the personal injury trick on me, is he? And you are in it as the
intermediary to present the letter. How dare you come to sport with
me?”
He ordered the lictors to thrust forth the messenger and take off his
head. Kan Tsê was hustled out, his face untroubled. On the contrary, he
laughed aloud. At this Tsʻao told them to bring him back and harshly
said to him, “What do you find to laugh at now that I have foiled you
and your ruse has failed?”
“I was not laughing at you; I was laughing at my friend’s simplicity.”
“What do you mean by his simplicity?”
“If you want to slay, slay; do not trouble me with a multitude of
questions.”
“I have read all the books on the art of war and I am well versed in
all ways of misleading the enemy. This ruse of yours might have
succeeded with many, but it will not do for me.”
“And so you say that the letter is a vicious trick?” said Kʻan.
“What I say is that your little slip has sent you to the death you
risked. If the thing was real and you were sincere, why does not the
letter name a time? What have you to say to that?”
Kʻan Tsê waited to the end and then laughed louder than ever, saying,
“I am so glad you are not frightened, but can still boast of your
knowledge of the books of war. Now you will not lead away your
soldiers. If you fight, Chou Yü will certainly capture you. But how sad
to think I die at the hand of such an ignorant fellow!”
“What mean you? I, ignorant?”
“You are ignorant of any strategy and a victim of unreason; is not that
sufficient?”
“Well then, tell me where is any fault in my navy.”
“You treat wise men too badly for me to talk to you. You can finish me
and let there be an end of it.”
“If you can speak with any show of reason, I will treat you
differently.”
“Do you not know that when one is going to desert one’s master and
become a renegade one cannot say exactly when the chance will occur? If
one binds one’s self to a fixed moment and the thing cannot be done
just then, the secret will be discovered. One must watch for an
opportunity and take it when it comes. Think; is it possible to know
exactly when? But you know nothing of common sense; all you know is how
to put good men to death. So you really are an ignorant fellow.”
At this Tsʻao changed his manner, got up and came over to the prisoner
bowing, “I did not see clearly; that is quite true. I offended you and
I hope you will forget it.”
“The fact is that Huang Kai and I are both inclined to desert to you;
we even yearn for it as a child desires its parents. Is it possible
that we should play you false?”
“If you two could render me so great a service, you shall certainly be
richly rewarded.”
“We do not desire rank or riches; we come because it is the will of
heaven and the plain way of duty.”
Then wine was set out and Kʻan Tsê was treated as an honoured guest.
While they were drinking some one came in and whispered in Tsʻao’s ear.
He replied, “Let me see the letter.” Whereupon the man pulled out and
gave him a letter, which evidently pleased him.
“That is from the two Tsʻais,” thought Kʻan Tsê. “They are reporting
the punishment of my friend and that will be a proof of the sincerity
of his letter.”
Turning toward Kʻan Tsê, Tsʻao said, “I must ask you to return to
settle the date with your friend: as soon as I know I will have a force
waiting.”
“I cannot return; pray, Sir, send some other man you can trust.”
“If some one else should go the secret would out.”
Kʻan Tsê refused again and again but at last gave way, saying, “If I am
to go I must not wait here; I must be off at once.”
Tsʻao offered him gold and silks, which were refused. Tsê started, left
the camp and re-embarked for the south bank, where he related all that
had happened to Huang Kai.
“If it had not been for your persuasive tongue then had I undergone
this suffering in vain,” said Huang.
“I will now go to get news of the two Tsʻais,” said Kʻan Tsê.
“Excellent,” said Huang.
He went to the camp commanded by Kan Ning and when they were seated he
said to his host, “I was much distressed when I saw how disgracefully
you were treated for your intercession on behalf of Huang Kai.”
Kan Ning smiled. Just then the two Tsʻais came, and host and guest
exchanged glances. The former said, “The truth is the General is over
confident and he reckons us as nobody. We count for nothing. Every one
is talking of the way I was insulted. Aiya!” and he shouted and gritted
his teeth and smacked the table in his wrath.
Kʻan Tsê leaned over toward his host and said something in a very low
voice, at which Kan Ning bent his head and sighed.
The two visitors and spies gathered from this that both Kan and Kʻan
were ripe for desertion and determined to probe them.
“Why, Sir, do you anger him? Why not be silent about his injuries?”
said they.
“What know you of our bitterness?” said Kʻan Tsê.
“We think you seem much inclined to go over to Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said they.
Kʻan Tsê at this lost colour: Kan Ning started up and drew his sword,
crying, “They have found out; they must die to keep their mouths shut.”
“No, no,” cried the two in a flurry. “Let us tell you something quite
secret.”
“Quick, then,” cried Kan Ning.
So Tsʻai Ho said, “The truth is that we are only pretended deserters,
and if you two gentlemen are of our way of thinking we can manage
things for you.”
“But are you speaking the truth?” said Kan.
“Is it likely we should say such a thing if it were untrue?” cried both
at the same moment.
Kan Ning put on a pleased look and said, “Then this is the very
heaven-given chance.”
“You know we have already told Tsʻao of the Huang Kai affair and how
you were insulted.”
“The fact is I have given the Minister a letter on behalf of Huang Kai
and he sent me back again to settle the date of his desertion,” said
Kʻan.
“When an honest man happens upon an enlightened master his heart will
always be drawn toward him,” said Kan Ning.
The four then drank together and opened their hearts to each other. The
two brothers Tsʻai wrote a private letter to their master saying that
Kan Ning had agreed to join in their plot and play the traitor, and
Kʻan Tsê also wrote and they sent the letters secretly to Tsʻao Tsʻao.
Kan’s letter said that Huang had found no opportunity so far. However,
when he came his boat could be recognised by a black, indented flag.
That would mean he was on board.
However, when Tsʻao Tsʻao got these two letters he was still doubtful
and called together his advisers to talk over the matter. Said he, “On
the other side Kan Ning has been put to shame by the Commander-in-Chief
whom he is prepared to betray for the sake of revenge. Huang Kai has
been punished and sent Kʻan Tsê to propose that he should come over to
our side. Only I still distrust the whole thing. Who will go over to
the camp to find out the real truth?”
Then Chiang Kan spoke up, saying, “I failed in my mission the other day
and am greatly mortified. I will risk my life again and, this time, I
shall surely bring good news.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao approved of him as messenger and bade him start. He set out
in a small craft and speedily arrived in Chiangnan landing near the
naval camp. Then he sent to inform Chou Yü, who hearing who it was
chuckled, saying, “Success depends upon this man.”
Then he called Lu Su and told him to call Pʻang Tʻung to come and do
certain things for him.
This Pʻang Tʻung was from Hsiangyang. His other name was Shih-yüan and
he had gone to the east of the river to get away from the strife. Lu Su
had recommended him to Chou Yü, but he had not yet presented himself.
When Chou Yü sent to ask what scheme of attack he would recommend
against Tsʻao Tsʻao, Pʻang Tʻung had said to the messenger, “You must
use fire against him. But the river is wide and if one ship is set on
fire the others will scatter unless they are fastened together so that
they must remain in one place. That is the one road to success.”
Lu Su took this message to the General, who pondered over it and then
said, “The only person who can manage this is Pʻang Tʻung himself.”
“Tsʻao Tsʻao is very wily,” said Lu Su, “how can Pʻang Tʻung go?”
So Chou Yü was sad and undecided. He could think of no method till
suddenly the means presented itself in the arrival of Chiang Kan. He at
once sent instructions to Pʻang Tʻung how to act and then sat himself
in his tent to await his visitor Chiang Kan.
But the visitor became ill at ease and suspicious when he saw that his
old student friend did not come to welcome him and he took the
precaution of sending his boat into a retired spot to be made fast
before he went to the General’s tent.
When Chou Yü saw him he put on an angry face and said, “My friend, why
did you treat me so badly?”
Chiang Kan laughed and said, “I remembered the old days when we were as
brothers and I came expressly to pour out my heart to you. Why do you
say I treated you badly?”
“You came to persuade me to betray my master, which I would never do
unless the sea dried up and the rocks perished. Remembering the old
times I filled you with wine and kept you to sleep with me. And you;
you plundered my private letters and stole away with never a word of
farewell. You betrayed me to Tsʻao Tsʻao and caused the death of my two
friends on the other side and so caused all my plans to miscarry. Now
what have you come for? Certainly it is not out of kindness to me and I
care no more for our old friendship; it is cut in two, destroyed. I
would send you back again, but within a day or two I shall attack that
rebel and, if I let you stay in my camp, my plans will leak out. So I
am going to tell my attendants to conduct you to a certain retired hut
in the western hills and keep you there till I shall have won the
victory. Then I will send you back again.”
Chiang Kan tried to say something but Chou Yü would not listen. He
turned his back and went into the recesses of his tent. The attendants
led the visitor off, set him on a horse and took him away over the
hills to the small hut, leaving two soldiers to look after him.
When Chiang Kan found himself in the lonely hut he was very depressed
and had no desire to eat or sleep. But one night, when the stars were
very brilliant, he strolled out to enjoy them. Presently he came to the
rear of his lonely habitation and heard, near by, some one crooning
over a book. Approaching with stealthy steps he saw a tiny cabin half
hidden in a cliff whence a slender beam or two of light stole out
between the rafters. He went nearer and peeping in, saw a man reading
by the light of a lamp near which hung a sword. And the book was Sun
Wu’s “Art of War.”
“This is no common person,” thought he and so he knocked at the door.
The door was opened by the reader, who bade him welcome with cultivated
and refined ceremony. Chiang Kan enquired his name and the host replied
that he was Pʻang Tʻung, sometimes known as Shih-yüan.
“Then you are surely The Master known as ‘Phoenix Fledgeling,’ are you
not?”
“Yes; I am he.”
“How often have I heard you talked about! You are famous. But why are
you hidden away in this spot?”
“That fellow Chou Yü is too conceited to allow that any one else has
any talent and so I live here quietly. But who are you, Sir?”
“I am Chiang Kan.”
Then Pʻang Tʻung made him very welcome and led him in and the two sat
down to talk.
“With your gifts you would succeed anywhere,” said Chiang Kan. “If you
would enter Tsʻao Tsʻao’s service I would recommend you to him.”
“I have long desired to get away from here and if you, Sir, will
present me there is no time like the present. If Chou Yü heard of my
wish he would kill me, I am sure.”
So without more ado they made their way down the hill to the water’s
edge to seek the boat in which Chiang had come. They embarked and,
rowing swiftly, they soon reached the northern shore. At the central
camp Chiang landed and went to seek Tsʻao Tsʻao to whom he related the
story of the discovery of his new acquaintance.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao heard that the newcomer was Fêng-chʻu, or the “Phoenix
Chick” Master, he went to meet him, made him very welcome and soon they
sat down to talk on friendly terms.
Tsʻao Tsʻao said questioningly, “And so Chou Yü in his youth is
conceited and annoys his officers and rejects all their advice; I know
that. But your fame has been long known to me and now that you have
been gracious enough to turn my way I pray you not to be niggardly of
your advice.”
“I, too, know well that you are a model of military strategy,” said
Pʻang Tʻung, “but I should like to have one look at your disposition.”
So horses were brought and the two rode out to the lines, host and
visitor on equal terms, side by side. They ascended a hill whence they
had a wide view. After looking all round Pʻang Tʻung remarked, “Sun Wu,
come to life again, could not do better, nor Jang Chu if he reappeared.
All accords with the precepts. The camp is beside the hill and is
flanked by a forest. The front and rear are within sight of each other.
Gates of egress and ingress are provided and the roads of advance and
retirement are bent and broken.”
“Master, I entreat you not to overpraise me, but to advise me where I
can make further improvements,” said Tsʻao.
Then the two men rode down to the naval camp, where twenty four
openings were arranged facing the south. The cruisers and the
battleships were all lined up so as to protect the lighter craft which
lay inside. There were channels to pass to and fro and fixed anchorages
and stations.
Pʻang Tʻung surveying all this smiled, saying, “Sir Minister, if this
is your method of warfare, you enjoy no empty reputation.” Then
pointing to Chiangnan he went on, “Chou, my friend, Master Chou, you
are finished; you will have to die.”
They rode back to the chief tent and wine was brought. They discussed
military matters and Pʻang Tʻung held forth at length. Remarks and
comments flowed freely between the two, and Tsʻao formed an exalted
opinion of his new adherent’s abilities and treated him with the
greatest honour.
By and bye the guest seemed to have succumbed to the influence of many
cups and said, “Have you any capable medical men in your army?”
“What for?” said Tsʻao.
“There is a lot of illness among the marines and you ought to find some
remedy.”
The fact was that at this time Tsʻao’s men were suffering from the
climate; many were vomiting and not a few had died. It was a source of
great anxiety to him and when the newcomer suddenly mentioned it, of
course he had to ask advice.
Pʻang Tʻung said, “Your marine force is excellent, but there is just
one defect; it is not quite perfect.”
Tsʻao pressed him to say where the imperfection lay.
“I have a plan to overcome the ailment of the men so that no one shall
be sick and all fit for service.”
“What is this excellent scheme?” said Tsʻao.
“The river is wide and the tides ebb and flow. The winds and waves are
never at rest. Your men from the north are unused to ships and the
motion makes them ill. If your ships, large and small, were classed and
divided into thirties, or fifties, and joined up stem to stem by iron
chains and boards spread across them, to say nothing of men being able
to pass from one to the next, even horses could move about on them. If
this were done, then there would be no fear of the wind and the waves
and the rising and falling tides.”
Coming down from his seat Tsʻao Tsʻao thanked his guest saying, “I
could never defeat the land of Wu without this scheme of yours.”
“That is my idea,” said Pʻang Tʻung, “it is for you to decide about
it.”
Orders were then issued to call up all the blacksmiths and set them to
work, night and day, forging iron chains and great bolts to lock
together the ships. And the men rejoiced when they heard of the plan.
In Red Wall’s fight they used the flame,
The weapon here will be the same.
By Pʻang’s advice the ships were chained,
Else Chou had not that battle gained.
Pʻang Tʻung further told Tsʻao Tsʻao saying, “I know many bold men on
the other side who hate Chou Yü. If I may use my little tongue in your
service I can induce them to come over to you and if Chou Yü be left
alone you can certainly take him captive. And Liu Pei is of no
account.”
“Certainly if you could render me so great a service I would
memorialise the throne and obtain for you one of the highest offices,”
said Tsʻao.
“I am not doing this for the sake of wealth or honours, but from a
desire to succour mankind. If you cross the river I pray you be
merciful.”
“I am Heaven’s means of doing right and could not bear to slay the
people.”
Pʻang Tʻung thanked him and begged for a document that would protect
his own family. Tsʻao Tsʻao asked where they lived. He replied that
they lived by the river bank and Tsʻao Tsʻao ordered a protection to be
prepared. Having sealed it he gave it to Pʻang Tʻung who said, “You
should attack as soon as I have gone but do not let Chou Yü know
anything.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao promised secrecy and the wily traitor took his leave. Just
as he was about to embark he met a man in a Taoist robe, with a bamboo
comb in his hair, who stopped him saying, “You are very bold. Huang Kai
is planning to use the ‘personal injury ruse’ and Kʻan Tsê has
presented the letter of pretended desertion. You have proffered the
fatal scheme of chaining the ships together lest the flames may not
completely destroy them. This sort of mischievous work may have been
enough to blind Tsʻao Tsʻao but I saw it all.”
Pʻang Tʻung become helpless with fear, his three hun flown away, his
seven po scattered.
By guileful means one may succeed,
The victims too find friends in need.
The next chapter will tell who the stranger was.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
BANQUET ON THE YANGTSE; TSʻAO TSʻAO’S SONG:
THE NORTHERN MEN FIGHT ON THE CHAINED SHIPS.
In the last chapter Pʻang Tung was brought up with a sudden shock when
some one seized him and said he understood. Upon turning to look at the
man he saw it was Hsü Shu, an old friend, and his heart revived.
Looking around and seeing no one near he said, “It would be a pity if
you upset my plan; the fate of the people of all the eighty-one
districts is in your hands.”
Hsü Shu smiled. “And what of the fate of these eighty-three legions of
men and horse?” said he.
“Do you intend to wreck my scheme?”
“I have never forgotten the kindness of Uncle Liu, nor my oath to
avenge the death of my mother at Tsʻao Tsʻao’s hands. I have said I
would never think out a plan for him. So am I likely to wreck yours
now, brother? But I have followed the army thus far and after they
shall have been defeated, good and bad will suffer alike and how can I
escape? Tell me how I can secure safety and I sew up my lips and go
away.”
Pʻang Tʻung smiled, “If you are as high-minded as that there is no
great difficulty.”
“Still I wish you would instruct me.”
So Pʻang Tʻung whispered something in his ear, which seemed to please
Hsü Shu greatly, for he thanked him most cordially and took his leave.
Then Pʻang Tʻung betook himself to his boat and left for the southern
shore.
His friend gone, Hsü Shu mischievously spread certain rumours in the
camp, and next day were to be seen everywhere men in small groups, some
talking, others listening, heads together and ears stretched out, till
the camps seemed to buzz. Some of the men went to Tsʻao Tsʻao and told
him that a rumour was running around that Han Sui and Ma Tʻêng had
attacked the capital. This troubled Tsʻao Tsʻao, who called together
his advisers to council. Said he, “The only anxiety I have felt in this
expedition was about the possible doings of Han Sui and Ma Tʻêng. Now
there is a rumour running among the men, and though I know not whether
it be true or false, it is necessary to be on one’s guard.”
At this point Hsü Shu said, “You have been kind enough to give me an
office, Sir, and I have really done nothing in return. If I may have
three companies I will march at once to San Pass and guard it. If there
be any pressing matter I will report at once.”
“If you would do this I should be quite at my ease. There are already
men beyond the Pass, who will be under your command, and now I will
give you three companies of horse and foot and Tsang Pa shall lead the
van and march quickly.”
Hsü Shu took leave of the Minister and left in company with Tsang Pa.
This was Pʻang’s scheme to secure the safety of Hsü Shu.
A poem says:—
Tsʻao Tsʻao marched south, but at his back
There rode the fear of rear attack.
Pʻang Tʻung’s good counsel Hsü Shu took,
And thus the fish escaped the hook.
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s anxiety diminished after he had thus sent away Hsü Shu.
Then he rode round all the camps, first the land forces and then the
naval. He boarded one of the large ships and thereon set up his
standard. The naval camps were arranged along two lines and every ship
carried a thousand bows and crossbows.
While he remained with the fleet occurred the full moon of the eleventh
month of the twelfth year of “Established Tranquillity.” The sky was
clear; there was no wind and the river lay unruffled. He prepared a
great banquet, with music, and thereto invited all his captains. As
evening drew on the moon rose over the eastern hills in its immaculate
beauty and beneath it lay the broad belt of the river like a band of
pure white silk. It was a great assembly and all the guests were clad
in gorgeous silks and embroidered robes and the arms of the fighting
men glittered in the moonlight. The officers, civil and military, were
seated in their proper order of precedence.
The setting, too, was exquisite. The Nanping hills were outlined as in
a picture; the boundaries of Chʻaisang lay in the east; the river
showed west as far as Hsiakʻou; on the south lay the Hills of Fan, on
the north was the “Black” Forest. The view stretched wide on every
side.
Tsʻao’s heart was jubilant and he harangued the assembly, “My one aim
since I enlisted my first small band of volunteers has been the removal
of evil from the State and I have sworn to cleanse the country and
restore tranquillity. Now there is only left this land of Chiangnan to
withstand me. I am at the head of a hundred legions. I depend upon you,
gentlemen, and have no doubt of my final success. After I have subdued
Chiangnan there will be no trouble in all the country. Then we shall
enjoy wealth and honour and revel in peace.”
They rose in a body and expressed their appreciation saying, “We trust
that you may soon report complete victory and we shall all repose in
the shade of your good fortune.”
In his elation Tsʻao Tsʻao bade the servants bring more wine and they
drank till late at night. Warmed and mellowed, the host pointed to the
south bank saying, “Chou Yü and Lu Su know not the appointed time.
Heaven is aiding me bringing upon them the misfortune of the desertion
of their most trusted friends.”
“O Minister, say nothing of these things lest they become known to the
enemy,” said Hsün Yu.
But the Minister only laughed. “You are all my trusty friends,” said
he, “both officers and humble attendants. Why should I refrain?”
Pointing to Hsiakʻou he continued, “You do not reckon for much with
your puny force, Liu Pei and Chuko Liang. How foolish of you to attempt
to shake Tʻaishan! I am now fifty-four and if I get Chiangnan I shall
have the wherewithal to rejoice. In the days of long ago the late noble
Chʻiao and I were great friends and we came to an agreement on certain
matters, for I knew his two daughters were lovely beyond words. Then by
some means they became wives to Sun Tsʻê and Chou Yü. But now my palace
of rest is built on the Chang River and victory over the south will
mean that I marry these two fair women. I will put them in my palace
and they shall rejoice my declining years. My desires will then be
completely attained.”
He smiled at the anticipation.
Tu Mu, a poet of the Tʻang Dynasty, in one poem says:—
A broken halberd buried in the sand,
With deep rust eaten.
Loud tells of ancient battles on the strand,
When Tsʻao was beaten.
Had eastern winds Chou’s plan refused to aid
And fan the flame,
Two captives fair, locked in the Bronze Bird’s shade,
Had gone to shame.
But suddenly amid the merriment was heard the hoarse cry of a raven
flying toward the south.
“Why does the raven thus cry in the night?” said Tsʻao to those about
him.
“The moon is so bright that he thinks it is day,” said they, “and so he
leaves his tree.”
Tsʻao laughed; by this time he was quite intoxicated. He set up his
spear in the prow of the ship and poured a libation into the river and
then drank three brimming goblets. As he lowered the spear he said,
“This is the spear that broke up the Yellow Turbans, captured Lü Pu,
destroyed Yüan Shao and subdued his brother, whose armies are now mine.
In the north it reached to Liaotung and it stretched out over the whole
south. It has never failed in its task. The present scene moves me to
the depths and I will sing a song in which you shall accompany me.”
And so he sang:—
When goblets are brimming then song is near birth,
But life is full short and has few days of mirth,
Life goes as the dew drops fly swiftly away,
’Neath the glance of the glowing hot ruler of day.
Man’s life may be spent in the noblest emprise,
But sorrowful thoughts in his heart oft arise.
Let us wash clean away the sad thoughts that intrude,
With bumpers of wine such as Tu Kʻang once brewed.
Gone is my day of youthful fire
And still ungained is my desire.
The deer feed on the level plain
And joyful call, then feed again.
My noble guests are gathered round,
The air is trilled with joyful sound.
Bright my future lies before me,
As the moonlight on this plain;
But I strive in vain to reach it
When shall I my wish attain?
None can answer; and so sadness
Grips my inmost heart again.
Far north and south,
Wide east and west,
We safety seek;
Vain is the quest.
Man’s heart oft yearns
For converse sweet,
And my heart burns
When old friends greet.
The stars are paled by the full moon’s light,
The raven wings his southward flight,
And thrice he circles round a tree,
No place thereon to rest finds he.
They weary not the mountains of great height,
The waters deep of depth do not complain,
Duke Chou no leisure found by day or night
Stern toil is his who would the Empire gain.
The song made they sang it with him and were all exceedingly merry;
save one guest who suddenly said, “When the great army is on the point
of battle and lives are about to be risked, why do you, O Minister,
speak such ill words?”
Tsʻao turned quickly toward the speaker, who was Liu Fu, the Governor
of Yangchou. This Liu sprang from Hofei. When first appointed to his
post he had gathered in the terrified and frightened people and
restored order. He had founded schools and encouraged the people to
till the land. He had long served under Tsʻao Tsʻao and rendered
valuable service.
When he spoke Tsʻao dropped his spear to the level and said, “What
ill-omened words did I use?”
“You spoke of the moon paling the stars and the raven flying southward
without finding a resting place. These are ill-omened words.”
“How dare you try to belittle my endeavour?” cried Tsʻao, very
wrathful; and with that he smote Liu Fu with his spear and slew him.
The assembly broke up and the guests dispersed in fear and confusion.
Next day, when he had recovered from his drunken bout, Tsʻao Tsʻao was
very grieved at what he had done and when the murdered man’s son came
to crave the body of his father for burial, Tsʻao wept and expressed
his sorrow.
“I am guilty of your father’s death; I was drunk yesterday. I regret
the deed exceedingly. Your father shall be interred with the honours of
a minister of the highest rank.”
He sent an escort of soldiers to take the body home for burial.
A few days after this the two leaders of the naval force came to say
the ships were all connected together by chains as had been ordered,
and all was now ready. They asked for the command to start.
Thereupon the leaders of both land and naval forces were assembled on
board a large ship in the centre of the squadron to receive orders. The
various armies and squadrons were distinguished by different flags, the
central naval squadron, yellow; the leading squadron, red; the rear
squadron, black; the left, blue, and the right, white. On shore the
horsemen had a red flag; for the vanguard, black; blue and white for
the rearguard and the wings respectively. Hsiahou Tun and Tsʻao Hung
were in reserve and the general staff was under the leadership of Hsü
Chʻu and Chang Liao. The other leaders were ordered to remain in camp,
but ready for action.
All being ready, the squadron drums beat the roll thrice and the ships
sailed out under a strong north-west wind on a trial cruise and when
they got among the waves they were found to be as steady and immoveable
as the dry land itself. The northern men showed their delight at the
absence of motion by capering and flourishing their weapons. The ships
moved on, the squadrons keeping quite distinct. Fifty light cruisers
sailed to and fro keeping order and urging progress.
Tsʻao Tsʻao watched his navy from the General’s terrace and was
delighted with their evolutions and manœuvres. Surely this meant
complete victory. He ordered the recall and the squadrons returned in
perfect order to their base.
Then Tsʻao Tsʻao went to his tent and summoned his advisers. He said,
“If Heaven had not been on my side, should I have got this excellent
plan from the Phoenix Chick? Now that the ships are attached firmly to
each other, one may traverse the river as easily as walking on firm
earth.”
“The ships are firmly attached to each other,” said Chʻêng Yü, “but you
should be prepared for an attack by fire so that they can scatter to
avoid it.”
The General laughed. “You look a long way ahead,” said he, “but you see
what cannot happen.”
“He speaks much to the point” said Hsün Yü, “why do you laugh at him?”
“Any one using fire depends upon the wind. This is now winter and only
west winds blow. You will get neither east nor south winds. I am on the
north-west and the enemy is on the south bank. If they use fire they
will destroy themselves. I have nothing to fear. If it was the tenth
moon, or early spring, I would provide against fire.”
“The Minister is indeed wise,” said the others in chorus. “None can
equal him.”
“With northern men unused to shipboard I could never have crossed the
river but for this plan,” said Tsʻao.
Then he saw two of the secondary leaders stand up and they said, “We
are from the north, but we are also sailors. Pray give us a small
squadron and we will seize some of the enemy’s flags and drums for you
that we may prove ourselves adepts on the water.”
The speakers were two men who had served under Yüan Shao, named Chiao
Chʻu and Chang Nan.
“I do not think naval work would suit you two, born and brought up in
the north,” said Tsʻao. “The Chiangnan men are thoroughly accustomed to
ships. You should not regard your lives as a child’s plaything.”
They cried, “If we fail, treat us according to army laws.”
“The fighting ships are all chained together, there are only small,
twenty-men boats free. They are unsuitable for fighting.”
“If we took large ships where would be the wonderful in what we will
do? No; give us a score of the small ships and we will take half each
and go straight to the enemy’s naval port. We will just seize a flag,
slay a leader and come home.”
“I will let you have the twenty ships and half a company of good,
vigorous men with long spears and stiff crossbows. Early to-morrow the
main fleet shall make a demonstration on the river and I will also tell
Wên Pʻing to support you with thirty ships.”
The two men retired greatly elated. Next morning, very early, food was
prepared and at the fifth watch all was ready for a start. Then from
the naval camp rolled out the drums and the gongs clanged, as the ships
moved out and took up their positions, the various flags fluttering in
the morning breeze. And the two intrepid leaders with their squadron of
small scouting boats went down the lines and out into the stream.
Now a few days before the sound of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s drums had been heard
on the southern bank and the watchers had seen their enemy’s fleet
manœuvring in the open river. Chou Yü had watched the manœuvres from
the top of a hill till the fleet had gone in again. So when the sound
of drums was again heard all the army went up the hills to watch the
fleet. All they saw was a squadron of small ships bounding over the
waves. But as they came nearer the news was taken to the leader who
called for volunteers to go out against them. Han Tang and Chou Tʻai
offered themselves. They were accepted and orders were issued to the
camps to remain ready for action but not to move till told.
Han and Chou sailed out each with a small squadron of five ships in
line.
The two braggarts from the north really only trusted to their boldness
and luck. Their ships came down under the powerful strokes of the oars
and as they neared the two leaders put on their heart-protectors,
gripped their spears and each took his station in the prow of the
leading ship of his division. Chiao’s ship led and as soon as he came
near enough his men began to shoot at Han Tang, who fended off the
arrows with his buckler. Chiao twirled his long spear as he engaged his
opponent. But, at the first thrust, he was killed.
His comrade with the other ships was coming up with great shouts when
Chou Tʻai sailed up at an angle and these two squadrons began shooting
arrows at each other in clouds. Chou Tʻai fended off the arrows with
his shield and stood gripping his sword firmly till his ships came
within a few feet of the enemy’s ships when he leaped across and cut
down Chang Nan. Chang’s dead body fell into the water. Then the battle
became confused and the attacking ships rowed hard to get away. The
southerners pursued but soon came in sight of Wên Pʻing’s supporting
fleet. Once more the ships engaged and the men fought with each other.
Chou Yü with his officers stood on the summit of a mountain and watched
his own and the enemy ships out on the river. The flags and the ensigns
were all in perfect order. Then he saw Wên Pʻing and his own fleets
engaged in battle and soon it was evident that the former was not a
match for his own sailors. Wên Pʻing turned about to retire, Chou and
Han pursued. Chou Yü fearing lest his sailors should go too far, then
hoisted the white flag of recall.
To his officers Chou Yü said, “The masts of their ships stand thick as
reeds; Tsʻao himself is full of wiles; how can we destroy him?”
No one replied, for just then the great yellow flag that flapped in the
breeze in the middle of Tsʻao’s fleet suddenly fell over into the
river.
Chou Yü laughed. “That is a bad omen,” said he.
Then an extra violent blast of wind came by and the waves rose high and
beat upon the bank. A corner of his own flag flicked Chou Yü on the
cheek and suddenly a thought flashed through his mind. He uttered a
loud cry, staggered and fell backward. They picked him up; there was
blood upon his lips and he was unconscious. Presently, however, he
revived.
And once he laughed, then gave a cry,
’Tis hard to ensure a victory.
Chou Yü’s fate will appear as the story unfolds.
CHAPTER XLIX.
ON THE SEVEN STARS ALTAR CHUKO SACRIFICES TO THE WINDS:
AT THE THREE RIVERS CHOU YÜ LIBERATES FIRE.
In the last chapter Chou Yü was seized with sudden illness as he
watched the fleets of his enemy. He was borne to his tent and his
officers came in multitudes to enquire after him. They looked at each
other saying, “What a pity our general should be taken ill when Tsʻao’s
legions threaten so terribly! What would happen if he attacked?”
Messengers with the evil tidings were sent to Wu while the physicians
did their best for the invalid. Lu Su was particularly sad at the
illness of his patron and went to see Kʻung-ming to talk it over.
“What do you make of it?” said Kʻung-ming.
“Good luck for Tsʻao Tsʻao; bad for us,” said Lu.
“I could cure him,” said Kʻung-ming laughing.
“If you could the State would be very fortunate,” said Lu.
He prayed Kʻung-ming to go to see the sick man. They went, and Lu Su
entered first. Chou Yü lay in bed, his head covered by a quilt.
“How are you, General?” said Lu.
“My heart pains me; every now and again I feel faint and dizzy.”
“Have you taken any remedies?”
“My gorge rises at the thought; I could not.”
“I saw Kʻung-ming just now and he says he could heal you. He is just
outside and I will call him if you like.”
“Ask him to come in.”
Chou bade his servants help him to a sitting position and Kʻung-ming
entered.
“I have not seen you for days,” said he. “How could I guess that you
were unwell?”
“How can any one feel secure? We are constantly the playthings of luck,
good or bad.
“Yes; Heaven’s winds and clouds are not to be measured. No one can
reckon their comings and goings, can they?”
Chou Yü turned pale and a low groan escaped him, while his visitor went
on, “You feel depressed, do you not? As though troubles were piling up
in your heart?”
“That is exactly how I feel.”
“You need cooling medicine to dissipate this sense of oppression.”
“I have taken a cooling draught, but it has done no good.”
“You must get the humours into good order before the drugs will have
any effect.”
Chou Yü began to think Kʻung-ming knew what was really the matter and
resolved to test him. “What should be taken to produce a favourable
temper?”
“I know one means of producing a favourable temper,” replied
Kʻung-ming.
“I wish you would tell me.”
Kʻung-ming got out writing materials, sent away the servants and then
wrote a few words:—“One should burn out Tsʻao; all is ready, but there
is no east wind,” this he gave to the sick general, saying “That is the
origin of your illness.”
Chou Yü read the words with great surprise and it confirmed his secret
opinion that Kʻung-ming really was rather more than human. He decided
that the only course was to be open and tell him all. So he said,
“Since you know the cause of the disease, what do you recommend as
treatment? The need of a remedy is very urgent.”
“I have no great talent,” said Kʻung-ming, “but I have had to do with
men of no ordinary gifts from whom I have received certain magical
books. I can call the winds and summon the rains. Since you need a
south-east breeze, General, you must build an altar on the Nanping
Mountains, the Altar of the Seven Stars. It must be nine feet high,
with three steps, surrounded by a guard of one hundred and twenty men
bearing flags. On this altar I will work a spell to procure a strong
south-east gale for three days and three nights. Do you approve?”
“Never mind three whole days;” said Chou Yü, “one day of strong wind
will serve my purpose. But it must be done at once and without delay.”
“I will sacrifice for a wind for three days from the twentieth day of
the moon; will that suit you?”
Chou Yü was delighted and hastily rose from his couch to give the
necessary orders. He commanded that five hundred men should be sent to
the mountains to build the altar and he told off the guard of one
hundred and twenty to bear the flags and be at the orders of
Kʻung-ming.
Kʻung-ming took his leave, went forth and rode off with Lu Su to the
mountains where they measured out the ground. He bade the soldiers
build the altar of red earth from the south-east quarter. It was two
hundred and forty feet in circuit, square in shape, and of three tiers,
each of three feet, in all nine feet high. On the lowest tier he placed
the flags of the twenty-eight “houses” of the heavens; on the east
seven, with blue flags, on the north seven, with black flags, on the
west seven, with white flags, and on the south seven, with red flags.
Around the second tier he placed sixty-four yellow flags, corresponding
to the number of the diagrams of the Book of Divination, in eight
groups of eight. Four men were stationed on the highest platform, each
wearing a Taoist headdress and a black silk robe embroidered with the
phoenix and confined with wide sashes. They wore scarlet boots and
square-cut skirts. On the left front stood a man supporting a tall pole
bearing at its top a plume of light feathers to show by their least
movement the wind’s first breathing. On the right front was a man
holding a tall pole whereon was a flag with the symbol of the seven
stars to show the direction and force of the wind. On the left rear
stood a man with a sword, and on the right rear a man with a censer.
Below the altar were two score and four men holding flags, umbrellas,
spears, lances, yellow banners, white axes, red bannerols and black
ensigns. And these were spaced about the altar.
On the appointed day Kʻung-ming, having chosen a propitious moment,
bathed his body and purified himself. Then he robed himself as a
Taoist, loosened his locks and approached the altar.
He bade Lu Su retire saying, “Return to the camp and assist the General
in setting out his forces. Should my prayers avail not, do not wonder.”
So Lu Su left him. Then he commanded the guards on no account to absent
themselves, to maintain strict silence and to be reverent; death would
be the penalty of disobedience.
Next with solemn steps he ascended the altar, faced the proper quarter,
lighted the incense and sprinkled the water in the basins. This done he
gazed into the heavens and prayed silently. The prayer ended he
descended and returned to his tent. After a brief rest he allowed the
soldiers by turns to go away to eat.
Thrice that day he ascended the altar and thrice descended; but there
was no sign of the wind.
Here it may be related that Chou Yü with Chʻêng Pʻu and Lu Su and a
certain number of military officials on duty, sat waiting in the tent
till the wished-for wind should blow and the attack could be launched.
Messengers were also sent to Sun Chʻüan to prepare to support the
forward movement.
Huang Kai had his fire ships ready, a score of them. The fore parts of
the ships were thickly studded with large nails, and they were loaded
with dry reeds, wood soaked in fish oil and covered with sulphur,
saltpetre and other inflammables. The ships were covered in with black
oiled cloth. In the prow of each was a black dragon flag with
indentations. A fighting ship was attached to the stern of each to
propel it forward. All were ready and awaited orders to move.
Meanwhile Tsʻao Tsʻao’s two spies, the brothers Tsʻai, were being
guarded carefully in an outer camp far from the river bank and daily
entertained with feasting. They were not allowed to know of the
preparations. The watch was so close that not a trickle of information
reached the prisoners.
Presently, while Chou Yü was anxiously awaiting in his tent for the
desired wind, a messenger came to say that Sun Chʻüan had anchored at a
place eighty-five li from the camp, where he awaited news. Lu Su was
sent to warn all the various commanders to be ready, the ships and
their weapons, sails and oars, all for instant use, and to impress upon
them the penalties of being caught unprepared. The soldiers were indeed
ready for the fight and yearning for the fray.
But the sky remained obstinately clear and as night drew nigh no breath
of air stirred.
“We have been cajoled,” said Chou Yü. “Indeed what possibility is there
of a south-east wind in mid-winter?”
“Kʻung-ming would not use vain and deceitful words,” replied Lu Su.
Towards the third watch the sound of a movement arose in the air. Soon
the flags fluttered out. And when the general went out to make sure he
saw they were flowing toward the north-west. In a very short time the
south-east wind was in full force.
Chou Yü was, however, frightened at the power of the man whose help he
had invoked. “Really the man has power over the heavens and authority
over the earth; his methods are incalculable, beyond the ken of god or
devil. He cannot be allowed to live to be a danger to our land of Wu.
We must slay him soon to fend off later evils.”
So he resolved to commit a crime to remove his dangerous rival. He
called two of the captains of his guard, Ting Fêng and Hsü Shêng, and
bade each take a party, one along the river, the other along the road,
to the altar on the mountains. As soon as they got there, without
asking questions or giving reasons, they were to seize and behead
Kʻung-ming. They might expect a solid reward if they brought his head.
