Chapter LVI…

Chapter LVI

A BANQUET IN THE BRONZE BIRD PAVILION: KʻUNG-MING PROVOKES CHOU YÜ A THIRD TIME.

The ambuscade into which Chou Yü had fallen had been prepared by the orders of Kʻung-ming and was triple. However, Huang Kai and Han Tang contrived to get clear and found refuge in the ships, though with the loss of many men. When Chou Yü was in safety and looked about him he saw Yüan-tê and the Lady Sun quietly resting on a hill top. How could such a sight fail to put him in a rage? And with the access of rage his wound, not yet healed, burst open once again. He swooned and fell. They raised him and his ship set sail. He was allowed to depart undisturbed, while Yüan-tê proceeded to Chingchou, where were great rejoicings in honour of his recent marriage.

Meanwhile Chou Yü had gone to Chʻaisang while Chiang Chʻin and those with him bore the sad tidings to Sun Chʻüan. He was angry beyond words and his first thought was to send an army under Chʻêng Pʻu to take Chingchou. Chou Yü also wrote from his sick bed urging his lord to take vengeance. But Chang Chao knew better and said it could not be done.

Said he, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has never forgotten his defeat, but he dares not attempt to avenge himself while the Sun family are friendly with Liu Pei. If in any moment of anger you two fall upon each other, Tsʻao will certainly seize the opportunity and your position will be dangerous.”

Ku Yung supported him, saying, “Beyond all doubt Tsʻao Tsʻao has his spies here. As soon as he hears of any rift in the friendship between Sun and Liu he will desire to come to an understanding with the latter and Liu Pei, who fears your power, will accept his offer and take his side. Such an alliance will be a continual menace to the land south of the river. No; the plan for the occasion is to secure the friendship of Liu Pei by memorialising that he be made Governor of Chingchou. This will make Tsʻao Tsʻao afraid to send any army against the south-east. At the same time it will raise kindly feelings in the heart of Liu Pei and win his support. You will be able to find some one who will provoke a quarrel between Tsʻao and Liu and set them at each other and that will be your opportunity. In this way you will succeed.”

“These are good words,” said Sun Chʻüan, “but have I a messenger who can accomplish such a mission?”

“There is such a man, one whom Tsʻao respects and loves.”

“Who is he?”

“What prevents you from employing Hua Hsin? He is ready to hand.”

Wherefore Hua Hsin was given letters and bidden go to the capital, whither he proceeded at once and sought to see Tsʻao Tsʻao. They told him that Tsʻao and all his friends were at Yehchün, celebrating the completion of the Bronze Bird Pavilion. So thither he went.

Tsʻao had indeed never forgotten his great defeat and nourished schemes to avenge it, but he feared the combination of his two chief enemies and that fear restrained him.

In the spring of the fifteenth year the great Pavilion was completed and Tsʻao invited a vast assembly to celebrate its inauguration with banquets and rejoicings. The pleasaunce was on the bank of the Chang River. The Bronze Bird Terrace stood in the centre, flanked by two others named the Terrace of the Jade Dragon and the Terrace of the Golden Phoenix. Each tower was a hundred feet high and a bridge connected them. Gold and jade vied with each other in the many apartments.

At the opening ceremony Tsʻao Tsʻao wore a golden headdress inlaid with jewels and a robe of green brocaded silk, girded with a belt of jade. On his feet were pearl-encrusted shoes. So clad he took his seat as host, while his officers, civil and military, were drawn up below the terrace.

For the military officers was arranged an archery competition and one of his attendants brought forth a robe of red crimson Ssŭchʻuan silk as a prize. This was suspended from one of the drooping branches of a willow tree, beneath which was the target. The distance was a hundred paces. The competitors were divided into two bands, those of his own family being dressed in red and the others in green. They all had carved bows and long arrows and were mounted. They stood holding in their steeds till the signal should be given for the games to begin. Each was to shoot one arrow and the robe was the guerdon for hitting the target in the red; misses were to pay a forfeit of drinking a cup of cold water.

As soon as the signal was given a red-robed youth rode quickly forth. He was Tsʻao Hsiu. Swiftly he galloped to and fro thrice. Then he adjusted the notch of his arrow to the string, pulled the bow to its full and the arrow flew straight to the bullseye.

The clang of the gongs and the roll of the drums announced the feat, which astonished them all. And Tsʻao, as he sat on the terrace, was delighted. “A very promising colt of my own,” said he to those about him, and he sent a messenger for the red robe that the winner might receive it from his own hands.

But suddenly from the green side rode out one who cried, “It were more fitting to let outsiders compete for the Minister’s silken robe; it is not right that members of the family monopolise the contest.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao looked at the speaker, who was one Wên Pʻing. And some of the officers cried, “Let us see what his shooting is like!”

So Wên Pʻing fitted an arrow to the string and fired also from horseback while galloping. To the surprise of the onlookers he also made a bullseye, which was honoured by another salute from gongs and drums.

“Quickly bring me the robe,” cried Wên Pʻing.

But at once from the ranks of the red-robed another competitor dashed forward, shouting fiercely, “How can you win what has been already won? But let me show you how I can shoot an arrow that shall overcome both your shots.”

He drew his bow to the full and the arrow flew straight to the heart of the red. The surprised onlookers saw that this new competitor was Tsʻao Hung, who now became also a claimant for the robe.

However, yet another archer came forth from the green robed ranks, playing with his bow and crying, “What is there amazing in your shooting, you three? See how I can shoot.”

This man was Chang Ho. He put his horse to the gallop, then turned his back and, shooting backwards, also hit the centre of the red.

Thus four arrows were now sticking in the bullseye and all agreed that it was marvellous archery.

“I think the robe should be mine,” said Chang Ho.

Before he could finish speaking a fifth competitor came out from the red robes and shouted, “You shot backwards; but that is commonplace enough. Look while I shoot better than you all.”

The speaker was Hsiahou Yüan. He galloped off to the very limit of the butts and then bending his body over backwards he sent his arrow right in among the other four.

As the gongs and drums broke out Yüan put aside his bow and rode up saying, “Is not that a better shot than any of its predecessors?”

Then came out another from the greens who cried, “Leave the robe there for me, Hsü Huang, to win.”

“What can you do that is better than my shot?” said Yüan.

“That you hit the bullseye is no great feat. You will see me win the silken robe after all.”

So speaking, Hsü Huang fitted an arrow to his bow. Then looking around he aimed at the willow twig from which the robe hung down and shot thereat so true that his arrow cut it through and the robe fluttered to the ground. At once Hsü Huang dashed along, picked up the robe and slipped it on. Then riding swiftly to the terrace he thanked the Minister. No one present could withhold unstinted praise and Hsü was turning to ride away when another green clad captain leaped out saying, “Where would you go with that robe? Quickly leave it for me!”

All eyes turned to this man who was Hsü Chʻu. Hsü Huang cried, “The robe has already been adjudged to me; would you dare take it by force?”

Hsü Chʻu made no reply but galloped up to snatch the robe. As his horse drew near Huang struck at his rival a blow with his bow. But Hsü Chʻu seized the bow with one hand while with the other he simply lifted his opponent out of his seat. Wherefore Hsü Huang let go the bow and the next moment lay sprawling on the ground. Hsü Chʻu slipped out of the saddle too and they began to pommel each other with their fists. Tsʻao Tsʻao sent one to separate them, but in the struggle the robe had been torn and soiled. He called the angry rivals before him and they came, one darting fierce looks of hate, the other grinding his teeth with rage.

“Never mind the robe; I see only your magnificent courage,” said Tsʻao smiling. “What does a robe more or less matter?”

Whereupon he called the captains to him one by one and to each he presented a robe of Ssŭchʻuan silk. They thanked him for the generous gifts and he then commanded them to take their seats in due order. Then to the strains of a band of music, wherein each performer vied with all the others, the naval and military officers took their places. Civil officers of repute and captains of renown drank one to another, and hearty felicitations were exchanged.

Tsʻao looked around to those about him saying, “Since the military officers have competed in mounted archery for our enjoyment and displayed their boldness and their skill, you, gentlemen scholars, stuffed full of learning as you are, can surely mount the terrace and present some complimentary odes to make the occasion a perfect success.”

“We are most willing to obey your commands,” they replied, all bowing low.

At that time there was a band of four scholars named, Wang Lang, Chung Yao, Wang Tsʻan and Chʻên Lin, and each of them presented a poem. Every poem sang the praises of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s valuable services and great merits and said he was worthy to receive the highest trust of all.

When Tsʻao Tsʻao had read them he laughed saying, “You gentlemen are really too flattering. As a fact I am but an ignoramus who began life with a simple bachelor’s degree. And when the troubles began I built me a little cottage in the country near Chʻiaotung, where I could study in spring and summer and spend the rest of the year in hunting till the empire was once more tranquil and I could emerge and take office. To my surprise I was chosen for a small military office which changed my intentions and I determined to repress the rebellion and so make a name for myself. I thought that I might win an inscription on my tomb to the effect that it covered the remains of the Marquis Tsʻao, who had restored order in the west. That would have been ample for a life’s work. I recall now how I destroyed Tung Cho and smote the Yellow Turbans; then I made away with Yüan Shu and broke the power of Lü Pu; next I exterminated Yüan Shao and at the death of Liu Piao I had subdued the whole empire. As a Minister of State I have attained the topmost pinnacle of honour and I have no more to hope for. Were it not for poor me, I know not how many there would be styling themselves Emperor and dubbing themselves princes. Certain there be who, seeing my great authority, think I have some ulterior aim. But they are quite wrong. I ever bear in mind what Confucius said of Chou Kung, that he was perfectly virtuous, and this saying is ever engraven on my mind. If I could I would do away with my armies and retire to my fief with my simple title of Marquis Wupʻing. Alas! I cannot. I am afraid to lay down my military powers lest I should come to harm. Should I be defeated, the State would totter and so I may not risk real misfortune for the sake of an empty reputation for kindness. There be some of you who do not know my heart.”

As he closed they all rose and bowed their heads saying, “None are your equals, O Minister, not even Duke Chou or the great Minister I Yin.”

A poem has been written referring to this:—

Had Duke Chou, the virtuous, died, while foul-mouthed slander was spreading her vile rumours; Or Wang Mang, the treacherous, while he was noted for the deference paid to learned men; None would have known their real characters.

After this oration Tsʻao Tsʻao drank many cups of wine in quick succession till he became very intoxicated. He bade his servants bring him pencil and inkstone that he might compose a poem. But as he was beginning to write they told him that the Marquis of Wu had sent Hua Hsin as an envoy and presented a memorial to appoint Liu Pei governor of Chingchou and that Sun Chʻüan’s sister was now Liu Pei’s wife, while on the river Han the greater part of the nine districts was under Liu Pei’s rule.

Tsʻao Tsʻao was seized with quaking fear at the news and threw the pen on the floor. Chʻêng Yü said to him, “O Minister, you have been among fighting men by myriads and in danger from stones and arrows many a time and never quailed. Now the news that Liu Pei has got possession of a small tract of country throws you into a panic. Why is it thus?”

Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “Liu Pei is a dragon among men. All his life hitherto he has never found his element, but now that he has obtained Chingchou it is as if the dragon, once captive, had escaped to the mighty deep. There is good reason for me to quake with fear.”

“Do you know the reason of the coming of Hua Hsin?” said Chʻêng.

“No; I know not,” said the Minister.

“Liu Pei is Sun Chʻüan’s one terror and he would attack him were it not for you, O Minister. He feels you would fall upon him while he was smiting his enemy. Wherefore he has taken this means of calming Liu Pei’s suspicions and fears and at the same time directing your enmity toward him and from himself.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao nodded; “Yes,” he said.

Chʻêng Yü continued, “Now this is my plan to set Sun and Liu at one another and give you the opportunity to destroy both; it can be done easily.”

“What is your plan?” asked Tsʻao.

“The one prop of Wu is Chou Yü; remove it by memorialising that Chou be appointed Prefect of Nanchün. Then get Chʻêng Pʻu made Prefect of Chianghsia and cause the Emperor to retain this Hua Hsin in the capital to await some important post. Chou Yü will assuredly attack Liu Pei and that will be our chance. Is not the scheme good?”

“Friend Chʻêng, you are a man after my own heart.”

Wherefore he summoned the emissary from Wu and overwhelmed him with gifts. That day was the last of the feastings and merry-makings and Tsʻao, with all the company, returned to the capital where he forthwith presented a memorial assigning Chou Yü and Chʻêng Pʻu to the posts he wished, and Hua Hsin was retained at the capital with a post of dignity.

The messenger bearing the commissions for their new offices went down to Wu and both Chou Yü and Chʻêng Pʻu accepted the appointments. Having taken over his command the former thought all the more of the revenge he contemplated and, to bring matters to a head, he wrote to Sun Chʻüan asking him to send Lu Su and renew the demand for the rendition of Chingchou.

Wherefore Lu Su was summoned and his master said to him, “You are the guarantor in the loan of Chingchou to Liu Pei. He still delays to return it and how long am I to wait?”

“The writing said plainly that the rendition would follow the occupation of Ssŭchʻuan.”

Sun Chʻüan shouted back, “Yes it said so. But so far they have not moved a soldier to the attack. I will not wait till old age has come to us all.”

“I will go and enquire?” said Lu Su.

So he went down into a ship and sailed to Chingchou.

Meanwhile Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming were at Chingchou gathering in supplies from all sides, drilling their men and training their armies. From all quarters men of learning flocked to their side. In the midst of this they heard of Lu Su’s coming and Liu Pei asked Kʻung-ming what he thought of it.

Kʻung-ming replied, “Just lately Sun Chʻüan concerned himself with getting you appointed Governor of Chingchou; that was calculated to inspire Tsʻao Tsʻao with fear. Tsʻao Tsʻao obtained for Chou Yü the Prefectship of Nanchün; that was designed to stir up strife between our two houses and set us fighting so that he might accomplish his own ends. This visit of Lu Su means that Chou Yü, having taken over his new governorship, wishes to force us out of this place.”

“Then how shall we reply?”

“If he introduce the subject you will at once set up loud lamentations. When the sound of lamentation is at its height I will appear and talk over your visitor.”

Thus they planned and Lu Su was duly received with all honour. When the salutations were over and host and guest were about to be seated, Lu Su said, “Sir, now that you are the husband of a daughter of Wu you have become my lord, and I dare not sit in your presence.”

Liu Pei laughed. “You are an old friend,” said he. “Why this excessive humility?”

So Lu Su took his seat. And when tea had been served the guest said, “I have come at the order of my master to discuss the subject of Chingchou. You, O Imperial Uncle, have had the use of the place for a long time. Now that your two houses are allied by marriage, there should be the most friendly relations between you and you should hand it back to my master.”

At this Yüan-tê covered his face and began to cry.

“What is the matter?” asked the guest.

Yüan-tê only wept the more bitterly.

Then Kʻung-ming came in from behind a screen saying, “I have been listening. Do you know why my lord weeps so bitterly?”

“Really I know not.”

“But it is easy to see. When my lord got the temporary occupation of Chingchou he gave the promise to return it when he had got the west country. But reflect. Liu Chang of Ichou is my lord’s younger brother and both of them are blood relations of the ruling family. If my lord were to move an army to capture another city he fears the blame of the ignorant. And if he yield this place before he has another, where could he rest? Yet, while he retains this place it seems to shame you. The thing is hard on both sides and that is why he weeps so bitterly.”

The close of Kʻung-ming’s speech seemed to move Yüan-tê to greater grief for he beat his breast and stamped his feet and wept yet more bitterly.

Lu Su attempted to console him saying, “Be not so distressed, O Uncle; let us hear what Kʻung-ming can propose.”

“I would beg you to return to your master and tell him all. Tell him of this great trouble and entreat him to let us stay here a little longer.”

“But suppose he refuse; what then?” said Lu Su.

“How can he refuse since he is related by marriage to my master?” said Kʻung-ming. “I shall expect to hear glad tidings through you.”

