Chapter XXXIX…

Chapter XXXIX

AT CHINGCHOU THE SON OF LIU PIAO THRICE BEGS ADVICE: AT POWANG SLOPE THE MASTER DIRECTS HIS FIRST BATTLE.

Now Sun Chʻüan fought against Hsiakʻou. When Huang Tsu recognised that he was beaten and could not maintain his position, he abandoned Chianghsia and took the road to Chingchou. Kan Ning, foreseeing this, had laid an ambush outside the east gate. Soon after the fugitive, with a small following, had burst out of the gate he found his road blocked.

From horseback, Huang Tsu said, “I treated you well in the past, why do you now press me so hard?”

Kan Ning angrily shouted, “I did good service for you and yet you treated me as a pirate. Now what have you to say?”

There was nothing to be said, and Huang turned his horse to escape. But Kan Ning thrust aside his men and himself rode in pursuit. Then he heard a shouting in his rear and saw Chʻêng Pʻu coming up. Fearing lest this other pursuer should overpass him and score the success he desired for himself, Kan fitted an arrow to his bow and shot at the fugitive. Huang was hit and fell from his steed. Then Kan Ning cut off his head. After this, joining himself to Chʻêng Pʻu, the two returned bearing the ghastly trophy to their lord. Sun Chʻüan ordered them to place it in a box to be taken back home and offered as a sacrifice to the manes of his father.

Having rewarded the soldiers for the victory and promoted Kan Ning, Sun Chʻüan next discussed the advisability of sending a force to hold Chianghsia. But his adviser, Chang Chao, said it was useless to try to hold one city alone. It would be better to return home and prepare for the expedition that Liu Piao would surely send in revenge. They would defeat him, push home the attack and capture his district.

Sun Chʻüan saw the advice was wise so he left Chianghsia and led his army home to the east.

Now Su Fei was still confined, but he got some one to go to Kan Ning to beg him to plead for mercy. Kan Ning had expected this although the prisoner had said no word and he was averse from leaving his friend and one-time protector to perish. “I should not have forgotten him even if he had said nothing,” said Kan.

When the army had reached Wuhui the victor gave orders for Su Fei’s execution that his head might be offered with that of Huang Tsu. Then Kan Ning went in to his lord and said, weeping, “Long ago, if it had not been for Su Fei, my bones would have been rotting in some ditch and how then could I have rendered service under your banner? Now he deserves death, but I cannot forget his kindness to me and I pray you take away the honours you have bestowed on me as a set-off to his crime.”

Sun Chʻüan replied, “Since he once showed kindness to you, I will pardon him for your sake. But what can be done if he run away?”

“If he be pardoned and escape death he will be immeasurably grateful and will not go away. If he should, then will I offer my life in exchange.”

So the condemned man escaped death and only one head was offered in sacrifice. After the sacrificial ceremonies a great banquet was spread in honour of the victories. As it was proceeding suddenly one of the guests burst into loud lamentations, drew his sword and rushed upon Kan Ning. Kan hastily rose and defended himself with the chair on which he had been sitting. The host looked at the assailant and saw it was Ling Tʻung, whose father had fallen under an arrow shot by Kan Ning. The son was now burning to avenge his father’s death.

Hastily leaving his place, Sun Chʻüan checked the angry officer, saying, “If he slew your noble father, then remember each was fighting for his lord for whom he was bound to exert himself to the utmost. But now that you are under one flag and are of one house you may not recall an ancient injury. You must regard my interests continually.”

Tsʻao Ling beat his head upon the floor and cried, saying, “But how can I not avenge this? It is a blood feud and we may not both live under the same sky.”

The guests interfered, beseeching the man to forgo his revenge, and at last he ceased from his murderous intention. But he sat glaring wrathfully at his enemy.

So soon after Kan Ning was despatched with half a legion and a squadron of ships to guard Hsiakʻou, where he was beyond the reach of his enemy’s wrath. Then Sun Chʻüan promoted Tsʻao Ling and so he was somewhat appeased.

From about this time Wu enlarged her fleets, and men were sent to various points to guard the river banks. The brother of the chieftain was placed in command at Wuhui and Sun Chʻüan himself, with a large army, camped at Chʻaisang. Chou Yü, the Commander-in-Chief of the forces, was on the Pʻoyang Lake training the naval forces, and general preparations were made for defence and attack.

Here our story digresses to follow the adventures of Liu Pei. By his spies he had tidings of the doings in the lower portion of the great river, and knew of the death of Huang Tsu. So he consulted Kʻung-ming as to his action. While they were discussing matters, there arrived a messenger from Liu Piao, begging Liu Pei to go to see him. Kʻung-ming advised him to go and said, “This call is to consult you about avenging Huang Tsu. You must take me with you and let me act as the circumstances direct. There are advantages to be got.”

Leaving his second brother in command at Hsinyeh, Liu Pei set forth, taking Chang Fei with half a company as his escort. On the way he discussed the course of action with his adviser, who said, “First you must thank him for having saved you from the evil that was planned against you at Hsiangyang. But you must not undertake any expedition against Wu; say you must return to Hsinyeh to put your army in good order.”

With this admonition Liu Pei came to Chingchou and was lodged in the guest-house. Chang Fei and the escort camped without the walls. In due course Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming were received, and after the customary salutations, the guest apologised for his conduct.

The host said, “Worthy brother, I know you were the victim of a vile plot and I should have put the prime mover to death for it had there not been so universal a prayer for mercy. However, I remitted that penalty. I hope you do not consider that I was wrong.”

“Mao had little to do with it; I think it was due to his subordinates,” replied Pei.

Piao said, “Chianghsia is lost, as you know; Huang is dead. So I have asked you to come that we might take measures of vengeance.”

“Huang was harsh and cruel and never used his men in the proper way; that was the real cause of his fall. But have you reflected what Tsʻao Tsʻao may do on the north if we attack the south?”

“I am getting old and weak and I am unable to manage affairs properly; will you aid me, brother? After I am gone you will have this district.

“Why do you say this, my brother? Think you that I am equal to such a task?”

Here Kʻung-ming glanced at Liu Pei who continued, “But give me a little time to think it over.”

And at this point he took his leave. When they had reached their lodging, Kʻung-ming said, “Why did you decline his offer of the district?”

“He has always been most kind and courteous. I could not take advantage of his weakness.”

“A perfectly kindly and gracious lord,” sighed Kʻung-ming.

Soon after the son of Liu Piao was announced and Liu Pei received him and led him in. The young man began to weep saying, “My mother cannot bear the sight of me. My very life is in danger. Can you not save me, Uncle?”

“My worthy nephew, this is a family affair. You should not come to me.”

Kʻung-ming, who was present, smiled. Liu Pei turned to him to know what he should do.

“This is a family affair; I cannot touch it!” replied Kʻung-ming.

The young man soon left and when Yüan-tê was saying good-bye he whispered, “I will get Kʻung-ming to return your call and you can talk with him. He will advise you.”

Liu Chi thanked him and left. Next day when the call was to be returned Yüan-tê pretended to be suffering from colic and made that an excuse to send Kʻung-ming to return the call. The adviser went, and when he had reached the Palace, dismounted and was led in, Liu Chi conducted him into one of the inner rooms and when the tea had been brought, said, “I am an object of my stepmother’s dislike; can you advise me what to do?”

“As a mere stranger guest I can hardly have anything to do with your own ‘bone and flesh’ matters. If I did, and the story got abroad, much harm might ensue.”

With this he rose to take leave. But Chi was unwilling to say farewell. He said, “Your glory has turned in my direction, you cannot mean to go away so pointlessly.”

He led his visitor into a private chamber and had refreshments brought. While they ate and drank Chi repeated his first request: what was he to do since his stepmother disliked him?

“It is not the sort of thing I can advise in,” replied Kʻung-ming, as he rose for the second time to take leave.

“Master, if you will not reply, that is well. But why incontinently leave me?”

So the adviser once more seated himself and Liu Chi said, “There is an ancient writing I should like to show you.” And he led his visitor to a small upper room.

“Where is the writing?” said Kʻung-ming.

Instead of answering Liu Chi wept, saying, “My stepmother cannot bear me; my life is in danger. O Master, will you not say a word to save me?”

Kʻung-ming flushed and rose to go away. But he found the ladder by which they had mounted had been removed. Again Chi besought some advice, “Master, you fear lest it may get abroad! Is that why you are silent? Here we are between earth and sky and what you say will come out of your mouth directly into my ear. No other soul can hear. Now can you tell me what to do?”

“Sow not dissension among relatives,” said Kʻung-ming. “Is it possible for me to make any plan for you?”

“Then is my life indeed in danger,” said the young man. “I will die at your feet.”

So saying, he pulled out a dagger and threatened to make an end of himself.

Kʻung-ming checked him. “There is a way,” said he.

“I pray you tell me.”

“You have heard of Shên Shêng and Chʻung Erh, have you not? Shên Shêng stayed at home and died; his brother went away and lived in peace. Now that Huang Tsu is gone and Chianghsia is weakly defended, why do you not ask to be sent there to guard it? Then you would be out of the way of harm.”

Chi thanked him. Then he called to his people to restore the ladder and he escorted Kʻung-ming down to the level ground.

Kʻung-ming returned to Yüan-tê and related the whole interview. The young man soon acted on the advice given him, but his father would not at first consent to let him go. To settle his doubts he sent for Yüan-tê, who said, “Chianghsia is important and your son is the most suitable man to defend it. You must let him go. The south-east will be defended by your son; the north-west I will look after.”

“I hear that Tsʻao Tsʻao has been training a naval force and I am afraid he has intentions against us. We must be on our guard.”

“I know all about it; you need feel no anxiety,” said Yüan-tê.

He took leave of his relative and went home while Liu Chi received command of three companies and went to guard Chianghsia.

At this time Tsʻao Tsʻao suppressed the three high officers of State and exercised their functions himself. He appointed as his general secretaries or Tsʻao-chʻuan, Mao Chieh and Tsʻui Yen, and as literary secretary, Ssŭma I, grandson of Ssŭma Sui and son of Ssŭma Fang. Thus he was strong in literary talent.

He then called his military officers to a council to discuss an expedition against the south. Hsiahou Tun opened the debate saying, “Liu Fei is drilling his army at Hsinyeh, and is a source of danger. He should be destroyed.”

Accordingly he was appointed Commander-in-Chief and four assistants were given him. With these he led ten legions to Powangchʻêng, whence he could observe Hsinyeh.

Hsün Yü was opposed to this and said, “Liu Pei is a famous warrior and he has lately taken to himself as his director of training Chuko Liang. Caution is needed.”

Tun replied, “Liu Pei is a mean rat. I will certainly take him prisoner.”

“Do not despise him,” said Hsü Shu. “Remember he has Chuko Liang to help him and so he is like a tiger who has grown wings.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao said, “Who is this Chuko Liang?”

“He is also called Kʻung-ming, and has taken a Taoist cognomen of ‘Sleeping Dragon.’ He is a perfect genius, god and devil combined, the greatest marvel of the age. Do not despise him.”

“How does he stand as compared with you?” asked Tsʻao.

“There is no comparison. I am a mere glow-worm spark; he is the glory of the full moon,” replied Hsü Shu.

“You are mistaken,” replied Tun. “This Chuko Liang of yours is of no account. Who would fear him? If I do not take him and his master prisoners in the first battle, then here is my head, a free gift to our lord, the minister.”

“Hasten to comfort me with news of victory,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.

Hsiahou Tun hastened to depart.

The advent of Kʻung-ming and the extravagant deference shown him did not please Liu Pei’s sworn brothers who grumbled, saying, “He is very young although he is clever and learned. Our brother really treats him too well. We have not seen any evidence of his wonderful skill.”

Liu Pei replied, “You do not know his worth. To me it seems as if the fish had got into the water again. Pray do not discuss this matter further, my brothers.”

They withdrew, silent but dissatisfied. One day a man presented Liu Pei with a yak’s tail and he at once put it in his cap as an ornament. Kʻung-ming came in and noticed it at once. “Then you have renounced all ambition, my lord; you are just going to attend to this sort of thing,” he quietly remarked.

Yüan-tê snatched off his cap and flung it away. “I was only amusing myself with the thing,” replied he.

“How do you think you stand compared with Tsʻao Tsʻao?” asked Kʻung-ming.

“Inferior.”

“Yes; your army is less than one legion and the chances are ten thousand to one that he will attack. How can we meet him?”

“I am greatly distressed about it; but I see no way.”

“You might recruit and I will train them. Then we might be able to oppose him.”

So recruiting began and three companies were enlisted. Kʻung-ming set about drilling them diligently.

Soon they heard that Hsiahou Tun was leading an army of ten legions against them. When he heard it Chang Fei said to his brother, Kuan Yü, “We will get this Kʻung-ming to go and fight them.”

Just at that moment they were summoned to their brother, who asked their advice.

“Why not send the ‘Water’ brother?” said Chang Fei.

“For method I rely on Kʻung-ming; but for action I put my faith in you, my brothers. Are you going to fail me?”

They went out and Kʻung-ming was called. “I fear your brothers will not obey me,” said Kʻung-ming. “Wherefore, if I am to direct the campaign, you must give me a seal of office and a sword of authority.”

So Yüan-tê gave him both. Armed with these ensigns of power he assembled the officers to receive their orders.

“We will go just to see what he will do,” said one brother to the other.

In the assembly Kʻung-ming spoke saying, “On the left of Powang are hills called Yüshan. On the right is a forest, Anlin. There we will prepare an ambush. Kuan Yü will go to the former place with one company. He will remain there quiescent till the enemy has passed, but when he sees a flame in the south, that will be the signal to attack. He will first burn their baggage train. Chang Fei will go to a valley behind the forest. When he sees the signal he is to go to the old stores depôt at Powang and burn that. Kuan Pʻing and Liu Fêng will take half a company each, prepare combustibles and be ready with them beyond Powang Slope. The enemy will arrive about dusk and then they can start the blaze.”

“Chao Yün, now recalled from Fanchʻêng, is to lead the attack, but he is to lose and not win. And Liu Pei is to command the reserve. See that each one obeys these orders and let there be no mistakes.”

Then said Kuan Yü, “All of us are to go out to meet the enemy, but I have not yet heard what you are going to do.”

“I am going to guard the city.”

Chang Fei burst into a laugh, “We are to go out to bloody battle and you are to stay quietly at home quite comfortable.”

“Here is the sword and here the seal,” replied the strategist, displaying the emblems of authority. “Disobedience of orders will be death.”

Liu Pei said, “Do you not understand that the plans elaborated in a little chamber decide success over thousands of li? Do not disobey the command, my brothers.”

Chang Fei went out smiling cynically.

Kuan Yü remarked, “Let us await the result. If he fail then we can look to it.”

The brothers left. None of the officers understood anything of the general line of strategy and, though they obeyed orders, they were not without doubts and misgivings.

Kʻung-ming said to Liu Pei, “You may now lead your men to the hills and camp till the enemy shall arrive to-morrow evening. Then you are to abandon the camp and move away retreating till the signal is seen. Then you will advance and attack with all force. The two Mi and I will guard the city.”

In the city he prepared banquets to celebrate the victory and also prepared the books to record exceptional services. Liu Pei noted all these things with not a little trouble in his heart.

Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army in due course reached Powang. Then half of them, the veterans, were told off for the first attack and the remainder were to guard the baggage train and supplies. Thus they marched in two divisions. The season was autumn and a chilly wind began to blow.

They pressed forward. Presently they saw a cloud of dust ahead of them and the general ordered the ranks to be reformed. He questioned the guides as to the name of the place. They told him the place in front was Powang Slope and behind them was the Lokʻou Stream. Then Hsiahou Tun rode to the front to reconnoitre, leaving Yü Chin and Li Tien to finish setting out the battle array.

Presently he began to laugh and, when they asked the cause of this merriment, he replied, “Hsü Shu praised Chuko Liang to the very skies as something more than human. But now that I see how he has placed his men and the stuff he has put into his vanguard, it seems to me that he is sending dogs or sheep against tigers and leopards. I bragged a little when I said I would take him prisoner, but I am going to make good my boast.”

Then he rode forward at full speed. Chao Yün rode to meet him and Tun opened a volley of abuse. “You lot, followers of Liu Pei, are only like wraiths following devils.”

This angered Chao Yün and a combat began. In a little time Chao Yün turned and retreated as if he was worsted. Tun pressed after him and kept up the chase for some ten li. Then Chao suddenly turned again and offered fight; but only to retreat after a few passes.

Seeing these tactics Han Hao, one of Tun’s captains, rode up to his chief and urged him to use caution saying he feared he was being inveigled into an ambush.

“With such antagonists as these I should not fear a score of ambushes,” replied Tun, pressing forward eagerly.

Just as he reached the slope he heard the roar of a bomb and out came Liu Pei to attack. “Here is your ambush,” said Hsiahou Tun, laughing. “I will get to Hsinyeh this evening before I have done.”

He urged his men forward and his opponents retired in measure as he advanced.

As evening came on, thick clouds overcast the whole sky. The wind increased but the leader still urged his men after the retreating foe. The two captains came to a narrow part of the road with reeds and rushes thick all round them.

“Those who despise the enemy are beaten,” said Li Tien to Yü Chin. “Away south there the roads are narrow, and streams and mountains make the country difficult. The forests are dense and if the enemy used fire we should be lost.”

“You are right,” replied Chin. “I will get on and warn the Commander. Perhaps he will stop. You can halt those who come up.”

Yü Chin rode forward shouting at the top of his voice. Hsiahou Tun saw him coming up and asked what was the matter. Chin told him of the state of the country and reminded him of the danger of fire. His ferocity had then somewhat abated and he turned his steed toward his main body.

Then there arose a shout behind him. A rushing noise came from in the reeds and great tongues of flame shot up here and there. These spread and soon the fire was in “the four quarters and the eight sides,” and fanned by a strong wind.

The Tsʻao troops were thrown into confusion and trampled each other down. Many perished. Chao Yün turned on them again. The Commander-in-Chief dashed through the fire and smoke to escape.

Now Li Tien saw that things were going very badly so he turned to get back to Powangchʻêng but fell upon a body of men in the way, led by Kuan Yü. He dashed into their midst and managed to get clear. Yü Chin saw the supplies were being destroyed and there was nothing left to guard, so he escaped along a bye-path. Two other captains, who came to try to save the baggage train, met Chang Fei and one of them was slain forthwith, but the other escaped. Next morning the countryside was strewn with corpses and drenched with blood.

The armies met on Powang Slope And Kʻung-ming fought with fire; A perfect strategist, he bent All men to his desire. But poor Tsʻao Tsʻao, his enemy, He trembled in his shoes Before the man, who’d never fought But yet could armies use.

Hsiahou Tung drew up the battered remains of his army and led them back to the capital.

Kʻung-ming ordered his armies to collect, and as Kuan and Chang rode homeward they confessed to each other that the new strategist was a fine fellow. Before long they met him seated in a light carriage and they dismounted and bowed before him. The remaining bodies came in. The spoil was distributed among the soldiers and all returned to Hsinyeh, where the populace lined the roads to bid them welcome.

“We owe our lives to the Prince,” they cried to Liu Pei.

Said Kʻung-ming, “Hsiahou Tun has been driven off, but Tsʻao Tsʻao will come with a stronger force.”

“And what shall we do?” replied Liu Pei.

“My plan is quite ready,” said Kʻung-ming.

Always battles, nowhere rest for horse or man; Must rely on ruses, dodging where one can.

The plan prepared against Tsʻao Tsʻao will be unfolded in the next chapter.

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Chapter XL

THE LADY TSʻAI DISCUSSES THE RENUNCIATION OF CHINGCHOU: CHUKO LIANG BURNS HSINYEH.

When Yüan-tê asked how his adviser hoped to repel Tsʻao Tsʻao, Kʻung-ming replied, “This is a small city and unfitted for our lengthy occupation. Liu Piao is ill and failing fast, so this is the time to take his district as a base where we may be safe against Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

“You speak well, Master, but Liu Piao has shown me great kindness and I could not bear to serve him an ill turn.”

“If you do not take this opportunity you will regret it ever after,” said Kʻung-ming,

“I would rather perish than do what is wrong.”

“We will discuss it again,” replied Kʻung-ming.

When Hsiahou Tun reached the capital he presented himself to his master in bonds and craved death. But his master loosed him and let him tell his tale. And he said, “I was the victim of Chuko Liang’s evil machinations; he attacked with fire.”

“As a soldier from your youth you should have remembered that fire was a likely weapon in narrow roads.”

“Li Tien and Yü Chin reminded me; I am sorry enough now.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao rewarded his two captains who had warned their leader.

“Liu Pei as strong as he is now certainly is a menace to our existence and he must be quickly destroyed,” said Hsiahou Tun.

“He is one of my anxieties,” replied Tsʻao. “Sun Chʻüan is the other. The rest do not count. We must take this chance to sweep the south clean.”

Then orders were issued to prepare an army of fifty legions, in five divisions of ten legions each. Each had two leaders, except the fifth, which Tsʻao Tsʻao himself led. The van was commanded by Hsü Chʻu. The seventh moon of the thirteenth year was fixed for the march.

The high officer, Kʻung Jung, offered a remonstrance. He said, “Liu Pei and Liu Piao are both of the Imperial House and should not be attacked without grave reasons. Sun Chʻüan in the six districts is terrible as a crouching tiger and, with the Great River as his defence, he is very secure. If, Sir Minister, you undertake this unjustifiable expedition, you will forfeit the respect of the world, I fear.”