The two went off on their nefarious errand, one leading dagger- and
axe-men going as fast as oars could propel them along the river, the
other at the head of archers and bowmen on horseback. The south-east
wind buffeted them as they went on their way.
High was raised the Seven Stars’ Altar,
On it prayed the Sleeping Dragon
For an eastern wind, and straightway
Blew the wind. Had not the wizard
Exercised his mighty magic
Nought had Chou Yü’s skill availed.
Ting Fêng first arrived. He saw the guards with their flags, dropped
off his steed and marched to the altar, sword in hand. But he found no
Kʻung-ming. He asked the guards; they told him he had just gone down.
Ting Fêng ran down the hill to search. There he met his fellow and they
joined forces. Presently a simple soldier told them that the evening
before a small, fast boat had anchored there near a sand spit and
Kʻung-ming had been seen to go on board. Then the boat had gone up
river. So they divided their party into two, one to go by water, the
other by land.
Hsü Shêng bade his boatmen put on all sail and take every advantage of
the wind. Before very long he saw the fugitive’s boat ahead and when
near enough, stood in the prow of his own and shouted, “Do not flee, O
Instructor of the Army! The General requests your presence.”
Kʻung-ming, who was seated in the stern of his boat, just laughed
aloud, “Return and tell the General to make good use of his men. Tell
him I am going up river for a spell and will see him again another
day.”
“Pray wait a little while,” cried Hsü. “I have something most important
to tell you.”
“I knew all about it, that he would not let me go and that he wanted to
kill me. That is why Chao Yün was waiting for me. You had better not
approach nearer.”
Seeing the other ship had no sail, Hsü Shêng thought he would assuredly
come up with it and so maintained the pursuit. Then when he got too
close Chao Yün fitted an arrow to the bowstring and, standing up in the
stern of his boat, cried, “You know who I am and I came expressly to
escort the Instructor. Why are you pursuing him? One arrow would kill
you, only that would cause a breach of the peace between two houses. I
will shoot and just give you a specimen of my skill.”
With that he shot, and the arrow whizzed overhead cutting the rope that
held up the sail. Down came the sail trailing in the water and the boat
swung round. Then Chao Yün’s boat hoisted its sail and the fair wind
speedily carried it out of sight.
On the bank stood Ting Fêng. He bade his comrade come to the shore and
said, “He is too clever for any man; and Chao Yün is bravest of the
brave. You remember what he did at Tangyang Slope. All we can do is to
return and report.”
So they returned to camp and told their master about the preparations
that Kʻung-ming had made to ensure safety. Chou Yü was indeed puzzled
at the depth of his rival’s insight. “I shall have no peace day or
night while he lives,” said he.
“At least wait till Tsʻao is done with,” said Lu Su.
And Chou Yü knew he spake wisely. Having summoned the leaders to
receive orders, first he bade Kan Ning take with him the false deserter
Tsʻai Chung and his soldiers and go along the south bank, showing the
flags of Tsʻao Tsʻao, till they reached the “Black” Forest (Wu Lin)
just opposite the enemy’s main store of grain and forage. Then they
were to penetrate as deeply as possible into the enemy’s lines and
light a torch as a signal. Tsʻai Chung’s brother was to be kept in camp
for another purpose.
The next order was for Tʻaishih Tzŭ; he was to lead two companies as
quickly as possible to Huangchou and cut the enemy’s communications
with Hofei. When near the enemy he was to give a signal and if he saw a
red flag he would know that Sun Chʻüan was at hand with reinforcements.
These two had the farthest to go and started first. Then Lü Mêng was
sent into Wu Lin (the “Black” Forest) with three companies as a
support. Kan Ning was ordered to set fire to the camp. A fourth party
was to go to the borders of Iling and attack as soon as the signal from
the forest was seen. A fifth party of three companies went to Hanyang
to fall upon the enemy along the river. Their signal was a white flag
and a sixth division supported them.
When these six parties had gone off, Huang Kai got ready his fire ships
and sent a soldier with a note to tell Tsʻao Tsʻao that he was coming
over that evening. Four fighting ships were told off to support Huang
Kai.
The four squadrons, each of three hundred ships, were placed under four
commanders, Han Tang, Chou Tʻai, Chiang Chʻin and Chʻên Wu. The score
of fire ships preceded them. Chou Yü and Chʻêng Pʻu went on board one
of the large ships to direct the battle. Their guards were Ting Fêng
and Hsü Shêng. Lu Su, Kʻan Tsê and the advisers were left to guard the
camp. Chʻêng Pʻu was greatly impressed with Chou Yü’s ordering of the
attack.
Then came a messenger bearing a mandate from Sun Chʻüan making Lu Hsün
leader of the van. He was ordered to go to Chʻihuang. The Marquis
himself would support him. Chou Yü also sent a man to the western hills
to make signals and to hoist flags on the Nanping Mountains.
So all being prepared they waited for dusk.
Here it is necessary to diverge from the direct narrative to say that
Yüan-tê was at Hsiakʻou anxiously awaiting the return of his adviser.
Then appeared a fleet, led by Liu Chʻi, who had come to find out how
matters were progressing. Yüan-tê sent to call him to the battle tower
and told him of the south-east wind that had begun to blow and that
Chao Yün had gone to meet Kʻung-ming. Not long after a single sail was
seen coming up before the wind and he knew it was Kʻung-ming, the
Instructor of the Army. So he and Liu Chʻi went down to meet the boat.
Soon the vessel reached the shore and Kʻung-ming and Chao Yün
disembarked.
Yüan-tê was very glad and after they had enquired after each other’s
well-being Kʻung-ming said, “There is no time to tell of any other
things now. Are the soldiers and ships ready?”
“They have long been ready,” replied Yüan-tê. “They only await you to
direct how they are to be used.”
The three then went to the tent and took their seats. Kʻung-ming at
once began to issue orders. “Chao Yün, with three companies is to cross
the river and go to the Wu Lin by the minor road. He will choose a
dense jungle and prepare an ambush. To-night, after the fourth watch,
Tsʻao Tsʻao will hurry along that way. When half his men have passed,
the jungle is to be fired. Tsʻao Tsʻao will not be wholly destroyed but
many will perish.”
“There are two roads,” said Chao Yün. “One leads to the southern
districts and the other to Chingchou. I do not know by which he will
come.”
“The south road is too dangerous; Tsʻao Tsʻao will certainly pass along
the Chingchou road, so that he may get away to Hsüchʻang.”
Then Chao Yün went away. Next Kʻung-ming said to Chang Fei, “You will
take three companies over the river to cut the road to Iling. You will
ambush in the Hulu Valley. Tsʻao Tsʻao, not daring to go to South
Iling, will go to North Iling. To-morrow, after the rain, he will halt
to refresh his men. As soon as the smoke is seen to rise from their
cooking fires you will fire the hill side. You will not capture Tsʻao
Tsʻao but you will render excellent service.”
So Chang Fei left. Next was called Mi Chu, Mi Fang and Liu Fêng. They
were to take command of three squadrons and go along the river to
collect the weapons that the beaten soldiers would throw away.
The three left. Then Kʻung-ming said to Liu Chʻi, “The country around
Wuchʻang is very important and I wish you to take command of your own
troops and station them at strategic points. Tsʻao Tsʻao, being
defeated, will flee thither, and you will capture him. But you are not
to leave the city without the best of reasons.”
And Liu Chʻi took leave.
Then Kʻung-ming said to Yüan-tê, “I wish you to remain quietly and
calmly in Fankʻou while Chou Yü works out his great scheme this night.”
All this time Kuan Yü has been silently waiting his turn but Kʻung-ming
said no word to him. When he could bear this no longer he cried, “Since
I first followed my brother to battle many years ago I have never been
left behind. Now that great things are afoot is there no work for me?
What is meant by it?”
“You should not be surprised. I wanted you for service at a most
important point only that there was a something standing in the way
that prevented me from sending you,” said Kʻung-ming.
“What could stand in the way? I wish you would tell me.”
“You see Tsʻao Tsʻao was once very kind to you and you cannot help
feeling grateful. Now when his soldiers have been beaten he will have
to flee along the Huayung road and if I sent you to guard it you would
have to let him pass. So I will not send you.”
“You are most considerate, Instructor. But though it is true that he
treated me well, yet I slew two of his most redoubtable opponents by
way of repayment, beside raising a siege. If I happened upon him on
this occasion I should hardly let him go.”
“But what if you did?”
“You could deal with me by military rules.”
“Then put that in writing.”
So Kuan Yü wrote a formal undertaking and gave the document to
Kʻung-ming.
“What happens if Tsʻao Tsʻao does not pass that way?” said Kuan Yü.
“I will give you a written engagement that he will pass.” Then he
continued, “On the hills by the Huayung Valley you are to raise a heap
of wood and grass to make a great column of smoke and mislead Tsʻao
Tsʻao into coming.”
“If Tsʻao Tsʻao sees a smoke he will suspect an ambush and will not
come.” said Kuan Yü.
“You are very simple,” said Kʻung-ming. “Do you not know more of war’s
ruses than that? Tsʻao Tsʻao is an able leader but you can deceive him
this time. When he sees the smoke he will take it as a subterfuge and
risk going that way. But do not let your kindness of heart rule your
conduct.”
Thus was his duty assigned Kuan Yü and he left, taking his adopted son,
Pʻing, Chou Tsʻang and a half company of swordsmen.
Said Liu Pei, “His sense of rectitude is very profound; I fear if Tsʻao
Tsʻao should come that way that my brother will let him pass.”
“I have consulted the stars and Tsʻao the rebel is not fated to come to
his end yet. I have purposely designed this manifestation of kindly
feeling for Kuan Yü to accomplish and so act handsomely.”
“Indeed there are few such far-seeing men as you are,” said Yüan-tê.
The two then went to Fankʻou whence they might watch Chou Yü’s
evolutions. Sun Chʻüan and Chien Yung were left on guard.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was in his great camp in conference with his advisers and
awaiting the arrival of Huang Kai. The south-east wind was very strong
that day and Chʻêng Yü was insisting on the necessity for precaution.
But Tsʻao laughed saying, “The Winter Solstice depends upon the sun and
nothing else; there is sure to be a south wind at some one or other of
its recurrences. I see nothing to wonder at.”
Just then they announced the arrival of a small boat from the other
shore with a letter from Huang Kai. The bearer of the letter was
brought in and presented it. It stated that Chou Yü had kept such
strict watch that there had been no chance of escape. But now some
grain was coming down river and Huang Kai had been named as escort
commander, which would give him the opportunity he desired. He would
slay one of the known captains and bring his head as an offering when
he came. That evening at the third watch, if boats were seen with
dragon toothed flags, they would be the grain boats.
This letter delighted Tsʻao Tsʻao who, with his officers, went to the
naval camp and boarded a great ship to watch for the arrival of Huang
Kai.
In Chiangtung, when evening fell, Chou Yü sent for Tsʻao Ho and bade
the soldiers bind him. The unhappy man protested that he had committed
no crime but Chou Yü said, “What sort of a fellow are you, think you,
to come and pretend to desert to my side? I need a small sacrifice for
my flag and your head will serve my purpose. So I am going to us it.”
Tsʻai Ho being at the end of his tether unable to deny the charge
suddenly cried, “Two of your own side, Kʻan Tsê and Kan Ning, are also
in the plot!”
“Under my directions,” said Chou Yü.
Tsʻai Ho was exceedingly repentant and sad, but Chou Yü bade them take
him to the river bank where the black standard had been set up and
there, after the pouring of a libation and the burning of paper, he was
beheaded, his blood being a sacrifice to the flag.
This ceremony over the ships started and Huang Kai took his place on
the third ship. He merely wore breast armour and carried a keen blade.
On his flag were written four large characters “Van Leader Huang Kai”.
With a fair wind his fleet sailed toward Chʻihpʻi, or Red Wall.
The wind was strong and the waves ran high. Tsʻao Tsʻao in the midst of
the central squadron eagerly scanned the river which rolled down under
the bright moon like a silver serpent writhing in innumerable folds.
Letting the wind blow full in his face Tsʻao Tsʻao laughed aloud for
was he not now to obtain his desire?
Then a soldier pointing to the river said, “The whole south is one mass
of sails and they are coming up on the wind.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao went to a higher point and gazed at the sails intently and
his men told him that the flags were black and dragon shaped, and
indented, and among them there flew one very large banner on which was
a name Huang Kai.
“That is my friend the deserter,” said he joyfully. “Heaven is on my
side to-day.”
As the ships drew closer Chʻêng Yü said, “Those ships are treacherous.
Do not let them approach the camp.”
“How know you that?” asked Tsʻao Tsʻao.
And Chʻêng Yü replied, “If they were laden with grain they would lie
deep in the water. But these are light and float easily. The south-east
wind is very strong and if they intend treachery, how can we defend
ourselves?”
Tsʻao Tsʻao began to understand. Then he asked who would go out to stop
them, and Wên Pʻing volunteered. “I am well used to the waters,” said
he.
Thereupon he sprang into a small light craft and sailed out, followed
by a half score cruisers which came at his signal. Standing in the prow
of his ship he called out to those advancing toward them, “You southern
ships are not to approach; such are the orders of the Minister. Stop
there in mid stream.”
The soldiers all yelled to them to lower their sails. The shout had not
died away when a bowstring twanged and Wên Pʻing rolled down into the
ship with an arrow in the left arm. Confusion reigned on his ship and
all the others harried back to their camp.
When the ships were about a couple of li distant, Huang Kai waved his
sword and the leading ships broke forth into fire, which, under the
force of the strong wind, soon gained strength and the ships became as
fiery arrows. Soon the whole twenty dashed into the naval camp.
All Tsʻao Tsʻao’s ships were gathered there and as they wore firmly
chained together not one could escape from the others and flee. There
was a roar of bombs and fireships came on from all sides at once. The
face of the three rivers was speedily covered with fire which flew
before the wind from one ship to another. It seemed as if the universe
was filled with flame.
Tsʻao Tsʻao hastened toward the shore. Huang Kai, with a few men at his
back, leaped into a small boat, dashed through the fire and sought
Tsʻao Tsʻao. He, seeing the imminence of the danger, was making for the
land, Chang Liao got hold of a small boat into which he helped his
master; none too soon, for the ship was burning. They got Tsʻao Tsʻao
out of the thick of the fire and dashed for the bank.
Huang Kai seeing a handsomely robed person get into a small boat
guessed it must be Tsʻao Tsʻao and pursued. He drew very near and he
held his keen blade ready to strike, crying out, “You rebel! do not
flee. I am Huang Kai.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao howled in the bitterness of his distress. Chang Liao fitted
an arrow to his bow and aimed at the pursuer, shooting at short range.
The roaring of the gale and the flames kept Huang Kai from hearing the
twang of the string and he was wounded in the shoulder. He fell and
rolled over into the water.
He fell in peril of water
When flames were high;
Ere cudgel bruises had faded,
An arrow struck.
Huang Kai’s fate will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER L.
CHUKO LIANG FORESEES THE HUAYUNG EPISODE:
KUAN YÜN-CHʻANG RELEASES TSʻAO TSʻAO.
The last chapter closed with Huang Kai in the water wounded, Tsʻao
Tsʻao rescued from immediate danger and confusion rampant among the
soldiers. Pressing forward to attack the naval camp Han Tang was told
by his soldiers that some one was clinging to the rudder of his boat
and shouting to him by his familiar name. Han Tang listened carefully
and in the voice at once he recognised that Huang Kai was calling to
him for help.
“That is my friend Huang Kai,” cried he and they quickly pulled the
wounded leader out of the water. Then they saw Huang Kai was wounded
for the arrow still stuck. Han bit out the shaft of the arrow but the
point was deeply buried in the flesh. They hastily pulled off his wet
garments and cut out the metal arrowhead with a dagger, tore up one of
the flags and bound up the wound. Then Han Tang gave his friend his own
fighting robe to put on and sent him off in a small boat back to camp.
Huang Kai’s escape from drowning must be taken as proof of his natural
affinity for, or sympathy with, water. Although it was the period of
great cold and he was heavy with armour when he fell into the river yet
he escaped with life.
In this great battle at the junction of the rivers, when fire seemed to
spread wide over all the wide surface of the water, when the earth
quaked with the roar of battle, when land forces closed in on both
wings and four battle squadrons advanced on the front, when the
ferocity of fire answered the clash of weapons and weapons were aided
by fire, under the thrusts of spears and the flights of arrows, burnt
by fire and drowned by water, Tsʻao Tsʻao lost an incalculable number
of men. And a poet wrote:—
When Wei and Wu together strove
For the mastery,
In Red Cliff fight the towering ships
Vanished from the sea,
For there the fierce flames, leaping high,
Burned them utterly.
So Chou Yü for his liege lord
Got the victory.
And another Poem runs:—
The hills are high, the moon shines faint,
The waters stretch afar;
I sigh to think how oft this land
Has suffered stress of war;
And I recall how southerners
Shrank from the northmen’s might,
And how a favouring eastern gale
Helped them to win the fight.
Leaving for a while the story of the slaughter on the river it is time
to follow Kan Ning. He made Tsʻao Chung guide him into the innermost
recesses of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp. Then he slew him with one slash of his
sword. After this he set fire to the jungle, and at this signal Lü Mêng
put fire to the grass in half a score places near to each other. Then
other fires were started, and the noise of battle was on all sides.
Tsʻao Tsʻao and the faithful Chang Liao, with a small party of
horsemen, fled through the burning forest. They could see no road in
front; all seemed on fire. Presently Mao Chieh and Wên Pʻing, with a
few more horsemen, joined them. Tsʻao Tsʻao bade the soldiers seek a
way through. Chang Liao pointed out that the only suitable road was
through the “Black” Forest and they took it.
They had gone but a short distance when they were overtaken by a small
party of the enemy and a voice cried, “Tsʻao Tsʻao, stop!” It was Lü
Mêng, whose ensign soon appeared against the fiery background. Tsʻao
Tsʻao urged his small party of fugitives forward bidding Chang Liao
defend him from Lü Mêng. Soon after he saw the light of torches in
front and from a gorge there rushed out another force. And the leader
cried “Ling Tʻung is here!”
Tsʻao Tsʻao was scared; his liver and gall both seemed torn from
within. But just then on his half right he saw another company approach
and heard a friendly cry “Fear not, O Minister, I am here to rescue
you.”
The speaker was Hsü Huang and he attacked the pursuers.
A move to the north seemed to promise escape, but soon they saw a camp
on a hill top. Hsü Huang went ahead to reconnoitre and found the
officers in command were Ma Yen and Chang I, who had once been in the
service of Yüan Shao. They had three companies of northern men in camp.
They had seen the sky redden with the flames, but knew not what was
afoot so dared make no move.
This turned out lucky for Tsʻao Tsʻao who now found himself with a
fresh force. He sent these two, with a company, to clear the road ahead
while the others remained as guard. And he felt much more secure.
The two went forward, but before they had gone very far they heard a
shouting and a party of soldiers came out, the leader of them shouting,
“I am Kan Hsing-pa of the land of Wu.” Nothing daunted the two leaders
would engage, but the redoubtable Kan Ning cut down Ma Yen, and when
his brother warrior Chang I set his spear and dashed forward, he too
fell beneath a stroke from the fearsome sword. Both leaders dead, the
soldiers fled to give Tsʻao Tsʻao the bad news.
At this time Tsʻao Tsʻao expected aid from Hofei for he knew not that
Sun Chʻüan was barring the road. But when Sun saw the fires and so knew
that his men had won the day he ordered Lu Hsün to give the answering
signal. Tʻaishih Tzŭ seeing this came down and his force joined up with
that of Lu Hsün and they went against Tsʻao.
As for Tsʻao Tsʻao he could only get away toward Iling. On the road he
fell in with Chang Ho and ordered him to protect the retreat. He
pressed on as quickly as possible. At the fifth watch he was a long way
from the glare and he felt safer. He asked the name of the place where
they were. They told him it was west of the “Black” Forest and north of
Itu. Seeing the thickly crowded trees all about him, and the steep
hills and narrow passes, he threw up his head and laughed. Those about
him asked why he was merry and he said he was only laughing at the
stupidity of Chou Yü and the ignorance of Chuko Liang. If they had only
set an ambush there, as he would have done, why, there was no escape.
He had scarcely finished his explanation when from both sides came a
deafening roll of drums and flames sprang up to heaven. Tsʻao Tsʻao
nearly fell off his horse, he was so startled. And from the side dashed
in a troop, with Chao Yün leading, who cried, “I am Chao Tzŭ-lung and
long have I been waiting here.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao ordered Hsü Huang and Chang Ho to engage this new opponent
and he himself rode off into the smoke and fire. Chao Yün did not
pursue; he only captured his banners and Tsʻao Tsʻao escaped.
The faint light of dawn showed a great black cloud all around, for the
south-east wind had not ceased. Suddenly began a heavy down-pour of
rain, wetting every one to the skin, but still Tsʻao Tsʻao maintained
his headlong flight till the starved faces of the men made a halt
imperative. He told the men to forage in the villages about for grain
and the means of making a fire. But when these had been found and they
began to cook a meal another pursuing party came along and Tsʻao Tsʻao
again was terrified. However, these proved to be friends escorting some
of his advisers whom he saw with joy.
When giving the order to advance again he asked what places lay ahead,
and they told him there were two roads; one was the highway to South
Iling and the other a mountain road to the north of Iling.
“Which is the shorter way to Chiangling?” asked Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“The best way is to take the south road through Hulukʻou,” was the
reply.
So he gave orders to march that way. By the time Hulukʻou was reached
the men were almost starving and could march no more; horses too were
worn out. Many had fallen by the roadside. A halt was then made, food
was taken by force from the villagers, and as there were still some
boilers left they found a dry spot beside the hills where they could
rest and cook. And there they began to prepare a meal, boiling grain
and roasting strips of horse-flesh. Then they took off their wet
clothes and spread them to dry. The beasts, too, were unsaddled and
turned out to graze.
Seated comfortably in a somewhat open spot Tsʻao Tsʻao suddenly looked
up and began to laugh loud and long. His companions, remembering the
sequel of his last laugh, said, “Not long since, Sir, you laughed at
Chou Yü and Chuko Liang; that resulted in the arrival of Chao Yün and
great loss of men to us. Why do you now laugh?”
“I am laughing again at the ignorance of the same two men. If I was in
their place, and conducting their campaign, I should have had an ambush
here, just to meet us when we were tired out. Then, even if we escaped
with our lives, we should suffer very severely. They did not see this
and therefore I am laughing at them.”
Even at that moment behind them rose a great yell. Thoroughly startled,
Tsʻao Tsʻao threw aside his breastplate and leaped upon his horse. Most
of the soldiers failed to catch theirs and then fires sprang up on
every side and filled the mouth of the valley. A force was arrayed
before them and at the head was the man of Yen, Chang Fei, seated on
his steed with his great spear levelled.
“Whither wouldst thou flee, O rebel?” shouted he.
The soldiers grew cold within at the sight of the terrible warrior. Hsü
Chʻu, mounted on a barebacked horse, rode up to engage him and two
comrades galloped up to his aid. The three gathered about Chang Fei and
a mêlée began, while Tsʻao Tsʻao made off at top speed. The other
leaders set off after him and Chang Fei pursued. However, Tsʻao Tsʻao
by dint of hard riding got away and gradually the pursuers were
out-distanced.
But many had received wounds. As they were going the soldiers said,
“There are two roads before us; which shall we take?”
“Which is the shorter?” asked Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“The high road is the more level, but it is fifty li longer than the
bye-road which goes to Huayungtao. Only the latter road is narrow and
dangerous, full of pits and difficult.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao sent men up to the hill tops to look around. They returned
saying there were several columns of smoke rising from the hills along
the road. The high road seemed quiet.
Then Tsʻao Tsʻao bade them lead the way along the bye-road.
“Where smoke arises there are surely soldiers,” remarked the officers.
“Why go this way?”
“Because the Book of War says that the hollow is to be regarded as
solid and the solid as hollow. That fellow Chuko Liang is very subtle
and has sent men to make those fires so that we should not go that way.
He has laid an ambush on the high road. I have made up my mind and I
will not fall a victim to his wiles.”
“O Minister, your conclusions are most admirable. None other can equal
you,” said the officers.
And the soldiers were sent along the highway. They were very hungry and
many almost too weak to travel. The horses too were spent. Some had
been scorched by the flames and they rode forward resting their heads
on their whips; the wounded struggled on to the last of their strength.
All were soaking wet and all were feeble. Their arms and accoutrements
were in a deplorable state, and more than half had been left upon the
road they had traversed. Few of the horses had saddles or bridles, for
in the confusion of pursuit they had been left behind. It was the time
of greatest winter cold and the suffering was indescribable.
Noticing that the leading party had stopped Tsʻao Tsʻao sent to ask the
reason. The messenger returned to report that by reason of the rain
water collected in the pits and the mire the horses could not move.
Tsʻao Tsʻao raged.
He said, “When soldiers come to hills they cut a road, when they happen
upon streams they bridge them; such a thing as mud cannot stay an
army.”
So he ordered the weak and wounded to go to the rear and come on as
they could, while the robust and able were to cut down trees, and
gather herbage and reeds to fill up the holes. And it was to be done
without delay, or death would be the punishment of the disobedient or
remiss.
So the men dismounted and felled trees and cut bamboos, and they
levelled the road. And because of the imminence and fear of pursuit a
party was told off to hasten the workers and slay any that idled.
The soldiers made their way along the shallower parts, but many fell,
and cries of misery were heard the whole length of the way.
“What are you howling for?” cried Tsʻao Tsʻao. “The number of your days
is fixed. Any one who howls shall be put to death.”
The remnant of the army, now divided into three, one to march slowly, a
second to fill up the waterways and hollows and a third to escort Tsʻao
Tsʻao, gradually made its way over the precipitous road. When the going
improved a little and the path was moderately level, Tsʻao Tsʻao turned
to look at his following and saw he had barely three hundred men. And
these lacked clothing and armour and were tattered and disordered.
But he pressed on, and when the officers told him the horses were quite
spent and must rest, he replied, “Press on to Chingchou and there we
shall find repose.”
So they pressed on. But they had gone only a few li when Tsʻao Tsʻao
flourished his whip and broke once again into loud laughter.
“What is there to laugh at?” asked the officers.
“People say those two are able and crafty; I do not see it. They are a
couple of incapables. If an ambush had been placed here we should all
be prisoners.”
He had not finished this speech when the explosion of a bomb broke the
silence and a half company of men with swords in their hands appeared
and barred the way. The leader was Kuan Yü holding the famous Black
Dragon sword, bestriding the “Red Hare” steed. At this sight the
spirits of the soldiers left them and they gazed into each others’
faces in panic.
“Now we have but one course;” said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “we must fight to the
death.”
“How can we?” said the officers. “The men are scared, the horses are
spent.”
Chʻêng Yü said, “I have always heard that Kuan Yü is haughty to the
proud but kindly to the humble; he despises the strong, but is gentle
with the weak. He discriminates between love and hate and is always
righteous and true. You, O Minister, have shown him kindness, and if
you will remind him of that we shall escape this evil.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao agreed to try. He rode out to the front, bowed low and
said, “General, I trust you have enjoyed good health.”
“I had orders to await you, O Minister,” replied he, bowing in return,
“and I have been expecting you these many days.”
“You see before you Tsʻao Tsʻao, defeated and weak. I have reached a
sad pass and I trust you, O General, will not forget the kindness of
former days.”
“Though indeed you were kind to me in those days, yet I slew your
enemies for you and relieved the siege of Paima. As to the business of
to-day, I cannot allow private feelings to outweigh public duty.”
“Do you remember my generals, slain at the five passes? The noble man
values righteousness. You are well versed in the histories and must
recall the action of Yu-kung, the archer, when he found his master
Tzŭ-cho in his power.”
Kuan Yü was indeed a very mountain of goodness and could not forget the
great kindness he had received at Tsʻao Tsʻao’s hands, and the
magnanimity he had shown over the deeds at the five passes. He saw the
desperate straits to which his benefactor was reduced and tears were
very near to the eyes of both. He could not press him hard. He pulled
at the bridle of his steed and turned away saying to his followers,
“Break up the formation.”
From this it was evident that his design was to release Tsʻao Tsʻao,
who then went on with his officers, and when Kuan Yü turned to look
back they had all passed. He uttered a great shout and the soldiers
jumped off their horses and knelt on the ground crying for mercy. But
he also had pity for them. Then Chang Liao, whom he knew well, came
along and was allowed to go free also.
Tsʻao Tsʻao, his army lost, fled to the Huayung Valley;
There in the throat of the gorge met he Kuan Yü.
Grateful was Kuan, and mindful of former kindness,
Wherefore slipped he the bolt and freed the imprisoned dragon.
Having escaped this danger Tsʻao Tsʻao hastened to get out of the
valley. As the throat opened out he glanced behind him and saw only two
score and seven horsemen. As evening fell they reached Nanchün and they
came upon what they took to be more enemies. Tsʻao Tsʻao thought the
end had surely come, but to his delight they were his own men and he
regained all his confidence. Tsʻao Jên, who was the leader, said that
he had heard of the misfortunes of his master, but he was afraid to
venture far from his charge else he would have met him before.
“I nearly missed you as it was,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
The fugitives found repose in the city, where Chang Liao soon joined
them. He also praised the magnanimity of Kuan Yü.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao mustered the miserable remnant of his host he found
nearly all were wounded and he bade them rest. Tsʻao Jên poured the
wine of consolation whereby his master might forget his sorrows. And as
Tsʻao drank among his familiars he became exceedingly sad.
Wherefore they said, “O Minister, when you were in the cave of the
tiger and trying to escape you showed no sign of sorrow; now that you
are safe in a city, where you have food and the horses have forage,
where all you have to do is to prepare for revenge, suddenly you lose
heart and grieve; why thus?”
Replied Tsʻao Tsʻao, “I am thinking of my friend Kuo Chia; had he been
alive he would not have let me suffer this loss.”
He beat his breast and wept, saying “Alas for Fêng-hsiao! I grieve for
Fêng-hsiao! I sorrow for Fêng-hsiao!”
The reproach shamed the advisers. Next day Tsʻao Tsʻao called Tsʻao Jên
and said, “I am going to the capital to prepare another army for
revenge. You are to guard this district and, in case of necessity, I
leave with you a sealed plan. You are only to open the cover when
hard-pressed, and then you are to act as directed. Wu will not dare to
look this way.”
“Who is to guard Hofei and Hsiangyang?”
“Chingchou is particularly your care and Hsiahou Tun is to hold
Hsiangyang. As Hofei is most important I am sending Chang Liao thither
with good aids. If you get into difficulties send at once to tell me.”
Having made these dispositions Tsʻao Tsʻao set off at once with a few
followers. He took with him the officers who had come over to his side
when Chingchou fell into his hands.
Tsʻao Jên placed Tsʻao Hung in charge of the south of Iling.
After having allowed the escape of Tsʻao Tsʻao, Kuan Yü found his way
back to headquarters. By this time the other detachments had returned
bringing spoil of horses and weapons and supplies of all kinds. Only
Kuan Yü came back empty-handed. When he arrived Chuko Liang was with
his brother congratulating him on his success. When Kuan Yü was
announced Kʻung-ming got up and went to welcome him, bearing a cup of
wine.
“Joy! O General,” said he. “You have done a deed that overtops the
world. You have removed the country’s worst foe and ought to have been
met at a distance and felicitated.”
Kuan Yü muttered inaudibly and Kʻung-ming continued, “I hope it is not
because we have omitted to welcome you on the road that you seem sad.”
Turning to those about him he said, “Why did you not tell us he was
coming?”
“I am here to ask for death,” said Kuan Yü.
“Surely Tsʻao Tsʻao came through the valley?”
“Yes; he came that way, and I could not help it; I let him go.”
“Then whom have you captured?”
“No one.”
“Then you remembered the old kindness of Tsʻao Tsʻao and so allowed him
to escape. But your acceptance of the task with its conditions is here.
You will have to suffer the penalty.”
He called in the lictors and told them to take away Kuan Yü and put him
to death.
Kuan Yü risked life when he spared Tsʻao
In direst need,
And age-long admiration gained
For kindly deed.
What actually befell will be seen in the next chapter.
CHAPTER LI.
A GREAT BATTLE BETWEEN NORTH AND SOUTH:
KʻUNG-MING ANGERS CHOU YÜ.
Kuan Yü had died there but for his elder brother, who said to the great
strategist, “We three pledged ourselves to live and die together.
Although my brother Yün-chʻang has offended I cannot bear to break our
oath. I hope you will only record this against him and let him atone
later for the fault by some specially meritorious service.”
So the sentence was remitted. In the meantime Chou Yü mustered his
officers and called over his men, noted the special services of each
and sent full reports to his master. The soldiers who had surrendered
were all transported across the river. All this done they spread the
feast of victory.
The next step was to attack and capture Nanchün. The van of the army
camped on the river bank. There were five camps and the general’s tent
was in the centre. He summoned his officers to a council. At this
moment Sun Chʻien arrived with congratulations from Liu Pei. Chou Yü
received him and, having saluted in proper form, Chʻien said, “My lord
sent me on this special mission to felicitate the General on his great
virtue and offer some unworthy gifts.”
“Where is Yüan-tê?” asked Chou Yü.
“He is now encamped at Yuchiangkʻou.”
“Is Kʻung-ming there?” asked Chou Yü, taken aback.
“Both are there,” said Chʻien.
“Then return quickly, and I will come in person to thank them.”
The presents handed over, Sun Chʻien was sent back forthwith to his own
camp. Then Lu Su asked Chou Yü why he had started when he heard where
Liu Pei was camped.
“Because,” replied Chou Yü, “camping there means that he has the
intention of taking Nanchün. Having spent much military energy and
spared no expenditure, we thought the district should fall to us
easily. Those others are opposed to us and they wish to get the
advantage of what we have already accomplished. However, they must
remember that I am not dead yet.”
“How can you prevent them?” asked Lu Su.
“I will go myself and speak with them. If all goes well, then, let it
be so; in case it does not, then I shall immediately settle up Liu Pei
without waiting for Nanchün to be taken.”
“I should like to accompany you,” said Lu Su.
The General and his friend started, taking with them a guard of one
squadron of light horse. Having arrived at Yuchiangkʻou they sought out
Sun Chʻien, who, in turn, went in to see Yüan-tê and told him Chou Yü
had come to render thanks.
“Why has he come?” asked Yüan-tê of his all-wise adviser.
“Is it likely he would come out of simple politeness? Of course he has
come in connection with Nanchün.”
“But if he brings an army, can we stand against it?” asked Yüan-tê.
“When he comes you may reply thus and thus.”
Then they drew up the warships in the river and ranged the soldiers
upon the bank and when the arrival of Chou Yü was formally announced,
Chao Yün, with some horsemen, went to welcome him. When Chou Yü saw
what bold men they looked he began to feel uncomfortable, but he went
on his way. Being met at the camp gates by Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming, he
was taken in to the chief tent, where the ceremonies were performed and
preparations for a banquet had been made.
Presently Liu Pei raised his cup in felicitation on the recent victory
gained by his guest. The banquet proceeded and after a few more courses
Chou Yü said, “Of course you are camped here with no other idea than to
take Nanchün?”
“We heard you were going to take the place and came to assist. Should
you not take it then we will occupy it.”
Chou Yü laughed. “We of the east have long wished for this district.
Now that it is within our grasp we naturally shall take it.”
Liu Pei said, “There is always some uncertainty. Tsʻao Tsʻao left Tsʻao
Jên to guard the district and you may be certain that there is good
strategy behind him to say nothing of his boldness as a warrior. I fear
you may not get it.”
“Well, if we do not take it then, Sir, you may have it,” said Chou Yü.
“Here are witnesses to your words,” said Liu Pei, naming those at
table. “I hope you will never repent what you have just said.”
Lu Su stammered and seemed unwilling to be cited as one of the
witnesses but Chou Yü said, “When the word of a noble man has gone
forth it is ended; he never regrets.”
“This speech of yours, Sir, is very generous,” interjected Kʻung-ming.
“Wu shall try first, but if the place does not fall there is no reason
why my lord should not capture it.”
The two visitors then took their leave and rode away. As soon as they
had left Liu Pei turned to Kʻung-ming and said, “O Master, you bade me
thus reply to Chou Yü, but though I did so I have turned it over and
over in my mind without finding any reason in what I said. I am alone
and weak, without a single foot of land to call my own. I desired to
get possession of Nanchün that I might have, at least, a temporary
shelter, yet I have said that Chou Yü may attack it first and if it
fall to Wu, how can I get possession?”
Kʻung-ming laughed and replied, “First I advised you to attack
Chingchou, but you would not listen; do you remember?”
“But it belonged to Liu Piao and I could not bear to attack it then.
Now it belongs to Tsʻao Tsʻao I might do so.”
“Do not be anxious,” replied the adviser. “Let Chou Yü go and attack
it; some day, my lord, I shall make you sit in the high places
thereof.”
“But what design have you?”
“So and so,” replied Kʻung-ming.
Yüan-tê was satisfied with the reply, and only strengthened his
position at Chiangkʻou. In the meantime Chou Yü and Lu Su returned to
their own camp and the latter said, “Why did you tell Liu Pei that he
might attack Nanchün?”
“I can take it with a flick of my finger,” replied Chou Yü, “but I just
manifested a little pretended kindliness.”
Then he enquired among his officers for a volunteer to attack the city.
One Chiang Chʻin offered himself, and was put in command of the
vanguard, with Hsü Shêng and Ting Fêng as helpers. He was given five
companies of veterans and they moved across the river. Chou Yü promised
to follow with supports.
On the other side Tsʻao Jên ordered Tsʻao Hung to guard Iling and so
hold one corner of a triangular defence. When the news came that Wu had
crossed the river Han, Tsʻao said, “We will defend and not offer
battle.”
But Niu Chin said impetuously, “To let the enemy approach the walls and
not offer battle is timidity. Our men, lately worsted, need heartening
and must show their mettle. Let me have half a company of veterans and
I will fight to a finish.”
Tsʻao Jên could not withstand this offer and so the half company went
out of the city. At once Ting Fêng came to challenge the leader and
they fought a few bouts. Then Ting Fêng pretended to be defeated, gave
up the fight and retreated into his own lines. Niu Chin followed him
hard. When he had got within the Wu formation, at a signal from Ting
Fêng, the army closed round and Niu Chin was surrounded. He pushed
right and left, but could find no way out. Seeing him in the toils,
Tsʻao Jên, who had watched the fight from the wall, donned his armour
and came out of the city at the head of his own bold company of
horsemen and burst in among the men of Wu to try to rescue his
colleague. Beating back Hsü Shêng he fought his way in and presently
rescued Niu Chin.