Lu Su was really the first of generous men and seeing Yüan-tê in such distress he could do no other than consent and say he would do so. Yüan-tê and Kʻung-ming both thanked him most cordially and after a banquet the emissary went down into his ship to return. On the way he called in to see Chou Yü and told him. But Chou stamped his foot with rage and said, “My friend, you have been fooled again. Long ago when Liu Pei was dependent on Liu Piao he always cherished the intention to supplant him; think you that he really pities Liu Chang of Shu? This sort of evasive policy will certainly cause you much trouble. However, I have a scheme which I think Kʻung-ming will not be able to get the better of. Only you will have to make another journey.”

“I should be pleased to hear your fine scheme,” said Lu Su.

“Do not go to see our master. Return to Chingchou and say to Liu Pei that since his family and the Suns are related by marriage they really form but one house, and since he has qualms about attacking the west we will do it for him. We will march an army under this pretext, but really go to Chingchou, and we shall take him unprepared. The road to the west runs through his city and we will call upon him for supplies. He will come out to thank the army and we will assassinate him whereby we shall revenge ourselves and at the same time remove a source of future evil.”

This seemed an excellent plan to Lu Su and he returned at once to Chingchou. Before receiving him Yüan-tê talked over the matter with his adviser.

Said Kʻung-ming, “He has not seen the Marquis, he has called in at Chʻaisang and he and Chou Yü have decided upon some scheme, which he is to talk you into accepting. However, let him talk; only watch me and when I nod my head then agree to whatever he may propose.”

Lu Su was then admitted and said, “The Marquis of Wu praises the noble virtue of the Imperial Uncle and after consultation with his officers be has determined to take the western kingdom on his behalf and, that done, Chingchou can be exchanged for it without further delay. However, when the army marches through it will be expected of you to contribute some necessary supplies.”

Kʻung-ming here nodded his head rapidly, at the same time saying, “We could hardly have hoped for such kindness,” while Yüan-tê saluted with joined hands and said, “This is due to your friendly efforts on our behalf.”

“When the brave army arrives we shall certainly come out to meet it and entertain the soldiers,” said Kʻung-ming.

Lu Su felt great satisfaction and was quite happy at his success; he took his leave and went homeward. But Yüan-tê as yet did not understand.

“What is their intention?” said he.

His adviser smiled. “Chou Yü’s end is very near. The ruse he is now trying would not take in a boy.”

“Why?”

“This is the ruse known as ‘borrow a road to exterminate Kuo.’ Under the pretence of taking the west they intend to capture this place, and when you go out to compliment the army you will be seized and they will dash into the city which they hope to find unprepared.”

“And what are we to do?”

“Have no anxiety; all we have to do is to prepare a hidden bow to get the fierce tiger; to spread the enticing bait to hook the great leviathan. Wait till Chou Yü comes; if he is not killed he will be nine-tenths a corpse. We will call in Chao Yün for orders and give him secret instructions and I will dispose the others.”

And Yüan-tê was glad.

Let Chou Yü lay what plans he will, Kʻung-ming anticipates his skill; That river land fair bait did look, But he forgot the hidden hook.

Lu Su hastened back to Chou Yü to tell him that all was going as he desired and Yüan-tê would come out to welcome the army. And Chou Yü laughed with glee, saying, “At last! Now they will fall into my trap.”

He bade Lu Su prepare a petition for the information of the Marquis and he ordered Chʻêng Pʻu to bring up reinforcements. He himself had nearly recovered from the arrow wound and felt well. He made his dispositions for the advance, telling off the leaders of the van and wings. The army numbered five legions and Chou Yü marched with the second division. While voyaging in his ship he was always smiling to think how he was to have Kʻung-ming at last.

At Hsiakʻou he enquired if there was any one to welcome him. They told him the Imperial Uncle had sent Mi Chu to greet him and he was called.

“What of the preparations for the army?” asked Chou Yü as soon as Mi Chu came.

“My master has seen to that; all is prepared.” said Mi.

“Where is the Imperial Uncle?” asked Chou.

“He is at Chingchou, waiting outside the walls to offer you the cup of greeting.”

“This expedition is on your account,” said Chou Yü. “When one undertakes so long a march and such a task the rewards for the army must be very substantial.”

Having got this idea of what Chou Yü expected, Mi Chu returned to his own city, while the battle ships in close order sailed up the river and took their places along the bank. As they went on the most perfect tranquillity seemed to reign on all sides. Not a ship was visible anywhere, and no one hindered. Chou Yü pressed forward till he came quite near Chingchou and still the wide river lay calm. But the spies who came back reported two white flags flying on the city walls.

Still not a man was seen and Chou Yü began to feel suspicious. He had his ship navigated in shore and he himself landed on the bank, where he mounted a horse and, with a small army of veterans under three captains, travelled along the land road.

By and bye he came to the city wall. There was no sign of life. Reining in his steed he bade them challenge the gate. Then some one from the wall asked who was there. The men of Wu replied that it was their General in person. Immediately was heard the thud of a club and the wall became alive with men all armed. And from the tower came out Chao Yün who said, “Why are you here, General?”

“I am going to take the west for you;” replied Chou Yü, “do you not know?”

“Kʻung-ming knows that you want to try the ruse of ‘borrowing a road to destroy Kuo.’ And so he stationed me here. And my master bade me say that he and the ruler of the west country are both members of the reigning family so that he could not think of such baseness as attacking Shu. If you people of Wu do so, he will be forced to go away into the mountains and become a recluse. He could not bear to lose the confidence of mankind.”

At this Chou Yü turned his horse as if to return. Just then his scouts came up to say that armed bands were moving toward him from all sides, and Kuan Yü and Chang Fei led two of them. Their number was unknown but the sound of their tramping shook the heavens. They said they wanted to capture Chou Yü.

At these tidings Chou Yü’s excitement became so intense that he fell to the ground with a great cry, and the old wound re-opened.

The game was now too deep; in vain he sought A countermove; his efforts came to nought.

Later chapters will show what was Chou Yü’s fate.

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Chapter LVII

“SLEEPING DRAGON” MOURNS AT CHʻAISANG: “PHOENIX FLEDGELING” INTERVENES AT LEIYANG.

In the last chapter it was said that a sudden rage filled the bosom of Chou Yü and he fell to the ground. Then he was carried to his boat. It only added to his rage and mortification to be told that his enemies and rivals could be seen on the top of one of the hills apparently feasting and enjoying some music. He lay grinding his teeth with vexation. “They say I shall never be able to get Ssŭchʻuan! But I will; I swear I will.”

Soon after Sun Chʻüan’s brother Yü arrived and Chou Yü told him his vexations. “My brother sent me to assist you,” said Sun Yü.

Sun Yü ordered the army to press forward and they got to Pachʻiu. There they stopped, for the scouts reported large forces under Liu Fêng and Kuan Pʻing barring the river route. This failure did not make the General any calmer.

About this time a letter from Kʻung-ming arrived, which ran like this:—“Since our parting at Chʻaisang I have thought of you often. Now comes to me a report that you desire to take The Western Land of Streams, which I regret to say I consider impossible. The people are strong and the country is precipitous and defensible. The governor may be weak within, but he is strong enough to defend himself. Now indeed, General, you would go far and you would render great services, yet can any one foretell the final result? No; not even Wu Chʻi the great General could say for certain, nor could Sun Wu be sure of a successful issue. Tsʻao Tsʻao suffered severe defeat at Chʻihpi; think you he will ever cease to hope for revenge? Now if you undertake a long expedition, will he not seize the occasion to fall upon Chiangnan and grind it to powder? Such a deed would be more than I could bear and I venture to warn you of the possible danger if haply you may condescend to regard it.”

The letter made Chou Yü feel very sorrowful and he sighed deeply. He called for paper and a pen and wrote to the Marquis Wu and, having done this, he said to his assembled officers, “I have honestly tried to do my best for my country but my end is at hand. The number of my days is accomplished. You must continue to aid our master till his end shall be achieved——”

He stopped; for he had swooned. Slowly he regained consciousness and as he looked up to heaven he sighed heavily, “O God, since thou madest me; why didst thou also create Liang?”

Soon after he passed away; he was only thirty-six.

The battle at Chʻihpi made him famous; Though young in years he gained a veteran’s reputation. Deep feeling, his music declared its intensity; Subtle, with excess hospitality he foiled a plot; Persuasive, he once obtained a large gift of grain; Capable, he led an army of millions. Pachʻiu was his deathbed, there his fate met him. Sadly indeed they mourned him.

After his death his captains sent his dying memorial to the Marquis of Wu, who was most deeply affected and wept aloud at the sad tidings of his death. When he opened the letters he saw that Lu Su was named as the dead general’s successor. This is the letter:—

“Possessing but ordinary abilities, there was no reason why I should have been the recipient of your confidence and high office, but I have not spared myself in the leadership of the great army under my command that thereby I might prove my gratitude. Yet none can measure life and the number of our days is ordained by fate. Before I could achieve even my poor intentions my feeble body has failed me. I regret it without measure. I die with Tsʻao Tsʻao threatening and our northern borders disturbed and with Liu Pei in your family as though you were feeding a fierce tiger. None can foretell the fate of the empire in these weary days of stress and of peculiar anxiety for you.

“Lu Su is most loyal, careful in all matters and a fitting man to succeed to my office. When a man is near death his words are wise and if I may haply retain your regard I may die but I shall not decay.”

“He should have been a king’s counsellor,” cried Sun Chʻüan, amid his tears. “He has left me, alas! too soon, and whom have I to lean upon? But he recommends his friend and I can do nothing better than take that advice.”

Whereupon he appointed Lu Su to the vacant command.

He also saw that the coffin of his beloved general was sent to Chʻaisang ready for the funeral sacrifices.

The night of Chou Yü’s death Kʻung-ming was gazing up at the heavens when he saw a bright star fall to the earth. “Chou Yü is dead,” said he with a smile. At dawn he sent to tell Yüan-tê, who sent men to find out, and they came back to say it was true; he had died.

“Now that this has come to pass what should we do?” said Yüan-tê.

“Lu Su will succeed,” said Kʻung-ming. “And I see in the heavens signs of an assembly of captains in the east so I shall go. The mourning for Chou Yü will serve as a pretext. I may find some able scholar there to be of help to you.”

“I am afraid lest the captains of Wu harm you,” said Liu Pei.

“While Chou Yü lived I did not fear; is there anything to dread now that he is gone?”

However, he took Chao Yün as commander of his escort when he embarked for Pachʻiu, and on the road he heard of Lu Su’s succession to the late general’s post. As the coffin of Chou Yü had been sent to Chʻaisang, Kʻung-ming continued his journey thither and, on landing, was kindly received by Lu Su. The officers of Wu did not conceal their enmity but the sight of the redoubtable Chao Yün, always close at hand, kept them from trying to hurt Kʻung-ming.

The officers brought by Kʻung-ming were arranged in order before the bier and he himself poured the libation. Then he knelt and read this threnody:—

“Alas, Kung-chin! Hapless are you in your early death. Length of days is in the hands of God, yet do men suffer and my heart is deeply grieved for you. I pour this libation that your spirit may enjoy its fragrance.

“I lament you. I lament your younger days passed in the companionship of Po-fu, when, preferring eternal principles to material wealth, you abode in a humble cottage.

“I lament your ripe strength when you guarded distant Pachʻiu, putting fear into the heart of Liu Piao, destroying rebels and ensuring safety.

“I lament the grace of your manhood. Married to a fair maid of the Chʻiao family, son-in-law of a minister, you were such as would add lustre to the Han Court.

“I lament your resolute purpose when you opposed the pledge-giving. As in the beginning your wings drooped not, so in the end your pinions spread wide.

“I lament your abandon, when your false friend, Chiang, came to you at Pʻoyang. There you manifested your lofty ideals.

“I lament your magnificent talents, proved in civil administration as in military science. With fire attacking the fierce enemy you brought his strength to weakness.

“I recall you as you were but yesterday, bold and successful, and I weep your untimely death. Prostrate I weep tears of sorrow. Loyal and upright in heart, noble and spiritual by nature, your life has been but three decades but your fame will endure for ages.

“I mourn for your affection. My bowels writhe with sorrow and my deep-seated sadness will never cease. The very heavens are darkened. The army is sad; your lord sheds tears; your friends weep floods.

“Scanty of ability am I, yet even of me you begged plans and sought schemes to aid Wu to repulse Tsʻao, to restore the Hans and comfort the Lius. But with you as the firm corner stone and your perfect dispositions, could the final result cause any anxiety?

“Alas, my friend! The quick and the dead are ever separate; they mingle never. If in the deep shades spirits have understanding you now read my inmost heart, yet hereafter there will be none on earth to comprehend.

“Alas, the pain!

“Deign to accept this my sacrifice.”

The sacrifice finished, Kʻung-ming bowed to the ground and keened while his tears gushed forth in floods. He was deeply moved.

Those who stood on guard by the bier said one to another, “People lied when they said these two were enemies; look at the sincerity shown in sacrifice.” And Lu Su was particularly affected by the display of feeling and thought, “Plainly Kʻung-ming loved him much, but Kung-chin was not broadminded enough and would have done him to death.”

Before the Sleeping Dragon emerged from his Nanyang retreat Many brilliant men had descended upon this earth; Since, O azure Heaven, ye made Kung-ching Why needed dusty earth produce a Kʻung-ming?

Lu Su gave a banquet for Kʻung-ming after which the guest left. Just as he was embarking his arm was clutched by a person in Taoist dress who said with a smile, “You exasperated literally to death the man whose body lies up there; to come here as a mourner is an open insult to Wu. It is as good as to say they have no other left.”

At first Kʻung-ming did not recognise the speaker but very soon he saw it was no other than Pʻan Tung, or the “Phoenix Fledgeling.” Then he laughed in his turn, and they two hand in hand went down into the ship, where they talked heart to heart for a long time. Before leaving, Kʻung-ming gave his friend a letter and said, “I do not think that Sun will use you as you merit. If you find life here distasteful, then you may come to Chingchou and help to support my master. He is liberal and virtuous and will not disdain what you have spent your life in learning.”

Then they parted and Kʻung-ming went alone to Chingchou.

Lu Su had the coffin of Chou Yü taken to Wuhu, where Sun Chʻüan received it with sacrifices and lamentations. The dead leader was buried in his native place.

His family consisted of two sons and a daughter, the sons being named Hsün and Yin. Sun Chʻüan treated them with tenderness.

Lu Su was not satisfied that he was the fittest successor to his late chief and said, “Chou Kung-chin was not right in recommending me, for I have not the requisite ability and am unfitted for this post. But I can commend to you a certain able man, conversant with all knowledge, and a most capable strategist, not inferior to Kuan Chung or Yo I, one whose plans are as good as those of Sun Wu and Wu Chʻi, the most famous masters of the Art of War. Chou Yü often took his advice and Kʻung-ming believes in him. And he is at hand.”

This was good news for Sun, who asked the man’s name, and when he heard it was Pʻang Tung, he replied, “Yes; I know him by reputation; let him come.”

Whereupon Pʻang Tʻung was invited to the Palace and introduced. The formal salutations over, Sun Chʻüan was disappointed with the man’s appearance, which was indeed extraordinary. He had bushy eyebrows, a turned-up nose, a dark skin and a stubby beard. So he was prejudiced against him.

“What have you studied,” asked he, “and what are you master of?”

Pʻang Tʻung replied, “One must not be narrow and obstinate; one must change with circumstances.”

“How does your learning compare with that of Chou Yü?” asked Sun.

“My learning is not to be compared with his in the least; mine is far greater.”

Now Sun Chʻüan had always loved his late general and he could not bear to hear him disparaged. This speech of Pʻang’s only increased his dislike. So he said, “You may retire, Sir; I will send for you when I can employ you.”

Pʻang Tʻung uttered one long sigh and went away. When he had gone Lu Su said, “My lord, why not employ him?”

“What good would result; he is just one of those mad fellows.”

“He did good service at the Red Wall fight, however, for it was he who got Tsʻao Tsʻao to chain his ships together.”