“All three of them are disobedient ministers and rebels and how can I fail to punish them?” replied Tsʻao.

He was angry, and bade the adviser go from his presence. Presently he gave formal orders that he would put to death any one who remonstrated on the subject of his expedition.

Kʻung Jung went forth from the palace sadly. Casting his eyes up to heaven, he cried, “Where is the chance of success when the perfectly inhumane attacks the perfectly humane? He must be defeated.”

One of the clients of the historian Chʻi Lü, whom Kʻung Jung had always treated contemptuously and disdainfully, happened to hear this apostrophe and told his patron who carried the tale to Tsʻao Tsʻao. He also added to it that Kʻung habitually spoke disrespectfully of the Chief Minister and had been very friendly with Mi Hêng. In fact the insults that Mi Hêng had hurled at Tsʻao Tsʻao had been deliberately arranged and intrigued by Kʻung. Kʻung Jung and Mi Hêng seemed to admire each other hugely and Mi used to say, “Confucius is not dead” and the other used to reply “Yen Hui has risen again.”

Chʻi Lü’s tale angered Tsʻao, who ordered the arrest of the historian and sent Tʻing Wei to carry it out.

Now Kʻung Jung had two sons, both young, who were sitting at home playing wei-chʻi, when one of their servants ran in and said, “Your father has just been carried off for execution; why do you not run away?”

The youths replied, “When the nest is pulled down are the eggs left unbroken?”

Even at that moment the same officer came and carried off the whole household. The two youths were beheaded. The father’s corpse was exposed in the streets.

The Prefect of the Metropolis, Chih Hsi, wept over the corpse. This public exhibition of sympathy re-kindled Tsʻao’s anger and he was going to punish it with death. However, this additional cruelty was prevented by the adviser Hsün Yü, who said, “You should not slay a righteous man who came to mourn over his friend’s corpse. He had often warned his friend, Kʻung Jung, against the danger his severe rectitude might lead him into.”

Chih Hsi took up the remains of father and sons and buried them.

Kʻung Jung, who dwelt on the north sea shore, A noble reputation bore; With him all guests warm welcome found, And ceaselessly the wine went round. For skill in letters he was famed, In speech, he dukes and princes shamed, Historians his merits tell, Recorders say that he did well.

After wreaking his wrath on Kʻung Jung, Tsʻao issued the order to march. Hsün Yü was left in command of the capital.

About this time the Prefect of Chingchou became seriously ill and he summoned Liu Pei to his chamber. He went accompanied by his two brothers and the adviser. Liu Piao said, “The disease has attacked my very vitals and my time is short. I confide my orphans to your guardianship. My son is unfit to succeed to my place, and I pray you, my brother, to administer the district after my death.”

Liu Pei wept, saying, “I will do my utmost to help my nephew; what else could I do, indeed?”

Even at this moment came the news of the march of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s armies and Liu Pei, taking hasty leave of his kinsman, was forced to hurry to his station. The evil tidings aggravated the sick man’s condition and he began to make his last arrangements. In his testament he appointed Yüan-tê the guardian of his son Liu Chi, who was to succeed in the lordship.

This arrangement greatly angered his wife the Lady Tsʻai. She closed the inner doors against all and confided to her own partizans, of whom her brother and Chang Yün were her confidants, the keeping of the outer gates.

The heir was at Chianghsia and he came to make filial enquiries as soon as his father’s condition became serious. But Tsʻai Mao refused him admittance and said, “Your father sent you to guard Chianghsia. Such a very responsible post should by no means have been quitted without orders. Suppose it was attacked, what might not happen? If your father sees you he will be very angry and it will make him worse. That would be most undutiful and you should return to your command at once.”

Liu Chi stood out for some time, but admittance was denied him in spite of his tears. So he returned to his post. Meanwhile his father rapidly grew worse. He anxiously looked for his son, but he came not. Suddenly he uttered piercing shrieks and then passed away.

When the Yüans were lords of the north, And Piao held the bank of the river, It seemed, so strong were they both, That they would endure for ever. But the women folk troubled their states, And, meddling, confusion made; It was mournful indeed to see How quickly the house decayed.

So the Prefect died. Then the widow and her partizans took counsel together and forged a testament conferring the lordship of Chingchou on the second son Liu Tsʻung before they published the news of the death.

The wrongful heir was then fourteen years of age. He was no fool, so he assembled the officials and said, “My father has passed away and my elder brother is at Chianghsia. More than that, our uncle is at Hsinyeh. You have made me lord, but if my brother and uncle come here with an army to punish me for usurping the lordship, what explanation can I offer?”

At first no one replied. Then a secretary Li Kuei, rose and said, “You speak well. Now hasten to send letters of mourning to your brother and ask him to come and take his inheritance. Also call upon Yüan-tê to come and assist in the administration. Then shall we be safe against our enemies on both north and south. I consider this the most excellent plan.”

But Tsʻai Mao replied harshly, “Who are you to speak thus wildly and oppose the testament of our late lord?”

Li began to abuse him, “You and your party have fabricated this testament, setting aside the rightful heir. Now the whole district is in the hands of the Tsʻai family and if our dead lord knew your doings he would slay you.”

Tsʻai Mao ordered the lictors to take him away to execution. He was hurried out, but his tongue ceased not.

So the younger son was placed in his father’s seat and the Tsʻai clan shared among them the whole military authority of the district. The defence of Chingchou was confided to Têng I and Liu Hsien, while Lady Tsʻai and her son took up their residence in Hsiangyang so as to be out of the reach of the rightful heir and his uncle. They interred the remains of the late Prefect on the east of Hsiangyang. No notice of the death was sent to Liu Chi, the son, or to his uncle.

Liu Tsʻung arrived at Hsiangyang, but, before he had had time to recover from the fatigue of the journey, the startling news of the approach of a great army came in. He summoned Kʻuai Yüeh and Tsʻai Mao and others to ask counsel. One of the secretaries, Fu Sun, offered his advice, saying, “Not only are we threatened by a great army, but the elder son, who is the real heir, at Chianghsia, and his uncle at Hsinyeh, are to be reckoned with. These two have not been notified of the death, and they will resent that. We shall be in sad case if they also march against us. But if you will adopt my suggestion then our people will be as steady as Mount Tʻai and our young lord’s position and rank will be assured.”

“What is your plan?” asked the young lord.

“To offer the whole district to Tsʻao Tsʻao, who will treat our young master most liberally.”

“What advice!” said Liu Tsʻung angrily. “Am I to yield my heritage to another before I have even fairly succeeded to it?”

“The advice is good,” said Kʻuai Yüeh. “Opportunism is a policy and possibilities need consideration. In the name of government, Tsʻao is fighting against his neighbours. If our lord oppose him he will be termed contumacious. Beside, any misfortune on our borders before our young lord is well established will react upon the internal administration and our people will be panic-stricken at the mere news of the approach of a hostile army. How could we then offer any resistance?”

Liu Tsʻung replied, “It is not that I disagree with you, but I should be a laughing-stock to the whole world were I to abandon my heritage without an effort.”

He was interrupted by a speaker who said, “If their advice is good, why not follow it?”

They turned toward the speaker who was a certain Wang Tsʻan of Shangyang, a lean, cadaverous individual much below the middle height of a man.

However, his talents did not conform to his physical appearance. When he was yet a youth he went to visit Tsʻai Yung, then a vice-president, and although many guests of exalted rank were present, the host hastened to welcome the newcomer with the greatest deference. The others were astonished and asked why he was so respectful to a mere youth.

“He is a young man with the highest gifts; were I only like him——,” said Tsʻai.

Wang was widely read and had a most retentive memory, better than any of his contemporaries. If he glanced at a roadside monument as he passed, he remembered every word of the inscription. If he saw people playing wei-chʻi and the board was suddenly overthrown, he could replace every pip in its proper place. He was a good mathematician and his poems were exquisite. At seventeen he was appointed a court official but did not take up the appointment. When the disturbance in the empire grew serious he sought refuge in Chingchou, where he was received with great honour as guest of the Prefect.

What he said was this, “General, how do you compare with Tsʻao Tsʻao?”

“Inferior,” replied Liu Tsʻung.

Wang continued, “Tsʻao has many soldiers and bold leaders; he is able and resourceful. He took Lü Pu and broke the power of Yüan Shao. He pursued Liu Pei into Lung and destroyed Wu Huan. The destruction of such firmly established men shows his invincible character. Now he is on the way here and it will be very difficult to withstand him. The plan proposed is the best you can expect and you should not delay and hesitate till it is too late for aught but regret.”

“Worthy Sir, you indeed speak to the point; I must inform my mother,” said the young ruler.

But just then they saw his mother appear from behind a screen; she had been listening to all that was said.

“Why refer to me when three such gentlemen coincide in their opinions?” said she.

So he decided, and the letter of surrender was composed and entrusted to one Sung Chung to convey secretly to Tsʻao Tsʻao. Sung went straight to Wanchʻêng and presented the letter. It was received with joy and the bearer well rewarded. The submission was accepted and Sung was told to tell his master to go out to meet Tsʻao Tsʻao in the open country and he was to be confirmed in perpetual tenure of his land.

Sung Chung left the city and took the homeward way. He had nearly reached the ferry when he fell in with a party of horse. On a closer look he saw the leader was Kuan Yü. The messenger tried to escape observation, but was presently captured and taken to the leader to be questioned. At first he prevaricated but on being closely questioned told the whole story. Then he was carried off to Hsinyeh and made to retell his story to Liu Pei who heard it with lamentations.

Chang Fei said, “This being so, I propose that we put this fellow to death, then cross the river, attack Hsiangyang and make an end of the Tsʻai tribe and Liu Tsʻung as well. Then we can attack Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

But Yüan-tê replied, “Just shut your mouth. I have something more to say.” Then turning to the prisoner he shouted, “When they did all this why did you not come to tell me? As things are now there is nothing to be gained by killing you. You may go.”

Sung Chung stammered his thanks, threw his arms over his head and ran away. Yüan-tê was very sad.

Presently a certain I Chi, a messenger from his nephew, was announced. Yüan-tê was very fond of this man and went down the steps to welcome him.

Then said I Chi, “The heir has heard that his father is dead, but his stepmother and her family are keeping back the news so that they may set up Liu Tsʻung. He knows the news is true, as he sent a special messenger to find out. He thinks you, O Prince, may not know and has sent me to inform you and his letter begs you to lead all the men you can to Hsiangyang to help him assert his claims.”

Yüan-tê opened and read the letter. Then he said, “Yes; you know that the younger son has usurped the lordship, but you have not heard that he has already sent to offer the district to Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

This news shocked I Chi. “How know you this?” he asked.

Liu Pei told of the capture of Sung Chung. Chi said, “You can go to Hsiangyang as if to attend the mourning ceremonies and so draw Liu Tsʻung into coming out of the city to welcome you. Then you can seize him, slay his party and take the district.”

“Your advice is good,” said Kʻung-ming, “and my lord ought to take it.”

Liu Pei wept, saying, “In his last interview my brother confided his son and heir to my care. If I lay hands upon another son and seize upon the inheritance, how shall I be able to look my brother in the face when I meet him by and bye beyond the grave?”

“If you do not act in this way now how will you repel Tsʻao Tsʻao, who has already reached Wanchʻêng?” said Kʻung-ming.

“Our best plan is to take refuge in Fanchʻêng,” replied Yüan-tê.

Just about this time the spies came to say that Tsʻao’s army had reached Powang. So I Chi was sent off with instructions to take measures for the defence of Chianghsia, while Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming discussed plans for meeting the enemy.

Kʻung-ming bade his master take heart. As he had seen the last army destroyed by fire, so would he see this one also the victim of a ruse. He said, “This is no place to live in; we will move over to Fanchʻêng.”

Then notices were posted at all the gates that all the people, without any exception, were to follow their rulers at once to the new city to escape danger. Boats were prepared and the people sent away under the direction of Sun Chʻien. Mi Chu saw to the safe conveyance of the families of the officials.

Then the officers assembled for orders. Kuan Yü was to go to the White River. His men were to carry bags to fill with sand and earth to dam the river till the enemy should be heard, about the third watch next day. Then the waters were to be freed to drown one of the armies. He was then to march down river. Chang Fei was to go to Poling Ferry, where the current was slow. After the waters of the White River had been let loose on Tsʻao’s men they would try to get over the river at the ferry. They were to be attacked. Chao Yün was to divide three companies into four parties and take one to the east gate. The other three were for the other gates. The roofs of the houses within the city walls were piled with sulphur nitre and other combustibles.

The intention was to set fire to the city when the army of the enemy had entered it for shelter. There would be a strong breeze next day in the evening which would fan the flames. When this wind began to blow, fire arrows were to be shot into the city from all sides. When the flames were high there was to be a great shouting outside to add to the general terror. The east gate was to be left free for escape, but the flying men were to be smitten after passing the gate. Fanchʻêng was the rallying centre after the battle.

Other orders were given to Mi Fang and Liu Fêng to take command of two companies, one half with red flags and the other half with black. They were to go to Magpie Tail Slope (Hsiwei Pʻo), about thirty li from the city and camp. When they saw the Tsʻao army coming along they were to move right and left to confuse them so that they should be afraid to advance further.

All the orders given, the various leaders went their way to take up their positions and await the burning of the city. Kʻung-ming and Liu Pei went away to an eminence whence they could watch what happened and where they would await the reports of victory.

Tsʻao Hung and Tsʻao Jên, with their ten legions, preceded by Hsü Chʻu leading three companies of mailed men, marched toward Hsinyeh. They formed a mighty host. They reached Magpie Tail Slope about noon. Looking ahead, they saw what seemed a goodly army with many black and red flags. Hsü Chʻu pressed forward. As he neared the flags moved from side to side and he hesitated. He began to think it unwise to advance and called a halt. Finally it was decided to go no farther then, and the leader rode back to the main body to see Tsʻao Jên.

“Those men are only make-believe,” said Tsʻao Jên. “Advance, there is no ambush. I will hasten up the supports.”

So Hsü Chʻu rode to his own command again and advanced. When he reached the wood where he had seen the flags he saw no one at all. It was then late in the afternoon but he decided to move on. Then he heard from the hills the sound of musical instruments and, looking up, saw on the hill top two umbrellas surrounded by many banners. There sat Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming quietly drinking.

Angry at their coolness, he sought for a way up, but logs of wood and great stones were thrown down and he was driven back. Further, from the rear of the hills came a confused roar. He could find no way to attack and it was getting late.

Then Tsʻao Jên arrived and ordered an attack on Hsinyeh that he might have a place to rest in. They marched to the walls and found the gates wide open. They entered and found a deserted city. No one was visible.

“This shows they are done,” said Tsʻao Hung, “They have all run away, people and all. We may as well occupy the city and rest our men ready for the morrow.”

The soldiers were fatigued with marching and hungry as well, so they lost no time in scattering among the houses and setting about preparing food in the deserted kitchens. The leaders took up their quarters in the yamên.

After the first watch the wind began to blow. Soon after the gate guards reported that a fire had started.

“The careless men have let sparks fly about,” said the General.

He thought no more about it just then, but along came other reports of like nature and soon he realised that fires breaking out in all quarters were not due to accident. So he gave orders to evacuate the city. Soon the whole city seemed on fire and a red glow hung in the sky. The army was beset with fire fiercer than it had been at Powang.

Thrice wicked was Tsʻao, but he was bold; Though all in the capital he controlled, Yet with this he was not content, So southward his ravaging army went. But, the autumn wind aiding, the Spirit of Fire Wrought to his army destruction dire.

Officers and men dashing through the smoke and fire in utter confusion sought some way of escape, and hearing that the east gate was free they made for that quarter. Out they rushed pell-mell, many being trodden down and trampled to death. Those who got through took the road to the east.

But presently there was a shouting behind them and Chao Yün’s company came up and attacked. Then Tsʻao’s men scattered, each fleeing for his life. No stand was made. A little later Mi Chu came. The fleeing general then had very few followers and those left him were scorched and burned and very wearied.

They directed their way to the Paiho, joyfully remembering that the river was shallow and fordable. And they went down into the stream and drank their fill, men shouting and horses neighing.

Meantime Kuan Yü, higher up its course, had dammed the river with sandbags so that its waters were collected in a lake. Toward evening he had seen the red glow of the burning city and began to look out for his signal. About the fourth watch he heard down stream the sounds of men and horse and at once ordered the breaking of the dam. The water rushed down in a torrent and overwhelmed the men just then in the bed of the river. Many were swept away and drowned. Those who escaped made their way to where the stream ran gently and got away.

Presently they reached the ferry at Powang. Here, where they thought there would be safety, they found the road barred.

“You Tsʻao brigands!” shouted Chang Fei. “Come and receive your fate!”

Within the city the red flame leaps out: On the river bank black anger is met.

What happened will appear in later chapters.

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Chapter XLI

LIU PEI LEADS HIS PEOPLE OVER THE RIVER: CHAO YÜN RESCUES HIS LORD.

The last chapter closed with the attack made by Chang Fei as soon as his brother had let loose the waters on the doomed army. He met with Hsü Chʻu and a combat began, but a fight with such a warrior was not to Hsü’s taste and he ran away. Chang Fei followed till he came upon Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming and the three went up stream till they came to the boats that had been prepared, when they all crossed over and marched toward Fanchʻêng. As soon as they disembarked Kʻung-ming ordered the boats and rafts to be burned.

Tsʻao Jên gathered in the remnants of his army and camped at Hsinyeh, while his colleague went to tell their lord the evil tidings of defeat.

“How dare he, this rustic fool!” exclaimed Tsʻao Tsʻao angrily.

He then hastily sent an overwhelming army to camp near the place and gave orders for enormous works against the city, levelling hills and turning rivers to launch a violent assault on Fanchʻêng from every side at once.

Then Liu Yeh came in to see his lord and said, “Sir, you are new to this district and you should win over the people’s hearts. Liu Pei has moved all the people from Hsinyeh to Fanchʻêng. If we march through the country, the people will be ground to powder. It would be well to call upon Liu Pei first to surrender, which will prove to the people that you have a care for them. If he yield then we get Chingchou without fighting.”

Tsʻao agreed and asked who would be a suitable messenger. The reply was Hsü Shu.

“He is a close friend and he is here with the army,” said Liu Yeh.

“But he will not come back,” objected Tsʻao.

“If he does not return he will be a laughing stock to the whole world; he will come back.”

Hsü Shu was sent for, and Tsʻao said, “My first intention was to level Fanchʻêng with the ground, but out of pity for its people you may carry an offer to Liu Pei, that if he will surrender he will not only not be punished but he shall be given rank. But if he hold on his present misguided course the whole of his followers shall be destroyed. Now you are an honest man and so I confide this mission to you, and I trust you will not disappoint me.”

Hsü Shu said nothing but accepted his orders and went to the city, where he was received by both Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming. They enjoyed a talk over old times before Shu mentioned the object of his mission. Then he said, “Tsʻao has sent me to invite you to surrender, thereby making a bid for popularity. But you ought also to know that he intends to attack the city from every point, that he is damming up the Paiho waters to be sent against you, and I fear you will not be able to hold the city. You ought to prepare.”

Liu Pei asked Shu to remain with them, but he said that that was impossible, for all the world would ridicule him if he stayed.

“My old mother is dead and I never forget my resentment. My body may be over there, but I swear never to form a plan for him. You have the ‘Sleeping Dragon’ to help you and need have no anxiety about the ultimate achievement of your undertaking. But I must go.”

And he took his leave. Liu Pei felt he could not press his friend to stay. He returned to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp and reported that Liu Pei had no intention of surrender. This angered Tsʻao who gave orders to begin the siege. When Liu Pei asked what Kʻung-ming meant to do he replied that they would abandon Fanchʻêng and take Hsiangyang.

“But what of the people who have followed us? They cannot be abandoned.”

“You can tell them to do as they wish. They may come if they like, or remain here.”

They sent Kuan Yü to prepare boats and told Sun Chʻien to proclaim to the people that Tsʻao was coming, that the city could not be defended, and those who wished to do so might cross the river with the army. All the people cried, “We will follow the prince even if it be to death.”

They started at once, some lamenting, some weeping, the young helping the aged and parents leading their children, the strong soldiers carrying the women. As the crowds crossed the river from both banks arose the sound of lamentation.

Yüan-tê was much affected as he saw all this from the boat. “Why was I ever born,” said he, “to be the cause of all this misery to the people?”

He made to leap overboard, but they held him back. All were deeply sympathetic. When the boat reached the southern shore he looked back at the weeping crowds waiting still on the other bank and was again moved to tears. He bade Kuan Yü hasten the boats before he mounted and rode on.

When Hsiangyang came in sight they saw many flags flying on the walls and that the moat was protected by chevaux de frise. Yüan-tê checked his horse and called out, “Liu Tsʻung, good nephew, I only wish to save the people and nothing more. I pray you quickly to open the gates.”

But Liu Tsʻung was too frightened to appear. Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün went up to one of the fighting towers and ordered the soldiers to shoot arrows down on those without the walls. The people gazed up at the towers and wept aloud.

Suddenly there appeared a captain, with a small following, who cried out, “You are two traitors. The princely Liu is a most upright man and has come here to preserve his people. Why do you repulse him?”

All looked at this man. He was of middle height, with a face dark brown as a ripe date. He was from Iyang and named Wei Yen. At that moment he looked very terrible, whirling his sword as if about to slice up the gate guards. They lost no time in throwing open the gate and dropping the bridge. “Come in, Uncle Liu,” cried Yen, “and bring your men to slay these traitors!”

