Chapter XXIII…

Chapter XXIII

MI HÊNG SLIPS HIS GARMENT AND RAILS AT TRAITORS: CRUEL PUNISHMENT OF THE PHYSICIAN CHI.

At the close of the last chapter the two unsuccessful leaders Liu and Wang were in danger of death. However, one of the advisers, Kʻung Jung, remonstrated with Tsʻao saying, “You knew these two were no match for Liu Pei and if you put them to death because they failed you will lose the hearts of your men.”

Wherefore the death sentence was not executed but they were deprived of rank and status. Tsʻao next proposed to lead an army himself to attack Liu Pei, but the weather was too inclement. So it was settled to await the return of spring. In the interval there would be time to arrange peace with Chang Hsiu and Liu Piao.

Wherefore Liu Yeh was sent to the former of these and in due time reached Hsiangchʻêng. He first had an interview with Chia Hsü, whereat he dwelt upon Tsʻao’s virtues so that Hsü was impressed, kept him as a guest and undertook to smooth his way.

Soon after he saw Chang Hsiu and spoke of the advantages of coming to terms with Tsʻao Tsʻao. While the discussion was in progress a messenger from Yüan Shao was announced and he was called in. He presented letters and, when they also proposed terms of peace, Chia Hsü asked what their success had been lately against Tsʻao.

“The war had ceased for the moment on account of the winter,” replied the messenger. “As you, General, and Liu Piao are both well reputed officers of the State, I have been sent to request your help.”

Chia Hsü laughed, “You can return to your master and say that as he could not brook rivalry of his brother he certainly would be sorely put to it with that of all the officers of the State.”

The letter was torn into fragments before the messenger’s face and he was angrily bidden begone.

“But his master, Yüan Shao, is stronger than Tsʻao Tsʻao,” protested Chang Hsiu. “You have torn up his letter and are dismissing his man. What shall we say about such an insult should Yüan Shao come?”

“Better join hands with Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said Chia Hsü.

“But there is still between us an unavenged enmity, we could not suffer each other.”

Chia Hsü said, “There are three advantages in joining hands with Tsʻao. First, he has a command from the Emperor to restore peace. Secondly, as Yüan Shao is so strong our little help to him will be despised, while we shall loom large and be well treated by Tsʻao Tsʻao. Thirdly, Tsʻao is going to be Chief of the Feudal Lords and he will ignore all private feuds in order to show his magnanimity to all the world. I hope, General, you will see these things clearly and hesitate no longer.”

Chang Hsiu, now convinced, became more reasonable and recalled the messenger, who, at the interview, extolled the many virtues of his master. “If the Minister had any thought of the old quarrel he would hardly have sent me to make friendly engagements: would he?” said he at the last.

So Chang and his adviser proceeded to the capital where formal submission was made. At the interview the visitor bowed low at the steps, but Tsʻao Tsʻao, hastening forward, took him by the hand and raised him saying “Forget that little fault of mine, I pray you.”

Chang Hsiu received the title of Yang-wu General (“Prowess-in-War” General) and Chia Hsü that of Chih Chin-wu (Controller of the Ways).

Tsʻao then directed his secretaries to draft letters inviting the support of Liu Piao.

Chia Hsü said, “Liu Ching-shêng loves to have to do with famous people. If some famous scholar should be sent to him he would submit forthwith.”

So Tsʻao enquired of Hsün Yu who was the best man to go as a messenger and he recommended Kʻung Jung. Tsʻao agreed and sent him to speak with this officer. So he went to Kʻung, saying, “A scholar of reputation is required to act as a messenger of State; can you undertake this task?”

Kʻung Jung replied, “I have a certain friend, Mi Hêng, whose talents are ten times mine. He ought to be constantly at the Court of the Emperor and not merely be sent as a State messenger. I will recommend him to the Emperor.”

So he wrote the following memorial:—

“In ancient days, when the great waters were abroad, the Emperor pondered over their regulation and he sought out men of talent from all directions. In old time, when the Emperor Wu of the Hans desired to enlarge his borders, crowds of scholars responded to his call.

“Intelligent and holy, Your Majesty ascended the throne. You have fallen upon evil days, but have been diligent, modest and untiring in your efforts. Now the great mountains have sent forth spirits and men of genius appear.

“I, your humble servant, know of a certain simple scholar, Mi Hêng by name, of Pʻingyüan, a young man of twenty-four. His moral character is excellent, his talents eminent. As a youth he took a high place in study and penetrated the most secret arcana of learning. What he glanced at he could repeat, what he heard once he never forgot. He is naturally high principled and his thoughts are divine. Hung-yang’s mental calculations and An-shih’s mnemonical feats compared with Mi Hêng’s powers are no longer wonderful. Loyal, sincere, correct and straight-forward, his ambition is unsullied. He regards the good with trembling respect, he detests the evil with uncompromising hatred. Jên Tso in unflinching candour, Shih Yü in severe rectitude, never surpassed him.

“Hundreds of hawks are not worth one osprey. If Mi Hêng be given a Court appointment notable results must follow. Ready in debate, rapid in utterance, his overwhelming intelligence wells up in profusion; in the solution of doubts and the unravelling of difficulties he has no peer.

“In former days Chia I begged to be sent on trial to a vassal State to be responsible for the arrest of Shan Yü; Chung Chün offered to bring the Prince of Nanyüeh as with a pair of long reins. The generous conduct of these youths has been much admired. In our day Lu Tsui and Yen Hsiang, remarkable for their talents, have been appointed among the secretaries. And Mi Hêng is no less capable. Should he be got, then all possibilities may be realised; the dragon may curvet through the celestial streets and soar along the Milky Way; fame will extend to the poles of the universe and hang in the firmament with rainbow glory. He would be the glory of all the present Ministers and enhance the majesty of the Palace itself. The air Chun-tʻien will acquire new beauties and the Palace will contain an excellent treasure. Men like Mi Hêng are but few. As in the recitation of Chi-chʻu and the singing of Yang-o the most skilful performers are sought, and such fleet horses as Fei-tʻu and Yao-miao were looked for by the famous judges of horses, Wang Liang and Pai Lo, so I, the humble one, dare not conceal this man. Your Majesty is careful in the selection of servants and should try him. Let him be summoned as he is, simply clad in his serge dress, and should he not appear worthy then may I be punished for the fault of deception.”

The Emperor read the memorial and passed it to his Minister, who duly summoned Mi Hêng. He came, but after his formal salutations were over he was left standing and not invited to sit down. Looking up to heaven he sighed deeply, saying, “Wide as is the universe it cannot produce the man.”

“Under my orders are scores of men whom the world call heroes. What do you mean by saying there is not the man?” said Tsʻao.

“I should be glad to hear who they are,” said Mi.

“Hsün Yü and Hsün Yu, Kuo Chia and Chʻêng Yü are all men of profound skill and long views, superior to Hsiao Ho and Chʻên Pʻing; Chang Liao and Hsü Chu, Li Tien and Yo Chin are bravest of the brave, better than Tsên Pʻêng and Ma Wu. Lü Chʻien and Man Chʻung are my secretaries, Yü Chin and Hsü Huang are my van-leaders; Hsiahou Tun is one of the world’s marvels and Tsʻao Tzŭ-hsiao is the most successful leader of the age. Now say you there are not the men?”

“Sir, you are quite mistaken,” said Mi Hêng with a smile. “I know all these things you call men. Hsün Yü is qualified to pose at a funeral or ask after a sick man. Hsün Yu is fit to be a tomb guardian. Chʻêng Yü might be sent to shut doors and bolt windows, and Kuo Chia is a reciter of poems; Chang Liao might beat drums and clang gongs; Hsü Chu might lead cattle to pasture; Yo Chin would make a fair confidential clerk of the Court; Li Tien could carry despatches and notices; Lü Chʻien would be a fair armourer; Man Chʻung could be sent to drink wine and eat brewers’ grains; Yü Chin might be of use to carry planks and build walls; Hsü Huang might be employed to kill pigs and slay dogs; Hsiahou Tun should be styled ‘Whole Body’ General and Tsʻao Tzŭ-hsiao should be called ‘Money-grubbing Prefect.’ As for the remainder, they are mere clothes-horses, rice-sacks, wine butts, flesh bags.”

“And what special gifts have you?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao angrily.

“I know everything in heaven above and the earth beneath. I am conversant with the Three Religions and the Nine Systems of Philosophy. I could make my prince the rival of Yao and Shun and I myself could compare in virtue with Kʻung and Yen. Can I discuss on even terms with common people?”

Now Chang Liao was present and he raised his sword to strike down the impudent visitor who spoke thus to his master, but Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “I want another drummer boy to play on occasions of congratulation in the Court. I will confer this office upon him.”

Instead of indignantly declining this Mi Hêng accepted the position and went out.

“He spoke very impertinently,” said Liao; “Why did you not put him to death?”

“He has something of a reputation; empty, but people have heard of him and so, if I put him to death, they would say I was intolerant. As he thinks he has ability I have made him a drummer to mortify him.”

Soon after Tsʻao instituted a banquet in the capital at which the guests were many. The drums were to be played and the old drummers were ordered to wear new clothes. But the new drummer took his place with the other musicians clad in old and worn garments. The piece chosen was Yü-yang (or “Fishing”) and from the earliest taps on the drum the effect was exquisite, profound as the notes from metal and stone. The performance stirred deeply the emotions of every guest, some even shed tears. Seeing all eyes turned on the shabby performer the attendants said, “Why did you not put on your new uniform?”

Mi Hêng turned to them, slipped off his frayed and torn robe and stood there in full view, naked as he was born. The assembled guests covered their faces. Then the drummer composedly drew on his nether garments.

“Why do you behave so rudely at Court?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.

“To flout one’s prince and insult one’s superiors is the real rudeness,” cried Mi Hêng. “I bare my natural body as an emblem of my purity.”

“So you are pure! And who is foul?”

“You do not distinguish between the wise and the foolish; which is to have foul vision; you have never read the Odes or the Histories, which is to have foul speech; you are deaf to honest words, which is to have foul ears; you are unable to reconcile antiquity with to-day, which is to be foul without; you cannot tolerate the nobles, which is to be foul within; you harbour thoughts of rebellion, which is to have a foul heart. I am the most famous scholar in the world and you make me a drummer boy, that is as Yang Huo belittling Chung-ni (Confucius) or Tsang Tsʻang vilifying Mêng, the Philosopher (Mencius). You desire to be chief and arbitrator of the great nobles, yet you treat me thus!”

Now Kʻung Jung who had recommended Mi Hêng for employment was among the guests and he feared for the life of his friend. Wherefore he tried to calm the storm.

“Mi Hêng is only guilty of a misdemeanour like Hsü Mi’s,” cried he. “He is not a man likely to disturb your dreams, illustrious Prince.”

Pointing to Mi Hêng the Minister said, “I will send you to Chingchou as my messenger and if Liu Piao surrender to me I will give you a post at Court.”

But Hêng was unwilling to go. So Tsʻao Tsʻao bade two of his men prepare three horses and they set Hêng on the middle one and dragged him along the road between them.

It is also related that a great number of officers of all ranks assembled at the east gate to see the messenger start. Hsün Yü said, “When Mi Hêng comes we will not rise to salute him.”

So when Hêng came, dismounted and entered the waiting room, they all sat stiff and silent. Mi Hêng uttered a loud cry.

“What is that for?” said Hsün Yü.

“Should not one cry out when one enters a coffin?” said Mi Hêng.

“We may be corpses,” cried they altogether, “but you are a wandering ghost.”

“I am a Minister of Han and not a partizan of Tsʻao’s,” cried he. “You cannot say I have no head.”

They were angry enough to kill him, but Hsün Yü checked them. “He is a paltry fellow, it is not worth soiling your blades with his blood.”

“I am paltry, am I? Yet I have the soul of a man and you are mere worms,” said Mi Hêng.

They went their ways all very angry. Mi Hêng went on his journey and presently reached Chingchou, where he saw Liu Piao. After that, under pretence of extolling his virtue, he lampooned Piao, who was annoyed and sent him to Chianghsia to see Huang Tsu.

“Why did you not put the fellow to death for lampooning you?” said one to Liu Piao.

“You see he shamed Tsʻao Tsʻao, but Tsʻao did not kill him as he feared to lose popular favour. So he sent him to me, thinking to borrow my hand to slay him and so suffer the loss of my good name. I have sent him on to Huang Tsu to let Tsʻao see that I understood.”

His clever caution met with general praise. At that time a messenger from Yüan Shao was also there with certain proposals for an alliance and it was necessary to decide which side to espouse. All the advisers came together to consider the question. Then the secretary, Han Sung, said, “As you have now two offers you can please yourself and choose your own way to destroy your enemies, for if one refuse you can follow the other. Now Tsʻao Tsʻao is an able general and has many capable men in his train. It looks as though he may destroy Yüan Shao and then move his armies across the river. I fear, General, you would be unable then to withstand him. That being so it would be wise to support Tsʻao Tsʻao, who will treat you with respect.”

Liu Piao replied, “You go to the capital and see how things tend. That will help me to decide.”

Han Sung said, “The positions of master and servant are clearly defined. Now I am your man prepared to go all lengths for you and obey you to the last, whether in serving the Emperor or in following Tsʻao Tsʻao. But lest there should be any doubt you must remember that if the Emperor gives me any office then I shall become his servant and shall not be ready to face death for you.”

“You go and find out what you can. I have ideas in my mind.”

So Han Sung took his leave and went to the capital, where he saw Tsʻao. Tsʻao gave him rank and made him Prefect of Lingling. The adviser Hsün Yü remonstrated, saying, “This man came to spy out how things were moving. He has done nothing to deserve reward and yet you give him an office like this. There were no such suspicious rumours connected with poor Mi Hêng and yet you sent him off and would never test his powers.”

“Mi Hêng shamed me too deeply before all the world. I am going to borrow Liu Piao’s hand to remove him. And you need say no more,” said Tsʻao.

Then Tsʻao sent Han Sung back to his former master to tell him what had happened. He came and was full of praise for the virtues of the Court and was keen on persuading Piao to espouse that side. Then Liu Piao suddenly turned angry, charged him with treachery and threatened him with death.

“You turn your back on me;” cried Han Sung. “I did not betray you.”

Kʻuai Liang remarked that Han Sung had foretold this possibility before he left, it was only what he expected. Liu Piao, who was just and reasonable, went no further.

Presently came the news that Mi Hêng had been put to death by Huang Tsu on account of a quarrel begun over the wine cups. Both being worse for liquor they had begun to discuss the worth of people.

“You were in Hsütu,” said Huang. “Who was there of worth?”

“The big boy was Kʻung Jung and the little one Yang Tê-tsu. There was no one else to count.”

“What am I like?” said Huang.

“You are like a god in a temple; you sit still and receive sacrifice, but the lack of intelligence is pitiful.”

“Do you regard me as a mere image?” cried Huang Tsu, angry.

So he put the impudent speaker to death. Even at the very point of death Mi never ceased his railing and abuse.

“Alas!” sighed Liu Piao, when he heard of his fate. He had the victim honourably interred near Yingwuchou. And a later poet wrote of him:—

Huang Tsu could brook no rival; at his word Mi Hêng met death beneath the cruel sword. His grave on Parrot Isle may yet be seen, The river flowing past it, coldly green.

Tsʻao Tsʻao heard of the young man’s death with pleasure. “The putrid bookworm has just cut himself up with his own sharp tongue,” said he.

As there was no sign of Liu Piao coming to join him, Tsʻao Tsʻao began to think of coercion. The adviser, Hsün Yü, dissuaded him from this course.

Said he, “Yüan Shao is not subjugated, Liu Pei is not destroyed. To attack Liu Piao would be to neglect the vital to care for the immaterial. Destroy the two chief enemies first and Chiang-han is yours at one blow.”

And Tsʻao Tsʻao took the advice.

After the departure of Yüan-tê, Tung Chʻêng and his fellow conspirators did nothing else day or night but try to evolve plans for the destruction of their enemy. But they could see no chance to attack. At the new year audience Tsʻao Tsʻao was odiously arrogant and overweening and the chief conspirator’s disgust was so intense that he fell ill. Hearing of his indisposition the Emperor sent the Court physician to see his “State Uncle.”

The Court physician at this time was a native of Loyang, named Chi Tʻai, more commonly known as Chi Pʻing. He was very famous. He devoted himself wholly to the treatment of his Court patient. Living in his Palace and seeing him at all times he soon found that some secret grief was sorely troubling Tung Chʻêng. But he dared not ask questions.

One evening, when the physician was just taking his leave, Tung Chʻêng kept him and the two men had supper together. They sat talking for some time and Tung by and by dropped off to sleep dressed as he was.

Presently Wang Tzŭ-fu and the others were announced. As they were coming in Wang cried, “Our business is settled!”

“I should be glad to hear how,” said Tung.

“Liu Piao has joined Yüan Shao and fifty legions are on their way here by different routes. More than this, Ma Tʻêng and Han Sui are coming from the north with seventy-two legions. Tsʻao Tsʻao has moved every soldier outside Hsütu to meet the combined armies. There is a great banquet in the Palace to-night and if we get together our young men and slaves, we can muster more than a thousand, and we can surround the palace, while Tsʻao Tsʻao is at the banquet, and finish him off. We must not miss this.”

Tung Chʻêng was more than delighted. He called his slaves and armed them, put on his own armour and mounted his horse. The conspirators met, as they had arranged, just at the inner gate. It was the first watch. The small army marched straight in, Tung Chʻêng leading with his sword drawn. His intended victim was at table in one of the private rooms. Tung rushed in crying, “Tsʻao you rebel, stay!” and dashed at Tsʻao Tsʻao who fell at the first blow.

And just then he woke up and found it was all a dream, a dream as unreal as that of life in the kingdom of the ants. But his mouth was still full of curses.

“Do you really wish to destroy Tsʻao Tsʻao?” said Chi Pʻing, going forward to his half awakened patient.

This brought him to his senses. Tung stopped, terror stricken, and made no reply.

“Do not be frightened, O Uncle,” said the doctor, “Although I am a physician I am also a man, and I never forget my Emperor. You have seemed sad for many days but I have never ventured to ask the reason. Now you have shown it in your dream and I know your real feelings. If I can be of any use I will help. Nothing can daunt me.”

Tung Chʻêng covered his face and wept. “I fear you may not be true to me,” cried he.

Chi Pʻing at once bit off a finger as a pledge of his faith. And then his host and patient brought forth the decree he had received in the girdle. “I am afraid our schemes will come to nought,” said he. “Liu Yüan-tê and Ma Tʻêng are gone and there is nothing we can do. That was the real reason I fell ill.”

“It is not worth troubling you gentlemen with; for Tsʻao’s life lies in these hands of mine,” said Chi Pʻing.

“How can that be?”

“Because he is often ill with deep-seated pain in his head. When this comes on he sends for me. When next he calls me I only have to give him one dose and he will certainly die. We do not want any weapons.”

“If only you could do it! You would be the saviour of the Dynasty; it depends upon you.”

Then Chi Pʻing went away leaving his late patient a happy man. Tung strolled into the garden and there he saw one of his slaves, Tsʻin Chʻing-tʻung, whispering with one of the waiting maids in a dark corner. This annoyed him and he called his attendants to seize them. He would have put them to death but for the intervention of his wife. At her request he spared their lives but both were beaten, and the lad was thrown into a dungeon. Sulky at his treatment the slave broke out of the cell in the night, climbed over the wall and went straight to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s palace, where he betrayed the conspiracy.

Tsʻao Tsʻao at once had him taken into a secret chamber and questioned him. He gave the names of the conspirators and told as much as he knew of their doings. He said his master had a piece of white silk, with writing on it, but he did not know what it meant. Lately Chi Pʻing had bitten off one of his fingers as a pledge of fidelity. He had seen that.

The runaway slave was kept in a secret part of the Palace while his late master, only knowing that he had run away, took no special means to find him.

Soon after this Tsʻao feigned a headache and sent for Chi Pʻing as usual.

“The rebel is done for,” thought Chi Pʻing, and he made a secret package of poison which he took with him to the palace of the Minister. He found Tsʻao in bed. The patient bade the doctor prepare a potion for him.

“One draught will cure this disease,” said Pʻing. He bade them bring him a pipkin and he prepared the potion in the room. When it had simmered for some time and was half finished the poison was added, and soon after the physician presented the draught. Tsʻao Tsʻao, knowing it was poisoned, made excuses and would not swallow it.

“You should take it hot,” said the doctor. “Then there will be a gentle perspiration and you will be better.”

“You are a scholar,” said Tsʻao, sitting up, “and know what is the correct thing to do. When the master is ill and takes drugs, the attendant first tastes them; when a man is ill, his son first tastes the medicine. You are my confidant and should drink first. Then I will swallow the remainder.”

“Medicine is to treat disease; what is the use of any one’s tasting it?” said Pʻing. But he guessed now the conspiracy had been discovered so he dashed forward, seized Tsʻao Tsʻao by the ear and tried to pour the potion down his throat. Tsʻao pushed it away and it spilt. The bricks upon which it fell were split asunder. Before Tsʻao Tsʻao could speak his servants had already seized his assailant.

Said Tsʻao, “I am not ill: I only wanted to test you. So you really thought to poison me.”

He sent for a score of sturdy gaolers who carried off the prisoner to the inner apartments to be interrogated. Tsʻao took his seat in a pavilion and the hapless physician, tightly bound, was thrown to the ground before him. The prisoner maintained a bold front.

Tsʻao said “I thought you were a physician; how dared you try to poison me? Some one incited you to this crime and if you tell me I will pardon you.”

“You are a rebel; you flout your Prince and injure your betters. The whole world wishes to kill you. Do you think I am the only one?”

Tsʻao again and again pressed the prisoner to tell what he knew, but he only replied that no one had sent him; it was his own desire.

“And I have failed and I can but die,” added he.

Tsʻao angrily bade the gaolers give him a severe beating and they flogged him for two watches. His skin hung in tatters, the flesh was battered and the blood from his wounds ran down the steps. Then fearing he might die and his evidence be lost, Tsʻao Tsʻao bade them cease and remove him. They took him off to a quiet place where he might recover somewhat.