“It was simply that Tsʻao wished to chain his ships together. No credit was due to this fellow. In any case I give you my word that I will not employ him. That much is certain.”

Lu Su went out and explained to Pʻang Tʻung that the failure was not due to lack of recommendation, but simply a whim of Sun Chʻüan’s and he must put up with it. The disappointed suitor hung his head and sighed many times without speaking.

“I fear you are doomed to constant disappointment here,” said Lu Su. “There is nothing you can hope for, eh?”

But still Pʻang Tʻung was silent.

“With your wonderful gifts of course you will be successful whithersoever you may go. You may take my word for that. But to whom will you go?”

“I think I will join Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said Pʻang Tʻung suddenly.

“That would be flinging a gleaming pearl into darkness. Rather go to Liu Pei, who would appreciate you and employ you fittingly.”

“The truth is that I have been thinking of this for a long time,” said Pʻang Tʻung. “I was only joking just now.”

“I will give you a letter to Liu Pei, and if you go to him you must try to maintain peace between him and my lord and get them to act together against Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

“That has been the one desire of my life.”

He took the letter offered by Lu Su and soon made his way to Chingchou. He arrived at a moment that Kʻung-ming was absent on an inspection journey, but the doorkeeper announced him and said he had come to throw in his lot with Liu Pei. He was received, for he was no stranger in name.

When Pʻang Tung was admitted he made the ordinary salutation but did not make an obeisance and this, coupled with his ugly face, did not please his host.

“You have come a long and arduous journey,” said Liu Pei.

At this point the suitor should have produced his letters from Kʻung-ming and Lu Su, but did not. Instead he replied, “I hear, O Imperial Uncle, that you are welcoming the wise and receiving scholars, wherefore I have come to join your service.”

“The country is decently peaceful now and unfortunately there is no office vacant. But away to the northeast there is a small magistracy, Leiyanghsien, which needs a chief. I can offer you that post until there should be something more fitting.”

Pʻang Tʻung thought this rather poor welcome for a man of his talent. But his friend was absent, so he could do nothing but control his annoyance and accept. He took his leave and started.

But when he arrived at his post he paid no attention to business at all; he gave himself up entirely to dissipation. The taxes were not collected nor were lawsuits decided. News of this reaching Liu Pei, he was angry and said, “Here is this stiff-necked pedant throwing my administration into disorder.”

So he sent Chang Fei to the district with orders to make a general inspection of the whole district and look into any irregularities and disorders. But as he thought there might be some tact needed Sun Chʻien was also sent as coadjutor.

In due course the inquisitors arrived at Leiyanghsien, where they were received by the officials and welcomed by the people at the boundary. But the magistrate did not appear.

“Where is the magistrate?” asked Chang Fei.

“Ever since his arrival, a hundred days ago and more, he has attended to no business, but spends his days from morn to night in wine-bibbing and is always intoxicated. Just now he is sleeping off a debauch and is not yet risen.”

This raised Chang Fei’s choler and he would have dismissed the offender forthwith had not his colleague said, “Pʻang Tʻung is a man of great ability and it would be wrong to deal with him thus summarily. Let us enquire into it. If he is really so guilty we will punish his offence.”

So they went to the magistracy, took their seats in the hall of justice and summoned the magistrate before them. He came with dress all disordered and still under the influence of wine.

“My brother took you for a decent man,” said Chang Fei, angrily, “and sent you here as magistrate. How dare you throw the affairs of the district into disorder?”

“Do you think I have done as you say, General?” said Pʻang Tʻung. “What affairs have I disordered?”

“You have been here over a hundred days and spent the whole time in dissipation. Is not that disorderly?”

“Where would be the difficulty in dealing with the business of a trifling district like this? I pray you, General, to sit down for a while till I have settled the cases.”

Thereupon he bade the clerks bring in all the arrears and he would settle them at once. So they brought in the piles of papers and ordered the suitors to appear. They came and knelt in the hall while the magistrate, pencil in hand, noted this and minuted that, all the while listening to the pleadings. Soon all the difficulties and disputes were adjusted, and never a mistake was made, as the satisfied bows of the people proved. By midday the whole of the cases were disposed of and the arrears of the hundred days settled and decided. This done the magistrate threw aside his pencil and turned to the inquisitors saying, “Where is the disorder? When I can take on Tsʻao Tsʻao and Sun Chʻüan as easily as I can read this paper, what attention from me is needed for the business of this paltry place?”

Chang Fei was astonished at the man’s ability, rose from his seat and crossed over saying, “You are indeed a marvel, Master. I have not treated you respectfully enough but now I shall commend you to my brother with all my might.”

Then Pʻang Tʻung drew forth Lu Su’s letter and showed it to Chang Fei.

“Why did you not show this to my brother when you first saw him?” asked Chang Fei.

“If I had had a chance I would have done so. But is it likely that one would just take advantage of a letter of commendation to make a visit?”

Chang Fei turned to his colleague and said, “You just saved a wise man for us.”

They left the magistracy and returned to Liu Pei to whom they related what had happened. Liu Pei then seemed to be conscious of his error and said, “I have been wrong; I have behaved unjustly to a sage.”

Chang Fei then gave his brother the letter in which Lu Su had recommended Pʻang Tʻung. Opening it he read:—“Pʻang Shih-yüan is not the sort of man to be met with in any day’s march. Employ him in some capacity where extraordinary talent is required and his powers will declare themselves. Beware of judging him by his looks or you may lose the advantage of his abilities and some other will gain him. This would be a misfortune.”

While he was feeling cast down at the mistake he had made, as shown by the letter, they announced the return of Kʻung-ming. Soon he entered the hall and the first question he put after the formal salutations was “Is Instructor-General Pʻang quite well?”

“He is in charge of Leiyang,” replied Yüan-tê, “where he is given to wine and neglects his business.”

Kʻung-ming laughed. “My friend Pʻang has extraordinary abilities and ten times my knowledge. I gave him a letter for you, my lord. Did he present it?”

“This very day I have received a letter, but from Lu Su. I have had no letter written by you.”

“When a man of transcendent abilities is sent to a paltry post he always turns to wine out of simple ennui,” said Kʻung-ming.

“If it had not been for what my brother said, I should have lost a great man,” said Yüan-tê. Then he lost no time, but sent Chang Fei off to the north to request Pʻang Tʻung to come to Chingchou. When he arrived Liu Pei went out to meet him and at the foot of the steps asked pardon for his mistake. Then Pʻang Tʻung produced the letter that Kʻung-ming had given him. What Yüan-tê read therein was this:—“As soon as the “Phoenix Fledgeling” shall arrive he should be given an important post.” Liu Pei rejoiced indeed as he read it, for had not Ssŭma Hui said of the two men, Sleeping Dragon and Phoenix Fledgeling, that any man who obtained the help of either of them could restore the empire when he would? As he now had them both surely the Hans would rise again.

Then he appointed Pʻang Tʻung as Chuko Liang’s assistant and gave him general’s rank, and the two famous strategists began training the army for its work of subjugation.

News of these doings came to the capital and Tsʻao Tsʻao was told of Liu Pei’s two strategists and of the army in training and the stores he was accumulating and the league between his two chief enemies. And he knew that he had to expect an attack sooner or later. So he summoned his strategists to a council.

Said Hsün Yu, “Sun Chʻüan should be first attacked, because of the recent death of their ablest general Chou Yü. Liu Pei will follow.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “If I go on such a distant expedition. Ma Tʻêng will fall upon the capital. While I was at Chʻihpi there were sinister rumours of this and I must guard against it.”

Hsün Yu said, “The best thing that occurs to stupid me is to obtain for Ma the title of ‘Subduer of the South’ and send him against Wu. Thus he can be enticed to the capital and got rid of. Then you can have no fear of marching southward.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao approved and soon Ma Tʻêng was summoned from Hsiliang, in the west.

Ma Tʻêng, called also Ma Shou-chʻêng, was a descendant of the famous leader Ma Yüan, styled General, “Queller of the Waves.” His father’s name was Ma Su. He had held a minor magistracy in the reign of Emperor Huan, but had lost it and drifted west into Shênsi where he got amongst the Chʻiang, one of whose women he took to wife. She bore him a son, Ma Tʻêng. Ma Tʻêng was rather over the common height, and bold-looking. He was of a mild disposition and very popular. But in the reign of Emperor Ling these Chʻiangs made trouble and then Ma Tʻêng raised a force and put it down. For his services he received the title of General, “Corrector of the West.” He and Han Sui, who was known as “Guardian of the West,” were pledged brothers.

On receipt of the summons to the capital he took his eldest son, Ma Chʻao, into his confidence and told him some of his former life. “When Tung Chʻêng got the Girdle Edict from the Emperor, we formed a society, of which Liu Pei was one, pledged to put down rebellion. However, we accomplished nothing, for Tung was put to death and Liu was unfortunate, while I escaped to the west. However, I hear that Liu Pei now holds Chingchou and I am inclined to carry out the plan we made so long ago. But here I am summoned by Tsʻao Tsʻao and what is to be done?”

Ma Chʻao replied, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has the command of the Emperor to call you and if you do not go that will mean disobeying an imperial command and you will be punished. Obey the summons in so far as to go to the capital, where you may be able to arrange to carry out your original intention.”

But his nephew, Ma Tai, held other opinions and opposed this. Said he, “Tsʻao’s designs are unfathomable and if you go, Uncle, I fear you will suffer.”

“Let me lead the army against the capital,” said Ma Chʻao. “Can we not purge the empire of evil?”

But his father said, “You must take command of the Chʻiang troops for the defence of our territory here. I will take with me your two brothers and your cousin. When Tsʻao knows that you have the Chʻiang at your call and that Han Sui is prepared to assist, he will hardly dare to work any harm to me.”

“Father, if you must go be careful not to enter the city till you know exactly what plots and machinations are afoot.”

“I will certainly take great care, so do not be too anxious,” said the father.

The order of march was prepared. The governor took five companies, with his two sons as leaders of the van and his nephew bringing up the rear. These set out along the tortuous road to the capital. At twenty li distance they camped.

When Tsʻao heard of Ma Tʻêng’s arrival he called to him Huang Kʻuei, one of his officers, and said to him, “Ma Tʻêng is to be sent against the south and I shall send you as adviser. You are first to go to his camp and express my congratulations on his arrival and say that as Hsiliang is so distant and transport very difficult, he is not to take too large an army of his own. I will send a large force. Also tell him to come in soon for audience of the Emperor. I will send him supplies.”

With these instructions Huang Kʻuei went to Ma Tʻêng, who brought out wine and entertained him well. In his cups the messenger grew confidential and said, “My father perished at the hands of Li and Kuo and I have always nourished resentment. Now there is another rebel in power wronging our prince.”

“Who is that?” asked Ma.

“The wrong doer is that rebel Tsʻao, of course. Do you mean to say you do not know?”

However, Ma was careful. He thought it very likely that these words were but a trap for him so he pretended to be greatly shocked and begged his guest to be careful lest he be overheard.

But he cared not. “Then you have quite forgotten the ‘Girdle Edict,’ eh?” shouted he.

Ma Tʻêng began to see he was sincere and presently became confidential in turn and told his guest all his schemes.

“He wants you to go in to audience; there is no good intention there. Do not go,” said Huang Kʻuei. “You lead your men up close to the city and get Tsʻao Tsʻao to come and review them and when he comes, assassinate him.”

They two settled how this plan could be worked out and the messenger, still hot with anger and excitement, returned to his home.

Seeing him so disturbed in mind his wife asked him what was wrong. But he would tell her nothing. However, he had a concubine, born of the Li family, called “Fragrance of the Spring.” And it happened that she had an intrigue with the wife’s younger brother, Miao-tsê, who much desired to marry her. The concubine who also saw her lord’s displeasure, spoke of it to her paramour, and he told her she could probably draw from him what was wrong by a leading question. “Ask him what is the truth about two men, Liu Pei and Tsʻao Tsʻao? Who is the wicked one.”

That evening Huang Kʻuei went to the apartments of his concubine and she presently put the question proposed by her lover. Her lord, still rather intoxicated, said, “You are only a woman; still you know right from wrong as well as I. My enemy and the man I would slay if I could, is Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

“But why? And if you wish to slay him, why do you not do something?” said she.

“I have done something. I have settled with General Ma to assassinate Tsʻao at the review.”

“Fragrance of the Spring” of course told her paramour, who told Tsʻao Tsʻao, and he made his arrangements to defeat the scheme. He called up certain trusty captains and gave them orders for the morrow and, this done, he arrested Huang Kʻuei and all his household.

Next day, as arranged, Ma and his western men came close up to the wall and among the flags and banners he discerned that of the Minister himself, whereby he knew that he would hold the review in person.

So he rode forward. Suddenly a bomb exploded and at this signal there appeared bodies of armed men right and left and in front, so that the western men were quite hemmed in. Ma Tʻêng then saw the mistake he had made and he and his two sons fought valiantly to free themselves from the trap. The youngest son soon fell. Father and son rode this way and that, seeking a way out, but failed on every side. Both were sorely wounded and when their steeds fell from their many arrow wounds, both were captured.

Ma Tʻêng and his son, and the miserable wretch who could not keep his counsel, were brought before Tsʻao. Huang loudly protested his innocence. Tsʻao then called in the witness Miao-tsê.

“That worthless scoundrel has spoiled all my plans!” cried Ma Tʻêng. “Now I cannot slay the rebel and purge my country. But it is the will of God.”

Father and son were dragged forth, the father uttering volleys of abuse all the time. And so three men came to harm in this adventure.

The son and father share one niche of fame, For purest loyalty their praise the same. To their own hurt the rebels they withstood, Content to die to make their pledges good. In blood the solemn oath they did indite To slay the wicked and preserve the right. A worthy father’s worthy son by western bride. Old Fu-po’s name his grandson glorified.

“I desire no other reward than the lady, ‘Fragrance of the Spring’ as wife,” said the betrayer.

Tsʻao smiled and said, “For the sake of a woman then you have brought a whole household to death. What advantage would there be in preserving such a miscreant?”

So he bade the executioners put both the traitor and the woman to death, with the Huang household. Those who saw the fearful vengeance sighed at its cruelty.

Through passion base a loyal man was slain, And she who shared his passion shared his fate; The man they served was pitiless in hate, And thus a mean man’s treachery was vain.

Tsʻao Tsʻao did not desire to rouse the rancour of the men of Hsiliang, wherefore he proclaimed to them, “The intended treachery of your leaders was theirs alone.” However, he sent to secure the passes so that Ma Tai should not escape.

As has been said, Ma Tai led the rearguard. Before long the fugitives from the main army came and told him what had occurred at the capital. This frightened him so much that he abandoned his army and escaped disguised as a trader.

Having slain Ma Tʻêng, Tsʻao Tsʻao decided to set out on his expedition to the south. But then came the disquieting news of the military preparations of Liu Pei, whose objective was said to be Ssŭchʻuan. This caused him alarm, for, as he said, the bird’s wings would be fully grown if he obtained possession of the west. He recognised the difficulty, but from among his counsellors there arose one who said, “I know how to prevent Liu Pei and Sun Chʻüan from helping each other and both Chiangnan and Hsichʻuan will be yours.”

Chill death struck down the heroes of the west, Calamity approached the bold men of the south.

The next chapter will unfold the scheme.

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Chapter LVIII

AN EXPEDITION FOR REVENGE: EXPEDIENTS TO CONCEAL IDENTITY.

“What is this good plan of yours, friend Chʻên?” asked Tsʻao of the speaker, who was a civilian in his service named Chʻên Chʻün.

Chʻên replied, “Your two principal enemies are now firm allies, close as lips and teeth. But Liu Pei wants Hsichʻuan and if you, O Minister, send a mighty host against Sun Chʻüan, he must ask help from his friend Liu, who, having his heart set on the west, will refuse it. Sun without this aid cannot stand and will become so weak that Chiangtung will be yours for the taking and Chingchou will follow in a tap of the drum. The west will follow and the whole Empire is yours.”