Chang Fei plunged forward to take him at his word, but was checked by his brother, who said, “Do not frighten the people!”

Thus Wei Yen let in Liu Pei. As soon as he entered he saw a captain galloping up with a few men. The newcomer yelled, “Wei Yen, you nobody! how dare you create trouble? Do you not know me, the Generalissimo Wên Pʻing?”

Wei Yen turned angrily, set his spear and galloped forward to attack the generalissimo. The soldiers joined in the fray and the noise of battle rose to the skies.

“I wanted to preserve the people and I am only causing them injury,” cried Yüan-tê distressed. “I do not wish to enter the city.”

“Chiangling is an important point; we will first take that as a place to dwell in,” said Kʻung-ming.

“That pleases me greatly,” said Yüan-tê.

So they led the people thither and away from Hsiangyang. Many of the inhabitants of that city took advantage of the confusion to escape and they also joined themselves to Yüan-tê.

Meanwhile, within the inhospitable city, Wei Yen and Wên Pʻing fought. The battle continued for four or five hours, all through the middle of the day, and nearly all the combatants fell. Then Wei Yen got away. As he could not find Yüan-tê he rode off to Chʻangsha and sought an asylum with the Prefect, Han Yüan.

Yüan-tê wandered away from the city that had refused shelter. Soldiers and people, his following numbered more than a hundred thousand. The carts numbered scores of thousands, and the burden bearers were innumerable. Their road led them past the tomb of Liu Piao and Yüan-tê turned aside to bow at the grave. He lamented, saying, “Shameful is thy brother, lacking both in virtue and in talents. I refused to bear the burden you wished to lay upon me, wherein I was wrong. But the people committed no sin. I pray your glorious spirit to descend and rescue these people.”

His prayer was fraught with sorrow and all those about him wept.

Just then a scout rode up with the news that Fanchʻêng was already occupied and that men were preparing boats and rafts to cross the river. The captains knew that Chiangling was a defensible place, but they said, “With this crowd we can only advance very slowly and when can we reach the city? If Tsʻao Tsʻao pursue, we shall be in a parlous state. Our counsel is to leave the people to their fate for a time and press on to the city.”

But Yüan-tê wept, saying, “The success of every great enterprise depends upon humanity; how can I abandon these people who have joined me?”

Those who heard him repeat this noble sentiment were greatly affected.

In time of stress his heart was tender toward the people, And he wept as he went down into the ship, Moving the hearts of soldiers to sympathy. Even to-day, in the countryside, Fathers and elders recall the Princely One’s kindness.

The progress of Yüan-tê, with the crowd of people in his train, was very slow.

“The pursuers will be upon us quickly,” said Kʻung-ming. “Let us send Kuan Yü to Chiangkʻou for succour. Liu Chi should be told to bring soldiers and prepare boats for us at Chiangling.”

Yüan-tê agreed to this and wrote a letter which he sent by the hands of Kuan Yü and Sun Chʻien. Chang Fei was put in command of the rear guard. Chao Yün was told to guard the aged and the children, while the others ordered the march of the people. They only travelled a short distance daily and the halts were frequent.

Meanwhile Tsʻao Tsʻao was at Fanchʻêng, whence he sent soldiers over the river toward Hsiangyang. He summoned Liu Tsʻung, but he was too afraid to answer the call. No persuasion could get him to go. One, Wang Wei, said to him privately, “Now you can overcome Tsʻao Tsʻao if you are wise. Since you have announced surrender and Liu Pei has gone away, he will relax his precautions and you can catch him unawares. Send a well-prepared but unexpected force to waylay him in some commanding position and the thing is done. If you were to take Tsʻao prisoner your fame would run throughout the empire and the land would be yours for the taking. This is a sort of opportunity that does not recur and you should not miss it.”

The young man consulted Tsʻai Mao, who called Wang an evil counsellor and spoke to him harshly. “You are mad; you know nothing and understand nothing of destiny,” said Mao.

Wang Wei angrily retorted, calling his critic the betrayer of his country, and saying he wished he could eat him alive. The quarrel waxed deadly but eventually peace was restored.

Then Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün went to Fanchʻêng to see Tsʻao Tsʻao. Mao was by instinct specious and flattering, and when his host asked concerning the resources of the district, he replied, “There are five legions of horse, fifteen of foot and eight of marines. Most of the money and grain are at Chiangling; the rest is stored at various places. There are ample supplies for a year.”

“How many war vessels are there? Who is in command?” said Tsʻao.

“The ships, of all sizes, number seven thousand and we two are the commanders.”

Upon this Tsʻao conferred upon Tsʻai Mao the title of Marquis, Guardian of the South and Admiral-in-Chief of the Naval Force and Chang Yün was his Vice-Admiral with the title of Marquis Tsŭ-shun.

When they went to thank Tsʻao for these honours he told them he was about to propose to the throne that Liu Piao’s son should be perpetual prefect of Chingchou in succession to his late father. With this promise for their young master and the honours for themselves they retired.

Then Hsün Yu asked Tsʻao why these two evident self-seekers and flatterers had been treated so generously. Tsʻao replied, “Do I not know all about them? Only in the north country, where I have been, they know nothing of war by water and these two men do. I want their help for the present. When my end is achieved I can do as I like with them.”

Liu Tsʻung was highly delighted when his two chief supporters returned with the promise Tsʻao had given them. Soon after he gave up his seal and military commission and proceeded to welcome Tsʻao Tsʻao, who received him very graciously.

Tsʻao next proceeded to camp near Hsiangyang. The populace, led by Tsʻai Mao, welcomed him with burning incense, and he on his part put forth proclamations couched in comforting terms.

Tsʻao Tsʻao presently entered the city and took his seat in the residence in state. Then he summoned Kʻuai Yüeh and said to him graciously, “I do not rejoice so much at gaining Chingchou as at meeting you, I-tu.”

He made Kʻuai Prefect of Chiangling and Marquis of Fanchʻêng; his other adherents were all ennobled. Liu Tsʻung became Governor of Chʻingchou in the north and was ordered to proceed to his district forthwith. He was greatly frightened and said he had no wish to become an actual official; he wished to remain in the place where his father and mother lived.

Said Tsʻao, “Your governorship is quite near the capital and I have sent you there as a full official to remove you from the intrigues of this place.”

In vain Liu Tsʻung declined the honours thus thrust upon him; he was compelled to go and he departed, taking his mother with him. Of his friends, only Wang Wei accompanied him. Some of his late officers escorted him as far as the river and then took their leave. Then Tsʻao called his trusty officer Yü Chin and bade him follow up Liu Tsʻung and put him and his mother to death.

Yü Chin followed the small party. When he drew near he shouted, “I have an order from the great Minister to put you both to death, mother and son; you may as well submit quietly.”

The Lady Tsʻai threw her arms about her son, lifted up her voice and wept. Yü Chin bade the soldiers get on with their bloody work. Only Wang Wei made any attempt to save his mistress and he was soon killed. The two, mother and son, were soon finished and the murderer returned to report his success. He was richly rewarded.

Next Tsʻao Tsʻao sent to discover and seize the family of Kʻung-ming, but they had already disappeared. It was much to Tsʻao’s disgust that the search was fruitless.

So Hsiangyang was settled. Then Hsün Yu proposed a further advance. He said, “Chiangling is an important place, and very rich; if Liu Pei gets it, it will be difficult to dislodge him.”

“How could I have overlooked that?” said Tsʻao.

Then he called upon the officers of Hsiangyang for one who could lead the way. They all came except Wên Pʻing.

Tsʻao sent for him and soon he came also. “Why are you late?” asked Tsʻao.

“To be a minister and see one’s master lose his own boundaries is most shameful. Such an one has no face to show to any man and I was too ashamed to come.”

His tears fell fast as he finished this speech. Tsʻao admired his loyal conduct and rewarded him with office and a title, and also bade him open the way.

The spies returned and told how Liu Pei was hampered by the crowds of people who had followed him. And he was then only three hundred li away. Tsʻao decided to take advantage of his plight so chose out five companies of tried horsemen and sent them after the cavalcade, giving them a limit of a day and a night to come up therewith. The main army would follow.

As has been said Liu Pei was travelling with a huge multitude of followers, to guard whom he had taken what precautions were possible. Kuan Yü had been sent to Chianghsia. One day Kʻung-ming came in and said, “There is as yet no news from Chianghsia; what are we to do?”

“I wish that you yourself would go there,” said Liu Pei. “Liu Chi would remember your former kindness to him and consent to anything you proposed.”

Kʻung-ming said he would go and set out with Liu Fêng, the adopted son of Liu Pei, taking an escort of half a company.

A few days after, while on the march in company with three of his intimate captains, a sudden whirlwind rose just in front of Yüan-tê, and a huge column of dust shot up into the air hiding the face of the sun. Yüan-tê was frightened and asked what that might portend. Chien Yung, who knew something of the mysteries of nature, took the auspices by counting secretly on his fingers. Pale and trembling he announced that a calamity was threatening that very night. He advised his lord to leave the people to their fate and flee quickly. But he refused to think of it.

“If you allow your pity to overcome your judgment, then misfortune is very near,” said Chien.

Thus spake Chien Yung to his lord, who then asked what place was near. His people replied that Tangyang was quite close and there was a very famous hill near it called Chingshan or Prospect Hill. Then Yüan-tê bade them lead the way thither.

The season was late autumn, just changing to winter, and the icy wind penetrated to the very bones. As evening fell, long-drawn howls of misery were heard on every side. At the middle of the fourth watch, two hours after midnight, they heard a rumbling sound in the north-west. Yüan-tê halted and placed himself at the head of his own guard of two companies to meet whatever might come. Presently Tsʻao’s men appeared and made a fierce onslaught. Defence was impossible, though Yüan-tê fought desperately. By good fortune just at the crisis Chang Fei came up, cut his way through, rescued his brother and got him away to the east. Presently they were stopped by Wên Pʻing.

“Turncoat! Can you still look men in the face?” cried Yüan-tê.

Wên Pʻing was overwhelmed with shame and led his men away. Chang Fei, now fighting, now flying, protected his brother till dawn.

By that time Liu Pei had got beyond the sound of battle and there was time to rest. Only a few of his men had been able to keep near him. He knew nothing of the fate of his captains or the people. He lifted up his voice in lamentation saying, “Myriads of living souls are suffering from love of me, and my captains and my loved ones are lost. One would be a graven image not to weep at such loss.”

Still plunged in sadness presently he saw hurrying toward him Mi Fang, with an enemy’s arrow still sticking in his face. He exclaimed, “Chao Yün has gone over to Tsʻao Tsʻao!”

Yüan-tê angrily bade him be silent. “Do you think I can believe that of my old friend?” cried he.

“Perhaps he has gone over,” said Chang Fei. “He must see that we are nearly lost and there are riches and honours on the other side.”

“He has followed me faithfully through all my misfortunes. His heart is firm as a rock. No riches or honours would move him.”

“I saw him go away north-west,” said Mi Fang.

“Wait till I meet him,” said Chang Fei. “If I run against him I will kill him.”

“Beware how you doubt him,” said Yüan-tê. “Have you forgotten the circumstances under which your brother had to slay two men to ease your doubts of him? Chao Yün’s absence is due to good reason wherever he has gone, and he would never abandon me.”

But do you think Chang Fei was convinced? Then Chang Fei, with a score of his men, rode to Chʻangpan Bridge. Seeing a wood near the bridge, an idea suddenly struck him. He bade his followers cut branches from the trees, tie them to the tails of the horses and ride to and fro so as to raise a great dust as though an army were concealed in the wood. He himself took up his station on the bridge facing the west with spear set ready for action. So he kept watch.

Now Chao Yün, after fighting with the enemy from the fourth watch till daylight, could see no sign of his lord and, moreover, had lost his lord’s family. He thought bitterly within himself, “My master confided to me his family and the young lord; and I have lost them. How can I look him in the face? I can only go now and fight to the death. Whatever happen I must go to seek the women and my lord’s son.”

Turning about he found he had but two score followers left. He rode quickly to and fro among the scattered soldiers seeking the lost women. The lamentations of the people about him were enough to make heaven and earth weep. Some had been wounded by arrows, others by spears; they had thrown away their children, abandoned their wives, and were flying they knew not whither in crowds.

Presently he saw a man lying in the grass and recognised him as Chien Yung.

“Have you seen the two mothers?” cried he.

Chien replied, “They left their carriage and ran away taking O-tou in their arms. I followed but on the slope of the hill I was wounded and fell from my horse. The horse was stolen. I could fight no longer and I lay down here.”

Chao Yün put his colleague on the horse of one of his followers, told off two soldiers to support him and bade him ride to their lord and tell him of the loss. “Say,” said he, “that I will seek the lost ones in heaven or hell, through good or evil, and if I find them not I will die in the desert.”

Then he rode off toward Chʻangpan Slope. As he went a voice called out, “General Chao, where are you going?”

“Who are you?” said Chao Yün, pulling up.

“One of the Princely One’s carriage guards. I am wounded.”

“Do you know anything of the two ladies?”

“Not very long ago I saw the Lady Kan go south with a party of other women. Her hair was down and she was barefooted.”

Hearing this, without even another glance at the speaker, Chao Yün put his horse at full gallop toward the south. Soon he saw a small crowd of persons, male and female, walking hand in hand.

“Is the Lady Kan among you?” he called out.

A woman in the rear of the party looked up at him and uttered a loud cry. He slipped off his steed, stuck his spear in the sand and wept, “It was my fault that you were lost. But where are the Lady Mi and our young lord?”

She replied, “I and she were forced to abandon our carriage and mingle with the crowd on foot. Then a band of soldiers came up and we were separated. I do not know where they are. I ran for my life.”

As she spoke a howl of distress rose from the crowd of fugitives, for a company of soldiers appeared. Chao Yün recovered his spear and mounted ready for action. Presently he saw among the soldiers a prisoner bound upon a horse; and the prisoner was Mi Chu. Behind him followed a captain gripping a huge sword. The men belonged to the army of Tsʻao Jên and the Captain was Shunyu Tao. Having captured Mi Chu he was just taking him to his chief as a proof of his prowess.

Chao Yün shouted and rode at the captor who was speedily unhorsed and his captive was set free. Then taking two of the horses Chao Yün set the lady on one and Mi Chu took the other. They rode away toward Chʻangpan Slope.

But there, standing grim on the bridge, was Chang Fei. As soon as he saw Chao Yün he called out, “Tzŭ-lung, why have you betrayed my brother?”

“I fell behind because I was seeking the ladies and our young lord,” said Chao Yün. “What do you mean by talking of betrayal?”

“If it had not been that Chien Yung arrived before you I should hardly have spared you.”

“Where is the master?” said Chao Yün.

“Not far away, in front there.”

“Conduct the Lady Kan to him; I am going to look for the Lady Mi,” said Chao Yün to his companion, and he turned back along the road by which he had come.

Before long he met a captain armed with an iron spear and carrying a sword slung across his back, riding a curvetting steed and leading a half score of other horsemen. Without uttering a word Chao Yün rode straight toward him and engaged. At the first pass he disarmed his opponent and brought him to earth. His followers galloped away.

This fallen officer was no other that Hsiahou En. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s sword-bearer, and the sword on his back was his master’s. Tsʻao Tsʻao had two swords, one called I-tʻien (Trust in God) and the other Chʻing-kung. I-tʻien was the weapon he usually wore at his side, the other being carried by his sword-bearer. Chʻing-kung would cut clean through iron as though it were mud and no sword had so keen an edge.

When Chao Yün thus fell in with Tsʻao’s sword-bearer the later was simply plundering, depending upon the authority implied by his office. Least of all thought he of such sudden death as met him at Chao Yün’s hands.

So Chao Yün got possession of a famous sword. The name Chʻing-kung was chased in gold characters so that he recognised its value at once. He stuck it in his belt and again plunged into the press. Just as he did so he turned his head and saw he had not a single follower left; he was quite alone.

Nevertheless not for a single instant thought he of turning back; he was too intent upon his quest. To and fro, back and forth, he rode questioning this person and that. At length a man said, “A woman with a child in her arms, and wounded in the thigh so that she cannot walk, is lying over there through that hole in the wall.”

Chao Yün rode to look and there, beside an old well behind the broken wall of a burned house, sat the mother clasping the child to her breast and weeping.

Chao was on his knees before her in a moment.

“My child will live then since you are here,” cried the Lady Mi. “Pity him, O General; protect him, for he is the only son of his father’s flesh and blood. Take him to his father and I can die content.”

“It is my fault that you have suffered,” replied Chao Yün. “But it is useless to say more. I pray you take my horse while I will walk beside and protect you till we get clear.”

She replied, “I may not do that. What would you do without a steed? But the boy here I confide to your care. I am badly wounded and cannot hope to live. Pray take him and go your way. Do not trouble more about me.”

“I hear shouting,” said Chao. “The soldiers will be upon us again in a moment. Pray mount quickly.”

“But really I cannot move,” she said. “Do not let there be a double loss!” And she held out the child toward him as she spoke.

“Take the child,” cried she. “His life and safety are in your hands.”

Again and again Chao Yün besought her to get on his horse, but she would not. The shouting drew nearer and nearer, Chao Yün spoke harshly saying, “If you will not do what I say, what will happen when the soldiers come up?”

She said no more. Throwing the child on the ground she turned over and threw herself into the old well. And there she perished.

The warrior relies upon the strength of his charger, Afoot, how could he bear to safety his young prince? Brave mother! who died to preserve the son of her husband’s line; Heroine was she, bold and decisive!

Seeing that the lady had resolved the question by dying there was nothing more to be done. Chao Yün filled in the well with the rubbish that lay about lest the dead body should suffer shame. Then he loosened his armour, let down the heart-protecting mirror and placed the child in his breast. This done he slung his spear and re-mounted.

He had gone but a short distance when he saw Yen Ming, one of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s minor captains. This warrior used a double edged, three pointed weapon and he offered battle. However, Chao Yün disposed of him after a very few bouts and dispersed his men.

As the road cleared before him he saw another detachment barring his way. At the head of this was a captain of rank exalted enough to display a banner with his name Chang Ho. Chao Yün never waited to parley but attacked. However, this was a more formidable antagonist and half a score bouts found neither any nearer defeat. But Chao, with the child in his bosom, could only fight with the greatest caution and so he decided to flee. Chang Ho pursued and as Chao thought only of thrashing his steed to get away, and little of the road, suddenly he went crashing into a pit. On came his pursuer, spear at poise. Suddenly a brilliant flash of light seemed to shoot out of the pit and the fallen horse leapt with it into the air and was again on firm earth.

A bright glory surrounds the child of the imperial line, now in danger, The powerful charger forces his way through the press of battle, Bearing to safety him who was destined to sit on the throne two score years and two; And the general thus manifested his godlike courage.

This apparition frightened Chang Ho, who abandoned the pursuit forthwith and Chao Yün rode off. Presently he heard shouts behind, “Chao Yün, Chao Yün, stop!” and at the same time he saw ahead of him two captains who seemed disposed to dispute his way. Two in front and two following, his state seemed desperate, but he quailed not.

As the men of Tsʻao came pressing on he drew Tsʻao Tsʻao’s own sword to beat them off. Nothing could resist it. Armour, clothing, it went through without effort and blood gushed forth in fountains wherever it struck. So the four captains were soon beaten off and Chao Yün was once again free.

Now Tsʻao Tsʻao from a hill top saw these deeds of derring-do and a captain showing such valour that none could withstand him, so he asked of his followers whether any knew the man. No one recognised him, so Tsʻao Hung galloped down into the plain and shouted to the hero asking him his name.

“I am Chao Tzŭ-lung of Chʻangshan,” replied Chao Yün.

Tsʻao Hung returned and told his lord, who said, “A very tiger of a leader! I must get him alive.” Whereupon he sent gallopers to all detachments with orders that no arrows were to be fired from an ambush at any point Chao Yün should pass; he was to be taken alive.

And so Chao Yün escaped most imminent danger, and O-tou’s safety, bound up with his saviour’s, was also secured. On this career of slaughter which ended in safety, Chao Yün, bearing in his bosom him who was to be known as The Later Lord, cut down two banners, took three spears and slew of Tsʻao’s captains half a hundred, all men of renown.

Blood dyed the fighting robe and crimsoned his buff coat; None dared engage the terrible warrior at Tangyang; In the days of old lived the brave Chao Yün, Who fought in the battlefield for his lord in danger.

Having thus fought his way out of the press Chao Yün lost no time in getting away from the battle field. His battle robe was soaked in blood.

On his way, near the rise of the hills, he met with two other bodies of men under two brothers, Chung Chin and Chung Shên. One of these was armed with a massive axe, the other a halberd. As soon as they saw Chao Yün they knew him and shouted, “Quickly dismount and be bound!”

He has only escaped from the tiger’s cave, To risk the deep pool’s sounding wave.

How Chao Yün escaped will be next related.

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Chapter XLII

CHANG FEI’S GREAT FIGHT AT CHʻANGPAN SLOPE: LIU PEI, DEFEATED, GOES TO HANCHINGKʻOU.