However, having got out he saw several score of horsemen still in the
middle unable to make their way out, whereupon he turned again to the
battle and dashed in to their rescue. This time he met Chiang Chʻin on
whom he and Niu Chin made a violent onslaught. Then the brother Tsʻao
Shun came up with supports and the great battle ended in a defeat for
the men of Wu.
So Tsʻao Jên went back victor, while the unhappy Chiang Chʻin returned
to report his failure. Chou Yü was very angry and would have put to
death his hapless subordinate but for the intervention of the other
officers.
Then he prepared for another attack where he himself would lead. But
Kan Ning said, “General, do not be in too great hurry; let me go first
and attack Iling, the supporting angle of the triangle. After that the
conquest of Nanchün will be easy.”
Chou Yü accepted the plan and Kan, with three companies, went to attack
Iling.
When news of the approaching army reached him Tsʻao Jên called to his
side Chʻên Chiao, who said, “If Iling be lost then Nanchün is lost too.
So help must be sent quickly.”
Thereupon Tsʻao Shun and Niu Chin were sent by secret ways to the aid
of Tsʻao Hung. Tsʻao Shun sent a messenger to the city to ask that they
should cause a diversion by a sortie at the time the reinforcements
should arrive.
So when Kan Ning drew near, Tsʻao Hung went out to meet and engage him.
They fought a score of rounds, but Tsʻao Hung was overcome at last and
Kan Ning took the city. However, as evening fell the reinforcements
came up and the captor was surrounded in the city he had taken. The
scouts went off immediately to tell Chou Yü of this sudden change of
affairs which greatly alarmed him.
“Let us hasten to his rescue,” said Chʻêng Pʻu.
“This place is of the greatest importance,” said Chou Yü, “and I am
afraid to leave it undefended lest Tsʻao Jên should attack.”
“But he is one of our first leaders and must be rescued,” said Lü Mêng.
“I should like to go myself to his aid, but whom can I leave here in my
place?” said Chou Yü.
“Leave Lin Tʻung here,” said Lü Mêng; “I will push on ahead and you can
protect my advance. In less than ten days we shall be singing the pæan
of victory.”
“Are you willing?” said Chou Yü to the man who was to act for him.
“If the ten day period is not exceeded I may be able to carry on for
that time; I am unequal to more than that.”
Ling Tʻung’s consent pleased Chou Yü who started at once, leaving a
legion for the defence of the camp. Lü Mêng said to his chief, “South
of Iling is a little-used road that may prove very useful in an attack
on Nanchün. Let us send a party to fell trees and barricade this road
so that horses cannot pass. In case of defeat the defeated will take
this road and will be compelled to abandon their horses, which we shall
capture.”
Chou Yü approved and the men set out. When the main army drew near
Iling, Chou Yü asked who would try to break through the besiegers and
Chou Tʻai offered himself. He girded on his sword, mounted his steed
and burst straight into the Tsʻao army. He got through to the city
wall.
From the city wall Kan Ning saw the approach of his friend Chou Tʻai
and went out to welcome him. Chou Tʻai told him that the
Commander-in-Chief was on the way to his relief and Kan Ning at once
bade the defenders prepare from within to support the attack of the
rescuers.
When the news of the approach of Chou Yü had reached Iling the
defenders had sent to tell Tsʻao Jên, who was at Nanchün and they
prepared to repel the assailants. So when the army of Wu came near they
were at once attacked. Simultaneously Kan Ning and Chou Tʻai attacked
on two sides and the men of Tsʻao were thrown into confusion. The men
of Wu fell on lustily and the three leaders all fled by a bye-road,
but, finding the way barred with felled trees and other obstacles, they
had to abandon their horses and go afoot. In this way the men of Wu
gained some five hundred steeds.
Chou Yü, pressing on as quickly as possible toward Nanchün, came upon
Tsʻao Jên and his army marching to save Iling. The two armies engaged
and fought a battle which lasted till late in the evening. Then both
drew off and Tsʻao Jên withdrew into the city.
During the night he called his officers to a council. Then said Tsʻao
Hung, “The loss of Iling has brought us to a dangerous pass; now it
seems the time to open the letter of the Minister our Chief and see
what plans he arranged for our salvation in this peril.”
“You but say what I think,” replied Tsʻao Jên. Whereupon he tore open
the letter and read it. His face lighted up with joy and he at once
issued orders to have the morning meal prepared at the fifth watch. At
daylight the whole army moved out of the city but they left a semblance
of occupation in the shape of banners on the walls.
Chou Yü went up to the tower of observation and looked over the city.
He saw that the flags along the battlements had no men behind them and
he noticed that every man carried a bundle at his waist behind so that
he was prepared for a long march. Thought Chou Yü to himself, “Tsʻao
Jên must be prepared for a long march.”
So he went down from the tower of observation and sent out an order for
two wings of the army to be ready. One of these was to attack and, in
case of its success, the other was to pursue at full speed till the
clanging of the gongs should call them to return. He took command of
the leading force in person and Chʻêng Pʻu commanded the other. Thus
they advanced to attack the city.
The armies being arrayed facing each other, the drums rolled out across
the plain. Tsʻao Hung rode forth and challenged, and Chou Yü, from his
place by the standard, bade Han Tang respond. The two champions fought
near two score bouts and then Tsʻao Hung fled. Thereupon Tsʻao Jên came
out to help him and Chou Tʻai rode out at full speed to meet him. These
two exchanged a half score passes and then Tsʻao Jên fled.
His army fell into confusion. Thereupon Chou Yü gave the signal for the
advance of both his wings and the men of Tsʻao were sore smitten and
defeated. Chou Yü pursued to the city wall, but Tsʻao’s men did not
enter the city. Instead, they went away north-west. Han Tang and Chou
Tʻai pressed them hard.
Chou Yü, seeing the city gates standing wide open and no guards upon
the walls, ordered the raiding of the city. A few score horsemen rode
in first, Chou Yü followed and whipping his steed. As he galloped into
the enclosure around the gate, Chʻên Chiao stood on the defence tower.
When he saw Chou Yü enter, in his heart he applauded the god-like
perspicacity of the Minister Tsʻao Tsʻao.
Then was heard the clap-clap of a watchman’s rattle. At this signal the
archers and crossbowmen let fly and the arrows and bolts flew forth in
a sudden fierce shower, while those who had won their way to the van of
the inrush went headlong into a deep trench. Chou Yü managed to pull up
in time, but turning to escape, he was wounded in the left side and
fell to the ground. Niu Chin rushed out from the city to capture the
chief, but Hsü Shêng and Ting Fêng at the risk of their lives got him
away safe. Then the men of Tsʻao dashed out of the city and wrought
confusion among the men of Wu, who trampled each other down and many
more fell into the trenches. Chʻêng Pʻu tried to draw off, but Tsʻao
Jên and Tsʻao Hung came toward him from different directions and the
battle went hardly against the men from the east, till help came from
Ling Tʻung, who bore back their assailants. Satisfied with their
success Tsʻao led his men into the city, while the losers marched back
to their own camp.
Chou Yü, sorely wounded, was taken to his own tent and the army
physician called in. With iron forceps he extracted the sharp bolt and
dressed the wound with a lotion designed to counteract the poison of
the metal. But the pain was intense and the patient rejected all
nourishment. The physician said the missile had been poisoned and the
wound would require a long time to heal. The patient must be kept quiet
and especially free from any irritation, which would cause the wound to
re-open.
Thereupon Chʻêng Pʻu gave orders that each division was to remain in
camp. Three days later Niu Chin came within sight and challenged the
men of Wu to battle, but they did not stir. The enemy hurled at them
taunts and insults till the sun had fallen low in the sky, but it was
of no avail and Niu withdrew.
Next day Niu Chin returned and repeated his insulting abuse. Chʻêng Pʻu
dared not tell the wounded general. The third day, waxing bolder, the
enemy came to the very gates of the stockade, the leader shouting that
he had come for the purpose of capturing Chou Yü.
Then Chʻêng Pʻu called together his officers and they discussed the
feasibility of retirement into Wu that he might seek the opinion of the
Marquis.
Ill as he was Chou Yü still retained control of the expedition. He knew
that the enemy came daily to the gates of his camp and reviled him
although none of his officers told him. One day Tsʻao Jên came in
person and there was much rolling of drums and shouting. Chʻêng Pʻu,
however, steadily refused to accept the challenge and would not let any
one go out. Then Chou Yü summoned the officers to his bedside and said,
“What mean the drums and the shouting?”
“The men are drilling,” was the reply.
“Why do you deceive me?” said Chou Yü angrily. “Do I not know that our
enemies come day by day to our gates and insult us? Yet Chʻêng Pʻu
suffers this in silence and makes no use of his powers and authority.”
He sent for Chʻêng Pʻu and, when he arrived, asked him why he acted
thus.
“Because you are ill and the physician said you were on no account to
be provoked to anger. Wherefore, although the enemy challenged us to
battle, I kept it from you.”
“And if you do not fight what think you should be done?” said Chou Yü.
And they all said they desired to return to the east till he had
recovered from his wound, when they would make another expedition.
Chou Yü lay and listened. Suddenly he sprang up, crying, “The noble man
who has eaten of his lord’s bounty should die in his lord’s battles; to
return to one’s home wrapped in a horse’s hide is a happy fate. Am I
the sort of man to bring to nought the grand designs of my country?”
So speaking he proceeded to gird on his armour and he mounted his
horse. The wonder of the officers only redoubled when their General
placed himself at the head of some hundreds of horsemen and went out of
the camp gates toward the enemy, then fully arrayed. Tsʻao Jên, their
general, stood beneath the great standard.
At sight of the opponents Tsʻao Jên flourished his whip and began to
hurl abuse at them, “Chou Yü, you babe! I think your fate has met you.
You dare not face my men.”
The stream of insult never ceased. Presently Chou Yü could stand it no
longer. Riding out to the front he cried, “Here I am, base churl; look
at me!”
The whole Tsʻao army were taken aback. But Tsʻao Jên turned to those
about him and said, “Let us all revile him!” And the whole army yelled
insults.
Chou Yü grew angry and sent Pʻan Chang out to fight. But before he had
delivered his first blow Chou Yü suddenly uttered a loud cry, and he
fell to the ground with blood gushing from his mouth.
At this the Tsʻao army rushed to the battle and the men of Wu pressed
forward to meet them. A fierce struggle waged around the General’s
body, but he was borne off safely and taken to his tent.
“Do you feel better?” asked Chʻêng Pʻu anxiously.
“It was a ruse of mine,” whispered Chou Yü in reply.
“But what avails it?”
“I am not suffering, but I did that to make our enemies think I was
very ill and so oppose them by deceit. I will send a few trusty men to
pretend desertion and tell them I am dead. That will cause them to try
a night raid on the camp and we shall have an ambush ready for them. We
shall get Tsʻao Jên easily.”
“The plan seems excellent,” said Chʻêng Pʻu.
Soon from the tent there arose the sound of wailing as for the dead.
The soldiers around took up the cry and said one to another, “The
General is dead of his wound,” and they all put on the symbols of
mourning.
Meanwhile Tsʻao Jên was consulting with his officers. Said he, “Chou Yü
lost his temper and that has caused his wound to re-open and brought on
that flow of blood. You saw him fall to the ground and he will
assuredly die soon.”
Just then there came in one who said that a few men had come over from
the enemy asking to be allowed to join the army of Tsʻao; among them
were two of Tsʻao’s men who had been made prisoners.
Tsʻao Jên sent for the deserters and questioned them. They told him a
story of Chou Yü’s wound and death that day. The leaders were all in
mourning. They had deserted because they had been put to shame by the
second in command.
Pleased at this news Tsʻao Jên at once began to arrange to make a night
attack on the camp and, if possible, get the head of the dead general
to send to the capital.
“Success depends upon promptitude, so act without delay,” said Chʻên
Chiao.
Niu Chin was told off as van leader, Tsʻao Jên himself led the centre,
while the rear was commanded by Tsʻao Hung and Tsʻao Shun. Chʻên Chiao,
and a few men, were left to guard the city.
At the first watch they left the city and took the way toward Chou Yü’s
camp. When they drew near not a man was visible, but flags and banners
and spears were all there, evidently to keep up an appearance of
preparation. Feeling at once that they had been tricked they turned to
retreat. But a bomb exploded and this was the signal for an attack on
all four sides. The result was a severe defeat for the raiders and the
army of Tsʻao Jên was entirely broken and scattered abroad so that no
one part of the beaten army could aid the other.
Tsʻao Jên, with a few horsemen got out of the press and presently met
Tsʻao Hung. The two leaders ran away together and by the fifth watch
they had got near Nanchün. Then they heard a beating of drums and Lin
Tʻung appeared barring the way. There was a small skirmish and Tsʻao
Jên went off at an angle. But he fell in with Kan Ning, who attacked
him vigorously. Tsʻao Jên dared not go back to Nanchün, but he made for
Hsiangyang along the main road. The men of Wu pursued him for a time
and then desisted.
Chou Yü and Chʻêng Pʻu then made their way to Nanchün where they were
startled to see flags on the walls and every sign of occupation. Before
they had recovered from their surprise there appeared one who cried,
“Pardon, General; I had orders from my chief to take this city. I am
Chao Tzŭ-lung of Chʻangshan.”
Chou Yü was fiercely angry and gave orders to assault the city, but the
defenders sent down flights and flights of arrows and his men could not
stay near the rampart. So he withdrew and took counsel. In the meantime
he decided to send a force to capture Chingchou and another to take
Hsiangyang. Nanchün could be taken later.
But even as these orders were being given the scouts came in hurriedly
to report that Chuko Liang, suddenly producing a military commission,
had induced the guards of Chingchou to leave it and go to the rescue of
Chou Yü. Whereupon Chang Fei had occupied the town. Soon after another
messenger came to say that Hsiahou Tun, at Hsiangyang, had received
from Chuko Liang despatches, supported by a commission in due form,
saying that Tsʻao Jên was in danger and needed help, whereupon Hsiahou
Tun had marched off and Kuan Yü had seized that town.
Thus the two towns that Chou Yü wanted had fallen, without the least
effort, into the hands of his rival Liu Pei.
“How did Chuko Liang get this military commission with which he has
imposed on the captains?” asked Chou Yü.
Chʻêng Pʻu replied, “He seized that of Chʻên Chiao; and so has got all
this district into his power.”
Chou Yü uttered a great cry for at that moment his wound had suddenly
burst open.
A city falls, but not to us the gain;
The guerdon is another’s; ours the pain.
The next chapter will say what befell Chou Yü.
CHAPTER LII.
CHUKO LIANG TALKS CUNNINGLY TO LU SU:
CHAO YÜN, BY A RUSE, CAPTURES KUEIYANG
Chou Yü’s anger at seeing that his rival, Kʻung-ming, had surprised
Nanchün, and at hearing the same news of Chingchou and Hsiangyang, was
but natural. And this sudden fit of rage caused his wound to re-open.
However, he soon recovered. All his officers besought him to accept the
situation, but he said, “What but the death of that bumpkin, Chuko,
will assuage my anger? If Chʻêng Pʻu can but aid me in an attack on
Nanchün I can certainly restore it to my country.”
Soon Lu Su came in, to whom Chou Yü said, “I simply must fight Liu Pei
and Chuko Liang till it is decided which shall have the upper hand. I
must also recapture the city. Perhaps you can assist me.”
“It cannot be done,” replied Lu Su. “We are now at grips with Tsʻao
Tsʻao and victory or defeat is undecided. Our lord has not been
successful in overcoming Hopei. Do not fight near home, or it will be
like people of the same household destroying each other and should
Tsʻao Tsʻao take advantage of this position to make a sudden descent we
should be in a parlous condition. Further, you must remember that Liu
Pei and Tsʻao Tsʻao are united by the bonds of old friendship and, if
the pressure becomes too great, Liu Pei may relinquish these cities,
offer them to Tsʻao Tsʻao and join forces with him to attack our
country. That would be a real misfortune.”
“I cannot help being angry” said Chou Yü, “to think that we should have
used our resources for their benefit. They get all the advantage.”
“Well, let me go and see Yüan-tê and talk reason to him. If I can
arrive at no understanding then attack at once.”
“Excellent proposal!” cried all present.
So Lu Su, with his escort, went away to Nanchün to carry out his
proposal and try to arrange matters. He reached the city wall and
summoned the gate, whereat Chao Yün came out to speak with him.
“I have something to say to Liu Yüan-tê,” said he; “I wish to see him.”
“My lord and Chuko Liang are in Chingchou,” was the reply.
Lu Su turned away and hasted to Chingchou. He found the walls bedecked
with flags and everything in excellent order. In his heart he admired
the sight, and thought what an able man was the commander of that army.
The guards reported his arrival and Kʻung-ming ordered them to throw
wide the gate. He was led to the government house and, after the usual
exchange of salutes, Kʻung-ming and his visitor took their respective
seats. Having finished the tea, Lu Su said, “My master, the Marquis Wu,
and the Commander of his army, Chou Yü, have sent me to lay before the
Imperial Uncle their views. When Tsʻao Tsʻao led his huge host
southward he gave out that it was for the conquest of Chiangnan; really
his intention was to destroy Liu Pei. Happily our army was able to
repulse that mighty host and so saved him. Wherefore Chingchou with its
nine districts ought to belong to us. But by a treacherous move your
master has occupied Chingchou and Hsiangyang, so that we have spent our
treasure in vain and our armies have fought to no purpose. The imperial
Uncle has reaped the benefits to the full. This is not as it should
be.”
Kʻung-ming replied, “Tzŭ-ching, you are a man of high intelligence; why
do you hold such language? You know the saying, that all things turn to
their owner. These places have never belonged to Wu, but were of the
patrimony of Liu Piao, and though he is dead, his son remains. Should
not the uncle assist the nephew to recover his own? Could my master
have refrained?”
“If the nephew Liu Chʻi, the rightful heir, had occupied these cities
there would have been something to say. But he is at Chianghsia and not
here.”
“Would you like to see him?” said Kʻung-ming.
At the same time he ordered the servants to request Liu Chʻi to come.
Thereupon he at once appeared, supported by two attendants. Addressing
Lu Su he said, “I am too weak to perform the correct ceremonies; I pray
you pardon me, Tzŭ-ching.”
Lu Su said not a word; he was too much taken aback. However, he
recovered himself presently and said, “But if the heir had not been
here, what then?”
“The heir is living but from day to day; should he go, then——there will
be something to talk about.”
“Should he die, then you ought to return these cities to us.”
“You state the exact facts,” said Kʻung-ming.
Then a banquet was prepared and, that over, Lu Su took his leave. He
hastened back to his own camp and gave Chou Yü an account of his
mission.
“But what is there for us in the chance of Liu Chʻi’s death?” said Chou
Yü. “He is in his very first youth. When will these places fall to us?”
“Rest content, General; let me guarantee the return of these places.”
“But how can you?” asked Chou Yü.
“Liu Chʻi has indulged too freely in wine and women; he is a wreck and
rotten to the core, miserably emaciated and panting for breath. I will
not give him half a year’s life. Then I will go to Liu Pei and he will
be unable to deny the request.”
But Chou Yü was still unmollified. Suddenly came a messenger from Sun
Chʻüan, who said, “Our lord is laying siege to Hofei but in several
battles has had no victory. He now orders you to withdraw from here and
go to Hofei to help him.”
Thereupon Chou Yü marched back to Chʻaisang. Having reached home he
began to give attention to the recovery of his health. He sent Chʻêng
Pʻu with the marine and land forces to Hofei ready for Sun Chʻüan’s
call.
Liu Pei was exceedingly well satisfied with the possession of his new
territory and his thoughts turned to more ambitious schemes. Then a
certain man came to him to suggest a plan. This man was I Chi and,
remembering the kindly feeling of other days, Yüan-tê received him most
graciously. When he was seated, and his host had asked what he
proposed, he said, “You wish for a plan to accomplish yet greater
deeds; why not seek wise men and ask them?”
“Where are these wise men to be found?” asked Yüan-tê.
I Chi replied, “In this district there is a certain family named Ma,
five brothers, all of whom are known as men of ability. The youngest is
called Ma Su, or Ma Yu-chʻang. The ablest is Ma Liang, or Chi-chʻang,
who has white hairs in his eyebrows, and the villagers have a little
rhyming couplet that means there are five sons in the family Ma but
white eyebrows is the best of them. You should get this man to draw up
a plan for you.”
So Yüan-tê told them to request his presence. Ma Liang came and was
received with great respect. He was asked to suggest a plan for the
security of the newly acquired district and he said, “Attacked as it is
on all sides this district is not one in which one is permanently
secure. You should let Liu Chʻi remain here till he is recovered from
his present illness, the actual protection of the place being left in
the hands of trusty friends. Obtain an Edict appointing him Governor
and the people will be content. Then conquer Wuling, Changsha, Kueiyang
and Linling and with the resources you will thus acquire you will have
the means for further plans. That should be your policy.”
“Which of the four districts should be first taken?” asked Liu Pei.
“The nearest, Linling, which lies in the west of Hsiang (Hunan). The
next is Wuling and after these the other two.”
Ma Liang was given an appointment as secretary, with I Chi as his
second. Then Yüan-tê consulted Kʻung-ming about sending Liu Chʻi to
Hsiangyang, so that Yün-chʻang could be free to return. Next they made
preparations to attack Linling, and Chang Fei was to lead the van. Chao
Yün was to guard the rear while Yüan-tê and Kʻung-ming were to command
the main body. A legion and a half were left to hold Chingchou. Mi Chu
and Liu Fêng were left to guard Chiangling.
The Prefect of Linling was Liu Tu. When danger thus threatened he
called in his son Liu Hsien and they discussed the case. The son was
very self-confident and said to his father, “Have no anxiety. They may
have the known and famous warriors, Chang Fei and Chao Yün, but we have
our leader, Hsing Tao-yung, who is match for any number of men. He can
withstand them.”
So Liu Hsien, with the famous leader, was entrusted with the defence.
At the head of a full legion they made a camp about thirty li from the
city, with the shelter of hills and a river. Their scouts brought news
that Kʻung-ming was close at hand with one army. Hsing Tao-jung decided
to check his advance and went forth to oppose him. When both sides were
arrayed, Hsing rode to the front. In his hand he held a battle-axe
called Cleaver of Mountains. In a mighty voice he cried, “Rebels, how
comes it that you have dared to enter our territory?”
From the centre of the opposing army, where appeared a cluster of
yellow flags, there came out a small four-wheeled carriage in which
sat, very erect, a certain man dressed in white, with a turban on his
head. In one hand he held a feather fan, with which he signed to the
warrior to approach. At the same time he said, “I am Chuko Kʻung-ming,
of Nanyang, whose plans broke up the countless legions of Tsʻao Tsʻao
so that nothing of them returned whence they started. How then can you
hope to oppose me? I now offer you peace and it will be well for you to
surrender.”
Hsing laughed derisively. “Their defeat was owing to the plan of Chou
Yü; you had nothing to do with it. How dare you try to deceive me?”
So saying he swung up his battle-axe and came running toward
Kʻung-ming. But he turned his carriage and retired within the lines
which closed up behind him. Hsing still came rushing on. As he reached
the array the men fell away on both sides and let him enter. Well
within he looked round for his chief opponent. Seeing a yellow flag
moving along quietly he concluded that Kʻung-ming was with it and so
followed it. When the flag had gone over the shoulder of a hill it
stopped. Then suddenly as if the earth had opened and swallowed it up,
the four-wheeled carriage disappeared, while in its place came a
ferocious warrior, with a long spear in his hand and mounted on a
curvetting steed. It was Chang Fei, who dashed at Hsing with a
tremendous roar.
Nothing daunted Hsing Tao-jung whirled up his battle-axe and went to
meet Chang Fei. But after four or five bouts he saw that there was no
chance of victory for him, so he turned his horse and ran. Chang Fei
pursued, the air shaking with the thunder of his voice.
Then the ambushed men appeared. Tao-jung, nothing daunted, rushed into
their midst. But in front appeared another warrior barring the way, who
called out, “Do you know me? I am Chao Tzŭ-lung of Chʻangshan.”
Hsing Tao-jung knew that all was over; he could neither fight nor fly.
So he dismounted and gave in. He was fettered and taken to camp, where
were Yüan-tê and Kʻung-ming. The former ordered him out to execution,
but Kʻung-ming hastily checked him.
“We will accept your submission if you capture Liu Hsien for us,” said
he.
The captive accepted the offer without the least hesitation, and when
Kʻung-ming asked how he intended to do it, he replied, “If you will set
me free, I shall be cunning of speech. If you raid the camp this
evening you will find me your helper on the inside. I will make Liu
Hsien a prisoner and will hand him over to you. He being captured, his
father will surrender at once.”
Yüan-tê doubted the good faith of the man, but Kʻung-ming said he knew
he could answer for him. Wherefore he was set free and went back to
camp, where he related all that had occurred.
“What can we do?” asked Liu Hsien.
“We can meet trick with trick. Put soldiers in ambush to-night outside
our camp while within everything will appear as usual. When Kʻung-ming
comes we shall capture him.”
The ambush was prepared. At the second watch a troop came out of the
darkness and appeared in the gate. Each man carried a torch and they
began to set fire to all about them. Out dashed Liu Hsien and Hsing
Tao-jung and the incendiaries forthwith fled. The two warriors pursued
them, but the fugitives ran and then suddenly disappeared at about ten
li from the camp. Much surprised the two turned to wend their way back
to their own camp.
It was still burning for no one had extinguished the flames. Soon from
behind them came out Chang Fei. Liu Hsien called out to his companion
not to enter the burning camp, but to go with him to attack
Kʻung-ming’s stockade.
Thereupon they turned again, but at a distance of ten li Chao Yün and a
troop suddenly debouched upon their road. Chao Yün attacked and Hsing
Tao-jung fell. Liu Hsien turned to flee, but Chang Fei was close upon
him and made him prisoner. He was thrown across a horse, bound and
taken to camp. When he saw Kʻung-ming he laid blame on his fallen
comrade saying he had listened to his evil counsel and this deed was
not his own wish. Kʻung-ming ordered them to loose his bonds, had him
properly dressed and gave him wine to cheer him and help him forget his
troubles. When he was recovered he was told to go to his father and
persuade him to yield.
“And if he does not, the city shall be destroyed and every one put to
death,” said Kʻung-ming as he left.
The son returned to the city and told his father these things. Liu Tu
at once decided to yield and forthwith hoisted the flag of surrender,
opened the gates, and went out taking his seal of office with him. He
was re-appointed to his prefectship, but his son was sent to Chingchou
for service with the army.
The people of Linling all rejoiced greatly at the change of rulers.
Yüan-tê entered the city, calmed and re-assured the people and rewarded
his army.
But he at once began to think of the next move and asked for an officer
to volunteer to take Kueiyang. Chao Yün offered, but Chang Fei
vehemently proposed himself for the command of the expedition. So they
wrangled and contended.
Then said Kʻung-ming, “Undoubtedly Chao Yün was first to volunteer,
wherefore he is to go.”
Still Chang Fei opposed and insisted on going. They were told to decide
the dispute by drawing lots and Chao Yün drew the winning lot. Chang
Fei was still very angry and grumbled, “I would not have wanted any
helpers: just three companies and I would have done it.”
“I also only want three companies,” said Chao Yün. “And if I fail I am
willing to suffer the penalties.”
Kʻung-ming was pleased that he recognised his responsibility so fully,
and with the commission gave him three companies of veterans.
Though the matter was thus settled Chang Fei was discontented and
pressed his claim till Yüan-tê bade him desist and retire.
With his three companies Chao Yün took the road to Kueiyang. The
Prefect Chao Fan soon heard of his approach and hastily called his
officers to take counsel. Two of them, Chʻên Ying and Pao Lung, offered
to meet the invaders and turn them back.
These two warriors belonged to Kueiyang and had made themselves famous
as hunters. Chʻên used a “Flying Fork” and Pao could draw a bow with
such force that he had been known to send an arrow through two tigers.
So strong were they, as well as bold.
They stood before Chao Fan and said, “We will lead the way against Liu
Pei.”
The Prefect replied, “I know that Liu Pei is of the Imperial family:
Kʻung-ming is exceedingly resourceful: Kuan Yü and Chang Fei are very
bold. But the commander of this force is Chao Tzŭ-lung who, on one
occasion, faced a hundred legions and never blenched. Our small force
here cannot stand against such people. We shall have to yield.”
“Let me go out to fight,” said Chʻên Ying. “If I cannot capture Chao
Yün then you can yield.”
The Prefect could not resist him and gave his consent. Then Chʻên Ying,
with three companies, went forth and soon the two armies came within
sight of each other. When Chʻên Ying’s army was drawn up he girded on
his “Flying Fork” and rode to the front. Chao Yün gripped his spear and
rode to meet him. Chao Yün began to rail at Chʻên Ying, saying, “My
master is the brother of Liu Piao to whom belonged this land. Now he is
supporting his nephew the heir and son of Liu Piao. Having taken
Chingchou I am come to soothe and comfort the people here. Why then do
you oppose me?”
“We are supporters of the Minister Tsʻao and are no followers of your
master,” was the reply.
Chao Yün, waxing angry, firmly grasped his spear and rode forward. His
opponent twirled “Flying Fork” and advanced. The horses met, but after
four or five encounters Chʻên Ying, realising that there was no hope of
victory, turned and fled. Chao Yün followed. Suddenly turning, Chʻên
Ying got close to Chao Yün and flung the fork. Chao Yün deftly caught
it and threw it back. Chʻên Ying dodged away, but Chao Yün soon caught
him up, seized Chʻên Ying, dragged him out of the saddle and threw him
to the ground. Then he called up his soldiers and they bound the
prisoner. He was taken to the camp, while his men scattered and fled.
“I thought you would not dare a combat with me,” said Chao Yün to the
prisoner when they had returned to camp. “However, I am not going to
put you to death. You are free. But persuade your master to yield.”
Chʻên Ying asked pardon, put his hands over his head and fled like a
frightened rat. When he reached his city he told the Prefect all these
things.
“My original desire was to yield, but you insisted on fighting and this
is what it has brought you to.”
So spoke the Prefect. He bade Chʻên begone and then prepared his letter
of submission and put up his seal. With a small party he went out of
the city and wended his way to Chao Yün’s camp. Chao received him
graciously, offered him wine and then accepted the seal of office.
After the wine had gone round several times Chao Fan became talkative,
“General, your surname is the same as mine, and five centuries ago we
were one family. You are from Chênting and so am I. Moreover we are
from the same village. If you do not mind we might swear brotherhood. I
should be very happy.”
Chao Yün was pleased and they compared ages. They were of the same
year. However, Chao Yün was the elder by four months and so Chao Fan
made his bow as younger brother. The two men, having so many things in
common, were very pleased with each other and seemed fitted to be close
friends.
At eventide the feast broke up and the late Prefect returned to his
dwelling. Next day he requested Chao Yün to enter the city, where,
after he had assured the people of their safety, Chao Yün went to a
banquet at the ya-mên. When they had become mellow with wine the
Prefect invited Chao Yün into the inner quarters, where wine was again
served. When Chao Yün was a little intoxicated, his host bade a woman
come forth and offer a cup of wine to the guest.
The woman was dressed entirely in white silk and her beauty was such as
to overthrow cities and ruin states.
“Who is she?” asked Chao Yün.
“My sister-in-law; her maiden name was Fan.”
Chao Yün at once changed his look and treated her with deference. When
she had offered the cup the host told her to be seated and join the
party but Chao Yün declined this addition to the evening and the lady
withdrew.
“Why did you trouble your sister-in-law to present wine to me,
brother?” asked Chao Yün.
“There is a reason,” said the host smiling. “I pray you let me tell
you. My brother died three years ago and left her a widow. But this
cannot be regarded as the end of the story. I have often advised her to
marry again, but she said she would only do so if three conditions were
satisfied in one man’s person. The suitor must be famous for literary
grace and warlike exploits, secondly, handsome and highly esteemed and,
thirdly, of the same name as our own. Now where in all the world was
such a combination likely to be found? Yet here are you, brother,
dignified, handsome and prepossessing, a man whose name is known all
over the wide world and of the desired name. You exactly fulfil my
sister’s ambitions. If you do not find her too ugly, I should like her
to marry you and I will provide a dowry. What think you of such an
alliance, such a bond of relationship?”
But Chao Yün rose in anger, shouting, “As I have just sworn brotherhood
with you, is not your sister-in-law my sister-in-law? How could you
think of bringing such confusion into the relationship.”
Shame suffused Chao Fan’s face and he said, “I only thought of being
kind to you; why are you so very rude to me?”
He looked right and left to his attendants with murder in his eye. Chao
Yün raised his fist and knocked him down. Then he strode out of the
place, mounted and rode out of the city.
Chao Fan at once called in his two fighting men. Chʻên Ying said, “He
has gone away in a rage, which means that we shall have to fight him.”
“I greatly fear you will lose,” said Chao Fan.
“We will pretend to be deserters,” said Pao Lung, “and so get among his
men. When you challenge him we will suddenly catch him.”
“We shall have to take some others with us,” said Chʻên.
“Half a company will be ample,” said Pao.
So in the night the two men and their followers ran over to Chao Yün’s
camp to desert.
Chao Yün understood the trick they would play, but he called them in
and they said, “When Chao Fan tempted you with that fair lady he wanted
to make you drunk and get you into the private apartments so that he
might murder you and send your head to Tsʻao Tsʻao. Yes; he was as
wicked as that even. We saw you go away in anger and we thought that
would mean grave trouble for us and so we have deserted.”
Chao Yün listened with simulated joy, and he had wine served to the two
men, and pressed them to drink so that they were quite overcome. When
this was done he had both bound with cords, called up their followers
and asked them whether this was real or pretended desertion and they
told him the truth. Then he gave the soldiers wine and said, “Those who
wanted to harm me are your leaders and not you. If you do as I tell you
you shall be well rewarded.”
The soldiers threw themselves to the ground and promised obedience.
Thereupon the two leaders were beheaded. The half company were made to
lead the way and act as screen for a whole company of horsemen and the
party set out at full speed for Kueiyang. When they got there they
summoned the gate and said that they had slain Chao Yün and had got
back. And they wished to speak with the Prefect.
Those on the wall lighted flares and inspected those at the gate.
Surely enough they wore the uniforms of their own people and Chao Fan
went out to them. He was immediately seized and made prisoner. Then
Chao Yün entered the city, restored order and sent off swift messengers
to Yüan-tê who at once, with his adviser, came to Kueiyang.
When they had taken their seats the late Prefect was brought in and
placed at the foot of the steps. In response to Kʻung-ming’s questions
he related the history of the proposed marriage.
Said Kʻung-ming to Chao Yün, “But this seems a fine project; why did
you receive the proposal so roughly?”
“Chao Fan and I had just sworn brotherhood and so marriage with his
sister-in-law would have called down on my head universal blame. That
is one reason. Another is that I should have made his sister fail to
keep her dutiful chastity. And thirdly I did not know whether I might
trust such a proposal from one who had just yielded to force. My lord,
your position as a recent victor was one of danger and could I risk the
failure of your plans for the sake of a woman?”
“But now that the plan has been carried out and we are victors would
you care to marry her?”
“There are plenty of women in the world. All my fear is for my
reputation. What is a family to me?”
“You are indeed right honourable,” said Yüan-tê.
Chao Fan was released and restored to the prefectorate. Chao Yün was
conspicuously rewarded.
But Chang Fei was angry and disappointed. “So Tzŭ-lung gets all the
praise and I am worth nothing,” cried he. “Just give me three companies
and I will take Wuling and bring you the Prefect.”
This pleased Kʻung-ming, who said, “There is no reason why you should
not go, but I will only require one condition of you.”
Wondrous, the plans of the general, so doth he conquer in battle;
Soldiers keenly competing gain renown in the fighting.
The condition that Kʻung-ming made will appear in the next chapter.
CHAPTER LIII.
KUAN YU, FROM A SENSE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS, RELEASES HUANG CHUNG:
SUN CHʻÜAN FIGHTS A GREAT BATTLE WITH CHANG LIAO.
What Kʻung-ming required from Chang Fei was a formal recognition of
responsibility for success. Said he, “When Chao Yün went on his
expedition he gave written guarantee of being responsible for success
and you ought to do the same now that you are starting for Wuling. In
that case you may have men and start.”
So Chang Fei gave the required document and received joyfully the three
companies of soldiers he had demanded. He set out at once and travelled
without rest till he reached Wuling.
When the Prefect of Wuling, Chin Hsüan by name, heard that an
expedition against him was afoot he mustered his officers and recruited
brave soldiers and put his weapons in order ready for the struggle. And
his army moved out of the city.
A certain secretary, Kung Chih, remonstrated with his chief for
opposing a scion of the imperial house, saying, “Liu Yüan-tê is of the
Hans, and recognised as an uncle of the Emperor. All the world knows he
is kindly and righteous. Added to that his brother Chang Fei is
extraordinarily bold. We cannot face them in battle with hope of
success. Our best course is to give in.”
But his master angrily replied, “Do you want to play the traitor and
take the side of the rebels and help them?”
He called in the lictors and told them to put Kung to death. The other
officers interceded for him, saying, “It augers ill to start an
expedition by slaying your own men.”
So the Prefect merely sent Kung Chih away. He himself led the army out
of the city. After marching twenty li he met with Chang Fei’s army.
Chang Fei at once rode to the front, spear ready to thrust, and opened
with a shout. Chin Hsüan turned to his officers and asked who would go
out to fight him, but no one replied; they were too afraid.
So the Prefect himself galloped out, flourishing his sword. Seeing him
advance Chang Fei shouted in a voice of thunder. Poor Chin was seized
with panic, turned pale and could not go on. He turned his steed and
fled. Then Chang Fei and his army went in pursuit and smote the
fugitives, chasing them to the city wall.
Here the fugitives were greeted by a flight of arrows from their own
wall. Greatly frightened, Chin Hsüan looked up to see what this meant
and there was Kung Chih, who had opposed him, standing on the wall.
“You brought defeat upon yourself because you opposed the will of God,”
cried the traitor. “I and the people with me are determined to yield to
Liu Pei.”
Just as he finished speaking an arrow wounded Chin Hsüan in the face
and he fell to the ground. Thereupon his own men cut off his head,
which they forthwith presented to Chang Fei. Kung Chih then went out
and made formal submission and Chang Fei bade him take his letter and
the seal to Kueiyang to Liu Pei, who was pleased to hear of Chang Fei’s
success and gave the prefectship to Kung Chih. Soon after Yüan-tê came
in person and soothed the people.
This done he wrote to his other brother telling him I-tê and Tzŭ-lung
had gained a district each. Kuan at once wrote back and said that
Changsha was yet to be taken and if he was not thought too feeble he
would like to be sent to attack it. Yüan-tê agreed and sent Chang Fei
to relieve his brother, whom he ordered to return and prepare for an
expedition to Changsha. Kuan Yü came and went in to see his elder
brother and Kʻung-ming.