“Those are my thoughts put into words,” replied Tsʻao Tsʻao.

The expeditionary force of thirty legions set out for the south. Chang Liao of Hofei was in command of the supply department.

Sun Chʻüan speedily heard of the move and called in his advisers. At the council Chang Chao said, “Let us send to Lu Su to tell him to write at once to Liu Pei that he may help us. They are good friends and Liu will certainly respond favourably. Beside, since Liu Pei and Sun Chʻüan are now connected by marriage, there is no risk of refusal. With the support of Liu Pei there is no danger to our country.”

Sun Chʻüan listened to this advice and sent to Lu Su bidding him to ask help from Liu Pei. Accordingly, on receipt of this command, a letter was written to Liu Pei, who after reading it, retained the messenger at the guest-house till Kʻung-ming could arrive from Nanchün. As soon as he arrived Liu Pei showed him the letter. The adviser said, “It is not necessary for Chiangnan troops to move, nor need we send ours. I can prevent Tsʻao Tsʻao from even daring to look in a south-easterly direction.”

So he wrote a reply telling Lu Su he could lay aside all anxiety and rest content, for should the northern army approach, they would be forced backward at once.

The letter was given to the messenger and then Liu Pei asked his adviser how he could hope to roll back the huge army that Tsʻao had prepared to bring south.

He replied, “Tsʻao Tsʻao’s chief fear is Hsiliang. Now just lately he has slain Ma Tʻêng and his son as well, and the men of Hsiliang are grinding their teeth with rage. Now you must write and ask Ma Chʻao to march through the pass and Tsʻao will have no leisure to think of any expedition to the south.”

The letter was written, sent by a trusty hand and duly delivered.

Now Ma Chʻao was in Hsiliang. One night he had a vision. In his dream he saw himself lying out on a snowy plain and many tigers were coming up and biting him. He awoke in a fright and began to wonder what the dream portended. Failing to explain it, he told the dream to his officers. One of them ventured to say the portent was evil. This was one, Pʻang Tê, a junior officer.

“What is your interpretation?” asked Ma Chʻao.

“Meeting with tigers on a snowy plain is a very inauspicious subject to dream about. Assuredly our old General is in trouble at the capital.”

And at that moment one came in in hot haste and cast himself on the earth weeping and crying, “Both your uncle and your brother are dead.”

It was Ma Tai and he told the story of the evil that had fallen through Huang Kʻuei and the plotted assassination that had miscarried and become known. They two had been put to death in the market place and he had escaped in disguise.

Ma Chʻao fell to the ground and wept bitterly, grinding his teeth with rage at his enemy Tsʻao. They lifted him to his feet and led him away to repose.

Soon after arrived a messenger with a letter from Liu Pei, which read like this:—“In these latter days of the hapless Hans, when the rebellious and tyrannical Tsʻao monopolises all power, to the injury of the Emperor and the wretchedness of the people, I, Liu Pei, recall that I and your father were recipients of an edict and we swore to exterminate the recreant. Now your father has suffered death at the hands of the tyrant and you must avenge him. As the holy books say, you cannot let the same sky cover you nor the same sun shine upon you and your father’s murderer. If you can lead your men to attack Tsʻao on one side I will march my armies to prevent his retreat and he will be taken and all his evil crew can be exterminated. Then and thus will your father be avenged and the Hans can be restored. I might add more but I will await your reply.”

Wiping his tears, Ma Chʻao wrote a reply which was returned by the bearer.

The Hsiliang army was then mustered; horse and foot were assembled. Just before the day that had been fixed for the start the Governor of the district, Han Sui, sent for Ma Chʻao, to whom he showed a letter from Tsʻao Tsʻao promising the Marquisate of Hsiliang as a reward for sending Ma Chʻao a prisoner to the capital.

“Bind us both, Uncle, and send us thither; you need not move a single spear,” said the younger man prostrating himself.

But Han Sui raised him saying, “Your father and I were sworn brothers; think you I would harm you? Rather will I help if you are going to fight.”

Ma Chʻao expressed his gratitude. The unhappy bearer of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s letter was dragged forth and beheaded. This done the two took count of their armies. Han Sui had eight divisions under as many commanders, all to be relied upon to follow Han Sui, while the younger man had twenty legions counting those under Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai. Such were the forces with which they could attack Chʻangan the capital.

The commander of that city was Chung Yu. As soon as he heard what was afoot he sent a fleet messenger to Tsʻao and prepared for defence. He led his force out into the open plain and arrayed it for battle.

Ma Tai, with a legion and half, came on first, pouring over the countryside like a flood. Chung Yu would parley with him, but he came forward, sword in hand, to attack. However, the defender did not take the challenge but turned and fled. Ma Tai followed in pursuit. Soon the main body of the invaders arrived and they surrounded the city, which Chung Yu set about defending.

Chʻangan had been the capital of the western Hans and so was well fortified with a solid wall and a deep moat, safe against the most terrific attacks. The new armies besieged the city for ten days without success. Then Pʻang Tê proposed a plan. Said he, “Since the land about the city is barren and the water bitter, the people must have communication with the country around in order to live. Further they have no fuel. Ten days of siege must have exhausted the supplies in the city, wherefore if we relax for a time—well, you will see. We shall capture the city without moving a finger.”

“Your plan seems excellent,” said Ma Chʻao, when he heard what it was.

Thereupon they sent orders to each division to retire and Ma Chʻao covered the retreat. Next day Chung Yu went up on the walls to look around and saw that the besiegers had gone. However, suspecting a ruse, he sent out spies, who returned to say the soldiers had really moved away to a distance. Wherefore he felt much relieved and allowed both soldiers and people to go out into the country to cut the much-needed firewood and bring in water. The city gates, thrown wide open, were thronged with those passing in and out.

This continued for five days and then they heard that Ma Chʻao’s army was returning. A panic ensued. The people rushed into the city and the gates were once more barred.

The captain of the west gate was Chung Chin, brother of Chung Yu. About the third watch of the night a torch was seen moving just inside the gate and when the captain went to see what was wrong, and was passing the gateway, a man suddenly galloped up and slashed at him with a sword. At the same time he shouted “Here is Pʻang Tê!” The captain of the gate was taken aback, could not defend himself and was cut down. The gate guard was soon disposed of, the gates were shattered and the soldiers outside came pouring in. Chung Yu escaped by the opposite gate and left the city in the hands of his enemies. He reached Chang Pass, where he fortified himself and sent news of the misfortune to Tsʻao Tsʻao.

Tsʻao Tsʻao threw aside all plans for his expedition to the south when Chʻangan was lost. He at once ordered that the unfortunate Chung Yu at Chang Pass should be replaced by Tsʻao Hung and Hsü Huang, who had a legion under their command. They were told to hold the Pass at all costs for at least ten days, or they should pay for its loss with their heads. After ten days the Pass would be no concern of theirs, for Tsʻao Tsʻao would be there with the main army.

The two captains made all haste to the Pass and took over the command from Chung Yu. They confined themselves to defence, and though Ma Chʻao appeared every day and reviled and said shameful things of the three generations of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s family, the guardians of the Pass remained quiet. But Tsʻao Hung fretted at the daily insults and would have led the defenders out to fight had not his colleague restrained him.

“Ma Chʻao only wishes to provoke you to come out, but remember our orders and go not. The Minister has some master plan.”

So spake Hsü Huang. But the advice was hard to follow for Ma Chʻao’s men took turns in reviling the defenders of the Pass, resting neither day nor night. And Hsü Huang found it hard to curb his colleague’s impatience.

Thus it continued till the ninth day. Then the defenders saw that their enemies had turned all their horses loose and were lolling about on the grass and sleeping as if quite fatigued. Thereupon Tsʻao Hung bade them saddle his horse, told off three companies and soon this small force was dashing down to catch the besiegers unprepared. They at once fled leaving their steeds and throwing aside their weapons. Tsʻao Hung could not resist pursuit and chased them.

At this time Hsü Huang was higher up the road taking in cartloads of grain and forage; but when he heard what his impulsive colleague had done he hastily got some men together and went to his rescue. He shouted to Tsʻao Hung to return.

Suddenly a great shouting arose near him and out dashed Ma Tai to attack. Both Tsʻao and Hsü turned to flee, but the drums rolled and two bodies of men came out from behind the hills. Then a battle began which went against them from the first. The Tsʻao men fell fast, but some of them thrust through the press and made for the Pass. Their enemies came in close pursuit and they had to abandon their post and flee whither they could find a way.

Tsʻao Hung made all haste to his master to give him the evil tidings.

“When I gave you the limit of ten days, why did you leave the Pass on the ninth?”

“Those men from Hsiliang hurled every sort of insult at us,” replied Tsʻao Hung, “And when I thought I had them unprepared I took the opportunity. But I fell victim to their cunning.”

“You are young and impetuous. But, Hsü Huang, you ought to have known.”

“He would not listen though I told him many times. And that day I was taking in stores in another part of the Pass. As soon as they told me I felt sure there would be some misfortune and so I hastened after him, but it was too late.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao was annoyed and ordered Tsʻao Hung to be put to death. But his brother-officers begged that he might be pardoned, and as he had confessed his fault, he was allowed to go free and unpunished.

Tsʻao Tsʻao advanced to Chang Pass and Tsʻao Jên said it would be well to establish a strong stockade before attacking. So trees were felled and a strong stockade built. They made three camps and Tsʻao himself was in the centre one.

Soon after, Tsʻao and all his officers in a body rushed to attack the Pass. They ran against the Hsiliang men posted on two sides, halted and formed their array. This done, Tsʻao rode to the centre standard whence he looked at his opponents.

He saw before him a body of fine men, every one with the bearing of a hero. And the leader, Ma Chʻao, was worthy of them, with his pale face and red lips, his supple hips and broad shoulders, his deep voice and fierce strength. He was wearing a silver helmet and gripped a long spear as he sat there on his charger. Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai supported him and Tsʻao Tsʻao admired him in his secret heart. However, Tsʻao urged forward his steed and shouted to Ma Chʻao, “Why are you arrayed against the Hans, whom your father and grandfather served faithfully?”

Ma ground his teeth and cursed Tsʻao Tsʻao for a rebel, a betrayer of both prince and people, the murderer of his father and brother. “My hate for you is to the death; the same sky shall not continue to cover us for I will take you captive and satiate my appetite on your living flesh.”

With this he set his spear and rode over toward Tsʻao Tsʻao as if to slay him. But Yü Chin came out from behind and engaged Ma Chʻao in battle. These two fought some half score bouts and then Yü Chin had to flee. Chang Ho, however, took his place and the two heroes exchanged a score of passes. Then Chang Ho, too, ran away.

Next to come forth was Li Tʻung. Ma Chʻao’s martial prowess was now at its height and he made short work of Li Tʻung, who went out of the saddle at the first blow. Then Ma Chʻao flourished his spear at the men behind him as a signal for them to come on, which they did like a flood. They overwhelmed Tsʻao’s men and Ma Chʻao and his colleague rode forward to try to capture Tsʻao Tsʻao.

They came close. Tsʻao heard one of his pursuers shout to another, “That is he in the red dress!” So he hastily tore off his red robe and threw it away. He also heard one say “That is Tsʻao Tsʻao with the long beard!” At once Tsʻao took the sword that he wore at his side and sawed off some of the beard. Yet again a soldier recognised him and told Ma Chʻao that Tsʻao had now cut his beard, whereupon the order went forth to capture short beards. And then Tsʻao Tsʻao wrapped the corner of a flag about neck and jowl and fled.

Panic seized upon the soldiers at Tʻung Pass; Frightened, Mêng-tê flung off his brocade robe And, terror-stricken, sawed his beard off with a sword. The fame of Ma Chʻao rose even to the sky.

Tsʻao had got clear of the battle and was getting calmer. Then again the sound of hoofs fell upon his ears and on looking round he perceived Ma Chʻao quite close. He and those near were panic-stricken, and all scattered for their lives, careless of the fate of their captain.

“Tsʻao Tsʻao, do not flee!” cried Ma coming nearer.

The whip dropped from Tsʻao Tsʻao’s nerveless hand as he saw his enemy coming closer and closer. But just as Ma had levelled his spear for a thrust Tsʻao slipped behind a tree, changed the direction of his flight and so escaped, while Ma struck the tree. He quickly pulled out his spear but the delay gave the fugitive an advantage although it did not quite free him from pursuit, for Ma Chʻao was soon again galloping on his track. As they drew near the slope of some hills a bold captain suddenly appeared, who cried, “Do not hurt my lord!”

This was Tsʻao Hung and he went toward Ma Chʻao, whirling his sword. Ma Chʻao was stopped and this saved Tsʻao Tsʻao’s life. Tsʻao Hung and Ma Chʻao fought half a hundred bouts till both began to grow weary and become uncertain of their strokes. And when, shortly after, Hsiahou Yüan appeared with a half score of horse, Ma Chʻao found it prudent to retire.

Then Tsʻao Tsʻao was escorted to his camp. Although he had lost Tsʻao Jên yet the camps were still unharmed and the losses had not been great.

As he sat in his tent Tsʻao said, “Had I not spared Tsʻao Hung I should have fallen at the hands of Ma Chʻao to-day.” So he called in his rescuer and rewarded him well. And they got together the scattered men and strengthened the camp, deepening the moat and raising the rampart. Ma Chʻao came daily and challenged any one to combat and abused them all shamefully, but, by the order of the General these insults were treated with silent contempt.

“Our enemies use long spears,” said the officers. “We will meet them with bows and crossbows.”

“They may have long spears,” replied Tsʻao Tsʻao, “but whether I give battle or not depends on my decision. How can they thrust at us if we do not go out? All you have to do is to take no notice of them and they will speedily retire.”

The officers wondered. They said one to another, “The Minister came out on this expedition of his own will and was foremost in the fight; why does he accept defeat so easily?”

After some days the spies reported that Ma Chʻao had been reinforced by the Chʻiang, the tribesmen beyond the frontier. Tsʻao Tsʻao took the news gleefully. His officers asked him why the news pleased him and Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “Wait till I have defeated them and I will explain.”

Three days later there was a report of further reinforcements and Tsʻao not only smiled but gave a banquet. His officers ridiculed him in secret.

Then said Tsʻao Tsʻao, “You gentlemen laugh because I cannot destroy Ma Chʻao. Well then, can any one of you propose a plan?”

Then rose Hsü Huang and said, “O Minister, you have a large force here and the enemy are strongly posted beyond the Pass. This means that on the west side of the river they are unprepared. If you can get an army secretly across the river and block the ferry you will cut off their retreat, and if you can smite them on the north side of the river they can get no reinforcements and must fail.”

“What you propose is just what I think,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.

So Hsü Huang was placed over four companies and with Chu Ling marched to the west of the river and hid in the gullies. They were to wait till Tsʻao Tsʻao crossed the river to the north so that both could strike together.

Then Tsʻao Tsʻao ordered Tsʻao Hung to prepare boats and rafts at the ferry. Tsʻao Jên was left in command of the camps. Tsʻao Tsʻao himself crossed the River Wei, and when Ma Chʻao heard of the new military movements he said, “I understand. The Pass is left, rafts are being prepared; that means that he is going to cross to the north side and cut off my retreat. I must coast along the river and keep him off. If I can do that his food will run short within twenty days and that will cause a mutiny. I will travel along the south bank and attack.”

Han Sui did not approve this plan. He quoted the military maxim to strike when troops were half over the river. “Attack from the south bank when his army is in the act of crossing and his men will be drowned in the river,” said he.

“Uncle, your words are good,” replied Ma Chʻao. And the spies went forth to find out the time of crossing the river.

When Tsʻao Tsʻao’s preparations were complete and all was ready he sent three parties of soldiers over the river first. They reached the ferry at the first sign of dawn and the veterans were sent over first and lay out a camp. Tsʻao and his guard took up station on the south bank to watch the crossing.