As related in the last chapter two brothers appeared in front of our warrior, who rode at them with his spear ready for a thrust. Chung Chin was leading, flourishing his battle-axe. Chao Yün engaged and very soon unhorsed him. Then he galloped away. Chung Shên rode up behind ready with his halberd and his horse’s nose got so close to the other’s tail that in Chao Yün’s back heart-protecting mirror he could see the play of the reflection of his weapon. Then suddenly, and without warning, Chao Yün wheeled round his horse so that he faced his pursuer and their two steeds struck breast to breast. With his spear in his left hand he warded off the halberd strokes and in his right he swung the sword Chʻing-kung. One slash and he had cut through both helmet and head; Chung Shên fell to the ground, a corpse with only half a head on his body. His followers fled and Chao Yün retook the road toward Long Slope Bridge.

But in his rear arose another tumultuous shouting, seeming to rend the very sky, and Wên Pʻing came up behind. However, although the man was weary and his steed highspent, Chao Yün got close to the bridge where he saw standing, all ready for any fray, his brother in arms.

“Help me, I-tê!” he cried and crossed the bridge.

“Hasten!” cried Chang Fei, “I will keep back the pursuers.”

About twenty li from the bridge he saw Yüan-tê with his followers reposing in the shade of some trees. He dismounted and drew near, weeping. The tears also started to Yüan-tê’s eyes when he saw his faithful follower.

Still panting from his exertions, Chao Yün gasped out, “My fault——death is too light a punishment. The Lady Mi was severely wounded; she refused my horse and threw herself into a well. She is dead and all I could do was to fill in the well with the rubbish that lay around. But I placed the babe in the breast of my fighting robe and have won my way out of the press of battle. Thanks to the little lord’s grand luck I have escaped. At first he cried a good deal, but for some time now he has not stirred or made a sound. I fear I may not have saved his life after all.”

Then he opened his robe and looked; the child was fast asleep.

“Happily, Sir, your son is unhurt,” said Chao as he drew him forth and presented him in both hands. Yüan-tê took the child but threw it aside angrily, saying, “To preserve that suckling I very nearly lost a great captain.”

Chao Yün picked up the child again and, weeping, said, “Were I ground to powder I could not prove my gratitude.”

From out Tsʻao’s host a tiger rushed, His wish but to destroy; Though Liu Pei’s consort lost her life, Chao Yün preserved her boy. “Too great the risk you ran to save This child,” the father cried. To show he rated Chao Yün high, He threw his son aside.

Wên Pʻing and his company pursued Chao Yün till they saw Chang Fei’s bristling moustache and fiercely glaring eyes before them. There he was seated on his battle steed, his hand grasping his terrible serpent-like spear, guarding the bridge. They also saw great clouds of dust rising above the trees and concluded they would fall into an ambush if they ventured across the bridge. So they stopped the pursuit, not daring to advance further.

In a little time several other captains came up, but none dared advance, frightened not only by Chang Fei’s fierce look, but lest they should become victims of a ruse of the terrible Chuko Liang. As they came up they formed a line on the west side, halting till they could inform their lord of the position.

As soon as the messengers arrived and Tsʻao Tsʻao heard about it he mounted and rode to the bridge to see for himself. Chang Fei’s fierce eye scanning the hinder position of the army opposite him saw the silken umbrella, the axes and banners coming along and concluded that Tsʻao Tsʻao came to see for himself how matters stood. So in a mighty voice he shouted, “I am Chang I-tê of Yen; who dares fight with me?”

At the sound of this thundrous voice a terrible quaking fear seized upon Tsʻao and he bade them take the umbrella away. Turning to his followers he said, “Kuan Yü said that his brother Chang Fei was the sort of man to go through an army of a hundred legions and take the head of its commander-in-chief; and do it easily. Now here is this terror in front of us and we must be careful.”

As he finished speaking again that terrible voice was heard, “I am Chang I-tê of Yen; who dares fight with me?”

Tsʻao, seeing his enemy so fierce and resolute, was too frightened to think of anything but retreat and Chang Fei, seeing a movement going on in the rear, once again shook his spear and roared, “What mean you, cowards? You will not fight nor do you run away.”

This roar had scarcely begun when one of Tsʻao’s staff reeled and fell from his horse terror-stricken, paralysed with fear. The panic touched Tsʻao Tsʻao, and spread to his whole surroundings and he and his staff galloped for their lives. They were as frightened as a suckling babe at a clap of thunder or a weak woodcutter at the roar of a tiger. Many threw away their spears, dropped their casques and fled, a wave of panic-stricken humanity, a tumbling mass of terrified horses. None thought of aught but flight, and those who ran trampled the bodies of fallen comrades under foot.

Chang Fei was wrathful; and who dared To accept his challenge? Fierce he glared; His thundrous voice rolled out, and then In terror fled Tsʻao’s armed men.

Panic stricken Tsʻao Tsʻao galloped westward with the rest, thinking of nothing but getting away. He lost his headdress and his loosened hair streamed behind him. Presently Chang Liao and Hsü Chʻu came up with him and seized his bridle; fear had deprived him of all self-control.

“Do not be frightened,” said Chang Liao. “After all Chang Fei is but one man and not worthy of extravagant fear. If you will only return and attack you will capture your enemy.”

By that time Tsʻao had somewhat overcome his panic and become reasonable. Two captains were ordered back to the bridge to reconnoitre.

Chang Fei saw the disorderly rout of the enemy but he dared not pursue. However, he bade his score or so of dust-raising followers to cut loose the branches from their horses’ tails and come to help destroy the bridge. This done he went to report to his brother and told him of the destruction of the bridge.

“Brave as you are, brother, and no one is braver, you are no strategist,” said Liu Pei.

“What mean you, brother?”

“Tsʻao Tsʻao is very deep. You are no match for him. The destruction of the bridge will bring him in pursuit.”

“If he ran away at a yell of mine, think you he will dare return?”

“If you had left the bridge he would have thought there was an ambush and would not have dared to pass it. Now the destruction of the bridge tells him we are weak and fearful, and he will pursue. He does not mind a broken bridge. His legions could fill up the biggest rivers that we could get across.”

So orders were given to march and they went by a bye-road which led diagonally to Hanching and then took the road to Minyang.

The two captains sent by Tsʻao to reconnoitre near Chʻang-pan Bridge returned, saying, “The bridge has been destroyed, Chang Fei has left.”

“Then he is afraid,” said Tsʻao.

He at once gave orders to set a legion at work on three floating bridges to be finished that night.

Li Tien said, “I fear this is one of the wiles of Chuko Liang; so be careful.”

“Chang Fei is just a bold warrior, but there is no guile about him,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.

He gave orders for immediate advance.

Liu Pei was making all speed to Hanching. Suddenly there appeared in his track a great cloud of dust whence came loud rolls of drums and shoutings. Yüan-tê was dismayed and said, “Before us rolls the great river; behind is the pursuer. What hope is there for us?”

But he bade Chao Yün organise a defence.

Now Tsʻao Tsʻao in an order to his army had said, “Liu Pei is a fish in the fish kettle; a tiger in the pit. Catch him this time, or the fish will get back to the sea and the tiger escape to the hills. Therefore every captain must use his best efforts to press on.”

In consequence every leader bade those under him hasten forward. And they were pressing on at great speed when suddenly soldiers appeared from the hills and a voice cried, “I have waited here a long time.”

The leader who had shouted this bore in his hand the Black Dragon sword and rode “Red Hare,” for indeed it was no other than Kuan Yü. He had gone to Chianghsia for help and had returned with a whole legion. Having heard of the battle he had taken this very road to intercept pursuit.

As soon as Kuan Yü appeared Tsʻao stopped and said to his officers, “Here we are, tricked again by that Chuko Liang.”

Without more ado he ordered a retreat. Kuan Yü followed him some ten li and then drew off to act as guard to his elder brother on his way to the river. There boats were ready and Yüan-tê and family went on board. When all were settled comfortably in the boat Kuan Yü asked where was his sister, the second wife of his brother. Then Yüan-tê told him the story of Tangyang.

“Alas!” said Kuan Yü. “Had you taken my advice that day of the hunting in Hsütʻien we should have escaped the misery of this day.”

“But,” said Yüan-tê, “on that day it was ‘Ware damage when pelting rats.’”

Just as he spoke he heard war-drums on the south bank. A fleet of boats, thick as a flight of ants, came running up with swelling sails before the fair wind. He was alarmed.

The boats came nearer. There he saw the white clad figure of a man wearing a silver helmet who stood in the prow of the foremost ship. He cried, “Are you all right, my uncle? I am very guilty.”

It was Liu Chi. He bowed low as the ship passed, saying, “I heard you were in danger from Tsʻao Tsʻao and I have come to aid you.”

Yüan-tê welcomed him with joy and his soldiers joined in with the main body and the whole fleet sailed on, while they told each other their adventures.

Unexpectedly in the south-west there appeared a line of fighting ships swishing up before a fair wind. Liu Chi said, “All my men are here and now there is an enemy barring the way. If they are not Tsʻao Tsʻao’s ships they must be from Chiangtung. We have a poor chance. What now?”

Yüan-tê went to the prow and gazed at them. Presently he made out a figure in a turban and Taoist robe sitting in the bows of one of the boats and knew it to be Kʻung-ming. Behind him stood Sun Chʻien.

When they were quite near Yüan-tê asked Kʻung-ming how he came to be there. And he reported what he had done, saying, “When I reached Chianghsia I sent Kuan Yü to land at Hanching with reinforcements, for I feared pursuit from Tsʻao Tsʻao and knew the road you would take. So I prayed your nephew to go to meet you while I went to Hsiakʻou to muster as many men as possible.”

The new-comers added to their strength and they began once more to consider how their powerful enemy might be overcome.

Said Kʻung-ming, “Hsiakʻou is strong and a good strategical point; it is also rich and suited for a lengthy stay. I would ask you, my lord, to make it a permanent camp. Your nephew can go to Chianghsia to get the fleet in order and prepare weapons. Thus there will be two threatening angles to our position. If we all return to Chianghsia the position will be weakened.”

Liu Chi replied, “The Adviser-General’s words are excellent, but I would rather my uncle stayed awhile in Chianghsia till the army was in thorough order. Then he could go to Hsiakʻou.

“You speak to the point, nephew,” replied Yüan-tê. Then leaving Kuan Yü with half a legion at Hsiakʻou he, with Kʻung-ming and his nephew, went to Chianghsia.

When Tsʻao Tsʻao saw Kuan Yü with a force ready to attack he feared lest a greater number were hidden away behind, so he stopped the pursuit. He also feared lest Yüan-tê should take Chiangling, so he marched thither with all haste.

The two officers in command at Chingchou had heard of what happened at Hsiangyang and, knowing that there was no chance of successful defence against Tsʻao Tsʻao’s armies, they led out the people of Chingchou to the outskirts and offered submission. Tsʻao entered the city and, after restoring order and confidence, he released Han Sung and gave him the dignified office of Director of Ambassadorial Receptions. He rewarded the others.

Then said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “Liu Pei has gone to Chianghsia and may ally himself with Wu and the opposition to me will be greater. Can he be destroyed?”

Hsün Yu said, “The splendour of your achievements has spread wide. Therefore you might send a messenger to invite Sun Chʻüan to a grand hunting party at Chianghsia and you two could seize Liu Pei, share Chingchou with Sun and make a solemn treaty. Sun will be too frightened not to come over to you and your end will be gained.”

Tsʻao agreed. He sent the letters by a messenger and he prepared his men, horse and foot and marines. He had in all eighty-three legions, but he called them a hundred. The attack was to be by land and water at the same time.

The fleet advanced up the river in two lines. On the west it extended to Chianghsia, on the east to Chʻihuang in Hupeh. The stockades stretched three hundred li.

At this point the narrative must digress. The story of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s movements and successes reached Sun Chʻüan, then in camp at Chʻaisang. He assembled his strategists to decide on a scheme of defence.

Lu Su said, “Chingchou is contiguous to our borders. It is strong and defensive, its people are rich. It is the sort of country that an emperor or a king should have. Liu Piao’s recent death gives an excuse for me to be sent to convey condolence and, once there, I shall be able to talk over Liu Pei and the officers of the late prefect to combine with you against Tsʻao. If Liu Pei does as I wish, then success is yours.”

Sun Chʻüan thought this a good plan, so he had the necessary letters prepared, and the gifts, and sent Lu Su with them.

All this time Liu Pei was at Chianghsia where, with Kʻung-ming and Liu Chʻi, he was endeavouring to evolve a good plan of campaign.

Kʻung-ming said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao’s power is too great for us to cope with. Let us go over to Wu and ask help from Sun Chʻüan. If we can set north and south at grips we ought to be able to get some advantage from our mediary position between them.”

“But will they be willing to have anything to do with us?” said Yüan-tê. “It is a large and populous country and Sun Chʻüan has ambitions of his own.”

Kʻung-ming replied, “Tsʻao with his army of a hundred legions holds the Han and the Yangtse. Chiangtung will certainly send to find out all possible about the position. Should any messenger come I shall borrow a little boat and make a little trip over the river and trust to my little lithe tongue to set north and south at each other’s throats. If the southern men win, we will assist in destroying Tsʻao in order to get Chingchou; if the north win, we shall profit by the victory to get Chiangnan. So we shall get some advantage either way.”

“That is a very fine view to take,” said Yüan-tê. “But how are you going to get hold of any one from the south to talk to?”

Liu Pei’s question was answered by the arrival of Lu Su, and as the ship touched the bank and the envoy came ashore, Kʻung-ming laughed, saying, “It is done!”

Turning to Liu Chʻi he asked, “When Sun Tsʻê died did your country send any condolences?”

“Is it likely there would be any mourning courtesies between them and us while there was the death of a father to avenge?”

“Then it is certain that this envoy does not come to present condolences but to spy out the land.”

So he said to Yüan-tê, “When Lu Su asks about the movements of Tsʻao Tsʻao, you will know nothing. If he press the matter, say he can ask me.”

Having thus prepared their scheme they sent to welcome the envoy, who entered the city in mourning garb. The gifts having been accepted, Liu Chʻi asked Lu Su to meet Yüan-tê. When the introductory ceremonies were over the three men went to one of the inner chambers to drink a cup of wine. Presently Lu Su said to Yüan-tê, “By reputation I have known you a long time, Uncle Liu, but till to-day I have not met you. I am very gratified at seeing you. You have been fighting Tsʻao Tsʻao, though, lately, so I suppose you know all about him. Has he really so great an army? How many, do you think, he has?”

“My army was so small that we fled whenever we heard of his approach; so I do not know how many he had.”

“You had the advice of Chuko Kʻung-ming and you used fire on Tsʻao Tsʻao twice. You burned him almost to death so that you can hardly say you know nothing about his men,” said Lu.

“Without asking my adviser I really do not know the details.”

“Where is Kʻung-ming? I should like to see him,” said Lu.

So they sent for him and he was introduced. When the ceremonies were over Lu Su said, “I have long admired your genius but have never been fortunate enough to meet you. Now that I have met you I hope I may speak of present politics.”

Replied Kʻung-ming, “We know all Tsʻao Tsʻao’s infamies and wickednesses, but to our regret we were not strong enough to withstand him. That is why we avoided him.”

“Is the Imperial Uncle going to stay here?”

“The Princely One is an old friend of Wu Chʻên, Prefect of Tsʻangwu and intends to go to him.”

“He has few men and insufficient supplies, he cannot ensure safety. How can he receive the Uncle?” said Lu.

“His place is not one to remain in long, but it is good enough for the present. We can make other plans for the future.”

Lu said, “Sun Chʻüan is strongly posted and is exceedingly well supplied. He treats able men and scholars with the greatest courtesy and so they gather round him. Now if you are seeking a plan for your Prince you cannot do better than send some friend to confer with him.”

“There have never been any relations between my master and yours,” said Kʻung-ming. “I fear there would be nothing but a waste of words. Besides, we have no one to send.”

“Your elder brother is there as adviser and is longing to see you. I am but a simple wight but I should be pleased to discuss affairs with my master and you.”

“But he is my Director-in-Chief,” said Yüan-tê, “and I cannot do without him. He cannot go.”

Lu Su pressed him. Yüan-tê pretended to refuse permission.

“It is important; I pray you give me leave to go,” said Kʻung-ming.

Then Yüan-tê consented. And they soon took leave and the two set out by boat for Sun Chʻüan’s headquarters.

A little boat sailed down the stream With Chuko well content; For he could see his enemies To black perdition sent.

The result of this journey will appear in the following chapter.

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Chapter XLIII

CHUKO LIANG DISPUTES WITH THE SCHOLARS: LU SU DENOUNCES THE MAJORITY OPINION.

In the boat on the way to Chʻaisang the two travellers beguiled the time by discussing affairs. Lu Su impressed upon his companion the necessity of concealing from Sun Chʻüan the truth about the magnitude of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army.

“I do not promise to do what you ask,” replied Chuko Liang, “but I shall know how to reply.”

When the boat arrived Kʻung-ming was lodged in the guests’ quarters and Lu Su went alone to see his master. He found him actually at a council, assembled to consider the situation. Lu Su was summoned thereto and questioned at once upon what he had discovered.

“I know the general outline, but I want a little time to prepare my report,” replied he.

Then Sun Chʻüan produced Tsʻao Tsʻao’s letter and gave it to Su. “That came yesterday. I have sent the bearer of it back and this gathering is to consider the reply,” said he.

Lu Su read the letter, which said, “When I, the solitary one, received the imperial command to punish a fault my banners went south and Liu Tsʻung became my prisoner, while his people flocked to my side at the first rumour of my coming. Under my hand are a hundred legions and I have many able captains. My desire is, General, that we go on a great hunting expedition into Chianghsia and together attack Liu Pei. We will share his land between us and we will swear perpetual amity. If happily you would not be a mere looker-on I pray you reply quickly.”

“What have you decided upon, my lord?” asked Lu as he finished the letter.

“I have not yet decided.”

Then Chang Chao said, “It would be imprudent to withstand Tsʻao’s many legions backed by the imperial authority. Moreover your most important defence against him is the Long River (Yangtse) and since Tsʻao has gained possession of Chingchou the river is his ally against us. We cannot withstand him, and the only way to tranquillity, in my opinion, is submission.”

“The words of the speaker accord with the manifest decree of providence,” echoed all the assembly.

Sun Chʻüan remaining silent and thoughtful, Chang Chao again took up the argument. “Do not hesitate, my lord. Submission to Tsʻao means tranquillity for the people of Wu and safety for the inhabitants of Chiangnan.”

Sun Chʻüan still remained silent, his head bent in deep thought. Presently he arose and paced slowly out at the door and Lu Su followed him. Outside he took Lu by the hand, saying, “What do you desire?”

“What they have all been saying is very derogatory to you. A common man might submit; you cannot.”

“Why? How do you explain that?”

“If people like us submitted we could just return to our village, and everything would go on as before. If you submit, whither will you go? You will be created a Marquis, perhaps. You will have one carriage, no more, one saddle horse, that is all. Your retinue will be half a score. Will you be able to sit facing the south and call yourself by the kingly title of ‘the solitary’? Each one in your crowd of hangers-on is thinking for himself, is purely selfish, and you should not listen to them, but take a line of your own and that quickly. Determine to play a bold game.”

Sun Chʻüan sighed, “They all talk and talk, they miss my point of view. Now you have just spoken of a bold game and your view is the same as mine. Surely God has expressly sent you to me. Still Tsʻao is now the stronger by all Yüan Shao’s army and he has possession of Chingchou. I fear he is almost too powerful to contend with.”

“I have brought back with me Chuko Liang, the brother of our Chuko Chin. If you questioned him he would explain clearly.”

“Is ‘Master Sleeping Dragon’ really here?”

“Really here; in the guest-house.”

“It is too late to see him to-day. But to-morrow I will assemble my officials and you will introduce him to all my best. After that we will debate the matter.”

With these instructions Lu Su retired. Next day he went to the guesthouse and conveyed Sun’s commands to the guest, particularly saying, “When you see my master to-morrow, say nothing of the magnitude of Tsʻao’s army.”

Kʻung-ming smiled, saying, “I shall act as circumstances dictate; you may be sure I shall make no mistakes.”

Kʻung-ming was then conducted to where the high officers, civil and military to the number of two score and more, were assembled. They formed a dignified conclave as they sat in stately ranks with their tall headdresses and broad girdles.

Chang Chao sat at the head and Kʻung-ming first saluted him. Then, one by one, he exchanged the formal courtesies with them all. This done he took his seat in the guest’s chair. They, on their part, noted with interest his refined and elegant manner and his commanding figure, thinking within themselves, “Here is a man fitted for discourse.”

Chang Chao led the way in trying to bait the visitor. He said, “You will pardon the most insignificant of our official circle, myself, if I mention that people say you compare yourself with those two famous men of talent, Kuan Chung and Yo I. Is there any truth in this?”

“To a trifling extent I have compared myself with them,” replied Kʻung-ming.

“I have heard that Liu Pei made three journeys to visit you when you lived in retirement in your simple dwelling, and that when you consented to serve him he said he was as lucky as a fish in getting home to the ocean. Then he desired to possess the district about Chingchou and Hsiangyang. Yet to-day all that country belongs to Tsʻao Tsʻao. I should like to hear your account of all that.”

Kʻung-ming thought, “This Chang is Sun Chʻüan’s first adviser and unless I can nonplus him I shall never have a chance with his master.” So he replied, “In my opinion the taking of the district around the Han River was as simple as turning over one’s hand. But my master Liu is both righteous and humane and would not stoop to filching the possession of a member of his own house. So he refused the offer of succession. But Liu Tsʻung, a stupid lad, misled by specious words, submitted to Tsʻao and fell victim to his ferocity. My master is in camp at Chianghsia, but what his future plans may be cannot be divulged at present.”