At this interview Kʻung-ming said that the other two successful
warriors had done their work with three companies. The Prefect of
Changsha, Han Yüan, was not worth mentioning, but there was a certain
general with him, named Huang Chung, who had to be reckoned with.
“Huang Chung,” said Kʻung-ming, “is a native of Nanyang. He used to be
in the service of Liu Piao and was a colleague of Liu Pʻan, when he was
in command of Changsha. After Liu Piao’s death he joined Han Yüan when
he took command of the district. Now, although he is nearly sixty he is
a man to be feared and a warrior of a thousand. You ought to take a
larger number of men.”
Kuan Yü replied, “General, what makes you damp another man’s ardour to
fight and do away with your own dignity? I do not think the old leader
need be discussed and I do not think I require three companies of men.
Give me my own half company of swordsmen and I will have the heads of
both our enemies to sacrifice to our standard.”
Yüan-tê resisted this decision of Kuan Yü, but Kuan would not give way.
He just took his half company and set out.
“If he is not careful how he attacks Huang Chung there will be a
mishap,” said Kʻung-ming. “You must go to support him.”
Yüan-tê accordingly, at the head of another and larger party, set out
toward Changsha.
The Prefect of Changsha was of hasty temperament with small compunction
in matters of life and death and was universally hated. When he heard
of the army coming against him he called his veteran leader, Huang, to
ask advice. The latter said, “Do not be distressed; this sword of mine
and my bow are equal to the slaughter of all who may come.”
Huang Chung had been very strong and could bend the two hundred catty
bow and was a most perfect archer. When he referred to his one-time
prowess a certain man spoke up and said, “Let not the old General go
out to battle. Trust to my right arm and you shall have this Kuan a
prisoner in your hands.”
The speaker was named Yang Ling. The Prefect accepted his offer and
told off a company to go with him and they quickly rode out of the
city. About fifty li from the city they observed a great cloud of dust
approaching and soon distinguished the invaders. Yang Ling set his
spear and rode to the front to abuse and fight. Kuan Yü made no reply
to the abuse, but rode forward flourishing his sword. The warriors soon
met and in the third encounter Yang Ling was cut down. Kuan Yü’s
company dashed forward and pursued the defeated force to the city wall.
When the Prefect heard of this reverse he ordered the veteran Huang
Chung to go out while he went up on the city wall to watch the fight.
Huang Chung took his sword and crossed the drawbridge at the head of
his men. Kuan Yü, seeing an old leader riding out, knew it must be
Huang Chung. He halted his men and placed them in line with their
swords at the point. Then sitting there on horseback he said, “He who
comes is surely Huang Chung, eh?”
“Since you know me, how dare you come within my boundaries?” replied
the veteran.
“I have come expressly to get your head.”
Then the combat began. They fought a hundred and more bouts and neither
seemed nearer victory. At this point the Prefect, fearing some mishap
to his veteran general, beat the gong to retreat and the battle ceased,
one side going into the city and the other camping ten li away to the
rear.
Kuan Yü thought in his heart that the fame of the veteran opposed to
him was well merited. He had fought a hundred bouts and discovered
never a weak spot. He determined that in the next encounter he would
use a feint (or “Parthian” stab) and so overcome him.
Next day, the early meal eaten, Kuan Yü came to the city wall and
offered his challenge. The Prefect seated himself on the city wall and
bade his veteran warrior go out to accept it and, at the head of a few
horsemen, he dashed across the drawbridge. The two champions engaged
and at the end of half a hundred bouts neither had the advantage. On
both sides the soldiers cheered lustily.
When the drums were beating most furiously, suddenly Kuan Yü wheeled
round his horse and fled. Of course Huang Chung followed. Just as the
moment for the feint arrived Kuan Yü heard behind him a tremendous
crash and turned to see his pursuer lying prone upon the ground. His
steed had stumbled and thrown him. Kuan Yü turned, raised his sword in
both hands, and cried in a fierce tone, “I spare your life, but quick!
get another horse and come again to battle.”
Huang Chung pulled his horse to its feet hastily, leapt upon its back
and went into the city at full speed. The prefect was astonished and
asked for an account of the accident. “The horse is too old,” replied
Huang.
“Why did you not shoot since your arm is so perfect?” asked the
Prefect.
“I will try again to-morrow,” said Huang. “Then I will run away as if
overcome and so tempt him to the drawbridge and then shoot him.”
The Prefect gave the veteran a grey horse that he usually rode himself;
Huang thanked him and retired.
But he could not forget Kuan Yü’s generous conduct, nor could he
understand it. He could not make up his mind to shoot the man who had
spared his life. Yet if he did not shoot, he betrayed his duty as a
soldier. It was very perplexing and the whole night spent in thinking
it over found him still undecided.
At daybreak a man came in saying that Kuan Yü was near the wall and
challenging them again. So Huang Chung gave orders to go out.
Now Kuan Yü, having fought for two days and not having overcome Huang
Chung, was very ill at ease. So he called up all his dignity when he
went forth to fight that day. When they had got to the thirtieth bout
Huang Chung fled as if he was overcome. Kuan Yü pursued.
As he rode away Huang Chung thought in his heart, “He spared me only
yesterday and I cannot bear to shoot him to-day.” Putting up his sword
he took his bow and twanged the string only; no arrow flew. Kuan Yü
dodged, but seeing no arrow in the air, he re-took the pursuit. Again
Huang twanged an arrowless bowstring and again Kuan dodged, but no
arrow came. Then he said to himself, “He cannot shoot,” and pressed on
in pursuit.
As they neared the city wall, the veteran stopped on the drawbridge,
fitted an arrow, pulled the bow and sent an arrow flying that just hit
the base of the plume on Kuan’s helmet. The soldiers shouted at the
display of marksmanship. Kuan Yü was taken aback and set off for camp
with the arrow still sticking. Then he heard that Huang Chung’s skill
was said to be equal to piercing a willow leaf at a hundred paces and
he understood that he owed this warning in the shape of an arrow in his
plume to gratitude for sparing the veteran the preceding day.
Both withdrew. But when the veteran leader went up on the wall to see
the Prefect, he was at once seized. “What have I done?” cried Huang
Chung.
“I have seen these last three days that you were fooling me; you were
slack the day before yesterday, which proved you had some sinister
intention. Yesterday, when your horse stumbled and he spared you, it
showed that you were in league with him. And to-day you twice twanged a
vain bowstring, while at the third shot you only hit your opponent’s
helmet. Dare you say there is no secret understanding in all this? If I
do not put you to death it will assuredly redound to my own hurt.”
The Prefect ordered him to be executed outside the city gate. The
intercession of the officers he met by saying that any one who pleaded
for the condemned would be regarded as in the plot.
The executioners had hustled the old man out of the city and the sword
was in the air and on the point of descending, when a man suddenly
dashed in, cut down the lictor and rescued Huang Chung.
“Huang Chung is our bulwark;” shouted he, “to destroy him is to destroy
the Changsha people. This Han is too fierce and cruel, too lightly
values good men and is too arrogant toward his officers. We ought
rather to kill him, and those who will, let them follow me.”
All eyes turned toward this bold speaker, who was bronzed and had eyes
like the Cowherd’s star. Some of them knew him as Wei Yen, a native of
Iyang. He had followed Liu Pei from Hsiangyang but, unable to come up
with him, had gone into the service of Han Yüan. Han Yüan took
exception to his arrogant carriage and lack of polish and neglected
him. And so he had come to this place.
After the rescue of Huang Chung he called upon the people to make an
end of the Prefect. He waved his arm and shouted to the people. Soon he
had a following of several hundreds. Huang Chung could not stop them.
In a very short time Wei had dashed up on the wall and the Prefect lay
dead. Taking his head, Wei Yen rode off out of the city to lay the
blood-stained trophy at the feet of Kuan Yü, who forthwith went into
the city to restore confidence.
When the people were all quiet, Kuan sent to request Huang Chung to
come to see him, but the old general pleaded illness. Next he sent the
good news to his brother and to Kʻung-ming and asked them to come.
Soon after Kuan Yü had left to capture Changsha, Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming
had followed him up with supports in case of need. While on the march a
black flag was furled backwards and a crow flew over from north to
south croaking thrice as it passed.
“What good or evil things do these omens presage?” asked Yüan-tê.
With hands hidden within his long sleeves, Kʻung-ming performed a rapid
calculation on his fingers of the auspices and replied, “Changsha is
taken and a great leader mastered. We shall know soon after noon.”
Sure enough a simple soldier presently came galloping along with the
welcome tidings of the capture of the city and saying that the two city
warriors who had aided them were near waiting the arrival of Liu Pei.
Soon after they arrived Liu Pei entered the city, where he was escorted
to the magistracy and heard the recital of Huang Chung’s deeds.
Yüan-tê went in person to Huang’s house and enquired for him, whereupon
he came forth and yielded formally. He requested to be permitted to
bury the remains of the late Prefect on the east of the city.
Lofty as is heaven above earth was the spirit of the captain,
Who, even in his old age, suffered sorrows in the south;
Cheerfully had he approached death, with no thought of resentment,
But, bowing before the conquerer, he hung his head and was ashamed.
Praise the sword, gleaming snow-white, and the glory of super-human
bravery,
Consider the mail-clad steed snuffing the wind and rejoicing in
the battle,
That warrior’s name shall stand high and its brightness be
undiminished,
While the cold moon sheds her light on the waters of Hsiang and
Tʻan.
Yüan-tê was generous toward the veteran leader who had come under his
banner. But when Wei Yen was introduced, Kʻung-ming suddenly ordered
him to be thrust forth and put to death.
“He has merit; he has committed no fault,” exclaimed Yüan-tê. “Why slay
him?”
But Kʻung-ming replied, “Ingratitude; to eat a man’s bread and slay him
is most disloyal; to live on his land and offer his territory to
another is most wrong. I see the bone of treachery at the back of his
head and he will certainly turn against his master. Wherefore it is
well to put him to death and prevent him from doing harm.”
“If we slay this man others who may wish to surrender will be deterred
by the danger. I pray you forgive him.”
Kʻung-ming pointed his finger at Wei Yen and said, “You are pardoned.
You would do well to be perfectly faithful to your lord as well as
grateful. Do not let a single thought stray elsewhere or I will have
your head by fair means or foul.”
Wei Yen went away muttering to himself.
Having given in with good grace, Huang Chung introduced a nephew of Liu
Piao, named Pʻan, then living in Yuhsien near by. Yüan-tê employed him
in the administration of Changsha.
All being tranquil at Changsha, Yüan-tê and his army returned to
Chingchou. The name Yuchiangkʻou was changed to Kungan and soon all was
prosperous. Taxes were freely paid and able men from all sides came to
assist in the administration. Guards were placed at strategic points.
It is time to return to Chou Yü. When he went to Chʻaisang to recover
from his wound he left Kan Ning in command at Lingchün and Ling Tʻung
at Hanyang. The fleet was shared between these two places to be ready
to move when required. The remainder of the force was under Chʻêng Pʻu
and he went to Hofei, where Sun Chʻüan had been since the fight at Red
Wall. He was still fighting the northern army and in half a score
encounters, small and great, neither had gained a decided advantage. He
could not approach the city but entrenched himself about fifty li away.
When he heard of the coming of reinforcements he was very pleased and
went in person to meet and welcome the leaders. Lu Su was in advance of
the main body and Sun Chʻüan dismounted and stood by the roadside to
greet him. As soon as he saw this, Lu Su slid out of the saddle and
made his obeisance.
But the officers were amazed at the attitude of Sun Chʻüan, and still
more so when Sun Chʻüan asked Lu Su to remount and ride by his side.
Presently he said secretly to Lu Su, “I, the Lone One, dismounted to
greet you as you saw; was that manifestation enough for you?”
“No,” replied Lu Su.
“Then what further can I do?”
“I want to see your authority and virtue spread over the four seas and
enfold the nine provinces and you yourself playing your part as
Emperor. Then will my name be inscribed in the annals and I shall
indeed be known.”
Sun Chʻüan clapped his hands and laughed gleefully.
When they reached the camp a banquet was prepared and the services of
the new arrivals were praised and glorified.
The destruction of Hofei was one day under discussion when one came in
to say that Chang Liao had sent a written challenge to battle. Sun
Chʻüan tore open the cover and what he read therein made him very
wrath. “This Chang has insulted me grossly,” said he, “he hears that
Chʻêng Pʻu has arrived and sends a challenge. To-morrow, O newly-come
warriors, you shall see me fight with him. You shall have no share in
the battle.”
Orders were given that next morning the army would move out of camp and
advance on Hofei. Early in the morning, when they had advanced about
halfway, they met the army of Tsʻao and prepared for battle. Sun
Chʻüan, with helmet and breastplate of silver, rode to the front with
Sung Chʻien and Chia Hua, each armed with a chʻi halberd to support him
and guard him one on each side.
When the third roll of the drum ceased, the centre of the Tsʻao array
opened to allow the exit of three warriors, all fully armed. They were
Chang Liao, supported by Li Tien and Yo Chin. Chang Liao, the central
figure, especially designated Sun Chʻüan as the object of his
challenge. Sun Chʻüan took his spear and was about to accept the
challenge, when the ranks behind him were broken by Tʻaishih Tzŭ, who
galloped forth with his spear ready to thrust. Chang Liao whirled up
his sword to strike the newcomer and the two fought near a hundred
bouts without a decisive blow.
Then said Li Tien to Yo Chin, “He there opposite us with the silver
helm is Sun Chʻüan; could I but capture him the loss of our four score
legions would be amply avenged.”
So speaking he rode out, alone, just one man and one sword, and went
sidelong toward the two combatants. Then suddenly, swift as a flash of
lightning, he ran forward and slashed at Sun. But Sun Chʻüan’s two
guards were too quick for him. Up went the two chʻi guarding their
lord’s head. The blow fell, but on the crossed chʻi which were shorn
through near the head, and in another moment they were hammering away
on the head of Yo Chin’s steed with the shafts of their broken weapons
and forcing him back.
Sung Chʻien snatched a spear from a soldier near and went in pursuit of
Yo Chin, but Li Tien, on the other side, fitted an arrow to his bow and
aimed at Sung’s heart from behind. And he fell as the bowstring
twanged.
Then Tʻaishih Tzŭ, seeing a squadron of horse in motion toward him,
left off the fight with Chang Liao and returned to his own line. At
this Chang Liao fell on in a swift attack and the army of Wu, thrown
into confusion, scattered and fled.
Chang Liao, having distinguished Sun Chʻüan in the distance, galloped
in pursuit and had nearly come up with him, when Chʻêng Pʻu happily
rushed in from one side of the line of fight, stayed the pursuit and
saved his master. Chang Liao withdrew to Hofei. Sun Chʻüan was escorted
back to his main camp, where his beaten soldiers gradually rejoined him
and their ranks were reformed.
When Sun knew of the death of Sung Chʻien he was greatly pained and
wept aloud.
But Chang Hung, the recorder, reproached him saying, “My lord, you
relied too much upon your martial prowess and lightly engaged in battle
with a formidable enemy. Every man in the army was chilled with fear
and you lost a general and some of your banners. It is not for you to
exhibit prowess on the actual battlefield and encroach upon the duties
of a captain. Rather curb and repress such physical feats as those of
Mêng Pên and Hsia Yu and contemplate schemes of exercising princely
virtues with the hegemony of all the feudal states. It is because of
your ill-regulated action in engaging in battle that Sung Chʻien
perished at the hands of your enemies. Hereafter you should regard as
most important your personal safety.”
“Yes; it is indeed a fault,” said Sun Chʻüan. “I will reform.”
Soon after Tʻaishih Tzŭ entered the tent and said, “In my command there
is a certain Ko Ting, brother of a groom named Hou Tsʻao in the army of
Chang Liao. This Hou Tsʻao is deeply resentful on account of a
punishment inflicted upon him and is anxious to be revenged. He has
sent over to say that he will show a signal to-night when he has
assassinated Chang Liao in revenge for the death of your late leader
Sung Chʻien. I wish to take some men over to await this signal to
attack.”
“Where is this Ko Ting?” asked Sun Chʻüan.
“He has mingled with the enemy and gone into the city. Let me have five
companies.”
Chuko Ching said, “Chang Liao is full of guile, I think you will find
him prepared for your coming. Be careful.”
As Tʻaishih Tzŭ urged his chief to let him go, and Sun Chʻüan was
deeply hurt by the death of his captain, the permission was given and
the force started.
Now here it must be said that Tʻaishih Tzŭ and this Ko Ting were
natives of the same place. Ko had made his way into the city without
detection, found his brother and the two had arranged their plot. Ko
also told him that Tʻaishih Tzŭ would come over that night to help them
and asked what they should do.
His brother, the groom, said, “As the men of Wu are far away I fear
they cannot be here to-night, so we will make a huge bonfire of straw
and then you can rush out and cry treachery. That will throw all into
confusion and will give a chance to kill Chang Liao.”
“This is an excellent plan,” said Ko Ting.
Now after the victory Chang Liao returned to the city and rewarded his
men but he issued orders that no one was to doff his armour or sleep.
His attendants said, “You have gained a great victory to-day and the
enemy are far away. You might doff your armour and get some repose.”
But Chang Liao replied, “That is not the way of a leader. A victory is
no reason for rejoicing, nor should a defeat cause sadness. If the men
of Wu suspect that I am unprepared, they will attack and we must be
ready to repel them. Be ready to-night and be doubly careful.”
Scarcely had he said this than a fire started and cries of “Treachery!”
arose. Many rushed to tell the leader, who went out and called together
his guard of about half a score. They took up a commanding position in
the way.
Those about him said, “The shouts are insistent; you ought to go and
see what it means.”
“A whole city cannot be traitors,” said he. “Some discontented person
has frightened the soldiers. If I see any one doing so I will slay
him.”
Soon after this Li Tien dragged up Ko Ting and his fellow-traitor.
After a few brief questions they were beheaded. Then arose a great
noise, shouting and the rolling of drums was heard outside the gate.
“That means the men of Wu are there to help,” said Chang Liao. “But we
will destroy them by a simple ruse.”
He bade them light torches and yell “Treachery! Rebellion!” and throw
open the city gates and let down the drawbridge.
When Tʻaishih Tzŭ saw the gates swing open he thought his scheme was
going well and in full confidence rode in at the gate. But just at the
entrance a signal bomb suddenly exploded and the enemy arrows came down
on him like pelting rain. Then he knew he had fallen into a snare and
turned to ride out. But he was wounded in many places. And in the
pursuit that followed more than half the men of Wu were cut off. As he
drew near his own lines a rescue force came to his aid and the Tsʻao
soldiers ceased from pursuit.
Sun Chʻüan was exceedingly sad when he learned that his faithful
captain had been grievously wounded and when Chang Chao prayed him to
cease from war he was content. They gathered in their men to their
ships and sailed to Nanhsü and Junchou where they camped.
Meanwhile Tʻaishih Tzŭ was dying. When his lord sent to ask how he
fared, he cried, “When a worthy man is born into a turbulent world, he
has to be a soldier and gird on a three feet sword. I have not rendered
great service. Why must I die before I have attained my desire?”
These were his last words; he was forty-one years of age.
Single minded and perfectly loyal,
Such was Tʻaishih, in Tunglai born,
Far distant frontiers rang with his exploits,
Riding or archery, all men he excelled,
One in Pohai who admired his valour
Cared for his mother while he was fighting,
How he joyed in the battle at Shêntʻing!
Dying, he spake as a hero;
All through the ages men sigh for his fate.
Sun Chʻüan was exceedingly grieved when this second of his leaders
died. He gave orders to bury his remains most honourably outside the
north wall on Ku Hill and took his son, Tʻaishih Hsiang, into his own
palace to be brought up.
When Yüan-tê heard of the series of misfortunes that had befallen Wu
and of their retirement to Nanhsü, he and Kʻung-ming discussed their
plans. Said Kʻung-ming, “I was studying the sky and saw a falling star
in the north-west. The Imperial family is to suffer a loss.”
He had scarcely said this when they brought news of the death of Liu
Chʻi, son of Liu Piao.
Yüan-tê at once began to wail bitterly. But his adviser said to him,
“Life and death are beyond our control, wherefore weep not, my lord,
for grief harms the body. Rather consider what is necessary to be done.
Send some one to assume control and make arrangements for the
interment.”
“Who can go?” asked Yüan-tê.
“No other than Kuan Yü.”
So they sent him to guard the city of Hsiangyang.
Liu Pei at once began to feel troubled about his promise to surrender
Chingchou on the death of Liu Chʻi, but Kʻung-ming did not consider
this a matter of moment. He said he would have somewhat to say to any
one who came to ask fulfilment of the promise. In half a month it was
announced that Lu Su would come to mourn at the funeral.
To claim the promise one will come,
But they will send him empty home.
What reply Kʻung-ming made may be read in the next chapter.
CHAPTER LIV.
THE DOWAGER MARCHIONESS SEES HER SON-IN-LAW AT A TEMPLE:
LIU, THE IMPERIAL UNCLE, TAKES A WORTHY CONSORT.
Yüan-tê and Kʻung-ming went out of the city to welcome the envoy of Wu
and led him to the guest-house. After the usual greetings, Lu Su said,
“Hearing of the death of your nephew, my lord has prepared some gifts
and sent me to take his place at the funeral sacrifices. General Chou
Yü also sends greetings to the Imperial Uncle and to you, Master
Chuko.”
Both rose at once and thanked him for the courtesy. Then the gifts were
handed over and a banquet prepared, and while it was in progress, the
guest brought up the real object of his visit.
“You said, Sir, that Chingchou should be returned to us after the death
of Liu Chʻi. Now that that event has happened rendition becomes due and
I should be glad to know when the transfer can take place.”
“We will discuss that later; in the meantime let us go on with our
wine,” said Yüan-tê.
So the feasting continued. Some time later Lu Su returned to the
subject, but this time his host remained silent. However, Kʻung-ming,
changing colour, said, “Tzŭ-ching, you are unreasonable. You should
have waited till some other spoke of this matter. From the very
foundation of the empire by our illustrious ancestor the great heritage
has descended in due course till to-day when, unhappily, evil-doers
have risen among the powerful and they have seized upon such portions
as they could. But with God’s favour and help unity is nearly restored.
My lord is a scion of the Imperial house, a great great grandson of the
Emperor Hsiao-Ching. Now, as the Emperor’s Uncle, should he not have a
share of the Empire? Moreover, Liu Ching-hsing (Liu Piao) was my lord’s
elder brother and there is certainly nothing extraordinary in one
brother’s succession to another’s estate. What is your master? The son
of a petty official on the banks of the Chʻientʻang River, absolutely
without merit so far as the State is concerned. Just because he is
powerful he holds actual possession of a certain amount of territory,
which has whetted his insatiable appetite till he now desires to
swallow the whole country. The land is the estate of the Liu family and
my lord, who is of that name, has no share thereof, while your master,
whose name is Sun, would dispute with, and even fight him. Beside, at
the battle at Chʻihpi (Red Wall) my lord did good service and acquired
great merit while his captains risked their lives. Was it solely the
strength of your men of Wu that won that fight? Had I not brought that
south-east wind that meant so much for Chou Yü, could he have done
anything? Had Chiangnan been conquered, it is needless to say that two
beauties you wot of would now be gracing the Bronze Bird Palace, and as
for yourself, insignificant though your family be, could you have been
sure to survive? Just now my lord did not reply because he was willing
to believe rather that a scholar of your abilities would understand
without a detailed explanation, and I trust now that you will.”
This speech absolutely shut the guest’s mouth for a time and he said no
word in reply. But after an interval he said, “What you say,
Kʻung-ming, I think is devoid of reason, and means much unpleasantness
for me.”
“What unpleasantness?” asked Kʻung-ming.
The guest replied, “When Liu Pei was in serious straits at Tangyang I
conducted you across the river and introduced you to my lord. I opposed
Chou Yü when he was going to capture Chingchou, and then it came about
that the place was to be ours when the young man died. And I pledged
myself to that. Now how can I go back and say you break your promise?
Both my lord and Chou Yü will hold me guilty. I would not mind death so
much, but I fear that my master will be very wrathful and make war on
the Imperial Uncle, who will have no place of refuge and he will look
ridiculous in the eyes of the world for no reason.”
Replied Kʻung-ming, “I care not for Tsʻao Tsʻao with his hundred
legions and the Emperor in name at his back, and do you think I fear
such a youngster as your Chou Yü? However, as it may cause you some
loss of consideration I will try to persuade my master to put the
matter in writing and give you a paper to the effect that he is
temporarily occupying Chingchou as a base and when he can obtain
possession of some other city this shall be returned to you. What think
you Wu would say to this?”
“Wait till what other place was obtained?” said Lu Su.
“My master can scarcely think of attacking the capital yet, but Liu
Chang in Ssŭchʻuan is ignorant and weak and my master will attack him.
If he get the western province then this place will be given up to
you.”
Lu Su had no alternative and accepted the offer. Yüan-tê with his own
hand wrote the pledge and sealed it. Chuko Kʻung-ming being named as
guarantor also signed the document.
“Since I belong to this side of the compact and one can hardly have a
guarantor of the same party I would trouble you, Tzŭ-ching, also to
sign. It will look better when you reach Wu again,” said Kʻung-ming.
Lu Su said, “I know that your master is perfectly honourable and will
adhere to the bargain.”
And so he signed. Then he received the document in formal style and
took his departure. He was sent off with every mark of great respect,
both Yüan-tê and Kʻung-ming attending him to his boat. There the
adviser delivered him a last exhortation, “When you see your master,
speak discreetly and explain fully so as not to create a bad
impression. If he reject our document we may get angry and we will take
his whole country. The one thing now is for our two houses to live in
harmony and not give our common enemy an opportunity against us.”
Lu Su went down into his ship. He reached Chʻaisang and there saw Chou
Yü, who said, “Well, how did you speed with your demand for Chingchou?”
“Here is the document,” said Lu Su, giving it to Chou Yü to read.
“You have been victimised by Chuko,” said Chou, stamping his foot with
irritation. “In name it may be temporary occupation but in fact it is
humbug. They say the place is to be returned when they get the west.
Who knows when that will be? Suppose ten years; then it will be ten
years before they give us Chingchou. What is the use of such a document
as this? And you are a guarantor of its due performance! If they do not
give us the city, you get into trouble. Suppose our lord finds you in
the wrong, what then?”
Lu Su was dumbfounded. When he had somewhat recovered his
self-possession, he said, “I think Yüan-tê will be true to me.”
“You, my friend, are simple and sincere; Liu Pei is a scoundrelly
adventurer; and Chuko Liang is a slippery customer. They and you are
utterly different.”
“What then is to be done?” cried Lu Su distressfully.
“You are my dear friend and your kindness in freely offering your store
of grain to relieve my necessity is still fresh in my memory. Of course
I will save you. Do not be anxious, but wait a few days till we get
news of what is doing on the north of the river and then we can decide
upon a plan.”
Lu Su passed some very uneasy days. Then the scouts came back saying
that in Chingchou everything seemed in excellent order and the flags
were flying everywhere, while outside the city they were building a
magnificent mausoleum for the Lady Kan, wife of Liu Pei. All the
soldiers were in mourning.
When Chou Yü knew who was dead, he said to his friend, “My scheme is
made. You will see Liu Pei just stand still to be bound and we shall
get Chingchou like turning a hand.”
“What is the main-spring of your plan?” said Lu Su.
“Liu Pei will want to re-marry and our lord has a sister. She is a
veritable amazon, whose women guards number many hundreds, all armed
with weapons of war. Her apartments also are full of such things. I
will write to our lord to send an intermediary to arrange that the lady
shall wed Liu Pei at her family home and thus we shall entice him to
Nanhsü. But instead of marrying a wife, he will find himself a
prisoner, and then we will demand Chingchou as ransom. When they have
handed over the city I shall find something else to say and nothing
will fall on your head.”
Lu Su was very grateful. Then Chou Yü wrote letters to his master and a
swift boat was chosen to take Lu Su to see the Marquis of Wu.
After the lending of Chingchou had been discussed, Lu Su presented the
document given him by Liu Pei. “What is the use of such nonsense as
this?” said Sun Chʻüan, when he had read it.
“There is another letter from General Chou and he says that if you will
employ his scheme you can recover Chingchou,” replied Lu.
Having read that letter the Marquis was more pleased and began to
consider who was the best man to send. Suddenly he cried, “I have it;
Lü Fan is the man to send.”
He called Lü Fan and said to him, “I have just heard that Liu Yüan-tê
has lost his wife. I have a sister whom I should like to marry to him
and so make a bond of union between our two houses. Thus we should be
united against Tsʻao and in support of the House of Han. You are the
one man to be intermediary and I hope you will go to Chingchou and see
to this.”
Under these orders Lü Fan at once began to prepare his ships for the
voyage and soon started.
Yüan-tê was greatly distressed at the death of the Lady Kan, fretting
for her day and night. One day when he was talking with his adviser
they announced the arrival of Lü Fan. He had come on a mission from Wu.
“One of Chou Yü’s devices,” said the adviser smiling, “and it is all on
account of this city. I will just retire behind the screen and listen.
But you, my lord, agree to whatever the messenger proposes. Then let
the messenger be taken to the guest-house while we arrange what is to
be done.”
So the envoy was introduced. Bows having been exchanged, host and guest
being seated in due order and the tea drunk, Yüan-tê opened the
interview.
“You must have some commands for me, Sir, since you come thus.”
“News has just been received that you, O Imperial Uncle, have just been
bereaved of your consort. I venture to hope you would not object to an
advantageous match and I have come to propose one. Are you disposed to
listen?”
“To lose one’s wife in middle age is truly a great misfortune,” said
Liu Pei. “While her body is still warm I cannot listen to proposals for
another marriage.”
Lü Fan said, “A man without a wife is like a house without a ridge
pole. At your age one should not live an incomplete life. I am come on
the part of the Marquis of Wu, who has a sister, beautiful as she is
accomplished and well fitted to be a mate for you. Should the two
families become allied as formerly were Tsʻin and Chin, then that
ruffian Tsʻao would never dare so much as look this way. Such an
alliance would be to the benefit of both our houses and of the State. I
hope, O Imperial Uncle, that you will fairly consider the proposal.
However, since the young girl’s mother is dotingly fond of her she does
not wish her to go far away, and so I must ask you to come into our
country for the wedding.”
“Does the Marquis know of your coming?”
“How dare I come without his knowledge?”
“I am no longer young,” said Liu Pei. “I am fifty and grizzled. This
fair damsel, the sister of the Marquis, is now in the flower of her
youth and no mate for me.”
“Although the damsel is a woman yet in mind she surpasses many a man,
and she has said she will never wed any one who is unknown to fame.
Now, Sir, you are renowned throughout the four seas. Marriage with you
would be the chaste maiden mating with the born gentleman. Of what
consequence is the difference in age?”
“Sir, stay here awhile and I will give you a reply to-morrow,” said Liu
Pei.
So that day the envoy was entertained at a banquet and then conducted
to the guest house to repose, while, late as it was, Yüan-tê and
Kʻung-ming discussed their plans.
“I knew what he had come about,” said the adviser. “While he was
talking I consulted the oracle and obtained an excellent sortilege.
Wherefore you may accept the proposal and send Sun Chʻien back with
this envoy to arrange the details. When the promise has been ratified
we will choose a day and you shall go to complete the ceremony.”
“How can I thus go into enemy territory? Chou Yü has wanted to slay me
for a long time.”
“Let Chou Yü employ all his ruses; think you he can get beyond me? Let
me act for you and his calculations will always fail halfway. Once Sun
Chʻüan’s sister is in your power there will be no fear for Chingchou.”
Still Yüan-tê doubted in his mind. However, the messenger was sent to
Wu, with definite instructions, and travelled thither with Lü Fan. At
the interview Sun Chʻüan said, “I wish my sister could induce Yüan-tê
to live here with us. He would come to no harm.”
Sun Chʻien took his leave, and returning to Chingchou he told the
bridegroom elect that Sun Chʻüan’s sole desire was for him to go over
and complete the marriage.
However, Yüan-tê feared and would not go. Kʻung-ming said he had
prepared three plans but they needed Chao Tzŭ-lung to carry them out.
Wherefore he must go as guard. So he called in Chao Yün, gave him three
silken bags and whispered in his ear saying, “Here are three schemes
enclosed in three bags. When you escort our lord to Wu you will take
these with you and act as they direct.”
Chao Yün hid the three silken bags in his breast so that they should be
at hand when required.
Kʻung-ming next sent the wedding gifts, and when these had been
received the preliminaries were settled.
It was then the early winter of the fourteenth year of “Established
Tranquillity” (209 A.D.) and the bridegroom elect, his escort and the
intermediary, left Chingchou with a fleet of ten fast ships to sail
down the river to Nanhsü. Kʻung-ming remained to guard and rule the
city.
But Liu Pei was far from feeling comfortable. They arrived and the
ships were made fast. This done the time had come for the first of the
silken bags to be opened. And so it was; and thereupon Chao Yün gave
each of the soldiers of his half company his instructions and they went
their several ways. Next he told Liu Pei what he was to do; that he was
to pay his visit first to Chʻiao “Kuo-lao,” who was the father-in-law
of Sun Tsʻê and of Chou Yü. He resided in Nanhsü and to his house,
“leading sheep and bearing wine jars,” went the bridegroom elect.
Having made his obeisance he explained that as Lü Fan had arranged he
had come to marry a wife.
In the meantime the half company of the escort, all in gala dress, had
scattered over the town buying all sorts of things, as they said, for
the wedding of Liu Pei with the daughter of the House of Wu. They
spread the news far and wide and the whole town talked about it.
When Sun Chʻüan heard of Yüan-tê’s arrival he bade Lü Fan wait upon him
and take him to the guest-house. Meanwhile Chʻiao Kuo-lao went to the
Dowager of Wu, mother of Sun Chʻüan, to congratulate her on the happy
event.
“What happy event?” ejaculated the old lady.
“The betrothal of your beloved daughter to Yüan-tê. And he has arrived
too, as surely you know.”
“My poor old self does not know,” said the Dowager, “I have heard
nothing of all this.”
She at once summoned her son and also sent her servants out into the
town to see what was going about. They quickly returned to say that the
whole town knew of the coming wedding, and the bridegroom was then at
the guest-house. Moreover, he had come with a large escort and the men
were spending freely, buying pork and mutton and fruits, all in
readiness for the wedding feasting. They also told her the names of the
intermediaries on each side, and said they were in the guest-house too.
The Dowager was terribly taken aback and upset so that, when Sun Chʻüan
arrived, he found his mother beating her breast and weeping bitterly.
“What has disturbed you, mother,” asked he.
“What you have just done,” said she. “You have treated me as a
nonentity. When my elder sister lay dying, what did she tell you?”
Sun Chʻüan began to be frightened, but he said boldly, “Please speak
out plainly, mother; what is this great sorrow?”
“When a son is grown he takes a wife, and when a girl is old enough she
goes to her husband. And that is right and proper. But I am the mother
and you ought to have told me that your sister was to become the wife
of Liu Pei. Why did you keep me in the dark? It was my place to promise
her in marriage.”
“Whence comes this story?” said the Marquis, really much frightened.
“Do you pretend ignorance? There is not a soul in the city who does not
know! But you have succeeded in keeping me in the dark.”
“I heard it several days ago,” said Chʻiao. “And I came just now to
offer my felicitations.”
“There is no such thing,” said Sun. “It is just one of the ruses of
Chou Yü to get hold of Chingchou. He has used this means to inveigle
Liu Pei here and hold him captive till Chingchou is restored to us. And
if they will not give it back, then Liu Pei will be put to death. That
is the plot. There is no real marriage.”
But the Dowager was in a rage and vented her wrath in abusing Chou Yü.
“He is a pretty sort of a governor over the eighty-one districts if he
cannot find any means of recovering one city except making use of my
child as a decoy. Truly this is a fine deed, to spoil the whole of my
child’s life and condemn her to perpetual widowhood because he wants to
use the fair damsel ruse to slay a man! Who will ever come to talk of
marriage with her after this?”
Said Chʻiao Kuo-lao, “By this means you may indeed recover Chingchou
but you will be a shameful laughing stock to all the world. What can be
done?”
Sun Chʻüan had nothing to say; he could only hang his head, while the
Dowager abused his general.
Chʻiao tried to soothe her. “After all Liu, the Imperial Uncle, is a
scion of the reigning family. You can do nothing better now than to
welcome him as a son-in-law and not let this ugly story get abroad.”
“I am afraid their ages do not match,” interposed Sun Chʻüan.
“Liu is a very famous man,” said Chʻiao. “There can be no shame in
having such a son-in-law.”
“I have never seen him,” said the Dowager. “Arrange that I may get a
look at him to-morrow at the Gentle Dew Temple. If he displeases me,
you may work your will on him. But if I am satisfied with him then I
shall simply let the girl marry him.”
Now Sun Chʻüan was above all things filial and at once agreed to what
his mother said. He went out, called in Lü Fan and told him to arrange
a banquet for the morrow at the temple so that the Dowager might see
the bridegroom.
“Why not order Chia Hua to station some men in the wings of the temple?
Then if the Dowager be not pleased we can call them out and fall upon
him,” said Lü Fan.
Accordingly the ambush was prepared and ruffians posted to act as the
Dowager’s attitude might determine.
When Chʻiao took his leave and had reached his house, he sent to tell
Yüan-tê that on the morrow the Dowager wished to see him and she was
well disposed.
Yüan-tê and his faithful henchman discussed their plans. Chao Yün said,
“The morrow bodes rather ill than well. However, the escort shall be
there.”
Next day the Dowager and Chʻiao went to the Temple of Gentle Dew as had
been arranged. Sun Chʻüan came with a number of his strategists, and
when all were assembled Lü Fan was sent to the guest house to request
Yüan-tê to come. He obeyed the summons, but as a precaution he put on a
light coat of mail under his brocaded robe. His followers too took
their swords upon their backs and followed close. He mounted his steed
and the cavalcade set out for the temple. At the door of the temple he
met Sun Chʻüan on whom the visitor’s brave demeanour was not lost.
After they had exchanged salutations, Sun led Liu Pei into the presence
of his mother.
“Just the son-in-law for me!” said the Dowager delighted with the
appearance of Liu Pei.
“He has the air of an emperor and a look like the sun,” remarked
Chʻiao. “When one remembers also that his fair fame has spread over the
whole earth, you may well be congratulated on getting such a noble
son-in-law.”
Liu Pei bowed, in acknowledgment of his reception. Soon after they were
all seated at the banquet in the temple, Chao Yün entered and took his
place beside Yüan-tê.