Very soon the sentinels reported the approach of a General dressed all in white, whom everyone knew must be Ma Chʻao. This terrified them and they made a rush to get into the boats. The river bank became a scene of shouting men struggling who could first embark. Tsʻao Tsʻao sat watching and never stirred. He only issued orders to stop the confusion. Meanwhile the yelling of the men and the neighing of the horses of the approaching army came nearer and nearer. Suddenly a captain jumped out of one of the boats and shouted to Tsʻao. “The rebels are close! Get into a boat, O Minister.”

“The rebels are near; why not?” replied Tsʻao simply to the speaker, who was Hsü Chʻu. And he turned round to look at them.

As a fact Ma Chʻao was very close, not a hundred paces away, and Hsü Chʻu laid hold of Tsʻao and dragged him down the bank. The boat had already pushed off and was ten feet from the bank but Hsü Chʻu took Tsʻao Tsʻao on his back and leaped on board. The boat was small and in danger of being overturned, wherefore Hsü Chʻu drew his sword and chopped away at the hands clinging to the side so that the men fell back into the water.

The boat went down stream, Hsü Chʻu standing in the prow poling as hard as he could. His master crouched out of sight at his feet.

When Ma Chʻao saw the boat in mid-stream drifting down with the current he took his bow and arrows and began to shoot. He also ordered his brave captains to go along the river and shoot so that a shower of arrows fell about the boat. Hsü Chʻu fearing Tsʻao Tsʻao would be wounded, protected him with a saddle which he held over him with his left hand, for Ma Chʻao’s shooting was not in vain. Many of the men working the boat were wounded. Some had fallen overboard, while more lay in the bottom of the boat. The boat itself got out of control and was whirled hither and thither by the current. Hsü Chʻu straddled over the tiller and tried thus to guide the boat while he poled with one hand and with the other held the protecting saddle over Tsʻao Tsʻao’s head.

Then the Magistrate of Weinan, Ting Pʻei, who from a hill top saw that Tsʻao Tsʻao was very closely pressed, nay, even in danger of his life, drove out from his camp all the cattle and horses there, so that they scattered over the hillside. This was too much for the born herdsmen of the plains. At sight of the beasts, they left the river and ran off to secure them. Nor had they any inclination to pursue their enemy.

And so Tsʻao Tsʻao escaped. As soon as they reached the northern shore the boat was scuttled. The rumour had spread that Tsʻao Tsʻao was on the river and in danger, so all his officers came to his aid. But he was now safe on shore. Hsü Chʻu’s double armour was stuck full of arrows. His officers escorted Tsʻao Tsʻao to the camp where they made their obeisance and expressed the hope that he had not suffered seriously.

“The rebels very nearly caught me to-day,” said he smiling.

“They would have got across the river had they not been enticed away by the freeing of the cattle and horses,” said Hsü Chʻu.

“Who was it that drew them off?” said Tsʻao Tsʻao.

Some one who knew told him. Before long the Magistrate Ting came in to pay his respects and Tsʻao Tsʻao thanked him.

“I should have been a prisoner but for your happy thought,” said he. And the Magistrate received a rank in the army.

“Though they have gone, yet they will assuredly return to-morrow,” said Ting Pʻei. “You must prepare to repel them.”

“My preparations are all made,” was the reply.

Tsʻao Tsʻao ordered his captains to spread themselves along the river bank and throw up mounds as shelters for camps. If they saw the enemy approaching the soldiers were to be withdrawn from behind the mounds, leaving the ensigns all flying, so as to give the impression that each camp contained a garrison. Along the river they were to dig ditches and put up sheds, thus to entice the enemy there and their men would stumble into the pits and fall easy victims.

Ma Chʻao returned to Han Sui and told him how he had nearly captured Tsʻao Tsʻao, but a certain bold captain had taken Tsʻao on his back and leaped with him into a boat.

Han Sui replied, “I have heard that Tsʻao Tsʻao had a body guard of the bravest and strongest soldiers under the command of Tien Wei and Hsü Chʻu. They are called the Tiger Guards. Now as Tien Wei is dead, the man you saw must have been Hsü Chʻu. He is both brave and powerful and goes by the name of Tiger-lust. You will do well to avoid him.”

“I know his name, too,” said Ma.

“Tsʻao Tsʻao now means to attack our rear,” continued Han Sui; “let us attack first, before he can establish camps and stockades. If once he can do that it will be difficult to dislodge him.”

“My idea is that we should hold the north bank and prevent him from crossing.”

“Worthy nephew, keep guard here while I go along the bank of the river and fight Tsʻao Tsʻao.”

“If you will take Pʻang Tê as your van-leader, I am content,” said Ma Chʻao.

So Han Sui and Pʻang Tê, with five legions, went away down to the river, while Tsʻao again warned his captains to entice the enemy. Pʻang Tê was in advance with a goodly squadron of iron-clad horsemen and they burst along at full speed Then there arose a confused shouting as they all went plunging into the ditches prepared for them. Pʻang Tê soon leaped out, gained the level ground and laid about him with all his might. He slew many men and presently got out of the thick of the fight.

But Han Sui had also been involved and Pʻang went afoot to try to aid him. On the way he met Tsʻao Jung, whom he cut down. Then mounting the dead man’s steed he rode forward fiercely, slaying as he passed. He reached his leader whom he led away south-east. The men of Tsʻao Tsʻao pursued him, but Ma Chʻao came with reinforcements and drove them off. He rescued a great number and they continued fighting till evening when they withdrew and mustered their men. Some officers were missing and a couple of hundred men had been killed when they fell into the pits.

Ma Chʻao and Han Sui discussed what should next be done. “If we give the enemy time, he will make himself strong on the north bank. I think we can do no better than to raid his camp to-night.”

“We must have a force and supports for it,” said Han Sui.

So it was decided that Ma Chʻao should lead the striking force with Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai as supports. They would start at nightfall.

Now Tsʻao’s men were on the north bank of the Wei and he gave his captains orders, saying, “The rebels will try to surprise us as they are deceived by my not having set up stockades. You will place your men in ambush.”

At nightfall Ma Chʻao sent out a small scouting party, which seeing nothing, penetrated deep into the enemy’s lines. Presently the signal was given. Out leapt the hidden men and in a few moments the whole scouting party were killed. And close at hand came the main army.

Wait for the foe all undismayed, Place your men in ambuscade. Captains striving to outvie Are not beaten easily.

Who got the advantage will presently be told.

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Chapter LIX

HSU CHʻÜ STRIPS FOR A FIGHT WITH MA CHʻAO: TSʻAO TSʻAO WRITES A LETTER TO SOW DISSENSION.

The fight narrated in the last chapter lasted till morn when each side drew off, Ma Chʻao camping on the Wei River, whence he kept up harassing attacks both day and night. Tsʻao Tsʻao, also camped in the bed of the same river, began to construct three floating bridges out of his rafts and boats so as to facilitate communication with the south bank. Tsʻao Jên established a camp on the river, which he barricaded with his carts and waggons.

Ma Chʻao determined to destroy this camp, so his men collected straw and each man marched with a bundle and took fire with him. Han Sui’s men were to fight. While one party attacked, the other party piled up the straw, which they lit, and soon there was a fierce fire all around. The defenders could do nothing against it so they abandoned the camp and ran away. All the transport and bridges were destroyed. It was a great victory for the Hsiliang army and gave them the command of the River Wei.

Tsʻao Tsʻao was sad at the failure to make good his strong camp and fearful of his defencelessness. Then Hsün Yu proposed a mud wall. So three legions were set to build a mud rampart. The enemy seeing this harassed the workmen with perpetual attacks at different points so that the work went slowly. Beside the soil was very sandy and the wall would not stand but collapsed as fast as it was built. Tsʻao Tsʻao felt helpless.

It was the ninth month and the fierce cold of winter was just coming on. Ominous clouds covered the sky day after day with never a break. One day as Tsʻao Tsʻao sat in his tent, very disheartened, a stranger was announced and was led in. He was an old man who said he had a suggestion to offer. He was tall, sparely built and spiritual looking. He gave his name as Lou Tzŭ-po and said he came from Ching-chao. He was a recluse and a Taoist, his religious name being Mêng-mei or “Plum-blossom Dreamer.” Tsʻao Tsʻao received him with great courtesy and presently the venerable one began, “O Minister, you have long been striving to make a camp on the river. Now is your opportunity; why not begin?”

“The soil is too sandy to stand,” said Tsʻao. “But if you have some other plan to propose, pray tell me what it is, O hermit.”

“You are more than human, O Minister, in the art of war, and you surely know the times and seasons. It has been overcast for many days and these clouds foretell a north wind and intense cold. When the wind begins to blow you should hurry your men to carry up the earth and sprinkle it with water. By dawn your wall will be complete.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao seized upon the suggestion. He offered his aged visitor a reward but he would receive nothing.

That night the wind came down in full force. Every man possible was set to earth-carrying and wetting. As they had no other means of carrying water they made stuff bags which they filled with water and let out the water over the earth. And so as they piled the earth they froze it solid with water, and by dawn the wall was finished and stood firm.

When his scouts told Ma Chʻao that the enemy had built a wall, and he had ridden out and seen it, he was greatly perplexed and began to suspect help from the gods.

However, very soon after he got his whole army together and sounded an attack. Tsʻao Tsʻao himself rode out of the camp, with only the redoubtable Hsü Chʻu in attendance, and advanced toward the enemy. Flourishing his whip he called out, “I, Mêng-tê, am here alone and I beg Ma Chʻao to come out to parley with me.”

Thereupon Ma Chʻao rode out, his spear set ready to thrust.

“You despised me because I had no wall to my camp but lo! in one single night, God has made me a wall. Do you not think it time to give in?”

Ma Chʻao was so enraged that he almost rushed at Tsʻao Tsʻao, but he was not too angry to notice the henchman behind him, glaring in angry fashion, who held a gleaming sword in his grip. He thought this man could be no other than Hsü Chʻu, so he determined to find out. With a flourish of his whip he said, “Where is the noble ‘Tiger Marquis’ that I hear you have in your camp?”

At this Hsü lifted his sword and roared, “I am Hsü Chʻu of Chʻiaochün!” From his eyes shot gleams of supernatural light and his attitude was so terror-striking that Ma dared not move. He turned his steed and retired.

Tsʻao Tsʻao and his doughty follower returned to their camp and as they two passed between the armies not a man there but felt a quiver of fear.

“They know our friend Hsü Chʻu over there as Marquis Tiger,” said Tsʻao Tsʻao when he returned.

And thereafter the soldiers all called him by that name.

“I will capture that fellow Ma to-morrow,” said Hsü.

“Ma Chʻao is very bold,” said his master. “Be careful.”

“I swear to fight him to the death,” said Hsü.

Then he sent a written challenge to his enemy saying that the “Tiger Marquis” challenged Ma Chʻao to a decisive duel on the morrow.

Ma Chʻao was very angry when he received the letter. “Dare he insult me so?” cried he. Then he wrote his pledge to slay Tiger-lust on the morrow.

Next day both armies moved out and arrayed in order of battle. Ma Chʻao gave Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai command of the two wings, while Han Sui took the centre. Ma Chʻao took up his station in front of the centre and called to Tiger-lust to come out. Tsʻao Tsʻao, who was on horseback by the standard, turned and said, “He is no less bold than Lü Pu.”

As he spoke, Hsü Chʻu rode forth whirling his sword and the duel began. They fought over a hundred bouts and neither had the advantage. But then, their steeds being spent with galloping to and fro, each retired within his own lines and obtained a fresh mount. The contest was renewed and a hundred more encounters took place, still without victory to either.

Suddenly Hsü Chʻu galloped back to his own side, stripped off his armour, showing his magnificent muscles and, naked as he was, leaped again into the saddle and rode out to continue the battle.

Again the champions engaged, while both armies stood aghast. Thirty bouts more, and Hsü, summoning up all his force, plunged toward Ma with his sword held high to strike. But Ma avoided the stroke and rode in with his spear pointing directly at his opponent’s heart. Throwing down his sword, Hsü dashed aside the spear, which passed underneath his arm.

Then ensued a struggle for the spear and Hsü by a mighty effort snapped the shaft so that each held one half. Then the duel was continued, each belabouring the other with the pieces of the broken spear.

At this point Tsʻao Tsʻao began to fear for his champion and so ordered two of his captains to go out and take a hand. At this Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai gave the signal to their armoured horsemen to attack. They rode in and a mêlée began in which Tsʻao’s men were worsted and the great champion Hsü Chʻu received two arrow wounds in the shoulder. So the men of Tsʻao retreated to their stockade, Ma Chʻao following them to the river. Tsʻao’s men lost more than half their number.

Tsʻao barred his gates and allowed none to go out. Ma Chʻao went down to the river. When he saw Han Sui he said, “I have seen some wicked fighters, but none to match that man. He is aptly nicknamed Tiger-lust.”

Thinking that by strategy he might get the better of Ma Chʻao, Tsʻao Tsʻao secretly sent two bodies of men across the river to take up position so that he might attack in front and rear.

One day from his ramparts, Tsʻao Tsʻao saw Ma Chʻao and a few horsemen ride close up to the walls and then gallop to and fro like the wind. After gazing at them for a long time he tore off his helmet and dashed it on the ground saying, “If that Ma is not killed may I never be buried!”

Hsiahou Yüan heard him and his heart burned within him. He cried, “May I die here at once if I do not destroy that rebel!”

Without more ado he flung open the gates and rode out with his company. Tsʻao Tsʻao tried to stop this mad rush, but it was no good, so, fearing he might come to grief, he rode out after him. At sight of the men of Tsʻao, Ma Chʻao faced his men about extended them in line and, as the enemy approached, dashed forward to the attack. Then noticing Tsʻao himself among them he left Hsiahou and rode straight for Tsʻao. Panic seized Tsʻao and he rode for his life, while his men were thrown into confusion.

It was during the pursuit of this portion of the Tsʻao army that Ma Chʻao was told of the force on the other bank of the river. Realising the danger he abandoned the pursuit, called in his men and went to his own camp, there to consult with Han Sui.

“What now? Tsʻao has crossed the river and we can be attacked in the rear,” said Ma.

A certain Li Kʻan said, “Then you had better come to an agreement; sacrifice some territory and make peace. Then both can repose through the winter and await the changes and chances that may come with the spring warmth.”

“He is wise,” said Han Sui, “and I advise the same.”

But Ma Chʻao hesitated. Others exhorted him to make peace and at length he agreed. So Yang Chʻiu and Hou Hsüan were sent as messengers of peace to the camp of Tsʻao Tsʻao.

“You may return; I will send my reply,” said Tsʻao when they had declared the purport of their mission. And they left.

Then Chia Yu said to Tsʻao Tsʻao, “What is your opinion, O Minister?”

“What is yours?” asked Tsʻao.

“War allows deceit, therefore pretend to agree. Then we can try some means of sowing suspicions between Han and Ma so that we may thereby destroy both.”

Tsʻao clapped his hands for very joy. “That is the best idea of all! Most suitable! You and I agree in our ideas; I was just thinking of that.”

So an answer was returned saying, “Let me gradually withdraw my soldiers and I will give back the land belonging to you on the west of the river.” And at the same time Tsʻao ordered the construction of a floating bridge to help in the withdrawal.

When the reply arrived, Ma Chʻao said to Han Sui, “Although he agrees to peace, yet he is evil and crafty. We must remain prepared against his machinations. Uncle, you and I will take turns in watching Tsʻao and Hsü Huang on alternate days. So shall we be safe against his treachery.”

They agreed and began the regular alternate watch. Soon Tsʻao got to know what they were doing and he turned to Chia Hsü saying, “I am succeeding.”

“Who keeps the look-out on this side to-morrow?” asked Tsʻao.

“Han Sui.”

Next day Tsʻao at the head of a large party of his captains rode out of the camp and the officers presently spread out right and left, he himself remaining a solitary rider visible in the centre. Han Sui did not know that Tsʻao had come out. Presently Tsʻao called out, “Do any of you soldiers want to see Tsʻao Tsʻao? Here I am quite alone. I have not four eyes nor a couple of mouths, but I am very knowing.”