“Be it so; but your words and your deeds are something discordant. You say you are the equal of the two famous ones. Well, Kuan Chung as Minister of Duke Kuan, put his master at the very head of the feudal nobles, making his master’s will supreme in all the land. Under the able statesmanship of Yo I the feeble country of Yen conquered Chʻi, reducing nearly four score of its cities. These two were men of most commanding and conspicuous talent. When you lived in retirement you smiled scornfully at ordinary people, passed your days in idleness, nursing your knees and posing in a superior manner, implying that if you had control of affairs Liu Pei would be more than human; he should bring good to everybody and remove all evil; rebellion and robbery would be no more. Poor Liu, before he obtained your help, was an outcast and a vagabond, stealing a city here and there where he could. With you to help him he was to become the cynosure of every eye and every lisping school boy was to say that he was a tiger who had grown wings. The Hans were to be restored and Tsʻao and his faction exterminated. The good old days would be restored and all the men who had been driven into retirement by the corruption of political life would wake up, rub the sleep out of their eyes and be in readiness to lift the cloud of darkness that covered the sky and gaze up at the glorious brilliancy of the sun and moon, to pull the people out of fire and water and put all the world to rest on a couch of comfort. That was all to happen forthwith. Why then, when you went to Yüchou, did not Tsʻao’s army throw aside their arms and armour and flee like rats? Why could you not have told Liu Piao how to give tranquillity to his people? Why could you not aid his orphan son to protect his frontiers? Instead you abandoned Hsinyeh and fled to Fanchʻêng; you were defeated at Tangyang; you fled to Hsiakʻou with no place to rest in. Thus, after you had joined Liu Pei, he was worse off than before. Was it thus with Kuan Chung and Yo I? I trust you do not mind my blunt speech.”

Kʻung-ming waited till he had closed his oration, then laughed and said, “How can the common birds understand the long flight of the roc? Let me use an illustration. A man has fallen into a terrible malady. First the physician must administer hashish, then soothing drugs until his viscera shall be calmed into harmonious action. When the sick man’s body shall have been reduced to quietude, then may he be given strong meats to strengthen him and powerful drugs to correct the disorder. Thus the disease will be quite expelled and the man restored to health. If the physician does not wait till the humours and pulse are in harmony, but throws in his strong drugs too early, it will be difficult to restore the patient. My master suffered defeat at Junan and went to Liu Piao. He had then less than one company of soldiers and only three captains. That was indeed a time of extreme weakness. Hsinyeh was a secluded, rustic town with few inhabitants and scanty supplies, and my master only retired there as a temporary refuge. How could he even think of occupying and holding it? Yet, with insufficient force, in a weak city, with untrained men and inadequate supplies, a camp was burned, two leaders and their army were nearly drowned and were frightened into running away. I doubt whether your two ancient heroes would have done any better. As to the surrender of Liu Tsʻung, Liu Pei knew nothing of it. And he was too noble and too righteous to take advantage of a kinsman’s straits to seize his inheritance. As for the defeat at Tangyang it must be remembered that Liu Pei was hampered with a huge voluntary following of common people, with their aged relatives and their children, whom he was too humane to abandon. He never thought of taking Chiangling, but willingly suffered with his people. This is a striking instance of his magnanimity. Small forces are no match for large armies. Victory and defeat are common episodes in every campaign. The great Founder of the Hans suffered many defeats at the hands of Hsiang Yü, but he finally conquered at Haihsia and that battle was decisive. Was not this due to the strategy of Han Hsin who, though he had long served his master, had never won a victory. Indeed real statesmanship, the restoration of stable government is a master plan far removed from the vapid discourses and debates of a lot of bragging babblers and specious and deceitful talkers, who, as they themselves say, are immeasurably superior to the rest of mankind but who, when it comes to deeds and decisions to meet the infinite and constant vicissitudes of affairs, fail to throw up a single capable man. Truly such people are the laughing stock of all the world.”

Chang Chao found no reply to this diatribe but another in the assembly lifted up his voice, saying, “But what of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s present position? There he is, encamped with many legions and numberless leaders. Whither he goes he is invincible and whither he looks he is fearsome. He has taken Chianghsia already, as we see.”

The speaker was Yü Fan and Kʻung-ming replied, “Tsʻao has acquired the swarms of Yüan Shao and stolen the crowds of Liu Piao. Yet I care not for all his legions.”

Yü Fan smiled icily, “When you got thrashed at Tangyang and in desperation sent this way and that to ask help, even then did you not care? But do you think big talk really takes people in?”

“Liu had a few companies of scrupulous soldiers to oppose to a hundred legions of fierce brutes. He retired to Hsiakʻou for breathing space. The soldiers of Chiangtung are good and there are ample supplies and the Long River is a defence. Is now a time for him to bend the knee before a renegade, to be careless of his honour and reputation? As a fact Liu is not the sort of man to fear such a rebel as Tsʻao.”

Yü Fan had nothing to reply. Next, one Pu Chih, who was among those seated, said, “Will you talk of our land of Wu with a tongue like the tongues of Chang I and Su Chʻin of old?”

Kʻung-ming replied, “You regard those two as mere speculative talkers: you do not recognise them also as heroes. Su Chʻin bore the prime minister’s seals of six federated states; Chang I was twice prime Minister of Chʻin. Both were men of conspicuous ability who brought about the reformation of their governments. They are not to be compared with those who quail before the strong and overbear the weak, who fear the dagger and run away from the sword. You, Sir, have listened to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s crafty and empty rhodomontade and it has frightened you into advising surrender. Dare you ridicule Su Chin and Chang I?”

Pu Chih was silenced. Then suddenly another interjected the question, “What do you think of Tsʻao Tsʻao?”

It was Hsüeh Tsung who had spoken and Kʻung-ming replied, “Tsʻao is one of the rebels against the dynasty; why ask about him?”

“You are mistaken,” said Hsüeh Tsung. “The Hans have outlasted their allotted time and the end is near. Tsʻao already has two-thirds of the empire and people are turning to him. Your master has not recognised the fateful moment and to contend with a man so strong is to try to smash stones with eggs. Failure is certain.”

Kʻung-ming angrily replied, “Why do you speak so undutifully, as if you knew neither father nor prince? Loyalty and filial duty are the essentials of a man’s being. For a minister of Han correct conduct demands that one is pledged to the destruction of any one who does not follow the canon of a minister’s duty. Tsʻao’s forbears enjoyed the bounty of Han, but instead of showing gratitude, he nourishes in his bosom thoughts of rebellion. The whole world is incensed against him and yet you would claim for him the indication of destiny. Truly you are a man who knows neither father nor prince, a man unworthy of any words, and I decline to argue with you farther.”

The blush of shame overspread Hsüeh’s face and he said no more. But another, one Lu Chi, took up the dispute and said, “Although Tsʻao Tsʻao overawes the Emperor and in his name coerces the nobles, yet he is the descendant of a minister, while your master, though he says he is descended from a prince, has no proof thereof. In the eyes of the world he is just a weaver of mats, a seller of straw shoes. Who is he to strive with Tsʻao?”

Kʻung-ming laughed and replied, “Are you not that Lu who pocketed the orange when you were sitting among Yüan Shao’s guests? Listen to me; I have a word to say to you. Inasmuch as Tsʻao Tsʻao is a descendant of a minister of state he is by heredity a servant of the Hans. But now he has monopolised all state authority and knows only his own arbitrary will, heaping every indignity upon his lord. Not only does he forget his prince, but he ignores his ancestors; not only is he a rebellious servant of Han, but the renegade of his family. Liu Pei of Yuchou is a noble scion of the imperial family upon whom the Emperor has conferred rank, as is recorded in the annals. How then can you say there is no evidence of his imperial origin? Beside, the very founder of the dynasty was himself of lowly origin, and yet he became emperor. Where is the shame in weaving mats and selling shoes? Your mean, immature views are unfit to be mentioned in the presence of scholars of standing.”

This put a stop to Lu Chi’s flow of eloquence, but another of those present said, “Kʻung-ming’s words are overbearing and he distorts reason. It is not proper argument and he had better say no more. But I would ask him what classical canon he studied.”

Kʻung-ming looked at his interlocutor, who was named Yen Chün, and said, “The dryasdusts of every age select passages and choose phrases; what else are they good for? Do they ever initiate a policy or manage an affair? I Yin, who was a farmer in Hsin and Tzŭ-ya, the fisherman of the Wei River, Chang Liang and Chʻên Pʻing, Têng Yü and Kêng Yen all were men of transcendent ability, but I have never enquired what classical canon they followed or on whose essays they formed their style. Would you liken them to your rusty students of books, whose journeyings are comprised between their brush and their inkstone, who spend their days in literary futilities, wasting both time and ink?”

No reply was forthcoming; the speaker hung his head with shame. But another disputant, Chʻêng Tê-shu by name, suddenly shouted, “You are mightily fond of big words, Sir, but they do not give any proof of your scholarship after all. I am inclined to think that a real scholar would just laugh at you.”

Kʻung-ming replied, “There are scholars and scholars. There is the noble scholar, loyal and patriotic, of perfect rectitude and a hater of any crookedness. The concern of such a scholar is to act in full sympathy with his day and leave to future ages a fine reputation. There is the scholar of the mean type, a pedant and nothing more. He labours constantly with his pen, in his callow youth composing odes and in hoary age still striving to understand the classical books completely. Thousands of words flow from his pen but there is not a solid idea in his breast. He may, as did Yang Hsiung, glorify the age with his writings and yet stoop to serve a tyrant such as Mang. No wonder Yang threw himself out of a window; he had to. That is the way of the scholar of mean type. Though he composes odes by the hundred, what is the use of him?”

Chʻêng could make no reply. The other officers now began to hold this man of torrential speech in wholesome fear. Only two of them had failed to challenge him, but when they would have tried to pose Kʻung-ming, suddenly some one appeared from without and angrily shouted, “This is not paying fit respect to a guest. You have among you the most wonderful man of the day and you all sit there trying to entangle him in speech while our arch enemy Tsʻao Tsʻao is nearing our borders. Instead of discussing how to oppose him you are all wrangling and disputing.”

All eyes turned toward him; it was Huang Kai, of Lingling, who was master of the commissariat of Wu. He turned to address Kʻung-ming, saying, “There is a saying that though something may be gained by talk there is more to be got by silence. Why not give my lord the advantage of your valuable advice instead of wasting time in discussion with this crowd?”

“They did not understand,” replied Kʻung-ming, “and it was necessary to enlighten them, I had to speak.”

As Huang Kai and Lu Su led the guest toward their master’s apartments, they met his brother Chuko Chin. Kʻung-ming saluted him with the deference due to an elder brother and Chin said, “Why have you not been to see me, brother?”

“I am now in the service of Liu of Yü chou and it is right that public affairs precede private obligations. I cannot attend to any private matters till my work is done. You must pardon me, brother.”

“After you have seen the Marquis you will come and tell me your news,” said he as he left.

As they went along to the audience chamber Lu Su again cautioned Kʻung-ming against any rash speech. The latter nodded but made no other reply. When they reached the hall Sun Chʻüan came down the steps to welcome his guests and was extraordinarily gracious. After the mutual salutations the guest was given a chair while the Marquis’s officials were drawn up in two lines, on one side the civil, on the other the military. Lu Su stood beside Kʻung-ming and listened to his introductory speech.

As Kʻung-ming spoke of Yüan-tê’s intentions, he glanced up at his host. He noted the grey eyes and brown beard and the dignified commanding air of the man and thought within himself, “Certainly in appearance this is no common man. He is one to be incited perhaps, but not to be persuaded. It will be better to see what he has to say first, then I will try to stir him to action.”

The serving of tea being now finished, Sun Chʻüan began with the usual gracious ceremonial expressions.

“Lu Su has often spoken of your genius” said the host; “it is a great pleasure to meet you. I trust you will confer upon me the advantage of your instruction.”

“I am neither clever nor learned” was the reply, “it humiliates me to hear such words.”

“You have been at Hsinyeh lately and you helped your master to fight that decisive battle with Tsʻao Tsʻao, so you must know exactly the measure of his military strength.”

“My master’s army was small and his generals were few; the city was paltry and lacked supplies. Hence no stand could be made against such a force as Tsʻao Tsʻao had.”

“How many men has he in all?”

“Horse and foot, land and marine, he has a hundred legions.”

“Is there not some doubt about that?” said Sun Chʻüan.

“None whatever; when Tsʻao Tsʻao went to Yenchou he had the twenty legions of Chingchou. He gained fifty or sixty legions when Yüan Shao fell. He has thirty or forty legions newly recruited in the capital. Lately he has acquired twenty or thirty legions in Chingchou. And if these be reckoned up the total is not less than a hundred and fifty. Hence I said a hundred for I was afraid of frightening your officers.”

Lu Su was much disturbed and turned pale. He looked meaningly at the bold speaker, but Kʻung-ming would not see. Sun Chʻüan went on to ask if his arch enemy had a corresponding number of leaders.

“He has enough administrators and strategists to control such a host and his capable and veteran leaders are more than a thousand; perhaps more than two thousand.”

“What will be Tsʻao Tsʻao’s next move now that he has overcome Chingchou and Chʻu?”

“He is camped along the river and he has collected a fleet. If he does not intend to invade your territory, what can be his intentions?”

“Since that is his intention, it is a case of fight or not fight. I wish you would decide that for me.”

“I have something I could say, but I fear, Sir, you would not care to hear it.”

“I am desirous of hearing your most valuable opinion.”

“Strife has prevailed for a long time and so you should raise your army and Liu Pei should collect his forces south of the Han River, to act with you in contest for the empire against Tsʻao Tsʻao. Now Tsʻao has overcome most of his difficulties and his recent conquest of Chingchou has won him great and wide renown. Though there might be one bold enough to tackle him, yet there is no foothold for such. That is how Liu Pei has been forced to come here. But, General, I wish you to measure your forces and decide whether you can venture to meet him and that without loss of time. If you cannot, then follow the advice of your councillors; cease your military preparations and yield; turn your face to the north and serve.”

Sun Chʻüan did not reply. But his guest went on, “You have the reputation of being reasonable but I know also you are inclined to hesitate. Still this matter is most important and evil will be quickly upon you if you do not decide.”

Then replied Sun, “If what you say represents the actual conditions, why does not Liu Pei yield?”

“Well, you know Tsʻien Hêng, that hero of the state of Chʻi; his character was too noble for him to submit to any shame. It is necessary to remember that Liu Pei also is an off-shoot from the dynastic family, beside being a man of great renown. Every one looks up to him. His lack of success is simply the will of Heaven but manifestly he could not bow the knee to any one.”

These last words touched Sun Chʻüan to the quick and he could not control his anger. He shook out his sleeves, rose and left the audience chamber. Those present smiled at each other as they dispersed.

But Lu Su was annoyed and reproached Kʻung-ming for his maladroit way of talking to Sun. “Luckily for you my lord is too large-minded to rebuke you to your face for you spoke to him most contemptuously.”

Kʻung-ming threw back his head and laughed. “What a sensitive fellow it is!” cried he. “I know how Tsʻao Tsʻao could be destroyed, but he never asked me; so I said nothing.”

“If you really do know how that could be done I will certainly beg my lord to ask you.”

“Tsʻao Tsʻao’s hosts in my eyes are but as swarms of ants. I have but to lift my hand and they will be crushed.”

Lu Su at once went into his master’s private room, where he found him still very irritable and angry. “Kʻung-ming insulted me too deeply,” said Sun.

“I have already reproached him,” said Lu Su, “and he laughed and said you were too sensitive. He would not give you any advice without being asked for it. Why did you not seek advice from him, my lord?”

At once Sun’s anger changed to joy. He said, “So he had a plan ready and his words were meant to provoke me. I did despise him for a moment and it has very nearly lost me.”

So he returned to the audience chamber where the guest was still seated and begged Kʻung-ming to continue his speech. He spoke courteously saying, “I offended you just now, I hope you are not implacable.”

“And I also was rude,” replied Kʻung-ming. “I entreat pardon.”

Host and guest retired to the inner room where wine was served. After it had gone round several times, Sun Chʻüan said, “The enemies of Tsʻao Tsʻao were Lü Pu, Liu Piao, Yüan Shao, Yüan Shu, his brother, Liu Pei and my poor self. Now most of these are gone and only Liu Pei and I remain. I will never allow the land of Wu to be dictated to by another. The only one who could have withstood Tsʻao Tsʻao was Liu Pei, but he has been defeated lately and what can he do now against such force?”

Kʻung-ming replied, “Although defeated, Liu Pei still has Kuan Yü with a legion of veterans. And Liu Chʻi still leads the men of Chianghsia, another legion. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army is far from home and the men are worn out. They made a frantic effort to come up with my master, and the light horse marched three hundred li in a day and a night. This was the final kick of the crossbow spring and the bolt was not swift enough to penetrate even the thin silken vesture of Lu. The army can do no more. They are northern men, unskilled in water warfare, and the men of Chingchou are unwilling supporters. They have no desire to help Tsʻao. Now if you, General, will assist Liu Pei, Tsʻao will certainly be broken and he must retire northwards. Then your country and Chingchou will be strong and firmly established. But the scheme must be carried out without delay and only you can decide.”

Sun Chʻüan joyfully replied, “Your words, master, open up the road clearly. I have decided and shall have no further doubts.”

So the orders were issued forthwith to prepare for a joint attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao. And he bade Lu Su bear the news of his decision to all his officers. He himself escorted Kʻung-ming to the guest quarters and saw to his comfort.

When Chang Chao heard of the decision he met his colleagues and said to them, “He has fallen into the trap set by this Kʻung-ming.”

They went in a body to their lord and said, “We hear you are going to attack Tsʻao Tsʻao; but how do you stand when compared with Yüan Shao? In those days Tsʻao was comparatively weak and yet he overcame. What is he like to-day with his countless legions? He is not to be lightly attacked and to listen to Chuko Liang’s advice to engage in a conflict is like carrying fuel to a fire.”

Sun Chʻüan made no reply and Ku Yung took up the argument. “Liu Pei has been defeated and he wants to borrow our help to beat his enemy. Why must our lord lend himself to his schemes? Pray listen to our leader’s words.”

Doubts again surged up in the mind of Sun Chʻüan. When the troop of advisers had retired, Lu Su came in saying, “They came to exhort you not to fight, but to compel you to surrender simply because they wish to secure the safety of their families. They distort their sense of duty to serve their own ends and I hope you will not take their advice.”

Sun Chʻüan being sunk in thought and saying nothing, Lu Su went on, “if you hesitate you will certainly be led astray by the majority and——”

“Retire for a time,” said his master. “I must think it over carefully.”

So Lu Su left the chamber. Among the soldiers some wished for war, but of the civil officers, all were in favour of surrender and so there were many discussions and much conflict of opinion. Sun Chʻüan went to his private apartments greatly perplexed. There his worry was easily discernible and he neither ate nor slept. He was quite unable to decide finally upon a course of action.

Then the Lady Wu asked him what so troubled him, and he told her of the threatened danger and the different opinions his advisers held one and another and all his doubts and fears. If he fought, he might fail; and if he offered to surrender, perhaps Tsʻao Tsʻao would reject his proposal.

Then she replied, “Have you forgotten the last words of my sister?”

As to one recovering from a fit of drunkenness, or waking out of a dream, so came to him the dying words of the mother who bore him.

His mother’s advice he called to mind, “In Chou Yü’s counsels you safety find.”

What happened will be told in the next chapter.

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Chapter XLIV

KʻUNG-MING STIRS CHOU YÜ TO ACTION: SUN CHʻÜAN DECIDES TO ATTACK TSʻAO TSʻAO.

The dying message which the Lady Wu recalled to Sun Chʻüan’s memory was, “For internal matters consult Chang Chao; for external policy Chou Yü.”

Wherefore Chou Yü was summoned.

But he was already on the way. He had been training his naval forces on Lake Pʻoyang when he heard of the approach of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s hosts and had started for Chʻaisengchün without loss of time. So, before the messenger ordered to call him could start, he had already arrived. As he and Lu Su were close friends the latter went to welcome him and told him of all that had happened.

“Have no anxiety,” said Chou Yü, “I shall be able to decide this. But go quickly and beg Kʻung-ming to come to see me.”

So Lu Su went to seek out Kʻung-ming. Chou Yü had many other visitors. First came Chang Chao and his faction to find out what might be afoot. They were received, and after the exchange of the usual commonplaces, Chang Chao said, “Have you heard of our terrible danger?”

“I have heard nothing,” said Chou Yü.

“Tsʻao Tsʻao and his hordes are encamped up the river. He has just sent letters asking our lord to hunt with him in Chianghsia. He may have a desire to absorb this country but, if so, the details of his designs are still secret. We prayed our master to give in his submission and so avoid the horrors of war, but now Lu Su has returned bringing with him the Commander-in-Chief of Liu Pei’s army, Chuko Liang. He, desiring to avenge himself for the recent defeat, has talked our lord into a mind for war and Lu Su persists in supporting him. They only await your final decision.”

“Are you and yours unanimous in your opinions?”

“We are perfectly unanimous,” said Chang.

Chou said, “The fact is I have also desired to submit for a long time. I beg you to leave me now and to-morrow we will see our master and I shall make up his mind for him.”

So they took their leave. Very soon came the military party led by Chʻêng Pʻu. They were admitted and duly enquired after their host’s health. Then the leader said, “Have you heard that our country is about to pass under another’s government?”