“Who is this?” asked the Dowager.
“This is Chao Yün of Chʻangshan.”
“Then he must be the hero of Tangyang Slope, who saved the little
O-tou.”
“Yes; this is he,” replied Yüan-tê.
“A fine captain!” said the Dowager, and she gave him wine.
Presently Chao Yün said to his master, “I have seen a lot of armed
ruffians hidden away in the purlieus of the temple. They can be there
for no good and you should ask the Dowager to get them sent away.”
Thereupon Liu Pei knelt at the feet of the Dowager and, weeping, said,
“If you would slay me, let it be here.”
“Why do you say this?” asked she.
“Because there are assassins in hiding in the wings of the temple; what
are they there for if not to kill me?”
The Dowager wrathfully turned on Sun Chʻüan. “What are armed men doing
there to-day when Yüan-tê is to become my son-in-law and the pair are
my son and daughter?”
Sun Chʻüan said he did not know and sent Lü Fan to enquire. Lü Fan put
the blame on Chia Hua. The Dowager summoned him and upbraided him
severely. He had nothing to say and she told them to put him to death.
But Yüan-tê interceded saying that it would do him harm and make it
hard for him to stay at her side.
Chʻiao Kuo-lao also interceded and she only ordered the captain out of
her presence. His men also scattered and ran like frightened rats.
By and bye, strolling out of the banquet room into the temple grounds,
Yüan-tê came to a boulder. Drawing his sword he looked up to heaven and
prayed saying, “If I am to return to Chingchou and achieve my intent to
become a chief ruler, then may I cleave this boulder asunder with my
sword, but if I am to meet my doom in this place then may the sword
fail to cut this stone.”
Raising his sword he smote the boulder. Sparks flew in all directions;
and the boulder lay cleft in twain.
It happened that Sun Chʻüan had seen the blow and he said, “Why do you
thus hate that stone?”
Yüan-tê replied, “I am near my fifth decade and have so far failed to
rid the State of evil; I greatly regret my failure. Now I have been
accepted by the Dowager as her son-in-law, and this is a critical
moment in my life. So I implored of Heaven a portent that I might
destroy Tsʻao as I would that boulder and restore the dynasty. You saw
what happened.”
“That is only to blind me,” thought Sun. Drawing his own sword he said,
“And I also ask of Heaven an omen, that if I am to destroy Tsʻao I may
also cut this rock.”
So he spoke. But in his secret heart he prayed “If I am to recover
Chingchou and extend my borders, may the stone be cut in twain.”
He smote the stone and it split in twain. And to this day there are
cross cuts in the stone, which is still preserved.
One who saw this relic wrote a poem:—
The shining blades fell and the rock was shorn through,
The metal rang clear and the sparks widely flew.
Thus fate then declared for the dynasties two
And the tripartite rule there began.
Both put up their swords and returned hand in hand to the banquet hall.
After some more courses Sun Chʻüan gave his master a warning look and
Liu Pei said, “I pray you to excuse me as my drinking powers are very
small.” Wherefore Sun Chʻüan escorted him to the gate. As they walked
down looking at high land and rolling river spreading in glorious
panorama before their eyes, Yüan-tê exclaimed, “Really this is the
finest scene in the whole world!”
These words are recorded on a tablet in the Temple of the Gentle Dew
and one who read them wrote a poem:—
From the river-side hills the rain clears off,
And the black clouds roll away,
And this is the place of joy and mirth
And never can sorrow stay.
And here two heroes of ages past
Decided their parts to play,
And the lofty heights flung back wind and wave
Then, as they do to-day.
Yes, they stood both entranced by the beautiful scene. And gradually
along the vast river the wind whipped the waves into snowy foam and
raised them high toward heaven. And in the midst of the waves appeared
a tiny leaf of a boat riding over the waves as if all was perfect calm.
“The southern people are sailors and the northern men riders; it is
quite true,” sighed Liu Pei.
Sun Chʻüan hearing this remark took it as a reproach to his
horsemanship. Bidding his servants lead up his steed he leaped into the
saddle and set off, full gallop, down the hill. Then wheeling he came
up again at the same speed.
“So the southerners cannot ride, eh?” said he laughing.
Not to be outdone Liu Pei lifted the skirts of his robe, jumped upon
his horse and repeated the feat.
The two steeds stood side by side on the declivity, the riders
flourishing their whips and laughing.
Thence forward that hillside was known as the “Slope where the Horses
Stood” and a poem was written about it.
Their galloping steeds were of noble breed,
And both of spirit high.
And the riders twain from the hill-crest gazed
At the river rolling by.
One of them mastered the far off west.
One ruled by the eastern sea;
And the name of the hill to this very day
Brings back their memory.
When they rode side by side into Nanhsü the people met them with
acclamations. Yüan-tê made his way to the guesthouse and there sought
advice from Sun Chʻien as to the date of the wedding. Sun Chʻien
advised that it be fixed as early as possible so that no further
complications could arise. So next day Yüan-tê went to Chʻiao “Kuo-lao”
and told him in plain words that it was clear the people of the place
meant harm to him and he could not stay there long. He must return
soon.
“Do not be anxious,” said Chʻiao. “I will tell the Dowager and she will
protect you.”
He saw the Dowager and she was very angry when she heard the reason for
Liu Pei’s desire to leave.
“Who would dare harm my son-in-law?” cried she.
But she made him move into the library of the Palace as a precaution
and she chose a day for the celebration of the wedding. But his
soldiers could not keep guard at the library. Yüan-tê explained to his
hostess and when she understood this she gave her son-in-law rooms in
her own Palace so that he might be quite safe.
Yüan-tê was very happy and there were fine banquets and the bride and
bridegroom duly plighted their troth. And when it grew late and the
guests had gone the newly wedded pair walked through the two lines of
red torches to the nuptial apartment.
To his extreme surprise Yüan-tê found the chambers furnished with
spears and swords and banners and flags, while every waiting-maid had
girded on a sword.
Walls hung with spears the bridegroom saw,
And armed waiting-maids;
His heart fell back on all its fears
Of well-laid ambuscades.
What happened will be related in the next chapter.
CHAPTER LV.
YÜAN-TÊ ROUSES THE SPIRIT OF HIS BRIDE:
KʻUNG-MING A SECOND TIME ANGERS HIS RIVAL.
The bridegroom turned pale; bridal apartments lined with weapons of war
and waiting maids armed! But the housekeeper said, “Do not be
frightened, O honourable one. My lady has always had a taste for
warlike things and her maids have all been taught fencing as a pastime.
That is all it is.”
“Not the sort of thing a wife should ever look at,” said Liu Pei. “It
makes me feel cold and you may have them removed for a time.”
The housekeeper went to her mistress and said, “The weapons in your
chamber displease the handsome one; may we remove them?”
The Lady Sun laughed, saying, “Afraid of a few weapons after half a
life time spent in slaughter!”
But she ordered their removal and bade the maids take off their swords
while they were at work. And the night passed happily enough.
Next day Yüan-tê distributed gifts among the maids to secure their good
will. He also sent Sun Chʻien to Chingchou with news of the wedding,
while he gave himself up to feasting and enjoyment. The Dowager loved
him more every day.
The results of the plot to destroy Liu Pei were thus very different
from the originators’ intention. Sun Chʻüan sent to his general to say
that his mother had insisted upon marrying her daughter to their
proposed victim and so by juggling with the fictitious they had made it
real. What was to be done?
The news troubled Chou Yü, but eventually he thought out another scheme
which he embodied in a letter sent to his master. Here is the outline
of the missive:—“Contrary to expectation the plot that I, Chou Yü,
contrived has turned the wrong way. However, since by juggling with
deceit we have ended in a solid truth our future plans must start from
the actual present facts. To the boldness of the adventurer is added
the aid of such great captains as Kuan, Chang and Chao Yün, not to
mention that Liu Pei has a strategist like Chuko. He is not the man to
remain long in a lowly position. Wherefore I can think of no better
plan than to enervate him by surrounding him with softness and keeping
him in Wu, a prisoner of luxury. Therefore build for him a fine Palace
to blunt the edge of his determination and surround him with sensuous
luxury. In this way the affection of his brothers will be alienated and
Chuko will be driven away. When this result has been attained we can
smite him and so end a great matter. If we be at all careless I fear
the recumbent dragon may fly to the skies; it is no beast to be kept in
a pond.
“My lord, I pray you to consider this thoroughly.”
The letter was shown to Chang Chao who said, “My idea is identical with
his. Liu Pei began life in a humble position and for years has been a
wanderer. He has never tasted the delights of wealth. Give him the
means of luxury, a beautiful dwelling, fair women, gold and silken
attire, and as he enjoys them the thoughts of Kʻung-ming and his
brothers will fade away and they, on their side, will be filled with
rancour. Thus can we lay our plans for recovering Chingchou. I
recommend action as Chou Yü says and quickly.”
Sun Chʻüan then set about re-decorating the eastern Palace and laying
out the grounds. He filled the rooms with beautiful furniture for his
sister and her husband. He also sent fair damsels and musicians by the
score, and many and beautiful vessels in gold and silver, and silken
stuffs. And his mother was delighted at his kindness to her son-in-law.
Indeed Liu Pei was soon so immersed in sensuous pleasure that he gave
no thought to return. Chao Yün and the company under him led an idle
life in the front portion of the eastern Palace, save that at times
they went outside the city for archery and horse-racing. And thus
passed the year.
Suddenly Chao Yün remembered the orders he had received and the three
bags with the plans in them. It was time to open the second one for the
end of the year was nigh. His orders were only to open the third when
danger was very near and there appeared no way out.
As already remarked, the year was drawing to a close and Chao Yün saw
his lord daily becoming more and more the slave of pleasure. Liu Pei
never appeared among his guards now. So the bag was opened and in
pursuance of the wonderful scheme thereby discovered, Chao Yün went to
the hall of the Palace and asked to see his master. The maid in
attendance went within and said, “Chao Yün has some important matter on
which to see the master.”
Yüan-tê called him in and asked what the business was. Chao Yün assumed
an attitude of great concern and said, “My lord, you are living happily
secluded in these beautiful apartments; do you never think of
Chingchou?”
“But what is the matter that you seem so disturbed?” asked Liu.
“To-day early Kʻung-ming sent a messenger to say that Tsʻao Tsʻao was
trying to avenge his last defeat and was leading fifty legions to
attack Chingchou, which was in great danger. And he wished you to
return.”
“I must speak to my wife,” said Yüan-tê.
“If you consult her she will be unwilling for you to return. It would
be better to say nothing but to start this evening. Delay may do great
damage.”
“Retire for a time; I must act discreetly,” said Liu Pei.
Chao Yün urged the need to return several times more, but finally went
away.
Yüan-tê went into his wife’s rooms and began to weep silently. Seeing
his tears the Lady Sun said, “Why are you so sad, my husband?”
Yüan-tê replied, “I have been driven hither and thither all my life. I
was never able to do my duty to my parents nor have I been able to
sacrifice to my ancestors. I have been very unfilial. The new year is
at hand and its approach disquiets me greatly.”
“Do not try to deceive me,” said the Lady Sun. “I heard and I know all.
Just now Chao Yün came to tell you Chingchou was threatened and you
wish to return home. That is why you put forward this excuse.”
Then Yüan-tê fell on his knees and said, “Why should I dissemble, O
wife, since you know? I do not wish to go, but if Chingchou be lost I
shall be an object of ridicule to every one. I do desire to go, but I
cannot leave you. Now you know why I am grieved.”
She replied, “I am your handmaid and whithersoever you go it is my duty
to follow.”
“Yes; your heart is right, but the difficulty is your mother and the
Marquis; they will be unwilling. If you would have pity on me and let
me go for a time——.”
And again the tears gushed forth.
“Do not be so sad, my husband,” said the Lady Sun. “I will implore my
mother to let us go and she will surely allow it.”
“Even supposing the Dowager permits I am sure the Marquis will hinder.”
The Lady Sun said nothing for a long time while she weighed the matter
thoroughly. Presently she spoke, “On New Year’s Day you and I will go
to court and present our congratulations. Then we will give the excuse
of a sacrifice on the river bank and go away without formal leave. Will
that suit you?”
Yüan-tê knelt at her feet and expressed his gratitude. “I should be
never so grateful,” said he. “Dead or alive I would remember your love.
But this must be a perfect secret.”
This having been decided and the arrangements made, Chao Yün received
secret orders to lead out his company and be on the road on New Year’s
morn. He was told they were going away.
Sun Chʻüan held a grand court on the New Year’s Day of the fifteenth
year of “Established Tranquillity.” Liu Pei and his bride went into the
Dowager’s presence and the Lady Sun said, “My husband has been thinking
of his ancestors, who lie in Cho, and grieves that he cannot do his
duty by them. To-day we wish to go to the river side and offer
sacrifices toward the north. It is our duty to inform you.”
“A very filial proceeding,” said the Dowager. “I should not think of
stopping you. Although you have never known your husband’s parents yet
you may go with him to sacrifice as it is proper for a wife to do.”
Both thanked the Dowager and went out, rejoicing at having so far
hoodwinked Sun Chʻüan. The Lady Sun got into her carriage taking only a
little clothing with her, while Yüan-tê followed with a small escort.
They went out of the city and met Chao Yün at the place arranged. Then
with a guard in front and rear they left the precincts of the city,
travelling as quickly as they could.
That day, at the new year banquet, Sun Chʻüan drank freely so that he
had to be helped to his chamber, and the guests left. Before very long
the escape of the fugitives became known, but it was then dark and when
they tried to tell Sun Chʻüan they could not rouse him. He slept
heavily until the fifth watch.
The next morning, when Sun Chʻüan heard the story he asked advice of
his counsellors. Chang Shao said, “They have got away to-day but
trouble will surely come of it; therefore pursue after them without
loss of time.”
So Chʻên Wu and Pʻan Chang, with a half-company of veterans, were sent
out with orders to use all speed both by day and by night and bring
back the fugitives.
They left. Sun Chʻüan’s anger burned hot against Yüan-tê. In his wrath
he seized his jade inkstone and dashed it to the ground where it
shivered to pieces.
Said Chʻêng Pʻu, “My lord, your wrath is in vain, for I do not think
your men will catch the runaways.”
“Will they dare to disobey my order?” said Sun Chʻüan.
“Our young lady had always delighted to look upon war and is very
fierce and determined. All the officers fear her. Now she has gone with
her husband of her own free will and those sent in pursuit, if once
they look upon her countenance, will not dare to lay hands on her.”
Sun Chʻüan’s wrath burned the more fiercely at these words. He drew the
sword girded at his side and called up Chiang Chʻin and Chou Tʻai
saying, “You two take this sword and bring back the heads of my sister
and Liu Pei. And if you do not I will put you to death.”
With this order they set out in pursuit, leading a whole company.
Meanwhile Yüan-tê and his wife were pressing forward with all speed.
When night fell they rested for a time by the roadside, but not for
long. Just as they reached the confines of Chʻaisang they turned and
saw a great cloud of dust and the soldiers said that a force was coming
in pursuit.
“What shall we do if they come up with us?” said Yüan-tê excitedly to
Chao Yün.
“My lord, you go on in front and I will prevent pursuit.”
As they turned the foot of a hill they saw a troop of soldiers blocking
their road in front. Two captains were there and they bellowed, “Liu
Pei, dismount and yield yourself captive. We are here by order of
General Chou and you have kept us waiting long.”
Now the thought had come to Chou Yü that Yüan-tê would try to flee, and
so he had sent Hsü Shêng and Ting Fêng, with three companies, to
intercept him at this critical spot. They had made a camp there and
kept a lookout from the hill-tops, for Chou had calculated that he
would certainly pass that way. So when Liu Pei and his cavalcade
appeared they all buckled on their arms and barred the way.
Greatly fearing, Yüan-tê rode back to consult Chao Yün, to whom he
said, “In front a force barring the road; in rear pursuers. There is no
escape. What can we do?”
“Do not be alarmed, my lord. The great strategist gave me three plans
enclosed in three silken bags. Two have been used and have answered
admirably. There is yet the third and my orders were to open the bag in
such a strait as this. This is a day of great danger such as calls me
to open the bag.”
Thereupon he opened the bag and handed it to Yüan-tê. As soon as
Yüan-tê had seen the contents he hastened to the Lady Sun’s carriage
and began to weep, saying, “I have something private to say, and I must
tell you.”
“What have you to tell me, my husband? Tell me the whole truth,”
replied she.
“Your brother and Chou Yü formerly made a plot for you to marry me, not
for your sake, but to get me into their power and hold me so that they
might recover Chingchou. They were set on my murder, and you were the
bait with which to hook me. Careless of consequences I came, for I knew
that the spirit of a man dwelt in your bosom and you would pity me.
Lately I heard that harm was intended me and so I made danger to
Chingchou the excuse to escape. Happily for me you have remained true
and come with me. But now the Marquis is pursuing us and Chou Yü’s men
are in front. Only you, my wife, can extricate us from this danger and
if you refuse, then slay me where I stand that I may thus show my
gratitude for your kindness.”
The Lady Sun grew angry and said, “Then does my brother forget that I
am his sister? How will he ever look me in the face? I can extricate us
from this danger.”
Thereupon she bade her people push the carriage to the front. She
rolled up the blind and herself called out, “Hsü Shêng, Ting Fêng, are
you turned traitors then?”
The two captains slid out of their saddles, dropped their arms and
stood meekly in front of the carriage.
“We are no traitors,” said they. “We have the General’s orders to camp
here and await Liu Pei.”
“Chou Yü is an interfering scoundrel,” cried she. “We of the land of Wu
have never harmed you, and Yüan-tê, the Uncle of the Great Family, is
my husband. I have already told my mother and my brother of our journey
and now I find you with an army at the foot of these hills preventing
our passage. Is it that you would plunder us of our valuables?”
The two captains mumbled dissent; they would not dare such a thing. “We
pray you, O Lady, to stay your anger. This is no plan of ours; we do
but obey our General’s orders.”
“So you fear Chou Yü and not me!” cried she scornfully. “Think you that
if he slay you I will not slay him?”
She broke into a torrent of abuse of Chou Yü. Then she bade them push
her carriage forward.
The two leaders thought within themselves, “We are but men of lowly
rank, we dare not dispute with the Lady Sun.” Beside they saw Chao Yün
was bursting with wrath. So they ordered their men to stand aside and
leave the road clear.
The cavalcade had only gone a little distance when up came the
pursuers. The two captains told the new-comers what had happened. “You
were wrong to let them pass,” said Chʻên and Pʻan. “We have orders from
the Marquis himself to arrest them.”
Thereupon all four went in pursuit. When the noise of the approaching
force reached the ears of Yüan-tê he said to his wife, “They are again
pursuing us; what now?”
“Husband, go on in front. I and Chao Yün will keep them off.”
So Yüan-tê and a small company went on toward the river bank, while
Chao Yün reined up beside the lady’s carriage and set out his men ready
for battle. And when the four men came up they dismounted and stood
with folded arms.
“What are you doing here, Captains?” asked the Lady Sun.
“We have orders from our lord to request you and Yüan-tê to return.”
Calmly but bitterly she said, “So this is the sort of fools you are!
You would make dissension between brother and sister. But I am a wife
on my way to my husband’s home. Nor am I leaving clandestinely, for I
had my mother’s gracious permission. Now we, husband and wife, are
going to Chingchou and if even my brother were here himself he would
let us pass in all politeness. But you, because you have weapons in
your hands, would slay us!”
She abused the four men to their faces so that they looked from one to
another in shame. And each in his heart thought, “Say what one will,
after all they two are brother and sister and the Dowager is the
controlling power. Sun Chʻüan is most obedient and would never dare
oppose his mother’s decision. When the reaction comes, then indeed we
shall certainly be found in the wrong. We had better be kind.” Another
thing was that one of the two they sought, Yüan-tê, was not there and
Chao Yün looked angry and dangerous. Finally, muttering to themselves,
they gave way and with one accord retired and left the road open. The
Lady Sun passed through.
“We four will go to see the General and report,” said Hsü Shêng.
But that did not please them all and they stood irresolute. Presently
they saw a column of men sweeping down on them like a hurricane. These
were Chiang and Chou with their company.
“Have you fellows seen Liu Pei?” they cried as they rushed up.
“He has just passed along.”
“Why did you not arrest him?”
“Because of what the Lady Sun said.”
“That is just as the Marquis feared and so he gave us this sword and
told us first to slay his sister and then Liu Pei. And if we disobey he
will put us to death.”
“What can be done? They are far away by now.”
Chiang Chʻin said, “After all they are but a few and on foot; they
cannot travel very fast. Let Hsü and Ting go to Chou Yü to tell him,
and he can send fast boats to pursue them on the river while we follow
up on the bank. We must get them either on water or land and we must
not listen to what they say.”
Whereupon two went back to report and two to the river bank. Meanwhile
Liu Pei had got a long way from Chʻaisang and reached Liulangpu. He now
felt calmer. He went along the bank of the river seeking a boat, but
there was no craft on the broad bosom of the stream. He bowed his head
in deep sorrow. Chao Yün bade him be of good courage seeing that he had
just escaped from the tiger’s jaws and had not far to go.
“I suspect Kʻung-ming has something prepared for us,” said he.
But his master was despondent. His thoughts were back to the pleasures
he had enjoyed but a few hours since in the house of his wife, and the
tears rolled down his cheeks. A poem has been written on this episode.
By the bank of the deep flowing Yangtse
Once was a wedding,
And the ruling houses of two states yet to be
Were allied by marriage.
See the beautiful maiden stepping slowly
To the golden bridal chamber!
Yet was the marriage but a ruse.
Its author vainly imagined that a hero,
Sinking in amorous toils,
Would forget his high intent and great resolve.
Yüan-tê bade the captain of his guard go along the bank to seek some
boats. Then the soldiers told him there was a huge cloud of dust on the
road. Ascending one of the hills he looked back whence they had come
and saw the whole earth as it were covered with an advancing host. He
sighed and said, “We have fled before them now for days, worn out our
men and jaded our horses, and all to die in a strange place.”
He watched them coming nearer and nearer. Then as things began to look
most desperate he saw a line of some twenty boats all in the act of
setting their sails.
“By good luck here are some ships,” said Chao Yün. “Let us get on
board, row to the further bank and see what can be done.”
Yüan-tê and his bride hastened down the bank and went into a ship. The
soldiers were embarked. Then they saw in the hold of the ship some one
in Taoist dress, who came up with a smile, saying, “My lord, again you
see Chuko Liang. He has waited a long time.”
All the men on board were from Chingchou, and Yüan-tê rejoiced at the
sudden happy turn of affairs.
Before long the pursuers reached the bank. Kʻung-ming pointed to them
and laughed, saying, “I foresaw this a long time ago. You may return
and tell your General not to use the fair damsel trick again.”
Those on the bank sent a flight of arrows at the ships but they were
already too far away. The four officers on the bank looked very
foolish.
As the boats were sailing along a great noise was heard on the river
behind them and there appeared a huge fleet of war ships, sailing under
the flag of Chou Yü. He also was there in command of the fleet and he
was supported by Huang Kai and Han Tang. They seemed like a drove of
horses and came along swift as a falling star. They gained on the
fugitives rapidly.
Kʻung-ming ordered the boats to row over to the north bank, and the
party landed. They had started off away from the shore before Chou Yü
could land. Chou Yü’s men, naturally, were all afoot but they kept up
the pursuit, following as quickly as they could. When they reached the
borders of Huangchou, Liu Pei and his party were not far away, and so
they pressed the pursuit. But there were only horses for a few in front
and suddenly the rolling of drums struck Chou Yü’s ears and from out a
gully dashed a troop of swordsmen led by Kuan Yü. Chou Yü was too
surprised and unprepared to do anything but flee.
Chou Yü fled for his life and Kuan Yü pursued. At different points
other captains came out and attacked, so that the men of Wu suffered a
great defeat and Chou Yü barely escaped. As he came to the river and
was going down into his ship the soldiers on the bank jeered at him on
account of the miscarriage of his scheme for the restoration of
tranquillity. All he had done was to give his enemy a wife and lose his
soldiers. He was so annoyed that he would have gone up the bank to
fight again, but his captains restrained him. He was very despondent
and felt ashamed to face his master and confess utter defeat and
failure.
All at once he cried aloud and fell back in a swoon. His wound had
re-opened. The captains came to his help but it was long before he
recovered consciousness.
Twice had he played his trick
And twice had he lost the game;
His heart was full of resentment,
He was overwhelmed with shame.
The fate of Chou Yü will appear in the next chapter.
CHAPTER LVI.
A BANQUET IN THE BRONZE BIRD PAVILION:
KʻUNG-MING PROVOKES CHOU YÜ A THIRD TIME.
The ambuscade into which Chou Yü had fallen had been prepared by the
orders of Kʻung-ming and was triple. However, Huang Kai and Han Tang
contrived to get clear and found refuge in the ships, though with the
loss of many men. When Chou Yü was in safety and looked about him he
saw Yüan-tê and the Lady Sun quietly resting on a hill top. How could
such a sight fail to put him in a rage? And with the access of rage his
wound, not yet healed, burst open once again. He swooned and fell. They
raised him and his ship set sail. He was allowed to depart undisturbed,
while Yüan-tê proceeded to Chingchou, where were great rejoicings in
honour of his recent marriage.
Meanwhile Chou Yü had gone to Chʻaisang while Chiang Chʻin and those
with him bore the sad tidings to Sun Chʻüan. He was angry beyond words
and his first thought was to send an army under Chʻêng Pʻu to take
Chingchou. Chou Yü also wrote from his sick bed urging his lord to take
vengeance. But Chang Chao knew better and said it could not be done.
Said he, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has never forgotten his defeat, but he dares not
attempt to avenge himself while the Sun family are friendly with Liu
Pei. If in any moment of anger you two fall upon each other, Tsʻao will
certainly seize the opportunity and your position will be dangerous.”
Ku Yung supported him, saying, “Beyond all doubt Tsʻao Tsʻao has his
spies here. As soon as he hears of any rift in the friendship between
Sun and Liu he will desire to come to an understanding with the latter
and Liu Pei, who fears your power, will accept his offer and take his
side. Such an alliance will be a continual menace to the land south of
the river. No; the plan for the occasion is to secure the friendship of
Liu Pei by memorialising that he be made Governor of Chingchou. This
will make Tsʻao Tsʻao afraid to send any army against the south-east.
At the same time it will raise kindly feelings in the heart of Liu Pei
and win his support. You will be able to find some one who will provoke
a quarrel between Tsʻao and Liu and set them at each other and that
will be your opportunity. In this way you will succeed.”
“These are good words,” said Sun Chʻüan, “but have I a messenger who
can accomplish such a mission?”
“There is such a man, one whom Tsʻao respects and loves.”
“Who is he?”
“What prevents you from employing Hua Hsin? He is ready to hand.”
Wherefore Hua Hsin was given letters and bidden go to the capital,
whither he proceeded at once and sought to see Tsʻao Tsʻao. They told
him that Tsʻao and all his friends were at Yehchün, celebrating the
completion of the Bronze Bird Pavilion. So thither he went.
Tsʻao had indeed never forgotten his great defeat and nourished schemes
to avenge it, but he feared the combination of his two chief enemies
and that fear restrained him.
In the spring of the fifteenth year the great Pavilion was completed
and Tsʻao invited a vast assembly to celebrate its inauguration with
banquets and rejoicings. The pleasaunce was on the bank of the Chang
River. The Bronze Bird Terrace stood in the centre, flanked by two
others named the Terrace of the Jade Dragon and the Terrace of the
Golden Phoenix. Each tower was a hundred feet high and a bridge
connected them. Gold and jade vied with each other in the many
apartments.
At the opening ceremony Tsʻao Tsʻao wore a golden headdress inlaid with
jewels and a robe of green brocaded silk, girded with a belt of jade.
On his feet were pearl-encrusted shoes. So clad he took his seat as
host, while his officers, civil and military, were drawn up below the
terrace.
For the military officers was arranged an archery competition and one
of his attendants brought forth a robe of red crimson Ssŭchʻuan silk as
a prize. This was suspended from one of the drooping branches of a
willow tree, beneath which was the target. The distance was a hundred
paces. The competitors were divided into two bands, those of his own
family being dressed in red and the others in green. They all had
carved bows and long arrows and were mounted. They stood holding in
their steeds till the signal should be given for the games to begin.
Each was to shoot one arrow and the robe was the guerdon for hitting
the target in the red; misses were to pay a forfeit of drinking a cup
of cold water.
As soon as the signal was given a red-robed youth rode quickly forth.
He was Tsʻao Hsiu. Swiftly he galloped to and fro thrice. Then he
adjusted the notch of his arrow to the string, pulled the bow to its
full and the arrow flew straight to the bullseye.
The clang of the gongs and the roll of the drums announced the feat,
which astonished them all. And Tsʻao, as he sat on the terrace, was
delighted. “A very promising colt of my own,” said he to those about
him, and he sent a messenger for the red robe that the winner might
receive it from his own hands.
But suddenly from the green side rode out one who cried, “It were more
fitting to let outsiders compete for the Minister’s silken robe; it is
not right that members of the family monopolise the contest.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao looked at the speaker, who was one Wên Pʻing. And some of
the officers cried, “Let us see what his shooting is like!”
So Wên Pʻing fitted an arrow to the string and fired also from
horseback while galloping. To the surprise of the onlookers he also
made a bullseye, which was honoured by another salute from gongs and
drums.
“Quickly bring me the robe,” cried Wên Pʻing.
But at once from the ranks of the red-robed another competitor dashed
forward, shouting fiercely, “How can you win what has been already won?
But let me show you how I can shoot an arrow that shall overcome both
your shots.”
He drew his bow to the full and the arrow flew straight to the heart of
the red. The surprised onlookers saw that this new competitor was Tsʻao
Hung, who now became also a claimant for the robe.
However, yet another archer came forth from the green robed ranks,
playing with his bow and crying, “What is there amazing in your
shooting, you three? See how I can shoot.”
This man was Chang Ho. He put his horse to the gallop, then turned his
back and, shooting backwards, also hit the centre of the red.
Thus four arrows were now sticking in the bullseye and all agreed that
it was marvellous archery.
“I think the robe should be mine,” said Chang Ho.
Before he could finish speaking a fifth competitor came out from the
red robes and shouted, “You shot backwards; but that is commonplace
enough. Look while I shoot better than you all.”
The speaker was Hsiahou Yüan. He galloped off to the very limit of the
butts and then bending his body over backwards he sent his arrow right
in among the other four.
As the gongs and drums broke out Yüan put aside his bow and rode up
saying, “Is not that a better shot than any of its predecessors?”
Then came out another from the greens who cried, “Leave the robe there
for me, Hsü Huang, to win.”
“What can you do that is better than my shot?” said Yüan.
“That you hit the bullseye is no great feat. You will see me win the
silken robe after all.”
So speaking, Hsü Huang fitted an arrow to his bow. Then looking around
he aimed at the willow twig from which the robe hung down and shot
thereat so true that his arrow cut it through and the robe fluttered to
the ground. At once Hsü Huang dashed along, picked up the robe and
slipped it on. Then riding swiftly to the terrace he thanked the
Minister. No one present could withhold unstinted praise and Hsü was
turning to ride away when another green clad captain leaped out saying,
“Where would you go with that robe? Quickly leave it for me!”
All eyes turned to this man who was Hsü Chʻu. Hsü Huang cried, “The
robe has already been adjudged to me; would you dare take it by force?”
Hsü Chʻu made no reply but galloped up to snatch the robe. As his horse
drew near Huang struck at his rival a blow with his bow. But Hsü Chʻu
seized the bow with one hand while with the other he simply lifted his
opponent out of his seat. Wherefore Hsü Huang let go the bow and the
next moment lay sprawling on the ground. Hsü Chʻu slipped out of the
saddle too and they began to pommel each other with their fists. Tsʻao
Tsʻao sent one to separate them, but in the struggle the robe had been
torn and soiled. He called the angry rivals before him and they came,
one darting fierce looks of hate, the other grinding his teeth with
rage.
“Never mind the robe; I see only your magnificent courage,” said Tsʻao
smiling. “What does a robe more or less matter?”
Whereupon he called the captains to him one by one and to each he
presented a robe of Ssŭchʻuan silk. They thanked him for the generous
gifts and he then commanded them to take their seats in due order. Then
to the strains of a band of music, wherein each performer vied with all
the others, the naval and military officers took their places. Civil
officers of repute and captains of renown drank one to another, and
hearty felicitations were exchanged.
Tsʻao looked around to those about him saying, “Since the military
officers have competed in mounted archery for our enjoyment and
displayed their boldness and their skill, you, gentlemen scholars,
stuffed full of learning as you are, can surely mount the terrace and
present some complimentary odes to make the occasion a perfect
success.”
“We are most willing to obey your commands,” they replied, all bowing
low.
At that time there was a band of four scholars named, Wang Lang, Chung
Yao, Wang Tsʻan and Chʻên Lin, and each of them presented a poem. Every
poem sang the praises of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s valuable services and great
merits and said he was worthy to receive the highest trust of all.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao had read them he laughed saying, “You gentlemen are
really too flattering. As a fact I am but an ignoramus who began life
with a simple bachelor’s degree. And when the troubles began I built me
a little cottage in the country near Chʻiaotung, where I could study in
spring and summer and spend the rest of the year in hunting till the
empire was once more tranquil and I could emerge and take office. To my
surprise I was chosen for a small military office which changed my
intentions and I determined to repress the rebellion and so make a name
for myself. I thought that I might win an inscription on my tomb to the
effect that it covered the remains of the Marquis Tsʻao, who had
restored order in the west. That would have been ample for a life’s
work. I recall now how I destroyed Tung Cho and smote the Yellow
Turbans; then I made away with Yüan Shu and broke the power of Lü Pu;
next I exterminated Yüan Shao and at the death of Liu Piao I had
subdued the whole empire. As a Minister of State I have attained the
topmost pinnacle of honour and I have no more to hope for. Were it not
for poor me, I know not how many there would be styling themselves
Emperor and dubbing themselves princes. Certain there be who, seeing my
great authority, think I have some ulterior aim. But they are quite
wrong. I ever bear in mind what Confucius said of Chou Kung, that he
was perfectly virtuous, and this saying is ever engraven on my mind. If
I could I would do away with my armies and retire to my fief with my
simple title of Marquis Wupʻing. Alas! I cannot. I am afraid to lay
down my military powers lest I should come to harm. Should I be
defeated, the State would totter and so I may not risk real misfortune
for the sake of an empty reputation for kindness. There be some of you
who do not know my heart.”
As he closed they all rose and bowed their heads saying, “None are your
equals, O Minister, not even Duke Chou or the great Minister I Yin.”
A poem has been written referring to this:—
Had Duke Chou, the virtuous, died, while foul-mouthed slander was
spreading her vile rumours;
Or Wang Mang, the treacherous, while he was noted for the deference
paid to learned men;
None would have known their real characters.
After this oration Tsʻao Tsʻao drank many cups of wine in quick
succession till he became very intoxicated. He bade his servants bring
him pencil and inkstone that he might compose a poem. But as he was
beginning to write they told him that the Marquis of Wu had sent Hua
Hsin as an envoy and presented a memorial to appoint Liu Pei governor
of Chingchou and that Sun Chʻüan’s sister was now Liu Pei’s wife, while
on the river Han the greater part of the nine districts was under Liu
Pei’s rule.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was seized with quaking fear at the news and threw the pen
on the floor. Chʻêng Yü said to him, “O Minister, you have been among
fighting men by myriads and in danger from stones and arrows many a
time and never quailed. Now the news that Liu Pei has got possession of
a small tract of country throws you into a panic. Why is it thus?”
Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “Liu Pei is a dragon among men. All his life
hitherto he has never found his element, but now that he has obtained
Chingchou it is as if the dragon, once captive, had escaped to the
mighty deep. There is good reason for me to quake with fear.”
“Do you know the reason of the coming of Hua Hsin?” said Chʻêng.
“No; I know not,” said the Minister.
“Liu Pei is Sun Chʻüan’s one terror and he would attack him were it not
for you, O Minister. He feels you would fall upon him while he was
smiting his enemy. Wherefore he has taken this means of calming Liu
Pei’s suspicions and fears and at the same time directing your enmity
toward him and from himself.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao nodded; “Yes,” he said.
Chʻêng Yü continued, “Now this is my plan to set Sun and Liu at one
another and give you the opportunity to destroy both; it can be done
easily.”
“What is your plan?” asked Tsʻao.
“The one prop of Wu is Chou Yü; remove it by memorialising that Chou be
appointed Prefect of Nanchün. Then get Chʻêng Pʻu made Prefect of
Chianghsia and cause the Emperor to retain this Hua Hsin in the capital
to await some important post. Chou Yü will assuredly attack Liu Pei and
that will be our chance. Is not the scheme good?”
“Friend Chʻêng, you are a man after my own heart.”
Wherefore he summoned the emissary from Wu and overwhelmed him with
gifts. That day was the last of the feastings and merry-makings and
Tsʻao, with all the company, returned to the capital where he forthwith
presented a memorial assigning Chou Yü and Chʻêng Pʻu to the posts he
wished, and Hua Hsin was retained at the capital with a post of
dignity.
The messenger bearing the commissions for their new offices went down
to Wu and both Chou Yü and Chʻêng Pʻu accepted the appointments. Having
taken over his command the former thought all the more of the revenge
he contemplated and, to bring matters to a head, he wrote to Sun Chʻüan
asking him to send Lu Su and renew the demand for the rendition of
Chingchou.
Wherefore Lu Su was summoned and his master said to him, “You are the
guarantor in the loan of Chingchou to Liu Pei. He still delays to
return it and how long am I to wait?”
“The writing said plainly that the rendition would follow the
occupation of Ssŭchʻuan.”
Sun Chʻüan shouted back, “Yes it said so. But so far they have not
moved a soldier to the attack. I will not wait till old age has come to
us all.”
“I will go and enquire?” said Lu Su.
So he went down into a ship and sailed to Chingchou.
Meanwhile Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming were at Chingchou gathering in
supplies from all sides, drilling their men and training their armies.
From all quarters men of learning flocked to their side. In the midst
of this they heard of Lu Su’s coming and Liu Pei asked Kʻung-ming what
he thought of it.
Kʻung-ming replied, “Just lately Sun Chʻüan concerned himself with
getting you appointed Governor of Chingchou; that was calculated to
inspire Tsʻao Tsʻao with fear. Tsʻao Tsʻao obtained for Chou Yü the
Prefectship of Nanchün; that was designed to stir up strife between our
two houses and set us fighting so that he might accomplish his own
ends. This visit of Lu Su means that Chou Yü, having taken over his new
governorship, wishes to force us out of this place.”
“Then how shall we reply?”
“If he introduce the subject you will at once set up loud lamentations.