The soldiers turned pale with fright. Then Tsʻao called up a man and told him to go and see Han Sui and say “Sir, the Minister humbly asks you to come and confer with him.” Thereupon Han went out, and seeing Tsʻao wore no armour, Han also threw off his and rode out clad in a light robe. Each rode up to the other till their horse’s heads nearly touched and there they stood talking.

Said Tsʻao, “Your father and I took our degrees at the same time and I used to treat him as an uncle. You and I set out on our careers at the same time, too, and yet we have not met for years. How old may you be now?”

“I am forty six,” replied Han.

“In those old days in the capital we were both very young and never thought about middle age. If we could only restore tranquillity to the State, that would be a matter of rejoicing.”

After that they chatted long about old times, but neither said a word on military matters. They gossiped for a couple of hours before they took leave of each other.

It was not long before some one told Ma Chʻao of this meeting and he went over to his ally to ask about it.

“What was it Tsʻao Tsʻao came out to discuss to-day?” said he.

“He just recalled the old days when we were together in the capital.”

“Did he say nothing about military matters?”

“Not a word; and I could not talk about them alone.”

Ma Chʻao went out without a word but he felt suspicious.

When Tsʻao returned to his camp he said to Chia Hsü, “Do you know why I talked with him thus publicly?”

“It may be an excellent idea,” said Hsü, “but it is not sufficient simply to estrange two people. I can improve on it and we will make them quarrel and even kill each other.”

“What is your scheme?”

“Ma Chʻao is brave but not very astute. You write a letter with your own hand to Han himself and put in it some rambling statements about some harm that is going to happen. Then blot it out and write something else. Afterwards you will send it to Han, taking care that Ma shall know all about it. He will demand to read the letter, and when he sees that the important part of the letter has been changed, he will think that Han Sui has made the changes lest his secrets should leak out. This will fit into the private talk you had with Han the other day and the suspicion will grow until it has brought about trouble. I can also secretly corrupt some of his subordinates and get them to widen the breach and we can settle Ma Chʻao.”

“The scheme looks excellent,” said Tsʻao, and he wrote the letter as suggested, and then erased and changed it, after which he sealed it securely and sent it across to Han Sui.

Surely enough some one told Ma Chʻao about the letter, which increased his doubts, and he came to Han Sui’s quarters to ask to see it. Han gave it to him and the erasures and alterations struck Ma at once.

“Why are all these alterations here?” asked he.

“It came like that; I do not know.”

“Does any one send a rough draft like this? It seems to me, Uncle, that you are afraid I shall know something or other too well and so you have changed the wording.”

“It must be that Tsʻao has sealed up the rough draft by mistake.”

“I do not think so. He is a careful man and would not make such a mistake. You and I, Uncle, have been allies in trying to slay the rebel; why are you turning against me now?”

“If you doubt my word I will tell you what you can do. To-morrow, in full view of the army, I will get Tsʻao Tsʻao to come out and talk. You can hide in behind the ranks ready to kill me if I am false.”

“That being so I shall know that you are true, Uncle.”

This arrangement made, next day Han Sui with five captains in his train, rode to the front while Ma Chʻao concealed himself behind the great standard. Han Sui sent over to say that he wished to speak to the Minister.

Thereupon at his command, Tsʻao Hung, with a train of ten horsemen rode out, advanced straight to Han Sui, leaned over to him and said, loudly enough to be heard plainly, “Last night the Minister quite understood there is no mistake.” Then without another word on either side he rode away.

Ma Chʻao had heard. He gripped his spear and started galloping out to slay his companion in arms. But the five captains checked him and begged him to go back to camp. When Han Sui saw him, he said, “Nephew, trust me, really I have no evil intentions.”

But think you that Ma Chʻao did? Burning with rage he went away. While Han Sui talked over the matter with his five captains.

“How can this be cleared up?”

“Ma Chʻao trusts too much to his strength,” said Yang Chʻiu, one of them. “He is always inclined to despise you, Sir. If we overcome Tsʻao Tsʻao do you think he will give way to you? I think you should rather take care of your own interests, go over to the Minister’s side and you will surely get rank one day.”

“I was his father’s pledged brother and could not bear to desert him,” said Han Sui.

“It seems to me that as things have come to this pass you simply have to now.”

“Who would act as go-between?” asked Han.

“I will,” said Yang Chʻiu.

Then Han Sui wrote a private letter which he confided to Yang Chʻiu, who soon found his way over to the other camp. Tsʻao Tsʻao was only too pleased, and he promised that Han Sui should be made Marquis of Hsiliang and Yang Chʻiu its Prefect. The other confederates should be rewarded in other ways. When the preparations for the act of treachery were complete a bonfire was to be lighted in Han’s camp and all would try to do away with Ma Chʻao.

Yang Chʻiu went back and related all this to his chief and Han Sui felt elated at the success of his overtures. A lot of wood was collected in camp at the back of his tent ready for the signal blaze and the five captains got ready for the foul deed. It was decided that Ma Chʻao should be persuaded into coming to a banquet and there they would slay him then.

All this was done, but not without some hesitation and delay, and some news of the plot reached Ma Chʻao. He found out the careful preparations that had been made and resolved to act first. Leaving Ma Tai and Pʻang Tê in reserve, he chose a few trusted men and with stealthy steps made his way into Han Sui’s tent. There he found Han Sui and his five confederates deep in conversation. He just caught a word or two that Yang Chʻiu said, “We must not delay, now is the time.”

In burst Ma Chʻao raging and yelling, “You herd of rebels! Would you dare to plot against me?”

They were taken aback. Ma Chʻao sprang at Han Sui and slashed at his face. Sui put up his hand to ward off the blow and it was cut off. The five drew their swords and set on Ma Chʻao and his men who rushed outside, followed by the five who slashed away, but were kept at bay by Ma Chʻao’s wonderful swordsmanship. And as the swords flashed, the red blood flowed. Soon one of the five was down and a second disabled; then the other three fled.

Ma Chʻao ran back into the tent to finish Han Sui but the servants had removed him. Then a torch was lit, and soon there was commotion all through the camp. Ma Chʻao mounted his horse, for Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai had now arrived, and the real fight began. Tsʻao’s men poured in from all sides and the Hsiliang men fought with each other.

Losing sight of his companions, Ma Chʻao and a few of his men got to the head of the floating bridge over the Wei just about dawn. There he fell across Li Kʻan coming over the bridge. Ma Chʻao set his spear and rode at him full tilt. Li Kʻan let go his spear and fled. Lucky for him it seemed at first that Yü Chin came up in pursuit. But unable to get near enough to seize Ma Chʻao, Yü Chin sent an arrow flying after him. Ma Chʻao’s ear caught the twang of the bowstring and he dodged the arrow, which flew on and killed Li Kʻan. Ma Chʻao turned to attack his pursuer, who galloped away, and then he returned and took possession of the bridge.

Quickly Tsʻao’s men gathered about him and the fiercest among them, the Tiger Guards, shot arrows at Ma Chʻao, which he warded off with his spear shaft so that they fell harmless to the earth. Ma Chʻao and his men rode to and fro striking a blow wherever there was a chance, but the enemy were very thick about him and he could not force his way out. In desperation he made a dash northwards and got through, but quite alone. Of his followers every one fell.

Still he kept on dashing this way and that till he was brought down by a crossbow bolt. He lay upon the ground and his enemies were pressing in. But at the critical moment a troop came in from the north-west and rescued him. Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai had come up in the very nick of time.

Thus Ma Chʻao was rescued and they set him on one of the soldiers’ horses and he again took up the battle. Leaving a trail of blood in his rear he got away north-west.

Hearing that his enemy had got away, Tsʻao Tsʻao ordered his captains to pursue him day and night and offered rewards for him dead or alive. For his head the reward was a thousand taels and the marquisate of a fief of a myriad families. If any one captured Ma the reward was the rank of general. Consequently the pursuit was warm as every one was anxious to win renown and reward. Meanwhile careless of all but flight Ma galloped on and one by one his followers dropped by the way. The footmen who were unable to keep up were captured till very few remained and only some score of riders were left. They travelled toward Shênsi.

Tsʻao Tsʻao in person joined the pursuit and got to Anting, but there Ma Chʻao was still far in advance so he gave up and returned. Gradually the captains did the same, all coming back to Chʻangan. Poor Han Sui, with the loss of his left hand, was an invalid, but he was rewarded with the marquisate and his confederates, the five captains, were given rank and office.

Then orders were given to lead the whole army back to the capital. Yang Fou, a military officer of rank, came to Chʻangan to point out the danger of withdrawal. “Ma Chʻao has the boldness of Lü Pu and the heart of a barbarian. Unless you destroy him this time he will come again and he will be both bolder and stronger, and the whole of this district will be lost to the Throne. Wherefore you should not withdraw your army.”

Tsʻao said, “I would be quite willing to finish the subjugation but there is much to do in the capital and the south is still to conquer. So I cannot remain. But you, Sir, might secure this country for me. Do you consent?”

Yang Fou did consent. And he brought to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s notice Wei Kʻang, who was made Governor, with joint military powers. Just before Yang Fou left he said to Tsʻao Tsʻao, “A strong force ought to be left in Chʻangan, as a reserve in case they be required.”

“That has been already dealt with,” replied Tsʻao.

Contentedly enough Yang Fou took leave and went away.

His captains asked Tsʻao to explain his recent policy, since the first out-break at Tʻung Pass and he replied, “The rebel first held the Pass. Had I forthwith taken the east the rebels would have defended the camps one by one and mustered at all the ferries, and I should never have got across the river. So I massed men against Tʻung Pass and made the rebels guard the south so that the west was left open. Thus Hsü Huang and Chu Ling could cross over and I was able later to cross over to the north. Then I made the raised road and the mud rampart to deceive the enemy and cause them to think I was weak and thus embolden them up to the point of attacking without proper preparation. Then I used the clever device of causing dissension in their ranks and was able in one day to destroy the stored up energy of all their forces. It was a thunder clap before you could cover your ears. Yes indeed; the mutations of the art of war can be called infinite.”

“But one thing more puzzled us,” said the officers, “and we ask you to explain it. When you heard the enemy was reinforced you seemed to grow happier. Why was that?”

“Because the Pass was distant and if the rebels had taken advantage of all defensible points and held them, they could not have been quelled in less than a couple of years. When they came on altogether they made a multitude but they were not unanimous. They easily quarrelled and, disunited, were easily overcome. So I had reason to rejoice that they came on altogether.”

“Indeed no one can equal you in strategy,” said his officers, bowing low before him.

“Still, remember that I rely on you,” said Tsʻao.

Then he issued substantial rewards to the army and appointed Hsiahou Yüan to the command at Chʻangan. The soldiers who had surrendered were distributed among the various troops. Hsiahou Yüan recommended Fêng I, and one, Chang Chi, of Kaoling, as his aids.

So the army returned to the capital where it was welcomed by the Emperor in his State chariot. As a reward for his service Tsʻao Tsʻao was given the court privileges of omitting his distinctive name when he was received in audience and of proceeding toward the daïs without assuming the appearance of frantic haste. Further he might go to court armed and booted, as did the Han Minister, Hsiao Ho, of old. Whence his prestige and importance waxed mightily.

The fame of these doings penetrated west into Hanchung, and one of the first to be moved to indignation was Chang Lu, Prefect of Hanning. This Chang Lu was a grandson of Chang Ling who retired to Mount Humin, in Ssŭchʻuan, where he had composed a work on Taoism for the purpose of deluding the multitude.

Yet all the people respected him, and when he died his son, Chang Hêng, carried on his work, and taught the same doctrines. Disciples had to pay a fee in rice, five measures. The people of his day called him the Rice Thief.

Chang Lu, his son, styled himself Master Superior and his disciples were called commonly devil soldiers. A headman was called Libationer and those who made many converts were called Chief Libationers. Perfect sincerity was the ruling tenet of the cult and no deceit was permitted. When any one fell ill an altar was set up and the invalid was taken into the Room of Silence where he could reflect upon his sins and confess openly. Then he was prayed for. The director of prayers was called Superintending Libationer.

When praying for a person they wrote his name on a slip and his confession and made three copies thereof, called “The writing of the Three Officers.” One copy was burned on the mountain top as a means of informing Heaven; another was burned to inform Earth; and the third was sunk in water to tell the Controller of the Waters. If the sick person recovered he paid as fee five measures of rice.

They had Public Houses of Charity wherein the poor found rice and flesh and means of cooking. Any wayfarer was allowed to take of these according to the measure of his appetite. Those who took in excess would invite punishment from on high. Offences were pardoned thrice; afterwards offenders were punished. They had no officials but all were subject to the control of the Libationers.

This sort of cult had been spreading in Hanchung for some thirty years and had escaped repression so far because of the remoteness of the district. All the Government did was to give Chang a title and take means to secure from him a full quota of tribute.

When the reports of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s success against the west, and his prestige and influence, reached the Hanchung people they met to consult, for they feared lest, Tʻêng and Ma being overcome, they would be next invaded. This Chang proposed to the assembly that he should assume the title of Prince of Hanning and superintend the defence.

In reply one Yen Pu said, “The families of this province are reckoned by myriads and there are ample supplies of everything. This place is a natural stronghold. Now Ma Chʻao’s soldiers are newly defeated. The fugitives from the Tzŭwu Valley are very numerous. My advice is that as Liu Chang of Ichou is weak we should take possession of Hsichʻuan and then you may style yourself Prince as soon as you like.”

This speech greatly pleased Chang Lu, who then began to concert measures with his brother to raise an army.

Stories of the movement reached Hsichʻuan. It is necessary here to say a few words about the west. The governor was Liu Chang, a son of Liu Yen, a descendant from a Prince of the Imperial House. The Prince had been moved out to Chingling some generations ago and the family had settled there. Later, Liu Yen became an official and when he died in due course, his son was recommended for the vacant Prefectship of Ichou. There was enmity between the Prefect and the Changs because some of the latter’s relatives had been put to death.

When he knew of the danger, Liu Chang despatched one Pʻang Hsi as Prefect of Pahsi to ward off Chang Lu. But Liu Chang had always been feeble, and when he received news from his lieutenant of Chang Lu’s movements his heart sank within him for fear and he hastily called in his advisers.

At the council one haughtily said, “My Master, be not alarmed, I am no genius but I have a bit of a healthy tongue and with that I will make Chang Lu afraid even to look this way.”

When plots did grow about the west, It suited Chingchou’s plans the best.

The speaker’s name and lineage will be told in the next chapter.

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Chapter LX

CHANG SUNG TURNS THE TABLES ON YANG HSIU: OCCUPATION OF SHU DISCUSSED.

The man who proposed the plan spoken of in the last chapter was Chang Sung, who belonged to Ichou and held the small office of pieh-chia, or Supernumerary Charioteer. His appearance was grotesque. He had a broad forehead, protuberant at the temples like a countryman’s hoe, and a pointed head. His nose was flat and his teeth protruded. He was a dwarf in stature but had a deep voice like a great bell.

“What proposal have you to offer that may avert this danger?”

“My proposal is that we gain the support of Tsʻao Tsʻao. As we know, he has made a clean sweep of the Empire. Lü Pu went first and both the Yüans followed, all exterminated. Lately he has destroyed Ma Chʻao. In short he is the one man against whom no one can stand. Therefore, my lord, prepare me worthy gifts to take to the capital and I will get Tsʻao Tsʻao to march an army against Hanchung, which will keep this Chang Lu occupied so that we shall be left alone.”

This met Liu Chang’s views and so he prepared gold and pearls and rich stuffs, worthy presents for the man of power. And when these were ready he appointed Chang Sung his emissary. Chang Sung in the meantime occupied his leisure in secretly copying maps and plans of the west country. When all was ready he started with a small escort.

They heard this in Chingchou and Kʻung-ming sent a trusty person to the capital to keep him informed as to all the doings.