Having issued orders to prepare a banquet for next day Tsʻao invited all the conspirators thereto. Tung Chʻêng was the only one who excused himself, saying he was unwell. The others dared not stay away as they felt they would be suspected.

Tables were laid in the private apartments and after several courses the host said, “There is not much to amuse us to-day but I have a man to show you that will sober you.”

“Bring him in,” he said, turning to the gaolers, and the hapless Chi Pʻing appeared, securely fastened in a wooden collar. He was placed where all could see him.

“You officials do not know that this man is connected with a gang of evil-doers who desire to overturn the government and even injure me. However Heaven has defeated their plans, but I desire that you should hear his evidence.”

Then Tsʻao ordered the lictors to beat their prisoner. They did so till he lay unconscious, when they revived him by spraying water over his face. As soon as he came to he glared at his oppressor and ground his teeth.

“Tsʻao Tsʻao you rebel! what are you waiting for? Why not kill me?” cried Chi.

Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “The conspirators were only six at first; you made the seventh.”

Here the prisoner broke in with more abuse, while Wang Tzŭ-fu and the others exchanged glances looking as though they were sitting on a rug full of needles. Tsʻao continued his torture of the prisoner, beating him into unconsciousness and reviving him with cold water, the victim disdaining to ask mercy. Finally Tsʻao realised he would incriminate none of his accomplices and so he told the gaolers to remove him.

At the close of the banquet, when the guests were dispersing, four of them, the four conspirators, were invited to remain behind to supper. They were terrified so that their souls seemed no longer to inhabit their bodies, but there was no saying nay to the invitation. Presently Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “Still there is something I want to speak about so I have asked you to stay for a time longer. I do not know what you four have been arranging with Tung Chʻêng.”

“Nothing at all,” said Wang.

“And what is written on the white silk?” asked Tsʻao.

They all said they knew nothing about it.

Then Tsʻao ordered the runaway slave to be brought in. As soon as he came Wang said, “Well, what have you seen and where?”

The slave Chʻing-tʻung replied, “You six very carefully chose retired places to talk in and you secretly signed a white roll. You cannot deny that.”

Wang replied, “This miserable creature was punished for misbehaviour with one of Uncle Tung’s maids and now because of that he slanders his master. You must not listen to him.”

“Chi Pʻing tried to pour poison down my throat. Who told him to do that if it was not Tung?”

They all said they knew nothing about who it was.

“So far,” said Tsʻao, “matters are only beginning and there is a chance of forgiveness. But if the thing grows, it will be difficult not to take notice of it.”

The whole four vigorously denied that any plot existed. However Tsʻao called up his henchmen and the four men were put into confinement.

Next day Tsʻao Tsʻao with a large following went to the State Uncle’s Palace to ask after his health. Chʻêng came out to receive his visitor, who at once said, “Why did you not come last night?”

“I am not quite well yet and have to be very careful about going out,” replied Chʻêng.

“One might say you were suffering from national sorrow, eh?” said Tsʻao.

Chʻêng started. Tsʻao continued, “Have you heard of the Chi Pʻing affair?”

“No; what is it?”

Tsʻao smiled coldly. “How can it be you do not know?”

Tsʻao turned to his attendants and told them to bring in the prisoner while he went on talking to his host about his illness.

Tung Chʻêng was much put about and knew not what to do. Soon the gaolers led in the physician to the steps of the hall. At once the bound man began to rail at Tsʻao as rebel and traitor.

“This man,” said Tsʻao, pointing to Chi Pʻing, “has implicated Wang Tzŭ-fu and three others, all of whom are now under arrest. There is one more whom I have not caught yet.”

“Who sent you to poison me?” continued he, turning toward the physician. “Quick, tell me.”

“Heaven sent me to slay a traitor.”

Tsʻao angrily ordered them to beat him again, but there was no part of his body that could be beaten. Tung Chʻêng sat looking at him, his heart feeling as if transfixed with a dagger.

“You were born with ten fingers; how is it you have now only nine?”

Chi Pʻing replied, “I bit off one as a pledge when I swore to slay a traitor.”

Tsʻao told them to bring a knife and they lopped off his other nine fingers.

“Now they are all off; that will teach you to make pledges.”

“Still I have a mouth that can swallow a traitor and a tongue that can curse him,” said Chi Pʻing.

Tsʻao told them to cut out his tongue.

Chi Pʻing said, “Do not. I cannot endure any more punishment. I shall have to speak out. Loosen my bonds.”

“Loose them. There is no reason why not,” said Tsʻao.

They loosed him. As soon as he was free Chi Pʻing stood up, turned his face toward the Emperor’s Palace and bowed, saying, “It is Heaven’s will that thy servant has been unable to remove the evil,” then he turned and fell dead on the steps.

His body was quartered and exposed.

This happened in the first month of the fifth year of “Established Tranquillity” and a certain historian wrote a poem:—

There lived in Han a simple leech. No warrior, yet brave Enough to risk his very life His Emperor to save. Alas! he failed; but lasting fame Is his; he feared not death; He cursed the traitorous Minister Unto his latest breath.

Seeing his victim had passed beyond the realm of punishment Tsʻao had the slave led in.

“Do you know this man, Uncle?”

“Yes,” cried Tung Chʻêng. “So the runaway slave is here; he ought to be put to death.”

“He just told me of your treachery; he is my witness,” said Tsʻao. “Who would dare kill him?”

“How can you, the first Minister of State, heed the unsupported tale of an absconding slave?”

“But I have Wang and the others in prison,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. “And how can you rebut their evidence?”

He then called in the remainder of his followers and ordered them to search Tung Chʻêng’s bedroom. They did so and found the decree that had been given him in the girdle and the pledge signed by the conspirators.

“You mean rat!” cried Tsʻao, “you dared do this?”

He gave orders to arrest the whole household without exception. Then he returned to his Palace with the incriminating documents and called all his advisers together to discuss the dethronement of the Emperor and the setting up of a successor.

Many decrees, blood written, have issued, accomplishing nothing One inscribed pledge was fraught with mountains of sorrow.

The reader who wishes to know the fate of the Emperor must read the next chapter.

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Chapter XXIV

MURDER OF A KUEI-FEI: LIU PEI DEFEATED; FLIGHT TO YÜAN SHAO.

The last chapter closed with the discovery of the “girdle” decree and the assembly of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s advisers to consider the deposition of the Emperor Hsien. Chʻêng Yü spoke strongly against this saying, “Illustrious Sir, the means by which you impress the world and direct the government is the command of the House of Han. In these times of turmoil and rivalry among the nobles such a step as the deposition of the ruler will certainly bring about civil war and is much to be deprecated.”

After reflection Tsʻao Tsʻao abandoned the project. But Tung Chʻêng’s plot was not to go unpunished. All five of the conspirators with every member of their households, seven hundred at least, were taken and put to death at one or another of the gates of the city. The people wept at such merciless and wholesale slaughter.

A secret decree in a girdle sewn, In red blood written, the Emperor’s own, To the staunch and faithful Tung addressed, Who had saved him once when enemies pressed, And who, sore grieved at his Sovereign’s fate, Expressed in dreams his ceaseless hate, Carried misfortune and death in its train But glory to him who died in vain.

Another poet wrote of the sad fate of Wang Tzŭ-fu and his friends:—

Greatheartedly these signed the silken roll, And pledged themselves to save their King from shame. Alas! black death of them took heavy toll, To write their names upon the roll of fame.

But the slaughter of the conspirators and their whole households did not appease the wrath of the cruel Minister. The Emperor’s Kuei-fei was a sister of Tung Chʻêng and, sword in hand, Tsʻao Tsʻao went into the palace determined to slay her also. The Emperor cherished her tenderly, the more so as she was then in the fifth month of pregnancy. That day, as they often did, the Emperor, his Consort and the Kuei-fei were sitting in their private apartments secretly talking of the decree entrusted to Tung Chʻêng and asking each other why nothing seemed to have been done. The sudden appearance of the angry Minister, armed as he was, frightened them greatly.

“Does Your Majesty know that Tung Chʻêng conspired against me?” said he.

“Tung Cho died long ago,” replied the Emperor.

“Not Tung Cho; Tung Chʻêng,” roared Tsʻao.

The Emperor’s heart trembled but he gasped out, “Really I did not know.”

“So the cut finger and the blood written decree are all forgotten, eh?”

The Emperor was silent. Tsʻao bade his lictors seize the Kuei-fei. The Emperor interposed asking pity for her condition.

“If Heaven had not interposed and defeated the plot I should be a dead man. How could I leave this woman to work evil to me by and by?”

Said the Emperor, “Immure her in one of the palaces till her confinement. Do not harm her now.”

“Do you wish me to spare her offspring to avenge the mother?” said Tsʻao.

“I pray that my body may be spared mutilation and not put to shame,” said Tung Kuei-fei.

Tsʻao bade his men show her the white silk cord. The Emperor wept bitterly.

“Do not hate me in the realms below the Nine Springs,” said the Emperor to her.

His tears fell like rain. The Empress Fu also joined in the lament, but Tsʻao said, “You are behaving like a lot of children,” and told the lictors to take her away and strangle her in the courtyard.

In vain had the fair girl found favour in the sight of her lord, She died, and the fruit of her womb perished. Stern and calm her lord sat, powerless to save, Hiding his face while tears gushed forth.

When leaving the palace Tsʻao gave strict orders to the keepers saying “Any one of the Imperial relatives by marriage who enter the Palace will be put to death, and the guards will share the same punishment for lack of zeal.”

To make more sure he appointed three companies of Imperial Guards from his own men and appointed Tsʻao Hung to the command.

Then said Tsʻao to his counsellor, Chʻêng Yü, “The conspirators in the capital have been removed, it is true, but there are yet two others, Ma Tʻêng and Liu Pei. These must not be left.”

Chʻêng Yü replied, “Ma Tʻêng is strong in the west and would not be easily captured. He might be enticed to the capital by suave words and kindly praises, when he would be at your mercy. The other is at Hsüchou, strongly posted, and not to be lightly attacked. More than this, Yüan Shao is at Kuantu and his one desire is to attack you. Any attempt on the east will send Liu Pei to him for help and he will come here at once. Then what will you do?”

“You are at fault,” replied Tsʻao Tsʻao. “Liu Pei is a bold warrior and if we wait till he is fully fledged and winged, he will be more difficult to deal with. Shao may be strong but he is not to be feared. He is too undecided to act.”

As they were discussing these things Kuo Chia came in and Tsʻao Tsʻao suddenly referred the matter to him.

“If I attack Liu Pei, then Yüan Shao is to be feared: what do you think of it?”

“Shao by nature is dilatory and hesitating and his various advisers are jealous of each other. He is not to be feared. Liu Pei is getting together a new army and has not yet won their hearts. You could settle the east in one battle.”

This advice being in harmony with Tsʻao Tsʻao’s own opinion was pleasing to him and he prepared an army of twenty legions, to move in five divisions against Hsüchou.

Scouts took the news of these preparations to Hsüchou. Sun Chʻien first went to Hsiapʻi to tell Kuan Yü and then went to Hsiaopʻei to tell Yüan-tê. The two discussed the position and decided that help must be sought. So letters were written to Yüan Shao and given to Sun Chʻien, who went north, sought Tʻien Fêng and asked him to take him into the presence of Yüan Shao. He was introduced and presented his letters.

But Yüan Shao was of melancholy countenance and his dress was all awry. Tʻien Fêng said, “Why this disarray, my lord?”

“I am about to die,” replied Shao.

“But why do you utter such words?”

“I have five sons, but only the youngest is clever enough to understand my ideas. Now he is suffering from a disease which places his life in jeopardy. Think you that I have any heart to talk over any other affairs?”

“But,” said Tʻien Fêng, “the present combination of circumstances is unparalleled. Tsʻao Tsʻao is going to attack the east and Hsüchʻang will be empty. You can enter it with a few volunteers and so perform good service to the Emperor and save the people from sorrow. You have only to make up your mind to act.”

“I know the chance is excellent but I am worried and distressed and fear failure.”

“What are you distressed about?” said Fêng.

“Among my sons only this special one is remarkable and if anything happens I am done.”

Thus it became evident that no army would be despatched. In confirmation of this Yüan said to Sun Chʻien, “Go home and tell Yüan-tê the real reason and say that if anything untoward happen he can come over to me and I will find some means of helping him.”

Tʻien Fêng struck the ground with his staff. “It is such a pity!” cried he. “Just as an unique opportunity presents itself everything is spoiled by the illness of a child.”

He went out. Sun Chʻien saw that no help could be hoped for and set out to return. When he had arrived and related what he had seen Yüan-tê was quite alarmed and asked what could be done.

“Do not be troubled, brother,” said Chang Fei. “We can destroy Tsʻao Tsʻao merely by a sudden attack before his army shall have time to camp.”

“That would be according to the rules of war,” said Yüan-tê. “You have always been a bold warrior and that move against Liu Tai shows that you are becoming a strategist too.”

So he gave his younger brother command of enough men to carry out his plan.

Now while Tsʻao Tsʻao was in the midst of his march toward Hsiaopʻei a tornado sprang up and the howling gale tore down one of the banners and broke the staff. Tsʻao Tsʻao called together his advisers and leaders to ask them what this portended. Hsün Yü said, “From what direction was the wind at the time and what was the colour of the flag?”

“The wind was from the south-east and the flag was blue and red.”

“There is only one interpretation; there will be a raid on the camp to-night.”

Tsʻao nodded. At that moment Mao Chih entered and reported a similar incident. Tsʻao asked him the portent.

“My foolishness tells me that it means a night raid,” replied he.

Alas for the weakness of this descendant of kings! He placed his faith on a night raid, But the broken staff of a banner warned his enemy. Why should the ancient of days favour the wicked?

“This is evidently providence,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao and he began to make preparations. He told off nine bodies of men to take stations, leaving only one of them as if camped while he placed the others in ambush at eight points.

There was but little moonlight as Yüan-tê and Chang Fei marched their respective armies toward Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp. They had left Sun Chʻien to guard Hsiaopʻei. Chang Fei, since he was the originator of the stratagem, led the way with some light horse. As they drew near everything seemed very quiet and no one seemed moving. Then suddenly lights flashed out all about them and Chang Fei saw he had fallen into a trap. At once from all the eight directions came out the ambushed troops.

Chang Fei, dashing this way and rushing that, guarding his van and protecting his rear, vainly tried to clear himself. The soldiers he had, being originally Tsʻao Tsʻao’s men, soon gave in and returned to their old leader. The position became very desperate.

Chang Fei met Hsü Huang and engaged him but his rear was also attacked by Yo Chin. At length he cut his own way out and with a half score of his men started to return to Hsiaopʻei. The retreat was cut off. He thought to make for Hsüchou but felt certain that way was also barred. No other way seemed open and so he made for the Mangyang Hills.

As Yüan-tê drew near the camp he intended to attack he heard the din of battle. Then he was attacked in the rear and very soon had lost half his force. Next Hsiahou Tun came to attack. Thereupon Yüan-tê bolted. He was pursued by Hsiahou Yüan. Presently he looked about him and found he had less than half a hundred men following him. He set his face in the direction of Hsiaopʻei.

But before long he saw that place was in flames. So he changed his plan and went toward Hsiapʻi. However he found the whole countryside full of the enemy and he could not get through. So he bethought himself of the promise of Yüan Shao, that he would find refuge if things went agley, and determined to go to him till he could form some other plan. Wherefore he took the Chʻingchou road. But it also was blocked and he went into the open country and made his way north, not without being pursued and losing the remainder of his few followers.

He hastened toward Chʻingchou, travelling three hundred li a day. When he reached the city and summoned the gate the guards asked who he was and they told the governor, who was Yüan Shao’s eldest son, Tʻan. Yüan Tʻan was greatly surprised, but he opened the gates and went to meet Yüan-tê, whom he treated with due consideration.

Liu Pei told the story of his defeat and said he wished for harbour. He was given suitable quarters and hospitably entertained, while the young man wrote to inform his father. Then he provided an escort and sent Yüan-tê on his journey as far as the boundary of Pʻingyüan.

At Yehchün he was met by Yüan Shao in person, with a great escort. Yüan-tê made a humble obeisance which Yüan Shao hastened to return and said, “I have been very distressed that, on account of my son’s illness, I did not come to your aid. It is great joy to see you; the one desire of my life is satisfied.”

Yüan-tê replied, “The poor Liu Pei you see here has long desired to take refuge with you, but fate has hitherto denied him that privilege. Now, attacked by Tsʻao Tsʻao, my family lost, I remembered that you, General, would receive gentlemen from all sides. Wherefore I put my pride in my pocket. I trust that I may be found worthy and one day I will prove my gratitude.”

Yüan Shao received him with much pleasure and treated him exceedingly well. And they both lived in Chʻichou.

After the capture of Hsiaopʻei, Tsʻao Tsʻao pressed on toward Hsüchou, which, after a short defence and the flight of the defenders, was surrendered by Chʻên Têng. Tsʻao Tsʻao led his army into the city, restored order and pacified the people. Next he wanted to press on to Hsiapʻi, where Kuan Yü was holding out and keeping guard of Liu Pei’s family.

Hsün Yü said, “Kuan Yü is there, in charge of his brother’s family, and he will defend the city to the last. If you do not take it quickly Yüan Shao will get it.”

“I have always loved Kuan Yü, both for his warlike abilities and his intelligence. I would engage him to enter my service. I would rather send some one to talk him into surrender.”

“He will not do that,” said Kuo Chia; “his sense of right is too solid. I fear any one who went to speak with him would suffer.”

Then suddenly a man stepped out, saying, “I know him slightly and I will go.”

The speaker was Chang Liao. Hsün Yü looked at him and said, “Though you are an old acquaintance I do not think you are equal to talking over Kuan Yü. But I have a scheme that will so entangle him that he will have no alternative; he will have to enter the service of the Minister.”

They set the fatal spring beside the lordly tiger’s trail, They hide the hook with fragrant bait to catch the mighty whale.

How Kuan Yü was to be entrapped will be told in the next chapter.

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Chapter XXV

FROM TʻUSHAN CAMP KUAN YÜ MAKES THREE CONDITIONS: THE RESCUE AT PAIMA RELEASES TSʻAO TSʻAO.

The plan to seduce Kuan Yü from allegiance to his brothers was now announced by its proposer. Since Kuan was far braver than ordinary men he could only be overreached by superior cunning. So it was proposed to send some of his soldiers who had lately been of Liu Pei’s army into Hsiapʻi, where they would say they had come back. They would thus be allies on the inside. Then an attack and a feigned defeat would entice Kuan to a distance from the city. And his return road would be cut.

Tsʻao Tsʻao accepted the scheme and a few score of the men who had lately been in Hsüchou were sent to the city. The commander believed the story they told and trusted them. So they were suffered to remain.

After this part of the game had been played, Hsiahou Tun led forward five companies against the city. At first Kuan Yü would not accept the challenge, but provoked by men sent to hurl insults at him from the foot of the wall, his wrath got the better of him and he moved out with three companies. After the leaders had exchanged a half score bouts Tun made to run away. Kuan Yü pursued. Tun stopped and made a stand; then he fled again. Thus alternately fighting and retiring, he enticed Kuan Yü twenty li from the city. Then Kuan suddenly remembering the risk to the city drew off his men to return homeward.

Soon, at the sound of a signal bomb, out moved two bodies of men who barred his way. Kuan Yü hastened along a road that seemed to offer retreat, but from both sides his ambushed enemies shot their crossbows and the arrows flew like locusts on the wing. No way past was found and he turned back. Then both bodies joined in attacking him. He drove them off and got into the road to his own city, but soon Hsiahou Tun came up again and attacked fiercely as before. Evening came and still Kuan was hemmed in, so he went up on a low hill upon which he encamped for a rest.

He was surrounded on all sides by enemies. By and by, looking toward his city, he saw the glow of fire. It meant that the traitors, who had come in to surrender, had opened the gate and the enemy had gone in in force. They had made the fires in order to perplex and distress Kuan Yü and indeed the sight saddened him.

In the night he made efforts to escape from the hill, but every attempt was checked by flights of arrows. At daybreak he prepared for one more effort, but before moving he saw a horseman riding up at full speed and presently discerned Chang Liao. When within speaking distance, Kuan Yü said, “Are you come to fight me, Wên-yüan?”

“No,” replied Chang Liao. “I am come to see you because of our old friendship.”

Wherefore he threw aside his sword, dismounted and came forward saluting. And the two sat down.

“Then naturally you have come to talk me over,” said Kuan Yü.

“Not so;” said Chang Liao. “Sometime ago you saved me; can I help saving you?”

“Then you desire to help me.”

“Not exactly that,” replied Chang.

“Then what are you doing here if you have not come to help me?”

“Nothing is known of the fate of your elder brother, nor whether your younger brother is alive or dead. Last night your city fell into the hands of Tsʻao Tsʻao, but neither soldiers nor people were harmed and a special guard was set over the family of Yüan-tê lest they should be alarmed. I came to tell you how well they had been treated.”

“This is certainly talking me over,” said Kuan testily. “Though escape is impossible yet I am not perturbed. I look upon death as going home. You had better depart quickly and let me go down and begin the struggle again.”

“Surely you must know everybody will ridicule you when they hear of this,” said Chang, laughing loud.

“I shall die for loyalty and righteousness. Who will laugh?” said Kuan.

“You would be guilty of three faults if you died.”

“Tell me them,” said Kuan.

“First of all you and your elder brother pledged yourselves in the Peach Garden to die or to live together. Now your brother has been defeated and you want to fight to the death. Therefore, if your brother appear again by and by and wants your help, he will seek it in vain. Is this anything else than betraying the Peach Garden oath? Secondly you are in charge of your brother’s family and, if you fought and died, the two women would be left forlorn and without a protector. That would be a betrayal of trust. Thirdly your military skill stands out conspicuous and will go down in history. If you do not aid your brother in his noble attempt to maintain the Dynasty then all your labours and sufferings will have been spent to win a worthless reputation as a valiant fool. Where is the sense in that? I feel it my duty to point out these three faults to you.”

Kuan Yü remained silent and thought for some time. Then he said, “You have spoken of my three faults. What do you desire?”