“No; I have heard nothing,” replied the host.

“We helped General Sun to establish his authority here and carve out this kingdom, and to gain that end we fought many a battle before we conquered the country. Now our lord lends his ear to his civil officers and desires to submit himself to Tsʻao Tsʻao. This is a most shameful and pitiful course and we would rather die than follow it, so we hope you will decide to fight and you may depend upon our struggling to the last man.”

“And are you unanimous, Generals?” asked Chou Yü.

Huang Kai suddenly started up and smote his forehead saying, “They may take my head but I swear never to surrender.”

“Not one of us is willing to surrender,” cried all the others.

“My desire also is to decide matters with Tsʻao Tsʻao on the battlefield. How could we think of submission? Now I pray you retire, Generals, and when I see our lord I will settle his doubts.”

So the war party left. They were quickly succeeded by Chuko Ching and his faction. They were brought in and, after the usual courtesies, Ching said, “My brother has come down the river saying that Liu Pei desires to ally himself with our lord against Tsʻao Tsʻao. The civil and military hold different opinions as to the course to be pursued, but as my brother is so deeply concerned I am unwilling to say much on either side. We are awaiting your decision.”

“And what do you think about it?” asked Chou Yü.

“Submission is an easy road to tranquillity, while the result of war is hard to foretell.”

Chou Yü smiled, “I shall have my mind made up. Come to-morrow to the palace and the decision shall be announced.”

The trimmers took their leave. But soon after came Lü Mêng with his supporters, also desirous of discussing the same thing, and they told him that opinions differed greatly, some being for peace and others for war. One party constantly disputed with the other.

“I must not say much now,” replied Chou Yü, “but you will see to-morrow in the palace, when the matter will be fully debated.”

They went away leaving Chou Yü smiling cynically.

About eventide Lu Su and Kʻung-ming came and Chou Yü went out to the main gate to receive them. When they had taken their proper seats, Lu Su spoke first, saying, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has come against the south with a huge army. Our master cannot decide whether to submit or give battle and waits for your decision. What is your opinion?”

Chou Yü replied, “We may not oppose Tsʻao Tsʻao when he acts at the command of the Emperor. Moreover, he is very strong and to attack him is to take serious risks. In my opinion, opposition would mean defeat and, since submission means peace, I have decided to advise our lord to write and offer surrender.”

“But you are wrong,” stammered Lu Su. “This country has been under the same rule for three generations and cannot be suddenly abandoned to some other. San Tsʻê said that you were to be consulted on matters beyond the border and we depended upon you to keep the country as secure and solid as Mount Tʻai. Now you adopt the view of the weaklings and propose to yield! I cannot believe you mean it.”

Replied Chou Yü, “The six districts contain countless people. If I am the means of bringing upon them the misery of war they will hate me. So I have decided to advise submission.”

“But do you not realise our lord’s might and the strength of our country? If Tsʻao does attack it is very uncertain that he will realise his desire.”

The two wrangled for a long time, while Kʻung-ming sat smiling with folded arms. Presently Chou Yü asked why he smiled thus and he replied, “I am smiling at no other than your opponent Lu Su, who knows nothing of the affairs of the day.”

“Master,” said Lu Su, “What do you mean?”

“Why, this intention to submit is perfectly reasonable; it is the one proper thing.”

“There!” exclaimed Chou Yü, “Kʻung-ming knows the times perfectly well and he agrees with me.”

“But, both of you, why do you say this?” said Lu.

Said Kʻung-ming, “Tsʻao is an excellent commander, so good that no one dares oppose him. Only very few have ever attempted it and they have been exterminated; the world knows them no more. The only exception is Liu Pei, who did not understand the conditions and vigorously contended against him, with the result that he is now at Chianghsia in a very parlous state. To submit is to secure the safety of wives and children, to be rich and honoured. But the dignity of the country would be left to chance and fate—— However, that is not worth consideration.”

Lu Su interrupted angrily, “Would you make our lord crook the knee to such a rebel as he?”

“Well,” replied Kʻung-ming, “there is another way, and a cheaper; there would be no need to ‘lead the sheep and shoulder wine pots’ for presents, nor any need to yield territory and surrender seals of office. It would not even be necessary to cross the river yourselves. All you would require is a simple messenger and a little boat to ferry a couple of people across the river. If Tsʻao only got these two persons under his hand, his hordes and legions would just drop their weapons, furl their banners and silently vanish away.”

“What two persons could cause Tsʻao Tsʻao to go away as you say?” asked Chou Yü.

“Two persons who could be easily spared from this populous country. They would not be missed any more than a leaf from a tree or a grain of millet from a granary. But if Tsʻao could only get them, would he not go away rejoicing!”

“But who are the two?” asked Chou Yü again.

“When I was living in the country they told me that Tsʻao was building a pavilion on the Chang River; it was to be named the Bronze Bird Pavilion. It is an exceedingly handsome building and he has sought throughout all the world for the most beautiful women to live in it. For Tsʻao really is a sensualist.”

“Now there are two very famous beauties in Chiantung, born of the Chʻiao family. So beautiful are they that birds alight and fishes drown, the moon hides her face and the flowers blush for shame at sight of them. Tsʻao has declared with an oath that he only wants two things in this world, the imperial throne in peace and the sight of those two women on the Bronze Bird Terraces. Given these two he would go down to his grave without regret. This expedition of his, his huge army that threatens this country, has for its real aim these two women. Why do you not buy these two from their father for any sum however large and send them over the river? The object of the army being attained, it will simply be marched away. This is the use that Fan Li made of the famous beauty Hsi Shih.”

“How do you know he so greatly desires these two?” said Chou Yü.

“Because his son, who is an able writer, at the command of his father wrote a poem ‘An Ode to the Bronze Bird Terrace,’ the theme only allowing allusions to the family fitness for the throne. He has sworn to possess these two women. I think I can remember the poem, if you wish to hear it. I admire it greatly.”

“Try,” said Chou Yü.

So he recited the poem:—

Let me follow in the footsteps of the enlightened ruler that I may rejoice, And ascend the storied terrace that I may gladden my heart, That I may see the wide extent of the palace, That I may gaze upon the plans of the virtuous one. He has established the exalted gates high as the hills, He has built the lofty towers piercing the blue vault. He has set up the beautiful building in the midst of the heavens, Whence the eye can range over the cities of the west. On the banks of the rolling River Chang he planned it, Whence abundance of fruits could be looked for in his gardens. The two towers rise, one on either flank, This named Golden Phoenix, that Jade Dragon. He would seize the two Chʻiao; these beautiful ladies of the south-east, That he might rejoice with them morning and evening. Look down; there is the grand beauty of an imperial city, And the rolling vapours lie floating beneath. He will rejoice in the multitude of scholars that assemble, Answering to the felicitous dream of King Wên. Look up; and there is the gorgeous harmony of spring-time, And the singing of many birds delighting the ear; The lofty sky stands over all. The house desires success in its double undertaking, That the humane influence may be poured out over all the world, That the perfection of reverence may be offered to the Ruler. Only the richly prosperous rule of Huan and Wên Could compare with that of the sacred understanding. What fortune! what beauty! The gracious kindness spreads afar, The imperial family is supported, Peace reigns over all the world, Bounded only by the universe. Bright as the glory of the sun and moon, Ever honourable and ever enduring, The Ruler shall live to the age of the eastern emperor, The dragon banner shall wave to the farthest limit. His glorious chariot shall be guided with perfect wisdom, His thoughts shall reform all the world, Felicitous produce shall be abundant, And the people shall rest firm. My desire is that these towers shall endure for ever, And that joy shall never cease through all the ages.

Chou Yü listened to the end but then suddenly jumped up in a tremendous rage. Turning to the north and pointing with his finger he cried, “You old rebel; this insult is too deep!”

Kʻung-ming hastily rose too and, as if to soothe him, said, “But remember Shan Yü. The emperor gave him a princess of the family to wife although he had made many incursions into our territory. That was the price of peace. You surely would not grudge two more women from among the people.”

“You do not know, Sir,” replied Chou Yü. “Of those two women you mentioned, the elder is the widow of Sun Tsʻê, our late ruler, and the younger is my wife.”

Kʻung-ming feigned the greatest astonishment and said, “No indeed; I did not know. I blundered; a deadly fault; a deadly fault!”

“One of us two has to go, either the old rebel or I; we shall not both live. I swear that,” cried Chou Yü.

“However, such a matter needs a good deal of thought,” replied Kʻung-ming. “We must not make any mistake.”

Chou Yü replied, “I hold a sacred trust from my late lord, Sun Tsʻê; I would not bow the knee to any such as Tsʻao. What I said just now was to see how you stood. I left the lake with the intention of attacking the north, and nothing can change that intention, not even the sword at my breast or the axe on my neck. But I trust you will lend an arm and we will smite Tsʻao Tsʻao together.”

“Should I be happy enough not to be rejected I would render such humble service as I could. Perhaps presently I might be able to offer a plan to oppose him.”

“I am going to see my lord to-morrow to discuss this matter,” said Chou Yü.

Kʻung-ming and Lu Su then left. Next day at dawn Sun Chʻüan went to the council chamber, where his officials, civil and military, were already assembled. They numbered about three score in all. The civil, with Chang Chao at their head, were on the right; the military, with Chʻêng Pʻu as their leader, were ranged on the left. All were in full ceremonial dress and the swords of the soldiers clanked on the pavement. Soon Chou Yü entered and, when Sun Chʻüan had finished the usual gracious remarks, he said, “I hear that Tsʻao Tsʻao is encamped on the river and has sent a despatch to you, my lord; I would ask what your opinion is.”

Thereupon the despatch was produced and handed to Chou Yü. After reading it through he said, smiling, “The old thief thinks there are no men in this land that he writes in this contemptuous strain.”

“What do you think, Sir?” asked Sun Chʻüan.

“Have you discussed this with the officials?” asked Chou Yü.

“We have been discussing this for days. Some counsel surrender and some advise fight. I am undecided and therefore I have asked you to come and decide the point.”

“Who advise surrender?” asked Chou Yü.

“Chang Chao and his party are firmly set in this opinion.”

Chou Yü then turned to Chang Chao and said, “I should be pleased to hear why you are for surrender, Master.”

Then Chang Chao replied, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has been attacking all opponents in the name of the Emperor, who is entirely in his hands. He does everything in the name of the government. Lately he has taken Chingchou and thereby increased his prestige. Our defence against him was the river, but now he also has a large fleet and can attack by water. How can we withstand him? Wherefore I counsel submission till some chance shall offer.”

“This is but the opinion of an ill-advised student,” said Chou Yü. “How can you think of abandoning this country that we have held for three generations?”

“That being so,” said Sun Chʻüan, “where is a plan to come from?”

“Though Tsʻao Tsʻao assumes the name of a Minister of the empire, he is at heart a rebel. You, O General, are able in war and brave. You are the heir to your father and brother. You command brave and tried soldiers, and you have plentiful supplies. You are able to overrun the whole country and rid it of every evil. There is no reason why you should surrender to a rebel. Moreover, Tsʻao has undertaken this expedition in defiance of all the rules of war. The north is unsubdued and Ma Tʻêng and Han Sui threaten his rear and yet he persists in his southern march. This is the first point against Tsʻao. The northern men are unused to fighting on the water; Tsʻao is relinquishing his well-tried cavalry and trusting to ships. That is the second point against him. Again, we are now in full winter and the weather is at its coldest so there is no food for the horses. That is the third point against. Soldiers from the central state marching in a wet country among lakes and rivers will find themselves in an unaccustomed climate and suffer from malaria. That is the fourth point against. Now when Tsʻao’s armies have all these points against them, defeat is certain, however numerous they may be, and you can take Tsʻao captive just as soon as you wish. Give me a few companies of veterans and I will go and destroy him.”

Sun Chʻüan started up from his place saying, “The rebellious old rascal has been wanting to overthrow the Hans and set up himself for years. He has rid himself of all those he feared, save only myself, and I swear that one of us two shall go now. Both of us cannot live. What you say, noble friend, is just what I think, and Heaven has certainly sent you to my assistance.”

“Thy servant will fight a decisive battle,” said Chou Yü, “and shrink not from any sacrifice. Only, General, do not hesitate.”

Sun Chʻüan drew the sword that hung at his side and slashed the table in front of him, exclaiming, “Let any other man mention surrender and he shall be served as I have served this table.”

Then he handed the sword to Chou Yü, at the same time giving him a commission as Commander-in-Chief, Chʻêng Pʻu being second in command. Lu Su was also nominated as assistant.

In conclusion Sun said, “With this sword you will slay any officer who may disobey your commands.”

Chou Yü took the sword and turning to the assembly said, “You have heard our lord’s charge to me, to lead you to destroy Tsʻao; you will all assemble to-morrow at the river-side camp to receive my orders. Should any be late or fail, then the full rigour of military law, the seven prohibitions and the fifty-four penalties there provided, will be enforced.”

He took leave of Sun Chʻüan and left the chamber; the various officers also went their several ways. When Chou Yü reached his own place he sent for Kʻung-ming to consult over the business in hand. He told him of the decision that had been taken and asked for a plan of campaign.

“But your master has not yet made up his mind,” said Kʻung-ming. “Till he has, no plan can be decided upon.”

“What do you mean?”

“In his heart he is still fearful of Tsʻao’s numbers and frets over the inequality of the two armies. You will have to explain away those numbers and bring him to a final decision before anything can be effected.”

“What you say is excellent,” said Chou Yü and he went to the palace that night to see his master. Sun Chʻüan said, “You must have something of real importance to say if you come like this at night.”

Chou Yü said, “I am making my dispositions to-morrow; you have quite made up your mind?”

“The fact is,” said Sun Chʻüan, “I still feel nervous about the disparity of numbers. Surely we are too few. That is really all I feel doubtful about.”

“It is precisely because you have this one remaining doubt that I am come. And I will explain. Tsʻao’s letter speaks of a hundred legions of marines, and so you feel doubts and fears and do not wait to consider the real truth. Let us examine the case thoroughly. We find that he has of Central State soldiers, say, fifteen or sixteen legions, and many of them are sick. He only got seven or eight legions from the Yüans and many of those are of doubtful loyalty. Now these sick men and these men of doubtful loyalty seem a great many but they are not at all fearsome. I could smash them with five legions. So, my lord, have no further anxiety.”

Sun Chʻüan patted his general on the back saying, “You have explained my difficulty and relieved my doubts. Chang Chao is an old fool who constantly baulks my expeditions. Only you and Lu Su have any real understanding of my heart. To-morrow you and he and Chʻêng Pʻu will start and I shall have a strong reserve ready with plentiful supplies to support you. If anything goes agley you can at once send for me and I will engage with my own men.”

Chou Yü left; but in his innermost heart he said to himself, “If that Kʻung-ming can gauge my master’s thoughts so very accurately he is too clever for me and will be a danger. He will have to be put out of the way.”

He sent a messenger over to Lu Su to talk over this last scheme. When he had laid it bare, Lu Su did not favour it. “No, no,” said he, “it is self-destruction to make away with your ablest officer before Tsʻao shall have been destroyed.”

“But Kʻung-ming will certainly help Liu Pei to our disadvantage.”

“Try what his brother Chuko Chin can do to persuade him. It would be an excellent thing to have these two in our service.”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Chou Yü.

Next morning at dawn Chou Yü went to his camp and took his seat in the council tent. The lictors took up their stations right and left and the officers ranged themselves in lines to listen to the orders.

Now Chʻêng Pʻu, who was older than Chou Yü, was very angry at being passed over, so he made a pretence of indisposition and stayed away from this assembly. But he sent his son to represent him. Chou Yü addressed the gathering, saying, “The law knows no partiality and you will all have to attend to your several duties. Tsʻao is now more absolute than ever was Tung Cho, and the Emperor is really a prisoner in Hsüchʻang, guarded by the most cruel soldiers. We have a command to destroy Tsʻao and with your willing help we shall advance. The army must cause no hardship to the people anywhere. Rewards for good service and punishments for faults shall be given impartially.”

Having delivered this charge he told off Han Tang and Huang Kai as leaders of the van, and ordered the ships under his own command to get under way and go to Sanchiangkʻou. They would get orders by and bye. Then he appointed five armies with two officers over each while Lü Fan and Chu Chih were appointed inspectors, to move from place to place and keep the various units up to their work and acting with due regard to the general plan. Land and marine forces were to move simultaneously. The expedition would soon start.

Having received their orders each returned to his command and busied himself in preparation. Chʻêng Pʻu’s son returned and told his father what arrangements had been made and Chʻêng Pʻu was amazed at their skill. Said he, “I have always despised Chou Yü as a mere student who would never be a general, but this shows that he has a leader’s talent. I must support him.” So he went over to the quarters of the Commander-in-Chief and confessed his fault. He was received kindly and all was over.

Next Chou Yü sent for Chuko Chin and said to him, “Evidently your brother is a genius, a man born to be a king’s counsellor. Why then does he serve Liu Pei? Now that he is here I wish you to use every effort to persuade him to stay with us. Thus our lord would gain able support and you two brothers would be together, which would be pleasant for you both. I wish you success.”

Chin replied, “I am ashamed of the little service I have rendered since I came here and I can do no other than obey your command to the best of my ability.”

Thereupon he went away to his brother, whom he found in the guest-house. The younger brother received him and when he had reached the inner rooms Kʻung-ming bowed respectfully and, weeping, told his experiences since they parted and his sorrow at their separation. Then Chin, weeping also, said, “Brother, do you remember the story of Po I and Shu Chʻi, the brothers who would not be separated?”

“Ah, Chou Yü has sent him to talk me over,” thought Kʻung-ming. So he replied, “They were two of the noble people of old days; yes, I know.”

“Those two, although they perished of hunger near the Shouyang Hills, yet never separated. You and I, born of the same mother and suckled at the same breast, yet serve different masters and never meet. Are you not ashamed when you think of such examples as Po I and Shu Chʻi?”

Kʻung-ming replied, “You are talking now of love, but what I stand for is duty. We are both men of Han and Liu Pei is of the family. If you, brother, could leave Wu and join me in serving the rightful branch, then on the one side we should be honoured as Ministers of Han and on the other we should be together as people of the same flesh and blood should be. Thus love and duty would both receive their proper meed. What do you think of it, my brother?”

“I came to persuade him and lo! it is I who am being talked over,” thought Chuko Chin. He had no fitting reply to make so he rose and took his leave. Returning to Chou Yü he related the story of the interview.

“What do you think?” asked Chou Yü.

“General Sun has treated me with great kindness and I could not turn my back on him,” replied Chin.

“Since you decide to remain loyal, there is no need to say much; I think I have a plan to win over your brother.”

The wisest men see eye to eye. For each but sees the right; But should their several interests clash, They all the fiercer fight.

The means by which Chou Yü tried to get the support of Kʻung-ming will be described in the next chapter.

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Chapter XLV

TSʻAO TSʻAO LOSES SOLDIERS: CHIANG KAN VICTIM OF A RUSE.

Chou Yü was very annoyed by the words of Chuko Chin and a fierce hatred for Kʻung-ming took root in his heart. He nourished a secret resolve to make away with him. He continued his preparations for war and when the men were all mustered and ready he went in for a farewell interview with his lord.

“You go on first, noble Sir,” said Sun Chʻüan. “I will then march to support you.”

Chou Yü took his leave and then, with Chʻêng Pʻu and Lu Su, marched out with the army. He invited Kʻung-ming to accompany the expedition, and when he cheerfully accepted, the four embarked in the same ship. They set sail and the flotilla made for Hsiakʻou.

About sixty li from “Three River Mouths” the fleet anchored near the shore and Chou Yü built a stockade on the bank near the middle of their line with the West Hills as a support. Other camps were made near his. Kʻung-ming, however, took up his quarters in a small ship.

When the camp dispositions were complete Chou Yü sent to request Kʻung-ming to come and give him advice. He came, and after the salutations were ended Chou Yü said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao thought he had fewer troops than Yüan Shao, nevertheless overcame him because he followed the advice given by Hsü Yu to destroy his supplies. Now Tsʻao Tsʻao has over eighty legions while I have but five or six. In order to defeat him his supplies must be destroyed first. I have found out that the main depôt is at Chütʻieh Hill. As you have lived hereabout you know the topography quite well and I wish to entrust the task of cutting off supplies to you and your colleagues Kuan Yü, Chang Fei and Chao Yün. I will assist you with a company. I wish you to start without delay. In this way we can best serve our masters.”

Kʻung-ming saw through this at once. He thought to himself, “This is a ruse in revenge for my not having been persuaded to enter the service of Wu. If I refuse I shall be laughed at. So I will do as he asks and trust to find some means of deliverance from the evil he intends.”

Therefore he accepted the task with alacrity, much to the joy of Chou Yü. After the leader of the expedition had taken his leave, Lu Su went to Chou Yü secretly and said, “Why have you set him this task?”

“Because I wish to compass his death without appearing ridiculous. I hope to get him killed by the hand of Tsʻao Tsʻao and prevent his doing further mischief.”

Lu Su left and went to see Kʻung-ming to find out if he suspected anything. He found him looking quite unconcerned and getting the soldiers ready to march. Unable to hold his tongue, however, he put a tentative question, “Do you think this expedition will succeed?”

Kʻung-ming laughingly replied, “I am an adept at all sorts of fighting, with foot, horse and chariots on land and on the water. There is no doubt of my success. I am not like you and your friend, only capable in one direction.”

“What do you mean by our being capable only in one direction?” said Lu Su.