When the sound of lamentation is at its height I will appear and talk
over your visitor.”
Thus they planned and Lu Su was duly received with all honour. When the
salutations were over and host and guest were about to be seated, Lu Su
said, “Sir, now that you are the husband of a daughter of Wu you have
become my lord, and I dare not sit in your presence.”
Liu Pei laughed. “You are an old friend,” said he. “Why this excessive
humility?”
So Lu Su took his seat. And when tea had been served the guest said, “I
have come at the order of my master to discuss the subject of
Chingchou. You, O Imperial Uncle, have had the use of the place for a
long time. Now that your two houses are allied by marriage, there
should be the most friendly relations between you and you should hand
it back to my master.”
At this Yüan-tê covered his face and began to cry.
“What is the matter?” asked the guest.
Yüan-tê only wept the more bitterly.
Then Kʻung-ming came in from behind a screen saying, “I have been
listening. Do you know why my lord weeps so bitterly?”
“Really I know not.”
“But it is easy to see. When my lord got the temporary occupation of
Chingchou he gave the promise to return it when he had got the west
country. But reflect. Liu Chang of Ichou is my lord’s younger brother
and both of them are blood relations of the ruling family. If my lord
were to move an army to capture another city he fears the blame of the
ignorant. And if he yield this place before he has another, where could
he rest? Yet, while he retains this place it seems to shame you. The
thing is hard on both sides and that is why he weeps so bitterly.”
The close of Kʻung-ming’s speech seemed to move Yüan-tê to greater
grief for he beat his breast and stamped his feet and wept yet more
bitterly.
Lu Su attempted to console him saying, “Be not so distressed, O Uncle;
let us hear what Kʻung-ming can propose.”
“I would beg you to return to your master and tell him all. Tell him of
this great trouble and entreat him to let us stay here a little
longer.”
“But suppose he refuse; what then?” said Lu Su.
“How can he refuse since he is related by marriage to my master?” said
Kʻung-ming. “I shall expect to hear glad tidings through you.”
Lu Su was really the first of generous men and seeing Yüan-tê in such
distress he could do no other than consent and say he would do so.
Yüan-tê and Kʻung-ming both thanked him most cordially and after a
banquet the emissary went down into his ship to return. On the way he
called in to see Chou Yü and told him. But Chou stamped his foot with
rage and said, “My friend, you have been fooled again. Long ago when
Liu Pei was dependent on Liu Piao he always cherished the intention to
supplant him; think you that he really pities Liu Chang of Shu? This
sort of evasive policy will certainly cause you much trouble. However,
I have a scheme which I think Kʻung-ming will not be able to get the
better of. Only you will have to make another journey.”
“I should be pleased to hear your fine scheme,” said Lu Su.
“Do not go to see our master. Return to Chingchou and say to Liu Pei
that since his family and the Suns are related by marriage they really
form but one house, and since he has qualms about attacking the west we
will do it for him. We will march an army under this pretext, but
really go to Chingchou, and we shall take him unprepared. The road to
the west runs through his city and we will call upon him for supplies.
He will come out to thank the army and we will assassinate him whereby
we shall revenge ourselves and at the same time remove a source of
future evil.”
This seemed an excellent plan to Lu Su and he returned at once to
Chingchou. Before receiving him Yüan-tê talked over the matter with his
adviser.
Said Kʻung-ming, “He has not seen the Marquis, he has called in at
Chʻaisang and he and Chou Yü have decided upon some scheme, which he is
to talk you into accepting. However, let him talk; only watch me and
when I nod my head then agree to whatever he may propose.”
Lu Su was then admitted and said, “The Marquis of Wu praises the noble
virtue of the Imperial Uncle and after consultation with his officers
be has determined to take the western kingdom on his behalf and, that
done, Chingchou can be exchanged for it without further delay. However,
when the army marches through it will be expected of you to contribute
some necessary supplies.”
Kʻung-ming here nodded his head rapidly, at the same time saying, “We
could hardly have hoped for such kindness,” while Yüan-tê saluted with
joined hands and said, “This is due to your friendly efforts on our
behalf.”
“When the brave army arrives we shall certainly come out to meet it and
entertain the soldiers,” said Kʻung-ming.
Lu Su felt great satisfaction and was quite happy at his success; he
took his leave and went homeward. But Yüan-tê as yet did not
understand.
“What is their intention?” said he.
His adviser smiled. “Chou Yü’s end is very near. The ruse he is now
trying would not take in a boy.”
“Why?”
“This is the ruse known as ‘borrow a road to exterminate Kuo.’ Under
the pretence of taking the west they intend to capture this place, and
when you go out to compliment the army you will be seized and they will
dash into the city which they hope to find unprepared.”
“And what are we to do?”
“Have no anxiety; all we have to do is to prepare a hidden bow to get
the fierce tiger; to spread the enticing bait to hook the great
leviathan. Wait till Chou Yü comes; if he is not killed he will be
nine-tenths a corpse. We will call in Chao Yün for orders and give him
secret instructions and I will dispose the others.”
And Yüan-tê was glad.
Let Chou Yü lay what plans he will,
Kʻung-ming anticipates his skill;
That river land fair bait did look,
But he forgot the hidden hook.
Lu Su hastened back to Chou Yü to tell him that all was going as he
desired and Yüan-tê would come out to welcome the army. And Chou Yü
laughed with glee, saying, “At last! Now they will fall into my trap.”
He bade Lu Su prepare a petition for the information of the Marquis and
he ordered Chʻêng Pʻu to bring up reinforcements. He himself had nearly
recovered from the arrow wound and felt well. He made his dispositions
for the advance, telling off the leaders of the van and wings. The army
numbered five legions and Chou Yü marched with the second division.
While voyaging in his ship he was always smiling to think how he was to
have Kʻung-ming at last.
At Hsiakʻou he enquired if there was any one to welcome him. They told
him the Imperial Uncle had sent Mi Chu to greet him and he was called.
“What of the preparations for the army?” asked Chou Yü as soon as Mi
Chu came.
“My master has seen to that; all is prepared.” said Mi.
“Where is the Imperial Uncle?” asked Chou.
“He is at Chingchou, waiting outside the walls to offer you the cup of
greeting.”
“This expedition is on your account,” said Chou Yü. “When one
undertakes so long a march and such a task the rewards for the army
must be very substantial.”
Having got this idea of what Chou Yü expected, Mi Chu returned to his
own city, while the battle ships in close order sailed up the river and
took their places along the bank. As they went on the most perfect
tranquillity seemed to reign on all sides. Not a ship was visible
anywhere, and no one hindered. Chou Yü pressed forward till he came
quite near Chingchou and still the wide river lay calm. But the spies
who came back reported two white flags flying on the city walls.
Still not a man was seen and Chou Yü began to feel suspicious. He had
his ship navigated in shore and he himself landed on the bank, where he
mounted a horse and, with a small army of veterans under three
captains, travelled along the land road.
By and bye he came to the city wall. There was no sign of life. Reining
in his steed he bade them challenge the gate. Then some one from the
wall asked who was there. The men of Wu replied that it was their
General in person. Immediately was heard the thud of a club and the
wall became alive with men all armed. And from the tower came out Chao
Yün who said, “Why are you here, General?”
“I am going to take the west for you;” replied Chou Yü, “do you not
know?”
“Kʻung-ming knows that you want to try the ruse of ‘borrowing a road to
destroy Kuo.’ And so he stationed me here. And my master bade me say
that he and the ruler of the west country are both members of the
reigning family so that he could not think of such baseness as
attacking Shu. If you people of Wu do so, he will be forced to go away
into the mountains and become a recluse. He could not bear to lose the
confidence of mankind.”
At this Chou Yü turned his horse as if to return. Just then his scouts
came up to say that armed bands were moving toward him from all sides,
and Kuan Yü and Chang Fei led two of them. Their number was unknown but
the sound of their tramping shook the heavens. They said they wanted to
capture Chou Yü.
At these tidings Chou Yü’s excitement became so intense that he fell to
the ground with a great cry, and the old wound re-opened.
The game was now too deep; in vain he sought
A countermove; his efforts came to nought.
Later chapters will show what was Chou Yü’s fate.
CHAPTER LVII.
“SLEEPING DRAGON” MOURNS AT CHʻAISANG:
“PHOENIX FLEDGELING” INTERVENES AT LEIYANG.
In the last chapter it was said that a sudden rage filled the bosom of
Chou Yü and he fell to the ground. Then he was carried to his boat. It
only added to his rage and mortification to be told that his enemies
and rivals could be seen on the top of one of the hills apparently
feasting and enjoying some music. He lay grinding his teeth with
vexation. “They say I shall never be able to get Ssŭchʻuan! But I will;
I swear I will.”
Soon after Sun Chʻüan’s brother Yü arrived and Chou Yü told him his
vexations. “My brother sent me to assist you,” said Sun Yü.
Sun Yü ordered the army to press forward and they got to Pachʻiu. There
they stopped, for the scouts reported large forces under Liu Fêng and
Kuan Pʻing barring the river route. This failure did not make the
General any calmer.
About this time a letter from Kʻung-ming arrived, which ran like
this:—“Since our parting at Chʻaisang I have thought of you often. Now
comes to me a report that you desire to take The Western Land of
Streams, which I regret to say I consider impossible. The people are
strong and the country is precipitous and defensible. The governor may
be weak within, but he is strong enough to defend himself. Now indeed,
General, you would go far and you would render great services, yet can
any one foretell the final result? No; not even Wu Chʻi the great
General could say for certain, nor could Sun Wu be sure of a successful
issue. Tsʻao Tsʻao suffered severe defeat at Chʻihpi; think you he will
ever cease to hope for revenge? Now if you undertake a long expedition,
will he not seize the occasion to fall upon Chiangnan and grind it to
powder? Such a deed would be more than I could bear and I venture to
warn you of the possible danger if haply you may condescend to regard
it.”
The letter made Chou Yü feel very sorrowful and he sighed deeply. He
called for paper and a pen and wrote to the Marquis Wu and, having done
this, he said to his assembled officers, “I have honestly tried to do
my best for my country but my end is at hand. The number of my days is
accomplished. You must continue to aid our master till his end shall be
achieved——”
He stopped; for he had swooned. Slowly he regained consciousness and as
he looked up to heaven he sighed heavily, “O God, since thou madest me;
why didst thou also create Liang?”
Soon after he passed away; he was only thirty-six.
The battle at Chʻihpi made him famous;
Though young in years he gained a veteran’s reputation.
Deep feeling, his music declared its intensity;
Subtle, with excess hospitality he foiled a plot;
Persuasive, he once obtained a large gift of grain;
Capable, he led an army of millions.
Pachʻiu was his deathbed, there his fate met him.
Sadly indeed they mourned him.
After his death his captains sent his dying memorial to the Marquis of
Wu, who was most deeply affected and wept aloud at the sad tidings of
his death. When he opened the letters he saw that Lu Su was named as
the dead general’s successor. This is the letter:—
“Possessing but ordinary abilities, there was no reason why I should
have been the recipient of your confidence and high office, but I have
not spared myself in the leadership of the great army under my command
that thereby I might prove my gratitude. Yet none can measure life and
the number of our days is ordained by fate. Before I could achieve even
my poor intentions my feeble body has failed me. I regret it without
measure. I die with Tsʻao Tsʻao threatening and our northern borders
disturbed and with Liu Pei in your family as though you were feeding a
fierce tiger. None can foretell the fate of the empire in these weary
days of stress and of peculiar anxiety for you.
“Lu Su is most loyal, careful in all matters and a fitting man to
succeed to my office. When a man is near death his words are wise and
if I may haply retain your regard I may die but I shall not decay.”
“He should have been a king’s counsellor,” cried Sun Chʻüan, amid his
tears. “He has left me, alas! too soon, and whom have I to lean upon?
But he recommends his friend and I can do nothing better than take that
advice.”
Whereupon he appointed Lu Su to the vacant command.
He also saw that the coffin of his beloved general was sent to
Chʻaisang ready for the funeral sacrifices.
The night of Chou Yü’s death Kʻung-ming was gazing up at the heavens
when he saw a bright star fall to the earth. “Chou Yü is dead,” said he
with a smile. At dawn he sent to tell Yüan-tê, who sent men to find
out, and they came back to say it was true; he had died.
“Now that this has come to pass what should we do?” said Yüan-tê.
“Lu Su will succeed,” said Kʻung-ming. “And I see in the heavens signs
of an assembly of captains in the east so I shall go. The mourning for
Chou Yü will serve as a pretext. I may find some able scholar there to
be of help to you.”
“I am afraid lest the captains of Wu harm you,” said Liu Pei.
“While Chou Yü lived I did not fear; is there anything to dread now
that he is gone?”
However, he took Chao Yün as commander of his escort when he embarked
for Pachʻiu, and on the road he heard of Lu Su’s succession to the late
general’s post. As the coffin of Chou Yü had been sent to Chʻaisang,
Kʻung-ming continued his journey thither and, on landing, was kindly
received by Lu Su. The officers of Wu did not conceal their enmity but
the sight of the redoubtable Chao Yün, always close at hand, kept them
from trying to hurt Kʻung-ming.
The officers brought by Kʻung-ming were arranged in order before the
bier and he himself poured the libation. Then he knelt and read this
threnody:—
“Alas, Kung-chin! Hapless are you in your early death. Length of days
is in the hands of God, yet do men suffer and my heart is deeply
grieved for you. I pour this libation that your spirit may enjoy its
fragrance.
“I lament you. I lament your younger days passed in the companionship
of Po-fu, when, preferring eternal principles to material wealth, you
abode in a humble cottage.
“I lament your ripe strength when you guarded distant Pachʻiu, putting
fear into the heart of Liu Piao, destroying rebels and ensuring safety.
“I lament the grace of your manhood. Married to a fair maid of the
Chʻiao family, son-in-law of a minister, you were such as would add
lustre to the Han Court.
“I lament your resolute purpose when you opposed the pledge-giving. As
in the beginning your wings drooped not, so in the end your pinions
spread wide.
“I lament your abandon, when your false friend, Chiang, came to you at
Pʻoyang. There you manifested your lofty ideals.
“I lament your magnificent talents, proved in civil administration as
in military science. With fire attacking the fierce enemy you brought
his strength to weakness.
“I recall you as you were but yesterday, bold and successful, and I
weep your untimely death. Prostrate I weep tears of sorrow. Loyal and
upright in heart, noble and spiritual by nature, your life has been but
three decades but your fame will endure for ages.
“I mourn for your affection. My bowels writhe with sorrow and my
deep-seated sadness will never cease. The very heavens are darkened.
The army is sad; your lord sheds tears; your friends weep floods.
“Scanty of ability am I, yet even of me you begged plans and sought
schemes to aid Wu to repulse Tsʻao, to restore the Hans and comfort the
Lius. But with you as the firm corner stone and your perfect
dispositions, could the final result cause any anxiety?
“Alas, my friend! The quick and the dead are ever separate; they mingle
never. If in the deep shades spirits have understanding you now read my
inmost heart, yet hereafter there will be none on earth to comprehend.
“Alas, the pain!
“Deign to accept this my sacrifice.”
The sacrifice finished, Kʻung-ming bowed to the ground and keened while
his tears gushed forth in floods. He was deeply moved.
Those who stood on guard by the bier said one to another, “People lied
when they said these two were enemies; look at the sincerity shown in
sacrifice.” And Lu Su was particularly affected by the display of
feeling and thought, “Plainly Kʻung-ming loved him much, but Kung-chin
was not broadminded enough and would have done him to death.”
Before the Sleeping Dragon emerged from his Nanyang retreat
Many brilliant men had descended upon this earth;
Since, O azure Heaven, ye made Kung-ching
Why needed dusty earth produce a Kʻung-ming?
Lu Su gave a banquet for Kʻung-ming after which the guest left. Just as
he was embarking his arm was clutched by a person in Taoist dress who
said with a smile, “You exasperated literally to death the man whose
body lies up there; to come here as a mourner is an open insult to Wu.
It is as good as to say they have no other left.”
At first Kʻung-ming did not recognise the speaker but very soon he saw
it was no other than Pʻan Tung, or the “Phoenix Fledgeling.” Then he
laughed in his turn, and they two hand in hand went down into the ship,
where they talked heart to heart for a long time. Before leaving,
Kʻung-ming gave his friend a letter and said, “I do not think that Sun
will use you as you merit. If you find life here distasteful, then you
may come to Chingchou and help to support my master. He is liberal and
virtuous and will not disdain what you have spent your life in
learning.”
Then they parted and Kʻung-ming went alone to Chingchou.
Lu Su had the coffin of Chou Yü taken to Wuhu, where Sun Chʻüan
received it with sacrifices and lamentations. The dead leader was
buried in his native place.
His family consisted of two sons and a daughter, the sons being named
Hsün and Yin. Sun Chʻüan treated them with tenderness.
Lu Su was not satisfied that he was the fittest successor to his late
chief and said, “Chou Kung-chin was not right in recommending me, for I
have not the requisite ability and am unfitted for this post. But I can
commend to you a certain able man, conversant with all knowledge, and a
most capable strategist, not inferior to Kuan Chung or Yo I, one whose
plans are as good as those of Sun Wu and Wu Chʻi, the most famous
masters of the Art of War. Chou Yü often took his advice and Kʻung-ming
believes in him. And he is at hand.”
This was good news for Sun, who asked the man’s name, and when he heard
it was Pʻang Tung, he replied, “Yes; I know him by reputation; let him
come.”
Whereupon Pʻang Tʻung was invited to the Palace and introduced. The
formal salutations over, Sun Chʻüan was disappointed with the man’s
appearance, which was indeed extraordinary. He had bushy eyebrows, a
turned-up nose, a dark skin and a stubby beard. So he was prejudiced
against him.
“What have you studied,” asked he, “and what are you master of?”
Pʻang Tʻung replied, “One must not be narrow and obstinate; one must
change with circumstances.”
“How does your learning compare with that of Chou Yü?” asked Sun.
“My learning is not to be compared with his in the least; mine is far
greater.”
Now Sun Chʻüan had always loved his late general and he could not bear
to hear him disparaged. This speech of Pʻang’s only increased his
dislike. So he said, “You may retire, Sir; I will send for you when I
can employ you.”
Pʻang Tʻung uttered one long sigh and went away. When he had gone Lu Su
said, “My lord, why not employ him?”
“What good would result; he is just one of those mad fellows.”
“He did good service at the Red Wall fight, however, for it was he who
got Tsʻao Tsʻao to chain his ships together.”
“It was simply that Tsʻao wished to chain his ships together. No credit
was due to this fellow. In any case I give you my word that I will not
employ him. That much is certain.”
Lu Su went out and explained to Pʻang Tʻung that the failure was not
due to lack of recommendation, but simply a whim of Sun Chʻüan’s and he
must put up with it. The disappointed suitor hung his head and sighed
many times without speaking.
“I fear you are doomed to constant disappointment here,” said Lu Su.
“There is nothing you can hope for, eh?”
But still Pʻang Tʻung was silent.
“With your wonderful gifts of course you will be successful
whithersoever you may go. You may take my word for that. But to whom
will you go?”
“I think I will join Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said Pʻang Tʻung suddenly.
“That would be flinging a gleaming pearl into darkness. Rather go to
Liu Pei, who would appreciate you and employ you fittingly.”
“The truth is that I have been thinking of this for a long time,” said
Pʻang Tʻung. “I was only joking just now.”
“I will give you a letter to Liu Pei, and if you go to him you must try
to maintain peace between him and my lord and get them to act together
against Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
“That has been the one desire of my life.”
He took the letter offered by Lu Su and soon made his way to Chingchou.
He arrived at a moment that Kʻung-ming was absent on an inspection
journey, but the doorkeeper announced him and said he had come to throw
in his lot with Liu Pei. He was received, for he was no stranger in
name.
When Pʻang Tung was admitted he made the ordinary salutation but did
not make an obeisance and this, coupled with his ugly face, did not
please his host.
“You have come a long and arduous journey,” said Liu Pei.
At this point the suitor should have produced his letters from
Kʻung-ming and Lu Su, but did not. Instead he replied, “I hear, O
Imperial Uncle, that you are welcoming the wise and receiving scholars,
wherefore I have come to join your service.”
“The country is decently peaceful now and unfortunately there is no
office vacant. But away to the northeast there is a small magistracy,
Leiyanghsien, which needs a chief. I can offer you that post until
there should be something more fitting.”
Pʻang Tʻung thought this rather poor welcome for a man of his talent.
But his friend was absent, so he could do nothing but control his
annoyance and accept. He took his leave and started.
But when he arrived at his post he paid no attention to business at
all; he gave himself up entirely to dissipation. The taxes were not
collected nor were lawsuits decided. News of this reaching Liu Pei, he
was angry and said, “Here is this stiff-necked pedant throwing my
administration into disorder.”
So he sent Chang Fei to the district with orders to make a general
inspection of the whole district and look into any irregularities and
disorders. But as he thought there might be some tact needed Sun Chʻien
was also sent as coadjutor.
In due course the inquisitors arrived at Leiyanghsien, where they were
received by the officials and welcomed by the people at the boundary.
But the magistrate did not appear.
“Where is the magistrate?” asked Chang Fei.
“Ever since his arrival, a hundred days ago and more, he has attended
to no business, but spends his days from morn to night in wine-bibbing
and is always intoxicated. Just now he is sleeping off a debauch and is
not yet risen.”
This raised Chang Fei’s choler and he would have dismissed the offender
forthwith had not his colleague said, “Pʻang Tʻung is a man of great
ability and it would be wrong to deal with him thus summarily. Let us
enquire into it. If he is really so guilty we will punish his offence.”
So they went to the magistracy, took their seats in the hall of justice
and summoned the magistrate before them. He came with dress all
disordered and still under the influence of wine.
“My brother took you for a decent man,” said Chang Fei, angrily, “and
sent you here as magistrate. How dare you throw the affairs of the
district into disorder?”
“Do you think I have done as you say, General?” said Pʻang Tʻung. “What
affairs have I disordered?”
“You have been here over a hundred days and spent the whole time in
dissipation. Is not that disorderly?”
“Where would be the difficulty in dealing with the business of a
trifling district like this? I pray you, General, to sit down for a
while till I have settled the cases.”
Thereupon he bade the clerks bring in all the arrears and he would
settle them at once. So they brought in the piles of papers and ordered
the suitors to appear. They came and knelt in the hall while the
magistrate, pencil in hand, noted this and minuted that, all the while
listening to the pleadings. Soon all the difficulties and disputes were
adjusted, and never a mistake was made, as the satisfied bows of the
people proved. By midday the whole of the cases were disposed of and
the arrears of the hundred days settled and decided. This done the
magistrate threw aside his pencil and turned to the inquisitors saying,
“Where is the disorder? When I can take on Tsʻao Tsʻao and Sun Chʻüan
as easily as I can read this paper, what attention from me is needed
for the business of this paltry place?”
Chang Fei was astonished at the man’s ability, rose from his seat and
crossed over saying, “You are indeed a marvel, Master. I have not
treated you respectfully enough but now I shall commend you to my
brother with all my might.”
Then Pʻang Tʻung drew forth Lu Su’s letter and showed it to Chang Fei.
“Why did you not show this to my brother when you first saw him?” asked
Chang Fei.
“If I had had a chance I would have done so. But is it likely that one
would just take advantage of a letter of commendation to make a visit?”
Chang Fei turned to his colleague and said, “You just saved a wise man
for us.”
They left the magistracy and returned to Liu Pei to whom they related
what had happened. Liu Pei then seemed to be conscious of his error and
said, “I have been wrong; I have behaved unjustly to a sage.”
Chang Fei then gave his brother the letter in which Lu Su had
recommended Pʻang Tʻung. Opening it he read:—“Pʻang Shih-yüan is not
the sort of man to be met with in any day’s march. Employ him in some
capacity where extraordinary talent is required and his powers will
declare themselves. Beware of judging him by his looks or you may lose
the advantage of his abilities and some other will gain him. This would
be a misfortune.”
While he was feeling cast down at the mistake he had made, as shown by
the letter, they announced the return of Kʻung-ming. Soon he entered
the hall and the first question he put after the formal salutations was
“Is Instructor-General Pʻang quite well?”
“He is in charge of Leiyang,” replied Yüan-tê, “where he is given to
wine and neglects his business.”
Kʻung-ming laughed. “My friend Pʻang has extraordinary abilities and
ten times my knowledge. I gave him a letter for you, my lord. Did he
present it?”
“This very day I have received a letter, but from Lu Su. I have had no
letter written by you.”
“When a man of transcendent abilities is sent to a paltry post he
always turns to wine out of simple ennui,” said Kʻung-ming.
“If it had not been for what my brother said, I should have lost a
great man,” said Yüan-tê. Then he lost no time, but sent Chang Fei off
to the north to request Pʻang Tʻung to come to Chingchou. When he
arrived Liu Pei went out to meet him and at the foot of the steps asked
pardon for his mistake. Then Pʻang Tʻung produced the letter that
Kʻung-ming had given him. What Yüan-tê read therein was this:—“As soon
as the “Phoenix Fledgeling” shall arrive he should be given an
important post.” Liu Pei rejoiced indeed as he read it, for had not
Ssŭma Hui said of the two men, Sleeping Dragon and Phoenix Fledgeling,
that any man who obtained the help of either of them could restore the
empire when he would? As he now had them both surely the Hans would
rise again.
Then he appointed Pʻang Tʻung as Chuko Liang’s assistant and gave him
general’s rank, and the two famous strategists began training the army
for its work of subjugation.
News of these doings came to the capital and Tsʻao Tsʻao was told of
Liu Pei’s two strategists and of the army in training and the stores he
was accumulating and the league between his two chief enemies. And he
knew that he had to expect an attack sooner or later. So he summoned
his strategists to a council.
Said Hsün Yu, “Sun Chʻüan should be first attacked, because of the
recent death of their ablest general Chou Yü. Liu Pei will follow.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “If I go on such a distant expedition. Ma Tʻêng
will fall upon the capital. While I was at Chʻihpi there were sinister
rumours of this and I must guard against it.”
Hsün Yu said, “The best thing that occurs to stupid me is to obtain for
Ma the title of ‘Subduer of the South’ and send him against Wu. Thus he
can be enticed to the capital and got rid of. Then you can have no fear
of marching southward.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao approved and soon Ma Tʻêng was summoned from Hsiliang, in
the west.
Ma Tʻêng, called also Ma Shou-chʻêng, was a descendant of the famous
leader Ma Yüan, styled General, “Queller of the Waves.” His father’s
name was Ma Su. He had held a minor magistracy in the reign of Emperor
Huan, but had lost it and drifted west into Shênsi where he got amongst
the Chʻiang, one of whose women he took to wife. She bore him a son, Ma
Tʻêng. Ma Tʻêng was rather over the common height, and bold-looking. He
was of a mild disposition and very popular. But in the reign of Emperor
Ling these Chʻiangs made trouble and then Ma Tʻêng raised a force and
put it down. For his services he received the title of General,
“Corrector of the West.” He and Han Sui, who was known as “Guardian of
the West,” were pledged brothers.
On receipt of the summons to the capital he took his eldest son, Ma
Chʻao, into his confidence and told him some of his former life. “When
Tung Chʻêng got the Girdle Edict from the Emperor, we formed a society,
of which Liu Pei was one, pledged to put down rebellion. However, we
accomplished nothing, for Tung was put to death and Liu was
unfortunate, while I escaped to the west. However, I hear that Liu Pei
now holds Chingchou and I am inclined to carry out the plan we made so
long ago. But here I am summoned by Tsʻao Tsʻao and what is to be
done?”
Ma Chʻao replied, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has the command of the Emperor to call
you and if you do not go that will mean disobeying an imperial command
and you will be punished. Obey the summons in so far as to go to the
capital, where you may be able to arrange to carry out your original
intention.”
But his nephew, Ma Tai, held other opinions and opposed this. Said he,
“Tsʻao’s designs are unfathomable and if you go, Uncle, I fear you will
suffer.”
“Let me lead the army against the capital,” said Ma Chʻao. “Can we not
purge the empire of evil?”
But his father said, “You must take command of the Chʻiang troops for
the defence of our territory here. I will take with me your two
brothers and your cousin. When Tsʻao knows that you have the Chʻiang at
your call and that Han Sui is prepared to assist, he will hardly dare
to work any harm to me.”
“Father, if you must go be careful not to enter the city till you know
exactly what plots and machinations are afoot.”
“I will certainly take great care, so do not be too anxious,” said the
father.
The order of march was prepared. The governor took five companies, with
his two sons as leaders of the van and his nephew bringing up the rear.
These set out along the tortuous road to the capital. At twenty li
distance they camped.
When Tsʻao heard of Ma Tʻêng’s arrival he called to him Huang Kʻuei,
one of his officers, and said to him, “Ma Tʻêng is to be sent against
the south and I shall send you as adviser. You are first to go to his
camp and express my congratulations on his arrival and say that as
Hsiliang is so distant and transport very difficult, he is not to take
too large an army of his own. I will send a large force. Also tell him
to come in soon for audience of the Emperor. I will send him supplies.”
With these instructions Huang Kʻuei went to Ma Tʻêng, who brought out
wine and entertained him well. In his cups the messenger grew
confidential and said, “My father perished at the hands of Li and Kuo
and I have always nourished resentment. Now there is another rebel in
power wronging our prince.”
“Who is that?” asked Ma.
“The wrong doer is that rebel Tsʻao, of course. Do you mean to say you
do not know?”
However, Ma was careful. He thought it very likely that these words
were but a trap for him so he pretended to be greatly shocked and
begged his guest to be careful lest he be overheard.
But he cared not. “Then you have quite forgotten the ‘Girdle Edict,’
eh?” shouted he.
Ma Tʻêng began to see he was sincere and presently became confidential
in turn and told his guest all his schemes.
“He wants you to go in to audience; there is no good intention there.
Do not go,” said Huang Kʻuei. “You lead your men up close to the city
and get Tsʻao Tsʻao to come and review them and when he comes,
assassinate him.”
They two settled how this plan could be worked out and the messenger,
still hot with anger and excitement, returned to his home.
Seeing him so disturbed in mind his wife asked him what was wrong. But
he would tell her nothing. However, he had a concubine, born of the Li
family, called “Fragrance of the Spring.” And it happened that she had
an intrigue with the wife’s younger brother, Miao-tsê, who much desired
to marry her. The concubine who also saw her lord’s displeasure, spoke
of it to her paramour, and he told her she could probably draw from him
what was wrong by a leading question. “Ask him what is the truth about
two men, Liu Pei and Tsʻao Tsʻao? Who is the wicked one.”
That evening Huang Kʻuei went to the apartments of his concubine and
she presently put the question proposed by her lover. Her lord, still
rather intoxicated, said, “You are only a woman; still you know right
from wrong as well as I. My enemy and the man I would slay if I could,
is Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
“But why? And if you wish to slay him, why do you not do something?”
said she.
“I have done something. I have settled with General Ma to assassinate
Tsʻao at the review.”
“Fragrance of the Spring” of course told her paramour, who told Tsʻao
Tsʻao, and he made his arrangements to defeat the scheme. He called up
certain trusty captains and gave them orders for the morrow and, this
done, he arrested Huang Kʻuei and all his household.
Next day, as arranged, Ma and his western men came close up to the wall
and among the flags and banners he discerned that of the Minister
himself, whereby he knew that he would hold the review in person.
So he rode forward. Suddenly a bomb exploded and at this signal there
appeared bodies of armed men right and left and in front, so that the
western men were quite hemmed in. Ma Tʻêng then saw the mistake he had
made and he and his two sons fought valiantly to free themselves from
the trap. The youngest son soon fell. Father and son rode this way and
that, seeking a way out, but failed on every side. Both were sorely
wounded and when their steeds fell from their many arrow wounds, both
were captured.
Ma Tʻêng and his son, and the miserable wretch who could not keep his
counsel, were brought before Tsʻao. Huang loudly protested his
innocence. Tsʻao then called in the witness Miao-tsê.
“That worthless scoundrel has spoiled all my plans!” cried Ma Tʻêng.
“Now I cannot slay the rebel and purge my country. But it is the will
of God.”
Father and son were dragged forth, the father uttering volleys of abuse
all the time. And so three men came to harm in this adventure.
The son and father share one niche of fame,
For purest loyalty their praise the same.
To their own hurt the rebels they withstood,
Content to die to make their pledges good.
In blood the solemn oath they did indite
To slay the wicked and preserve the right.
A worthy father’s worthy son by western bride.
Old Fu-po’s name his grandson glorified.
“I desire no other reward than the lady, ‘Fragrance of the Spring’ as
wife,” said the betrayer.
Tsʻao smiled and said, “For the sake of a woman then you have brought a
whole household to death. What advantage would there be in preserving
such a miscreant?”
So he bade the executioners put both the traitor and the woman to
death, with the Huang household. Those who saw the fearful vengeance
sighed at its cruelty.
Through passion base a loyal man was slain,
And she who shared his passion shared his fate;
The man they served was pitiless in hate,
And thus a mean man’s treachery was vain.
Tsʻao Tsʻao did not desire to rouse the rancour of the men of Hsiliang,
wherefore he proclaimed to them, “The intended treachery of your
leaders was theirs alone.” However, he sent to secure the passes so
that Ma Tai should not escape.
As has been said, Ma Tai led the rearguard. Before long the fugitives
from the main army came and told him what had occurred at the capital.
This frightened him so much that he abandoned his army and escaped
disguised as a trader.
Having slain Ma Tʻêng, Tsʻao Tsʻao decided to set out on his expedition
to the south. But then came the disquieting news of the military
preparations of Liu Pei, whose objective was said to be Ssŭchʻuan. This
caused him alarm, for, as he said, the bird’s wings would be fully
grown if he obtained possession of the west. He recognised the
difficulty, but from among his counsellors there arose one who said, “I
know how to prevent Liu Pei and Sun Chʻüan from helping each other and
both Chiangnan and Hsichʻuan will be yours.”
Chill death struck down the heroes of the west,
Calamity approached the bold men of the south.
The next chapter will unfold the scheme.
CHAPTER LVIII.
AN EXPEDITION FOR REVENGE:
EXPEDIENTS TO CONCEAL IDENTITY.
“What is this good plan of yours, friend Chʻên?” asked Tsʻao of the
speaker, who was a civilian in his service named Chʻên Chʻün.
Chʻên replied, “Your two principal enemies are now firm allies, close
as lips and teeth. But Liu Pei wants Hsichʻuan and if you, O Minister,
send a mighty host against Sun Chʻüan, he must ask help from his friend
Liu, who, having his heart set on the west, will refuse it. Sun without
this aid cannot stand and will become so weak that Chiangtung will be
yours for the taking and Chingchou will follow in a tap of the drum.
The west will follow and the whole Empire is yours.”
“Those are my thoughts put into words,” replied Tsʻao Tsʻao.
The expeditionary force of thirty legions set out for the south. Chang
Liao of Hofei was in command of the supply department.
Sun Chʻüan speedily heard of the move and called in his advisers. At
the council Chang Chao said, “Let us send to Lu Su to tell him to write
at once to Liu Pei that he may help us. They are good friends and Liu
will certainly respond favourably. Beside, since Liu Pei and Sun Chʻüan
are now connected by marriage, there is no risk of refusal. With the
support of Liu Pei there is no danger to our country.”
Sun Chʻüan listened to this advice and sent to Lu Su bidding him to ask
help from Liu Pei. Accordingly, on receipt of this command, a letter
was written to Liu Pei, who after reading it, retained the messenger at
the guest-house till Kʻung-ming could arrive from Nanchün. As soon as
he arrived Liu Pei showed him the letter. The adviser said, “It is not
necessary for Chiangnan troops to move, nor need we send ours. I can
prevent Tsʻao Tsʻao from even daring to look in a south-easterly
direction.”
So he wrote a reply telling Lu Su he could lay aside all anxiety and
rest content, for should the northern army approach, they would be
forced backward at once.
The letter was given to the messenger and then Liu Pei asked his
adviser how he could hope to roll back the huge army that Tsʻao had
prepared to bring south.
He replied, “Tsʻao Tsʻao’s chief fear is Hsiliang. Now just lately he
has slain Ma Tʻêng and his son as well, and the men of Hsiliang are
grinding their teeth with rage. Now you must write and ask Ma Chʻao to
march through the pass and Tsʻao will have no leisure to think of any
expedition to the south.”
The letter was written, sent by a trusty hand and duly delivered.
Now Ma Chʻao was in Hsiliang. One night he had a vision. In his dream
he saw himself lying out on a snowy plain and many tigers were coming
up and biting him. He awoke in a fright and began to wonder what the
dream portended. Failing to explain it, he told the dream to his
officers. One of them ventured to say the portent was evil. This was
one, Pʻang Tê, a junior officer.
“What is your interpretation?” asked Ma Chʻao.
“Meeting with tigers on a snowy plain is a very inauspicious subject to
dream about. Assuredly our old General is in trouble at the capital.”
And at that moment one came in in hot haste and cast himself on the
earth weeping and crying, “Both your uncle and your brother are dead.”
It was Ma Tai and he told the story of the evil that had fallen through
Huang Kʻuei and the plotted assassination that had miscarried and
become known. They two had been put to death in the market place and he
had escaped in disguise.
Ma Chʻao fell to the ground and wept bitterly, grinding his teeth with
rage at his enemy Tsʻao. They lifted him to his feet and led him away
to repose.
Soon after arrived a messenger with a letter from Liu Pei, which read
like this:—“In these latter days of the hapless Hans, when the
rebellious and tyrannical Tsʻao monopolises all power, to the injury of
the Emperor and the wretchedness of the people, I, Liu Pei, recall that
I and your father were recipients of an edict and we swore to
exterminate the recreant. Now your father has suffered death at the
hands of the tyrant and you must avenge him. As the holy books say, you
cannot let the same sky cover you nor the same sun shine upon you and
your father’s murderer. If you can lead your men to attack Tsʻao on one
side I will march my armies to prevent his retreat and he will be taken
and all his evil crew can be exterminated. Then and thus will your
father be avenged and the Hans can be restored. I might add more but I
will await your reply.”
Wiping his tears, Ma Chʻao wrote a reply which was returned by the
bearer.
The Hsiliang army was then mustered; horse and foot were assembled.
Just before the day that had been fixed for the start the Governor of
the district, Han Sui, sent for Ma Chʻao, to whom he showed a letter
from Tsʻao Tsʻao promising the Marquisate of Hsiliang as a reward for
sending Ma Chʻao a prisoner to the capital.
“Bind us both, Uncle, and send us thither; you need not move a single
spear,” said the younger man prostrating himself.
But Han Sui raised him saying, “Your father and I were sworn brothers;
think you I would harm you? Rather will I help if you are going to
fight.”