“You are surrounded with the certainty of death if you do not yield. There is no advantage in a useless death. Wherefore your best course is to yield to Tsʻao Tsʻao till you hear news of Liu Pei and can rejoin him. Thus you will ensure the safety of the two ladies and also keep inviolate the Peach Garden compact. You will preserve a useful life. Brother, you must reflect on these things.”

“Brother, you have spoken of three advantages; now I have three conditions. If the Minister concede these then will I doff my armour. If he refuse, then I prefer to be guilty of the three faults and die.”

“Why should the Minister not concede them? He is most liberal and large minded. I pray you to let me hear your conditions.”

“The first is that as I and the Imperial Uncle have sworn to support the Hans I now submit to the Emperor and not to his minister Tsʻao. The second condition is that suitable provision be made for the two ladies under my care and that no one shall be allowed to approach them. The third is that I shall be allowed to set off to rejoin Uncle Liu so soon as I shall hear where he is, whether it be far or near. I require all these to be satisfied; failing a single one, I will not submit. Wherefore, Wên-yüan, I pray you hasten back and announce them.”

Chang Liao lost no time but rode back to Tsʻao Tsʻao. When he spoke of Kuan Yü’s intention to submit to the Hans but not to Tsʻao Tsʻao, the latter smiled, saying, “As I am the Minister of Han, so am I Han. I grant that.”

Chang then spoke of provision due to their rank and security from molestation for the ladies, to which Tsʻao replied, “I will give them twice the regular amount for an Uncle of the Emperor; as for securing them from molestation, that is simple. The ordinary domestic law is enough. Why should there be any doubt?”

Then said Chang, “Whenever he shall get news of the whereabouts of Yüan-tê, he must go to him.”

At this Tsʻao shook his head, saying, “Then I am merely to feed Yün-chʻang. What is the use of this? I cannot consent.”

Chang replied, “You must know of the difference in Yü Jang’s behaviour brought about by difference of treatment? Yüan-tê treats Yün-chʻang just kindly and liberally; you can surely engage his heart and support by being kinder and more liberal.”

“What you say is much to the point. I will grant the three conditions,” said Tsʻao.

Whereupon Chang Liao left to carry the news to Kuan Yü, still on the summit of the hill.

“Now I expect the army to withdraw so that I may enter the city to tell the two ladies what has been arranged. After that I submit at once.”

Chang Liao rode back once more with this request and the order was given for the army to retire ten li.

“Do not do this,” said Hsün Yü. “I fear treachery.”

“He will certainly not break faith,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. “He is too high principled.”

The army retired and Kuan Yü with his force re-entered the city, where he saw that the people were following their ordinary avocations in tranquillity. He came to the palace and went in to see the two ladies, who hastened to meet him. He bowed to them below the steps and said, “I apologise for having caused you to feel alarmed.”

“Where is the Uncle?” asked they.

“I know not whither he has gone.”

“What do you intend to do, brother-in-law?”

“I went out of the city to try a last battle. I was surrounded on a hill top and Chang Liao has urged me to yield. I proposed three conditions, all of which were conceded, and the enemy drew off to allow me to return to the city. Unless I have your decision, sisters-in-law, I scarcely dare to take any final step.”

They asked what were the conditions and were told. Then Kan Fu-jên said, “When Tsʻao’s army came in we took it to mean certain death. But it is scarcely credible that not a hair of our heads has been disturbed, not a soldier has dared enter our doors. You have accepted the conditions, brother-in-law, and there is no need to ask our consent. Our only fear is that he will not let you go by and by to search for the Uncle.”

“Sisters-in-law, you need not be anxious. I will see to that.”

“You must decide everything and need not ask us women-kind.”

Kuan Yü withdrew and then, with a small escort, went to his interview with Tsʻao Tsʻao. Tsʻao came to the outermost gate to welcome him and Kuan Yü dismounted and made obeisance. Tsʻao returned his salute with the greatest cordiality.

“The leader of a defeated army is grateful for the graciousness that has preserved his life,” said Kuan Yü.

“I have so long admired your loyalty and high principles that this happy meeting gratifies the desire of my whole life,” replied Tsʻao.

“As the Minister has granted the three requests which my friend petitioned for on my behalf there is now but little to discuss,” said Kuan.

“As I have spoken, so be it; I could not break faith,” replied Tsʻao.

“Whenever I hear where Uncle Liu is I must certainly go to him, even if through fire and water. It may be that there there will be no opportunity of taking leave. I trust you will understand the reason.”

“If Liu Pei should prove to be alive you must certainly be allowed to go to him. But I fear that in the confusion he may have lost his life. You may set your mind at rest and let me make enquiries.”

Kuan Yü thanked him. Then a banquet was prepared in his honour. Next day the army started on its homeward march.

For the journey to the capital a carriage was prepared for the two ladies and Kuan Yü was its guard. On the road they rested at a certain post station and Tsʻao Tsʻao, anxious to compromise Kuan by beguiling him into forgetfulness of his duty, assigned him to the same apartment as his sisters-in-law. Kuan stood the whole night before the door with a lighted candle in his hand. Not once did he yield to fatigue. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s respect for him could not but increase.

At the capital the Minister assigned a dignified residence to Kuan Yü, which he immediately divided into two enclosures, the inner one for the two ladies and the other for himself. He placed a guard of eighteen of his veterans over the women’s quarters.

Kuan Yü was presented to the Emperor Hsien who conferred upon him the rank of General. Soon after Tsʻao made a great banquet, inviting all his advisers and fighting men, solely in honour of Kuan Yü, who sat in the seat of honour. Beside this he received presents of silks and gold and silver vessels, all of which were sent into the ladies’ quarters for their use and keeping. In fact from the day of arrival in the capital Kuan Yü was treated with marked respect and distinction, banquets and feasts following each other in quick succession.

Tsʻao Tsʻao also presented him with ten most lovely serving girls; these also were sent within to wait upon his two sisters-in-law.

Every third day Kuan Yü went to the door of the women’s quarters to enquire after their welfare, and then they asked if any news of the wanderer had come. This ceremony closed with the words “Brother-in-law, you may retire when you wish.”

Tsʻao heard of this extremely correct behaviour and thought all the more of the man for it.

One day Tsʻao noticed that the robe Kuan Yü was wearing was old and frayed. Taking his measurements Tsʻao had a new one made of fine brocade and presented it to him. He took it and put it on under the old robe, so that the latter covered it.

“Why so very thrifty?” laughed Tsʻao.

“It is not thrift,” was his reply. “The old robe was a gift from my brother and I wear it because it reminds me of him. I could not allow the new gift to eclipse his old one.”

“How very high principled!” said Tsʻao Tsʻao sighing.

But he was not pleased with the man for all that he praised his conduct. One day when Kuan Yü was at home there came a messenger to say that the two women had thrown themselves on the ground and were weeping. They would not say why. Kuan Yü set his dress in order, went over and knelt by the door saying, “Why this grief, sisters-in-law?”

Kan Fu-jên replied, “In the night I dreamed that the Uncle had fallen into a pit. I woke up and told Mi Fu-jên and we think he must be dead. So we weep.”

“Dreams are not to be credited,” he replied. “You dreamed of him because you were thinking of him. Pray do not grieve.”

Just then Kuan Yü was invited to another banquet so he took leave of the ladies and went. Seeing Kuan looked sad and tearful his host asked the reason.

“My sisters-in-law have been weeping for my brother and I cannot help being sad in sympathy.”

Tsʻao smiled and tried to cheer up his guest. He plied him with wine so that he became quite intoxicated and sat stroking his beard and saying, “What a useless thing am I! I could do no service for my country and I have parted from my elder brother.”

“How many hairs in your beard?” suddenly asked his host.

“Some hundreds, perhaps. In the autumn a few fall out, but in the winter it is fullest. Then I use a black silk bag to keep the hairs from being broken,” replied Kuan.

Tsʻao had a bag made for him to protect his beard. Soon after when they were at Court the Emperor asked what was the bag he saw on Kuan Yü’s breast.

“My beard is rather long, Your Majesty,” said Kuan. “So the Minister gave me a bag to protect it.”

The Emperor bade him take off the bag and show his beard in all its fullness and it fell in rippling waves below his breast.

“Really a most beautiful beard!” said the Emperor.

This is why people call him “The Duke with the Beautiful Beard.”

Another time, after a banquet, Tsʻao was seeing his guest start from the gate of his palace when he noticed that his charger was very thin.

“Why is he so thin?” said Tsʻao.

“My worthless body is rather heavy and really too much for him. He is always out of condition.”

Tsʻao at once told his men to bring out a certain steed and before long he appeared. He was red, like glowing charcoal, and a handsome creature in every way.

“Do you recognise him?” asked Tsʻao.

“Why, it is no other than ‘Red Hare!’” cried Kuan Yü.

“Yes; it is he,” said Tsʻao, and he presented the horse, all fully caparisoned, to his guest. Kuan Yü bowed many times and thanked him again and again, till Tsʻao began to feel displeased and said, “I have given you many things, lovely handmaids and gold and silks and never won a bow of gratitude from you before. This horse seems to please you better than all the rest. Why do you think so poorly of the damsels and so much of the steed?”

“I know the horse, and his speed, and I am very lucky to get him. Now as soon as I find out where my brother is I can get to him in a single day,” said Kuan.

Tsʻao grumbled to himself and began to repent of his gift, but Kuan Yü took his leave and went away.

Fortune dealt a stunning blow, still he played his part; Partitioning his dwelling proved his purity of heart. The crafty Minister desired to win him to his side, But felt that failure was foredoomed however much he tried.

Said Tsʻao Tsʻao to Chang Liao, “I have treated him pretty liberally, but he still cherishes the desire to leave me. Do you know if it is really so?”

“I will try to find out,” was the reply.

So he took an early opportunity of seeing Kuan Yü and when the politenesses of the visit were over, Liao said, “I recommended you to the Minister and you have not lost much by that.”

“I am deeply affected by his kindness and bounty,” said Kuan Yü, “but, though my body is here, yet I am always thinking of my brother.”

“Your words do not express present conditions quite correctly. One who lives in the world without discrimination and consideration of his relations with others is not the most admirable type of man. Even Yüan-tê never treated you better than does the Minister. Why then do you maintain this desire to get away?”

“I know only too well that he has been most kind, but I have also received great kindness from Uncle Liu. Beside we have sworn to die together and I cannot remain here, but before I go I must try to render him some signal service to prove my gratitude.”

“Supposing Yüan-tê should have left the world, whither will you go?” said Chang.

“I will follow him to the realms below.”

There could no longer be the least doubt as to Kuan Yü’s intentions and Chang Liao told Tsʻao Tsʻao just how matters stood. Tsʻao sighed. “To serve one’s chief with unswerving fidelity is a proof of the highest principle of all,” said he.

Said Hsün Yü, “He spoke of performing some act of service before leaving. If he gets no chance of such a thing, he will not be able to go.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao agreed that this was so.

The story of Yüan-tê broke off at the point when he went to Yüan Shao for refuge. Here he was always sorrowful and, when asked the reason, said he did not know where his brothers were nor what had happened to his family since they fell into the hands of Tsʻao Tsʻao.

“Why should I not be sad when I have failed towards my country and my family?” said he.

“I have long wished to attack Hsütu,” said Yüan Shao. “Now it is autumn and just the time for an expedition, so let us discuss plans for the destruction of Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

Tʻien Fêng at once opposed this. “When Tsʻao Tsʻao attacked Hsüchou and Hsütu was undefended you let the chance slip by. Now that Hsüchou has been captured and the soldiers are flushed with victory it would be madness to attempt it. It is necessary to await another chance.”

“Let me think about it,” said Yüan Shao.

He asked advice from Yüan-tê, whether to attack or to hold on.

Yüan-tê replied, “Tsʻao is a rebel. I think you are failing in your duty if you do not attack him.”

“Your words are good,” said Shao.

He made up his mind to move. But again the adviser Tʻien intervened. Then Shao grew angry, saying, “You fellows who cultivate literature and despise war have made me miss a lot.”

Tʻien Fêng bowed his head and said, “Neglect your servant’s wise words and you will fail in the field.”

Yüan Shao was so angry that he wanted to put him to death. However Yüan-tê begged him off and he was only imprisoned.

Seeing the fate of his colleague another adviser, Chu Shou by name, assembled his clan and distributed among them all his possessions, saying, “I go with the army. If we succeed, then nothing can exceed our glory, but if we are defeated, the risk I run is great.”

His friends wept as they said farewell.

Yen Liang was appointed to the command of the advance guard, to go to attack Paima. Then Chu Shou first protested, “His mind is too narrow for such a post. He is brave but unequal to such a trust.”

“You are not the sort of man to measure my best generals,” replied Shao.

The army marched to Liyang and the Prefect sent an urgent call to Hsüchʻang for aid. Tsʻao moved his armies hastily. As soon as the news of battle got about Kuan Yü went to see the Minister and asked that he might go with the first body.

“I scarcely dare put you to such inconvenience, but presently, if need arises, I will call upon you.”

So Kuan Yü retired and fifteen legions marched out in three directions. On the road the letters from Liu Yen arrived praying for help and the first five legions went to Paima and took up a position supported by the hills. In the wide plains in front of them Yen Liang was encamped with ten legions of veterans.

Tsʻao Tsʻao was frightened at the force opposed to him and, returning to camp, spoke to Sung Hsien, who had once served under Lü Pu, saying, “You are one of Lü Pu’s famous veteran generals; can you give battle to this Yen?”

Sung Hsien agreed to try. He armed himself, mounted and rode to the front. Yen Liang was there on horseback his sword lying crossways. Seeing an opponent approaching he uttered a loud shout and galloped toward him. The two met, but after only three bouts, Sung Hsien fell under a mighty slash from the other’s sword.

“What a terrible leader!” said Tsʻao.

“He has slain my comrade, I want to go and avenge him,” then cried Wei Hsü.

Tsʻao bade him go and he rode out, spear in rest, and in front of the army railed at Yen Liang.

Yen Liang replied not a word, but their two steeds came together and at the first blow from Yen’s sword this second champion fell.

“Now, who again dares face him?” cried Tsʻao.

Hsü Huang took up the challenge and he went out. The combat endured a score of bouts and then Hsü fled back to his own side. The other captains were now greatly depressed at their failure. Yen Liang however had marched off his men leaving Tsʻao very sad at the loss of two captains in quick succession.

Then Chʻêng Yü went to see him saying, “I can produce a man the equal of Yen Liang.”

“Who?” cried Tsʻao.

“No other than Kuan Yü.”

“I am afraid that if he is given an opportunity to perform that return service he spoke of he will leave me.”

“If Liu Pei is still alive he is with Yüan Shao. If you get Kuan Yü to defeat Yüan Shao’s army Shao will look askance at Liu Pei and put him to death. Liu Pei gone, where can Kuan Yü go?”

This argument appealed to Tsʻao Tsʻao at once and he sent to request Kuan Yü to come.

Previous to obeying the call Kuan went to say farewell to his sisters-in-law.

“You may get news of the Uncle on the journey,” said they.

“Yes,” said Kuan and left them.

Armed with his famous Black Dragon, riding on the swift steed “Red Hare,” and having but a slender following, Kuan Yü was not long in arriving at Paima. He saw Tsʻao Tsʻao, who told him what had happened. Yen Liang was too valiant for any to face.

“Let me look at him,” said Kuan.

Then wine was served for his refreshment and while they were drinking, it was reported that Yen Liang once again offered a challenge. So Tsʻao and his guest and staff went to the summit of a hill whence the enemy could be seen. These two sat on the hill top and the captains stood about them. Tsʻao pointed out Yen Liang’s men arrayed on the plains below. The ensigns and banners waving fresh and bright amid the forest of spears and swords made a grand and imposing spectacle.

“See what fine fellows these northmen are,” said Tsʻao.

“I regard them as so many clay fowls and mud dogs,” said Kuan.

Tsʻao Tsʻao pointed out Yen Liang, saying, “There he is under that umbrella.”

He was wearing an embroidered robe and a silver breastplate and rode on horseback. His hand gripped his sword.

“His head looks as though it was stuck on a pole for sale,” said Kuan, just glancing over the army at his feet.

“You must not despise him,” said Tsʻao.

Kuan rose, saying, “I am a poor thing but I will go over and bring you his head if you like.”

“Joking is not allowed in this army,” interposed Chang Liao. “Be careful what you say.”

Kuan Yü quickly mounted, turned down his mighty weapon and galloped down the hill, his phoenix eyes rounded and his heavy eyebrows fiercely bristling. He dashed straight into the enemy’s array and the northmen opened like water before him, a wave spreading right and left. He made directly for the general.

Now Yen Liang sitting there in state saw a horseman rushing toward him and just as he began to ask who the rider of the red horse was, lo! the horseman was there. Taken utterly by surprise the leader could make no defence. Kuan’s arm rose and the mighty weapon fell. And with it fell Yen Liang.

Leaping from the saddle Kuan Yü cut off his victim’s head and hung it to his horse’s neck. Then he mounted and rode out, just as if there was no army there.

The northern men, panic stricken, made no fight. Tsʻao’s army attacked with vigour and slew great numbers of them. They captured many horses and weapons and much military gear. Kuan Yü rode quickly back up the hill and laid the proof of his prowess at the feet of the Minister.

“You are more than human, General!” cried Tsʻao.

“What have I done to talk about?” said Kuan. “My brother, Chang I-tê, did the same thing in an army of a hundred legions, and did it easily.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao marvelled at the statement and turning to those about him said, “If you meet this brother be careful.” And he bade them make a note on the overlap of their robes so that they should remember.

The beaten army returning northward met Yüan Shao on the road and told their story. “A red-faced warrior with a long beard, wielding a huge sword, broke into the army, cut off the general’s head and bore it off,” said they.

“Who was this?” asked Shao.

Chu Shou said, “It must have been Liu Yüan-tê’s brother; it could be nobody else.”

Yüan Shao was very angry and, pointing to Liu Pei, he said, “Your brother has slain my beloved leader. You are in the plot too. Why should I save you alive?”

He bade the lictors take him away and behead him.

Morning saw him guest on high, Evening, prisoner, doomed to die.

His actual fate will be told in the next chapter.

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Chapter XXVI

YÜAN SHAO IS DEFEATED AND LOSES A LEADER: KUAN YÜ ABANDONS RANK AND WEALTH.

As the last chapter closed Yüan-tê had been condemned to die. He spoke up, however, and said, “Pray hear one word, Illustrious Sir, before you decide. I have lost sight of my brother since my misfortune at Hsüchou and know not whether Yün-chʻang be dead or alive. There are many men in the world who resemble him. Is every red-faced man with a beard named Kuan? Should you not rather seek some evidence?”

Now Yüan Shao was impulsive and facile by nature and when Yüan-tê spoke thus, he suddenly turned upon Chu Shou, saying, “By wrongly regarding what you said I nearly killed an innocent man.”

Then he requested Yüan-tê once more to resume his seat in the tent and advise him how to avenge Yen Liang.

Soon from the lower end a voice was heard, saying, “Yen Liang and I were as brothers and can I allow any other to avenge his death?”

The speaker was a man of middle height with a face like a unicorn, a famous leader from Hopei, named Wên Chʻou.

Yüan Shao was pleased and said, “You are the only man who can do it. I will give you ten legions and you can cross the Yellow River, and quickly smite that rebel Tsʻao.”

“You cannot do it; he will fail,” said Chu Shou. “The proper course is to hold Yenching and detach a force to Kuantu. If you rashly cross the river and anything goes wrong not a soul will return.”

Yüan Shao said, “That is always the way with you fellows, always delaying and taking the dash out of the soldiers. You put off to-day and postpone to-morrow till success has become impossible. Do you forget that promptitude is what the soldier honours?”

The adviser withdrew sadly, saying, “Superiors do not curb their ambitions: inferiors must strive to render service. Eternal is the Yellow River, shall I cross it?”

Thereafter he feigned illness and went no more to the Council.

Yüan-tê said, “I have received much kindness at your hands and have been unable to show my gratitude. I would accompany General Wên that I may repay your bounty and also that I may hear news of my brother.”

Yüan Shao gladly consented and ordered Wên Chʻou to share his command with Yüan-tê. But the former objected saying that Yüan-tê had been so often defeated that it would augur ill for success this time. He proposed to give Yüan-tê command of the rear guard, and this being approved, three legions were told off under Liu Pei’s special command to follow the main body.

The prowess displayed by Kuan Yü in the bold attack on Yen Liang redoubled Tsʻao Tsʻao’s respect for him and he memorialised the throne that Kuan Yü receive the title of Marquis of Hanshoutʻing and a seal was cast for him.

Just then came the unexpected news that Yüan Shao’s army had moved toward the Yellow River and was in position above Yenching. Tsʻao first sent to transfer the inhabitants to Hsiho and then led out an army to oppose Yüan Shao. He issued an order to face about, thus placing the rear companies in front. The commissariat wagons were also placed in the van.

“What is this reversal for?” asked Lü Chʻien.

Tsʻao replied, “When the supplies are in rear they are liable to be plundered. So I have put them first.”

“But if you meet the enemy and they steal them?”

“Wait till the enemy appears; I shall know what to do.”

Lü Chʻien was much exercised at this new move of the Minister’s. In the meantime the supply train moved along the river toward Yenching. Presently the foremost troops raised a great shout and Tsʻao sent to see what it meant. The messenger came back to say Wên Chʻou’s army was approaching, and the supply train had been abandoned and was at the mercy of the enemy. Thereupon Tsʻao pointed to two mounds saying, “We will take refuge here for the present.”

All those near him hastened to the mounds. There Tsʻao ordered them all to loosen their dress, lay aside their breastplates and rest a time. The horsemen turned their steeds loose.

Wên Chʻou’s men approached under cover. As they drew near one after another the officers told Tsʻao saying, “The rebels are near: we ought to catch the horses and go back to Paima.”

But the adviser, Hsün Yu, checked them saying, “These are a bait for the enemy: why retire?”

Tsʻao glanced across at him and said, “He understands; do not say anything.”

Now having got possession of the supply carts the enemy next came to seize the horses. By this time they had all broken ranks and were scattered, each man going his own way. Then suddenly Tsʻao gave the order to go down from the mounds and smite them.