Chang Sung arrived in Hsütu, and, after he had established himself in his lodging, he made daily visits to the Minister’s Palace to try to obtain an interview. But his last success had filled Tsʻao Tsʻao with insufferable pride and he did nothing but give banquets. He never appeared except for the most important affairs, and even carried on the business of the state in his own residence. So Chang Sung waited many days. But when he got to know the persons who were nearest the Minister, he bribed them and obtained an audience.

Tsʻao Tsʻao was seated in the high place, and after his visitor had finished his salutations, he said, “Your Master Liu Chang has sent no tribute for several years; why?”

“Because the roads are dangerous and thieves and robbers infest them. Intercourse is restricted.”

Tsʻao interrupted in a loud harsh voice, “What thieves and robbers are there when I have cleansed the country?”

“How can you say the land is tranquil when one sees Sun Chʻüan in the south, Chang Lu in the north, Liu Pei in the west and every one of these with armies reckoned in legions? The weakest of them has half a score.”

The mean appearance of the emissary had prejudiced Tsʻao Tsʻao from the outset, and when he heard these blunt words he suddenly shook out his sleeves, rose and left the hall. Those in attendance were annoyed with Chang Sung and said, “How can you behave so rudely when you come on a mission? Your whole attitude was blunt and discourteous. Happily for you our lord remembered you had come from afar and did not take open notice of your fault. The best thing for you is to go home again as quickly as you can.”

But Chang Sung smiled. “We have no plausible flatterers and glib talkers in our western country,” said he.

At this, one from below the steps called out, “So you call us plausible and glib then; and you have none such in your country, eh?”

Chang Sung looked around and saw the speaker was a man with thin delicate eyebrows crossing narrow eyes set in a pale spiritual face. He asked his name. It was Yang Hsiu, a son of Yang Piao. The young man was then employed in the commissariat of the Minister. He was deeply read and had the reputation of being a clever controversialist, as Chang Sung knew. So on one side was a desire to confound and on the other overweening pride in his own ability, with contempt for other scholars. Perceiving the ridicule in Chang Sung’s speech Yang Hsiu invited him to go to the library where they could talk more freely. There, after they had got settled in their respective places, Yang Hsiu began to talk about the west country.

“Your roads are precipitous and wearisome,” said Yang.

“But at our lord’s command we travel, even through fire and water; we never decline,” replied Chang.

“What sort of a country is this Shu?”

“Shu is a name for the group of districts known of old as Ichou. The roads are intersected by streams and the land bristles with steep mountains. The circuit is over two hundred marches and the area thirty thousand square li. The population is dense, villages being so close that the crowing of cocks in one waken the people in the next, and the dogs barking in this excite the curs in that. The soil is rich and well cultivated and droughts or famines are equally unknown. Prosperity is general and the music of pipes and strings can always be heard. The produce of the fields is piled mountain high. There is no place its equal.”

“But what of the people?”

“Our administrators are talented as Hsiang-ju (Ssŭma Hsiang-ju): our soldiers able as Fu-po (Ma Yüan): our physicians are expert as Chung-ching; our diviners are profound as Chün-pʻing (Yen Tsun). Our schools of philosophy and our culture stand forth as models and we have more remarkable men than I can enumerate. How should I ever finish the tale of them?”

“And how many such as you, Sir, do you think there are at the orders of your Governor?”

“Our officers are all geniuses; wise, bold, loyal, righteous and magnanimous. As for poor simpletons like me, they are counted by hundreds; there are cartloads of them; bushels of them. No one could count them.”

“What office may you hold then?”

Chang Sung replied, “Mine can hardly be called an office. I am a Supernumerary Charioteer. But, Sir, what State affairs may you control?”

“I am an Accountant in the Palace of the Minister,” replied Yang.

“They say that members of your family held office for many generations and I do not understand why you are not in court service actually assisting the Emperor, instead of filling the post of a mere clerk in a private Palace.”

Yang Hsiu’s face suffused with shame at this rebuke, but he mastered himself and replied, “Though I am among the minor officials, yet my duties are of great importance and I am gaining experience under the Prime Minister’s guidance. I hold the office for the sake of the training.”

Chang Sung smiled, “If what I have heard is true, Tsʻao Tsʻao’s learning throws no gleaming light on the way of Confucius or Mencius, nor does his military skill illumine the art of Sun or Wu. He seems to understand the doctrine of brute force and holding on to what advantages he can seize, but I see not how he can give you any valuable training or enlighten your understanding.”

“Ah, Sir; that comes of dwelling in out-of-the-way parts. How could you know of the magnificent talents of the great Minister? But I will show you something.”

He called up an attendant and bade him bring a book from a certain case. He showed this to his guest, who read the title “The New Book of Mêng-tê.” Then he opened it and read it through from the beginning, the whole thirteen chapters. They all dealt with the art of war.

“What do you take this to be?” asked Chang Sung, when he had finished.

“This is the great Minister’s discussion of the art of ancient and modern war composed on the model of Sun’s treatise. You may be disdainful of the Minister’s talents but will this not go down to posterity?”

“This book! Every child in Shu knows this by heart. What do you mean by calling it a new book? It was written by some obscure person of the time of the Warring States (Chou Dynasty, about 320 B.C.) and Tsʻao Tsʻao has plagiarised it. But he has deceived no one but you, Sir.”

“But what is the use of your sarcastic insult in saying that your school children know the book by rote? It has never been given to the world although copies have been made. It belongs to his private library.”

“Do you disbelieve me? Why, I know it and could repeat it.”

Then he repeated the whole book, word for word, from beginning to end.

“You remember it like this after only one reading! Really you are marvellous.”

He boasted not a handsome face, Nor was his body blessed with grace. His words streamed like a waterfall, He read a book and knew it all. Shu’s glories could he well rehearse, His lore embraced the universe. Or text or note of scholiast Once read, his memory held fast.

At leave-taking Yang Hsiu said, “Remain a while in your lodgings till I can petition our Minister to give you another interview.”

Chang Sung thanked him and left. By and bye Yang Hsiu went to see Tsʻao Tsʻao on the matter of receiving the emissary from the west and said, “Sir, why did you formerly treat Chang Sung so off-hand.”

“He spoke very rudely; that is why.”

“But you bore with Mi Hêng; why not with this man?”

“Mi Hêng’s reputation for scholarship stood highest of all and I could not bear to put him to death. But what ability has this Chang?”

“To say nothing about his speech being like the River of Heaven, nothing daunts his talent for dialectic. I happened to show him your new treatise; he read it over once and could repeat it. From this it is evident he is cultured and has a prodigious memory. There are few like him in the world. But he said the book was the work of an obscure person of a few hundred years back and every school boy in his country knew it.”

“It only shows that the ancients and I are in secret sympathy,” replied Tsʻao.

However, he ordered the book to be torn up and burned.

“Then may I bring him to see you, Sir, that he may see the glory of our court.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao grudgingly consented, saying, “I am reviewing troops to-morrow on the western parade-ground. You may bring him there and let him see what my army looks like. He will be able to talk about it when he goes home. When I have dealt with the south I shall take the west in hand.”

Hence the very next day Yang Hsiu took Chang Sung over to the west parade ground, where a review of the Tiger Guard was to be held. There were five legions of them, and when drawn up in order, they made a very brave show with their gleaming helmets and bright new uniforms. Their drums rolled to shake the heavens and their weapons glittered in the sun. Their discipline and order were perfect; their gay banners fluttered in the breeze. They looked ready to fly even, so alert and smart were they.

Chang Sung glanced at them contemptuously. After a long time Tsʻao Tsʻao called up Chang Sung and, pointing to his army, said, “Have you ever seen such fine bold fellows in your country?”

“We never see this military parade in Shu; we govern men by righteousness.”

Tsʻao Tsʻao changed colour and looked hard at the bold speaker, who gazed back at him without the least sign of fear. Yang Hsiu shot a quick glance at him, but Tsʻao went on, “I regard the rat-class of the world [There is a pun here; the characters for “rat” and “Shu” are read the same] as of no more importance than so many weeds, and for my army to reach a place is to overcome it, to give battle is to conquer, to besiege is to take. Those who are with me, live; but those who oppose me, die. Do you understand?”

“O Minister, I know well that when you march out your army you always conquer. I knew it when you attacked Lü Pu at Pʻuyang; and when you fought Chang Hsiu at Wanchʻêng; and when you met Chou Yü at the Red Wall; and when Hua Yung encountered Kuan Yü; and on that day when you cut off your beard and threw away your robe at the Pass; and when you hid in a boat to escape the arrows on the Wei River. On all these occasions no one could stand against you.”

It made Tsʻao Tsʻao very angry to be thus twitted with his misfortunes and he said, “You stuck-up pedant! How dare you thus bring up all my failures?”

He called to his attendants to eject the bold disputant and put him to death.

Yang Hsiu ventured to argue with him saying, “You may behead him, but he came from Shu bearing tribute and his death would have a very evil effect on all distant peoples.”

But Tsʻao Tsʻao was too angry to be reasonable and persisted. However, Hsün Yü also remonstrated and Chang Sung was not put to death. But he was beaten and ejected. He returned to his lodging and left the city that night, reflecting upon what he had intended and what he had accomplished.

Thought he, “I did not expect such arrogance when I came with the intention of giving him a province. When I get back Liu Chang will expect great things. Now I am returning empty handed and a failure to endure the laughter of my fellow countrymen. I will not go back. I have heard of the virtues of Liu Pei and I will go to him and see what manner of man he is. Then I can decide what to do.”

So with his little escort and following he made for Chingchou. He had reached the boundaries of Yingchou (Wuchʻang) when he met a troop of horsemen, at the head of whom rode a captain in simple undress, who pulled up, saying, “Surely you are the Charioteer Chang.”

“I am he,” said Chang Sung.

The captain quickly dismounted and humbly said, “I have expected you these many days. I am Chao Yün.”

Chang Sung dismounted and returned the salutation saying, “Then you are no other than Chao Tzŭ-lung, of Chʻangshan.”

“No other,” was the reply. “And my lord Liu Yüan-tê bade me await you here and offer you refreshment after your long and toilsome journey.”

At this some soldiers brought forward wine and food which they offered kneeling.

Chang Sung said, “I am come because the world says Liu Pei is liberal and kindly disposed.”

After a few cups of wine the two retook the road toward Chingchou, which they neared next day at evening. They went to the guest-house. Here they found a large number of men who received the visitor with the beating of drums and every sign of respect. And the officer in command, bowing low, said, “My brother sent me to meet you after your long and dusty journey and prepare the guest house for your reception. My name is Kuan.”

So Chang Sung and Chao Yün dismounted and entered the rest-house, where hosts and guest exchanged formal salutations and took their seats. In a short time refreshments were served and both men were most diligent in their attention to the traveller. This roadside banquet was prolonged to the time of setting the watch, when they prepared for rest.

Next morning, after the early meal, they mounted and continued their journey. Very soon they met Yüan-tê himself, with an escort, and his two chief advisers, deferentially standing by the roadside.

As soon as he recognised them, Chang Sung dismounted and walked toward them. Yüan-tê received him with extreme respect.

“Your exalted name has been long known to me,” said Yüan-tê, “it has reverberated through my ears. My one regret is that cloudy hills and long distances have hitherto prevented me from enjoying the advantage of your instruction. Hearing that you were passing through, I have come to meet you and if you would be willing to notice me and condescend to rest for a time in my desolate city, thus allowing me to satisfy my long disappointed desire to see you, I should indeed hold myself fortunate.”

Naturally the traveller’s vanity was tickled and he joyfully remounted. They rode bridle to bridle into the city. When they reached the residence again they exchanged profound salutations and compliments before they took their various places as host and guest. And then a banquet was served. But all throughout Yüan-tê refrained from saying a word about Shu; he only chatted on general and common things.

The visitor noted this steady avoidance and resolved to probe his host’s thoughts.

“How many districts are there in Chingchou, where you are now, O Imperial Uncle?”

Kʻung-ming replied, “Chingchou is only ours temporarily; we have borrowed it from Wu. They are always sending messengers to demand its return. However, now that our lord has married the daughter his position is more secure. But it is still temporary.”

“Wu is large,” said Chang Sung, “yet their six districts and their eighty one departments do not satisfy them. The people are strong and the land is fruitful.”

Said Pʻang Tʻung, “Our lord, being of the dynastic family, certainly cannot merely occupy two districts. Those others, thievish as they are, may indeed seize upon as much territory as they are strong enough to hold, but such deeds are not according to the wise man’s heart.”

“Noble Sirs, pray say no more: what virtue have I that I should expect anything from the future?” said Liu Pei.

“Not so, indeed,” said Chang Sung. “Illustrious Sir, you are of the lineage of Han; your noble character is widely known. No one could say that your fate excludes all thought of occupying territory, where you might begin to set up authority and take an Emperor’s position.”

Yüan-tê deprecated such a suggestion, “Sir, you go too far; this really is too much.”

The next three days were spent in banquets and wine-parties, but all the time no mention was made of the western province. And when, at the end of that time, Chang Sung took leave, his host was at the ten li rest-house to bid him farewell and offer refreshment. When the moment came for the parting Liu Pei raised his wine-cup and said, “I am sincerely grateful that you deigned to come here. You have prolonged your visit to three days, but now the moment of parting has come. Who knows when I may have the privilege of receiving your instructions again?”

As he said this the tears flowed, but he hid them while Chang Sung, willing to believe that this emotion was on his account, thought how wonderfully kind and noble his host must be to be thus affected. Quite overcome, he decided to speak about Hsichʻuan. So he said, “I have thought that I, too, would come to you one day, but so far I have found no way. I see Sun Chʻüan on the east, always ready to pounce; I see Tsʻao Tsʻao on the north, greedy to swallow. So this is not a wholly desirable place for you to remain in.”

“I know this but too well,” said Liu Pei, “but I have no secure place to go to.”

“Ichou is well protected, has much fertile soil, is populous and well governed. Its scholars are attracted by your virtue. If you marched your armies westward you could easily become a real power there and restore the glory of the Hans.”

“But how dare I attempt this? The ruler is also of the Imperial House. The whole province is devoted to him for his good deeds, and no other man could attain such a hold.”

“I am no traitor,” said Chang Sung, “but in your presence I feel constrained to be perfectly open and plain. Liu, the prefect of Ichou, is naturally weak and can neither use the wise nor employ the capable. Then again Chang Lu threatens the north. People are distracted and would gladly welcome an appreciative ruler. The journey I have just made was to propose to support Tsʻao Tsʻao and place the province under him, but I found him rebellious and set on evil, proud and arrogant. So I have turned aside to you. If you will take Hsichʻuan, you will have a base from which to deal with Hanchung when you will, and the whole country beside. You will continue the rightful line and your name will live in history. Would not that be real fame? If then you think of taking our country I am willing to do what little I can as an ally within. But do you contemplate such a step?”

“I am deeply grateful that you think so well of me. But the Prefect being a member of the family, I should lay myself open to general execration were I to attack him.”

“When a hero finds himself in the world, his duty is to work out his destiny, to exert himself and perform his task as best as he can, to press forward among the foremost. At the moment the position is that, if you fail to seize this opportunity, some other will take possession and you will regret when too late.”

“And I have heard much of the difficult nature of the country, its many high mountains and numerous streams, and its narrow roads. How could such a country be invaded?”

Then Chang Sung drew the map from his sleeve. “I am so deeply affected by your virtue that I offer you this map of the country, whereby its roads and rivers may be known.”

Yüan-tê unrolled the map; it was covered with notes, on the lie of the land, lengths and widths, and such matters. Strategical points on rivers and hills were shown, and store-houses and granaries and treasuries. Everything was plainly stated.

Chang Sung went on, “Sir, you can prepare your plans promptly. I have two friends who will certainly help you. And when they come to see you, you may be perfectly frank with them. Their names are Fa Chêng and Mêng Ta.”

Yüan-tê thanked him with joined hands. Said he, “As the blue mountains grow not old and the green waters always remain, so shall I never forget. And when I shall have accomplished my task you shall have no mean reward.”