“I have heard the street boys in your country singing:—

To lay an ambush, hold a pass, Lu Su is the man to choose; But when you on the water fight, Chou Yü is the man to use.

You are only fit for ambushes and guarding passes on land, just as he only understands fighting on the water.”

Lu Su carried this story to Chou Yü, which only incensed him the more against Kʻung-ming.

“How dare he flout me, saying I cannot fight a land battle? I will not let him go. I will go myself with a legion and cut off Tsʻao Tsʻao’s supplies.”

Lu Su went back and told this to Kʻung-ming, who smiled and said, “He only wanted me to go on this expedition because he wanted Tsʻao Tsʻao to kill me. And so I teased him a little. But he cannot bear that. Now is the critical moment and the Marquis Wu and my master must act in harmony if we are to succeed. If each one tries to harm the other the whole scheme will fail. Tsʻao Tsʻao is no fool and it is a usual thing with him to attack an enemy through his supplies. Do you not think he has already taken double precautions against any surprise of his own depôt? If Chou Yü tries he will be taken prisoner. What he ought to do is to bring about a decisive naval battle, whereby to dishearten the northern men, and then find some other means to defeat them utterly. If you could persuade him what was his best course it would be well.”

Without loss of time, Lu Su went to Chou Yü to relate what Kʻung-ming had told him. Chou shook his head when he heard it and beat the ground with his foot, saying, “This man is far too clever; he beats me fifty to one. He will have to be done away with or my country will suffer.”

Said Lu Su, “This is the moment to use men; you must think of the country’s good first of all. When once Tsʻao Tsʻao is defeated you may do as you please.”

Chou had to confess the reasonableness of this.

It is now time to speak of Liu Pei. He had ordered his nephew Liu Chʻi to hold Chianghsia while he and the bulk of the army returned to Hsiakʻou. Thence he saw the opposite bank thick with banners and flags and glittering with every kind of arms and armour. He knew then that the expedition from Wu had started. So he moved all his force from Chianghsia to Fankʻou.

Then he assembled his officers and said to them, “Kʻung-ming went to Wu some time ago and no word has come from him, so I know not how the business stands. Will any one volunteer to go to find out?”

“I will go,” said Mi Chu.

So presents were prepared and gifts of flesh and wine, and Mi Chu prepared to journey to Wu on the pretext of offering a congratulatory feast to the army. Mi Chu set out in a small ship and went down river. He stopped opposite the camp and the soldiers reported his arrival to Chou Yü, who ordered him to be brought in. Mi Chu bowed low and expressed the respect which Liu Pei had for Chou Yü and offered the various gifts. The ceremony of reception was followed by a banquet in honour of Mi Chu. Mi said, “Kʻung-ming has been here a long time and I desire that he may return with me.”

“Kʻung-ming is making plans with me and I could not let him return,” said Chou Yü. “I also wish to see Liu Pei that we may make joint plans, but when one is at the head of a great army one cannot get away even for a moment. If your master would only come here it would be very gracious on his part.”

Mi Chu agreed that Liu Pei might come and presently took his leave. Then Lu Su asked Chou Yü the reason for his desiring Liu Pei to come.

“Liu Yüan-tê is the one bold and dangerous man and must be removed. I am taking this opportunity to persuade him to come, and when he shall be slain a great danger will cease to threaten our country.”

Lu Su tried to dissuade him from this scheme but Chou Yü was deaf to all he said. He even issued orders for half a hundred executioners to be ready to hide within the lining of his tent if Liu Pei decided to come and arranged to drop a cup as a signal for them to fall on and slay him.

Mi Chu returned and told Liu Pei that his presence was desired by Chou Yü. Suspecting nothing Liu Pei at once ordered them to prepare a fast vessel to take him without loss of time. Kuan Yü was opposed to his going saying that Chou Yü was artful and treacherous and there was no news from Kʻung-ming.

Yüan-tê replied, “I have joined my forces to theirs in this attack on our common enemy. If Chou Yü wishes to see me and I refuse to go, it is a betrayal. Nothing will succeed if both sides nourish suspicions.”

“If you have finally decided to go, then will I go with you,” said Kuan Yü.

“And I also,” cried Chang Fei.

But Yüan-tê said, “Let Kuan Yü come with me while you and Chao Yün keep guard. Chien Yung will hold Ohsien. I shall not be away long.”

So leaving these orders, Liu Pei embarked with his brother on a small boat. The escort did not exceed a score. The light craft travelled very quickly down the river. Liu Pei rejoiced greatly at the sight of the war vessels in tiers by the bank, the soldiers in their breastplates and all the pomp and panoply of war. All was in excellent order.

As soon as he arrived the guards ran to tell Chou Yü.

“How many ships has he?” asked Chou.

They replied, “Only one; and the escort is only about a score.”

“His fate is sealed,” said Chou Yü.

He sent for the executioners and placed them in hiding between the outer and inner tents, and when all was arranged for the assassination he contemplated, he went out to receive his visitor. Liu Pei came with his brother and escort into the midst of the army to the Commander’s tent. After the salutations Chou Yü wished Liu Pei to take the upper seat, but he declined saying, “General, you are famous through all the country, while I am a nobody. Do not overwhelm me with too great deference.”

So they took the positions of simple friends and refreshments were brought in.

Now by chance Kʻung-ming came on shore and heard that his master had arrived and was with the Commander-in-Chief. The news gave him a great shock and he said to himself, “What is to be done now?” He made his way to the reception tent and stole a look therein. He saw murder written on Chou Yü’s countenance and noted the assassins hidden within the walls of the tent. Then he got a look at Liu Pei, who was laughing and talking quite unconcernedly. But when he noticed the redoubtable figure of Kuan Yü near his master’s side he became quite calm and contented.

“No danger,” said he, and he went away to the river bank to await the end of the interview.

Meanwhile the banquet of welcome proceeded. After the wine had gone around several times Chou Yü picked up a cup to give the signal agreed upon. But at that moment he saw so fierce a look upon the face of the trusty henchman who stood, sword in hand, behind his guest, that he hesitated and hastily asked who he was.

“That is my brother, Kuan Yün-chʻang,” replied Yüan-tê.

Chou Yü, quite startled, said, “Is he the slayer of Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou?”

“Exactly; he it is,” replied Liu Pei.

The sweat of fear broke out all over Chou Yü’s body and trickled down his back. Then he poured out a cup of wine and presented it to Kuan Yü. Just then Lu Su came in and Yüan-tê said to him, “Where is Kʻung-ming? I would trouble you to ask him to come.”

“Wait till we have defeated Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said Chou Yü, “then you shall see him.”

Yüan-tê dared not repeat his request, but Kuan Yü gave him a meaning look which Yüan-tê understood and rose, saying, “I would take leave now; I will come again to congratulate you when the enemy has been defeated and your success shall be complete.”

Chou Yü did not press him to remain, but escorted him to the great gates of the camp, and Yüan-tê left. When he reached the river bank they found Kʻung-ming awaiting them in their boat.

Yüan-tê was exceedingly pleased but Kʻung-ming said, “Sir, do you know in how great danger you were to-day?”

Suddenly sobered, Yüan-tê said, “No; I did not think of danger.”

“If Yün-chʻang had not been there you would have been killed,” said Kʻung-ming.

Yüan-tê, after a moment’s reflection, saw that it was true. He begged Kʻung-ming to return with him to Fanchʻêng, but he refused. “I am quite safe,” said he. “Although I am living in the tiger’s mouth, I am as steady as Mount Tʻai. Now, my lord, return and prepare your ships and men. On the twentieth day of the eleventh month send Chao Yün with a small ship to the south bank to wait for me. Be sure there is no miscarriage.”

“What are your intentions?” said Yüan-tê.

“When the south-east wind begins I shall have to return.”

Yüan-tê would have questioned him further, but Kʻung-ming pressed him to go. So the boat started up river again while Kʻung-ming returned to his temporary lodging.

The boat had not proceeded far when appeared a small fleet sweeping down with the current, and in the prow of the leading vessel stood a tall figure armed with a spear. It was Chang Fei, who had come down fearing lest his brother might be in some difficulty from which the strong arm of Kuan Yü might even be insufficient to rescue him.

Of the return of the three brothers nothing will be said. After Chou Yü, having escorted Yüan-tê to the gate of his camp, had returned to his quarters Lu Su soon came to see him.

“When you had cajoled Yüan-tê into coming, why did you not carry out your plan?” asked Lu.

“Because of that Kuan Yü; he is a very tiger and he never left his brother for a moment. If anything had been attempted he would certainly have had my life.”

Lu Su knew that he spoke the truth. Then suddenly they announced a messenger with a letter from Tsʻao Tsʻao. Chou Yü ordered them to bring him in and took the letter. But when he saw the superscription “The First Minister of Han to Commander-in-Chief Chou,” he fell into a frenzy of rage, tore the letter to fragments and threw them on the ground.

“To death with this fellow!” cried he.

“When two countries are at war their emissaries are not slain,” said Lu.

“Messengers are slain to show one’s dignity and independence,” replied Chou.

The unhappy bearer of the letter was decapitated and his head sent back to Tsʻao Tsʻao by the hands of his escort.

Chou Yü then decided to move. The van under Kan Ning was to advance, supported by two wings. Chou Yü would lead the remainder in support. The next morning the early meal was eaten in the fourth watch and the ships got under weigh in the fifth with a great beating of drums.

Tsʻao Tsʻao was greatly angered when he heard that his letter had been torn to fragments and he resolved to attack forthwith. His advance was led by Tsʻai Mao and others of the Chingchou officers who had joined his side. He went as hastily as possible to the meeting of the three rivers and saw the ships of Wu sailing up. In the bow of the foremost ship stood a fine figure of a warrior who cried, “I am Kan Ning; I challenge any one to combat.”

Tsʻai Mao sent his young brother to accept the challenge, but as his ship approached Kan Ning shot an arrow and Tsʻai Hsün fell. Kan Ning pressed forward, his crossbowmen keeping up a heavy discharge which Tsʻao’s men could not stand. The wings also joined in.

Tsʻao’s men, being mostly from the dry plains of the north, did not know how to fight effectually on water and the southern ships had the battle all their own way. The slaughter was very great. However, after a contest lasting till afternoon Chou Yü thought it more prudent, in view of the superior numbers of his enemy, not to risk further the advantage he had gained. So he beat the gongs as the signal to cease battle and recall the ships.

Tsʻao was worsted, but his ships returned to the bank, where a camp was made and order was restored. Tsʻao sent for his defeated leaders and reproached them saying, “You did not do your best. You let an inferior force overcome you.”

Tsʻai Mao defended himself saying, “The Chingchou marines have not been exercised for a long time and the others have never been trained for naval warfare at all. A naval camp must be instituted, the northern men trained and the Chingchou men drilled. When they have been made efficient they will win victories.”

“If you know what should be done, why have you not done it?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao. “What is the use of telling me this? Get to work.”

So Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün organised a naval camp on the river bank. They established twenty-four “Water Gates,” with the large ships outside as a sort of rampart, and under their protection the smaller ships went to and fro freely. At night when the lanterns and torches were lit the very sky was illuminated and the water shone red with the glare. On land the smoke of the camp fires could be traced for three hundred li without a break.

Chou Yü returned to camp and feasted his victorious fighting men. A messenger bore the joyful tidings of victory to his master in Wu. When night fell Chou Yü went up to the summit of one of the hills and looked out over the long line of bright lights stretching toward the west, showing the extent of the enemy’s camp. He said nothing, but a great fear came in upon him.

Next day Chou Yü decided that he would go in person to find out the strength of the enemy. So he bade them prepare a small squadron which he manned with strong, hardy men armed with powerful bows and stiff crossbows. He also placed musicians on each ship. They set sail and started up the stream. When they got opposite Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp the heavy stones that served as anchors were dropped and the drums and trumpets began while Chou Yü scanned the enemy’s naval camp. What he saw gave him no satisfaction for everything was most admirable. He enquired whether any one knew the names of the admirals and they told him Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün.

“They have lived in our country a long time,” said he, “and are thoroughly experienced in naval warfare. I must find some means of removing them before I can effect anything.”

Meanwhile on shore the sentinels had told Tsʻao that the enemy craft were spying upon them and he ordered out some ships to capture the spies. Chou Yü saw the commotion on shore and hastily gave the order to unmoor and sail down stream. The squadron at once got under way and scattered; to and fro went the oars and each ship seemed to fly. Before Tsʻao’s ships could get out after them they were all far away. Tsʻao’s ships took up the chase but soon saw pursuit was useless. They returned and reported their failure.

Again Tsʻao found fault with his officers and said, “The other day you lost a battle and the soldiers were greatly dispirited. Now the enemy have spied out our camp. What can be done?”

In eager response to his question one stepped out, saying, “When I was a youth Chou Yü and I were fellow students and pledged friends. My three-inch tongue is still good and I will go over and persuade him to surrender.”

Tsʻao, rejoiced to find so speedy a solution, looked at the speaker. It was Chiang Kan of Kiukiang, one of the secretary staff in the camp.

“Are you a good friend of Chou Yü’s?” said Tsʻao.

“Rest contented, O Minister,” replied Kan. “If I only get on the other side of the river I shall succeed.”

“What preparations are necessary?” asked Tsʻao.

“Just a youth as my servant and a couple of rowers; nothing else.”

Tsʻao offered him wine, wished him success and sent him on his way.

Clad in a simple white robe and seated in his little craft, the messenger reached Chou Yü’s camp and bade the men say that an old friend Chiang Kan wished to see him. The commander was in his tent at a council when the message came, and he laughed as he said to those about him, “A guest is coming.” Then he whispered certain instructions in the ear of each one of them and they went out to await his arrival.

Chou Yü received his friend in full ceremonial garb. A crowd of officers in rich silken robes were about him. The guest appeared, his sole attendant a lad dressed in a simple blue gown. He bore himself proudly as he advanced and Chou Yü made a low obeisance.

“You have been well I hope since last we met,” said Chiang Kan.

“You have wandered far and suffered much in this task of emissary in the Tsʻao cause,” said Chou.

“I have not seen you for a very long time,” said the envoy much taken aback, “and I came to visit you for the sake of old times. Why do you call me an emissary for the Tsʻao cause?”

“Though I am not so clever a musician as Shih Kuang, yet I can comprehend the thought behind the music,” replied Chou.

“As you choose to treat your old friend like this I think I will take my leave,” said Chiang.

Chou Yü laughed again and taking Kan by the arm, said, “Well, I feared you might be coming on his behalf to try to persuade me. But if this is not your intention, you need not go away so hastily.”

So they two entered the tent; and when they had exchanged salutes and were seated as friends, Chou Yü bade them call his officers that he might introduce them. They soon appeared civil and military officials, all dressed in their best. The military officers were clad in glittering silver armour and the staff looked very imposing as they stood ranged in two lines.

The visitor was introduced to them all. Presently a banquet was spread, and while they feasted the musicians played songs of victory and the wine circulated merrily. Under its mellowing influence Chou Yü’s reserve seemed to thaw and he said, “He is an old fellow student of mine and we are pledged friends. Though he has arrived here from the north he is no artful pleader so you need not be afraid of him.”

Then he took off the sword which he wore as Commander-in-Chief and handed it to Tʻaishih Tzŭ, saying, “You take this and wear it for the day as master of the feast. This day we meet only as friends and if any one shall begin a discussion of the questions at issue between Tsʻao Tsʻao and our country just slay him.”

Tʻaishih Tzŭ took the sword and seated himself in his place. The guest was not a little overcome, but he said no word.

Chou Yü said, “Since I assumed command I have tasted no drop of wine, but to-day as an old friend is present and there is no reason to fear him, I am going to drink freely.”

So saying he quaffed a huge goblet and laughed loudly.

The rhinoceros cups went swiftly round from guest to guest till all were half drunk. Then Chou Yü, laying hold of the guest’s hand, led him outside the tent. The guards who stood around all braced themselves up and seized their weapons.

“Do you not think my soldiers a fine lot of fellows?” said Chou.

“Strong as bears and bold as tigers,” replied Chiang Kan.

Then Chou Yü led him to the rear of the tent whence he saw the grain and forage piled up in mountainous heaps.

“Do you not think I have a fairly good store of grain and forage?”

“It is quite true as I have heard that your men are brave and your supplies ample.”

Chou Yü pretended to be quite intoxicated and went on, “When you and I were students together, we never looked forward to a day like this did we?”

“For a genius like you it is nothing extraordinary,” said the guest.

Chou Yü again seized his hand and they sat down. “When a really great man has found his proper lord then, in his service, he relies upon the right feeling between prince and minister outside, and at home he is firm in the kindly feeling of relatives. His words must be obeyed, his plans must be followed out. He is independent of good or evil fortune. He takes as his models such men as Su Chʻin, Chang I, Lu Chia and Li Shêng so that they seem to live again. His words pour forth like a rushing river, his tongue is as a sharp sword. Is it possible to move such as I am?”

He burst into a loud laugh as he finished and Chiang Kan’s face had become clay-coloured. Chou Yü then led his guest back into the tent and again they fell to drinking. Presently he pointed to the others at table and said, “These are all the best and bravest of the land of Wu; one might call this ‘The Meeting of Heroes’.”

They drank on till daylight failed and continued after lamps had been lit. Chou Yü even gave an exhibition of sword play and sang this song:—

When a man is in the world, O, He ought to do his best. And when he’s done his best, O, He ought to have his rest. And when I have my rest, O, I’ll quaff my wine with zest. And when I’m drunk as drunk can be, I’ll sing the madman’s litany.

A burst of applause greeted the song. By this time it was getting late and the guest begged to be excused. “The wine is too much for me,” said he. His host bade them clear the table and as all the others left Chou Yü said, “It is many a day since I shared a couch with my friend, but we will do so to-night.”

Putting on the appearance of irresponsible intoxication he led Chiang Kan into the tent and they went to bed. Chou Yü simply fell, all dressed as he was, and lay there emitting uncouth grunts and groans, so that to the guest sleep was impossible. He lay and listened to the various camp noises without and his host’s thund’rous snores within. About the second watch he rose and looked at his friend by the dim light of the small lamp. He also saw on the table a heap of papers and looking at them furtively, saw they were letters. Among them he saw one marked as coming from Chang Yün and Tsʻai Mao. He read it and this is what it said:—“We surrendered to Tsʻao Tsʻao, not for the sake of pay but under stress of circumstances. Now we have fooled these northern soldiers into admitting us to their camp but, as soon as occasion offers, we mean to have the rebel’s head to offer as a sacrifice to your banner. From time to time there will be reports as occasions serve but you may trust us. This is our humble reply to your letter.”

“Those two were connected with Wu in the beginning,” thought Chiang Kan, so he secreted the letter in his dress and began to examine the others. But at that moment Chou Yü turned over and so Kan hastily blew out the light and went to his couch.

Chou Yü was muttering as he lay there and his guest, carefully listening, made out, “Friend, I am going to let you see Tsʻao’s head in a day or two.”

Chiang Kan hastily made some reply to lead on his host to say more. Then came, “Wait a few days; you will see Tsʻao’s head. The old wretch!”

Chiang tried to question him as to what he meant, but Chou Yü was fast asleep and seemed to hear nothing. Chiang lay there on his couch wide awake till the fourth watch was beating. Then some one came in, saying, “General, are you awake?” At that moment as if suddenly awakened from the deepest slumber, Chou Yü started up and said, “Who is this on the couch?”

The voice replied, “Do you not remember, General? You asked your old friend to stay the night with you; it is he, of course.”

“I drank too much last night,” said Chou Yü in a regretful tone, “and I forgot. I seldom indulge to excess and am not used to it. Perhaps I said many things I ought not.”

The voice went on, “A man has arrived from the north.”

“Speak lower,” said Chou Yü, and turning toward the sleeper he called him by name. But Chiang Kan affected to be sound asleep and made no sign.

Chou Yü crept out of the tent, while Kan listened with all his ears. He heard the man say, “Chang and Tsʻai, the two commanders, have come.”

But listening as he did with straining ears he could not make out what followed. Soon after Chou Yü re-entered and again called out his companion’s name. But no reply came, for Chiang Kan was pretending to be in the deepest slumber and to hear nothing. Then Chou Yü undressed and went to bed.

As Chiang Kan lay awake he remembered that Chou Yü was known to be meticulously careful in affairs and if in the morning he found that a letter had disappeared he would certainly slay the offender. So he lay there till near daylight and then called out to his host. Getting no reply he rose, dressed and stole out of the tent. Then he called his servant and made for the camp gate.

“Whither are you going, Sir?” said the watchmen at the gate.

“I fear I am in the way here,” replied Kan, “and so I have taken leave of the General for a time. So do not stop me.”

He found his way to the river bank and re-embarked. Then, with flying oars, he hastened back to Tsʻao’s camp. When he arrived Tsʻao asked at once how he had sped and he had to acknowledge failure.

“Chou Yü is very clever and perfectly high-minded,” said he, “nothing that I could say moved him in the least.”

“Your failure makes me look ridiculous,” said Tsʻao.

“Well, if I did not win over Chou Yü, I found out something for you. Send away these people and I will tell you,” said Chiang.

The servants were dismissed and then Chiang Kan produced the letter he had stolen from Chou Yü’s tent. He gave it to Tsʻao. Tsʻao was very angry and sent for the two at once. As soon as they appeared he said, “I want you two to attack.”

Tsʻai Mao replied, “But the men are not yet sufficiently trained.”

“The men will be well enough trained when you have sent my head to Chou Yü, eh?”