The surprise was complete. Wên Chʻou’s army was in confusion and Tsʻao’s men surrounded them. Wên Chʻou made a stand, but those about him trampled each other down and he could do nothing but flee. And he fled.

Then standing on the top of a mound Tsʻao pointed to the flying leader calling out, “There is one of the most famous captains of the north; who can capture him?”

Chang Liao and Hsü Huang both mounted and dashed after him, crying, “Wên Chʻou, do not run away!”

Looking round, the fugitive saw two pursuers and then he set aside his spear, took his bow and adjusted an arrow, which he shot at Chang Liao.

“Cease shooting, you rebel!” shouted Hsü Huang. Chang Liao ducked his head and the shaft went harmlessly by, save that it carried away the tassel of his cap. He only pressed harder in pursuit. The next arrow however struck his horse in the head and the animal stumbled and fell, throwing his rider to the earth.

Then Wên Chʻou turned to come back. Hsü Huang, whirling his battle axe, stood in his way to stop him. But he saw behind Wên several more horsemen coming to help him and as they would have been too many for him he fled. Wên pursued along the river bank. Suddenly he saw coming toward him with banners fluttering in the breeze, a small party of horse, and the leader carried a great sword.

“Stop!” cried Yün-chʻang, for it was he, and he attacked at once. At the third bout Wên Chʻou’s heart failed him and he wheeled and fled, following the windings of the river. But Kuan Yü’s steed was fast and soon caught up. One blow, and the hapless Wên Chʻou fell.

When Tsʻao Tsʻao saw from the mound that the leader of the enemy had fallen, he gave the signal for a general onset and many of the northmen were driven into the river. And the carts with supplies and all the horses were quickly recovered.

Now Kuan Yü, at the head of a few horsemen, was thrusting here and striking there at the moment when Yüan-tê, with the three reserve legions, appeared on the battle field. At once they told him that the red-faced, long-bearded warrior was there and had slain Wên Chʻou. He hastily pressed forward to try to get a look at the warrior. He saw across the river a large body of horse and the banners bore the words “Kuan Yün-chʻang, Marquis of Hanshoutʻing.”

“Then it is my brother and he is really with Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said Yüan-tê, secretly thanking God that he was safe.

He made an attempt to wait about till he could call to Kuan Yü, but a great mass of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s soldiers came rushing down and he was forced to retire.

Yüan Shao, bringing reinforcements, reached Kuantu and built a stockade. Two advisers went in to see him and said, “Again that fellow Kuan has been in the battle; he killed Wên Chʻou. Liu Pei pretends ignorance of him.”

Their master was angry and railed at Pei. “The long-eared rebel! How dare he do such a thing?”

Soon Yüan-tê appeared; again Shao ordered him out to instant execution.

“What crime have I committed?” asked Yüan-tê.

“You sent your brother to slay one of my generals. Is that no crime?”

“Pray let me explain before I die. Tsʻao hated me and has always done so. Now he has found out where I am and, fearing that I may help you, has got my brother to destroy your two generals, feeling sure that when you heard of it you would be angry and put me to death. You cannot fail to see this.”

“What he says is sense,” said Shao, “and you two nearly brought on me the reproach of injuring the good.”

He ordered his attendants to retire and asked Yüan-tê to come and sit by him. Yüan-tê came saying, “I am deeply thankful, Illustrious Sir, for your great kindness, for which I can never be sufficiently grateful. Now I desire to send some confidential messenger with a secret letter to my brother to tell him where I am, and I am sure he will come without a moment’s delay. He will help you to destroy Tsʻao Tsʻao to make up for having destroyed your two officers. Do you approve of this?”

“If I got Yün-chʻang he would be ten times better than the two men I have lost,” replied Shao.

So Yüan-tê prepared a letter. But there was no one to take it. Yüan Shao ordered the army to withdraw to Wu-yang, where they made a large camp. For some time nothing was done.

Then Tsʻao Tsʻao sent Hsiahou Tun to defend the strategical point at Kuantu while he led the bulk of the army back to the capital. There he gave many banquets in honour of the services of Kuan Yü and then he told Lü Chʻien that putting the supplies in the front of the army had been meant as a bait to draw the enemy to destruction. “Only Hsün Yu understood that,” said he in conclusion.

Every one present praised his ingenuity. Even while the banquet was proceeding there arrived news of a rising of Yellow Turban rebels at Junan. They were very strong and Tsʻao Hung had been defeated in several engagements. Now he begged for help.

Kuan Yü, hearing this said, “I should like to have the opportunity of performing some service by destroying these rebels.”

“You have already rendered noble services for which you have not been properly requited. I could hardly trouble you again,” said Tsʻao.

“I have been idle too long; I shall get ill,” said Kuan Yü.

Tsʻao encouraged him to go and gave him five legions with Yü Chin and Yo Chin as captains under him. They were to leave soon.

Then Hsün Yü said privily to his master, “He always cherishes the idea of returning to Liu Pei. He will leave you if he hears any news. Do not let him go on this expedition.”

“If he does well this time I will not let him go into battle again,” said Tsʻao.

In due time the force led by Kuan Yü drew near the rebels and made their camp. One night, just outside his camp, two spies were caught and taken in to Kuan who in one of them recognised Sun Chʻien. The attendants being dismissed Kuan Yü questioned him.

“After we lost sight of each other I have heard not a word of you; what are you doing here?”

“After I escaped I drifted hither and thither till I had the good fortune to reach Junan and Liu Pʻi took me in. But why are you with Tsʻao Tsʻao, General? And where are your sisters-in-law? Are they well?”

Kuan Yü told him all that had happened.

“I have heard lately that Liu Pei is with Yüan Shao. I would have liked to go and join him, but I have not found a convenient opportunity. Now the two men I am with have taken the side of Yüan Shao against Tsʻao. By good luck you were coming here so I got command of a small party of scouts to be able to see you and tell you. Presently our two leaders will pretend to be defeated and you, and the two ladies, can go over to Yüan Shao. And you will see your brother.”

“Since he is there I certainly must go at once to see him. But it is a misfortune that I have slain two of Yüan Shao’s generals. I fear things are not in my favour,” said Kuan.

“Let me go first and see how the land lies; I will come back and tell you.”

“I would risk a myriad deaths to see my brother,” said Kuan Yü. “But I must go to say farewell to Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

Sun Chʻien was sent away that night and next day Kuan Yü led out his men to offer battle. Kung Tu, in armour, went out to the front of the line of battle and Kuan Yü said, “You people, why have you risen against the government?”

“Why do you blame us when you have turned your back on your own lord?” replied Kung Tu.

“How have I turned my back on my lord?”

“Liu Yüan-tê is with Yüan Pên-chʻu and you are with Tsʻao Tsʻao; what is that?”

Kuan Yü could not reply, but he whirled round his sword and rode forward. Tu fled and Kuan Yü followed. Tu turned and said to Kuan Yü, “I cannot forget my old chief’s kindness. Now attack as soon as you can and I will give up the defences.”

Kuan Yü understood and urged on his men. The leaders of the rebels pretended they were worsted and they all scattered. So the city was taken. Having pacified the people Kuan Yü quickly led his army back to the capital, where he was met by Tsʻao, congratulated on his success and feasted.

When this was all over Kuan Yü went to the dwelling of his sisters-in-law to pay his respects at their gate.

“Have you been able to get any news of Uncle Liu in your two expeditions?” asked the Lady Kan.

“None,” replied Kuan Yü.

As he retired from the door he heard sounds of bitter weeping within.

“Alas he is dead,” said they. “Our brother-in-law thinks we shall be greatly distressed and hides the truth from us.”

One of the old soldiers, who acted as guard, hearing the sounds of perpetual grief, took pity on them and said, “Do not weep, ladies; your lord is with Yüan Shao in Hopei.”

“How do you know that?” said they.

“I went out with General Kuan and one of the soldiers told me.”

The two ladies summoned Kuan Yü and reproached him saying, “Uncle Liu never betrayed you and yet you remain here enjoying the bounty of Tsʻao Tsʻao and forgetting the old times. And you tell us falsehoods.”

Kuan Yü bowed his head. “My brother really is in Hopei, but I dared not tell you, lest it should become known. Something must be done but done carefully and it needs time.”

“Brother-in-law, you should hasten,” said the Lady Kan.

Kuan Yü withdrew feeling that he must evolve some scheme of departure without further loss of time. It caused him much uneasiness.

Yü Chin, having found out that Liu Pei was in the north, told Tsʻao Tsʻao, who at once sent Chang Liao to find out Kuan Yü’s intentions. Chang Liao entered jauntily and congratulated Kuan, saying, “They tell me you obtained news of your brother in the battlefield; I felicitate you.”

“My lord was there indeed but I met him not. I see nothing to be glad about.”

“Is there any difference between the relationship of you two and that of any other two brothers?”

Kuan replied, “You and I stand in the relationship of friends: Yüan-tê and I are friends and brothers beside, and prince and minister in addition to both. Our relationship cannot be discussed in usual terms.”

“Well, now that you know where your brother is, are you going to him?”

“How can I go back on what I said before? I am sure you will explain fully to the Minister.”

Chang Liao went back and told his master who said, “I must find a way to keep him here.”

While Kuan Yü was pondering over his difficulties they told him that a friend had come to enquire for him. The visitor was introduced but Kuan did not recognise him.

“Who are you?” asked Kuan.

“I am Chʻên Chên of Nanyang, in the service of Yüan Shao.”

In great perturbation Kuan Yü sent away the attendants and, they being gone, said, “There is some special reason for your visit.”

For reply the newcomer drew out a letter and handed it to his host, who recognised that it was from his brother Yüan-tê.

“I, the writer, and you, Sir, pledged ourselves in the Peach Garden to die together. Why then are we apart and yet alive, our kindly feelings destroyed, our sense of right outraged? Surely you desire to obtain fame and acquire riches and honour by offering my head as a crowning act of merit. More might be said but I await your commands with great anxiety.”

Kuan Yü finished the letter with a bitter cry. “I always wanted to find my brother, but I did not know where he was. How can he think such evil of me?” said he.

“Yüan-tê looks for you very eagerly, and if you are still bound by the old pledge you should go quickly,” said the messenger.

“Any one born into the world without the one essential virtue of sincerity is no true man. I came here openly and can go in no other way. Now will I write a letter which I will ask you to bear to my brother, that as soon as I can take leave of Tsʻao Tsʻao I will bring the ladies and come to him.”

“But what if Tsʻao Tsʻao refuse to let you go?” said Chʻên Chên.

“Then would I rather die; I will not remain here.”

“Then, Sir, quickly write your letter and relieve your brother from his anxiety.”

So Kuan Yü wrote like this: “I, the humble one, know full well that a man of principle does not betray and a man of loyalty despises death. I have been a student in my youth and know somewhat of the proprieties. I sigh and weep at the memory of the fraternal affection that made Yang Chio-ai and Tso Po-tʻao die rather than separate. I was in charge of Hsiapʻi but the place lacked provision and there was no help. I would have fought to the death but there was on my shoulders the responsibility for my sisters-in-law. Wherefore I had to take care of my body lest I betrayed my trust. And so I made a prisoner of myself, hoping to find a way of release. I heard of you lately in Junan. I must, however, bid farewell to Tsʻao Tsʻao and bring the ladies with me when I come. May I perish, victim to the superhuman powers, if I have harboured any traitorous thought. Pencil and paper are poor substitutes for what I would say, but I look to see you soon.”

The visitor left with this missive and Kuan Yü went to tell the women. Then he proceeded to the Minister’s palace to say farewell. But Tsʻao knew what he was coming for and he found at the gate the board intimating that no one could be received. So he had to return. However, he bade his own few soldiers prepare to start at any moment. He also gave orders that everything received from Tsʻao was to be left in the quarters: nothing was to be taken.

Next day he again proceeded to the palace to say farewell to his patron, but again found the board hanging there to show there was no admission. So it was several times; he could never enter. Then he went to see Chang Liao, but he was indisposed.

“This means he will not let me go,” thought Kuan Yü. “But I am going and I shall hesitate no longer.”

So he wrote this letter:—“As a young man I entered the service of the Imperial Uncle, and pledged myself to share his fortunes. Heaven and Earth witnessed this oath. When I lost the city I made three requests which you granted. Now I hear my brother is with Yüan Shao and I, remembering our pledge, cannot but go to him. Though your bounty is great I forget not the bond of the past, wherefore I write this letter of farewell trusting that when you have read it you will be content for me to postpone to another season the proof of my gratitude.”

He sealed and sent it to the Palace. Then he deposited in the treasury of his dwelling all the gold and silver he had received, suspended his seal of marquis in the reception hall and left, taking his sisters-in-law with him in a carriage. He rode “Red Hare” and carried Black Dragon in his hand. With a small escort of men, those formerly under his command, he left the city by the north gate.

The wardens would have stopped him but he frightened them with a fierce shout. Having got out he told the escort to go in front with the carriage while he would remain behind to guard against pursuit. So they pushed the carriage toward the high road.

In the city Kuan Yü’s letter reached the Minister while he was consulting about what to do. He read it and exclaimed, “So he has left!”

Then the warden of the gate came to report that Kuan Yü had forced his way out, and was gone with a carriage, a horse and a score of guards. Next came the servants from his house to report that he had left, taking nothing of the treasure, nor any one of the waiting maids. Everything was left in the house. Even his seal was there. His only escort were the few men of his original force.

Suddenly from the assembly of men rose a voice saying, “With three companies of mailed horse I will bring him back alive.”

Their eyes turned to the speaker, who was General Tsʻai Yang.

On the dragon’s cave he turns his back, But numberless wolves infest his track.

What came of this offer to pursue will be seen in the next chapter.

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Chapter XXVII

“BEAUTIFUL BEARD” RIDES ON A SOLITARY JOURNEY: AND SLAYS SIX MEN AT FIVE PASSES.

Now of all the captains in Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army, the only one friendly toward Kuan Yü, with the exception of Chang Liao, was Hsü Huang. The others treated him with respect, except Tsʻai Yang who was decidedly inimical. So this Tsʻai was ready to pursue and capture him as soon as he heard of his departure. But Tsʻao accepted his going as natural. “He does not forget his old leader and he was perfectly open in all his actions. He is a gentleman and you would do well to follow his example.”

So he bade the would-be pursuer begone and say no more about pursuit.

“You were exceedingly good to Kuan Yü,” said Chʻêng Yü, “but he went off very rudely. He certainly left a screed behind with his reasons, but he affronted you and that is no light matter. Now to let him join Yüan Shao is to add wings to a tiger. You had better catch him and put him to death so as to guard against future evil.”

Tsʻao replied, “But he had my promise and can I break my word? Each has his master. Do not pursue.” But he said to Chang Liao, “He has rejected all I gave him, so bribes were powerless with him in whatever shape. I have the greatest respect for such as he. He has not yet gone far and I will try to strengthen his attachment to me and make one appeal to sentiment. Ride after him and beg him to stop till I can come up and bid farewell and offer him a sum of money for his expenses and a fighting robe, that he may remember me kindly in after days.”

So Chang rode out quite alone; Tsʻao followed him leisurely with an escort of a score or so.

Now the steed that Kuan Yü rode was “Red Hare” and he was very fast. No one could have come up with him but that there was the ladies’ carriage to escort and so “Red Hare” had to be held in and go slow. Suddenly Kuan Yü heard a shout behind him, a voice crying, “Go slowly, Yün-chʻang.”

He turned and made out the person to be Chang Liao. Ordering the pushers of the carriage to press on along the high road, he reined in his steed, held Black Dragon ready for a stroke and waited for Chang Liao to come up.

“Of course you have come to take me back, Wên-yüan?” said he.

“No; the Minister, seeing that you are going a long journey, wishes to see you on your way and told me to hasten forward and beg you to wait till he can come up. That is the only thing.”

“Seeing that he is coming along with mailed men I shall fight to the very last,” said Kuan Yü and he took up his position on a bridge where he waited the approach of the party, who advanced quickly. Four of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s captains followed close. Seeing Kuan Yü was ready to fight, Tsʻao ordered his escort to open out in two lines and then it was seen they carried no arms. This relieved his mind; for it proved to Kuan Yü they meant no attack.

“Why do you go in such haste, Yün-chʻang?” asked Tsʻao.

Kuan Yü inclined his head but did not dismount.

“I informed you in writing that since my lord was in Hopei I had to leave at once. I went to your palace again and again but was refused admittance. So I wrote a letter of farewell, sealed up the treasure, resigned my marquis seal and left everything for you. I hope you recall the promise you once made me.”

Tsʻao replied, “My desire is to keep my troth with all men; I cannot go back on my word. However, you may find the journey expensive and therefore I have here prepared a sum of money to help you.”

Then from horseback he held out a packet of gold.

“I have sufficient left from your former bounty; keep that for presents to your soldiers.”

“Why should you refuse this? It is but an insignificant return for great services.”

“My services have been all trifling, not worth mentioning.”

“Really, Yün-chʻang, you are the most high-principled of men. I am very sorry my luck is too poor to retain you at my side. Pray accept just this robe to show you I am not quite ungrateful,” said Tsʻao, and one of his captains, dismounting, held up a silken coat in both hands. Kuan Yü even still fearful of what might happen, would not dismount, but he reached down his sword and took the robe on its point. Then he threw it over his shoulders and turned to thank the giver saying, “I thank you, Sir Minister, for the robe and trust we shall meet again.”

So saying he went down from the bridge and bore away to the north.

“He is a very rude man,” said Hsü Chʻu, who was of the escort. “Why do you not take him prisoner?”

Tsʻao replied, “He was absolutely alone facing scores of us; he was justified in being suspicious. But my word has gone forth and he is not to be pursued.”

Tsʻao and his escort returned, the Minister very sad when he thought of the man who had gone.

But here we need say nothing more of Tsʻao’s return. Kuan Yü went down from the bridge and started in the wake of the carriage carrying the two ladies, which should have gone about thirty li while this interview had been going on. He could see no signs of it and rode hither and thither looking on all sides.

Presently he heard some one shouting from a hill, calling him by name to halt. He saw a youth wearing a yellow turban and dressed in a silk robe. He held a spear in his hand and was mounted on a horse from the neck of which dangled a bloody head. Behind him were a hundred or so men on foot and they advanced quickly.

“Who are you?” asked Kuan Yü.

The young man dropped his spear, dismounted and made a low bow. Kuan feared this was some ruse so he only checked his horse and gripped his sword the more firmly, saying, “Sir Swashbuckler, I desire you to tell me your name.”

“My family name is Liao and I am known as Liao Hua or Liao Yüan-chien. I belong to a Hsiangyang family. Since these troubled times began I have been an outlaw among the rivers and lakes and I and my comrades have lived by plunder. We are about five hundred in all. By chance my friend Tu Yüan came across two ladies in a carriage just now and, quite wrongly, he took them prisoners and brought them to the hold in the hills. I questioned the servants and so found out who they were and who was escorting them. So I wished them to be set free to pursue their journey. My friend opposed this and spoke so ill-mannerly that I killed him. And here is his head. I pray you to pardon me.”

“Where are the two ladies?”

“They are among the hills,” replied Liao.

“Bring them down here, at once,” said Kuan.

In a short time a party of the brigands pushed the carriage down the hill and the ladies sat there before him.

Then Kuan Yü dismounted, laid aside his sword and stood respectfully before them with his arms crossed.

“Sisters, have you been alarmed?” asked he.

They replied, “We should have suffered at the hands of Tu Yüan had it not been for Liao Hua.”

“How did Liao Hua come to save the ladies?” asked Kuan of those who stood by.

They said, “Tu carried off the ladies and proposed that he and Liao Hua should have one each as wife. But Liao Hua had found out they were of gentle birth and worthy, and was for treating them with respect. When Tu disagreed Liao slew him.”

Hearing this Kuan Yü bowed to Liao Hua and thanked him. Liao then wanted to join himself and his troop to Kuan Yü, but the latter, seeing he was a Yellow Turban, would have nothing to do with him. So he simply thanked him for his kindness to the ladies. Liao offered some presents but these were also declined.

So Liao Hua took his leave and presently disappeared in a valley among the hills. Kuan Yü told his sisters the story of his interview with Tsʻao and the gift of a robe and then he urged the carriage on its way. Towards dark they came to a farm where they would rest. The farmer, an old greybeard, came out to welcome the party and asked who they were. Kuan Yü described himself as the brother of Liu Pei, and said his name was Kuan.

“Surely you are no other than the slayer of Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou,” said the venerable host.

“That is so,” replied Kuan Yü.

“Come in,” said the old man, joyfully.

“My two sisters-in-law are in the carriage” said Kuan Yü, “will you let your women-folk go out to receive them?”

As Kuan Yü remained standing there the host asked him to be seated, but he would not sit while the women were present and remained standing in a respectful attitude till the old man’s wife had returned and ushered the ladies into the inner apartments. Then the old man set to the entertainment of his guest in the guest hall. Kuan Yü asked his name.

He replied, “I am called Hu Hua. In the days of the Emperor Huan I was an officer of the Court but I resigned and retired into private life. I have a son with the Prefect of Yungyang (in Szechuan) and if you should be going that way, General, I should like to send him a letter by you.”

Kuan Yü said he would take the letter. Next day, after an early meal, the ladies got into their carriage, the host handed his letter to Kuan Yü, and the little party once more took the road. They went toward Loyang.

Presently they approached a pass known as the Tungling Pass, guarded by one Kʻung Hsiu and half a company. When the soldiers saw a carriage being pushed toward the pass they ran to tell their commander, who came out to accost the travellers. Kuan Yü dismounted and returned the officer’s salute and the latter said, “Whither are you going?”

“I have left the Minister to go into Hopei to find my brother.”

“But Yüan Shao is my master’s rival. You have authority from him to go thither?”

“I left hurriedly and could not get it.”

“If you have no authority you must wait while I send to request orders.”

“To remain while you send and receive an answer will delay me greatly,” said Kuan.

“I must stand by my instructions; that is the only thing to do,” said Kʻung.

“Then you refuse to let me pass?”

“If you want to go through leave the family as a gage.”

At this Kuan Yü got very angry and made to cut at the officer on the spot, but he withdrew into the gate and beat the drums for an attack. Thereupon the soldiers armed themselves, mounted and came down to oppose the passage, crying, “Dare you go through, eh?”