“I look for no reward. Having met with an enlightened lord I felt compelled to unbosom myself to him.”

Chang Sung left soon after and Kuan Yü escorted him for a long distance.

After arrival in Ichou, Chang Sung lost no time in sending for his friends, Fa Chêng and Mêng Ta. The former was the first to come and he was told of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s arrogance and haughtiness toward men of parts. “As for the man himself,” said he, “he is a man to grieve with but not a man to rejoice with. I have promised Ichou to Liu Pei, the Imperial Uncle, and I want your especial advice and assistance.”

“I think Liu Chang incapable,” said Fa Chêng, “and I have felt drawn to Liu Pei for some time past. So we are in sympathy here.”

Shortly after Mêng Ta arrived. Mêng Ta and Fa Chêng were fellow townsmen. When Mêng Ta entered the room and saw the other two in earnest and secret conversation, he said, “I know what you two are about; you are scheming to hand over Ichou to somebody.”

“It is really so; you have guessed right,” said Chang Sung. “But to whom ought it to go?”

“There is but one; Liu Pei,” said Mêng Ta.

All three clapped their hands and laughed.

Then said Fa Chêng to Chang Sung, “You will see our lord to-morrow; what about that?”

“I shall recommend that you two be sent to Chingchou on a mission.”

They thought that a suitable scheme. And when the lately arrived messenger saw his master and was asked how he had fared, Chang Sung said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao is a rebel who desires to get the whole country into his hands. I need hardly tell you that. But he also hankers after this district.”

“Then what will become of us?” said Liu Chang.

“I have a plan to check both our enemies. Liu, the Imperial Uncle, now in Chingchou, is a relative of yours and he is generous and well disposed. This is a matter of common knowledge. Tsʻao Tsʻao was simply overwhelmed at the result of the battle at Red Wall and Chang Lu more so. Now my plan is that you ally yourself with your distinguished relative against Tsʻao Tsʻao and Chang Lu.”

“I have been thinking thus for a long-time; can you recommend a suitable emissary?”

“The only ones are Fa Chêng and Mêng Ta.”

These two were summoned and, meanwhile, a letter was prepared. Fa Chêng was to proceed as emissary to open up friendly relations and Mêng Ta would follow in due course with an army to welcome Liu Pei into the west country.

While still discussing the details of the policy, a person forced his way in, his face all running with sweat, and cried out, “My lord; your land will be lost to you and pass to another if you listen to Chang Sung.”

Chang Sung turned a startled look on the intruder, who was a certain Huang Chʻüan of Hsiliang, an accountant in the Prefect’s Palace.

The Prefect said, “Why do you use such language? Yüan-tê is of my family and so I am seeking his support.”

Said Huang Chʻüan, “I know all about him; he is liberal-minded to gain people to his side and his softness can overcome the hardest. He is bolder than any other. He gains men’s hearts from afar off and those near him look up to him. He also has the wisest advisers and the boldest warriors. But if you call him here as a soldier, think you that he will be content to remain in a lowly condition? And if you treat him as an honoured guest, can a State stand two rulers? Hear me, my lord, and you stand secure as Mount Tʻai; be deaf to my words and your position is as precarious as a pile of eggs. This Chang Sung has lately come home through Chingchou where he has certainly been plotting with Liu Pei. Slay this man; and make an end of Liu Pei. That will be for the happiness of this land.”

“But how else am I to fend off my two enemies?”

“Fortify your country; dig out your moats and raise your ramparts. Then you can wait on events.”

“If these rebels invade this land the position will be critical, as when fire singes one’s eyebrows. It is idle talk to tell me to wait on events.”

No notice was taken of Huang Chʻüan, and Fa Chêng was about to set out when another interfered, crying, “No, No.” This was a secretary, Wang Lei.

With bowed head Wang Lei stood and said, “My lord will bring misfortune upon himself if he listens to this Chang Sung.”

“Not so; I make an alliance with Liu Yüan-tê in order to withstand Chang Lu.”

“A Chang Lu invasion would be but a skin disease. Liu Pei’s entry into this country would be a mortal malady. Liu Pei is an unscrupulous bravo; he was once in Tsʻao Tsʻao’s service and plotted against him. Then he hung on to Sun Chʻüan and seized Chingchou. This shows his character and his designs. Think you that you two can dwell together? If you invite him, then Hsichʻuan is lost.”

“No more wild talk!” cried Liu Chang angrily. “Yüan-tê is of my clan and family and will not ravish me of my possessions.”

He bade the lictors escort both men outside and ordered Fa Chêng to set out. So he did; and before long came to Chingchou. When the salutations were over he presented his letter, which Yüan-tê opened and read.

“I, Liu Chang, a younger brother of our family, now write to General Liu Yüan-tê. From my humble place long have I gazed in your direction, but the roads of Shu are precipitous and I have failed to send my tribute. This is to my shame. The victims of misfortune aid each other and those in trouble support each other. If friends act thus, how much more should members of the same family? Now Chang Lu is mustering an army of invasion on my northern frontier, much to the injury of my tranquillity. Wherefore I send this letter that you may know of my distress and if you remember the kindly bonds of family and will play a brotherly part and lead your armies to destroy these ruffians, you will be my eternal protector and I shall be ever grateful. This letter leaves much unsaid, but I await your coming.”

This letter greatly pleased Yüan-tê. He made a banquet for the bearer thereof, and when they had mellowed themselves with wine, he dismissed the attendants and spoke to Fa Chêng in confidence.

“Friend, I have long admired you, and Chang Sung extolled your virtues. I shall always feel grateful for this opportunity of hearing you.”

Fa Chêng bowed. “That is too great praise for a humble emissary from Shu. But they say that horses always neighed in recognition of Po Lo, the supreme judge of horses, and when a man has found his lord he dies for him. Have you thought further of Chang Sung’s proposals, General?”

“I have always been a wanderer, often in suffering and sorrow. I have often thought of the wren for even that tiny bird has a twig to rest on; and of the cunning hare, that secures safety with three openings to its burrow. Does not a man need at least a shelter? Your land of Shu is fertile and a temptation, but its ruler is of my family and I cannot plot against him.”

“Yes; Ichou is a very paradise. But without a ruler it cannot exist. Liu Chang knows not how to use the wise man and his heritage must speedily pass to another. To-day it is offered to your hands and you must not miss the opportunity. You know the saying, that the leader in the hunt gets the quarry. If you will only consent, I will serve you to the death.”

Yüan-tê signified his gratitude. Said he, “Let me reflect for a time and take advice.”

The banquet terminated and the guest left. Kʻung-ming conducted Fa Chêng to his lodging while his master sat thinking. Then Pʻang Tʻung said, “You must decide; not to decide is foolish. You are of high intelligence, my lord, and why do you hesitate?”

“What should my reply be?” asked Yüan-tê.

“You know these surroundings and with them you cannot attain your ends. Now before you lies a populous, fertile and rich land, a base with the greatest possibilities. You have the promise of assistance from two men within and it seems like a gift of providence. Why hesitate?”

“Now there are two men in the world as mutually antagonistic as fire and water. My opposite is Tsʻao Tsʻao. He is impetuous and I am long suffering; he is cruel and I am humane; he feigns, while I am true. In all particulars I act the direct contrary to him. I refuse to risk the loss of the confidence and trust of the world for a trifling advantage.”

Pʻang Tʻung smiled at these sentiments. “My lord’s words are quite in accord with abstract rectitude, but such ideas scarcely suit the days of rebellion. There are other ways of fighting than with warlike weapons, but to adhere too obstinately to the idea of abstract rectitude is to do nothing. One must be an opportunist, annex the weak and attack the wilfully deluded: seize the recalcitrant and protect the docile. These were the teachings of Tʻang and Wu. If after the settlement you reward with righteousness and make of the land a great country, will you be guilty of a breach of trust? Remember if you do not take it now another will.”

Yüan-tê, a prey to confused emotions, replied, “These words are as jewels; they should be engraven on my very heart.”

Thereupon he summoned Kʻung-ming to settle the details of an army to march west.

Kʻung-ming said, “This is an important place and must be well defended.”

Liu Pei replied, “I, Pʻang Tʻung and my two captains Huang Chung and Wei Yen will go into Hsichʻuan; you and our three best captains, my two brothers and Chao Tzŭ-lung, can defend Chingchou.”

Kuan Yü was told off for Hsiangyang and the narrow pass of Chʻingni, Chang Fei went along the river and Chao Yün camped at Chiangling. For the march westward, Huang Chung led the van, Wei Yen had the rearguard, while Yüan-tê moved in the centre. Pʻang Tʻung was commander of the whole army.

Just as the five legions were starting there came Liao Hua to surrender; he and his men were attached to Kuan Yü.

It was in the winter that the expedition started. Soon they met the force under Mêng Ta, five companies, to act as escort into Ichou. Liu Pei informed Liu Chang that he had started and the latter sent orders to the districts along the road to entertain them well on the march.

The Prefect proposed to go out in person to welcome Liu Pei and ordered carriages to be prepared and tents and banners. All the escort were dressed in glittering armour. At this the accountant, Huang Chʻüan, the sturdy opponent of the invitation to Liu Pei, again remonstrated.

“My lord, if you go out you will be exposed to danger. I have been in your service for many years and I would prevent you from being the victim of another’s wiles. I pray you reflect.”

Chang Sung said, “His words are those of one who would sow discord in a family and encourage the power of the robbers who threaten you. Assuredly such action is to your detriment.”

Liu Chang then spoke angrily to Huang Chʻüan saying, “I have decided, and why do you oppose me?”

The objector bowed his head and wept. Then approaching nearer he seized hold of the Prefect’s robe with his teeth to hinder him. Liu Chang angrily shook his robe and rose from his seat, but Huang Chʻüan still held on till two of his teeth fell out. Then the lictors forced him away and he retired, still crying.

As Liu Chang was starting another man cried, “My lord, do you neglect the loyal words of your faithful Huang Chʻüan to go to your death?”

And he threw himself prostrate at the steps in remonstrance. He was one, Li Kʻuei, of Chienning.

“The prince may have Ministers who remonstrate with him and the father may have sons who oppose,” said he. “Huang Chʻüan has spoken faithfully and you ought to listen. To let Liu Pei into this land is to welcome the tiger into your gates.”

“Yüan-tê is my brother and will not harm me,” said the Prefect. “And any other who shall oppose me shall suffer death.”

So Li Kʻuei was thrust out.

“The officers of Shu regard the safety of their families and no longer render you service. The captains are arrogant and each has some scheme of his own to further. If you do not get Liu Pei to oppose the enemy without and your own people oppose you within, surely you are on the road to ruin.”

So spoke Chang Sung and the Prefect replied that he knew the plan was for his advantage. Whereupon he mounted his horse to ride out to Elm Tree Bridge.

Then it was reported to him that Wang Lei had suspended himself, head downwards, at the city gate. In one hand he held a written remonstrance and in the other a knife. “And he says that if you heed him not he will cut the rope and die at your feet,” concluded the messenger.

Liu Chang went to the gate, took the writing and read:—“Good medicine is bitter in the mouth but good for the disease; faithful words offend the ear but are good for the conduct. Of old the king of Chʻu listened not to Chʻu Yüan, but attended the meeting at Wukuan and was captured. Sir, you are thoughtlessly leaving your place to go to welcome Liu Pei, but I fear there is a way out and none in. Could you but behead Chang Sung in the market-place and have nothing to do with this league with Liu Pei, it would be for the happiness of old and young, and assure the safety of yourself.”

Anger rose in his breast as he read.

“Why do you insult me when I go to meet a kindly man? I feel as if I were about to enjoy the delight of seeing a brother?”

At this Wang Lei gave a great cry, severed the rope and fell to the ground battered and dead.

Head downwards at the city gate one hung, A last remonstrance in his outstretched hand, Resolved that, were his words rejected, he Would not survive defeat. Sincere was he Who, desperate, held to Liu Chang’s silken robe Until his broken teeth released their grip. Sincere indeed, but how can he compare With stern Wang Lei, who went to awful death?

Liu Chang with a great company went out to welcome his clansman and there followed many waggons laden with supplies and rich stuffs.

Liu Pei’s advanced guard had arrived at Shuchü. During the march the people had brought presents, and Liu Pei had given an order to pay for everything, under penalty of death for disobedience. Thus no one suffered and the people came out in trusting crowds to watch the soldiers marching by and welcome them in every way. Liu Pei soothed them with very gracious words.

Then Fa Chêng secretly showed Pʻang Tʻung a letter from Chang Sung advocating the assassination of Liu Chang near the place of welcome.

Pʻang Tʻung said, “Say nothing about this; after the two Lius have met there may be opportunities but this is too early to talk. Any plot would leak out.”

So nothing was said. Fouchʻêng, where the meeting was to take place, is three hundred and sixty li from Chʻêngtu. Liu Chang arrived first and sent messengers to welcome Liu Pei. The two armies camped on the bank of the Fou River. Liu Pei went into the city to see the Prefect and they met cordially as brothers should. Both shed a few tears, and by and bye they began a heart-to-heart talk. Then followed a banquet and after this each returned to his own camp.

The Prefect said, “How ridiculous have been proved the fears of Huang Chʻüan and Wang Lei! They do not understand the force of family affection. I see he is really a kindly and noble man, and with him as a support I shall fear neither Tsʻao nor Chang. And I owe all this to Chang Sung.”

To show his gratitude he took off the green silken robe he wore and sent it as a gift to Chang Sung, together with five hundred liang of gold.

However, some of his officers were not so content and a group of them bade him beware.

“Do not rejoice too soon, O Master,” said they, “for Liu Pei is hard enough within in spite of his mild exterior. You have not sounded him yet and should be on your guard.”

“You are all too anxious;” said he, laughing, “my brother is no double-dealer, I am sure.”

When Liu Pei had returned to his own tent, Pʻang Tʻung came in to ask what impression he had of his host of that day.

“He seems a very honest man,” said Liu Pei.

“He is good enough, but some of his servants are discontented at this turn of affairs and I would not guarantee there will be no murders. If you took my advice you would have Liu Chang assassinated at the return banquet. A hundred ruffians behind the arras, a signal from you, and the deed would be accomplished. All that would be needed then would be a rush on the capital. No sword need be drawn, no arrow fitted to the string.”

“He is a brother of my house and has treated me with sincerity. I am a new-comer and so far unknown in this land. Such a deed would be abhorrent to all the world and these people would resent it. I will not establish myself by such means.”

“The scheme is not mine; it originated in a private letter from Chang Sung, who says it will have to be done some time.”

At this moment Fa Chêng came in and said, “This is not for ourselves; it is the will of heaven.”

“Liu Chang and I are of the same house and I would shudder at harming him.”

“Sir, you are wrong. If you act not as we propose, then Chang Lu will take Shu in revenge for the death of his mother. What is there for you at the end of your long march? Advance, and success is yours; retreat and you have nothing. And delays are most dangerous. At any moment this scheme may leak out and another will reap the profit. This is the day when Heaven smiles on you. Act before Liu Chang suspects you; establish yourself.”

So urged Fa Chêng and Pʻang Tʻung backed it.

Their lord, by argument, they tried From rectitude to turn aside.

What Liu Pei hid in his heart will be explained in the next chapter.

END OF VOLUME I

NOTES

[1] 1750 B.C.

[2] 80 B.C.

[3] The grass in the meadow is an ingenious quip on Tung Cho’s surname; as is the “ten days” on his distinguishing name.

[4] Modern Anhui.

[5] The Great Bear and Vega.

[6] The Milky Way.

[7] A star in Taurus.

[8] Groups of stars similar to the Great Bear Constellation.

[9] Points of the compass, including the centre.

[10] The country about modern Kiangsu and south Shantung.

[11] An editor here remarks in a note, “With a hundred ounces of silver Liu An could get himself another wife, but I am afraid no one would marry him. And what then? No woman could help reflecting that she might have to serve as the ‘game’ course in a chance visitor’s dinner.”

[12] 199 A.D.

[13] Modern Kiangsi.

[14] A chang is ten feet.

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