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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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