The carriage was sent off to a safe distance and then Kuan Yü rode at full speed directly at the commander of the guard, who set his spear and came to meet him. The two steeds met and the men engaged, but at the first stroke of Black Dragon the commander of the gate fell to the earth dead. His men fled.

“Soldiers, do not flee!” cried Kuan Yü. “I killed him because I could do no otherwise. I have nothing against you, but I would ask you to tell the Minister how this thing came to pass, that he wished to kill me and so I slew him in self-defence.”

The men bowed before him and Kuan Yü, with the carriage, passed through the gates and they continued their way to Loyang. But one of the guards of the pass went quickly in advance and informed the Prefect of Loyang, Han Fu, of the slaughter of Kʻung Hsiu. Wherefore Han Fu assembled his officers to take counsel. Mêng Tʻan, one of his captains, said, “This Kuan Yü must be a fugitive or he would have a safe-conduct. Our only course is to stop him or we shall incur blame.”

“The man is fierce and brave. Remember the fate of Yen and Wên. It seems vain to oppose him by force and so we must think out some trap for him,” said Han Fu.

“I have a ruse ready,” said Mêng Tʻan. “I will close the gate with “deerhorns” (chevaux de frise) and I will go to fight with him. I will engage and then flee, and you can shoot him from an ambush along the road. If we can get him and his party and send them prisoners to the capital we ought to be well rewarded.”

This course was determined upon and soon they heard that Kuan Yü was approaching. Han Fu strung his bow and filled his quiver with arrows and with one company took up position along the pass. Then as the party approached Han Fu said, “Who is the traveller who comes?”

Kuan Yü bowed low and said, “He is a certain Kuan, Marquis of Hanshoutʻing, and he wishes to go through the pass.”

“Have you a letter from the Minister?”

“In the hurry of departure I did not get any.”

“My special orders from him are to hold this pass and make examination of all spies that may go to and fro. Any person without an authority must be a fugitive.”

Then Kuan Yü began to be angry, and he told them what had happened to Kʻung Hsiu. “Do you also seek death?” asked Kuan.

“Who will capture him for me?” cried Han Fu, and Mêng Tʻan offered himself. He rode out, whirling his double swords and made straight for Kuan Yü.

Kuan Yü sent back the carriage out of danger and then rode toward Mêng. They engaged, but very soon Mêng turned his steed and fled. Kuan Yü pursued. Mêng, intent only on leading his enemy toward the ambush, took no account of the speed of “Red Hare.” Very soon he was caught up and a stroke of the mighty sword cut him in two pieces. Then Kuan Yü stopped and turned back. The archers in the gate shot their hardest and though it was a long way off one of them lodged an arrow in his left arm. He pulled it out with his teeth but the blood streamed down as he rode toward the Prefect, Han Fu. The men scattered. Kuan Yü rode straight at his next victim. He raised his sword and made an oblique cut which sliced off the head and shoulder of his opponent.

Then he drove off the soldiers and returned to escort the carriage. He bound up his wound, and, fearing lest any one might take advantage of his weakness, he made no long halts on the road but hurried toward Ishui Pass.

The warden of this pass was Pien Hsi of Pingchou, a warrior whose weapon was a comet-hammer. He had been a Yellow Turban and had gone over to Tsʻao, who had given him this post. As soon as he heard of the coming of the redoubtable warrior he cudgelled his brains for a ruse to use against him. He decided upon an ambush. In a temple at the pass he placed two hundred “axe and sword” men. He reckoned on enticing Kuan to the temple for refreshment and when he let fall a cup as signal the hidden men would rush out.

All being thus arranged and ready, he went out to welcome Kuan Yü in friendly guise and he dismounted at his coming. Pien Hsi began very amiably.

“Your name, General, makes the very earth tremble and every one looks up to you. This return to the Imperial Uncle proves you to be noble and true.”

Kuan Yü in reply told him the story of the men he had slain. Hsi replied, “You slew them; that is well. When I see the Minister I will explain to him the inner reasons for these acts.”

Kuan Yü thought he had found a friend and so mounted and rode through the pass. When he came to the temple a number of priests came out to meet him with clanging bells.

This temple, that of a Guardian of the State, had a courtyard in which the Emperor Ming had burned incense. In the temple were thirty priests and among these there happened to be one who came from the same village as Kuan Yü. His religious name was Pʻu-ching. Hearing who the visitor was, he came forward to speak with him.

“General,” said he, “it is many a long year since you left Putung.”

“Yes,” said Kuan Yü, “nearly twenty years.”

“Do you recognise this poor priest?”

“I left the village many years ago; I do not recognise you.”

“My house and yours were only separated by a rivulet,” said the priest.

Now Pien Hsi, seeing the priest holding forth about village matters, thought he would blab about the ambush, so he bade him be silent.

“I want to invite the General to a feast. You priest fellows seem to have a lot to say,” said Pien.

“Not too much,” said Kuan Yü. “Naturally when fellow villagers meet they talk of old times.”

Pʻu-ching invited the visitor into the guest room to take tea, but Kuan Yü said, “The two ladies are out there in the carriage; they ought to have some first.”

So the priest bade them take some tea to the ladies and then he led Kuan Yü within, at the same time lifting the priest knife which he wore at his side and looking meaningly at Kuan Yü. The latter understood and told his people to bring along his weapon and keep close at his side.

When Pien Hsi invited Kuan Yü to go into the Hall of the Law for some refreshment, Kuan Yü turned to him, saying, “Is this invitation with good intention or evil?”

His host was so taken aback that he could make no reply, and then Kuan Yü saw that many armed men were concealed behind the arras. Then he shouted loudly at Pien Hsi, saying, “What means this? I thought you an honourable man. How dare you?”

The traitor saw that his plot had failed and called to the assassins to come out and fall to, but Kuan Yü had a short sword in his hand and slashed at any one who came near. So they scattered. Their commander ran down the hall and tried to escape among the side buildings, but Kuan Yü threw aside the short sword, took up Black Dragon and went after Pien Hsi. The latter was trying to get into position to throw his comet-hammer, but Kuan Yü cut the cord and the weapon was useless. He followed Pien in and out and soon caught up with him. Then with one blow he cut him in halves.

The fight over he sought the two ladies, who were surrounded by soldiers. These fled at sight of the terrible warrior. Seeking out the priest, his fellow countryman, he thanked him for the timely warning which had saved him from death.

“I cannot remain here after this,” said Pʻu-ching. “I shall pack up my few garments and my alms bowl and take to the road, vague in my wanderings as the clouds in the sky. But we shall meet again and till then take care of yourself.”

Then Kuan Yü took leave and retook the road to Yungyang. The Prefect of this city was named Wang Chih, and he was related to Han Fu by marriage. Hearing of the death of his relative he set about a scheme to kill Kuan Yü secretly. He sent men to guard the city gates and, when he heard that Kuan Yü approached, he went himself and received him with a smiling countenance and bade him welcome. Kuan Yü told him the object of his journey.

“You, General, have been able to get some exercise on the road, but the ladies in their carriage must be cramped and fatigued. I pray you to come into the city and all of you remain the night in the official travellers’ quarters. To-morrow you can set forth again.”

The offer was tempting and his host seemed in earnest so the two ladies went into the city, where they found everything very comfortably prepared for them. And, though Kuan Yü declined the Prefect’s invitations to a banquet, refreshments for the travellers were sent to their lodgings. Kuan Yü was fatigued from the trials of the journey and as soon as the evening meal was over he bade the ladies retire to rest while he sat down in the main room, quite alone, for he bade all to get repose while they could. His horse was given a good feed for once. He sat with his armour loosened in order to be more at ease.

Now the Prefect had a secretary named Hu Pan to whom he had entrusted the arrangements for the destruction of his guest. Said he, “This Kuan is a traitor to the Minister and a fugitive. On the road he has murdered several Commanders of Passes and is guilty of serious crimes. But he is too strong and valiant for any ordinary soldier to overcome. So this evening a whole company of men will surround his lodging, each one armed with a torch, and we will burn him. They will start the fire about midnight. Every one of the party will perish. I will come with a force to stand by and assist if necessary.”

These orders received, Hu Pan passed them on to the men, who began secretly to prepare dry wood and other combustibles which they piled up at the gate of the rest-house. Hu Pan thought within him that he would like to know what manner of man was this Kuan Yü, whose fame had spread so far, so he determined to get a peep at him. He went to the rest-house and enquired where Kuan Yü was.

“The General is the man in the main hall reading,” was the reply.

Hu Pan noiselessly made his way to the outside of the room and peeped in. He saw the famous warrior stroking his beard with his left hand while he read by the light of a lamp placed on a low table. An involuntary exclamation of wonder escaped at the majesty of the figure.

“Really a god!” he sighed.

“Who is there?” suddenly asked the reader at the sound.

Hu Pan entered and said he was the Prefect’s secretary.

“Surely you are the son of Hu Hua, who lives outside Hsütu,” said Kuan.

“I am he,” replied Hu Pan.

Then Kuan Yü called up his followers and bade them look among the baggage for the letter, which they brought. Kuan Yü handed it to the secretary, who read it and then breathed long, saying, “I very nearly caused the death of a good man.”

Then he betrayed the whole plot. “This Wang is a wicked man, who wanted to kill you. At this moment you are surrounded and at the third watch they will set fire to this place. Now I will go and open the city gates while you hastily prepare for flight.”

Kuan Yü was greatly surprised, but he quickly buckled up his armour, got his steed ready, roused the two ladies and put them into their carriage. Then they left the rest-house and as they passed out they saw the soldiers all about them, each with a torch. The party hastened to the outskirts of the city and found the gate already open and they lost no time in getting clear of the city. Hu Pan returned to give orders to fire the rest house.

The fugitives pressed on but before long they saw lights coming up behind them and Wang Chih called out to them to stop. Kuan Yü reined in his horse and began to abuse him.

“Worthless fellow! What had you against me that you wished to burn me to death?”

Wang Chih whipped up his steed and set his spear, but Kuan Yü cut him through with the short sword he wore at his side and scattered his followers.

Then the carriage pushed on. Kuan Yü’s heart was filled with gratitude to Hu Pan. When they drew near Huachou some one told Liu Yen, who rode out to welcome him. Kuan Yü did not dismount but bowed from horseback, saying, “Have you been quite well since we parted?”

“Whither are you going, Sir?” replied Liu Yen.

“I have left the Minister and am on my way to find my brother.”

“Yüan-tê is with Yüan Shao, who is at enmity with the Minister. How can you be allowed to go to him?” asked Liu Yen.

“That matter was settled long ago.”

“The Yellow River ferry is an important point and is guarded by a lieutenant of Hsiahou Tun; he will not let you cross.”

“But suppose then you provide boats for me?”

“Though there are boats I dare not give them to you.”

“Well, formerly I slew Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou and saved you from a grave danger. Now you refuse me a ferry boat!”

“I am afraid Hsiahou will know of it and make it a fault against me.”

Kuan Yü perceived that no help was to be expected from this man so he pushed on and presently reached the ferry. There the commander of the guard, Chʻin Chʻi, came out to question him.

“I am one Kuan, Marquis of Hanshoutʻing.”

“Whither are you bound?”

“I go to Hopei to seek my brother, Liu Yüan-tê, and I respectfully ask you to grant me a passage over the river.”

“Where is the authority of the Minister?”

“I am not on a mission from the Minister so why should I have such an authority?”

“I have orders from my chief to guard the ferry and you will not cross; even if you grew wings you should not fly over.”

Kuan Yü’s choler arose. “Do you know that I have been the death of all those who have hitherto tried to stop me?” said he.

“You have only slain a few officers of no rank or reputation; but you dare not kill me.”

“Where would you stand beside Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou?” asked Kuan.

Then Chʻin Chʻi grew angry and he loosed his rein. Sword in hand he came at a gallop. The two met, but in the first encounter Chʻin Chʻi’s head was swept off by the terrible Black Dragon.

“He who opposed me is dead; you others need not be afraid,” cried Kuan Yü. “Be quick and prepare me a boat.”

The boat was soon at the landing and the two women stepped on board, followed by Kuan Yü. They crossed, and were then in the country of Yüan Shao. In the course of his journey to this point Kuan Yü had forced five passes and slain six captains.

His seal hung up, the treasury locked, his courtly mansion left, He journeyed toward his brother dear, too long from his side reft. The horse he rode was famed for speed as for endurance great, His good sword made a way for him and opened every gate. His loyalty and truth forth stand, a pattern unto all, His valour would frighten rushing streams and make high mountains fall. Alone he travelled lustily, ’twas death to meet his blade, He has been themed by myriads, his glory ne’er will fade.

“I did not willingly slay a single one of them,” mused Kuan Yü as he rode along. “There was no help for it. Nevertheless when Tsʻao hears of it he will regard me as ungrateful for his bounty.”

Before long he saw a rider on the road who soon hailed him and proved to be Sun Chʻien.

“I have never heard a word from you since we lost sight of each other at Junan; how have you fared?” said Kuan Yü.

“After your departure the city fell. I was sent to Yüan Shao to try to make peace with him and succeeded, so that he invited your brother to go to him and share in the deliberations for an attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao. But to my disgust the leaders of Yüan Shao’s army showed great jealousy of each other so that one got into gaol, another was degraded and others quarrelled. Then Yüan Shao vacillated and hesitated, so that your brother and I consulted how we might get away from them all. Now the Uncle is at Junan with Liu Pʻi and, thinking you could not know that and might suffer some harm if you unwillingly went to Yüan Shao, I have come to warn you. It is good fortune to find you like this. Now we can hasten to Junan and you will meet your brother.”

Kuan Yü took Sun Chʻien to make his bow to the ladies, who asked after his adventures and he told them of the risks Liu Pei had run from Yüan Shao’s sudden bursts of anger. Now, however, he was out of his way and safe at Junan where they would meet him.

They covered their faces and wept at the recital of his dangers. Then the party no longer travelled north but took the road toward Junan. Not long after a great cloud of dust was noticed behind them and they presently made out a squadron of horsemen. These were led by Hsiahou Tun, who shouted out to Kuan Yü to stop.

One by one the pass commanders stopped his progress and were slain, The river crossed, another army comes and he must fight again.

How finally Kuan Yü escaped death will appear in the succeeding chapter.

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Chapter XXVIII

TSʻAI YANG PUT TO DEATH, THE BROTHERS’ DOUBTS DISAPPEAR: MEETING AT KUCHʻENG, LORD AND LIEGE FORTIFY EACH OTHER.

Sun Chʻien had joined Kuan Yü in escorting the two ladies and they were on the road to Junan when Hsiahou Tun suddenly determined to pursue. So with a couple of hundred horse he set out. When he was seen approaching, Kuan Yü bade Sun Chʻien go ahead with the carriage while he remained to deal with the pursuers. When they were near enough Kuan Yü said, “In coming after me thus you do not reinforce the magnanimity of your master.”

Replied Hsiahou Tun, “The Minister has sent no definite instructions. You have caused the death of several people, among them one of my lieutenants, and so I have come to capture you. You have behaved most grossly. He will decide.”

Thereupon he dashed forward with his spear ready to thrust. But at that moment a rider came up behind him at full gallop crying, “You must not fight with Yün-chʻang.”

Kuan Yü stayed his steed at once and waited. The messenger came up, drew from his bosom an official letter and said to Hsiahou Tun, “The Minister loves General Kuan for his loyalty and honour, and fearing lest he might be stopped at the various passes, he sent me with this letter to show when necessary at any point on the road.”

“But this Kuan has slain several commanders of the passes; does the Minister know that?” said Tun.

The messenger said these things were unknown.

“Then,” said Tun, “I will arrest him and take him to the Minister, who may set him free or not as he wills.”

“Do you think I fear anything you can do?” said Kuan Yü getting wrathful.

And he rode forward. Tun, nothing loth, set his spear and prepared for battle. They met and had reached the tenth encounter when a second horseman came up at full speed, crying, “Generals, wait a little!”

Hsiahou Tun stayed his hand and asked the messenger, saying, “Am I to arrest him?”

“No,” replied the messenger. “Fearing lest he should have difficulties at the passes the Minister has sent me with a despatch to say he is to be released.”

“Did the Minister know that he had slain several men on the way?”

“He did not know.”

“Since he was ignorant of that I may not let him go,” and he gave the signal to his men to close in round Kuan Yü.

But Kuan Yü flourished his sword and made to attack them and a fight was again imminent, when a third rider appeared, who cried, “Yün-chʻang, give way and do not fight!”

The speaker was Chang Liao. Both combatants made no further move but awaited his arrival.

He said, “I bring the Minister’s order that since he has heard that Yün-chʻang has slain certain men on the way he fears that some will hinder his passage. Wherefore he has sent me to deliver his command at each gate that Kuan Yü is to be suffered to pass freely.”

Hsiahou Tun said, “Chʻin Chʻi was the son of Tsʻai Yang’s sister, and he was confided to my especial care. Now this Kuan has killed him and how can I refrain?”

“When I see his uncle I will explain. But now the main point is that you have the Minister’s orders to let Kuan Yü pass and you may not despise his wish.”

So the only thing for Hsiahou Tun to do was to retire; and he did.

“Whither are you going?” then said Chang Liao to Kuan Yü.

“I fear my brother is no longer with Yüan Shao and now I am going to find him wherever he is.”

“As you do not know where to go, why not return to the Minister?”

“Where is the sense of that?” said Kuan Yü with a smile. “But, Wên-yüan, you return, and try to arrange pardon for my faults.”

With this he saluted Chang Liao and took his leave. Chang Liao retired and joined Hsiahou Tun.

Kuan Yü quickly regained the carriage, and as they went along side by side he told Sun Chʻien what had happened. Several days later a heavy rain storm came on which soaked everything. Looking about for protection they noticed a farm under the shelter of a precipice and took their way thither. An old man came out to them, to whom they told their story. When they had finished, the old fellow said, “My name is Kuo Chʻang and I have lived here many years. I am very pleased to greet the man whom I have known so long by reputation.”

He quickly killed a sheep for their refreshment and brought out wine for the two men. The two ladies were entertained in the inner apartments. And while they refreshed themselves their baggage was put out to dry and their steeds were fed.

As the day closed in they saw several youths come along and their host said, “My son is come to pay his respects.”

“This is my stupid son,” said he, presenting a lad to Kuan Yü.

“What has he been doing?” asked Kuan.

“He has just come in from hunting.”

The young fellow went out. The old man continued, “All my family have been farmers or scholars. He is my only son and instead of following in the footsteps of his ancestors he cares for nothing but gadding about and hunting, unhappily.”

“Why unhappily?” said Kuan Yü. “In these days of disorder a good soldier can make a name for himself.”

“If he would only learn the military arts that would be something of a career, but he is nothing but a vagabond and does everything he should not. He is a grief to me.”

Kuan Yü sighed in sympathy. The old gentleman stayed till a late hour and when he took his leave his two guests began to prepare for rest.

Suddenly outside there arose a great hubbub, men shouting and horses neighing. Kuan Yü called to his people, but as no one answered he and his companion drew their swords and went into the stable yard. There they found their host’s son on the ground shouting to his followers to fight. Kuan Yü asked what it was all about and his men told him that the young fellow had tried to steal Red Hare, but had been badly kicked. They had heard shouting and had gone to see what it meant when the farm people had set on them.

Kuan Yü was very wrathful. “You mean thieves! Would you steal my horse?” cried he.

But before he could do anything his host came running out saying, “It was not with my consent that my son did this evil thing. I know he is very guilty and deserves death. But his mother loves him tenderly and I pray you to be generous and pardon him.”

“Really he is unworthy of his father,” said Kuan Yü. “What you told me shows he is a degenerate. For your sake I pardon him.”

Then he told his own people to keep a better lookout, sent the farm people about their business and, in company with Sun Chʻien, went away to rest.

Next morning both host and hostess were up betimes waiting to thank him for forgiving their son’s mad freak. “My currish son has insulted your tiger dignity, I know, and I am deeply affected by your kindness in not punishing him,” said the old man.

“Bring him here and I will talk to him,” said Kuan Yü.

“He went out before daylight with a lot of his fellow-rogues and I know not where he is.”

So Kuan Yü bade them farewell, got the ladies into their carriage and they moved out of the farmyard, the two warriors riding abreast as escort. They took the road toward the hills.

Before they had gone far they saw a large party of men, led by a couple of riders, pouring down one of the gullies. One of the riders wore a yellow turban and a battle robe. The other was Kuo Chʻang’s son. The wearer of the turban called out saying, “I am one of the captains of the Celestial Duke, Chang Chio. Whoever you may be, leave that horse you are riding for me. You may then go free.”

Kuan Yü greeted the speech with a hearty laugh.

“O you mad ignoramus! If you had ever been with Chang Chio as a bandit you would have learned to know Liu, Kuan and Chang, the three brothers.”

“I have heard of the ruddy long beard called Kuan but I have never seen him. Who may you be?”

Kuan Yü then laid aside his sword, stopped his horse and drew off the bag that covered his beard thus showing its magnificence.

The turban wearer immediately slipped out of the saddle, laid an angry hand on his companion and they both bowed low in front of Kuan Yü’s steed.

“Who are you?” asked Kuan Yü.

“I am Pʻei Yüan-shao. After the death of Chang Chio I was left forlorn and I got together a few others like myself and we took refuge in the forests. This morning early this fellow came to tell us that a guest at his father’s farm had a valuable horse and proposed to me to steal it. I did not think I should meet you, General.”

The wretched youth Kuo implored that his life might be spared and Kuan Yü pardoned him for his father’s sake. He covered his face and crept away.

“You did not recognise me; how then did you know my name?” asked Kuan Yü.

Pʻei replied, “Not far from here is a mountain called the Sleeping Bull, where lives a certain Chou Tsʻang, a very powerful man who came from the west. He has a stiff curly beard and looks very handsome. He also was a captain in the rebel army, who took to the forest when his leader perished. He has told me a lot about you but I have never had the happiness of seeing you.”

Said Kuan Yü, “Under the greenwood tree is no place for a hero’s foot. You had better abandon this depraved life and return to the path of virtue. Do not work out your own destruction.”