Both officers were dumb-founded, having not the least idea what this meant. They remained silent for they had nothing to say. Tsʻao bade the executioners lead them away to instant death. In a short time their heads were produced.

By this time Tsʻao had thought over the matter and it dawned upon him that he had been tricked. A poem says:—

No one could stand against Tsʻao Tsʻao, Of sin he had full share, But Chou Yü was more treacherous, And caught him in a snare. Two officers to save their lives, Betrayed a former lord, Soon after, as was very meet, Both fell beneath the sword.

The death of these two naval commanders caused much consternation in the camp and all their colleagues asked the reason for their sudden execution. Though Tsʻao knew he had been victimised he would not acknowledge it. So he said the two men had been remiss and so had been put to death. The others were aghast, but nothing could be done. Two other officers, Mao and Yü by name, were put in command of the naval camp.

Spies took the news to Chou Yü, who was delighted at the success of his ruse.

“Those two were my only source of anxiety,” said he. “Now they are gone, I am quite happy.”

Lu Su said, “General, if you can continue like this you need not fear Tsʻao.”

“I do not think any of them saw my game,” said Chou Yü, “except Chuko Liang. He beats me, and I do not think this ruse was hidden from him. You go and sound him. See if he knew.”

Chou’s treacherous plot succeeded well, Dissension sown, his rivals fell. Drunk with success was he, but sought To know what cynic Kʻung-ming thought.

What passed between Lu Su and Kʻung-ming will next be related.

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Chapter XLVI

KʻUNG-MING “BORROWS” SOME ARROWS: HUANG KAI ACCEPTS A PUNISHMENT.

The gossip Lu Su departed on his mission and found Kʻung-ming seated in his little craft.

“There has been so much to do that I have not been able to come to listen to your instruction,” said Lu Su.

“That is truly so,” said Kʻung-ming, “and I have not yet congratulated the Commander-in-Chief.”

“What have you wished to congratulate him upon?”

“Why Sir, the matter upon which he sent you to find out whether I knew about it or not. Indeed I can congratulate him on that.”

Lu Su turned pale and gasped. “But how did you know, Master?”

“The ruse succeeded well thus played off on Chiang Kan. Tsʻao has been taken in this once, but he will soon rise to it. Only he will not confess his mistake. However, the two men are gone and your country is freed from a grave anxiety. Do you not think that a matter for congratulation? I hear Mao Chieh and Yü Chin are the new admirals, and in their hands lie both good and evil for the fate of the fleet.”

Lu Su was quite dumbfounded; he stayed a little time longer passing the time in making empty remarks, and then took his leave. As he was going away Kʻung-ming cautioned him against letting Chou Yü know that his new rival had guessed his ruse. “I know he is jealous and he only seeks some chance to do me harm.”

Lu Su promised; nevertheless he went straight to his chief and related the whole thing just as it happened.

“Really he must be got rid of,” said Chou Yü, “I have quite decided to put the man out of the way.”

“If you slay him, will not Tsʻao Tsʻao laugh at you?”

“Oh, no; I will find a legitimate way of getting rid of him so that he shall go to his death without resentment.”

“But how can you find a legitimate way of assassinating him?”

“Do not ask too much; you will see presently.”

Soon after all the officers were summoned to the main tent and Kʻung-ming’s presence was desired. He went contentedly enough. When all were seated Chou Yü suddenly addressed Kʻung-ming, saying, “I am going to fight a battle with the enemy soon on the water: what weapons are the best?”

“On the great river arrows are the best,” said Kʻung-ming.

“Your opinion and mine agree. But at the moment we are short of them. I wish you would undertake to supply about a hundred thousand for the naval fight. As it is for the public service you will not decline, I hope!”

“Whatever task the Commander-in-Chief lays upon me I must certainly try to perform,” replied Kʻung-ming. “May I enquire by what date you require the hundred thousand arrows?”

“Could you have them ready in ten days?”

“The enemy will be here very soon; ten days will be too late,” said Kʻung-ming.

“In how many days do you estimate the arrows can be ready?”

“Let me have three days; then you may send for your hundred thousand.”

“No joking, remember,” said the General. “There is no joking in war time.”

“Dare I joke with the Commander-in-Chief? Give me a formal military order and if I have not completed the task in three days I will take my punishment.”

Chou Yü, secretly delighted, sent for the secretaries and prepared the commission then and there. Then he drank to the success of the undertaking and said, “I shall have to congratulate you most heartily when this is accomplished.”

“This day is not to count,” said Kʻung-ming. “On the third from to-morrow morning send five hundred small boats to the river side to convey the arrows.”

They drank a few more cups together and then Kʻung-ming took his leave. After he had gone, Lu Su said, “Do you not think there is some deceit about this?”

“I think he has signed his own death warrant,” said Chou. “Without being pressed in the least he asked for a formal order in the face of the whole assembly. If he grew a pair of wings he could not escape. Only I will just order the workmen to delay him as much as they can, and not supply him with materials, so that he is sure to fail. And then, when the certain penalty is incurred, who can criticise? You can go and enquire about it all and keep me informed.”

So off went Lu Su to seek Kʻung-ming, who at once reproached him with having blabbed about the former business, “He wants to hurt me, as you know, and I did not think you could not keep my secret. And now there is what you saw to-day and how do you think I can get a hundred thousand arrows made in three days? You will simply have to rescue me.”

“You brought the misfortune on yourself and how can I rescue you?” said Lu.

“I look to you for the loan of a score of vessels, manned each by thirty men. I want blue cotton screens and bundles of straw lashed to the sides of the boats. I have good use for them. On the third day I have undertaken to deliver the fixed number of arrows. But on no account must you let Chou Yü know, or my scheme will be wrecked.”

Lu Su consented and this time he kept his word. He went to report to his chief as usual, but he said nothing about the boats. He only said Kʻung-ming was not using bamboo or feathers or glue or varnish, but had some other way of getting arrows.

“Let us await the three days’ limit,” said Chou Yü, puzzled though confident.

On his side Lu Su quietly prepared a score of light swift boats, each with its crew and the blue screens and bundles of grass complete and, when these were ready, he placed them at Kʻung-ming’s disposal. His friend did nothing on the first day, nor on the second. On the third day at the middle of the fourth watch, Kʻung-ming sent a private message asking Lu Su to come to his boat.

“Why have you sent for me, Sir?” asked Lu Su.

“I want you to go with me to get those arrows.”

“Whither are you going?”

“Do not ask: you will see.”

Then the twenty boats were fastened together by long ropes and moved over to the north bank. The night proved very foggy and the mist was very dense along the river, so that one man could scarcely see another. In spite of the fog Kʻung-ming urged the boats forward.

There is a poem on these river fogs:—

Mighty indeed is the Yangtse River! Rising far in the west, in the mountains of Omei and Min, Ploughing its way through Wu, east flowing, resistless, Swelled by its nine tributary streams, rolling down from the far north, Aided and helped by a hundred rivulets swirling and foaming, Ocean receives it at last welcoming, joyful, its waters. Therein abide sea-nymphs and water gods, Enormous whales a thousand fathoms long, Nine-headed monstrous beasts yclept tʻien-wu, Demons and uncouth creatures wondrous strange. In faith it is the home and safe retreat Of devils black, and sprites, and wondrous growths, And eke the battle ground of valiant men. At times occur strange strife of elements, When darkness strives on light’s domain t’encroach, Whereat arises in the vaulted dome of blue White wreaths of fog that toward the centre roll. Then darkness falls, too dense for any torch T’illumine; only clanging sounds can pass. The fog at first appears, a vaprous wreath Scarce visible. But thickening fast, it veils The southern hills, the painted leopard’s home. And spreads afar, until the northern sea Leviathans are mazed and lose their course. And denser yet it touches on the sky, And spreads a heavy mantle o’er the earth. Then, wide as is the high pitched arch of heaven, Therein appears no single rift of blue. Now mighty whales lead up their wives to sport Upon the waves, the sinuous dragons dive Deep down and, breathing, swell the heaving sea, The earth is moist as with the early rains, And spring’s creative energy is chilled. Both far and wide and high the damp fog spreads, Great cities on the eastern bank are hid, Wide ports and mountains in the south are lost, Whole fleets of battle ships, a thousand keels, Hide in the misty depths; frail fishing boats High riding on a wave are seen—and lost. The gloom increases and the domed sky Grows dark and darker as the sun’s light fails. The daylight dies, dim twilight’s reign begins, The ruddy hills dissolve and lose their hue. The skill of matchless Yü would fail to sound The depth and height; and Li Lou’s eye, though keen, Could never pierce this gloom. Now is the time, O sea and river gods, to use your powers. The gliding fish and creeping water folk Are lost; there is no track for bird or beast. Fair Pʻênglai Isles are hidden from our sight, The lofty gates of heaven have disappeared. Nature is blurred and indistinct, as when A driving rain storm hurries o’er the earth. And then, perhaps, within the heavy haze A noisome serpent vents his venom foul And plagues descend, or impish demons work Their wicked wills. Ills fall on men but do not stay, Heaven’s cleansing breath sweeps them away, But while they last the mean ones cry, The nobler suffer silently. The greatest turmoil is a sign Of quick return to state benign.

The little fleet reached Tsʻao Tsʻao’s naval camp about the fifth watch and orders were given to form line lying prows west, and then to beat the drums and shout.

“But what shall we do if they attack us?” exclaimed Lu Su.

Kʻung-ming replied with a smile, “I think the fleet will not venture out in this fog; go on with your wine and let us be happy. We will go back when the fog lifts.”

As soon as the shouting from the river was heard by those in the camp the two commanders ran off to report to their chief, who said, “Coming up in a fog like this means that they have prepared an ambush for us. Do not go out, but get all the force together and shoot at them.”

He also sent orders to the soldier camps to despatch six companies of archers and crossbowmen to aid the marines.

The naval forces were then lined up on the bank to prevent a landing. Presently the soldiers arrived and a legion and more men were shooting down into the river, where the arrows fell like rain. By and bye Kʻung-ming ordered the boats to turn round so that their prows pointed east and to go closer in so that many arrows might hit them.

The drums were kept beating till the sun was high and the fog began to disperse, when the boats got under way and sailed down stream. The whole twenty boats were bristling with arrows on both sides. As they left, all the crews derisively shouted, “We thank you, Sir Minister, for the arrows.”

They told Tsʻao Tsʻao, but by the time he came the light boats helped by the swift current were a long way down river and pursuit was impossible. Tsʻao Tsʻao saw that he had been duped and was very sorry, but there was no help for it.

On the way down Kʻung-ming said to his companion, “Every boat must have five or six thousand arrows and so, without the expenditure of an ounce of energy, we must have more than ten myriad arrows, which to-morrow can be shot back again at Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army to his great inconvenience.”

“You are really superhuman,” said Lu Su. “But how did you know there would be a thick fog to-day?”

“One cannot be a leader without knowing the workings of heaven and the ways of earth. One must understand the secret gates and the interdependence of the elements, the mysteries of tactics and the value of forces. It is but an ordinary talent. I calculated three days ago that there would be a fog to-day and so I set the limit at three days. Chou Yü would give me ten days, but neither artificers nor material, so that he might find occasion to put me to death as I knew, but my fate lies with the Supreme and how could Chou Yü harm me?”

Lu Su could not but agree. When the boats arrived half a company were in readiness on the bank to carry away the arrows. Kʻung-ming bade them go on board the boats, collect them and bear them to the tent of the Commander-in-Chief. Lu Su went to report that the arrows had been obtained and told Chou Yü by what means.

Chou Yü was amazed and sighed sadly, saying, “He is better than I; his methods are more than human.”

Thick lies the fog on the river, Nature is shrouded in white, Distant and near are confounded, Banks are no longer in sight. Fast fly the pattering arrows, Stick in the boats of the fleet. Now can full tale be delivered, Kʻung-ming is victor complete.

When, shortly after his return, Kʻung-ming went to the tent of the Commander-in-Chief he was welcomed by Chou Yü, who came forward to greet him, saying, “Your superhuman predictions compel one’s esteem.”

“There is nothing remarkable in that trifling trick,” replied he.

Chou Yü led him within and wine was brought.

Chou Yü said, “My lord sent yesterday to urge me to advance, but I have no master plan ready; I wish you would assist me, Master.”

“But where should I, a man of poor, everyday ability, find such a plan as you desire?”

“I saw the enemy’s naval camp just lately and it looked very complete and well organised. It is not an ordinary place to attack. I have thought of a plan, but I am not sure it will answer. I should be happy if you would decide for me.”

“General,” replied Kʻung-ming, “do not say what your plan is but each of us will write in the palm of his hand and see whether our opinions agree.”

So pen and ink were sent for and Chou Yü first wrote on his own palm, and then passed the pen to Kʻung-ming who also wrote. Then getting close together on the same bench each showed his hand to the other, and both burst out laughing, for both had written the same word, “Fire.”

“Since we are of the same opinion,” said Chou Yü, “there is no longer any doubt. But our intentions must be kept secret.”

“Both of us are public servants and what would be the sense of telling our plans? I do not think Tsʻao Tsʻao will be on his guard against this although he has had two experiences. You may put your scheme into force.”

They finished their wine and separated. Not an officer knew a word of the general’s plans.

Now Tsʻao Tsʻao had expended a myriad arrows in vain and was much irritated in consequence. He deeply desired revenge. Then Hsün Yu proposed a ruse, saying, “The two strategists on the side of the enemy are Chou Yü and Chuko Liang, two men most difficult to get the better of. Let us send some one who shall pretend to surrender to them but really be a spy on our behalf and a helper in our schemes. When we know what is doing we can plan to meet it.”

“I had thought of that myself,” replied Tsʻao. “Whom do you think the best man to send?”

“Tsʻai Mao has been put to death, but all the clan and family are in the army and the two younger brothers are junior generals. You have them most securely in your power and may send them to surrender. The ruler of Wu will never suspect deceit there.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao decided to act on this plan and in the evening summoned the two men to his tent, where he told them what he wished them to do. And he promised them rich rewards if they succeeded. “But do not betray me,” added he.

“Our families are in Chingchou and that place is yours,” replied they. “Should we dare betray? You need have no doubts, Sir. You will soon see the heads of both Chou Yü and Chuko Liang at your feet.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao gave them generous gifts and soon after the two men, each with his half company, set sail with a fair wind for the opposite bank.

Now as Chou Yü was preparing for the attack the arrival of some ships was announced. They bore the two younger brothers of Tsʻai Mao, who had come as deserters. They were led in and, bowing before the general, said, weeping, “Our innocent brother has been put to death and we desire vengeance. So we have come to offer allegiance to you. We pray you to appoint us to the vanguard.”

Chou Yü appeared very pleased and made them presents. Then he ordered them to join Kan Ning in leading the van. They thanked him and regarded their scheme as already a success.

But he gave Kan Ning secret orders, saying, “They have come without their families and so I know their desertion is only pretence. They have been sent as spies and I am going to meet their ruse with one of my own. They shall have some information to send. You will treat them well, but keep a careful guard over them. On the day our soldiers start they shall be sacrificed to the flag. But be very careful that nothing goes wrong.”

Kan Ning went away, and Lu Su came in to tell Chou Yü that every one agreed in thinking the surrender of the two feigned and said they should be rejected.

“But they wish to revenge the death of their brother,” said the General. “Where is the pretence? If you are so suspicious you will receive nobody at all.”

Lu Su left much piqued and went to see Kʻung-ming to whom he told the story. Kʻung-ming only smiled.

“Why do you smile?” said Lu Su.

“I smile at your simplicity. The General is playing a game. Spies cannot easily come and go so these two have been sent to feign desertion that they may act as spies. The General is meeting one ruse with another. He wants them to give information. Deceit is not to be despised in war and his scheme is the correct one to employ.”

Then Lu Su understood. That night as Chou Yü was sitting in his tent, Huang Kai came to see him privately. “You have surely some wise plan to propose that you come at night like this.”

Huang Kai replied, “The enemy are more numerous than we and it is wrong to delay. Why not burn them out?”

“Who suggested that to you?”

“I thought of it myself, nobody suggested it,” replied Huang.

“I just wanted something like this and that is why I kept those two pretended deserters. I want them to give some news. The pity is that I have no one to feign desertion to the other side and work my plan.”

“But I will carry out your plan,” said Huang Kai.

“But if you cannot show some injury you will not be believed,” said Chou.

“The Sun family have been very generous to me and I would not resent being crushed to death to repay them,” said Huang.

The General thanked him saying, “If you would not object to some bodily suffering then our country would indeed be happy.”

“Kill me; I do not mind,” repeated Huang Kai as he took his leave.

Next day the drums called all the officers together to the General’s tent and Kʻung-ming came with the others. Chou Yü said, “The enemy’s camps extend about three hundred li so that the campaign will be a long one. Each leader is to prepare supplies for three months.”

Scarcely had he spoken when Huang Kai started up, crying, “Say not three months; be ready for thirty months, and even then it will not be ended. If you can destroy them this month then all is well. If you cannot, then it were better to take Chang Chao’s advice, throw down your weapons, turn to the north and surrender.”

Chou Yü’s anger flared up and he flushed, crying, “Our lord’s orders were to destroy Tsʻao Tsʻao and whoever mentioned the word surrender should be put to death. Now, the very moment when the two armies are to engage, you dare talk of surrender and damp the ardour of my men! If I do not slay you, how can I support the others?”

He ordered the lictors to remove Huang Kai and execute him without delay.

Kai then flamed up in turn, saying, “This is the third generation since I went with General Pʻo-lo (Sun Chien) and we overran the south-east; whence have you sprung up?”

This made Chou Yü perfectly furious and Huang Kai was ordered to instant death. But Kan Ning interfered. Said he, “He is a veteran officer of Wu; pray pardon him.”

“What are you prating about?” cried Chou Yü. “Dare you come between me and my duty?” Turning to the lictors he ordered them to drive him forth with blows.

The other officials fell on their knees entreating pity for Huang Kai. “He is indeed most worthy of death, but it would be a loss to the army; we pray you forgive him. Record his fault for the moment and after the enemy shall have been defeated then put him to death.”

But Chou Yü was implacable. The officers pleaded with tears. At length he seemed moved, saying, “Had you not interceded he should certainly have suffered death. But now I will mitigate the punishment to a beating. He shall not die.”

He turned to the lictors and bade them deal the culprit one hundred blows. Again his colleagues prayed for remission but Chou Yü angrily pushed over the table in front of him and roared to the officers to get out of the way and let the sentence be executed.

So Huang Kai was stripped, thrown to the ground and fifty blows were given. At this point the officers again prayed that he be let off. Chou Yü sprang from his chair and pointing his finger at Huang Kai said, “If you dare flout me again you shall have the other fifty. If you are guilty of any disrespect, you shall be punished for both faults!”

With this he turned into the inner part of the tent, growling as he went, while the officers helped their beaten colleague to his feet. He was in a pitiable state. His back was cut in many places and the blood was flowing in streams. They led him to his own quarters and on the way he swooned several times. His case seemed most pitiable.

Lu Su went to see the suffering officer and then called on Kʻung-ming in his boat. He related the story of the beating and said that though the other officers had been cowed into silence he thought Kʻung-ming might have interceded. “You are a guest and not under his orders. Why did you stand by with your hands up your sleeves and say never a word?”

“You insult me,” said Kʻung-ming smiling.

“Why do you say that? I have never insulted you; never since the day we came here together.”

“Do you not know that that terrible beating was but a ruse? How could I try to dissuade him?”

Then Lu Su began to perceive and Kʻung-ming continued, “Tsʻao Tsʻao would not be taken in unless there was some real bodily suffering. Now he is going to send Huang Kai over as a deserter and he will see to it that the two Tsʻao spies duly tell the tale. But when you see the General you must not tell him that I saw through the ruse. You say that I am very angry like the others.”

Lu Su went to see Chou Yü and asked him why he had so cruelly beaten a proved and trusty officer.

“Do the officers resent it?” asked Chou.

“They are all upset about it.”

“And what does your friend think?”

“He also resents it in his heart, and thinks you have made a mistake.”

“Then I have deceived him for once,” said Chou gleefully.

“What mean you?” cried Lu.

“That beating that Huang Kai got is part of my ruse. I am sending him to Tsʻao Tsʻao as a deserter and so I have supplied a reason for desertion. Then I am going to use fire against the enemy.”

Lu Su kept silence but he recognised that Kʻung-ming was again right.

Meanwhile Huang Kai lay in his tent, whither all his brother officers went to condole with him and enquire after his health. But Kai would say never a word; he only lay sighing deeply from time to time.

But when the strategist Kʻan Tsê came, Kai told them to bring him to the room where he lay. Then he bade the servants go away and Tsê said, “Surely you must have some serious quarrel with the General.”

“I have none,” said Kai.

“Then this beating is just part of a ruse?”

“How did you guess?” said Kai.

“Because I watched the General and I guessed about nine tenths of the truth.”

Huang said, “You see I have been very generously treated by the Sun family, all three of them, and have no means of showing my gratitude except by offering to help in this ruse. True I suffer, but I do not regret that. Among all those I know in the army there is not one I am intimate with except yourself. You are true and I can talk with you as a friend.”

“I suppose you wish me to present your letter proposing to come over; is that it?”

“Just that; will you do it?” said Huang.

Kʻan Tsê consented joyfully.

Even the warrior’s body is but a stake in the game, The friend so ready to help him proves that their hearts are the same.

Kʻan’s reply will be read in the next chapter.

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