Ma Chʻao expressed his gratitude. The unhappy bearer of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
letter was dragged forth and beheaded. This done the two took count of
their armies. Han Sui had eight divisions under as many commanders, all
to be relied upon to follow Han Sui, while the younger man had twenty
legions counting those under Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai. Such were the forces
with which they could attack Chʻangan the capital.
The commander of that city was Chung Yu. As soon as he heard what was
afoot he sent a fleet messenger to Tsʻao and prepared for defence. He
led his force out into the open plain and arrayed it for battle.
Ma Tai, with a legion and half, came on first, pouring over the
countryside like a flood. Chung Yu would parley with him, but he came
forward, sword in hand, to attack. However, the defender did not take
the challenge but turned and fled. Ma Tai followed in pursuit. Soon the
main body of the invaders arrived and they surrounded the city, which
Chung Yu set about defending.
Chʻangan had been the capital of the western Hans and so was well
fortified with a solid wall and a deep moat, safe against the most
terrific attacks. The new armies besieged the city for ten days without
success. Then Pʻang Tê proposed a plan. Said he, “Since the land about
the city is barren and the water bitter, the people must have
communication with the country around in order to live. Further they
have no fuel. Ten days of siege must have exhausted the supplies in the
city, wherefore if we relax for a time—well, you will see. We shall
capture the city without moving a finger.”
“Your plan seems excellent,” said Ma Chʻao, when he heard what it was.
Thereupon they sent orders to each division to retire and Ma Chʻao
covered the retreat. Next day Chung Yu went up on the walls to look
around and saw that the besiegers had gone. However, suspecting a ruse,
he sent out spies, who returned to say the soldiers had really moved
away to a distance. Wherefore he felt much relieved and allowed both
soldiers and people to go out into the country to cut the much-needed
firewood and bring in water. The city gates, thrown wide open, were
thronged with those passing in and out.
This continued for five days and then they heard that Ma Chʻao’s army
was returning. A panic ensued. The people rushed into the city and the
gates were once more barred.
The captain of the west gate was Chung Chin, brother of Chung Yu. About
the third watch of the night a torch was seen moving just inside the
gate and when the captain went to see what was wrong, and was passing
the gateway, a man suddenly galloped up and slashed at him with a
sword. At the same time he shouted “Here is Pʻang Tê!” The captain of
the gate was taken aback, could not defend himself and was cut down.
The gate guard was soon disposed of, the gates were shattered and the
soldiers outside came pouring in. Chung Yu escaped by the opposite gate
and left the city in the hands of his enemies. He reached Chang Pass,
where he fortified himself and sent news of the misfortune to Tsʻao
Tsʻao.
Tsʻao Tsʻao threw aside all plans for his expedition to the south when
Chʻangan was lost. He at once ordered that the unfortunate Chung Yu at
Chang Pass should be replaced by Tsʻao Hung and Hsü Huang, who had a
legion under their command. They were told to hold the Pass at all
costs for at least ten days, or they should pay for its loss with their
heads. After ten days the Pass would be no concern of theirs, for Tsʻao
Tsʻao would be there with the main army.
The two captains made all haste to the Pass and took over the command
from Chung Yu. They confined themselves to defence, and though Ma Chʻao
appeared every day and reviled and said shameful things of the three
generations of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s family, the guardians of the Pass remained
quiet. But Tsʻao Hung fretted at the daily insults and would have led
the defenders out to fight had not his colleague restrained him.
“Ma Chʻao only wishes to provoke you to come out, but remember our
orders and go not. The Minister has some master plan.”
So spake Hsü Huang. But the advice was hard to follow for Ma Chʻao’s
men took turns in reviling the defenders of the Pass, resting neither
day nor night. And Hsü Huang found it hard to curb his colleague’s
impatience.
Thus it continued till the ninth day. Then the defenders saw that their
enemies had turned all their horses loose and were lolling about on the
grass and sleeping as if quite fatigued. Thereupon Tsʻao Hung bade them
saddle his horse, told off three companies and soon this small force
was dashing down to catch the besiegers unprepared. They at once fled
leaving their steeds and throwing aside their weapons. Tsʻao Hung could
not resist pursuit and chased them.
At this time Hsü Huang was higher up the road taking in cartloads of
grain and forage; but when he heard what his impulsive colleague had
done he hastily got some men together and went to his rescue. He
shouted to Tsʻao Hung to return.
Suddenly a great shouting arose near him and out dashed Ma Tai to
attack. Both Tsʻao and Hsü turned to flee, but the drums rolled and two
bodies of men came out from behind the hills. Then a battle began which
went against them from the first. The Tsʻao men fell fast, but some of
them thrust through the press and made for the Pass. Their enemies came
in close pursuit and they had to abandon their post and flee whither
they could find a way.
Tsʻao Hung made all haste to his master to give him the evil tidings.
“When I gave you the limit of ten days, why did you leave the Pass on
the ninth?”
“Those men from Hsiliang hurled every sort of insult at us,” replied
Tsʻao Hung, “And when I thought I had them unprepared I took the
opportunity. But I fell victim to their cunning.”
“You are young and impetuous. But, Hsü Huang, you ought to have known.”
“He would not listen though I told him many times. And that day I was
taking in stores in another part of the Pass. As soon as they told me I
felt sure there would be some misfortune and so I hastened after him,
but it was too late.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao was annoyed and ordered Tsʻao Hung to be put to death. But
his brother-officers begged that he might be pardoned, and as he had
confessed his fault, he was allowed to go free and unpunished.
Tsʻao Tsʻao advanced to Chang Pass and Tsʻao Jên said it would be well
to establish a strong stockade before attacking. So trees were felled
and a strong stockade built. They made three camps and Tsʻao himself
was in the centre one.
Soon after, Tsʻao and all his officers in a body rushed to attack the
Pass. They ran against the Hsiliang men posted on two sides, halted and
formed their array. This done, Tsʻao rode to the centre standard whence
he looked at his opponents.
He saw before him a body of fine men, every one with the bearing of a
hero. And the leader, Ma Chʻao, was worthy of them, with his pale face
and red lips, his supple hips and broad shoulders, his deep voice and
fierce strength. He was wearing a silver helmet and gripped a long
spear as he sat there on his charger. Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai supported him
and Tsʻao Tsʻao admired him in his secret heart. However, Tsʻao urged
forward his steed and shouted to Ma Chʻao, “Why are you arrayed against
the Hans, whom your father and grandfather served faithfully?”
Ma ground his teeth and cursed Tsʻao Tsʻao for a rebel, a betrayer of
both prince and people, the murderer of his father and brother. “My
hate for you is to the death; the same sky shall not continue to cover
us for I will take you captive and satiate my appetite on your living
flesh.”
With this he set his spear and rode over toward Tsʻao Tsʻao as if to
slay him. But Yü Chin came out from behind and engaged Ma Chʻao in
battle. These two fought some half score bouts and then Yü Chin had to
flee. Chang Ho, however, took his place and the two heroes exchanged a
score of passes. Then Chang Ho, too, ran away.
Next to come forth was Li Tʻung. Ma Chʻao’s martial prowess was now at
its height and he made short work of Li Tʻung, who went out of the
saddle at the first blow. Then Ma Chʻao flourished his spear at the men
behind him as a signal for them to come on, which they did like a
flood. They overwhelmed Tsʻao’s men and Ma Chʻao and his colleague rode
forward to try to capture Tsʻao Tsʻao.
They came close. Tsʻao heard one of his pursuers shout to another,
“That is he in the red dress!” So he hastily tore off his red robe and
threw it away. He also heard one say “That is Tsʻao Tsʻao with the long
beard!” At once Tsʻao took the sword that he wore at his side and sawed
off some of the beard. Yet again a soldier recognised him and told Ma
Chʻao that Tsʻao had now cut his beard, whereupon the order went forth
to capture short beards. And then Tsʻao Tsʻao wrapped the corner of a
flag about neck and jowl and fled.
Panic seized upon the soldiers at Tʻung Pass;
Frightened, Mêng-tê flung off his brocade robe
And, terror-stricken, sawed his beard off with a sword.
The fame of Ma Chʻao rose even to the sky.
Tsʻao had got clear of the battle and was getting calmer. Then again
the sound of hoofs fell upon his ears and on looking round he perceived
Ma Chʻao quite close. He and those near were panic-stricken, and all
scattered for their lives, careless of the fate of their captain.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao, do not flee!” cried Ma coming nearer.
The whip dropped from Tsʻao Tsʻao’s nerveless hand as he saw his enemy
coming closer and closer. But just as Ma had levelled his spear for a
thrust Tsʻao slipped behind a tree, changed the direction of his flight
and so escaped, while Ma struck the tree. He quickly pulled out his
spear but the delay gave the fugitive an advantage although it did not
quite free him from pursuit, for Ma Chʻao was soon again galloping on
his track. As they drew near the slope of some hills a bold captain
suddenly appeared, who cried, “Do not hurt my lord!”
This was Tsʻao Hung and he went toward Ma Chʻao, whirling his sword. Ma
Chʻao was stopped and this saved Tsʻao Tsʻao’s life. Tsʻao Hung and Ma
Chʻao fought half a hundred bouts till both began to grow weary and
become uncertain of their strokes. And when, shortly after, Hsiahou
Yüan appeared with a half score of horse, Ma Chʻao found it prudent to
retire.
Then Tsʻao Tsʻao was escorted to his camp. Although he had lost Tsʻao
Jên yet the camps were still unharmed and the losses had not been
great.
As he sat in his tent Tsʻao said, “Had I not spared Tsʻao Hung I should
have fallen at the hands of Ma Chʻao to-day.” So he called in his
rescuer and rewarded him well. And they got together the scattered men
and strengthened the camp, deepening the moat and raising the rampart.
Ma Chʻao came daily and challenged any one to combat and abused them
all shamefully, but, by the order of the General these insults were
treated with silent contempt.
“Our enemies use long spears,” said the officers. “We will meet them
with bows and crossbows.”
“They may have long spears,” replied Tsʻao Tsʻao, “but whether I give
battle or not depends on my decision. How can they thrust at us if we
do not go out? All you have to do is to take no notice of them and they
will speedily retire.”
The officers wondered. They said one to another, “The Minister came out
on this expedition of his own will and was foremost in the fight; why
does he accept defeat so easily?”
After some days the spies reported that Ma Chʻao had been reinforced by
the Chʻiang, the tribesmen beyond the frontier. Tsʻao Tsʻao took the
news gleefully. His officers asked him why the news pleased him and
Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “Wait till I have defeated them and I will
explain.”
Three days later there was a report of further reinforcements and Tsʻao
not only smiled but gave a banquet. His officers ridiculed him in
secret.
Then said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “You gentlemen laugh because I cannot destroy Ma
Chʻao. Well then, can any one of you propose a plan?”
Then rose Hsü Huang and said, “O Minister, you have a large force here
and the enemy are strongly posted beyond the Pass. This means that on
the west side of the river they are unprepared. If you can get an army
secretly across the river and block the ferry you will cut off their
retreat, and if you can smite them on the north side of the river they
can get no reinforcements and must fail.”
“What you propose is just what I think,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
So Hsü Huang was placed over four companies and with Chu Ling marched
to the west of the river and hid in the gullies. They were to wait till
Tsʻao Tsʻao crossed the river to the north so that both could strike
together.
Then Tsʻao Tsʻao ordered Tsʻao Hung to prepare boats and rafts at the
ferry. Tsʻao Jên was left in command of the camps. Tsʻao Tsʻao himself
crossed the River Wei, and when Ma Chʻao heard of the new military
movements he said, “I understand. The Pass is left, rafts are being
prepared; that means that he is going to cross to the north side and
cut off my retreat. I must coast along the river and keep him off. If I
can do that his food will run short within twenty days and that will
cause a mutiny. I will travel along the south bank and attack.”
Han Sui did not approve this plan. He quoted the military maxim to
strike when troops were half over the river. “Attack from the south
bank when his army is in the act of crossing and his men will be
drowned in the river,” said he.
“Uncle, your words are good,” replied Ma Chʻao. And the spies went
forth to find out the time of crossing the river.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao’s preparations were complete and all was ready he sent
three parties of soldiers over the river first. They reached the ferry
at the first sign of dawn and the veterans were sent over first and lay
out a camp. Tsʻao and his guard took up station on the south bank to
watch the crossing.
Very soon the sentinels reported the approach of a General dressed all
in white, whom everyone knew must be Ma Chʻao. This terrified them and
they made a rush to get into the boats. The river bank became a scene
of shouting men struggling who could first embark. Tsʻao Tsʻao sat
watching and never stirred. He only issued orders to stop the
confusion. Meanwhile the yelling of the men and the neighing of the
horses of the approaching army came nearer and nearer. Suddenly a
captain jumped out of one of the boats and shouted to Tsʻao. “The
rebels are close! Get into a boat, O Minister.”
“The rebels are near; why not?” replied Tsʻao simply to the speaker,
who was Hsü Chʻu. And he turned round to look at them.
As a fact Ma Chʻao was very close, not a hundred paces away, and Hsü
Chʻu laid hold of Tsʻao and dragged him down the bank. The boat had
already pushed off and was ten feet from the bank but Hsü Chʻu took
Tsʻao Tsʻao on his back and leaped on board. The boat was small and in
danger of being overturned, wherefore Hsü Chʻu drew his sword and
chopped away at the hands clinging to the side so that the men fell
back into the water.
The boat went down stream, Hsü Chʻu standing in the prow poling as hard
as he could. His master crouched out of sight at his feet.
When Ma Chʻao saw the boat in mid-stream drifting down with the current
he took his bow and arrows and began to shoot. He also ordered his
brave captains to go along the river and shoot so that a shower of
arrows fell about the boat. Hsü Chʻu fearing Tsʻao Tsʻao would be
wounded, protected him with a saddle which he held over him with his
left hand, for Ma Chʻao’s shooting was not in vain. Many of the men
working the boat were wounded. Some had fallen overboard, while more
lay in the bottom of the boat. The boat itself got out of control and
was whirled hither and thither by the current. Hsü Chʻu straddled over
the tiller and tried thus to guide the boat while he poled with one
hand and with the other held the protecting saddle over Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
head.
Then the Magistrate of Weinan, Ting Pʻei, who from a hill top saw that
Tsʻao Tsʻao was very closely pressed, nay, even in danger of his life,
drove out from his camp all the cattle and horses there, so that they
scattered over the hillside. This was too much for the born herdsmen of
the plains. At sight of the beasts, they left the river and ran off to
secure them. Nor had they any inclination to pursue their enemy.
And so Tsʻao Tsʻao escaped. As soon as they reached the northern shore
the boat was scuttled. The rumour had spread that Tsʻao Tsʻao was on
the river and in danger, so all his officers came to his aid. But he
was now safe on shore. Hsü Chʻu’s double armour was stuck full of
arrows. His officers escorted Tsʻao Tsʻao to the camp where they made
their obeisance and expressed the hope that he had not suffered
seriously.
“The rebels very nearly caught me to-day,” said he smiling.
“They would have got across the river had they not been enticed away by
the freeing of the cattle and horses,” said Hsü Chʻu.
“Who was it that drew them off?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.
Some one who knew told him. Before long the Magistrate Ting came in to
pay his respects and Tsʻao Tsʻao thanked him.
“I should have been a prisoner but for your happy thought,” said he.
And the Magistrate received a rank in the army.
“Though they have gone, yet they will assuredly return to-morrow,” said
Ting Pʻei. “You must prepare to repel them.”
“My preparations are all made,” was the reply.
Tsʻao Tsʻao ordered his captains to spread themselves along the river
bank and throw up mounds as shelters for camps. If they saw the enemy
approaching the soldiers were to be withdrawn from behind the mounds,
leaving the ensigns all flying, so as to give the impression that each
camp contained a garrison. Along the river they were to dig ditches and
put up sheds, thus to entice the enemy there and their men would
stumble into the pits and fall easy victims.
Ma Chʻao returned to Han Sui and told him how he had nearly captured
Tsʻao Tsʻao, but a certain bold captain had taken Tsʻao on his back and
leaped with him into a boat.
Han Sui replied, “I have heard that Tsʻao Tsʻao had a body guard of the
bravest and strongest soldiers under the command of Tien Wei and Hsü
Chʻu. They are called the Tiger Guards. Now as Tien Wei is dead, the
man you saw must have been Hsü Chʻu. He is both brave and powerful and
goes by the name of Tiger-lust. You will do well to avoid him.”
“I know his name, too,” said Ma.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao now means to attack our rear,” continued Han Sui; “let us
attack first, before he can establish camps and stockades. If once he
can do that it will be difficult to dislodge him.”
“My idea is that we should hold the north bank and prevent him from
crossing.”
“Worthy nephew, keep guard here while I go along the bank of the river
and fight Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
“If you will take Pʻang Tê as your van-leader, I am content,” said Ma
Chʻao.
So Han Sui and Pʻang Tê, with five legions, went away down to the
river, while Tsʻao again warned his captains to entice the enemy. Pʻang
Tê was in advance with a goodly squadron of iron-clad horsemen and they
burst along at full speed Then there arose a confused shouting as they
all went plunging into the ditches prepared for them. Pʻang Tê soon
leaped out, gained the level ground and laid about him with all his
might. He slew many men and presently got out of the thick of the
fight.
But Han Sui had also been involved and Pʻang went afoot to try to aid
him. On the way he met Tsʻao Jung, whom he cut down. Then mounting the
dead man’s steed he rode forward fiercely, slaying as he passed. He
reached his leader whom he led away south-east. The men of Tsʻao Tsʻao
pursued him, but Ma Chʻao came with reinforcements and drove them off.
He rescued a great number and they continued fighting till evening when
they withdrew and mustered their men. Some officers were missing and a
couple of hundred men had been killed when they fell into the pits.
Ma Chʻao and Han Sui discussed what should next be done. “If we give
the enemy time, he will make himself strong on the north bank. I think
we can do no better than to raid his camp to-night.”
“We must have a force and supports for it,” said Han Sui.
So it was decided that Ma Chʻao should lead the striking force with
Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai as supports. They would start at nightfall.
Now Tsʻao’s men were on the north bank of the Wei and he gave his
captains orders, saying, “The rebels will try to surprise us as they
are deceived by my not having set up stockades. You will place your men
in ambush.”
At nightfall Ma Chʻao sent out a small scouting party, which seeing
nothing, penetrated deep into the enemy’s lines. Presently the signal
was given. Out leapt the hidden men and in a few moments the whole
scouting party were killed. And close at hand came the main army.
Wait for the foe all undismayed,
Place your men in ambuscade.
Captains striving to outvie
Are not beaten easily.
Who got the advantage will presently be told.
CHAPTER LIX.
HSU CHʻÜ STRIPS FOR A FIGHT WITH MA CHʻAO:
TSʻAO TSʻAO WRITES A LETTER TO SOW DISSENSION.
The fight narrated in the last chapter lasted till morn when each side
drew off, Ma Chʻao camping on the Wei River, whence he kept up
harassing attacks both day and night. Tsʻao Tsʻao, also camped in the
bed of the same river, began to construct three floating bridges out of
his rafts and boats so as to facilitate communication with the south
bank. Tsʻao Jên established a camp on the river, which he barricaded
with his carts and waggons.
Ma Chʻao determined to destroy this camp, so his men collected straw
and each man marched with a bundle and took fire with him. Han Sui’s
men were to fight. While one party attacked, the other party piled up
the straw, which they lit, and soon there was a fierce fire all around.
The defenders could do nothing against it so they abandoned the camp
and ran away. All the transport and bridges were destroyed. It was a
great victory for the Hsiliang army and gave them the command of the
River Wei.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was sad at the failure to make good his strong camp and
fearful of his defencelessness. Then Hsün Yu proposed a mud wall. So
three legions were set to build a mud rampart. The enemy seeing this
harassed the workmen with perpetual attacks at different points so that
the work went slowly. Beside the soil was very sandy and the wall would
not stand but collapsed as fast as it was built. Tsʻao Tsʻao felt
helpless.
It was the ninth month and the fierce cold of winter was just coming
on. Ominous clouds covered the sky day after day with never a break.
One day as Tsʻao Tsʻao sat in his tent, very disheartened, a stranger
was announced and was led in. He was an old man who said he had a
suggestion to offer. He was tall, sparely built and spiritual looking.
He gave his name as Lou Tzŭ-po and said he came from Ching-chao. He was
a recluse and a Taoist, his religious name being Mêng-mei or
“Plum-blossom Dreamer.” Tsʻao Tsʻao received him with great courtesy
and presently the venerable one began, “O Minister, you have long been
striving to make a camp on the river. Now is your opportunity; why not
begin?”
“The soil is too sandy to stand,” said Tsʻao. “But if you have some
other plan to propose, pray tell me what it is, O hermit.”
“You are more than human, O Minister, in the art of war, and you surely
know the times and seasons. It has been overcast for many days and
these clouds foretell a north wind and intense cold. When the wind
begins to blow you should hurry your men to carry up the earth and
sprinkle it with water. By dawn your wall will be complete.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao seized upon the suggestion. He offered his aged visitor a
reward but he would receive nothing.
That night the wind came down in full force. Every man possible was set
to earth-carrying and wetting. As they had no other means of carrying
water they made stuff bags which they filled with water and let out the
water over the earth. And so as they piled the earth they froze it
solid with water, and by dawn the wall was finished and stood firm.
When his scouts told Ma Chʻao that the enemy had built a wall, and he
had ridden out and seen it, he was greatly perplexed and began to
suspect help from the gods.
However, very soon after he got his whole army together and sounded an
attack. Tsʻao Tsʻao himself rode out of the camp, with only the
redoubtable Hsü Chʻu in attendance, and advanced toward the enemy.
Flourishing his whip he called out, “I, Mêng-tê, am here alone and I
beg Ma Chʻao to come out to parley with me.”
Thereupon Ma Chʻao rode out, his spear set ready to thrust.
“You despised me because I had no wall to my camp but lo! in one single
night, God has made me a wall. Do you not think it time to give in?”
Ma Chʻao was so enraged that he almost rushed at Tsʻao Tsʻao, but he
was not too angry to notice the henchman behind him, glaring in angry
fashion, who held a gleaming sword in his grip. He thought this man
could be no other than Hsü Chʻu, so he determined to find out. With a
flourish of his whip he said, “Where is the noble ‘Tiger Marquis’ that
I hear you have in your camp?”
At this Hsü lifted his sword and roared, “I am Hsü Chʻu of Chʻiaochün!”
From his eyes shot gleams of supernatural light and his attitude was so
terror-striking that Ma dared not move. He turned his steed and
retired.
Tsʻao Tsʻao and his doughty follower returned to their camp and as they
two passed between the armies not a man there but felt a quiver of
fear.
“They know our friend Hsü Chʻu over there as Marquis Tiger,” said Tsʻao
Tsʻao when he returned.
And thereafter the soldiers all called him by that name.
“I will capture that fellow Ma to-morrow,” said Hsü.
“Ma Chʻao is very bold,” said his master. “Be careful.”
“I swear to fight him to the death,” said Hsü.
Then he sent a written challenge to his enemy saying that the “Tiger
Marquis” challenged Ma Chʻao to a decisive duel on the morrow.
Ma Chʻao was very angry when he received the letter. “Dare he insult me
so?” cried he. Then he wrote his pledge to slay Tiger-lust on the
morrow.
Next day both armies moved out and arrayed in order of battle. Ma Chʻao
gave Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai command of the two wings, while Han Sui took
the centre. Ma Chʻao took up his station in front of the centre and
called to Tiger-lust to come out. Tsʻao Tsʻao, who was on horseback by
the standard, turned and said, “He is no less bold than Lü Pu.”
As he spoke, Hsü Chʻu rode forth whirling his sword and the duel began.
They fought over a hundred bouts and neither had the advantage. But
then, their steeds being spent with galloping to and fro, each retired
within his own lines and obtained a fresh mount. The contest was
renewed and a hundred more encounters took place, still without victory
to either.
Suddenly Hsü Chʻu galloped back to his own side, stripped off his
armour, showing his magnificent muscles and, naked as he was, leaped
again into the saddle and rode out to continue the battle.
Again the champions engaged, while both armies stood aghast. Thirty
bouts more, and Hsü, summoning up all his force, plunged toward Ma with
his sword held high to strike. But Ma avoided the stroke and rode in
with his spear pointing directly at his opponent’s heart. Throwing down
his sword, Hsü dashed aside the spear, which passed underneath his arm.
Then ensued a struggle for the spear and Hsü by a mighty effort snapped
the shaft so that each held one half. Then the duel was continued, each
belabouring the other with the pieces of the broken spear.
At this point Tsʻao Tsʻao began to fear for his champion and so ordered
two of his captains to go out and take a hand. At this Pʻang Tê and Ma
Tai gave the signal to their armoured horsemen to attack. They rode in
and a mêlée began in which Tsʻao’s men were worsted and the great
champion Hsü Chʻu received two arrow wounds in the shoulder. So the men
of Tsʻao retreated to their stockade, Ma Chʻao following them to the
river. Tsʻao’s men lost more than half their number.
Tsʻao barred his gates and allowed none to go out. Ma Chʻao went down
to the river. When he saw Han Sui he said, “I have seen some wicked
fighters, but none to match that man. He is aptly nicknamed
Tiger-lust.”
Thinking that by strategy he might get the better of Ma Chʻao, Tsʻao
Tsʻao secretly sent two bodies of men across the river to take up
position so that he might attack in front and rear.
One day from his ramparts, Tsʻao Tsʻao saw Ma Chʻao and a few horsemen
ride close up to the walls and then gallop to and fro like the wind.
After gazing at them for a long time he tore off his helmet and dashed
it on the ground saying, “If that Ma is not killed may I never be
buried!”
Hsiahou Yüan heard him and his heart burned within him. He cried, “May
I die here at once if I do not destroy that rebel!”
Without more ado he flung open the gates and rode out with his company.
Tsʻao Tsʻao tried to stop this mad rush, but it was no good, so,
fearing he might come to grief, he rode out after him. At sight of the
men of Tsʻao, Ma Chʻao faced his men about extended them in line and,
as the enemy approached, dashed forward to the attack. Then noticing
Tsʻao himself among them he left Hsiahou and rode straight for Tsʻao.
Panic seized Tsʻao and he rode for his life, while his men were thrown
into confusion.
It was during the pursuit of this portion of the Tsʻao army that Ma
Chʻao was told of the force on the other bank of the river. Realising
the danger he abandoned the pursuit, called in his men and went to his
own camp, there to consult with Han Sui.
“What now? Tsʻao has crossed the river and we can be attacked in the
rear,” said Ma.
A certain Li Kʻan said, “Then you had better come to an agreement;
sacrifice some territory and make peace. Then both can repose through
the winter and await the changes and chances that may come with the
spring warmth.”
“He is wise,” said Han Sui, “and I advise the same.”
But Ma Chʻao hesitated. Others exhorted him to make peace and at length
he agreed. So Yang Chʻiu and Hou Hsüan were sent as messengers of peace
to the camp of Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“You may return; I will send my reply,” said Tsʻao when they had
declared the purport of their mission. And they left.
Then Chia Yu said to Tsʻao Tsʻao, “What is your opinion, O Minister?”
“What is yours?” asked Tsʻao.
“War allows deceit, therefore pretend to agree. Then we can try some
means of sowing suspicions between Han and Ma so that we may thereby
destroy both.”
Tsʻao clapped his hands for very joy. “That is the best idea of all!
Most suitable! You and I agree in our ideas; I was just thinking of
that.”
So an answer was returned saying, “Let me gradually withdraw my
soldiers and I will give back the land belonging to you on the west of
the river.” And at the same time Tsʻao ordered the construction of a
floating bridge to help in the withdrawal.
When the reply arrived, Ma Chʻao said to Han Sui, “Although he agrees
to peace, yet he is evil and crafty. We must remain prepared against
his machinations. Uncle, you and I will take turns in watching Tsʻao
and Hsü Huang on alternate days. So shall we be safe against his
treachery.”
They agreed and began the regular alternate watch. Soon Tsʻao got to
know what they were doing and he turned to Chia Hsü saying, “I am
succeeding.”
“Who keeps the look-out on this side to-morrow?” asked Tsʻao.
“Han Sui.”
Next day Tsʻao at the head of a large party of his captains rode out of
the camp and the officers presently spread out right and left, he
himself remaining a solitary rider visible in the centre. Han Sui did
not know that Tsʻao had come out. Presently Tsʻao called out, “Do any
of you soldiers want to see Tsʻao Tsʻao? Here I am quite alone. I have
not four eyes nor a couple of mouths, but I am very knowing.”
The soldiers turned pale with fright. Then Tsʻao called up a man and
told him to go and see Han Sui and say “Sir, the Minister humbly asks
you to come and confer with him.” Thereupon Han went out, and seeing
Tsʻao wore no armour, Han also threw off his and rode out clad in a
light robe. Each rode up to the other till their horse’s heads nearly
touched and there they stood talking.
Said Tsʻao, “Your father and I took our degrees at the same time and I
used to treat him as an uncle. You and I set out on our careers at the
same time, too, and yet we have not met for years. How old may you be
now?”
“I am forty six,” replied Han.
“In those old days in the capital we were both very young and never
thought about middle age. If we could only restore tranquillity to the
State, that would be a matter of rejoicing.”
After that they chatted long about old times, but neither said a word
on military matters. They gossiped for a couple of hours before they
took leave of each other.
It was not long before some one told Ma Chʻao of this meeting and he
went over to his ally to ask about it.
“What was it Tsʻao Tsʻao came out to discuss to-day?” said he.
“He just recalled the old days when we were together in the capital.”
“Did he say nothing about military matters?”
“Not a word; and I could not talk about them alone.”
Ma Chʻao went out without a word but he felt suspicious.
When Tsʻao returned to his camp he said to Chia Hsü, “Do you know why I
talked with him thus publicly?”
“It may be an excellent idea,” said Hsü, “but it is not sufficient
simply to estrange two people. I can improve on it and we will make
them quarrel and even kill each other.”
“What is your scheme?”
“Ma Chʻao is brave but not very astute. You write a letter with your
own hand to Han himself and put in it some rambling statements about
some harm that is going to happen. Then blot it out and write something
else. Afterwards you will send it to Han, taking care that Ma shall
know all about it. He will demand to read the letter, and when he sees
that the important part of the letter has been changed, he will think
that Han Sui has made the changes lest his secrets should leak out.
This will fit into the private talk you had with Han the other day and
the suspicion will grow until it has brought about trouble. I can also
secretly corrupt some of his subordinates and get them to widen the
breach and we can settle Ma Chʻao.”
“The scheme looks excellent,” said Tsʻao, and he wrote the letter as
suggested, and then erased and changed it, after which he sealed it
securely and sent it across to Han Sui.
Surely enough some one told Ma Chʻao about the letter, which increased
his doubts, and he came to Han Sui’s quarters to ask to see it. Han
gave it to him and the erasures and alterations struck Ma at once.
“Why are all these alterations here?” asked he.
“It came like that; I do not know.”
“Does any one send a rough draft like this? It seems to me, Uncle, that
you are afraid I shall know something or other too well and so you have
changed the wording.”
“It must be that Tsʻao has sealed up the rough draft by mistake.”
“I do not think so. He is a careful man and would not make such a
mistake. You and I, Uncle, have been allies in trying to slay the
rebel; why are you turning against me now?”
“If you doubt my word I will tell you what you can do. To-morrow, in
full view of the army, I will get Tsʻao Tsʻao to come out and talk. You
can hide in behind the ranks ready to kill me if I am false.”
“That being so I shall know that you are true, Uncle.”
This arrangement made, next day Han Sui with five captains in his
train, rode to the front while Ma Chʻao concealed himself behind the
great standard. Han Sui sent over to say that he wished to speak to the
Minister.
Thereupon at his command, Tsʻao Hung, with a train of ten horsemen rode
out, advanced straight to Han Sui, leaned over to him and said, loudly
enough to be heard plainly, “Last night the Minister quite understood
there is no mistake.” Then without another word on either side he rode
away.
Ma Chʻao had heard. He gripped his spear and started galloping out to
slay his companion in arms. But the five captains checked him and
begged him to go back to camp. When Han Sui saw him, he said, “Nephew,
trust me, really I have no evil intentions.”
But think you that Ma Chʻao did? Burning with rage he went away. While
Han Sui talked over the matter with his five captains.
“How can this be cleared up?”
“Ma Chʻao trusts too much to his strength,” said Yang Chʻiu, one of
them. “He is always inclined to despise you, Sir. If we overcome Tsʻao
Tsʻao do you think he will give way to you? I think you should rather
take care of your own interests, go over to the Minister’s side and you
will surely get rank one day.”
“I was his father’s pledged brother and could not bear to desert him,”
said Han Sui.
“It seems to me that as things have come to this pass you simply have
to now.”
“Who would act as go-between?” asked Han.
“I will,” said Yang Chʻiu.
Then Han Sui wrote a private letter which he confided to Yang Chʻiu,
who soon found his way over to the other camp. Tsʻao Tsʻao was only too
pleased, and he promised that Han Sui should be made Marquis of
Hsiliang and Yang Chʻiu its Prefect. The other confederates should be
rewarded in other ways. When the preparations for the act of treachery
were complete a bonfire was to be lighted in Han’s camp and all would
try to do away with Ma Chʻao.
Yang Chʻiu went back and related all this to his chief and Han Sui felt
elated at the success of his overtures. A lot of wood was collected in
camp at the back of his tent ready for the signal blaze and the five
captains got ready for the foul deed. It was decided that Ma Chʻao
should be persuaded into coming to a banquet and there they would slay
him then.
All this was done, but not without some hesitation and delay, and some
news of the plot reached Ma Chʻao. He found out the careful
preparations that had been made and resolved to act first. Leaving Ma
Tai and Pʻang Tê in reserve, he chose a few trusted men and with
stealthy steps made his way into Han Sui’s tent. There he found Han Sui
and his five confederates deep in conversation. He just caught a word
or two that Yang Chʻiu said, “We must not delay, now is the time.”
In burst Ma Chʻao raging and yelling, “You herd of rebels! Would you
dare to plot against me?”
They were taken aback. Ma Chʻao sprang at Han Sui and slashed at his
face. Sui put up his hand to ward off the blow and it was cut off. The
five drew their swords and set on Ma Chʻao and his men who rushed
outside, followed by the five who slashed away, but were kept at bay by
Ma Chʻao’s wonderful swordsmanship. And as the swords flashed, the red
blood flowed. Soon one of the five was down and a second disabled; then
the other three fled.
Ma Chʻao ran back into the tent to finish Han Sui but the servants had
removed him. Then a torch was lit, and soon there was commotion all
through the camp. Ma Chʻao mounted his horse, for Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai
had now arrived, and the real fight began. Tsʻao’s men poured in from
all sides and the Hsiliang men fought with each other.
Losing sight of his companions, Ma Chʻao and a few of his men got to
the head of the floating bridge over the Wei just about dawn. There he
fell across Li Kʻan coming over the bridge. Ma Chʻao set his spear and
rode at him full tilt. Li Kʻan let go his spear and fled. Lucky for him
it seemed at first that Yü Chin came up in pursuit. But unable to get
near enough to seize Ma Chʻao, Yü Chin sent an arrow flying after him.
Ma Chʻao’s ear caught the twang of the bowstring and he dodged the
arrow, which flew on and killed Li Kʻan. Ma Chʻao turned to attack his
pursuer, who galloped away, and then he returned and took possession of
the bridge.
Quickly Tsʻao’s men gathered about him and the fiercest among them, the
Tiger Guards, shot arrows at Ma Chʻao, which he warded off with his
spear shaft so that they fell harmless to the earth. Ma Chʻao and his
men rode to and fro striking a blow wherever there was a chance, but
the enemy were very thick about him and he could not force his way out.
In desperation he made a dash northwards and got through, but quite
alone. Of his followers every one fell.
Still he kept on dashing this way and that till he was brought down by
a crossbow bolt. He lay upon the ground and his enemies were pressing
in. But at the critical moment a troop came in from the north-west and
rescued him. Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai had come up in the very nick of time.
Thus Ma Chʻao was rescued and they set him on one of the soldiers’
horses and he again took up the battle. Leaving a trail of blood in his
rear he got away north-west.
Hearing that his enemy had got away, Tsʻao Tsʻao ordered his captains
to pursue him day and night and offered rewards for him dead or alive.
For his head the reward was a thousand taels and the marquisate of a
fief of a myriad families. If any one captured Ma the reward was the
rank of general. Consequently the pursuit was warm as every one was
anxious to win renown and reward. Meanwhile careless of all but flight
Ma galloped on and one by one his followers dropped by the way. The
footmen who were unable to keep up were captured till very few remained
and only some score of riders were left. They travelled toward Shênsi.
Tsʻao Tsʻao in person joined the pursuit and got to Anting, but there
Ma Chʻao was still far in advance so he gave up and returned. Gradually
the captains did the same, all coming back to Chʻangan. Poor Han Sui,
with the loss of his left hand, was an invalid, but he was rewarded
with the marquisate and his confederates, the five captains, were given
rank and office.
Then orders were given to lead the whole army back to the capital. Yang
Fou, a military officer of rank, came to Chʻangan to point out the
danger of withdrawal. “Ma Chʻao has the boldness of Lü Pu and the heart
of a barbarian. Unless you destroy him this time he will come again and
he will be both bolder and stronger, and the whole of this district
will be lost to the Throne. Wherefore you should not withdraw your
army.”
Tsʻao said, “I would be quite willing to finish the subjugation but
there is much to do in the capital and the south is still to conquer.
So I cannot remain. But you, Sir, might secure this country for me. Do
you consent?”
Yang Fou did consent. And he brought to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s notice Wei Kʻang,
who was made Governor, with joint military powers. Just before Yang Fou
left he said to Tsʻao Tsʻao, “A strong force ought to be left in
Chʻangan, as a reserve in case they be required.”
“That has been already dealt with,” replied Tsʻao.
Contentedly enough Yang Fou took leave and went away.
His captains asked Tsʻao to explain his recent policy, since the first
out-break at Tʻung Pass and he replied, “The rebel first held the Pass.
Had I forthwith taken the east the rebels would have defended the camps
one by one and mustered at all the ferries, and I should never have got
across the river. So I massed men against Tʻung Pass and made the
rebels guard the south so that the west was left open. Thus Hsü Huang
and Chu Ling could cross over and I was able later to cross over to the
north. Then I made the raised road and the mud rampart to deceive the
enemy and cause them to think I was weak and thus embolden them up to
the point of attacking without proper preparation. Then I used the
clever device of causing dissension in their ranks and was able in one
day to destroy the stored up energy of all their forces. It was a
thunder clap before you could cover your ears. Yes indeed; the
mutations of the art of war can be called infinite.”