As they were talking a troop of horsemen appeared in the distance. They were the men of Chou Tsʻang, as Pʻei said, and Kuan Yü waited for them to approach. The leader was very dark complexioned, tall and armed with a spear. As soon as he drew near enough to see he exclaimed joyfully, “This is General Kuan.”

In a moment he had slipped out of the saddle and was on his knees by the roadside.

“Chou Tsʻang renders obeisance,” said he.

Said Kuan Yü, “O warrior, where have you known me?”

“I was one of the Yellow Turbans and I saw you then. My one regret was that I could not join you. Now that my good fortune has brought me here I hope you will not reject me. Let me be one of your foot soldiers to be always near you to carry your whip and run by your stirrup. I will cheerfully die for you.”

As he seemed thoroughly in earnest Kuan Yü said, “But if you follow me, what of your companions?”

“They may do as they please; follow me or go their ways.”

Thereupon they all shouted, “We will follow.”

Kuan Yü dismounted and went to ask the ladies what they thought of this. The Lady Kan replied, “Brother-in-law, you have travelled thus far alone and without fighting men; you have safely passed many dangers and never wanted their assistance. You refused the service of Liao Hua, why then suffer this crowd? But this is only a woman’s view and you must decide.”

“What you say, sister-in-law, is to the point.”

Therefore returning to Chou Tsʻang he said, “It is not that I am lacking in gratitude but my sisters-in-law do not care for a large following. Wherefore return to the mountains till I shall have found my brother when I will surely call you.”

Chou Tsʻang replied, “I am only a rough uncouth fellow, wasting his life as a brigand. Meeting you, General, is like seeing the full sun in the skies and I feel that I can never bear to miss you again. As it might be inconvenient for all my men to follow you I will bid my companion lead them away, but I will come and follow you on foot wherever you go.”

Kuan Yü again asked his sisters-in-law what they thought of this. Lady Kan said one or two made no difference and so Kuan Yü consented. But Pʻei Yüan-shao was not satisfied with this arrangement and said he wished also to follow.

Chou said, “If you do not stay with the band they will disperse and be lost. You must take command for the moment and let me accompany General Kuan. As soon as he has a fixed abode I will come to fetch you.”

Somewhat discontentedly Pʻei Yüan-shao accepted the situation and marched off, while his one-time colleague joined the train of Kuan Yü and they went toward Junan. They travelled quickly for some days and then they saw a city on a hill. From the natives they heard that the city was called Kuchʻêng and that a few months before a warrior had suddenly appeared, driven out the magistrates and taken possession. Then he had begun to recruit men, buy up horses and lay in stores. The warrior’s name was Chang Fei. Now he had a large force and no one in the neighbourhood dared face him.

“To think that I should find my brother like this!” said Kuan Yü, delighted. “I have had never a word of him, nor knew I where he was since Hsüchou fell.”

So he despatched Sun Chʻien into the city to tell its new commander to come out to meet him and provide for their sisters-in-law.

Now, after being separated from his brothers, Chang Fei had gone to the Mangyang Hills, where he had remained a month or so while he sent far and near for tidings of Yüan-tê. Then as he happened to pass Kuchʻêng he had sent in to borrow some grain, but had been refused. In revenge, he had driven away the magistrate and taken possession of the city. He found the place well suited to his needs at the moment.

As directed by Kuan Yü, Sun Chʻien entered the city and, after the usual ceremonies, told Chang Fei the news of both his brothers; that Yüan-tê had left Yüan Shao and gone to Junan and that Kuan Yü, with their sisters-in-law, was at his gates. Chang Fei listened without a word till he came to the request to go out to meet him. At that point he called for his armour and, when he had put it on, laid hold of his long spear, mounted and rode out with a large company at his back. Sun Chʻien was too astonished to ask what this meant and simply followed.

Kuan Yü was very glad when he saw his brother coming, put up his weapons and, with Chou Tsʻang at his back, rode toward him at full speed. But as he approached he saw all the signs of fierce anger on his brother’s face and he roared as he shook his spear, threatening his brother.

Kuan Yü was entirely taken aback and called out anxiously, “Brother, what does this mean? Is the Peach Garden Pledge quite forgotten?”

“What impudence is this that you come to see me since your disgraceful behaviour?” shouted Chang.

“What disgraceful behaviour has been mine?” said Kuan Yü.

“You have betrayed your brother, you have surrendered to Tsʻao Tsʻao and you have received title and office at his hands. And now you are come to exploit me. One of us shall die.”

Kuan said, “Really you do not understand and it is hard for me to explain. But ask the two ladies here, worthy brother, and they will tell you.”

At this the ladies lifted the curtain of the carriage and called out, “Brother, why is this?”

Fei said, “Wait a while, sisters, and see me slay this traitor. After that I will conduct you into the city.”

Said the Lady Kan, “Since he knew not where you were our brother took shelter with Tsʻao Tsʻao. And since he knew that his elder brother was at Junan he has braved every danger to escort us thus far on the road. Pray take a correct view of his conduct.”

The Lady Mi also chimed in, “When your brother went to Hsütu no other course was open to him.”

“Sisters, do not let him blind you to the truth. Real loyalty prefers death to dishonour. No good man can serve two masters.”

Kuan Yü said, “Brother, cease to wrong me I pray you.”

Sun Chʻien said, “Yün-chʻang came expressly to seek you.”

“How much more nonsense will you talk?” roared Chang Fei. “How can he be true-hearted? He came to capture me, I say.”

“Had I come to capture you, I should have come with men and horses,” said Kuan Yü.

“And are there not men and horses?” said Chang Fei pointing to a point behind Kuan Yü.

Kuan Yü turned and there he saw a cloud of dust rising as though a squadron of horse was coming. And soon they were near enough and from their trumpets and banners they showed themselves to be of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army.

“Now will you try to cajole me further?” cried Chang Fei in a rage.

He set his long spear and was just coming on when Kuan Yü said, “Brother, wait a while; see me slay the leader of these that I may prove myself no traitor.”

“Well, if you are really true, prove it by slaying that leader, whoever he may be, before I have finished three rolls of the drum.”

Chang Fei’s condition was accepted. Soon the attacking force was near enough to make out the leader to be Tsʻai Yang. Sword in hand he rode at full speed, crying, “So I have found you, slayer of my nephew! I have a command to capture you and will execute it.”

Kuan Yü made no reply. Raising his sword ready to strike he moved out and the drums began to beat. Before a roll could be completed the fight was over and Tsʻai Yang’s head had rolled on the ground. His men scattered and fled. Kuan Yü, however, captured the young ensign-bearer and questioned him. The youth said that in very truth the Minister had not given an order. Incensed at the loss of his nephew, Tsʻai wished to pursue and attack Kuan Yü although the Minister refused permission. To satisfy him he had sent Tsʻai to attack Junan and the meeting at this place was entirely an accident.

Kuan Yü bade him repeat this story to his brother. Chang Fei also questioned him concerning all that had happened in the capital and the recital of the whole story satisfied him of the fidelity of Kuan Yü.

Just then messengers came from the city to Chang Fei to say that some scores of horsemen had arrived at the south gate. They seemed in a great hurry but no one knew them. Chang Fei, with still a lingering doubt in his mind, went to look at the newcomers and there saw a score or two of mounted archers with light bows and short arrows. Hastily dismounting to see them better he found they were Mi Chu and Mi Fang. Quickly slipping out of the saddle they came up and Mi Chu said, “After the dispersal at Hsüchou when we lost sight of you we returned to our village whence we sent all around for news of you. We heard that Kuan Yü had surrendered to Tsʻao Tsʻao and our lord was in Hopei. The one of whom we could hear nothing was yourself. But yesterday, while on our way, we fell in with some travellers who told us a certain General Chang, of such and such an appearance, had suddenly occupied Kuchʻêng and we felt it must be you. So we came to enquire and we happily fell in with you here.”

Fei replied, “Kuan Yü and Sun Chʻien are here and my two sisters are with them. They had heard where my elder brother was.”

This news added to the joy of the two newcomers who went to see Kuan Yü and the women and then they all entered the city. When the ladies had settled down a little they related the whole story of the adventures on the road at which Chang Fei was overcome with remorse and bowed before his brother bitterly weeping. The brothers Mi were greatly affected. Then Chang Fei related what had happened to him.

A day was spent in banquets and next day Chang Fei wished his newly found brother to go with him to Junan to see their elder brother Yüan-tê. But Kuan Yü said, “No; you take care of the ladies here while Sun Chʻien and I go to get news.”

So Kuan Yü and Sun Chʻien with a small escort set out. When they reached Junan they were received by Liu Pʻi who told them their brother was no longer in the city. After waiting some days he had come to the conclusion that the soldiers were too few and had gone back to Yüan Shao to consult with him.

Kuan Yü was greatly disappointed and his companion did his best to console him. “Do not be sorrowful; it only means the trouble of another journey into Hopei to tell Uncle Liu and then we can all meet at Kuchʻêng.”

So spoke Sun Chʻien and Kuan Yü accepted it. They took leave of Liu Pʻi and returned to Kuchʻêng where they related what had happened. Chang Fei wanted to go with them into Hopei, but Kuan Yü opposed this, saying, “Seeing you have this city it makes a rallying point for us and a resting place. We must not abandon it lightly. We two will go and while away we look to you to keep the city safe.”

“How can you go after killing the two generals, Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou?”

“That will not stop me. And after I am there I can act according to circumstances.”

Then he summoned Chou Tsʻang and asked him, saying, “How many men are there with Pʻei at Sleeping Bull Mountain?”

“I should think four or five hundred.”

“Now,” said Kuan Yü, “I am going to take the shortest road to find my brother. Can you go to summon your men and lead them along the high road to assist me?”

With instructions to bring up these men Chou Tsʻang left, while Kuan Yü and Sun Chʻien and their small escort went off to the north. When they drew near the boundary Sun Chʻien said, “You must be careful how you go over; you ought to stop here while I go in, see Uncle Liu and take the necessary steps.”

Seeing the wisdom of this Kuan Yü stopped there and sent his companion in advance, he and his followers going up to a nearby farm as an abiding place.

When they got to the farm out came a venerable man leaning on a staff. After exchanging salutes Kuan Yü told the old man all about himself.

“My name is also Kuan; my personal name being Ting,” said the old man. “I know your reputation and I am very happy to meet you.”

He sent for his two sons to come and make their bow. He put up Kuan in his house and provided for his escort in the farm buildings.

In the meantime Sun Chʻien had made his way to Chʻichow and seen Yüan-tê, who said, “Chien Yung also is here. We will send for him secretly to talk over this matter.”

They did so, and when the usual salutes had been exchanged, they three began to consider the means of getting away.

“You see Yüan Shao personally,” said Yung, “and say you wish to go to Chingchou to see Liu Piao about a scheme for the destruction of our enemy. That will give an excuse.”

“That seems best,” said Liu Pei, “but will you go with me?”

“I have another plan to extricate myself,” said Yung.

Having settled their plans, Yüan-tê soon went in to see his protector and suggested that, as Liu Piao was strong and well posted, his help should be sought against their enemy.

“I have sent messengers repeatedly to ask his help,” said Shao, “but he is unwilling.”

“As he and I are of the same family he will not refuse me if I go and ask him,” said Liu Pei.

“Certainly he is worth much more than Liu Pʻi; you shall go.”

“I have just heard,” Shao continued, “that Kuan Yün-chʻang has left Tsʻao Tsʻao and wants to come here. If he does I will put him to death out of revenge for my two officers.”

“Illustrious Sir, you wished to employ him and so I sent for him. Now you threaten to put him to death. The two men he slew were but deer compared with such a tiger as he is. When you exchange a couple of deer for a tiger you need not complain of the bargain.”

“Really I like him,” said Shao. “I was only joking. You can send another messenger for him and tell him to come soon.”

“May I send Sun Chʻien for him?”

“Certainly.”

After Yüan-tê had gone Chien Yung came in and said to Shao, “If Yüan-tê goes he will not come back. I had better go to speak to Liu Piao. And I can keep a watch on Liu Pei.”

Yüan Shao agreed and issued orders for both to go.

On the subject of the mission Kuo Tʻu came in to his chief to dissuade him. Said he, “He went to speak to Liu Pʻi, but he accomplished nothing. Now you are sending Chien Yung with him and I am sure neither will ever return.”

“Do not be too suspicious,” said Shao. “Chien Yung is clever enough.”

That was the end of the interview. Forthwith Yüan-tê sent Sun Chʻien back to Kuan Yü and then, with Chien Yung, took leave of Yüan Shao and rode out of the city. As soon as they reached the border line they met Sun Chʻien and all three rode off to Kuan Ting’s farm to meet Kuan Yü. He came out to welcome them, bowed and then seized his brother’s hands while tears streamed down his face.

Presently the two sons of their host came to bow to the visitors. Liu Pei asked their names.

“These are of the same name as myself,” said Kuan Yü. “The sons are Kuan Ning, who is a student, and Kuan Pʻing, who is to be a soldier.”

“I have been thinking of sending the younger in your train, General,” said old Kuan, “would you take him?”

“What is his age?” said Liu Pei.

“He is eighteen.”

Liu Pei said, “Since, O Senior, you are so kind I venture to suggest that your son should be adopted by my brother, who has no son of his own. What think you of that?”

Kuan Ting was perfectly willing, so he called his younger son and bade him make a son’s obeisance to Kuan Yü and to style Yüan-tê, “Uncle.”

Then it was time to get on their way lest they should be pursued and with them went Kuan Pʻing in the train of his “father.” The lad’s real father escorted them a short distance and then left. They took the road to Sleeping Bull Hill. Before they had gone very far they met Chou Tsʻang with a small party. He was wounded. He was introduced to Yüan-tê who asked him how it was. He replied, “Before I reached the Hill a certain warrior, all alone, had fought with my friend Pʻei and killed him. Then many of our men surrendered to him and he occupied our old camp. When I reached it I tried to allure the soldiers back to my side but only succeeded with a few. The others were too afraid. I got angry and engaged the interloper, who however worsted me time after time and wounded me thrice.”

“Who is the warrior? what does he look like?” asked Yüan-tê.

“All I know he is a doughty fighter, I do not know his name.”

Thereafter they advanced toward the hill with Kuan Yü in front and Yüan-tê in rear. When they drew near Chou Tsʻang began to abuse his enemy, who soon appeared, mailed and armed, coming down the hills.

Suddenly Yüan-tê rode out waving his whip and shouting, “You, O Comer, are surely Tzŭ-lung?”

The rider, for it was Chao Tzŭ-lung, (Chao Yün), instantly slipped out of the saddle and bowed by the roadside.

The brothers dismounted to talk with him and ask how he came to be there.

“When I left you I had no idea that Kungsun Tsan was a man who would listen to no reason. The result was disaster and he perished in the flames. Yüan Shao invited me to him several times, but I thought too little of him to go. Then I wanted to go to Hsüchou to you, but you had lost that place and Yün-chʻang had gone over to Tsʻao Tsʻao and you had joined Yüan Shao. Several times I thought of coming to you but I feared Yüan Shao. So I drifted from one place to another with nowhere to rest till I happened to come this way and Pʻei Yüan-shao tried to steal my horse. So I slew him and took possession of his camp. I heard I-tê was in Kuchʻêng but thought it might be only a rumour. And so the days have passed till this happy meeting.”

Yüan-tê told him all that had happened to him since they parted and so did Kuan Yü.

Said Liu Pʻei, “The first time I saw you I felt drawn to you and did not want to part from you. I am very happy to meet you again.”

“In all my wanderings, trying to find a lord worth serving, I have seen no one like you. Now I have reached your side that is enough for all my life. I care not what may happen to me.”

Next they burned the camp, after which they all took the road back to Kuchʻêng where they were welcomed. They exchanged the stories of their several adventures and the two ladies related the valiant deeds of Kuan Yü whereat Yüan-tê was too affected to speak.

Then they performed a great sacrifice to Heaven and Earth with the slaughter of a bull and a horse.

The soldiers also were recompensed for their toils. Yüan-tê surveyed the conditions around him and found therein much to rejoice at. His two brothers were restored to his side and none of his helpers were missing. Moreover he had gained Chao Yün, and his brother Kuan Yü had acquired an adopted son Pʻing. Another captain had joined his ranks in the person of Chou Tsʻang. There was every occasion for feasting and gratification.

Scattered wide were the brothers, none knew another’s retreat, Joyfully now they foregather, dragon and tiger meet.

At this time the forces under the command of the three brothers and their adherents numbered four or five thousand men. Yüan-tê was in favour of leaving Kuchʻêng and occupying Junan and just then Liu Pʻei and Kung Tu, commanders of that city, sent to invite him to go there. So they went. There they devoted all their efforts to strengthen their army, both horse and foot, but nothing will be said of the recruiting, purchase of horses and such matters.

However it must be noted that Yüan Shao was much annoyed when Yüan-tê did not return and at first was for sending a force after him. However Kuo Tʻu dissuaded him.

“Liu Pʻei need cause you no anxiety; Tsʻao Tsʻao is your one enemy and must be destroyed. Even Liu Piao, though strongly posted on the river, is none too terrible. There is Sun Po-fu on the east of the river, strong, feared, with wide territory, a large army and able counsellors and leaders; you should make an alliance there against Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

He won his chief to his view and wrote to Sun, sending the letter by Chʻên Chên.

Just as one warrior leaves the north, Another from the east comes forth.

Future chapters will reveal the outcome of these dispositions.

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Chapter XXIX

THE “LITTLE CHIEF OF THE FEUDAL LORDS” SLAYS YÜ CHI: THE “BLUE-EYED BOY” LAYS HOLD ON CHIANGTUNG.

We may tell here how Sun Tsʻê gradually became supreme on the east of the river. In the fourth year of the period “Established Peace,” [12] he took Luchiang by the defeat of the Prefect Liu Hsün. He despatched Yu Fan with a despatch to the Prefect of Yuchang, [13] Hua Hsin, and he surrendered. Thence his renown increased and he boldly sent a memorial on his military successes to the Emperor by the hand of Chang Hung.

Tsʻao Tsʻao saw in him a powerful rival and said he was a lion difficult to contend with. So he betrothed his niece, daughter of Tsʻao Jên, to Sun Kʻuang, the youngest brother of Sun Tsʻê, thus connecting the two families by marriage. He also retained Chang Hung near him in the capital.

Then Sun Tsʻê sought the title of Ta Ssŭ-ma, or Minister of War, one of the highest offices of State, but Tsʻao Tsʻao prevented the attainment of this ambition, and Sun Tsʻê keenly resented it. Henceforward his thoughts turned toward an attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao.

About this time the Prefect of Wuchün sent a secret letter to the capital to Tsʻao Tsʻao, saying that Sun Tsʻê was a turbulent fellow of the Hsiang Chi type and the government ought, under the appearance of showing favour to him, to recall him to the capital for he was a danger in the provinces. But the bearer of this letter was captured on the Yangtse River and sent to Sun Tsʻê, who immediately put him to death. Then he treacherously sent to ask the author of the letter, Hsü Kung by name, to come and consult over some affair. The unsuspecting man came. Sun Tsʻê produced the letter, saying, “So you wish to send me to the land of the dead, eh?” and thereupon the executioners came in and strangled him. The family of the victim scattered, but three of his clients determined to avenge him if only they could find some means of attacking Sun.

Their chance came in the hunting field. One day Sun went hunting in the hills to the west of Tantʻu. A stag was started and Sun pressed after it at topmost speed and followed it deep into the forest. Presently he came upon three armed men standing among the trees. Rather surprised to see them there he reined in and asked who they were.

“We belong to Han Tang’s army and are shooting deer,” was the reply.

So Sun Tsʻê shook his bridle to proceed. But just as he did so one of the men thrust at him with a spear and wounded his thigh. Sun drew the sword at his side, dashed forward and cut down the aggressor. The blade of his sword suddenly fell to the ground, only the hilt remaining in his hand. Then one of the assassins drew his bow and an arrow wounded Sun in the cheek. He plucked out the arrow and shot at the offender, who fell, but the other two attacked him furiously with their spears, shouting, “We are Hsü Kung’s men and his avengers!”

Sun Tsʻê then understood. But he had no weapons save his bow against them. He tried to draw off, keeping them at bay by striking with his bow, but the fight was getting too much for him and both he and his steed were wounded in several places. However, just at the critical moment, some of his own men came up and they made short work of the remaining two avengers.

But their lord was in a sorry plight. His face was streaming with blood and some of the wounds were very severe. They tore up his robe and therewith bound up his wounds and they carried him home.

A poem in praise of the three avengers says:—

O Sun Tsʻê was a warrior and a stranger he to fear, But he was basely murdered while hunting of the deer. Yet were they leal who slew him, to avenge a murdered lord, Self immolated like Yü-jang, they dreaded not the sword.

Badly wounded, Sun Tsʻê was borne to his home. They sent to call the famous physician, Hua Tʻo, but he was far away and could not be found. However, a disciple of his came and the wounded man was committed to his care.

“The arrowheads were poisoned,” said the physician, “and the poison has penetrated deep. It will take a hundred days of perfect repose before danger will be past. But if you give way to passion or anger the wounds will not heal.”

Sun’s temperament was hasty and impatient and the prospect of such a slow recovery was very distasteful. However, he remained quiet for some twenty of the hundred days. Then came a messenger from the capital and he insisted on seeing and questioning him.

“Tsʻao Tsʻao fears you, my lord, very greatly,” said the messenger, “and his advisers have exceeding respect for you; all except Kuo Chia.”

“What did he say?” asked the sick chieftain.

The messenger remained silent, which only irritated his master and caused him to demand to be told. So the messenger had to speak the truth. He said, “The fact is Kuo Chia told Tsʻao Tsʻao that he need not fear you, that you were frivolous and unready, impulsive and shallow, just a stupid swaggerer who would one day come to his death at the hands of some mean person.”

This provoked the sick man beyond endurance.

“How dare he say this of me, the fool!” cried Sun Tsʻê. “I will take the capital from Tsʻao, I swear.”

It was no more a question of repose. Ill as he was he wanted to begin preparations for an expedition at once. They remonstrated with him, reminded him of the physician’s orders and urged him to rest.

“You are risking your priceless self in a moment’s anger,” said Chang Chao.

Then arrived Chʻên Chên, the messenger from Yüan Shao, and Sun would have him brought in. He said. “My master wishes to ally himself with Wu in an attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

Such a proposal was just after Sun’s heart. At once he called a great meeting of his officers in the wall tower and prepared a banquet in honour of the messenger. While this was in progress he noticed many of his captains whispering to each other and they all began to go down from the banquet chamber. He could not understand this and enquired of the attendants near him what it meant. They told him that Saint Yü had just gone by and the officers had gone down to pay their respects to him. Sun Tsʻê rose from his place and went and leaned over the railing to look at the man. He saw a Taoist priest in snowy garb leaning on his staff in the middle of the road, while the crowd about him burnt incense and made obeisance.

“What wizard fellow is this? Bring him here!” said Sun.

“This is Yü Chi,” said the attendants. “He lives in the east and goes to and fro distributing charms and draughts. He has cured many people as everybody will tell you, and they say he is a saint. He must not be profaned.”

This only angered Sun the more and he told them to arrest the man at once or disobey at their peril. So there being no help for it they went down into the road and hustled the saint up the steps.

“You madman! How dare you incite men to evil?” said Sun Tsʻê.

“I am but a poor priest of the Lanyeh Palace. More than half a century ago, when gathering simples in the woods, I found near the Chüyang Spring a book called “The Way of Peace.” It contains a hundred and more chapters and taught me how to cure the diseases of men. With this in my possession I had only one thing to do, to devote myself to spreading its teachings and saving mankind. I have never taken any thing from the people. Can you say I incite men to evil deeds?”

“You say you take nothing; whence came your clothes and your food? The fact is you are one of the Yellow Turban kidney and you will work mischief if you are left alive.” “Take him away and put him to death,” continued he to his attendants.

Chang Chao interceded, “The Taoist has been here in the east these many years. He has never done any harm and does not deserve death or punishment.”

“I tell you I will kill these wizard fellows just as I would cattle.”

The officials in a body interceded, even the guest of honour Chʻên Chên, but in vain; Sun Tsʻê refused to be placated. He ordered the Taoist to be imprisoned.

The banquet came to an end and the messenger retired to his lodging. Sun Tsʻê also returned to his palace.

His treatment of the Taoist Holy Man was the theme of general conversation and soon reached the ears of his mother. She sent for her son to the ladies’ apartments and said to him, “They tell me you have put the Taoist in bonds. He has cured many sick people and the common folk hold him in great reverence. Do not harm him.”

“He is simply a wizard who upsets the multitude with his spells and craft. He must be put to death,” replied Tsʻê.

She entreated him to stay his hand, but he was obstinate. “Do not heed the gossip of the street, mother,” said he. “I must be judge of these matters.”

However, he sent to the prison for the Taoist in order to interrogate him. Now the gaolers having a great respect for Yü Chi and faith in his powers were very indulgent to him and did not keep him in the collar. However when Tsʻê sent for him he went with collar and fetters all complete.

Tsʻê had heard of their indulgence and punished the gaolers so that the prisoner thereafter lay in constant torture. Chang Chao and some others, moved by pity, made a petition which they humbly presented and they offered to become surety for him.

Sun Tsʻê said to them, “Gentlemen, you are all great scholars, but why do you not understand reason? Formerly in Chiaochou was a certain Governor Chang Ching, who was deluded by these vicious doctrines into beating drums, twanging lyres, burning incense and such things. He wore a red turban and represented himself as able to ensure victory to an army. But he was slain by the enemy. There is nothing in all this, only none of you will see it. I am going to put this fellow to death in order to stop the spread of this pernicious doctrine.”

Lü Fan interposed, “I know very well this Yü Chi can control the weather. It is very dry just now, why not make him pray for rain as an amercement?”

“We will see what sort of witchcraft he is equal to,” said Sun Tsʻê.

Whereupon he had the prisoner brought in, loosed his fetters and sent him up to an altar to intercede for rain.

The docile Taoist prepared to do as he was bidden. He first bathed himself, then dressed himself in clean garments. After that he bound his limbs with a cord and lay down in the fierce heat of the sun. The people came in crowds to look on.

Said he, “I will pray for three feet of refreshing rain for the benefit of the people, nevertheless I shall not escape death thereby.”

The people said, “But if your prayer be efficacious our lord must believe in your powers.”

“The day of fate has come for me and there is no escape.”

Presently Sun Tsʻê came near the altar and announced that if rain had not fallen by noon he would burn the priest. And to confirm this he bade them prepare the pyre.

As it neared noon a strong wind sprang up and the clouds gathered from all quarters. But there was no rain.

“It is near noon,” said Sun Tsʻê. “Clouds are of no account without rain. He is only an impostor.”

He bade his attendants lay the priest on the pyre and pile wood around him and apply the torch. Fanned by the gale the flames rose rapidly. Then appeared in the sky above a wreath of black vapour followed by roaring thunder and vivid lightning, peal on peal and flash on flash. And the rain fell in a perfect deluge. In a short time the streets became rivers and torrents. It was indeed a three feet fall.

Yü Chi, who was still lying upon the pile of firewood, cried in a loud voice, “O clouds, cease thy rain, and let the glorious sun appear!”

Thereupon officials and people helped the priest down, loosened the cord that bound him and bowed before him in gratitude for the rain.

But Sun Tsʻê boiled with rage at seeing his officers and the people gathered in groups and kneeling in the water regardless of the damage to their clothing.

“Rain or shine are as nature appoints them and the wizard has happened to hit upon a moment of change; what are you making all this fuss about?” cried he.

Then he drew his sword and told the attendants to smite the Taoist therewith. They all besought him to hold his hand.

“You want to follow Yü Chi in rebellion, I suppose,” cried Sun Tsʻê.

The officers, now thoroughly cowed by the rage of their lord, were silent and showed no opposition when the executioners seized the unhappy Taoist and beheaded him.

They saw just a wreath of black smoke drift away to the north-east where lay the Langyeh Mountains.

The corpse was exposed in the market place as a warning to enchanters and wizards and such people. That night there came a very violent storm and when it calmed down at daylight there was no trace of the body. The guards reported this and Sun Tsʻê in his wrath sentenced them to death. But as he did so he saw Yü Chi calmly walking toward him as if he were still alive. He drew his sword and darted forward to strike at the wraith, but he fainted and fell to the ground.

They carried him to his chamber and in a short time he recovered consciousness. His mother, the Lady Wu, came to visit him and said, “My son, you have done wrong to slay the holy one and this is your retribution.”

“Mother, when I was a boy I went with my father to the wars, where men are cut down as one cuts hempen stalks. There is not much retribution about such doings. I have put this fellow to death and so checked a great evil. Where does retribution come in?”

“This comes of want of faith,” she replied. “Now you must avert the evil by meritorious deeds.”

“My fate depends on Heaven: wizards can do me no harm, so why avert anything?”

His mother saw that it was useless to try persuasion, but she told his attendants to do some good deeds secretly whereby the evil should be turned aside.

That night about the third watch, as Sun Tsʻê lay in his chamber, he suddenly felt a chill breeze, which seemed to extinguish the lamps for a moment, although they soon brightened again, and he saw in the lamp light the form of Yü Chi standing near his bed.

Sun said, “I am the sworn foe of witchcraft and I will purge the world of all such as deal in magic. You are a spirit and how dare you approach me?”

Reaching down a sword that hung at the head of his bed he hurled it at the phantom, which then disappeared. When his mother heard this story her grief redoubled. Sun Tsʻê, ill as he was, did his utmost to reassure his mother.

She said, “The Holy One says, ‘How abundantly do spiritual beings display the powers that belong to them!’ and ‘Prayer has been made to the spirits of the upper and lower worlds.’ You must have faith. You sinned in putting Master Yü to death and retribution is sure. I have already sent to have sacrifices performed at the Jade-pure Monastery and you should go in person to pray. May all come right!”

Sun Tsʻê could not withstand such a mandate from his mother so, mustering all his strength, he managed to get into a sedan chair and went to the monastery, where the Taoists received him respectfully and begged him to light the incense. He did so, but he returned no thanks. To the surprise of all, the smoke from the brazier, instead of floating upwards and dissipating, collected in a mass that gradually shaped itself into an umbrella and there on the top sat Yü Chi.

Sun Tsʻê simply spat abuse and went out of the temple. As he passed the gates, lo! Yü Chi stood there gazing at him with angry eyes.

“Do you see that wizard fellow?” said he to those about him.

They said they saw nothing. More angry than ever he flung his sword at the figure by the gate. The sword struck one of his escort who fell. When they turned him over they saw it was the executioner who had actually slain the Taoist. The sword had penetrated his brain and his life drained out through the seven channels of perception. Sun Tsʻê told them to bury the man. But as he went out of the courtyard he saw Yü Chi walking in.

“This temple is nothing more than a lurking place for sorcerers and wizards and such people,” said he.

Whereupon he took a seat in front of the building and sent for half a company of soldiers to pull the place down. When they went up on the roof to strip off the tiles he saw Yü Chi standing on the main beam flicking tiles to the ground. More angry than ever he told them to drive out the priests belonging to the place and burn it. They did so and when the flames rose their highest he saw the dead Taoist Yü Chi standing in the midst of the fire.

Sun Tsʻê returned home still in a bad humour, which increased when he saw the form of Yü Chi standing at his gate. He would not enter but mustered his army and went into camp outside the city walls. And there he summoned his officers to meet him and talk over joining Yüan in an attack on Tsʻao.

They assembled, but they remonstrated with him and begged him to consider his precious health. That night he slept in the camp and again saw Yü Chi, this time with his hair hanging loose. He raged at the vision without cessation.

Next day his mother called him into the city and he went. She was shocked at the change in his appearance; he looked so utterly miserable. Her tears fell.

“My son,” said she, “how wasted you are!”

He had a mirror brought and looked at himself; he was indeed so gaunt and thin that he was almost frightened and exclaimed, “How do I come to look so haggard?”

While he spoke, Yü Chi appeared in the mirror. He struck it and shrieked. Then the half healed wounds re-opened and he fainted.

He was raised and borne within. When he recovered consciousness he said, “This is the end; I shall die.”

He sent for Chang Chao and his other chief officers and his brother, Sun Chʻüan, and they gathered in his chamber. He gave them his dying charge, saying, “In the disordered state of the Empire Wu and Yüeh, with their strong defence of the Three Chiang, have a brilliant future. You, Chang Chao, must assist my brother.”

So saying he handed his seal to Sun Chʻüan saying, “For manipulating the might of Chiangtung so as to make it the deciding force between two factions and then obtaining the whole Empire you are not so suited as I; but in encouraging the wise and confiding in the able and getting the best out of every one for the preservation of this district, I should not succeed as you will. Remember with what toil and labour your father and I have won what we possess and take good care thereof.”

Sun Chʻüan wept as he knelt to receive the seal and the dying chief turned to his mother, “Mother, the days allotted of Heaven have run out and I can no longer serve my tender mother. I have given over the seal to my brother and trust that you will advise him early and late, and see that he lives worthy of his predecessors.”

“Alas! your brother is full young for such a task,” said his mother weeping. “I know not what may happen.”

“He is far abler than I and fully equal to the task of ruling. Should he have doubts upon internal affairs, he must turn to Chang Chao; for outer matters he must consult Chou Yü. It is a pity Chou Yü is absent so that I cannot give him my charge face to face.”

To his brothers he said, “When I am gone you must help your brother. Should any discord arise in the family let the others punish the wrong-doer and let not his ashes mingle with those of his ancestors in the family vaults.”

The young men wept at these words. Then he called for his wife, the famous beauty of the Chʻiao family, and said, “Unhappily we have to part while still in the full vigour of life. You must care for my mother. Your sister will come to see you presently and you can ask her to tell Chou Yü to help my brother in all things and make him keep to the way I have taught him to walk in.”

Then he closed his eyes and soon after passed away. He was only twenty-six.

Men called him first of the chieftains, The east had felt his might, He watched like a tiger crouching, Struck as a hawk in flight. There was peace in the lands he ruled, His fame ran with the wind, But he died and left to another, The great scheme in his mind.

As his brother breathed his last Sun Chʻüan sank by his bed and wept.

“This is not the time to mourn,” said Chang Chao. “First see to the funeral ceremonies and that the government is safe.”

So the new ruler dried his tears. The superintendence of the funeral was confided to Sun Ching and then Chang Chao led his young master to the hall to receive the felicitations of his officers.

Sun Chʻüan was endowed with a square jaw and a large mouth; he had blue eyes and a dark brown beard. Formerly, when Liu Yüan had gone to Wu to visit the Sun family, he said of the family of brothers, “I have looked well at them all and they are all clever and perspicacious, but none of them have the very ultimate degree of good fortune. Only the second has the look of a deep thinker. His face is remarkable, and his build unusual, and he has the look of one who will come to great honour. But none of them will attain to the blessing of a great age.”

History says that when Sun Chʻüan succeeded to his brother and his brother’s might, there was still some reorganization to be done. Soon Chou Yü had arrived. The young ruler received him very graciously and said, “I need have no anxiety now that you have come.”

It will be remembered that Chou Yü had been sent to hold Pachʻiu. When he heard that his chief had been wounded by an arrow he thought it well to return to see how he was. But Sun Tsʻê had died before Chou Yü could arrive. He hurried to be present at the funeral.

When he went to wail at the coffin of his late chief, Wu Fu-jên, the dead man’s mother, came out to deliver her son’s last injunctions. When she had told him the last charge he bowed to the earth, saying, “I shall exert the puny powers I have in your service as long as I live.”

Shortly after Sun Chʻüan came in, and, after receiving Chou Yü’s obeisance, said, “I trust you will not forget my brother’s charge to you.”

Chou bowed saying, “I would willingly suffer any form of death for you.”

“How best can I maintain this grave charge which I have inherited from my father and brother?”

“He who wins men, prospers; he who loses them, fails. Your present plan should be to seek men of high aims and farseeing views and you can establish yourself firmly.”

“My brother bade me consult Chang Chao for internal administration, and yourself on external matters,” said Chʻüan.

“Chang Chao is wise and understanding and equal to such a task. I am devoid of talent and fear to take such responsibility, but I venture to recommend to you as a helper one Lu Su, named Tzŭ-ching, a man of Tungchʻuan. This man’s bosom hides strategy and his breast conceals tactics. He lost his father in early life and has been a perfectly filial son to his mother. His family is rich and renowned for charity to the needy. When I was stationed at Chʻao-chʻang I led some hundreds of men across the Linhuai. We were short of grain. Hearing that the Lu family had two granaries there, each holding three thousand measures, I went to ask for help. Lu Su pointed to one granary and said, ‘Take that as a gift.’ Such was his generosity!

“He has always been fond of fencing and horse archery. He was living in Chuo. His grandmother died while he was there and he went to bury her in Tungchʻêng and then his friend, Liu Tzŭ-yang, wished to engage him to go to Chʻaohu and join Chêng Pao. However, he hesitated about that and has not gone yet. You should invite him without loss of time.”

Sun Chʻüan at once sent Chou Yü to engage the services of this man and he set out. When the obeisances were over he laid before his friend the inducements that his own master held out. He replied that as he had been engaged by Liu Tzŭ-yang to go to Chʻaohu he was just starting thither.

Said Chou Yü, “Of old Ma Yüan said to Kuang-Wu, ‘This is an age when not only do princes select their ministers, but ministers choose their princes.’ Now our General Sun calls to him the wise and treats his officers well. Thus he engages the help of the wonderful and gets the services of the extraordinary in a way that few others do. But if you are not engaged elsewhere come with me to Wu as the best thing to do.”

Lu Su returned with him and saw Sun Chʻüan, who treated him with the greatest deference and with him discussed affairs very fully. The conference proved so interesting that it went on all day and neither felt fatigue.

One day at the close of the usual reception, the chief kept Lu Su to dine with him. They sat up late and by and by slept on the same couch as would the closest of friends. In the dead of night Sun Chʻüan said to his bedfellow, “The Dynasty is failing and everything is at sixes and sevens. I have received a great charge from my father and brother and I am thinking of imitating the actions of Huan and Wên and becoming the leader of the feudal lords and I pray you instruct me.”

Lu Su replied, “Of old Han Kao-Tsu wished to honour and serve the Emperor I, but could not on account of Hsiang Yü’s evil doings. Now Tsʻao Tsʻao can be compared with Hsiang Yü; how can you be Huan and Wên? My humble opinion is that the Hans have fallen beyond hope of recovery and Tsʻao Tsʻao cannot be destroyed and that the only key to your schemes is to secure your present position in order to keep the master hand and control the combinations among the others. Now take advantage of the turmoil in the north to smite Huang Tsu and attack Liu Piao. Thereby you will command the whole length of the Great River (Yangtse). Then you may style yourself Emperor or King and thereafter as may be. This was how Kao-Tsu acted.”

Hearing this Sun Chʻüan was very greatly pleased. He threw on some clothing, got up and thanked his new-found adviser. Next day Sun Chʻüan gave him costly gifts and sent robes and hangings to his mother.

Lu Su then recommended a friend of his to the young man’s notice, a man of wide reading and great ability. He was also a filial son. His double name was Chuko Chin and he came from Nanyang. Sun Chʻüan treated him as a superior guest. This man dissuaded Sun Chʻüan from making common cause with Yüan Shao, but advised him rather to favour Tsʻao Tsʻao, against whom he could plan when occasion served. Sun Chʻüan therefore sent back the messenger Chʻên Chên with despatches that broke off all negotiations.

Hearing of Sun Tsʻê’s death, Tsʻao Tsʻao was for sending an expedition against Chiangnan. But a certain historian, Chang Hung, dissuaded him, saying that it would be mean to take advantage of the period of mourning.

“And if you should not overcome him you will make him an enemy instead of being a friend. It would be preferable to treat him generously.”

So Tsʻao memorialised the throne and obtained for Sun Chʻüan the title of Generalissimo and Prefect of Kueichi, while Chang Hung was appointed under him as Tu-yu.

And a seal of office was sent him. The new appointment pleased Sun Chʻüan and he was also glad to get Chang Hung back again. He was sent to act jointly with Chang Chao.

Chang Hung was the means of getting another into Sun Chʻüan’s service. His friend was Ku Yung, known also as Yüan-tʻan, a disciple of the historian Tsʻai Yung. He was a man of few words and an abstainer from wine. He was very correct in all things. Sun Chʻüan employed him in the administration.

Henceforward Sun Chʻüan’s rule was very prosperous and he waxed mightily in influence and won the love of all the people.

When Chʻên Chên had returned and related the events in Wu, and told of the honours that Tsʻao Tsʻao had obtained for the young man in return for his support, Yüan Shao was very wroth and he set about preparing for an attack on the capital with a force of seventy legions of northern men.

Although in the south they rest from war, They rattle the spears ’neath the northern star.

Later it will be seen which side conquered.

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Chapter XXX

YÜAN SHAO DEFEATED AT THE FERRY: TSʻAO TSʻAO BURNS THE WUCHʻAO GRANARIES.

Hearing that Yüan Shao was hastening to attack at Kuantu, Hsiahou Tun wrote to the capital urgently asking for reinforcements, and Tsʻao Tsʻao told off seventy legions with which he marched. Hsün Yü was left to guard the capital.

Just as Yüan’s army was starting Tʻien Fêng sent out a remonstrance from his prison cell denouncing the policy of attack and counselling Shao to wait upon such times as Heaven should appoint.

An enemy said to Yüan, “Why does this Tʻien Fêng utter ill-omened words? My lord is sending forth an army in the cause of humanity and justice.”

Easily moved to anger Yüan Shao was going to execute Tʻien, but this time he forbore at the entreaties of many of his officers. However, he was not appeased, for he said, “I will punish him when I return from conquering Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

Meanwhile he hastened to start. The banners of his host filled the horizon, their swords were as trees in the forest. They marched to Yangwu and there made a strong camp.

Then Chü Shou once more opposed any hasty movement, saying, “Though our soldiers are many they are not so bold as the enemy; however, veterans as are the enemy they have not ample supplies. Therefore they will wish to force on a speedy battle, while our policy is to hold them off and delay. If we can keep from a decisive battle long enough the victory will be ours without fighting.”

This advice did not appeal to the General. Said he, threateningly, “Tʻien Fêng spake discouraging words to my armies and I will assuredly put him to death on my return. How dare you follow in the same way?”

He summoned the lictors and sent away the adviser in chains, saying, “When I have overcome Tsʻao then will I deal with you and Tʻien Fêng together.”

The huge army was camped in four divisions, one toward each point of the compass. The camps were ninety li in circuit. Scouts and spies were sent out to discover the strong and the weak points of the enemy.

Tsʻao’s army arrived and were smitten with fear when they heard of the strength of their enemy. The leader called together his council. Then said the adviser Hsün Yu, “The enemy are many but not terrible. Ours is an army of veterans, every man worth ten, but our advantage lies in a speedy battle for unhappily our stores are insufficient for a long campaign.”

“You speak to the point,” said Tsʻao. “I think the same.”

Therefore he issued orders to press forward and force on a battle. Yüan Shao’s men took up the challenge and the two sides were arrayed. On Yüan’s side a legion of crossbow men were placed in ambush on the two wings, while half a legion of archers held the centre. The signal for general attack was a bomb and the onset was to continue through three rolls of the drum.

Yüan Shao wore a silver helmet and breastplate and an embroidered robe held in by a jewelled belt. He took up his post in the centre with his numerous captains ranged right and left. His banners and ensigns made a brave show.

When the Tsʻao army centre opened and the banners moved aside the great captain appeared on horseback with his staff of doughty leaders all fully armed. Pointing with his whip at Yüan Shao he cried, “In the presence of the Emperor I pressed your claims to consideration and obtained for you the title of Generalissimo; why do you now plan rebellion?”

Yüan replied, “You take the title of a minister of Han, but you are really a rebel against the House. Your crimes and evil deeds reach to the heavens, and you are worse than the usurper Mang and the rebel Cho. What are these slanderous words about rebellion that dare you address to me?”

“I have a command to make you prisoner.”

“I have the Girdle Decree to arrest rebels,” replied Yüan.