“But one thing more puzzled us,” said the officers, “and we ask you to
explain it. When you heard the enemy was reinforced you seemed to grow
happier. Why was that?”
“Because the Pass was distant and if the rebels had taken advantage of
all defensible points and held them, they could not have been quelled
in less than a couple of years. When they came on altogether they made
a multitude but they were not unanimous. They easily quarrelled and,
disunited, were easily overcome. So I had reason to rejoice that they
came on altogether.”
“Indeed no one can equal you in strategy,” said his officers, bowing
low before him.
“Still, remember that I rely on you,” said Tsʻao.
Then he issued substantial rewards to the army and appointed Hsiahou
Yüan to the command at Chʻangan. The soldiers who had surrendered were
distributed among the various troops. Hsiahou Yüan recommended Fêng I,
and one, Chang Chi, of Kaoling, as his aids.
So the army returned to the capital where it was welcomed by the
Emperor in his State chariot. As a reward for his service Tsʻao Tsʻao
was given the court privileges of omitting his distinctive name when he
was received in audience and of proceeding toward the daïs without
assuming the appearance of frantic haste. Further he might go to court
armed and booted, as did the Han Minister, Hsiao Ho, of old. Whence his
prestige and importance waxed mightily.
The fame of these doings penetrated west into Hanchung, and one of the
first to be moved to indignation was Chang Lu, Prefect of Hanning. This
Chang Lu was a grandson of Chang Ling who retired to Mount Humin, in
Ssŭchʻuan, where he had composed a work on Taoism for the purpose of
deluding the multitude.
Yet all the people respected him, and when he died his son, Chang Hêng,
carried on his work, and taught the same doctrines. Disciples had to
pay a fee in rice, five measures. The people of his day called him the
Rice Thief.
Chang Lu, his son, styled himself Master Superior and his disciples
were called commonly devil soldiers. A headman was called Libationer
and those who made many converts were called Chief Libationers. Perfect
sincerity was the ruling tenet of the cult and no deceit was permitted.
When any one fell ill an altar was set up and the invalid was taken
into the Room of Silence where he could reflect upon his sins and
confess openly. Then he was prayed for. The director of prayers was
called Superintending Libationer.
When praying for a person they wrote his name on a slip and his
confession and made three copies thereof, called “The writing of the
Three Officers.” One copy was burned on the mountain top as a means of
informing Heaven; another was burned to inform Earth; and the third was
sunk in water to tell the Controller of the Waters. If the sick person
recovered he paid as fee five measures of rice.
They had Public Houses of Charity wherein the poor found rice and flesh
and means of cooking. Any wayfarer was allowed to take of these
according to the measure of his appetite. Those who took in excess
would invite punishment from on high. Offences were pardoned thrice;
afterwards offenders were punished. They had no officials but all were
subject to the control of the Libationers.
This sort of cult had been spreading in Hanchung for some thirty years
and had escaped repression so far because of the remoteness of the
district. All the Government did was to give Chang a title and take
means to secure from him a full quota of tribute.
When the reports of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s success against the west, and his
prestige and influence, reached the Hanchung people they met to
consult, for they feared lest, Tʻêng and Ma being overcome, they would
be next invaded. This Chang proposed to the assembly that he should
assume the title of Prince of Hanning and superintend the defence.
In reply one Yen Pu said, “The families of this province are reckoned
by myriads and there are ample supplies of everything. This place is a
natural stronghold. Now Ma Chʻao’s soldiers are newly defeated. The
fugitives from the Tzŭwu Valley are very numerous. My advice is that as
Liu Chang of Ichou is weak we should take possession of Hsichʻuan and
then you may style yourself Prince as soon as you like.”
This speech greatly pleased Chang Lu, who then began to concert
measures with his brother to raise an army.
Stories of the movement reached Hsichʻuan. It is necessary here to say
a few words about the west. The governor was Liu Chang, a son of Liu
Yen, a descendant from a Prince of the Imperial House. The Prince had
been moved out to Chingling some generations ago and the family had
settled there. Later, Liu Yen became an official and when he died in
due course, his son was recommended for the vacant Prefectship of
Ichou. There was enmity between the Prefect and the Changs because some
of the latter’s relatives had been put to death.
When he knew of the danger, Liu Chang despatched one Pʻang Hsi as
Prefect of Pahsi to ward off Chang Lu. But Liu Chang had always been
feeble, and when he received news from his lieutenant of Chang Lu’s
movements his heart sank within him for fear and he hastily called in
his advisers.
At the council one haughtily said, “My Master, be not alarmed, I am no
genius but I have a bit of a healthy tongue and with that I will make
Chang Lu afraid even to look this way.”
When plots did grow about the west,
It suited Chingchou’s plans the best.
The speaker’s name and lineage will be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER LX.
CHANG SUNG TURNS THE TABLES ON YANG HSIU:
OCCUPATION OF SHU DISCUSSED.
The man who proposed the plan spoken of in the last chapter was Chang
Sung, who belonged to Ichou and held the small office of pieh-chia, or
Supernumerary Charioteer. His appearance was grotesque. He had a broad
forehead, protuberant at the temples like a countryman’s hoe, and a
pointed head. His nose was flat and his teeth protruded. He was a dwarf
in stature but had a deep voice like a great bell.
“What proposal have you to offer that may avert this danger?”
“My proposal is that we gain the support of Tsʻao Tsʻao. As we know, he
has made a clean sweep of the Empire. Lü Pu went first and both the
Yüans followed, all exterminated. Lately he has destroyed Ma Chʻao. In
short he is the one man against whom no one can stand. Therefore, my
lord, prepare me worthy gifts to take to the capital and I will get
Tsʻao Tsʻao to march an army against Hanchung, which will keep this
Chang Lu occupied so that we shall be left alone.”
This met Liu Chang’s views and so he prepared gold and pearls and rich
stuffs, worthy presents for the man of power. And when these were ready
he appointed Chang Sung his emissary. Chang Sung in the meantime
occupied his leisure in secretly copying maps and plans of the west
country. When all was ready he started with a small escort.
They heard this in Chingchou and Kʻung-ming sent a trusty person to the
capital to keep him informed as to all the doings.
Chang Sung arrived in Hsütu, and, after he had established himself in
his lodging, he made daily visits to the Minister’s Palace to try to
obtain an interview. But his last success had filled Tsʻao Tsʻao with
insufferable pride and he did nothing but give banquets. He never
appeared except for the most important affairs, and even carried on the
business of the state in his own residence. So Chang Sung waited many
days. But when he got to know the persons who were nearest the
Minister, he bribed them and obtained an audience.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was seated in the high place, and after his visitor had
finished his salutations, he said, “Your Master Liu Chang has sent no
tribute for several years; why?”
“Because the roads are dangerous and thieves and robbers infest them.
Intercourse is restricted.”
Tsʻao interrupted in a loud harsh voice, “What thieves and robbers are
there when I have cleansed the country?”
“How can you say the land is tranquil when one sees Sun Chʻüan in the
south, Chang Lu in the north, Liu Pei in the west and every one of
these with armies reckoned in legions? The weakest of them has half a
score.”
The mean appearance of the emissary had prejudiced Tsʻao Tsʻao from the
outset, and when he heard these blunt words he suddenly shook out his
sleeves, rose and left the hall. Those in attendance were annoyed with
Chang Sung and said, “How can you behave so rudely when you come on a
mission? Your whole attitude was blunt and discourteous. Happily for
you our lord remembered you had come from afar and did not take open
notice of your fault. The best thing for you is to go home again as
quickly as you can.”
But Chang Sung smiled. “We have no plausible flatterers and glib
talkers in our western country,” said he.
At this, one from below the steps called out, “So you call us plausible
and glib then; and you have none such in your country, eh?”
Chang Sung looked around and saw the speaker was a man with thin
delicate eyebrows crossing narrow eyes set in a pale spiritual face. He
asked his name. It was Yang Hsiu, a son of Yang Piao. The young man was
then employed in the commissariat of the Minister. He was deeply read
and had the reputation of being a clever controversialist, as Chang
Sung knew. So on one side was a desire to confound and on the other
overweening pride in his own ability, with contempt for other scholars.
Perceiving the ridicule in Chang Sung’s speech Yang Hsiu invited him to
go to the library where they could talk more freely. There, after they
had got settled in their respective places, Yang Hsiu began to talk
about the west country.
“Your roads are precipitous and wearisome,” said Yang.
“But at our lord’s command we travel, even through fire and water; we
never decline,” replied Chang.
“What sort of a country is this Shu?”
“Shu is a name for the group of districts known of old as Ichou. The
roads are intersected by streams and the land bristles with steep
mountains. The circuit is over two hundred marches and the area thirty
thousand square li. The population is dense, villages being so close
that the crowing of cocks in one waken the people in the next, and the
dogs barking in this excite the curs in that. The soil is rich and well
cultivated and droughts or famines are equally unknown. Prosperity is
general and the music of pipes and strings can always be heard. The
produce of the fields is piled mountain high. There is no place its
equal.”
“But what of the people?”
“Our administrators are talented as Hsiang-ju (Ssŭma Hsiang-ju): our
soldiers able as Fu-po (Ma Yüan): our physicians are expert as
Chung-ching; our diviners are profound as Chün-pʻing (Yen Tsun). Our
schools of philosophy and our culture stand forth as models and we have
more remarkable men than I can enumerate. How should I ever finish the
tale of them?”
“And how many such as you, Sir, do you think there are at the orders of
your Governor?”
“Our officers are all geniuses; wise, bold, loyal, righteous and
magnanimous. As for poor simpletons like me, they are counted by
hundreds; there are cartloads of them; bushels of them. No one could
count them.”
“What office may you hold then?”
Chang Sung replied, “Mine can hardly be called an office. I am a
Supernumerary Charioteer. But, Sir, what State affairs may you
control?”
“I am an Accountant in the Palace of the Minister,” replied Yang.
“They say that members of your family held office for many generations
and I do not understand why you are not in court service actually
assisting the Emperor, instead of filling the post of a mere clerk in a
private Palace.”
Yang Hsiu’s face suffused with shame at this rebuke, but he mastered
himself and replied, “Though I am among the minor officials, yet my
duties are of great importance and I am gaining experience under the
Prime Minister’s guidance. I hold the office for the sake of the
training.”
Chang Sung smiled, “If what I have heard is true, Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
learning throws no gleaming light on the way of Confucius or Mencius,
nor does his military skill illumine the art of Sun or Wu. He seems to
understand the doctrine of brute force and holding on to what
advantages he can seize, but I see not how he can give you any valuable
training or enlighten your understanding.”
“Ah, Sir; that comes of dwelling in out-of-the-way parts. How could you
know of the magnificent talents of the great Minister? But I will show
you something.”
He called up an attendant and bade him bring a book from a certain
case. He showed this to his guest, who read the title “The New Book of
Mêng-tê.” Then he opened it and read it through from the beginning, the
whole thirteen chapters. They all dealt with the art of war.
“What do you take this to be?” asked Chang Sung, when he had finished.
“This is the great Minister’s discussion of the art of ancient and
modern war composed on the model of Sun’s treatise. You may be
disdainful of the Minister’s talents but will this not go down to
posterity?”
“This book! Every child in Shu knows this by heart. What do you mean by
calling it a new book? It was written by some obscure person of the
time of the Warring States (Chou Dynasty, about 320 B.C.) and Tsʻao
Tsʻao has plagiarised it. But he has deceived no one but you, Sir.”
“But what is the use of your sarcastic insult in saying that your
school children know the book by rote? It has never been given to the
world although copies have been made. It belongs to his private
library.”
“Do you disbelieve me? Why, I know it and could repeat it.”
Then he repeated the whole book, word for word, from beginning to end.
“You remember it like this after only one reading! Really you are
marvellous.”
He boasted not a handsome face,
Nor was his body blessed with grace.
His words streamed like a waterfall,
He read a book and knew it all.
Shu’s glories could he well rehearse,
His lore embraced the universe.
Or text or note of scholiast
Once read, his memory held fast.
At leave-taking Yang Hsiu said, “Remain a while in your lodgings till I
can petition our Minister to give you another interview.”
Chang Sung thanked him and left. By and bye Yang Hsiu went to see Tsʻao
Tsʻao on the matter of receiving the emissary from the west and said,
“Sir, why did you formerly treat Chang Sung so off-hand.”
“He spoke very rudely; that is why.”
“But you bore with Mi Hêng; why not with this man?”
“Mi Hêng’s reputation for scholarship stood highest of all and I could
not bear to put him to death. But what ability has this Chang?”
“To say nothing about his speech being like the River of Heaven,
nothing daunts his talent for dialectic. I happened to show him your
new treatise; he read it over once and could repeat it. From this it is
evident he is cultured and has a prodigious memory. There are few like
him in the world. But he said the book was the work of an obscure
person of a few hundred years back and every school boy in his country
knew it.”
“It only shows that the ancients and I are in secret sympathy,” replied
Tsʻao.
However, he ordered the book to be torn up and burned.
“Then may I bring him to see you, Sir, that he may see the glory of our
court.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao grudgingly consented, saying, “I am reviewing troops
to-morrow on the western parade-ground. You may bring him there and let
him see what my army looks like. He will be able to talk about it when
he goes home. When I have dealt with the south I shall take the west in
hand.”
Hence the very next day Yang Hsiu took Chang Sung over to the west
parade ground, where a review of the Tiger Guard was to be held. There
were five legions of them, and when drawn up in order, they made a very
brave show with their gleaming helmets and bright new uniforms. Their
drums rolled to shake the heavens and their weapons glittered in the
sun. Their discipline and order were perfect; their gay banners
fluttered in the breeze. They looked ready to fly even, so alert and
smart were they.
Chang Sung glanced at them contemptuously. After a long time Tsʻao
Tsʻao called up Chang Sung and, pointing to his army, said, “Have you
ever seen such fine bold fellows in your country?”
“We never see this military parade in Shu; we govern men by
righteousness.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao changed colour and looked hard at the bold speaker, who
gazed back at him without the least sign of fear. Yang Hsiu shot a
quick glance at him, but Tsʻao went on, “I regard the rat-class of the
world [There is a pun here; the characters for “rat” and “Shu” are read
the same] as of no more importance than so many weeds, and for my army
to reach a place is to overcome it, to give battle is to conquer, to
besiege is to take. Those who are with me, live; but those who oppose
me, die. Do you understand?”
“O Minister, I know well that when you march out your army you always
conquer. I knew it when you attacked Lü Pu at Pʻuyang; and when you
fought Chang Hsiu at Wanchʻêng; and when you met Chou Yü at the Red
Wall; and when Hua Yung encountered Kuan Yü; and on that day when you
cut off your beard and threw away your robe at the Pass; and when you
hid in a boat to escape the arrows on the Wei River. On all these
occasions no one could stand against you.”
It made Tsʻao Tsʻao very angry to be thus twitted with his misfortunes
and he said, “You stuck-up pedant! How dare you thus bring up all my
failures?”
He called to his attendants to eject the bold disputant and put him to
death.
Yang Hsiu ventured to argue with him saying, “You may behead him, but
he came from Shu bearing tribute and his death would have a very evil
effect on all distant peoples.”
But Tsʻao Tsʻao was too angry to be reasonable and persisted. However,
Hsün Yü also remonstrated and Chang Sung was not put to death. But he
was beaten and ejected. He returned to his lodging and left the city
that night, reflecting upon what he had intended and what he had
accomplished.
Thought he, “I did not expect such arrogance when I came with the
intention of giving him a province. When I get back Liu Chang will
expect great things. Now I am returning empty handed and a failure to
endure the laughter of my fellow countrymen. I will not go back. I have
heard of the virtues of Liu Pei and I will go to him and see what
manner of man he is. Then I can decide what to do.”
So with his little escort and following he made for Chingchou. He had
reached the boundaries of Yingchou (Wuchʻang) when he met a troop of
horsemen, at the head of whom rode a captain in simple undress, who
pulled up, saying, “Surely you are the Charioteer Chang.”
“I am he,” said Chang Sung.
The captain quickly dismounted and humbly said, “I have expected you
these many days. I am Chao Yün.”
Chang Sung dismounted and returned the salutation saying, “Then you are
no other than Chao Tzŭ-lung, of Chʻangshan.”
“No other,” was the reply. “And my lord Liu Yüan-tê bade me await you
here and offer you refreshment after your long and toilsome journey.”
At this some soldiers brought forward wine and food which they offered
kneeling.
Chang Sung said, “I am come because the world says Liu Pei is liberal
and kindly disposed.”
After a few cups of wine the two retook the road toward Chingchou,
which they neared next day at evening. They went to the guest-house.
Here they found a large number of men who received the visitor with the
beating of drums and every sign of respect. And the officer in command,
bowing low, said, “My brother sent me to meet you after your long and
dusty journey and prepare the guest house for your reception. My name
is Kuan.”
So Chang Sung and Chao Yün dismounted and entered the rest-house, where
hosts and guest exchanged formal salutations and took their seats. In a
short time refreshments were served and both men were most diligent in
their attention to the traveller. This roadside banquet was prolonged
to the time of setting the watch, when they prepared for rest.
Next morning, after the early meal, they mounted and continued their
journey. Very soon they met Yüan-tê himself, with an escort, and his
two chief advisers, deferentially standing by the roadside.
As soon as he recognised them, Chang Sung dismounted and walked toward
them. Yüan-tê received him with extreme respect.
“Your exalted name has been long known to me,” said Yüan-tê, “it has
reverberated through my ears. My one regret is that cloudy hills and
long distances have hitherto prevented me from enjoying the advantage
of your instruction. Hearing that you were passing through, I have come
to meet you and if you would be willing to notice me and condescend to
rest for a time in my desolate city, thus allowing me to satisfy my
long disappointed desire to see you, I should indeed hold myself
fortunate.”
Naturally the traveller’s vanity was tickled and he joyfully remounted.
They rode bridle to bridle into the city. When they reached the
residence again they exchanged profound salutations and compliments
before they took their various places as host and guest. And then a
banquet was served. But all throughout Yüan-tê refrained from saying a
word about Shu; he only chatted on general and common things.
The visitor noted this steady avoidance and resolved to probe his
host’s thoughts.
“How many districts are there in Chingchou, where you are now, O
Imperial Uncle?”
Kʻung-ming replied, “Chingchou is only ours temporarily; we have
borrowed it from Wu. They are always sending messengers to demand its
return. However, now that our lord has married the daughter his
position is more secure. But it is still temporary.”
“Wu is large,” said Chang Sung, “yet their six districts and their
eighty one departments do not satisfy them. The people are strong and
the land is fruitful.”
Said Pʻang Tʻung, “Our lord, being of the dynastic family, certainly
cannot merely occupy two districts. Those others, thievish as they are,
may indeed seize upon as much territory as they are strong enough to
hold, but such deeds are not according to the wise man’s heart.”
“Noble Sirs, pray say no more: what virtue have I that I should expect
anything from the future?” said Liu Pei.
“Not so, indeed,” said Chang Sung. “Illustrious Sir, you are of the
lineage of Han; your noble character is widely known. No one could say
that your fate excludes all thought of occupying territory, where you
might begin to set up authority and take an Emperor’s position.”
Yüan-tê deprecated such a suggestion, “Sir, you go too far; this really
is too much.”
The next three days were spent in banquets and wine-parties, but all
the time no mention was made of the western province. And when, at the
end of that time, Chang Sung took leave, his host was at the ten li
rest-house to bid him farewell and offer refreshment. When the moment
came for the parting Liu Pei raised his wine-cup and said, “I am
sincerely grateful that you deigned to come here. You have prolonged
your visit to three days, but now the moment of parting has come. Who
knows when I may have the privilege of receiving your instructions
again?”
As he said this the tears flowed, but he hid them while Chang Sung,
willing to believe that this emotion was on his account, thought how
wonderfully kind and noble his host must be to be thus affected. Quite
overcome, he decided to speak about Hsichʻuan. So he said, “I have
thought that I, too, would come to you one day, but so far I have found
no way. I see Sun Chʻüan on the east, always ready to pounce; I see
Tsʻao Tsʻao on the north, greedy to swallow. So this is not a wholly
desirable place for you to remain in.”
“I know this but too well,” said Liu Pei, “but I have no secure place
to go to.”
“Ichou is well protected, has much fertile soil, is populous and well
governed. Its scholars are attracted by your virtue. If you marched
your armies westward you could easily become a real power there and
restore the glory of the Hans.”
“But how dare I attempt this? The ruler is also of the Imperial House.
The whole province is devoted to him for his good deeds, and no other
man could attain such a hold.”
“I am no traitor,” said Chang Sung, “but in your presence I feel
constrained to be perfectly open and plain. Liu, the prefect of Ichou,
is naturally weak and can neither use the wise nor employ the capable.
Then again Chang Lu threatens the north. People are distracted and
would gladly welcome an appreciative ruler. The journey I have just
made was to propose to support Tsʻao Tsʻao and place the province under
him, but I found him rebellious and set on evil, proud and arrogant. So
I have turned aside to you. If you will take Hsichʻuan, you will have a
base from which to deal with Hanchung when you will, and the whole
country beside. You will continue the rightful line and your name will
live in history. Would not that be real fame? If then you think of
taking our country I am willing to do what little I can as an ally
within. But do you contemplate such a step?”
“I am deeply grateful that you think so well of me. But the Prefect
being a member of the family, I should lay myself open to general
execration were I to attack him.”
“When a hero finds himself in the world, his duty is to work out his
destiny, to exert himself and perform his task as best as he can, to
press forward among the foremost. At the moment the position is that,
if you fail to seize this opportunity, some other will take possession
and you will regret when too late.”
“And I have heard much of the difficult nature of the country, its many
high mountains and numerous streams, and its narrow roads. How could
such a country be invaded?”
Then Chang Sung drew the map from his sleeve. “I am so deeply affected
by your virtue that I offer you this map of the country, whereby its
roads and rivers may be known.”
Yüan-tê unrolled the map; it was covered with notes, on the lie of the
land, lengths and widths, and such matters. Strategical points on
rivers and hills were shown, and store-houses and granaries and
treasuries. Everything was plainly stated.
Chang Sung went on, “Sir, you can prepare your plans promptly. I have
two friends who will certainly help you. And when they come to see you,
you may be perfectly frank with them. Their names are Fa Chêng and Mêng
Ta.”
Yüan-tê thanked him with joined hands. Said he, “As the blue mountains
grow not old and the green waters always remain, so shall I never
forget. And when I shall have accomplished my task you shall have no
mean reward.”
“I look for no reward. Having met with an enlightened lord I felt
compelled to unbosom myself to him.”
Chang Sung left soon after and Kuan Yü escorted him for a long
distance.
After arrival in Ichou, Chang Sung lost no time in sending for his
friends, Fa Chêng and Mêng Ta. The former was the first to come and he
was told of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s arrogance and haughtiness toward men of
parts. “As for the man himself,” said he, “he is a man to grieve with
but not a man to rejoice with. I have promised Ichou to Liu Pei, the
Imperial Uncle, and I want your especial advice and assistance.”
“I think Liu Chang incapable,” said Fa Chêng, “and I have felt drawn to
Liu Pei for some time past. So we are in sympathy here.”
Shortly after Mêng Ta arrived. Mêng Ta and Fa Chêng were fellow
townsmen. When Mêng Ta entered the room and saw the other two in
earnest and secret conversation, he said, “I know what you two are
about; you are scheming to hand over Ichou to somebody.”
“It is really so; you have guessed right,” said Chang Sung. “But to
whom ought it to go?”
“There is but one; Liu Pei,” said Mêng Ta.
All three clapped their hands and laughed.
Then said Fa Chêng to Chang Sung, “You will see our lord to-morrow;
what about that?”
“I shall recommend that you two be sent to Chingchou on a mission.”
They thought that a suitable scheme. And when the lately arrived
messenger saw his master and was asked how he had fared, Chang Sung
said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao is a rebel who desires to get the whole country into
his hands. I need hardly tell you that. But he also hankers after this
district.”
“Then what will become of us?” said Liu Chang.
“I have a plan to check both our enemies. Liu, the Imperial Uncle, now
in Chingchou, is a relative of yours and he is generous and well
disposed. This is a matter of common knowledge. Tsʻao Tsʻao was simply
overwhelmed at the result of the battle at Red Wall and Chang Lu more
so. Now my plan is that you ally yourself with your distinguished
relative against Tsʻao Tsʻao and Chang Lu.”
“I have been thinking thus for a long-time; can you recommend a
suitable emissary?”
“The only ones are Fa Chêng and Mêng Ta.”
These two were summoned and, meanwhile, a letter was prepared. Fa Chêng
was to proceed as emissary to open up friendly relations and Mêng Ta
would follow in due course with an army to welcome Liu Pei into the
west country.
While still discussing the details of the policy, a person forced his
way in, his face all running with sweat, and cried out, “My lord; your
land will be lost to you and pass to another if you listen to Chang
Sung.”
Chang Sung turned a startled look on the intruder, who was a certain
Huang Chʻüan of Hsiliang, an accountant in the Prefect’s Palace.
The Prefect said, “Why do you use such language? Yüan-tê is of my
family and so I am seeking his support.”
Said Huang Chʻüan, “I know all about him; he is liberal-minded to gain
people to his side and his softness can overcome the hardest. He is
bolder than any other. He gains men’s hearts from afar off and those
near him look up to him. He also has the wisest advisers and the
boldest warriors. But if you call him here as a soldier, think you that
he will be content to remain in a lowly condition? And if you treat him
as an honoured guest, can a State stand two rulers? Hear me, my lord,
and you stand secure as Mount Tʻai; be deaf to my words and your
position is as precarious as a pile of eggs. This Chang Sung has lately
come home through Chingchou where he has certainly been plotting with
Liu Pei. Slay this man; and make an end of Liu Pei. That will be for
the happiness of this land.”
“But how else am I to fend off my two enemies?”
“Fortify your country; dig out your moats and raise your ramparts. Then
you can wait on events.”
“If these rebels invade this land the position will be critical, as
when fire singes one’s eyebrows. It is idle talk to tell me to wait on
events.”
No notice was taken of Huang Chʻüan, and Fa Chêng was about to set out
when another interfered, crying, “No, No.” This was a secretary, Wang
Lei.
With bowed head Wang Lei stood and said, “My lord will bring misfortune
upon himself if he listens to this Chang Sung.”
“Not so; I make an alliance with Liu Yüan-tê in order to withstand
Chang Lu.”
“A Chang Lu invasion would be but a skin disease. Liu Pei’s entry into
this country would be a mortal malady. Liu Pei is an unscrupulous
bravo; he was once in Tsʻao Tsʻao’s service and plotted against him.
Then he hung on to Sun Chʻüan and seized Chingchou. This shows his
character and his designs. Think you that you two can dwell together?
If you invite him, then Hsichʻuan is lost.”
“No more wild talk!” cried Liu Chang angrily. “Yüan-tê is of my clan
and family and will not ravish me of my possessions.”
He bade the lictors escort both men outside and ordered Fa Chêng to set
out. So he did; and before long came to Chingchou. When the salutations
were over he presented his letter, which Yüan-tê opened and read.
“I, Liu Chang, a younger brother of our family, now write to General
Liu Yüan-tê. From my humble place long have I gazed in your direction,
but the roads of Shu are precipitous and I have failed to send my
tribute. This is to my shame. The victims of misfortune aid each other
and those in trouble support each other. If friends act thus, how much
more should members of the same family? Now Chang Lu is mustering an
army of invasion on my northern frontier, much to the injury of my
tranquillity. Wherefore I send this letter that you may know of my
distress and if you remember the kindly bonds of family and will play a
brotherly part and lead your armies to destroy these ruffians, you will
be my eternal protector and I shall be ever grateful. This letter
leaves much unsaid, but I await your coming.”
This letter greatly pleased Yüan-tê. He made a banquet for the bearer
thereof, and when they had mellowed themselves with wine, he dismissed
the attendants and spoke to Fa Chêng in confidence.
“Friend, I have long admired you, and Chang Sung extolled your virtues.
I shall always feel grateful for this opportunity of hearing you.”
Fa Chêng bowed. “That is too great praise for a humble emissary from
Shu. But they say that horses always neighed in recognition of Po Lo,
the supreme judge of horses, and when a man has found his lord he dies
for him. Have you thought further of Chang Sung’s proposals, General?”
“I have always been a wanderer, often in suffering and sorrow. I have
often thought of the wren for even that tiny bird has a twig to rest
on; and of the cunning hare, that secures safety with three openings to
its burrow. Does not a man need at least a shelter? Your land of Shu is
fertile and a temptation, but its ruler is of my family and I cannot
plot against him.”
“Yes; Ichou is a very paradise. But without a ruler it cannot exist.
Liu Chang knows not how to use the wise man and his heritage must
speedily pass to another. To-day it is offered to your hands and you
must not miss the opportunity. You know the saying, that the leader in
the hunt gets the quarry. If you will only consent, I will serve you to
the death.”
Yüan-tê signified his gratitude. Said he, “Let me reflect for a time
and take advice.”
The banquet terminated and the guest left. Kʻung-ming conducted Fa
Chêng to his lodging while his master sat thinking. Then Pʻang Tʻung
said, “You must decide; not to decide is foolish. You are of high
intelligence, my lord, and why do you hesitate?”
“What should my reply be?” asked Yüan-tê.
“You know these surroundings and with them you cannot attain your ends.
Now before you lies a populous, fertile and rich land, a base with the
greatest possibilities. You have the promise of assistance from two men
within and it seems like a gift of providence. Why hesitate?”
“Now there are two men in the world as mutually antagonistic as fire
and water. My opposite is Tsʻao Tsʻao. He is impetuous and I am long
suffering; he is cruel and I am humane; he feigns, while I am true. In
all particulars I act the direct contrary to him. I refuse to risk the
loss of the confidence and trust of the world for a trifling
advantage.”
Pʻang Tʻung smiled at these sentiments. “My lord’s words are quite in
accord with abstract rectitude, but such ideas scarcely suit the days
of rebellion. There are other ways of fighting than with warlike
weapons, but to adhere too obstinately to the idea of abstract
rectitude is to do nothing. One must be an opportunist, annex the weak
and attack the wilfully deluded: seize the recalcitrant and protect the
docile. These were the teachings of Tʻang and Wu. If after the
settlement you reward with righteousness and make of the land a great
country, will you be guilty of a breach of trust? Remember if you do
not take it now another will.”
Yüan-tê, a prey to confused emotions, replied, “These words are as
jewels; they should be engraven on my very heart.”
Thereupon he summoned Kʻung-ming to settle the details of an army to
march west.
Kʻung-ming said, “This is an important place and must be well
defended.”
Liu Pei replied, “I, Pʻang Tʻung and my two captains Huang Chung and
Wei Yen will go into Hsichʻuan; you and our three best captains, my two
brothers and Chao Tzŭ-lung, can defend Chingchou.”
Kuan Yü was told off for Hsiangyang and the narrow pass of Chʻingni,
Chang Fei went along the river and Chao Yün camped at Chiangling. For
the march westward, Huang Chung led the van, Wei Yen had the rearguard,
while Yüan-tê moved in the centre. Pʻang Tʻung was commander of the
whole army.
Just as the five legions were starting there came Liao Hua to
surrender; he and his men were attached to Kuan Yü.
It was in the winter that the expedition started. Soon they met the
force under Mêng Ta, five companies, to act as escort into Ichou. Liu
Pei informed Liu Chang that he had started and the latter sent orders
to the districts along the road to entertain them well on the march.
The Prefect proposed to go out in person to welcome Liu Pei and ordered
carriages to be prepared and tents and banners. All the escort were
dressed in glittering armour. At this the accountant, Huang Chʻüan, the
sturdy opponent of the invitation to Liu Pei, again remonstrated.
“My lord, if you go out you will be exposed to danger. I have been in
your service for many years and I would prevent you from being the
victim of another’s wiles. I pray you reflect.”
Chang Sung said, “His words are those of one who would sow discord in a
family and encourage the power of the robbers who threaten you.
Assuredly such action is to your detriment.”
Liu Chang then spoke angrily to Huang Chʻüan saying, “I have decided,
and why do you oppose me?”
The objector bowed his head and wept. Then approaching nearer he seized
hold of the Prefect’s robe with his teeth to hinder him. Liu Chang
angrily shook his robe and rose from his seat, but Huang Chʻüan still
held on till two of his teeth fell out. Then the lictors forced him
away and he retired, still crying.
As Liu Chang was starting another man cried, “My lord, do you neglect
the loyal words of your faithful Huang Chʻüan to go to your death?”
And he threw himself prostrate at the steps in remonstrance. He was
one, Li Kʻuei, of Chienning.
“The prince may have Ministers who remonstrate with him and the father
may have sons who oppose,” said he. “Huang Chʻüan has spoken faithfully
and you ought to listen. To let Liu Pei into this land is to welcome
the tiger into your gates.”
“Yüan-tê is my brother and will not harm me,” said the Prefect. “And
any other who shall oppose me shall suffer death.”
So Li Kʻuei was thrust out.
“The officers of Shu regard the safety of their families and no longer
render you service. The captains are arrogant and each has some scheme
of his own to further. If you do not get Liu Pei to oppose the enemy
without and your own people oppose you within, surely you are on the
road to ruin.”
So spoke Chang Sung and the Prefect replied that he knew the plan was
for his advantage. Whereupon he mounted his horse to ride out to Elm
Tree Bridge.
Then it was reported to him that Wang Lei had suspended himself, head
downwards, at the city gate. In one hand he held a written remonstrance
and in the other a knife. “And he says that if you heed him not he will
cut the rope and die at your feet,” concluded the messenger.
Liu Chang went to the gate, took the writing and read:—“Good medicine
is bitter in the mouth but good for the disease; faithful words offend
the ear but are good for the conduct. Of old the king of Chʻu listened
not to Chʻu Yüan, but attended the meeting at Wukuan and was captured.
Sir, you are thoughtlessly leaving your place to go to welcome Liu Pei,
but I fear there is a way out and none in. Could you but behead Chang
Sung in the market-place and have nothing to do with this league with
Liu Pei, it would be for the happiness of old and young, and assure the
safety of yourself.”
Anger rose in his breast as he read.
“Why do you insult me when I go to meet a kindly man? I feel as if I
were about to enjoy the delight of seeing a brother?”
At this Wang Lei gave a great cry, severed the rope and fell to the
ground battered and dead.
Head downwards at the city gate one hung,
A last remonstrance in his outstretched hand,
Resolved that, were his words rejected, he
Would not survive defeat. Sincere was he
Who, desperate, held to Liu Chang’s silken robe
Until his broken teeth released their grip.
Sincere indeed, but how can he compare
With stern Wang Lei, who went to awful death?
Liu Chang with a great company went out to welcome his clansman and
there followed many waggons laden with supplies and rich stuffs.
Liu Pei’s advanced guard had arrived at Shuchü. During the march the
people had brought presents, and Liu Pei had given an order to pay for
everything, under penalty of death for disobedience. Thus no one
suffered and the people came out in trusting crowds to watch the
soldiers marching by and welcome them in every way. Liu Pei soothed
them with very gracious words.
Then Fa Chêng secretly showed Pʻang Tʻung a letter from Chang Sung
advocating the assassination of Liu Chang near the place of welcome.
Pʻang Tʻung said, “Say nothing about this; after the two Lius have met
there may be opportunities but this is too early to talk. Any plot
would leak out.”
So nothing was said. Fouchʻêng, where the meeting was to take place, is
three hundred and sixty li from Chʻêngtu. Liu Chang arrived first and
sent messengers to welcome Liu Pei. The two armies camped on the bank
of the Fou River. Liu Pei went into the city to see the Prefect and
they met cordially as brothers should. Both shed a few tears, and by
and bye they began a heart-to-heart talk. Then followed a banquet and
after this each returned to his own camp.
The Prefect said, “How ridiculous have been proved the fears of Huang
Chʻüan and Wang Lei! They do not understand the force of family
affection. I see he is really a kindly and noble man, and with him as a
support I shall fear neither Tsʻao nor Chang. And I owe all this to
Chang Sung.”
To show his gratitude he took off the green silken robe he wore and
sent it as a gift to Chang Sung, together with five hundred liang of
gold.
However, some of his officers were not so content and a group of them
bade him beware.
“Do not rejoice too soon, O Master,” said they, “for Liu Pei is hard
enough within in spite of his mild exterior. You have not sounded him
yet and should be on your guard.”
“You are all too anxious;” said he, laughing, “my brother is no
double-dealer, I am sure.”
When Liu Pei had returned to his own tent, Pʻang Tʻung came in to ask
what impression he had of his host of that day.
“He seems a very honest man,” said Liu Pei.
“He is good enough, but some of his servants are discontented at this
turn of affairs and I would not guarantee there will be no murders. If
you took my advice you would have Liu Chang assassinated at the return
banquet. A hundred ruffians behind the arras, a signal from you, and
the deed would be accomplished. All that would be needed then would be
a rush on the capital. No sword need be drawn, no arrow fitted to the
string.”
“He is a brother of my house and has treated me with sincerity. I am a
new-comer and so far unknown in this land. Such a deed would be
abhorrent to all the world and these people would resent it. I will not
establish myself by such means.”
“The scheme is not mine; it originated in a private letter from Chang
Sung, who says it will have to be done some time.”
At this moment Fa Chêng came in and said, “This is not for ourselves;
it is the will of heaven.”
“Liu Chang and I are of the same house and I would shudder at harming
him.”
“Sir, you are wrong. If you act not as we propose, then Chang Lu will
take Shu in revenge for the death of his mother. What is there for you
at the end of your long march? Advance, and success is yours; retreat
and you have nothing. And delays are most dangerous. At any moment this
scheme may leak out and another will reap the profit. This is the day
when Heaven smiles on you. Act before Liu Chang suspects you; establish
yourself.”
So urged Fa Chêng and Pʻang Tʻung backed it.
Their lord, by argument, they tried
From rectitude to turn aside.
What Liu Pei hid in his heart will be explained in the next chapter.
END OF VOLUME I
NOTES
[1] 1750 B.C.
[2] 80 B.C.
[3] The grass in the meadow is an ingenious quip on Tung Cho’s surname;
as is the “ten days” on his distinguishing name.
[4] Modern Anhui.
[5] The Great Bear and Vega.
[6] The Milky Way.
[7] A star in Taurus.
[8] Groups of stars similar to the Great Bear Constellation.
[9] Points of the compass, including the centre.
[10] The country about modern Kiangsu and south Shantung.
[11] An editor here remarks in a note, “With a hundred ounces of silver
Liu An could get himself another wife, but I am afraid no one would
marry him. And what then? No woman could help reflecting that she might
have to serve as the ‘game’ course in a chance visitor’s dinner.”
[12] 199 A.D.
[13] Modern Kiangsi.
[14] A chang is ten feet.
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