Then Tsʻao became wrathful and bade Chang Liao ride forth as his champion. From the other side rode Chang Ho on a curvetting steed. The two champions fought four or five bouts with no advantage to either. In his heart Tsʻao thought the contest amazing. Then Hsü Chʻu whirled up his sword and went to help. To match him rode out Kao Lan with his spear in rest, and the contestants were now four, battling two and two. Then Tsʻao ordered three companies under Hsiahou Tun and Tsʻao Hung to attack the opponents’ array. Thereupon on Yüan’s side the signal for attack was also given and the legion of crossbow men on the wings shot and the centre archers let fly all together. The arrows flew all over the field in front and Tsʻao’s men could not advance. They hastened away toward the south. Yüan threw his soldiers on their rear and they were broken. They went away toward Kuantu and Yüan advanced another stage. He camped near them.

Then Shên Pʻei said, “Now send ten legions to guard Kuantu and get near Tsʻao’s camp, then throw up observation mounds to get a clear view of the enemy and choose vantage points whence to shoot arrows into the midst of their host. If we can force him to evacuate this place we shall have gained a strategical point whence Hsüchʻang can be attacked.”

Yüan adopted this suggestion. From each of the camps they sought out the strongest veterans who dug with iron spades and carried earth to raise mounds near Tsʻao’s camp.

Tsʻao’s men saw what their enemies were doing and were anxious to make a sortie and drive them off. But the archers and crossbow men came out commanding the narrow throat through which it was necessary to attack and stayed them. At the end of ten days they had thrown up more than half a hundred mounds and on the summit of each was a lofty tower, whence the archers could command their opponents’ camp. Tsʻao’s men were greatly frightened and held up their bucklers to keep off the various missiles. From the mounds the arrows flew down, pang! pang! like a fierce rain. The men of the Yüan army laughed and jeered when they saw their enemies crouching under their shields and crawling on the ground to avoid their missiles.

Tsʻao saw that his soldiers were getting out of hand under this attack so he called a council. Liu Yeh spoke up saying, “Let us make ballistæ and so destroy them.”

Tsʻao at once had models brought and set cunning workmen to make these machines. They soon constructed some hundreds and placed them along the walls of the camp inside, just opposite the high ladders on the enemy’s mounds.

Then they watched for the archers to ascend the towers. As soon as they began to shoot all the ballistæ began to heave their stone balls into the skies and they wrought great havoc. There was no shelter from them and enormous numbers of the archers were killed. Yüan’s men called these machines “Rumblers” and after their appearance the archers dared not ascend the mounds to shoot.

Then Shên Pʻei, the strategist, thought out another plan. He set men to tunnel under the walls into the midst of Tsʻao’s camp and called this corps “The Sappers.” Tsʻao’s men saw the enemy digging out pits behind the mounds and told the chief, who at once sought a counter plan from Liu Yeh.

“As Yüan Shao can no longer attack openly he is attacking secretly and is tunnelling a road under ground into the midst of our camp,” said he.

“But how to meet it?”

“We can surround the camp with a deep moat which renders their tunnel useless.”

So a deep moat was dug as quickly as possible and when the enemy sappers arrived thereat, lo! their labour had been in vain and the sap was useless.

It is recorded that Tsʻao held Kuantu throughout the eighth and ninth months when, the men being worn out and provisions failing, he began to think of giving up and returning to the capital. As he could not make up his mind he referred his difficulties by letter to Hsün Yü, whom he had left to guard Hsüchʻang. The reply he got was to this effect:—“I have received your command to decide whether to continue the campaign or retire. It appears to me that Yüan Shao assembled such large forces at Kuantu with the expectation of winning a decision. You, Sir, are very weak while he is very strong and if you cannot get the better of him he will be able to work his will on you for this is a crisis of empire. Your opponents are indeed numerous, but their leader knows not how to use them. With your military genius and discernment where are you not sure to succeed? Now though your numbers are small it is not as when Chʻu and Han were between Jungyang and Chʻêngkao. You are securely intrenched with your hands on his throat, and even if you cannot advance, that state of things cannot endure for ever but must change. This is the time to play some unexpected move and you must not miss it. The device I leave to your illustrious ingenuity.”

This letter greatly pleased Tsʻao and he urged upon his men to use every effort to maintain the position.

Yüan having retired some thirty li, Tsʻao sent out scouts to ascertain his new dispositions. One of Hsü Huang’s officers captured an enemy spy and sent him to his chief, who interrogated him and found out that a convoy of supplies was expected and that this spy and others had been sent to find out what were the risks of the route. Hsü Huang went at once to tell Tsʻao. When the adviser Hsün Yu heard that the commander of the convoy was Han Mêng he said, “That fellow is a valiant fool. A few companies of light horse sent to intercept him can capture the whole train and cause much trouble in the enemy’s camp.”

“Whom should I send?” asked Tsʻao.

“You might send Hsü Huang; he is capable of such a task.”

So Hsü was deputed and he took with him Shih Huan, who had captured the spy, and his company. And this party was supported by Chang Liao and Hsü Chʻu.

It was night when the commissariat train of many thousands of carts drew near Yüan Shao’s camp. As they passed through a defile Tsʻao’s men came out and stopped the train. Han Mêng galloped up to give battle but was soon overcome. The guard was scattered and soon the whole train was in flames. The escort and their leader got away.

The glow of the flames seen from Shao’s camp caused great consternation, which became fear when the escaped soldiers rode in and told their tale.

Yüan sent out Chang Ho and Kao Lan to try to intercept the raiders and they came upon Hsü Huang and his company. Just as they were attacking reinforcements came up and the Yüan men were between two fires. They were cut to pieces and the successful captains rode back to Kuantu, where they were richly rewarded.

As an additional safeguard Tsʻao made a supporting outpost in front of the main camp to be the apex of a triangle of defence.

When Han Mêng returned with his woeful tidings Yüan Shao was angry and threatened to put him to death. His colleagues begged him off.

Then said Shên Pʻei, “Food is very important for an army in the field and must be defended with the greatest diligence. Wuchʻao is our main depôt and must be carefully guarded.”

“My plans being complete,” said Shao, “you may as well return to Yehtu and undertake the control of the supplies. Let there be no shortage.” So Shên Pʻei left the army.

Then a force of two legions under six captains was told off to defend the depôt. One of these captains, Shunyu Chʻiung, was a hard man and a heavy drinker, who in his cups was a terror to the men. Under the idle life of guarding the supply depôt the leaders gave themselves up to indulgence and drank heavily.

In Tsʻao’s army also food was getting scarce and a message was sent to the capital to send grain quickly. The messenger with the letter, however, had not gone far when he fell into the hands of Shao’s men, who took him to the adviser Hsü Yu. Seeing from the letter that Tsʻao was short of supplies the adviser went to his master and told him saying, “Tsʻao Tsʻao and we have been at grips here for a long time and the capital must be undefended. A small army sent quickly could take it and at the same moment an attack here would deliver Tsʻao into our hands. Now is the moment to strike, for his supplies are short.”

Shao replied, “Tsʻao is full of ruses and this letter is artfully designed to bring about a battle to suit himself.”

“If you do not take this chance he will do you some injury by and by.”

Just at this juncture in came a despatch from Yehchün in which, after some details regarding the forwarding of grain, Shên Pʻei said he had discovered that Hsü Yu had been in the habit of receiving bribes while in Chʻichou and had winked at his relatives collecting excess taxes. One son and nephew were then in prison.

At this Yüan Shao turned on Hsü Yu angrily and said, “How can you have the face to stand before me and propose plans, you extortionate fellow? You and Tsʻao Tsʻao have old likings for each other and he has bribed you to do his dirty work for him and help his base schemes. Now you want to betray my army. I ought to take off your head, but temporarily I will let your neck carry it away. Get out and never let me see you again.”

The discredited adviser sighed and went out, saying, “Faithful words offend his ear. He is a pest and unworthy of advice from me. And now that Shên Pʻei has injured my son and nephew how can I look my fellow men in the face again?”

And he drew his sword to end his life. But his people prevented that. They said, “If Yüan Shao rejects your honest words then assuredly he will be taken by Tsʻao Tsʻao. You are an old friend of Tsʻao’s; why not abandon the shade for the sunlight?”

Just these few words awakened him to consciousness of his position and he decided to leave Yüan Shao and go over to Tsʻao Tsʻao for he was an old friend.

Vainly now for chances lost Yüan sighs; once he was great. Had he taken Hsü’s advice, Tsʻao had not set up a State.

Hsü Yu stealthily left the camp and set out for Tsʻao’s lines. He was captured on the way. He told his captors he was an old friend of the Minister’s and asked them to tell him that Hsü Yu of Nanyang wished to see him.

They did so. Tsʻao was resting in his tent, his clothing loose and comfortable after the toils of the day. When he heard who wished to see him he arose quite joyfully and dressed himself hastily to receive Hsü. He went forth to greet him. They saw each other in the distance and Tsʻao Tsʻao clapped his hands with gladness bowing to the ground when near enough to his visitor. Hsü Yu hastened to help him rise, saying, “Sir, you, a great Minister, should not thus salute a simple civilian like me.”

“But you are my old friend and no name or office makes any difference to us,” replied Tsʻao.

“Having been unable to choose the lord I would serve I had to bow my head before Yüan Shao. But he was deaf to my words and disregarded my plans. Wherefore I have left him and come now to see my old friend from whom I hope employment.”

“If Tzŭ-yuan is willing to come then have I indeed a helper,” said Tsʻao. “I desire you to give me a scheme for the destruction of Yüan Shao.”

“I counselled him to send a light force to take the capital so that head and tail be both attacked.”

Tsʻao was alarmed. “If he does so, I am lost.”

“How much grain have you in store?” said the new adviser.

“Enough for a year.”

“I think not quite,” said Yu smiling.

“Well, half a year.”

The visitor shook out his sleeves, rose and hurried toward the door of the tent, saying, “I offer him good counsel and he repays me with deceit. Could I have expected it?”

Tsʻao held him back. “Do not be angry,” said he. “I will tell you the truth. Really I have here only enough for three months.”

“Everybody says you are a marvel of wickedness and indeed it is true,” said Yu.

“But who does not know that in war there is no objection to deceit?” replied Tsʻao. Then whispering in the other’s ear he said, “Actually here I have only supplies for this month’s use.”

“O do not throw dust in my eyes any more. Your grain is exhausted and I know it.”

Tsʻao was startled, for he thought no one knew of the straits he was in.

“How did you find that out?” said he.

Hsü Yu produced the letter, saying, “Who wrote that?”

“Where did you get it?”

Whereupon he told Tsʻao the story of the captured messenger. Tsʻao seized him by the hand saying, “Since our old friendship has brought you to me I hope you have some plan to suggest to me.”

Hsü Yu said, “To oppose a great army with a small one is to walk in the way of destruction unless you inflict quick defeat. I can propose a plan which will defeat the innumerable hordes of Yüan Shao without fighting a battle. But will you follow my advice?”

“I desire to know your plan,” said Tsʻao.

“Your enemy’s stores of all kinds are at Wuchʻao, where the commander of the guard is that drunkard Shunyu Chʻiung. You can send some of your trusty veterans to pretend they belong to Chiang Chi, one of Yüan’s generals, sent to help guard the depôt. These men can find an opportunity to fire the grain and stores of all kinds, which will upset all Yüan Shao’s calculations.”

Tsʻao approved. He treated Hsü Yu very liberally and kept him in his camp. Forthwith he chose five companies of horse and foot ready for the expedition. Chang Liao protested the enterprise would be futile as the grain depôt would certainly be well guarded and he suggested treachery on the part of the newly arrived strategist.

“Hsü Yu is no traitor,” said Tsʻao. “He has come sent by Heaven to defeat Yüan Shao. If we do not get grain it will be hard to hold out and I have either to follow his advice or sit still and be hemmed in. If he was a traitor he would hardly remain in my camp. Moreover this raid has been my desire for a long time. Have no doubts; the raid will certainly succeed.”

“Well, then, you must look out for an attack here while the camp is undefended.”

“That is already well provided for,” said Tsʻao gleefully.

The defenders of the camp were then told off. Among them was Hsü Yü.

The arrangements for the raid on the grain depôt were made with extreme care to ensure success. When all was ready they set out, Tsʻao himself in the centre. The army showed the ensigns of their opponents. The men carried bundles of grass and faggots to make a blaze. The men were gagged and the horses tied round the muzzles so as to prevent any noise.

They set out at dusk. The night was fine and the stars shone brightly. Chü Shou, still a prisoner in Yüan Shao’s camp, saw the stars were very brilliant and told his gaolers to conduct him out to the central pavilion whence he could study them. While watching he saw the planet Venus invade the quarter of the Bear and Lyra, which startled him very greatly.

“Some misfortune is near,” said he.

So although it was still night he went to see his master. But Yüan Shao was sleeping after indulgence in too much wine and was in bad humour. However, when they had roused him saying that the prisoner had a secret message to deliver, he got up.

“While I happened to be studying the aspect of the heavens,” said the night visitor, “I saw Venus, then between Hydra and Cancer, suddenly shoot into the neighbourhood of the Bear and Lyra. There is danger of a robber raid and special precautions must be taken at the grain depôt. Lose no time in sending good soldiers and vigorous leaders thither and keep a lookout on the byeways among the hills that you may escape the wiles of Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

“You are a criminal,” said Shao. “How dare you come with such wild nonsense to upset my armies.”

And turning to the gaolers he continued, “I bade you confine him; why did you let him come?”

Then he issued orders to put the gaolers to death and appointed others to keep the prisoner in close custody.

Chü Shou went away, wiping his falling tears and sighing deeply. “Our soldiers’ destruction is at hand and I know not where my poor corpse may find a resting place.”

Blunt truth offended Yüan Shao, Too stupid any plan to make, His stores destroyed ’tis evident That Chʻichou also is at stake.

Tsʻao Tsʻao’s raiding party went along through the night. Passing one of Yüan Shao’s outpost camps they were challenged. Tsʻao sent forward a man to say, “Chiang Chi has orders to go to Wuchʻao to guard the grain stores.”

Seeing that the raiders marched under the ensigns of Yüan Shao the guard had no suspicions and let them pass. At every post this ruse was effective and they got safely through.

They reached their objective at the end of the fourth watch, the straw and wood were placed in position without loss of time and the blaze started. Then the captains beat to attack.

At the time of the attack Shunyu Chʻiung and his companions were all asleep after a heavy drinking bout. However, when the alarm was given, they sprang up and asked what was the matter. The hubbub was indescribable. Very soon the fuddled officers were caught with hooks and hauled out of their camp.

Mu Yüan-chin and Chao Jui were just returning from taking grain to the camp and seeing the flames arise, they hastened to assist. Some of Tsʻao’s soldiers ran to tell him that some of the enemy were coming up in the rear and ask him to send reinforcements, but he only replied by ordering the generals to press on to the front till the enemy was actually close at hand and then face about. So the attack was pressed and they all hastened forward.

Very soon the fire gained strength and thick smoke hung all around filling the sky. When Mu and Chao drew near, Tsʻao turned about and attacked them. They could not stand this for a moment and both captains were killed. Finally the stores of grain and forage were utterly destroyed.

The commander, Shunyu Chʻiung, was made prisoner and taken to Tsʻao who ordered him to be deprived of ears, nose and hands. He was bound on a horse and sent, thus horribly mutilated, to his master.

From Yüan’s camp the flames of the burning depôt were seen away in the north and they knew what they meant. Yüan hastily summoned his officers to a council to send a rescue party. Chang Ho offered to go with Kao Lan but Kuo Tʻu said, “You may not go; it is certain that Tsʻao Tsʻao is there in person, wherefore his camp is undefended. Let loose our soldiers on the camp and that will speedily bring Tsʻao back again. This is how Sun Pin besieged Wei and thereby rescued Han.”

But Chang Ho said, “Not so; Tsʻao is too wily not to have fully prepared against a chance attack. If we attack his camp and fail and Shunyu Chʻiung should be caught we shall all be captured too.”

Kuo Tʻu said, “Tsʻao will be too intent on the destruction of the grain to think of leaving a guard. I entreat you to attack his camp.”

So five companies under Chang Ho and Kao Lan were sent to attack Tsʻao’s camp and Chiang Chi was sent to try to recover the grain store.

Now after overcoming Shunyu, Tsʻao’s men dressed themselves in the armour and clothing of the defeated soldiers and put out their emblems, thus posing as defeated men running back to their own headquarters. And when they happened upon Chiang Chi’s rescue legion they said they had been beaten at Wuchʻao and were retreating. So they were suffered to pass without molestation while Chiang Chi hastened on. But soon he came to Chang Liao and Hsü Chu who cried out to him to stop. And before he could make any opposition Chang Liao had cut him down. Soon his men were killed or dispersed and the victors sent false messengers to Shao’s camp to say that Chiang Chi had attacked and driven away the defenders of the granaries. So no more reliefs were sent that way. However, reinforcements were sent to Kuantu.

In due course the Yüan men came down upon Tsʻao’s camp at Kuantu and the defenders at once came out and fought them on three sides so that they were worsted. By the time reinforcements arrived Tsʻao’s army, returning from the raid, had also come and Yüan’s men were attacked in the rear. So they were quite surrounded. However, Chang Ho and Kao Lan managed to force their way out and got away.

When the remains of the defenders of the grain stores reached their master’s camp they were mustered. Seeing the mutilated state of their one time leader, Shao asked how he had come to betray his trust and to suffer thus and the soldiers told their lord that their commander had been intoxicated at the time of the attack. So Shunyu was forthwith executed.

Kuo Tʻu, fearing lest Chang Ho and Kao Lan would return and testify the whole truth, began to intrigue against them. First he went to his lord saying, “Those two, Chang and Kao, were certainly very glad when your armies were defeated.”

“Why do you say this?” asked Yüan.

“O they have long cherished a desire to go over to Tsʻao Tsʻao, so when you sent them on the duty of destroying his camp they did not do their best and so brought about this disaster.”

Shao accordingly sent to recall these two to be interrogated as to their faults. But Kuo Tʻu, their enemy, sent a messenger in advance to warn them, as though in friendly guise, of the adverse fate that awaited them. So when the orders reached them to return to answer for their faults they asked why they were recalled. When the messenger disclaimed all knowledge of the reasons, Kao Lan drew his sword and killed him. Chang Ho was stupefied at this demonstration but Lan said, “Our lord has allowed some one to malign us and say we have been bought by Tsʻao Tsʻao. What is the sense in our sitting still and awaiting destruction? Rather let us surrender to Tsʻao Tsʻao in reality and save our lives.”

“I have been wanting to do this for some time,” replied Chang Ho.

Wherefore both, with their companies, made their way to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp to surrender.

When they arrived, Hsiahou Tun said to his master, “These two have come to surrender but I have doubts about them.”

Tsʻao replied, “I will meet them generously and win them over even if they have treachery in their hearts.”

The camp gates were opened to the two officers and they were invited to enter. They laid down their weapons, removed their armour and bowed to the ground before Tsʻao who said, “If Yüan Shao had listened to you he would not have suffered defeat. Now you two coming to surrender are like Wei Tzŭ going to Yin and Han Hsin going over to Han.”

He gave both men the rank of general and the title of marquis, which pleased them much.

And so as Yüan Shao had formerly driven away his adviser, Hsü Yu, so now he had alienated two captains and had lost his stores at Wuchʻao and the army was depressed and down-hearted.

When Hsü Yu advised Tsʻao to attack as promptly as he could the two newly surrendered men volunteered to lead the way. So these two were sent to make a first attack on the camp, and left in the night with three divisions. The fighting went on confusedly all night but stayed at dawn. Shao had lost heavily.

Then Hsün Yu suggested a plan saying, “Now is the moment to spread a report that a party of men will go to take Suantsao and attack Yehchün, and another to take Liyang and intercept the enemy’s retreat. Yüan Shao, when he hears of this, will be alarmed and tell off his men to meet this new turn of affairs, and while he is making these new dispositions we can have him at great disadvantage.”

The suggestion was adopted and care was taken that the report spread far around. It came to the ears of Yüan’s soldiers and they repeated it in camp. Yüan Shao believed it and ordered Yüan Shang with five legions to rescue Yehchün, and Hsin Ming with another five to go to Liyang and they marched away at once. Tsʻao heard that these armies had started and at once despatched eight divisions to make a simultaneous attack on the nearly empty camp. Yüan Shao’s men were too dispirited to fight and gave way on all sides.

Yüan Shao without waiting to don his armour went forth in simple dress with an ordinary cap upon his head and mounted his steed. His son Shang followed him. Four of the enemy captains with their men pressed in his rear and Shao hastened across the river, abandoning all his documents and papers, baggage, treasure and stores. Only eight hundred men followed him over the stream. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s men followed hard but could not come up with him; however, they captured all his impedimenta and they slew many thousands of his men so that the watercourses ran blood and the drowned corpses could not be counted. It was a most complete victory for Tsʻao and he made over all the spoil to the army.

Among the papers of Yüan Shao was found a bundle of letters showing secret correspondence between him and many persons in the capital and army. Tsʻao’s personal staff suggested that the names of those concerned should be abstracted and the persons arrested, but their lord said, “Shao was so strong that even I could not be sure of safety; how much less other men?”

So he ordered the papers to be burned and nothing more was said.

Now when Yüan Shao’s men ran away Chü Shou, being a prisoner, could not get away and was captured. Taken before Tsʻao, who knew him, he cried aloud, “I will not surrender.”

Said Tsʻao, “Yüan Shao was foolish and neglected your advice; why still cling to the path of delusion? Had I had you to help me I should have been sure of the Empire.”

The prisoner was well treated in the camp but he stole a horse and tried to get away to Yüan Shao. This angered Tsʻao who put him to death, which he met with brave composure.

“I have slain a faithful and righteous man,” then said Tsʻao sadly. And the victim was honourably buried at Kuantu. His tomb bore the inscription “This is the tomb of Chü the loyal and virtuous.”

Chü honest was and virtuous, The best in Yüan’s train, From him the stars no secrets held, In tactics all was plain. For him no terrors had grim death, Too lofty was his spirit, His captor slew him, but his tomb Bears witness to his merit.

Tsʻao Tsʻao now gave orders to attack Chʻichou.

In feeling over confident, that’s where one’s weakness lay; The other bettered him by plans which never went agley.

The following chapter will tell who won the next campaign.

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